Not entirely sure where this one suddenly came from, I have to admit, but it kept bugging me so I wrote it down...

"That greasy git!"

Ron stomped around, gesticulating and swearing, the nearly empty Gryffindor common room echoing to the sound of his aggrieved voice. Hermione sighed, looking at him with irritation, then glanced at Harry who was sitting next to her on the couch, staring into the fire.

"Merlin's hairy ones, Harry, he had no call to say what he did," the red-headed teenager went on, stopping in front of his friend and looking at him. Harry raised his eyes for a moment, shrugged, and went back to looking at the flames as they slowly consumed the wood.

"I'm used to it. Snape doesn't like me."

"Snape doesn't like anyone, including himself, but he picks on you more than anyone else," Ron spluttered. "And Dumbledore lets him get away with it! What's that about?" He looked between Harry and Hermione. "Either of you have any idea? Any other professor would be out on their arse for half what Snape pulls, but no one does anything to stop him. I'm sick of it."

"Not a lot we can do," Harry muttered. "Dumbledore is a busy man. Snape is a professor."

"Oh, sod it, will you stand up for yourself for once, Harry?" Ron snapped.

Harry looked at him again, frowning. "Thanks, mate. When did you get so protective of me?"

"I've always had your back, Harry," Ron replied, looking hurt.

"Really? I can remember… three, no, four times just this year when someone started a rumor about me and you came and asked me if it was true," Harry pointed out. "Most people would think that a friend who… had your back… would have just known it was a rumor without needing to ask."

Ron had the grace to look abashed, Hermione noted as she glanced up from her book again, feeling slightly amused. It was true, the Weasley boy did have an annoying tendency to go along with the crowd whenever one of the never-ending stream of rumors about their friend hit the public's nerve. Most of those rumors were so self-evidently untrue, often ludicrously so, that she was constantly surprised that anyone believed them.

Truly, wizards were a gullible lot, she thought darkly.

There was definitely something in what that strange reptilian visitor had told her the year before last, on one of the most memorable occasions she could ever recall.

The girl had spent a lot of time researching a number of things that she'd learned from the large purple lizard, finding that all of them appeared to indeed be true, although terribly badly documented for the most part. In her more suspicious moments she thought this was probably deliberate. Certainly, without some form of clue, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to track down most of the references she'd put together that showed that the way magic and technology interacted so badly was almost definitely the result of a spell such as that which Ianthe had mentioned.

The information was scattered throughout half the library and had taken her most of a term to simply find, never mind correlate and consider.

She was still working on who was responsible, but it was clear it wasn't a new thing. Knowing the wizarding world, which she was in some ways losing patience with, she wouldn't have been surprised to find out that no one these days had the faintest idea about the situation. Or, if told, would actually believe it either.

It played very nicely into the hands of the more prejudiced of those who ran the place, after all.

She still didn't know what, if anything, she could do with the information on a large scale. However, it was starting to give her some intriguing ideas about small scale, local experiments she could run…

Having a real radio that would let her listen to the BBC, for example, would be very useful. She missed classical music, and some of the more interesting discussion shows.

Attempting to resume her research, having long since finished her homework, and given up on trying to get Ron to finish his, she sighed very faintly as the boy kept on stomping around and muttering what he'd like to do to Snape. While she shared the sentiment, it was a pointless activity, in her view. Talking and doing were two entirely different things, after all.

Ron was a great one for the former. Not so much on the latter, though. Unless the doing involved food, of course, then all bets were off, she though with a slight internal smirk.

Poor Harry looked depressed, she saw when she looked at him again, concerned about his lack of response. Normally when Ron started off like this, Harry would either try to calm him down, or join in, but now he was just sitting there passively, radiating unhappiness. Not all that surprising considering the pressure being heaped on the poor sod.

The events of that sudden visitation nearly fourteen months ago were still being felt. Unmasking the fake Moody, even as accidentally as it had apparently been, although she had her suspicions there as well, had set into motion a whole series of actions. When the aurors who had been called in had finally cornered the man and stunned him after a fierce battle, a plan that was horrifying had been uncovered, one that would if not stopped almost certainly have resulted in the resurrection of a particular Dark Lord who everyone had thought was long gone.

Everyone except his followers, of whom there seemed to be far too many, and Harry, of course.

Quite a lot had come out in the aftermath of that little revelation. The basilisk, the diary, the whole concept of something called a horcrux… That had made a lot of people very, very nervous.

For good reason. She'd managed to find a couple of books in the library that had been overlooked when someone, probably either Riddle or Dumbledore, or both, had gone through it and removed everything on the subject. They didn't give much in the way of details, luckily for her own peace of mind, but they told her enough to make her think they'd had a very lucky escape.

And wonder if there were more of the damn things out there. Riddle, despite his many, many, many serious flaws, was a legitimate magical prodigy, a true genius in the subject. He was also utterly without a moral compass, she felt, and extremely paranoid.

She knew that were she in his position, she wouldn't have stopped at one. Or possibly three, if you counted Quirrell, and that horrible little homunculus that Wormtail had been bowing and scraping to.

The only good thing about the whole sorry episode was that when Madame Bones and her people had finished ripping the fake Moody's mind to pieces, they'd managed to use what they learned to trap the traitor and his master, kill the latter, capture the former, and as a result clear Harry's godfather's name.

The poor man was going to need a lot of treatment to recover, she thought sadly. But he was at least out of that foul prison and at no risk of returning.

However, even this victory hadn't really changed Harry's fortunes for long. The Prophet still had it in for him for some damn reason, the Ministry didn't like him either, and the fickle public were quick to believe any rumor started blaming him for whatever new problem came up. And there were still a lot of Death Eaters on the loose, many of the more dangerous ones including Draco's father and aunt having been warned somehow before the Aurors came for them.

No, the problem certainly wasn't over yet, she was sure. And somehow it still revolved around her best friend.

Watching Ron pace around and have his face go nearly the same color as his hair, she pondered an idea that had been percolating in the back of her mind since she'd gone home at Christmas, a couple of months ago. Having done all her holiday homework, and some more that she set herself, she'd finally run out of things to read and dipped into the mundane books around the house, settling in the end on her father's old science fiction collection. With the speed she read, she'd gone through the entire thing by the time she went back to school.

And one story in particular had given her an unnerving idea.

One she wasn't certain was possible, but one that if it was, pointed her towards a way to rid the world of that suppurating pimple known as Tom Riddle.

A fairly horrifying way, true, especially for a wizard, but considering what she'd seen over the years, and learned since that Halloween, one she was becoming convinced was something she'd have no real problem using.

Although, she was going to have to be very careful, and make absolutely certain no one ever found out what she'd done. If they did… It wouldn't be good.

Closing her book, she started making notes on a spare piece of parchment in the shorthand her mother had taught her years ago, knowing it was unreadable to anyone else in the castle. She was going to have to do a lot of research, find the materials… and where was she going to get a piece of skin with a Dark Mark on it?

A glance at the fulminating Ron Weasley gave her the answer. She started smiling grimly.

"Um… Hermione?" Harry said, making her look at her. Ron was staring, having stopped waving his arms and working himself up into a state.

"Yes, Harry?" she said.

"Why… are you smirking like Bellatrix when she's in a particularly dangerous mood?" he asked very carefully.

"Bloody hell, Harry, that's terrifying," Ron muttered a moment later.

Hermione tried to look innocent. "I have no idea what you mean, Harry," she said calmly. "I just thought of something funny, that's all. Never mind. Now, Ron, have you finished the essay Professor McGonagall set today? It's due tomorrow afternoon, you know."

Ron sighed loudly. "Merlin, Hermione, do you ever stop thinking about schoolwork?"

She raised an eyebrow at him in the manner of the aforementioned professor, causing him to take a step back. "She'd doing it again, Harry," he mumbled. "Make her stop."

"Books, Ron," she directed, pointing her quill at the pile on the table next to the couch. "Come on, I know you can do it."

"You're not going to shut up about it, are you?" he grumbled.

She smiled sweetly at him. "What do you think?"

"That you're weird," he retorted with a frown.

Nevertheless, he sat down, picked up the relevant book, and opened it, causing her to look approving before she went back to her own work.

Now, where was she going to find a material strong enough to take the stress, she wondered. A quick calculation showed her that it would be incredible.

'Hmm. I know someone who might be able to help,' she thought. 'If I can get my hands on that document...'

This was going to be more complex than she'd thought.

Good.

She liked a challenge.

Hermione was ready by Easter, at least for the initial stages of her plan. Public opinion waxed and waned, while Death Eater attacks continued then lapsed. It was clear to her, and she presumed the people whose job it really was to deal with the threat, that Riddle, or part of him, was still out there somewhere. It proved to her that he had made more horcruxes.

It also was taking a terrible toll on poor Harry. The visions that the Dark Fuckwit was somehow responsible for sending her friend caused him horrible nightmares and sleepless night after sleepless night. She felt helpless over her inability to help, angry at Dumbledore and the authorities who seemed perfectly happy to use Harry's notoriety for their own purposes yet failed to back him when it was most needed, and furious beyond sanity at Riddle himself.

The creature had to be stopped.

Everyone seemed to expect Harry to be the one to do it. She had a growing suspicion that he himself expected to die in the process. It would explain the constant air of depression he emitted these days.

That said, his home situation was undoubtedly responsible for much of this. Even now she didn't know for sure what happened when he returned to Privet Drive, but she had a shrewd idea that if she ever found out, she was going to do something awful to those Dursley people.

All this had left her more determined than ever to try her plan. If it worked… one way or another the problem of he-who-is-a-pain-in-the-arse would be over. If it didn't work… well, hopefully she'd survive it, but that was why she was going to do it a long way from anyone and anything she valued, by herself.

And, of course, that kept any other wizard or witch from discovering what she was going to try. She didn't much fancy the repercussions if it actually performed the way she hoped it would. It was vital that no one know who was responsible, or how it was done.

Ever.

Flipping through her notebook, she checked once more that she had everything required for this first part of the operation. It had taken a little light thievery of Harry's invisibility cloak, careful timing to ensure that Dumbledore and his familiar were both away for several hours, and an absolutely hair-raising flight on a broom, something that was still giving her palpitations when she thought about it. However, she'd been successful, managing to get into, and out of, the headmaster's office without anyone noticing. Not even the portraits had seen anything.

Luckily her guess as to where the paperwork would be had been accurate, and a very quick whispered copy spell had given her a duplicate, while the original went back into the drawer. Now, she pulled out the parchment and looked at it yet again, surprised at the simplicity of the operation detailed on it. Once couldn't even really call it a ritual. It was more akin to calling a phone number, not entirely surprising considering where it had come from. As far as she could tell it wasn't strictly speaking magic at all and wouldn't trip any of the Ministry underage magic alarms, although she was still slightly apprehensive. But it was worth the risk, small as it was.

Knowing that her parents were out visiting friends and unlikely to return for at least three hours, she moved her wand in a small loop, concentrating on the result she was after. A flash of light made her blink.

A pause of a few seconds was followed by a beep, then a male voice said in a professional tone, "BBFO Interdimensional helpline, how may I direct your call?", the voice emanating from nowhere obvious.

"Ah… Hello? My name is Hermione Granger," she said a little uncertainly, somewhat surprised that it had actually worked. "I'm trying to get in contact with Ianthe, please? We met a while ago when she visited my school with Saurial."

"Certainly, Miss Granger, please hold and I'll transfer your call," the voice said, sounding a little warmer. A short snatch of unfamiliar but tuneful music played out of thin air, making her smile a little.

The music stopped and a voice she recognized spoke. "Hermione Granger? Ah, yes, I remember. The Great Burner Adventure of Hogwarts, right?"

"That's it," she smiled. "I need some advice, and possibly some help. I was hoping you'd be willing to aid me. It's quite important."

"Well, we don't have an official policy for such things, but we're always open to interesting new experiences," the voice of the large violet reptile replied with a definitely laugh in it. "What's the problem?"

"A homicidal dark wizard who apparently can't be killed," she said.

"Ah. One of those. They're always a nuisance. Do you have a plan, or are you looking for some form of wizard-repellent?"

She laughed for a moment. "No, I have a plan, I think. But I need a second opinion and I can't talk to any of the wizards here. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I even mention my idea, I'll be… disappeared… or something like that. It's a bit radical and the British Wizarding World is nothing if not conservative. To excess, really."

"I understand. Magic isn't my field of expertise, but I know a fair amount about it and people who know a lot more. Tell me what your idea is and I'll see if it makes any sense."

"Thank you," Hermione replied gratefully, checking the time on the clock on the mantelpiece. Plenty of time yet. Sitting down in a comfortable chair, she started outlining her idea, causing Ianthe to chuckle more than once in the next half hour.

"Sneaky. And vicious. I like that. Hmm. Hold on, I need to talk to Saurial," Ianthe commented when she was finished.

"All right," she replied, relieved at the opportunity to get a drink of water for her dry throat. The music came back, for a couple of minutes this time, causing her to start humming along with it.

It was quite catchy, she thought.

When it stopped, she put her glass down and sat up again, her pen poised over her notebook, just in case. "Hermione?"

"Still here."

"Great. Look, I talked it over with Saurial and Metis, they think it will work. Magic in your world is a little odd, most places it wouldn't do what you want, despite what your story claimed. But because of the way your wizard's magic seems to operate, it should end up doing exactly what you think it will. But you're going to need some special equipment, the stuff you were thinking of using is nowhere near strong enough to handle the load. It would fail catastrophically and the end result would be… rather loud."

Ianthe's voice was very dry for that last bit.

"Not something you'd want to be near, believe me. Metis' calculations for the damage are pretty impressive. Anyway, Saurial is just making what you need. Pro bono, it seems like a decent thing to do. As a precaution the device will time out in six months, or after one use, so it doesn't fall into the wrong hands, OK? So you either have to use it by then, or call me for another one."

"Thank you, very much indeed, Ianthe," Hermione said with true gratitude. "This is far more than I expected."

"Hey, you seem like a good kid, and smart too. Dark wizards are a pain in the ass on a good day. Saurial herself has experience with that sort of thing and grumbles about it when it comes up." Ianthe sounded amused again. "Let me know how it goes. I've included a couple of things in the package that should help you get your material component as well. Instructions are in there too."

"That's incredibly generous of you all," she managed.

"No problem, it's an interesting little example of applied magitech. When you finish your schooling, get in touch, we might have some work for you."

"I think I'd like that," she smiled.

"So do I. OK, the package is ready, we're sending it through."

An orange-glowing hole in space opened up, a box about two feet on a side dropping through onto the carpet, then the hole disappeared again. It had taken mere seconds, although she was still gaping. "There you go. Good luck, and be careful."

"Thank you again, Ianthe."

Hermione looked at the box with wonder.

"You're welcome, Hermione. Bye."

"Bye."

The very faint background sound that had accompanied whatever magic or technology had allowed her to speak to the great lizard stopped, showing that the link was no more. Standing up, the bushy-haired girl bent and picked up the surprisingly heavy box, taking it to the dining room table and using a sharp knife to slit the tape holding it closed. Peeling back the flaps, she started taking things out of it, inspecting each of them with huge interest and massive admiration for the skill of the one who'd made them.

Assembling the parts, she looked at the result, then smiled in a nasty manner, before picking up the stack of paper that had accompanied the box, settling down to read, nodding every now and then.

Those lizards were good. They'd thought of several things after only minutes that she'd missed in months.

When she finished the instructions, she looked at the items in front of her again, then carefully packed everything away into the box again. It would go into her trunk to be taken with her when she went back after the holidays.

There was still some work to do, which carried a risk, but with what she now had, she felt it wasn't going to be beyond her. Humming that tune under her breath, she headed up to her bedroom carrying the box and wondering if Riddle would feel anything. She hoped so.

The only thing Severus Snape had as warning was a faint pop sound from behind him, and a sharp sting in the middle of his back. He was just in the process of turning when the world went away.

Hermione looked at what she was holding with disgust, but swallowed her bile, slipped it into a charmed preservation container, then bent over the unconscious Potions professor and stuck the small gray-white circle on his exposed arm. Watching for a moment to make sure it was operating correctly, she nodded to herself, adjusted the small device she was holding, aimed, and pressed the button. There was another pop, then the thing crumbled to dust which flowed between her fingers, as the instructions had said would happen. Brushing the remains off on Snape's robe, she studied him, wishing she could give him a swift kick in the ribs, before she turned and hurried off, making sure Harry's cloak was tightly wrapped around her.

She needed to get it back to him before he woke up, although considering the amount of sleeping potion she'd snuck into his supper, that would take a while.

Waking abruptly, Snape looked wildly around. Why the hell was he lying on the floor in a dark and chilly part of the castle, half-way between the Great Hall and his quarters? And why did his arm itch? And why was he so ungodly hungry?

He never found out the answer to the first question. The second would be answered when he undressed and found, to his utter astonishment, bewilderment, and joy, that the Dark Mark that had plagued him half his life had vanished.

The third would also remain unanswered, but become irrelevant as he got up, brushed himself down, and stomped off towards the kitchens in search of a seriously large midnight snack.

It would be nearly an hour before he discovered his wand was missing.

Finally everything was set. Hermione was ready to execute her plan, after months of preparation, some very unpleasant work with a skinning knife and some preservatives, vast amounts of research that had left her exhausted since she was also determined not to slack off on her normal studies, and some help from an unusual friend.

She'd taken her exams, hopefully done well, and gone home for the summer, saying her goodbyes to her friends. Not that there were a huge number of them, but Harry hadn't pulled away when she hugged him, and Ron had actually stopped eating for a moment to wish her a good summer and invite her over to the Burrow at some point. Luna had looked at her for several seconds, smiled, and told her that lizards were interesting creatures, but could be dangerous if they stepped on you.

Slightly puzzled, Hermione had merely nodded and wished the odd little blonde a good holiday. She'd tracked Neville down in the greenhouses and chatted for a little while before they'd all made their way down to the train station.

Now, three days after arriving home, she was on the point of either succeeding in ridding them of a particularly turbulent wizard, or failing utterly and having to go back without anything to show for it.

It had taken her considerable effort to locate a suitably isolated place to put her plan into effect, as she needed somewhere far away from either magical or mundane interference, but after much research she'd found an abandoned factory on the edge of town that was at least two miles from any witnesses. Having managed to persuade her parents that she was going into London to visit some bookshops and that she could do it alone, she'd taken a different train to a different station, then a taxi which had dropped her off in the middle of nowhere.

It would be a long walk back to a point she could catch the train back, but she wouldn't be burdened with the backpack she had her equipment in on the return journey, only the pack itself.

Pulling a torch out of the pack, she flicked it on, then leaned on the old door to the side of the large decaying building she was standing in front of, having slipped under the elderly wire fence surrounding the site. Insects buzzed and chirped in the grass surrounding the place, birds calling in the trees, but aside from that and the very faint sounds of distant traffic on the motorway a few miles away, she was utterly alone. As far as she'd been able to find out, no one had visited this place in years.

The door resisted for a moment, then creaked and swung open with a splintering sound as one of the hinges tore out of the ancient wood. Sticking her light into the gap she panned it around, then went in after it. Half an hour of careful exploration later, she was sure she was alone, and had found a perfect spot to set everything up. In the middle of the building was some form of workshop, with a store-room that had a metal door. It was completely empty, holes in the cement floor showing where shelves had been removed years before, but the door was solid and had a hasp she could put the padlock she'd brought along onto.

She'd been cunning, purchasing a new lock for the shed, then replacing the old one with that and purloining the original, so she had a functional but suitably old looking lock for this purpose. Just in case anyone ever checked.

She'd also nicked all the keys for it, just to be sure.

And was wearing vinyl gloves, having wiped all the fingerprints off everything she had with her.

One couldn't be too careful.

Now, she put the pack down on an old piece of cardboard moldering on the floor, bending down and pulling parts out of it. She quickly assembled the components into their final form, giving the heavy gleaming wheel in the middle of it a flick with her finger. It rotated smoothly, completely silently. She had no idea what on earth it was made of, the gray metal was much too heavy to be anything natural, but it was also apparently basically indestructible, so ideal for her purposes.

Taking the section of preserved skin she'd peeled from the severed forearm of her Potions teacher, she carefully rolled it up and pushed it into the hollow axle of the wheel, screwing the cap on afterwards. Using the wand she'd stolen from Snape at the same time and had used to cut his arm off with, she inscribed a few simple runes on the base of the very basic machine she'd put together. The entire thing was almost stupidly straightforward in its operation and construction.

Lowering the cover over the small but heavy wheel, she checked everything carefully, then nodded in satisfaction. It was ready.

But would it work?

"Only one way to find out," she mumbled, giving her stolen wand a flick, then prodding the first rune with it. Magic flared and the wheel began to turn.

She smiled, slowly and malevolently.

"Brilliant," Hermione said in a low voice. "Right, then, Tommy boy, let's see how you like this, shall we?"

The wheel was slowly but surely picking up speed, the frictionless bearings silent, but the sound of air over the thing making a faint whoosh. After a moment's consideration, she cast a number of silencing charms over the whole thing, nodding when the sound stopped, then left the room having picked everything up and made sure she hadn't left any traces behind that could identify her. Pulling out her padlock she snapped it closed on the old hasp, tugged on it, nodded happily, and went home.

Behind her, in the pitch dark of the old abandoned store-room in the middle of the factory, the wheel spun faster.

And faster.

And faster.

Amelia Bones looked at the parchment she was holding, then raised her eyes to meet those of her second in command. "What the hell?" she asked.

Kingsley shrugged.

"All I can tell you is in that report."

"Completely drained of magic? How on earth was that done?"

"No one has the faintest idea. Every one of them died from total magic exhaustion. More or less all at the same time as far as we can determine, too. They all had Dark Marks as well, which appeared to have burst into flames. Witnesses said that the victims screamed, grabbed their arms, then just fell over. Most of them were dead before anyone could do anything."

"And Potter?"

"He collapsed in the middle of Diagon Alley, the healers say he had some sort of seizure, but they expect him to make a full recovery. It must be connected somehow, it happened at the same time, but the boy himself can't remember anything and he certainly wasn't a Death Eater. No sign of a Dark Mark, obviously. The goblins are all pissy about something that happened in the Lestrange Vault at what must have also been the same time, but they're not saying what it was, just that there was a security breach and they're investigating."

"That is… worryingly peculiar," Bones muttered, reading the report a second time.

"I agree. But no one can explain any of it. All we know is that every single Death Eater we've been looking for is now dead as a kipper, not to mention dozens of ones we didn't know about. We have reports from France, Spain, Bulgaria, and several other places of similar events happening, although the bulk of them are in Britain. Looks like either Riddle did something that backfired badly, or someone took care of the problem for us. Personally, I don't care either way."

"No, I can't say I'll lose much sleep over it myself," she replied, putting the report down. "But some of these names are very concerning. How did we miss them?"

"Almost certainly due to collusion with various people high up in the Ministry," he said with a frown. "I expect you could name names the same as I could."

"Yes, I suspect you're right," she sighed. "Well, nothing for it, we have to clean house. This is a good start, but no matter what the cause, we need to take advantage of the opportunity we've been handed. Get Tonks, anyone else you can personally vouch for, and we'll draw up a plan of attack. We'll start with our department. When that's definitely not compromised, the Ministry as a whole needs a good spring cleaning, I think."

"It's the middle of summer," he pointed out.

"All the more reason to get to work, then," she said, smiling suddenly. "Let's see if we can fix some of our more egregious problems before the children go back to school, shall we?"

He smiled back, then left to start on his orders. Alone in her office, the head of the DMLE looked at the report, wondering what had happened and who was responsible.

It seemed entirely likely she'd never find out, unfortunately.

"So what did you do that summer after the OWLs?" Harry asked, sitting down beside the woman who was still his best friend and handing her one of the cups of tea he was holding. She looked at him, accepting the cup, then closed her book.

"Do?" she asked, her voice neutral.

"Do. I know you, Hermione. I've known you for twelve years." Harry gazed at his companion. "You were the only person who wasn't surprised about what happened. You're also the only one I know who's smart enough to have pulled something like that off. And you have a ruthless streak in you that's terrifying, that wouldn't balk at doing what needed to be done, when you'd convinced yourself it was actually necessary. You're the one who finished off the Death Eaters, and Riddle, I'm certain of that, but I can't work out how you did it."

"The Aurors are still looking for the cause of that event," she said thoughtfully, raising the cup to her lips and sipping it, while gazing across it into his eyes. "So are the Unspeakables. Whoever did it could get into a lot of trouble if anyone found out. They killed over two hundred people."

"Over two hundred murderers," Harry pointed out. "After the law was changed in 98, being a member of the Voldemort Death Cult became a capital crime. Even if the person responsible came forward now, they'd be pardoned although it predated the law change, I know that for a fact."

"Perhaps the person who did it, assuming it wasn't just an accident, doesn't want the method to become known?" She smiled a little at him. "It might be considered a Dark Art. Or simply too dangerous to become widely disseminated. Like the secret to making a mundane atomic bomb, for example."

"Hmm." He watched her drink some more tea. "I suppose that's a good point. I'm still curious, though."

She was silent for some time. "Funny thing, really, the way the magical world is so dismissive of mundane knowledge. Even though the non-magical world has achieved things that are far beyond the wizarding one, we still tend to treat them like simpletons at best. Most of us, anyway. It's a dangerous thing, underestimating someone, without any good reason."

Harry nodded slowly. He was well aware of her feelings on the matter.

"Have you ever heard of sympathetic magic?" she asked.

"Old magic, right? Before formal spell work. Some sort of ritual?"

"Sort of. It's primitive, by our standards. Like calls to like, part of the whole is equivalent to the whole, symbols standing in for the thing itself. The principal of contagion is another version. So is what is popularly known as a voodoo doll. They all rely on symbology and intent. No real spell in our modern terms." She was watching him now. "Thing is, though… it works. If you know the trick to it, which isn't hard. Weirdly enough, the mundanes know this more than the magical world does. I don't know why."

"All right… I'm not sure where you're going with this, but all right."

"All the Dark Marks were exactly identical, you know."

Harry looked at his friend, then nodded slowly. He was beginning to get a suspicion of what she was talking about in a roundabout way.

"All representing something, a link to a greater power. Riddle. His horcruxes were similar in a way, only a deeper connection, because they were actually part of him once. Arguably they still were even when they were in their containers."

She reached out and traced the barely visible line of his scar with one finger, then dropped her hand.

"All those people, and things, all linked together by magic. What happens if you pull the magic out of the thing in the middle?"

His eyes widened slightly. "You pull it out of… all of them."

"That's certainly what one theory would tell you."

"But how would you pull out the magic?" he asked after a long pause.

Rather than answer, she got up, going to the bookcase on the other side of the room. A brief search produced a book which she brought back and handed to him. He looked at the brightly colored cover, the work a novel from the mundane world.

"Who is this Niven person?"

"A science fiction author. A very good one. My father loved his stuff." Taking the book, she flipped through it, stopping on one page, then handed it back. "That explains part of it."

He read the story carefully. When he finished, he raised his eyes to meet hers, his tea long forgotten.

"Merlin..." he breathed.

"It wouldn't work if it wasn't for the fact that our form of magic relies on an internal source, the so called magical core," she said, leaning back and closing her eyes. "That story got some of it wrong, but the idea was sound. All I… I mean all one, would need to do would be to set up something that would use magic up as fast as possible, without any limitations, and link it to the magical source in question. A carefully preserved, active Dark Mark, for example, would serve as the link, if a simple ritual was followed. A dynamic spell to generate ever increasing motion would work very nicely as a power sink, too."

"In the story the spell also held the device together," he noted. "It exploded when the magic ran out."

"That would be very dangerous," she said quietly. "The amount of kinetic energy involved from draining the magic from over two hundred wizards and witches released all at once would be catastrophic. A better solution would be a material strong enough to handle the speed and allow it to gradually dissipate over time."

"Is there such a material?"

"If you know who to ask, I believe so," she said, opening her eyes and looking at him.

"Where would… one… get a Dark Mark from?" he wondered. The answer struck him suddenly as she smiled in an evil manner. "Snape?! That's what happened to him! And why he didn't die like the others."

"I suppose it's possible that someone could remove the Mark and preserve it," Hermione nodded. "You'd probably have to take the arm too, though. Messy work."

He decided not to ask.

"Anyway, I'm tired, Harry, it's late. Thank you for the tea. I need to get some sleep, I have a long way to go tomorrow."

"One day you'll have to tell me where you disappear to every summer," he smiled, holding her hand.

"One day, I probably will, Harry." She leaned forward and kissed him. "One day. Good night." Standing, she went into her bedroom and closed the door softly. He smiled after her, then took the teacups into the kitchen, washed them, and let himself out.