.

So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) and is recruiting supporters to root out Ministry corruption. She has shown Crouch Sr her subterranean prison but he insists on knowing more. Meanwhile, Neville is still a little nervous of girls. Now read on...

.

Chapter 13

Falling Leaves


.

Crushed

Madam Gawtley smiled in satisfaction as she glanced at the clock on the wall; the youngsters' training session was almost over. "Thank you, children. One more time..."

Harry pulled a horrible face. "Aw, Nan, do we have to? We can already do lights and things so why do–?"

"You and Neville still require basic focus practice to get best results with your magic. The training you do now will make your future lessons easier to grasp."

"But we've done it twenty times this morning already!" said Harry, glancing sideways at Neville and Hermione for support. Neville started to open his mouth but then fell quiet.

Madam Gawtley said, "So this will be twenty-one. Come on, Harry, you don't hear Neville complaining, do you?"

Harry muttered under his breath, "Only because he's scared to."

"No I'm not!" hissed Neville.

"What was that, Harry?" said the teacher, firmly.

"Only because he's too polite," sniggered Harry, nudging Hermione on his other side. She grinned. Neville's cheeks pinked a little and he looked away.

"Something you might learn from him, young man," the teacher said sternly. "You're getting a little cheeky as you grow older."

"Sorry, that's my fault, Madam," said Hermione. "I've been encouraging Harry to stand up and speak for himself."

"Very commendable. Yes, you do need to be strong against evildoers, Harry, but never forget to respect those who wish you well."

"Sorry, Nan," Harry said softly. "Sorry, Neville."

Madam Gawtley nodded her approval. "Right then. All ready? And ... deep breath ... focus... feel the magic flow up from your centre ... along your arm ... and through your wand. ... Hold it. ... And... relax."

Harry sagged theatrically flat onto the carpet with a long, weary, yawn. Madam Gawtley hid a smile by turning to summon her cloak from the stand in the corner of the room they'd set aside for classwork. "I'll see you all again in a few days, but remember to practice, won't you?"

"Yes, Madam," the children intoned together. Harry ran after his teacher at the door and gave her a goodbye hug.

After she had departed, Hermione began wondering about the teacher's gentle rebuke of Harry's behaviour. Was Harry changing now he had friends? Was she herself responsible? "Harry, I think there might be something in what she said. You need to learn to face up to any threat but don't lose sight of who your real friends are – we're here to support you."

"But all I said was–!"

"I can take care of myself!" snapped Neville. He stomped across to the corner furthest from the window and began practising his spark colours.

"Enough for now. Let's continue with our defensive training." Hermione strode into the middle of the room. "Okay, Neville, take up your position on my right. Harry you stand rear centre. I'll swing back tinglers for us to guard against."

"LUMOS!" yelled Neville, making everyone blink as he swung round with an extra bright spell to flood the room. "Why's it always Harry gets the most protection!"

Hermione gaped at the outburst, and rubbed her eyes against the glare. "Neville! We can't see what we're doing!"

"Harry this, Harry that!" continued Neville, winding his illumination up into a fierce ball that spun across the ceiling.

"It's not always Harry! I vary the way we train!" cried Hermione.

"You just see me as someone to give Harry extra protection! Well what about protecting me!" blurted Neville. He stomped towards the door, his light fading above him as he went.

"I do not!" said Hermione. "We're all–"

"YOU DO! You just said we're only here to support Harry! Who put you in charge anyway! You're just a bossy-boots!" He slammed the door on his way out.

"Neville!" Hermione's shout faded to a sigh. "I'll fetch him back." She ran to the door and pulled it open.

"No... don't... he's right," said Harry softly.

Hermione braked to a standstill in the doorway, one stride still in the air. She slowly lowered her foot and peered out into the gloom on the empty landing, listening to Neville's fading footsteps. A distant door slammed. Emptiness. She turned slowly to face her friend. "You... you think I'm bossy too?"

"Well, uuhm... a bit bossy." He looked down and began fiddling with his wand. "And you do, sort of... keep trying to over-protect me."

Hermione bit her lip to stop it quivering. "But I... but I..." she began tearfully. "I only..." She took one step backwards into the room, confused. Had she ruined their friendship by trying too hard? Was she manipulating them to be how they were before, only better-prepared?

"Harry, you laughed at Neville – said he was scared. That's what this is all about." But there was no conviction in her tone as she closed the door and returned to her friend.

"No," said Harry, "he really is nervous of girls, and even of grownup ladies like my nan – all of them except his own mum and gran. It's because he's never really spoken to any, not even seen one except across a street. Well... there were some girls but they... embarrassed him – it's their fault really. He's fine with me when we're on our own; it's just that..."

"What?"

"Well..." Harry rubbed the toe of his shoe back forth across the carpet. "It's you really, Hermione."

"Me!"

"You must have noticed he goes all squiggly when you walk in!"

"No. Well... no, not really. I mean, I don't see him any other way. I thought he was getting over his nervousness."

"He's quite tough really – more than me, anyway," Harry said earnestly. "But..."

"But what?"

"You know..."

"No, Harry, I don't."

"It's you."

"So you keep saying! What is it about me?"

"Nothing." Harry began collecting up his class books into his bag.

"Harry?"

Harry giggled. "I think he... I think he likes you."

Hermione stared at him. " He's only SEVEN! Surely you can't mean he's got a schoolboy crush...?" She shook her head vigorously.

"A what?"

"Er... I mean... he really, really likes me." Hermione groaned. This was worse than she thought.

.

Inviting The Gairs

By late November, Hermione had decided it was time to bring together the ones she considered would be amongst the most important society-shapers of the next century. Because she'd observed it before in her future life, she knew the three of them would eventually get along fine, but she expected a little hesitancy this early in their lives. Still, there was plenty of time. Even Crouch – regarded by his peers as sidelined – was only forty-nine, and being magical, still had many decades of service to offer; the other two were a few years younger still. Yes, easily enough time to establish themselves.

Jop Gair stared at the scrap of parchment that Adam Brown was holding out to him. "This is where the meetings will take place?"

"The owner has already agreed – and it's protected by the Fidelius Charm for maximum privacy and security."

"But..." Jop looked at his wife.

"What is it?" encouraged Adam.

"I'd like Vera to attend too – to act as secretary, record the discussion and..." he hesitated for a moment looking uncomfortable, then squared his shoulders and continued more firmly, "I'd like the others to meet both of us, then my wife can present a Muggle's viewpoint as well."

Adam stared at them both for several seconds. "Of course. I thought that was understood. Vera, I did say on my first visit that you would be critical too. I'm also hoping that you'll be the first Muggle on the Wizengamot – alongside your husband."

Vera became very still; had she heard right? Jop swayed in confusion. He steadied himself against the kitchen table. When he spoke it was an airless gasp. "Impossible. The Wizengamot is exclusively a magical council that..." He sat down, deep in thought. "No, wait... this is too, too much to absorb."

Adam said, "I have studied almost as much of British magical laws and customs as you have, Jop. Only the Chief Warlock is self-defined as a magical person. The Wizengamot is older than the Ministry itself. No one ever thought to specifically restrict membership to those of magical birth. The original Council came together gradually over many years with no written rules."

"You're right," murmured Jop in a daze. "Who'd have considered such an astonishing idea?"

"There is no guarantee that you'll ever be voted in of course, Vera – I have not foreseen it in the same way that I've seen your husband's acceptance. However, I am extremely optimistic that once we have made enough changes to the current membership, then they will become more receptive to the idea of a Muggle candidate – especially one with degrees in sociology and economics."

Vera's eyes widened. "You know?"

"I know you were laid off from your employment when you were expecting a child. And that by the time you had raised your son, you had sacrificed your own career to become involved with Jop's cause. Now you can fulfil both of your ambitions. Your destiny awaits you, Vera. Memorise the address with Jop, destroy the message, and we'll go."

.

The Assembling of the League

"YOU!" Jop Gair and Mike Worthing shouted at each other, the moment the Gairs and Adam Brown were shown into the study by a house-elf.

Jop rounded on Adam. "This is a scoundrel who trades in misery – a Slytherin! – and you want me to work with him?"

"You expect this wishy-washy nobody to sway the Wizengamot!" roared Mike. "Is that your majestic scheme? And do you expect..." His voice faltered as he noticed Vera's attire. There was the briefest moment of shocked silence. "YOU'VE BROUGHT A MUGGLE INTO MY HOME? HOW DARE YOU! MY WIFE ENTRUSTED YOU WITH THIS ADDRESS AND YOU BRING–!"

"NOW SEE HERE!" shouted Jop, raising his wand.

The door was opened once more. The elf entered and began to introduce Barty Crouch senior, but it took only moments for the magical folk to recognise one another.

"YOU!"

"YOU!"

"YOU!"

The elf scurried away trembling and closed the door behind him.

"Are you completely insane?" cried Crouch as he swung to face Adam. "A bootlegger and a beggar? Are these the best you–!"

"A failed tyrant whose greatest achievement was to father a crazy Death Eater!" screamed Worthing, jabbing a finger accusingly towards Crouch.

"MUGGLE-HATERS, BOTH!" declared Gair, throwing his hands in the air. Vera clutched at his arm, clearly upset.

"SILENCIO!" Adam gazed around the hushed group who were still mouthing wordlessly at one another even after the spell had taken effect. He waited a few moments until he began to gain their attention. "Jop, did I not foresee the Wimbledon winner? Barty, you know I foretold the Great Storm. Mike, I have revealed to you the death of Man. Now I say to you all that I have observed you: working ... together ... harmoniously."

The group stopped glaring at each other and stared at Adam instead.

"However," continued the big man, "I know of circumstances that will keep you in different walks of life for another thirty years. Intolerance and bigotry must separate you for another twenty after that. Beyond, I know you will only be forced together by terrifying events. Under common adversity, you work well together as a team."

Adam paused while he examined their expressions, then continued, "Too late. Only a few years after that, in 2044, everyone of you here will die – along with most of mankind. Do you wish to wait another half century before you act in unison?" He released them all from the silencing spell.

Crouch and the Gairs were shocked. Mike's reaction was more subdued but he said, "You're wrong. I'm not antagonistic towards Muggles. It's just that you had no right to bring one into my home without asking me first!"

Jop swerved angrily towards Mike, but Adam held him back, saying, "How dare you, Mike! May I remind you that Muggle healing will save your life! Or would you rather cast that out of your home too?"

Mike Worthing frowned irritably at the reminder, then walked away to think quietly at the window.

"He's dying," whispered Adam to the others.

"What! I didn't–" Jop's attention switched rapidly around the others in the study.

Adam continued, "I cannot pretend there's no truth in some of the stories you have heard about his early business practices, but he's changed. The face of death can do that to a man. At least now, Muggle medicine can save him. Will both of you not give him a chance to prove himself? His trading empire will open many doors."

Crouch snarled, "Worthing's certainly proved his business skills but you, Gair, have been a mere fly in the Ministry ointment, buzzing around for a long time and achieving nothing with your words."

Jop cringed. "I have tried..."

"Trying is what you are!" cried Crouch. "You have tested my patience with your endless petitions. You belong nowhere."

Adam pushed between them. "Barty, you are completely wrong if you measure Jop's popularity by the conflict with your own departments – now and previously. He is accepted as a diplomatic go-between by all but the most extreme pure-bloods; an agreeable visitor who is welcome in many camps and has helped reconcile–"

"Thumbs in pies but no fruit!"

Jop tried to defend himself politely. "You're right that I've not accomplished much yet but–"

"You ruined my chances of becoming Minister after my son's conviction! You practically led the character assassination!"

"I used the opportunity to end your rough justice. Sentencing without trial, authorising use of the Unforgivables by selected Aurors, your kill squad murmured in the taverns as the... what did people call them? The Seven Deadly Sinners?"

"I never sanctioned murder! They were only to use deadly force if absolutely necessary."

"Yet you gave them the benefit of the doubt when a suspect died during an arrest."

"How is one to prove foul play in such situations? In any event, only Steff Daggard was directly accused, and there was much provocation."

"Mad in the end, wasn't it?" said Jop. "Then conveniently released without charge. It was–"

" 'She' – you mean 'she' not it."

"No, I mean 'it' because eventually nobody could figure out which! I don't think even SHE knows herself! Too many potions over the years if you ask me – Polyjuice can do that, you know! Anyway, I'll never agree to sentencing without–"

Adam shifted uncomfortably then cut off Jop's ranting. "You won't need to. Justice is something we need to discuss. No one should be penalised without solid proof."

Crouch growled, "But neither are we going to allow loopholes and escape routes for pure-blood supremacists."

"Agreed," said Adam. He gave Jop a meaningful look.

Jop nodded slowly, then said, "Agreed." He looked around for his wife and spotted her talking with Mike Worthing at the window. Their silhouettes were apart yet at least leaning inward to each other.

Adam followed Jop's gaze. "He seems to be apologising to your Vera," he murmured.

"My wife does have a way with words," Jop replied with a note of pride. "Leave them to it for a few minutes. She'll bring him round if anyone can."

Barty Crouch's attention had fallen on the small Pensieve then, sitting in the centre of a polished round table surrounded by chairs. "Why don't we all sit down?"

"Like knights of old," smiled Jop.

"What's that?" said Crouch, settling himself down. "Oh, yes, Arthur and those earlier revolutionaries, you mean."

"I like it. There'll be no head of table," said Adam. "We'll all be equal here."

"And the Pensieve? Is there any reason for it?" grunted Crouch, suspiciously.

Mike heard the last remark, and returned with Mrs Gair. He said, "Adam, I think the others should experience what you showed me. Let them know what the future holds if we fail."

Adam bit his lip and hesitated. "Would you take them then, Mike? I don't want to suffer it again so soon."

Mr Worthing looked curiously at the big man for a while, then nodded.

"Now wait a minute..." began Crouch.

Adam cut him off. "If you've any trust in me then trust Mike. You need to see this, Barty. You agreed you need to know more, yes?"

Sullenly, Crouch accepted with the merest dip of his head.

As they cautiously grouped around the dish, Adam watched silently. Vera in particular seemed very apprehensive, and Jop took her hand. After they had disappeared into the bowl, Adam turned aside and went to the window for a more pleasant view. The sun was tepid and the garden was displaying subtle autumn pastels that helped distract from the terrible memory lurking within the Pensieve: the remnants of London.

A good portion of the next hour passed unnoticed, for Adam's thoughts were far away, pondering the many difficult tasks that lay ahead even if the three united. And was it assured that they would anyway, this early in their lives? And what of Vera? No certainty there at all, only hope and faith.

Out through the window, across the estate of Oakside Manse, Adam could see children at play – no doubt Mike's youngest. Perched on a fence nearby, a small black bird waited patiently in case of need, its eye sharply fixed on the window out which Adam gazed. Occasionally a breeze rustled the trees, scattering more dead leaves to join the drifting heaps below...

A disturbance in the room behind caused Adam to turn back to the Pensieve to watch the gathering return. They were clearly affected by the experience. Vera was sobbing silently on her husband's shoulder. Crouch looked very grim.

While they there still emotionally vulnerable, Adam pressed the advantage home. "You have seen the beginning of the end of the world – never forget it. Without our magic, Muggles are destined to destroy everything. But without their advances, we in the magical community are doomed to wither away in the dark ages. What we require is mutual understanding and a synthesis of both communities – or at least a secret alliance. That will take decades but it begins here!"

With a gesture of his hand, they all seated themselves around the table with the Pensieve remaining as a reminder in their midst.

"Mike, you objected to having a non-magical in your home and yet your business networks extensively with the Muggle world. Can you explain?"

Looking rather sheepish, Worthing described his trade, his political connections at Westminster, the ongoing study of methods employed in the workplace, and how his company benefited from this connectivity. "But until today, I never invited a Muggle into my own home – that was more to do with the Secrecy legislation than anything. It was a shock earlier and I have apologised to Mrs Gair." He bowed his head in her direction, and she nodded.

Adam said, "Your business has profited from your efforts but have you advantaged the Muggles in return?"

Mike looked startled at the concept and appeared to struggle to remember anything relevant. "Well, we magically supply them with components they are unable to manufacture themselves."

"And no doubt charge a pretty Sickle?"

"Whatever the market will stand."

"Then I would ask you to urge your best people to extend their connections over the coming years with a view to eventually helping the Muggle world in other areas: inter-state cooperation, crime elimination, health, education – and others to be decided. Make inquiries, create study groups within your workforce. Come up with solutions – you're efficient at that and you have the resources."

"To what profit?" puzzled Worthing.

Adam groaned. "We benefit by staying alive for a few more centuries! Magicals and Muggles together."

Crouch barked, "We can't even find peace in our own world! How are we expected to–"

"Oh yes we can!" Adam loudly declared. "We have the perfect means. Only the imbalance of power in favour of outdated ideas has prevented it so far. We are going to fix that by enhancing the justice system – making it more reliable and efficient."

"Explain," said Jop.

"Once we have established our own power base, we shall use Veritaserum, Legilimens, and devices such as this Pensieve to quickly and reliably prove guilt."

"That has never been accepted and never will be. Who would approve having their darkest secrets revealed in a public court? Prosecutors would humiliate the accused even when they are innocent."

"There will be controls such as the Triapetit and monitored Legilimency by thoroughly-vetted practitioners. The benefits will far exceed any weaknesses. It might not be perfect but the current system is a farce. The Muggle courts are far more ethical than the magical equivalent. They only lack a perfect truth serum to cut through doubt and debate and speed up investigations and prosecutions."

Jop sighed. "Even if ever approved, such radical changes will take years to bring about. You speak of improvements at the Ministry but I see signs that dark influences are increasing there, not diminishing."

"Which is why we must set up our own temporary justice system."

Everyone but Crouch stared at Adam as if he had just cast a Bombarda Maxima in the Ministry Atrium.

"That is revolution!" cried Worthing. "I want nothing to do with it!"

"Nor shall you," Adam said quietly, "Neither shall you two, Jop and Vera. I shall be the one detecting and arresting and carrying out the sentence. Mr Crouch here will keep me in check–"

"Might as well employ a jackal to keep the fox out of the henhouse," scoffed Worthing.

Before Crouch could do much more than snarl, Adam cried, "Barty is more like the farmer who had to chase every fox in the county because the local council tore down all the fences! Once the fences are restored, the farmer can focus on the real hen thieves and see that true justice is strictly adhered to. We'll achieve what Fudge's feeble Ministry will not and cannot do. In so doing, the Wizengamot will be pruned and weeded, allowing new plantings and improved growth."

"Absurd," laughed Worthing. "You really suppose you alone might accomplish what the entire team of Aurors cannot?"

"They need substantial prior evidence, endless paperwork, and suffer a dishonourable court that will attend to it all – they struggle to gain sufficient convictions to make a difference." Adam gazed sternly at Worthing. "But we can! I have foreseen much that the Aurors do not know – nor could they act on it even if they did."

"Suppose just for one moment you set up your cockatrice court, where is your Azkaban? Your wizard-proof prison to enforce the sentences?"

Crouch stirred uneasily in his seat.

"Only I shall know that secret," smiled Adam. "Come now, we've already agreed you want nothing to do with it."

Worthing frowned and softly snapped his fingers. Within moments, the elf appeared carrying a tray and began to serve tea.

Adam used the distraction to turn to the Gairs. "Jop, you already know your part is to prepare the best of the Wizengamot to be receptive and supportive, as well as all those associated with that council. Have you made any progress?"

"Yes, I have whispered in many ears and most are curious to learn more. However, that is still a mere fragment of those wielding power – particularly Fudge."

"Fudge only wields power because he influences many on the Wizengamot as you well know. Perhaps you could explain to the others how the system works."

"This is true. The Minister for Magic cannot change legislation of himself, he can only make proposals to the Wizengamot. Nor should he be able to enforce his own criminal justice because the Wizengamot adjudicates in such proceedings. In practice, sufficient members nod through most of his 'demands', and when he anticipates opposition then he arranges sudden 'emergency' meetings and 'forgets' to inform key voters that might argue against him."

"Correct," said Adam. "But we'll find a way to tap into his communications so we'll always have a full house representing our interests at the most important debates. Once we have replaced certain key Council members who are in his pocket then he'll be forced to follow the original rules of the Wizengamot that predate even the Ministry. He'll find he must approach the Wizards' Council in the first instance to guide him on the substance and wording of new laws. The Minister was only meant to be a servant of the Wizengamot, implementing their wishes."

Worthing gasped. "Are you sure? That's the reverse of how things are working now."

"I'm positive," insisted Adam. "The ancient Council created the Ministry to administer their will, not the other way round. Only in this last century has Council apathy and corruption allowed the Minister to act as if he were all-powerful. Nowadays, that falsehood has lapsed into accepted habit, and nobody questions it."

For the next hour they debated the initial methods and means that would favour their future aims. It was agreed that Mike was to employ the best of his top management to investigate ways that magic might help alleviate the problems of Muggle society and how, in turn, Magicals could learn from them. Vera would function as an impartial consultant and adviser, especially on matters of economics and social interconnectivity.

"Vera and I agree that we cannot completely abandon the Statute of Secrecy for many, many decades," said Worthing. "There would be chaos and fear if the entire Muggle population became suddenly aware of magic. Instead, Magicals must provide help under the guise of alternate technology and let only a few selected Muggles gain knowledge of our ways – senior security officials, trade ministers, and so on. It is not compulsory to publicly patent methods and inventions and services, and Muggles cannot reverse-engineer a charmed object or figure out our fast travel, communications, and protective shields. There are many possibilities of assistance in that way."

The group discussed a draft plan of action. Jop was to prepare the minds and hearts of favoured Ministry associates, especially on or near the Wizengamot and related departments. Working by his side would be Barty whose focus would be on those known or suspected to be corrupt. To this end, Adam proposed he create a relationship with a high-ranking Auror named Kingsley Shacklebolt thereby linking to the legendary but currently-disbanded Order of the Phoenix. Adam was to finish his preparations of the wizard-proof detention centre and consider first targets.

"We need a name," said Vera, looking up from the notes she had been scribbling.

"For what?" said Crouch.

"For us, for this group."

Adam smiled. "What have you come up with, Vera?"

"Well... we're initiating a major purge and gradual synthesis of two quite distinct societies." She hesitated, examining their expressions before continuing. "How about, 'The Cathesis League'?"

"There's no such word," said Crouch.

"You're thinking our efforts will be cathartic yet bring everyone together, right?" said Adam. "I like it. All in favour of 'The Cathesis League'?"

Jop's hand went up but Crouch frowned so Adam continued, "...as a working title until one of us comes up with anything better?"

Crouch nodded reluctantly and raised his hand; Worthing followed and signalled for his elf who fetched wine from a cabinet and began to pour.

"To 'The Cathesis League'!" announced Adam, raising his glass high with delight that the meeting had come so far. "Let it so be."

The group were beginning to accept each other and relaxed even more after a second drink. Adam in particular was becoming quite joyful with their progress. "I'm increasingly hopeful of suss–success, and very glad to know you all ash–as a team not jus'–"

"What about you?" said Mike. "You know all of us, our abilities, our backgrounds, all in detail, but we know nothing about you. Don't you think now is the time to tell us who you really are?"

"Yes," said Vera, "in the interests of cooperation and mutual appreciation, we deserve to all know one another."

Adam grinned sloppily at the faces looking his way. Were they swaying? Or was that the walls? "I regret that will be impoth-ssible. I have to remain undercover for many more–"

"Then remain undercover with us!" said Crouch. "We have entrusted our lives to you. Don't you think we deserve that you trust us?"

Worthing stood up, looking very serious. "Let's vote on it. We the five founders of The Cathesis League ought to have a bond of complete confidence in each other's given word. If not, who can we trust? All those in favour?"

Everyone's hand rose except for Adam. He gaped a little, then shakily reached for his third glass of wine. "A bond...?"

"Yes, if you like, a magical vow," said Jop.

"Not wha' I meant..." murmured Adam, slurping noisily at the drink.

"You're not thinking of the unbreakable vow?" said Crouch, anxiously.

Jop considered. "Well... let us then simply swear on our honour to protect one another's identities and uuh... remain faithful to the cause?" He turned to Adam. "Come on now, surely you can't deny us that?"

"Can't..." said Adam, draining his glass. "Need anuffer dink..."

Crouch stood to join Worthing. "We insist," he said very quietly. He had not failed to notice Adam's intoxicated state, and was determined to take advantage of it.

Jop and Vera stood up too. "It has to be, Adam."

Worthing was nearest. He tried to hoist Adam to his feet. Jop had to help. Glasses were thrust forward to centre above the Pensieve. Adam's arm went forward instinctively.

"We pledge..." began Jop.

"We pledge..." repeated everyone.

"...to protect one another's identities..."

All repeated his words.

"...and to remain faithful to the cause."

"Let it thso be..." muttered Adam, and slumped back onto his chair.

There were a few seconds of silence after everyone else sat down.

"Well?" said Crouch.

"Polly Juthe..." said Adam, tilting his glass to his lips again but finding it empty.

"We can wait," said Worthing. "How long?"

Adam held his wrist steady while he carefully studied his wavering watch. His head began to droop. Crouch folded his arms and frowned. Minutes passed. Adam's eyes were looking very drowsy...

Worthing said, "Come on, can't you hold your drink like a man? You'd be a liability if–"

But Adam's head suddenly jerked upright. "Gotta go!"

His thick black hair was becoming bushier and lightening to brown. Mike and Jop found it far easier to hold him down in his seat than they had to hoist him up earlier – especially since he was slowly shrinking within his robes.

Vera understood first and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh. My. God!"

"Can't be..." muttered Jop, suddenly pale with astonishment.

"By Merlin's bones, I'll..." snarled Crouch, instinctively feeling for his wand.

Worthing cried, "A child? You're just a little girl?"

Hermione blinked, trying to gather her woozy thoughts together.

Chairs clattered over as the others backed away in horror.

"You... you... this is just a... A SCHOOLKID'S PRANK?" Crouch's face was dark with fury. "You led us to believe in this... this what...?" He shook his head while trying to fathom out the enormity of the deception.

"OUT! OUT! EVERYONE OUT! IT'S OVER!" barked Worthing. "DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL!"

"We... we believed in you..." said Vera, looking at Hermione's bewildered face. Vera's face hardened and she swivelled around to her husband. "Take me home, Jop." There were tears glistening in her eyes.

"OUT! GO!" repeated Worthing.

Crouch, face like thunder, swore loudly and followed the Gairs downstairs. Worthing grabbed Hermione's arm. "Don't you ever come anywhere near me, my home, or my family ever again, you understand?" His voice was bitter and full of malice.

He hustled her out the door and called his elf. "Get her out of here. Take her home if necessary. Never let her through my door again. It's over. It's all over."

.

Get Much Worse

Immediately after returning home, Hermione hid in the shed, ashamed to face her mother. The girl cried for a long time. She'd always prepared herself for minor setbacks, but how was she to deal with the complete failure of her plan for the world and the dumb, stupid exposure of her identity so early? All was lost.

The meeting at Worthing's home had gone so well until that moment – but why had she not considered the effect of alcohol on her eight-year-old mind – having mature memories did not change that! Losing focus was fatal to advanced magic like immateriality and invisibility, just as it was to good decision-making. If only I'd seen it coming!

Wincing at the headache she refused to heal as a guilty penance, she pondered that last thought. One of her déjà vu experiences would have served her well to foresee the intoxication – then she would have refused the first sip of that cursed wine! If she knew why those events happened, perhaps they could be controlled?

She gazed into an old flower pot at a few Galleons carelessly left over from the last full crucible firing. The metal seemed as worthless as her life now. Hated by all those she wished to help, what was she to do? All her ideas lay in ruins – and the Earth would too, now that she had failed.

A tapping at the window made her look up from her miserable sobbing, "F-Farrimond! Is it from Harry?"

She swung open the grimy frame to let in the owl then, after placing a few treats on the bench, she retrieved the message and began to read:

Hermione,

Neville has still not returned and his dad sent an owl to say they'll be away over Christmas. I think that's just an excuse so Neville doesn't have to see ~me~ at the party.

The letter felt like life's cursory elbow had dug her once more in the stomach, and she let out a moan. All that eager efforts to secure an early circle of friendship had been unsuccessful. A teardrop fell onto the parchment. Ink ran. Harry, unable yet to use a scouring spell, had used a dry quill to crudely scratch away a word and replaced it with 'me'. Hermione knew full well who Neville was really trying to avoid, and it wasn't Harry.

Were the Fates laughing at her? Why had she been been given the chance of another lifetime? Or was it not destiny, but mere random chance because she had blown upon the Fabric of Life?

It all came to the same in the end, she thought dully. It was over. Her attempt to make things better had only made them worse.

.

—oOo—

.


Author's Notes

Mmm... I'm only one chapter ahead of you now so don't worry if there's a slightly longer delay between future chapters. Hopefully that won't happen and my lag is only a temporary effect of indulgently writing Painting The Sky.

There has been debate, and I've given much thought to, whether one disappears into a Pensieve or merely sits there with head dipped. I slightly favour the disappearance – it's magic not science fiction. Both methods leave the viewer vulnerable (to attack I mean if an enemy came in while you're immersed head or body,) but the idea of even two or three individuals with their heads crammed together in one bowl is hard to believe whereas I can easily imagine dozens fully vanished inside. In a court situation I imagine an authorised 'group' would enter then give evidence afterwards.

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

.