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So far... October, 1987. The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) helped Neville display his first magic, and is recruiting supporters to root out Ministry corruption. Read on...

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Chapter 12

The Worst Sin


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Green-eyed Growing Pains

Two weeks passed during which Neville visited the Blacks twice and Hermione taught him more spells to practise with his new wand. His confidence seemed to thrive with the magic though he was still rather coy in Hermione's presence, and, in addition, he was sometimes sullen and resentful of the extra attention she gave Harry.

"Why can't I do Flipendo too?" said Neville, staring at his own shoes.

"Because Harry's had more practice than you." Hermione frowned. "Look, it's not a serious attacking spell, just a push really. Harry's using it from the back to imagine pushing away any threat from the side – it could just as easily be red sparks. Look, none of these simple trainer spells are real attacking or defensive spells, we're just using them as an introduction to strategies we'll use later in duels and so on."

"So then why can't he push from the front and I'll act as guard from the rear for a change? Then you'll see how good I can do it as well."

Hermione firmed her lips for a while, then relented. "Okay, no problem. We can do it that way instead."

Is he jealous of Harry? Is he trying to impress me? Hermione wondered. All Neville needed, she wrote in her action log, was to get used to the company of more girls. Perhaps in the new year she might find a way to bring Hannah and Ginny into their growing circle of friendship – the boy had lacked company of his own age for too long.

Hermione sighed. Magical society was spread too far and too thin, with very few communities where young witches and wizards could make natural friends. Ironically, Pure-blood supremacists were much to blame for the dwindling population by attacking, isolating, or driving away Muggle-borns and Squibs whose descendants might otherwise replenish the losses. Hopefully, that trend might be reversed if dark witchery could be reduced. Meanwhile, she considered, a little encouragement is never wasted...

"Well done, Neville! You're getting better every week."

Neville's face glowed with pleasure. "So... can I come to the front again with you?"

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Other Lives... Other Deaths

On the fifteenth of the month, Hermione let Farrimond and Aculus into the most protected place in the house – the spare bedroom she had made her headquarters. When she rejoined her parents downstairs in the lounge, they were watching the evening's weather forecast on television.

"There's nothing on the TV about a hurricane tonight," said Mrs Granger, as she turned down the volume on the remote. "Are you quite sure about this, Hermione?"

"Yes, there'll be destruction over a wide area. Southeast England will get the worst of it. Don't worry, I've enchanted the roof and the TV aerial to protect them, but if you get scared in the night, you can both come in my bed."

"Cheeky!" grinned Mr Granger. "Still, it's handy having a witch as a daughter."

Don't worry, thought Hermione, grimly, I won't be there.

Mrs Granger must have detected the flicker of anxiety that had crossed her daughter's face. "Hermione? Is something bad going to happen?"

Hermione shook her head. "A lot of people will be hurt and–"

"Hermione! You can't save everyone! Promise me you won't do anything foolish!" cried her mother.

The young girl kicked her heels and stared at the floor.

Mr Granger rose to his feet. "We're serious, Hermione. If there are really going to be gales over a hundred miles an hour then it will be extremely dangerous on the streets. Nature is not something to be taken lightly." He frowned, waiting for her to respond.

"Doctor Saunders is going to die."

There was a frozen silence.

"Saunders? Our Doctor Saunders?" said her father. "The one who sent you to the loony bin?"

Anne sighed. "He wasn't to know what would happen, was he? And it was a mental health care centre, Edward."

He pulled a face. "That's what I said – a loony bin. Saunders should have warned us what might happen."

"But he doesn't deserve to die!"

Hermione said, "No, but life isn't fair. He'll be killed when he returns from visiting Mr Ross. His car will be scooped over by a sudden ninety-mile an hour crosswind as he turns into Hazel Green Road – you know, where the road is quite steep? He won't be wearing a seat belt so he'll break his neck."

"What! But he's a doctor! He should know better!" Mrs Granger stared at Hermione and clicked off the television.

"I know – though with local night calls he doesn't have far to go and there's usually nobody about. It's a bad habit he's got into. He just wants to get home and fall into bed. He hardly – Dad, what are you doing!"

Mr Granger was hurrying out into the hallway.

"You can't ring him!" cried Hermione, running after him with her mother immediately behind. "Dad! He'll think you're crazy! What will you tell him?"

Her father hesitated, phone in hand. "At least I can tell him to buckle up!"

"What good would that do! His car rolled and flew all the way down Hazel Green and smashed into the post office wall!"

Mrs Granger seized her daughter by the shoulder. "What do you mean, 'it rolled' – it's already happened?"

Hermione winced at the slip up she had made. "Will tumble down there, I meant. In my vision I see it as already happened."

"I'll call the police," said Mr Granger.

"YOU MUSTN'T!" cried Hermione. "Don't you think I've already thought this over for weeks? You can't inform the police that Doctor Saunders is going to have an accident before it happens, can you! And you shouldn't tell them he's been seen driving at night without a seat belt either – they'll ask when and why and so on. And what about poor old Mr Ross if he can't get Doctor Saunders quickly? You know he has a problem with his heart. The whole situation could get messy very quickly and still you might not save Saunders."

"Then Ross will have to call an ambulance!"

"THERE WON'T BE ANY AMBULANCES!" shouted Hermione. "Don't you understand yet? Most vehicles will be grounded during the worst of the storm! There'll be winds peaking at one-twenty to one-thirty miles an hour in some areas!"

Very slowly, Mr Granger lowered the phone back onto its cradle.

Hermione continued, "That's why Mr Ross was calling Doctor Saunders – he's only a few streets away from him."

"What then?" croaked Mr Granger. "What can I do?"

"The doctor must first treat Mr Ross. Then I'm going to cast a magical protective shield on Upper Hazel Green, just above where he turns down on his way back home."

"YOU are not going out there and that's final!" snapped Mr Granger. "You can't go riding your bike in a hurricane in the middle of the night – I'll go!"

"NO! NO! NO! You might die! Tell him Mum! Don't let him go, Mum!"

"Edward! You can't!"

"Dad! If you go, I'm going too – you won't be able to stop me!"

She flew at her father and passed right through both him and the hall table, phone and all. He stumbled away in shock as she rematerialised.

Mrs Granger shrieked in horror. "Don't do things like that, Hermione! Have you any idea how frightening it is to us!"

"Sorry, but..."

Mr Granger ran his hands through his hair and strode back into the lounge, deep in thought. Finally, he said, "Very well, you'll come with me in the car. You won't do anything rash. You won't do anything without consulting me first, understand?"

"Dad, then I'll have you to worry about you as well as Doctor Saunders. I'm safer on my own."

"Listen, young lady, read my lips! You. Are. Not. Going. Out. There. Alone! Get it?"

Hermione sighed and considered her options.

"Well?" said her father, folding his arms.

"I'm thinking about it." She gnawed her knuckles and stared at the carpet.

Mr Granger groaned. "What's to think about? You're not going alone, I said!" Wild thoughts ran through his head of stopping her pocket money or giving her extra chores. Any discipline seemed petty compared to the life she was trying to save. "You're just not," he added limply.

But Hermione wasn't listening and began musing aloud. "You know, it may be better if I do take the car. I might have to wait thirty or forty minutes and I can't sustain immateriality and invisibility that long. I can't put up an invisible shield until the last minute or anyone watching from a window might see debris collide with it – or worse, another vehicle might crash into it. In the car I can charm a shield against it for much longer."

She looked up then. "Can I borrow your keys, Dad?"

He blinked as he felt his keyring trying to tug out of his back pocket. Before he could grab it, the keys had flown threw the air and into Hermione's hand.

"You can drive? When? When could you have learnt – you're eight years old!" He turned to his wife. "Anne? What's going on?"

But Anne was staring at her daughter. "They're not just visions you have, are they, Hermione? You've lived them before."

"I'm not letting Doctor Saunders die, and that's flat!" said Hermione, pocketing her dad's keys.

"Answer me!" cried her mother.

Hermione hesitated. "Yes... sort of."

"I knew it! I knew there was more to it! You sounding so grown up!" She looked back and forth between Hermione and her husband. "Has Harry lived before as well?"

"Mum, everyone has! YOU have!" Hermione gasped at her own outburst and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Mrs Granger became absolutely still. She bit on a knuckle and began trembling as the truth of her daughter's statement sank in. Edward sank down onto the sofa with a look of dreadful shock on his face. Nobody spoke for a while.

Finally, Mr Granger said, "What... what happened to... us?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yes we DO want to know!" flared Mrs Granger. "No more secrets, Hermione!"

"It was an insufficiency of secrecy that got you..."

"What?"

Hermione let out a long breath then guided her mother to sit down on the sofa next to her father. "I concealed your memories, gave you new identities, made you forget all about me so–"

"NO!" cried Mrs Granger. Edward put his arm around her shoulder.

"I magically convinced you that you wanted to move to Australia and start a new life. Even I didn't know exactly where you'd go."

"Why, Hermione? Why?" said her mother.

"Because I had to help Harry destroy Voldemort – the dark wizard I told you about? He would have... no, he did send someone here – one of his... Death Eaters they call them."

"Here? What do you mean, 'here'? To Elmbridge? This house? He sent one of his own – ?" said Mr Granger.

"Death Eaters, yes," said Hermione.

"–to our home? Why?"

"To find out if you knew where I was. You were already gone though."

"Rrr...right. So..." He fidgeted on his seat. "So, you mean... later, when Vvv...Voldemort was dead, we met up again?"

Hermione shook her head. She pulled up a pouffe and sat down before them as close as she could. There were tears in her eyes. "After the war I tracked you down to King Island – that's part of Tasmania but... but I was too late. The enemy had found you first, you see. I can only suppose that before you left England you mentioned where you were going to Mrs Arkwright because she was found murdered too."

"Murdered? So... we were killed as well?" said Mrs Granger softly.

Hermione began crying as she recollected the awful scene where she had found their bodies. "T-Tortured ... m-mutilated, but you couldn't tell the Death Eater what she wanted to know – where Harry and I had gone. Then... th-then she killed you out of spite to get back at me." She shook with the heaviness of her sobbing. "I'm s-sorry, Mum. I'm sorry, Dad – I couldn't s-save you. I couldn't save you."

Mrs Granger jumped to her feet to cuddle Hermione. Mr Granger put his arms around them both.

"But it's not going to happen again, I promise you that," Hermione said fiercely, as she used hate to overcome her emotion. "I know who did it. She'll pay big time."

"Oh, Hermione..." her mother cooed softly, rocking her back and forth in her arms. Unwilling to either encourage or discourage her daughter, she knew no other way to respond.

"But payback must wait a few years. Tonight, we have a life we can save."

She gave her dad his keys back and they all sat down to wait through the night...

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A Father's Heroism

The three of them sat worriedly talking and drinking cups of tea as the late evening yielded to a night of growing winds, and in turn those winds gave way to gales, and finally, the strongest of the gales were overcome by the terrifying fury of the real storm front bringing rain that seethed and hissed against the windows. The hurricane blustered and shrieked and howled about as if seeking entry through the house defences. Clatters and bumps, crashes and bangs were heard near and far but none of the Grangers fancied drawing a curtain to peer out through that oh-so-thin sheet of glass window. In the early hours, as the wailing, thunderous commotion reached a new high, they had to raise their voices to be heard.

"Hermione, tell – again – time – Saunders set out?" shouted Mr Granger.

Hermione mouthed and yelled back, "As far – remember – news – paper – time of death – three-fifteen – ish."

Grimacing, Mr Granger pointed at his watch and shouted inaudibly.

Hermione nodded and put her fingers to her throat to amplify her voice. "We'd better leave in the next twenty minutes!" She wasn't looking forward to it.

But Mr Granger got up immediately to check and prepare the car. The others followed him through the side door into the garage. He threw a large flashlight onto the back seat then briefly pondered a coil of towing rope hanging on the wall before moving his toolbox from the boot to the backseat of the car. By the time he'd secured every loose item in the garage he could think of, they were almost ready to go.

As she went back inside the house through the connecting door, Anne Granger tearfully shouted at them both to be careful then Hermione and her father resigned themselves to waiting the last few minutes in the car.

Side by side, the two of them watched the flickering street illumination lighting the rainwater as it sprayed and pooled under the juddering, banging garage door; it was their only clue as to the monster they might face outside. The noise in the confines of the garage was overwhelming. Barely one minute had passed when they both looked at one another, nodded, and braced themselves. Hermione cast an unlocking spell on the garage outer door and as it banged upward the car shook violently with the impact of the ferocious pressure wind-tunnelling around the small space. A heavy metal shelf unit was tilting and screeling across the concrete floor precariously over them...

"GO! GO! GO!" screamed Hermione, using her magic both to give extra acceleration to the car and to slam down the garage door behind them the moment they were free.

The truth was the vehicle had been practically sucked out onto the road almost before the brakes were released. After turning into the road, a powerful tail wind meant Mr Granger had to fight to slow the car down to a manageable speed. He aimed the car rather than steered, while praying he would not meet any oncoming traffic that was swerving and swinging as he was.

Shamefacedly, Hermione only then realised that during the last few hours of waiting, she had not prepared herself with a spell to stabilise and protect the car in motion. She cast a charm to fend off flying branches and tiles, but the buffeting of the storm was not so easily blocked while moving. Only when they had struggled down Upper Hazel Green from the top end, and were approaching the crossroad, did she heave a sigh of relief and take out her rarely used wand, knuckles white as she gripped it fearfully.

As arranged beforehand, Mr Granger stopped the car in the centre of the road, effectively blocking all possible traffic from passing them easily on the narrow road. For a few moments the car slid, inching down the wet road surface despite the handbrake. Leaning back over her seat, Hermione cast a blocking charm as wide as the street and as high as the roof gutters. Instantly the car sagged back on its suspension as the load eased, and the screaming din of the wind was reduced to a low-pitched, disappointed-banshee drone. A chimney pot came crashing down beside them, no doubt pulled away by the sudden, upwardly-diverted slipstream that Hermione had created. They both jerked against their seatbelts, startled by the closeness of the exploding rubble. An upper light went on in the chimneyless house at almost the moment the street lights failed and blackness shrouded everything.

Mr Granger raised his dipped headlights, peering through the sheeting rain that lashed and rivered away before him. He felt his daughter's hand gripping his arm.

"Daddy, I'm thscared..." wailed Hermione.

Mr Granger stared in horror at his daughter's face. She was just an eight-year-old kid again, frightened by a nasty storm.

Aghast, and knowing their safety depended on her magic, he shouted. "Hermione! Think ... Harry! HARRY ... POTTER, remember? ... You're ... WITCH. You've ... uuh ... you ... cast MAGIC ... spells ... yes?"

But the girl was reaching out for her father, and he felt compelled to pull her onto his lap and hold her close. He could feel her whining in fear against him as her enchanted shield began to fade...

The engine was still running. Should he put it in reverse to prevent the forward slippage he knew was inevitable?

That was when the headlights from the side street on his right caught his eye. There could only be one other person foolish enough to be out in this weather.

As the magic failed, the wind squalled more heavily, and he made a split-second decision: he let the car slide into the path of the oncoming car to block it, but the other vehicle was already beginning its turn. This, he knew, was the exact moment its driver would have been gusted to his death – perhaps Mr Granger and his daughter would be carried with him this time around. But within a combined squeal of brakes and tyre spray, Edward saw the doctor's car veer more tightly away and come to a halt with only a small angle to the wind. The Grangers' car lights shone through to the furious face of the doctor on the other side; he was making angry gestures at being cut off and at being blinded by the Grangers' headlights. At least he appeared unharmed so far.

Mr Granger knew his own car was being inched forward in tiny bursts as the full force of the hurricane pounded and howled at the back of his car. The vehicle heaved and swayed but remained aligned with the storm's direction. Not so, Saunder's car. Despite being partly shielded by the Granger vehicle, it was slowly being rotated broadside on...

As rapidly as it had squalled, the storm eased slightly and turned. It was just enough; Saunders, apparently unaware of the extreme danger he had been in, shouted one last curse, squeezed past on the pavement, then made his escape down the hill.

Edward watched him safely turn by the post office at the bottom and muttered to himself, "You ungrateful b–!" Then, remembering his terrified daughter was clinging to him like a baby monkey, he eased the car right and made slowly and cautiously for home.

After he had put Hermione to bed, Edward Granger sat beside her for a long time, listening to the storm slowly drop away and feeling thankful for having such an amazing daughter. It had been quite a night.

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Forlorn Flora

The girl named Hermione Granger crossed fingers as she quaffed her Adam Brown Polyjuice and gazed up at Crouch's bedroom window. The fate of the world depended on the man's response to her offer. He was the critical piece in a deathly jigsaw puzzle she was putting together. If he refused, then a sea of dread chaos would flood the Earth, and mankind was lost.

The dead chick at her feet and the bent weather vane gave her no cause for hope. The garden had suffered from the hurricane during the night before. The hen coop was smashed and the confused birds were pecking at a couple of worms exposed by an uprooted fence. The plants were in disarray, many permanently spoilt, and though it was all fixable in time, clearly the man had not taken her storm prophecy seriously enough.

Concealed behind the disguise, she relaxed a little. If her alter ego had queered his own pitch then it was Adam's fault, and not hers, she told herself. But deeper down, Hermione knew she herself was the impostor through and through: secrets and lies, conflicting principles, abuse of power – these were to be her daily path. Her sigh was now that of a tall, barrel-chested man but the weight of the world was borne by the heart of a little girl. Was she up to it? The next few minutes would decide.

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Taking Barty Further

"How did you know?" was Crouch's only greeting, and his arm gestured towards the window through which the grey weather still looked resentful that its night of rage was over. The dark shadows under the wizard's blurry eyes indicated he had been up all night. The man was perched on the side of his bed but it had not been slept in.

"I'm a visionary; I see many things," said Adam drifting down to float upon a chair. Crouch's wand was visible but out of its master's reach on a side cabinet so Adam released his immateriality spell. The wooden seat creaked under his sudden weight.

Barty Crouch remained silent so Adam pressed on. "You've had two weeks to consider my proposals, what conclusions have you drawn?"

"Conclusions? We have a long way to go before I start making any decisions. You mentioned two others, I want to know who they are before proceeding any further. And my son... you spoke of moving him to a more secure location. I need to know more. I won't believe it until I see it for myself. Until then, he remains here. He's safe enough in the cellar."

"You might think so, but the Quidditch World Cup Final of 1994 will be held in Britain, and Barty would persuade you to allow him to attend. He might break free of your curse."

Crouch shook his head in wonder. "You cannot know that. We haven't even decided the setting for next year yet, let alone 1994!"

"Ireland will beat Bulgaria, 170-160 give or take a broken leg or two. I have seen it happen. Viktor Krum caught the–"

"Who?"

"The Bulgarian Seeker."

"Never heard of him."

"That's because he's only eleven years old this year."

Crouch paused a moment. "Then he'll still be at school in 1994! You should do your sums before fabricating these stories."

"He'll be in his final year at Durmstrang when he begins to play professional Quidditch, and if I were inventing the future, wouldn't I come up with something more believable instead of...?" Adam swept his arm towards the dull sky visible through the window.

"...instead of a hurricane in London? Right, so you've made your point but I am not handing over my son to your care without more information. For all I know you might be a former Death Eater recruiting him for Darkrise or Black Arc. Those gangs are–"

Adam smoked away down through the floor, calling, "If that were so, your son would be long gone and you would be dead, Barty."

"Wait! Wait! Come back!" cried Crouch.

He ran to the window but there was no indication that his visitor might have left that way. He peered up into the sky but no broomstick could he see. Frowning, he turned away and began hurrying in the direction of the door but immediately jerked to a halt. On the carpet in the centre of the bedroom lay his son with the big man towering over him.

"How...? How did you get past the anti-Apparition wards on that room? The enchanted iron door? The...?" He paused as the answer occurred to him. "You went straight through the ceiling, didn't you?"

Adam nodded. "I could have handed him over to the enemy, or even to the authorities and the Dementor's Kiss, anytime I wished." Seeing the concern in Crouch's eyes, he added, "Don't worry, he's just deeply asleep – as is Winky downstairs."

Crouch came forward but only gave his boy a cursory examination. "Very well, I accept you mean no harm to us, but I still wish to view your security arrangements."

"I always intended that you do," said Adam.

They took Barty Crouch junior back down to the basement and his father threw an invisibility cloak over the sleeping form. Adam took one last look around the room. It was a spacious chamber with a modest dining area on the opposite side to the two beds. Winky the house-elf lay asleep in one of them. There were no windows and no other exits than the one through which they now returned upstairs.

"Take my arm," said Adam, once they were outside the cellar wards.

"Now we're Apparating?" Barty frowned but whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself.

He staggered slightly when they arrived in the bell tower, and his face took on a sickly pallor. "I've never... that must be the furthest I've..."

"We're not even halfway there yet. Take a minute to recover."

A gust of air refreshed them both. Crouch looked to see where it had come from, but though his expression revealed his curiosity, he did not step towards the window to look out.

"This isn't England anymore, is it?" he said dismally. "You realise that as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, my Ministry career would be over if it were revealed that I'd travelled to another country without permission?"

A deep chuckle rumbled in Adam's throat. "That would be the least of your worries if you agree to the proposals I intend to make to you. Come, take my arm again."

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No Way

"Azkaban!" wailed Crouch, the moment he felt the icy presence of Hermione's captive Dementor.

Crouch sank to his knees in the dungeon cell, despair clouding his features. He clutched his head in anguish. "Martha, Martha, I'm sorry..."

Within seconds, Adam relented and Apparated Crouch away to one of the caverns she had prepared. Here he remained on hands and knees, not yet daring to look up, but at least sensing he was free of the Dementor's influence.

"You keep performing the impossible, Brown," he gasped as he took the piece of Hestia's Pepper-up-chocolate that Adam was offering him. "We Apparated in and out of Azkaban as if it were an open street."

"Not Azkaban, but a simulation of it that I have created. Oh, the Dementor is real enough. Sorry, but you needed to experience it for a few seconds to believe me."

"But why?" He did look up now, and gazed in wonder at the large, well-lit cave in which he found himself.

"Convicted prisoners will be offered three choices: Azkaban, a roomy cell like this one, or... death – I know some prefer death as a kind of mercy killing rather than endless confinement without hope."

Staggering, Crouch forced himself up and blinked at Adam. Without words, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, then took out a large handkerchief with which he proceeded to mop his forehead. Finally, he said, "Explain."

"Our hopes for the future will take years. During that time, the dark gangs will kill many. Some of their members are already guilty of dreadful crimes. We require an interim reliable justice system as soon as possible."

"How?"

"I will take every opportunity to covertly arrest those I know have broken the law; as Minister-in-waiting, you will oversee that they receive the highest justice we can provide – and to keep me in check if necessary. I'd also hoped for a third party to balance this court but that might not be possible."

Without once taking his eyes off Adam's face, Crouch thought about this for a few moments. "You don't really need me at all, do you – except to salve your conscience?"

"Something like that," admitted Brown. "I have human emotions; I make mistakes but I will not have any hesitation in carrying out the death penalty on a justly convicted felon if it should be required."

"You'd do that? Have you no mercy?"

"I might ask you the same question! You imprisoned several suspects without trial."

Crouch's face darkened. "There was evidence that made their guilt quite clear to me! I used Veritaserum on some of them to confirm it. But a good defence counsel would never permit the truth serum to be used in court so the corrupt Wizengamot would free the accused if brought to trial. I couldn't let that happen. You can scarcely imagine some of the atrocities that took place after release by the so-called justice courts."

With a tone of great bitterness, Adam replied, "Oh, believe me, I can. I have seen what no other living person has ever seen – nor ought to. Those loathsome creatures will defile the Earth. These more-humane cells or death are the only mercy I will show them. Come..."

Adam led Crouch to view the darkened rest quarters. "Your son will be able to eat, bathe, and sleep here as well as read endlessly and take long walks for exercise. I see no reason why his mother's portrait might not also keep him company. Winky, of course, must never come here, nor any elf, for they have their own Apparition magic."

"As does my son. You will put up wards?"

"Of course."

"Even so, I fear he will find the way out."

"There is no way out; there is no 'out' to get to. Hundreds of miles of hard granite extend in all directions and many miles above us too – we are way, way below the surface."

Crouch visibly cringed as if sensing the immense weight of stone heaving and groaning in upon him. "Then where was your first way in? How did you find this place?" He strode to the nearest rockface and began pacing along, searching for an opening. "No one can Apparate to where they have never been before, nor could you even know it was here. And even if you did, surely you could not dematerialise through hundreds of miles of rock?"

"My inner vision foresaw Muggles detecting these caverns more than a century from now. I travelled nearby, Apparated across the peaks to locate the best positions from which I then descended immaterially."

"Astonishing. You are full of surprises, Mr Brown."

"Isn't it about time you started calling me Adam?"

Crouch gave a slow nod but his attention was on the grand view down the extensive cave. He shook his head. "Without the Imperious Curse, he will no doubt summon Winky to carry him out. Even if I forbid Winky, with a lifetime to contemplate, my son will find a way to use his magic – possibly create a Portkey wandlessly or become immaterial as you do. Without a controlling curse, his magic will one day rescue him."

"Barty," said Adam, softly, "I'm afraid your son will not have any magic."

A flat-topped rock stood nearby, and Crouch sank down onto it. "What did you say?" he muttered weakly. "You mean make him forget he's a wizard?"

"No, I mean I shall remove his magic. All prisoners will lose their powers once convicted. They have abused the privilege and no longer deserve to be blessed with magical abilities."

Adam could see the word 'impossible' forming once more on Barty's lips, but no sound was uttered. "How?" he croaked, finally.

"The method is so dangerous that it must remain my secret. In any event, I will not be able to achieve it until the warmer weather returns next year. I need to seek out something so deadly that I cannot speak of it to anyone else. Its implementation will be my worst sin."

Adam turned away and lowered his head. Crouch remained sitting in wonderment at this man who held so much promise and power yet clearly was struggling to reconcile his plans with his conscience. What was anyone to do but continue learning from him? He hardly dared to intrude on the silence. "And your other helpers?"

There was no response for a few moments. "A meeting will be arranged soon." The big man raised his head and looked back mournfully at Crouch. "Come, let us return..."

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Technically, it wasn't a hurricane (which are defined as tropical) that hit London in 1987 but they were hurricane-force winds. I'm not certain of every detail because I was unable to find every fact through Google. Did ambulances stop running at its height? Probably. Could a sudden 90mph crosswind overturn a car on a slope? Possibly. It's mostly my imagination so I hope it was believable.

Would it be in character for this Hermione to execute a prisoner if they requested it? A Hermione who has witnessed over a century of atrocities by them? Would it not be even more cruel to subject them to the Dementor's Kiss as Barty Crouch Sr must have done in the past? I don't know. I've not even decided if she will or even be able to execute anyone yet. But it will always be the condemned person's choice with a period of grace before the sentence is carried out.

Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

- Hippothestrowl

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