"You have a visitor."

Hermione recoiled at the guard's words, slamming the back of her head into the stone wall. Not having had another human speak to her for days, his voice had startled her.

"Oh?" she said. "Send them in."

In the dark, the tall, broad torso looked like it could have belonged to Henry. But as the figure stepped closer, her heart sank. Which was incredibly stupid. She shouldn't want to see him, since he most likely wanted her dead.

"Lord Brandon." She pressed her hands to the damp ground, pushing herself up. Her own weakness surprised her, and she had to get a tight grip around the bars in order not to fall.

Apart from the pinched lips and slightly furrowed brow, he didn't return her greeting. The way he looked at her … it was as if he didn't know her. Then again, she realised, he didn't. Not truly.

Charles cleared his throat. "I have come for to order thee to release thine hold of the king."

So Nearly Headless Nick had been right. They thought she'd put a spell on Henry. Given the fact that the ghost hadn't returned with news about Alwyn Aubrey, he might have been right about his restrictions as well. None of which was good news.

"I know you won't believe me, but I haven't done anything to him," she answered.

"Thy lies art of no further use, pythoness. End thy sorcery and thine own end shall be swift."

Hermione's grip around the bar tightened. Her own end. Her death. Swift. The way he spoke of it made it so much more real.

"You can't mean that." Shaking her head, she said again, "I haven't done anything."

His eyes narrowed. "Thou was sighted by mine own eyes, thy wretch!" He pointed at her. "From the object in thine hand, there were unholy sparks, and with those thou broughtest me to the ground. Thou had me imprisoned within mine own flesh! Speak not of innocence, for thou knowest not the meaning of the word."

"You're mistaken," she said with a voice that sounded metallic. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry, that it had been completely harmless, but that would be the same as confessing her being a witch, and putting a spell on Henry.

"Thy lies are wasted," he repeated. "There are witnesses other than myself. They saw thee, clear as day. Whether thou comest forward or not on that occasion does not matter – that thou art a witch is a certainty."

Had this been in the future, she'd known better than to confess to anything, but given the state of the justice system around this time, Charles was probably right – her denial would be about as useful as macing a dementor.

"Which brings us to this." He drew something from beneath his robes, and threw it into her between the bars. The thing echoed as it bounced off the stone tiles.

It was her wand, broken in half.

"That's ... that's just some twig," she said, unable to take her eyes off it.

His jaw clenched. "A twig that channelled whatever ungodliness it is that thou harvest within. For which reason alone thou deservest to rot in a hole in the ground."

"You don't mean that," she said.

Looking her straight in the eye, he said, "I do."

Her eyes were tearing up. She couldn't believe him, couldn't believe that the man who'd sworn to help her, who'd sworn to be her friend, could wish for her to die. "No," she said, "no. I don't believe you. Deep down, you must know that this is wrong."

He stepped closer, but not close enough for her to be able to reach out for him. "What I see in front of me is merely God's righteous hand at work. Thou assaulted me, left me in the street for pickpockets to rob me of every possession. Every coin, every piece of gold, silver and precious stone, every piece of fabric they took. I was left in my shirt, dirty and cold in the mud. And t'would have been worse, had I not been found by the king's men in time! My daughters could be fatherless as of now, thanks to thee."

She looked to the ground. "I ... I hadn't thought of that," she finally said, admitting to his accusations. She truly hadn't – it hadn't crossed her mind that leaving the heavily bejewelled lord unconscious in the middle of the street, especially in that part of town, would have been dangerous. Merlin, she was foolish.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shrill. "I didn't think. I didn't mean to—"

"Thou had every intention," he interrupted her. "Thou couldst not risk me telling his majesty, couldst thou? And for this reason only, thou put me under a deathlike sleep."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Spare those sweet lies. I am not here for thine apology. I am here to put an end to the king's misery. T'is his majesty's wish that thou repairst that twig and removest whatever incantation was put over him."

"I really haven't done anything to him."

"I grow weary with this satire. If thou doth not cooperate, I shall be forced to take measures." He put his hand at the hilt of his sword.

She started to see that it was pointless keeping on denying his accusations, even if they were false. They'd all already made up their minds, and there was nothing she could do about it. What she needed to do was to get out of there, any means necessary. Even if that meant confessing to a crime she hadn't committed.

"Well, I ... I can't fix this," she said, picking up her wand. The tough dragon heart string was still intact, and chips of the vine tree seemed to cling together by sheer will, but it was still clear that the wand was beyond reparation – at least the non-magical kind. "I'll have to use another one."

He raised his eyebrows. "And where shall I find one of those?"

Her heart was pounding hard. This better work. If not, she was just condemning yet another person to death.

"With Alwyn Aubrey."

... ... ...

"What news?"

Charles had returned, and Henry was anxiously waiting for his report.

"A solution has been found, your majesty."

"Truly?" He laughed, breathily, feeling a release from the fear that had held him in a tight grip the last few days. The fear that these unnatural feelings would never pass, that he'd be under her powers long after she was gone. That even as the witch met her fate, he'd mourn her departure.

"She requires a new wand, and has given us a name as to where we might encounter one."

"And who is this wand-holder?"

"An Alwyn Aubrey, your majesty. His involvement with magic has been suspected for quite some time. His arrival is expected presently."

"Good." Henry nodded. "Good, good." But as Charles took a bow and prepared to leave, Henry put a hand on his arm. "One slight change of plan, as it were."

"Your majesty?"

"That wand will not touch her palm, Brandon. Certainly, if he is truly involved with the magical, this Aubrey fellow will be able to break a love spell brought on by a maid. I will not put my fate in the hands of that wench again."

Charles nodded. "Certainly, your majesty ... May I require what shall be done with her? Shall her sentence be put to action?"

"No. Not quite yet. Not before I may pay her a visit. But first, bring me this Aubrey, so that I may be rid of this ungodly curse."