.

So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and seek cooperation between Muggles and Magicals. She caught the rogue werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, but Rita Skeeter discovered that the ballpoint pen at the hearing was held by Luna who, with Ginny, will soon be going to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts. Now read on...

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Chapter 31

Banged Up


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An Unexpected Demand

Rodney Dunn stared in utter astonishment at the two brutally short notes he gripped between white-knuckled fingers: one scrawled on Claridge's notepaper, the other written on parchment.

"Owls! No more owls, please Mr Dunn," wailed Mrs Williams, as she waddled off, still in a fluster after delivering a second letter within minutes of the normal mail to her lodger. "I provide housekeeping service, not menagerie management!"

But Dunn neither heard her nor cared; the messages themselves were more than his overloaded senses could absorb at one time. A harsh dismissal of all his future services was bad enough, but the other:

You tricked me with that potion, didn't you, you bastard! You and your insatiable appetite! Now I'm due and it can only be yours. You must arrange a termination because I can't. Don't cross me!

What rotten luck! How had she found out? He'd have to speak to her, face the music, smooth things over. She was too important to his needs.

Shaken, he consulted his extensive address book. Yes, this could be fixed... one way or another.

.

Civil Justice

The brief contact Hermione had experienced with Neville held promise, but her busy schedule, her wish to spend as much time as possible with Luna and Ginny before they left, and Cathesis League duties, kept her away. Then there was Fenrir Greyback who was still held by the Living Death potion until Crouch and Vera Gair could find time to join Hermione in the interrogation. As if that wasn't enough, at their next meeting – as Rosemary – she was informed by Crouch of another Death Eater who was currently on sick leave from the Ministry.

"He's a slacker named Wade Gibbon. How he got work in the Ministry's owl communications I don't know. He was a Death Eater who claimed to have been controlled by the Imperious Curse during the first war. I've always doubted him but had no proof. Ever heard of him, Rosemary?"

"Only once. He was amongst a group of Death Eaters who invaded Hogwarts in 1996 and he was doing so willingly from what I heard," she replied.

"None of that means he's active now!" said Mike from the other side of the table.

"But he's well-placed to intercept messages, and from what Rosemary said, he was certainly guilty in the past because he continued as a Death Eater. The point being, he claims to have been infected by owl psittacosis so the Ministry was forced to keep paying his wages while he's on leave. Jop here says he saw him cheerfully carrying a large crate of Firewhisky home from the Leaky the other night. If he's sick then I'm Merlin's uncle."

Jop nodded his confirmation.

Mike growled, "You can't incarcerate a man for idling."

"No," said Crouch, "but you can for his earlier crimes and so prevent future ones. Don't you see? This is a perfect opportunity. He has no family. Nobody but his drinking cronies would even notice if he disappeared."

Rosemary nodded. "But don't let him see our faces until he's confessed under Veritaserum. It's inconceivable that's he's completely innocent, but if so, we Obliviate him as well, before releasing him."

"Agreed," said Crouch.

"Yes," said Vera. She checked off an item on the meeting's agenda, then came to the final one on the list. "We now need to make a decision about the Triapetit. In its present form it's too frail. The proposition is we reduce the number of choices to at most, seven, and make each one be potent. Remember, once an accused is found guilty on any point, we are then free to question them again without limit or even use Legilimens or forced Pensieve."

Mike frowned. "Is that even possible? Extracting memories?"

Vera looked to Barty Crouch as her source. "Yes," he said. "In most cases I'm sure I can use the Imperious Curse to compel them to divulge their memories."

"You've done this!" cried Mike.

Crouch shook his head. "No, but there have been many times I wished I could. It's not as if we're going to use it on suspects, only on those already convicted."

Vera tried to hurry things along. "Are we ready to vote on the proposition?"

"I am," said Crouch. The others nodded except for Mike who remained sullen.

"All those in favour," said Vera.

"Aye!" came the voices of Barty, Jop, Vera, and Rosemary.

"Then it's agreed, with four in favour and one abstention." She ticked off her list. "That completes today's formal–"

"Oh, yes, it's all very formal and civilised, isn't it?" growled Mike. "Some of mankind's worst atrocities were carried out in a gentlemanly way too."

Rosemary sighed. "Mike, if you can propose a better method of saving mankind from a horrible fate then we'd all like to hear it."

The only reply was a humph!

Vera resumed. "As I was saying, that completes today's formal motions. Rosemary, did you say you had something else to bring up?"

Rosemary nodded and drew a hefty tome out from her bag. "Yes, solitary confinement is harsh for many, but being forced to share with other prisoners has its own form of suffering. Regular socialising with the wicked also reinforces evil beliefs, discourages remorse and reform, and may even end in torture and murder."

She let that sink in before proceeding, "This is a new version of the virtually endless book we give each prisoner. I've improved the enchantments so it is more interactive, and a good friend of mine has drawn into it some black and white illustrations of visualised erm... 'counsellors' for want of a better word." She opened the book.

"Visualised?" said Jop.

"Yes, they're not based on any living person. They are defined by the very best principles of Muggle care workers, advisers, and therapists to provide a sympathetic ear and a sense of true companionship to–"

"Sympathetic!" It was Barty's turn to grumble. "How can anyone be sympathetic to those vile–!"

"Not sympathetic to their evil attitudes but to their plight of being lost from society. Don't misunderstand me – these counsellors will tolerate a lot of abuse and allow the one in their care to blow off steam but ultimately they will be very firm and leave for a few weeks or months until they receive an apology. The beauty of it is that magical life is not sentient – they can appear to be unhappy but, like someone in your dream, they are not conscious beings."

"We're not?" asked the drawing of a witch sat at her desk in the book.

"No, you just think you are," explained Rosemary.

The witch wrote that down and frowned to herself, muttering, "Wish I'd known that the other day when I visited page thirteen. It was raining cats and dogs and I'd left my umbrella on page 423. I distinctly remember the–"

"Yes, yes, yes," said Rosemary, swiftly closing the book.

"Very well, I propose we put it to the vote," said Vera. "All those in favour?"

"Aye," said Rosemary, Jop, and Vera.

"Aye," said Mike Worthing.

"Ahah!" said Crouch. "So you don't mind us being formal and civilised when it suits, eh, Worthing?"

Mike muttered something under his breath.

"Very well," said Crouch, "if everyone thinks these monsters need babysitting then I won't object – Aye!"

"Carried unanimously," said Vera.

.

The Wolf Out-witched

At Devil's Deep, Gibbons was dealt swift justice by Adam Brown with Barty and Vera in the background out of his line of sight. The former Death Eater admitted assisting in torture and three brutal Muggle deaths which, though not intended, he didn't care about either way. Loss of magic and a life sentence were quickly agreed, and he was carried off screaming through the stone to his final residence.

Fenrir Greyback took longer. As soon as he was awoken by Wiggenweld Potion, He strained against his magical bonds. "They won't last," he sneered. "You can't hold me." His lips began to move in a silent incantation but he was immediately Stupefied by Barty Crouch who had been watching him most carefully.

Crouch snarled angrily. "He's powerful and cunning and deceived a Ministry committee during the first war. We also have your testimony, Adam, that he attacked you in your normal form as Rosemary with clear intent to ravish and consume a child. That makes him less than a beast in my eyes. Since the minimum sentence for his evil would include loss of magic, I vote we carry that out before we question him."

"I agree," said Adam.

Crouch said, "Vera, you don't need to vote on this if you prefer not to as we already have two votes."

"Nothing would please me more than for that foul animal to be magically castrated! I won't rest until I see it," said Vera in a surprisingly bitter tone. She'd formed quite an attachment to Rosemary, and, with Crouch, she'd listened to the little girl's account of Greyback's capture with much emotion.

A squirming Hirudo leech was promptly placed on Greyback's eye, and they all watched to make sure the magic parasite accepted him as wizard enough for it to prey upon. Only when it disappeared behind his eyeball did they relax and sit down to wait.

While they waited, they discussed the questions they would ask.

"Asking if they are countering Veritaserum is a waste of a question," said Vera, "because they could say 'no' whether it's true or false. We need only worry if we are sure they are guilty but do not confess. What do we do then?"

Adam shrugged. "It's difficult to see how they could counter it because none of them would be expecting it and usually there is quite a delay between them being captured and being questioned. Time does not stop for them while under Living Death so any prior potions or enchantments would have faded. Anyway, we test for magical effects first."

"So, drop the question?" said Vera.

The others agreed.

After much further discussion, Vera continued, "Do we need to keep asking who is the leader of the Black Arc? Gibbon didn't know, and you said neither did Alecto or Barty's son. The gang are possibly networking, so each member only knows a few other connections. What I mean is, the organisation might not be a web with a central command, but just a continuous net with unknown command locations and somehow passing on instructions unseen."

"Or using Obliviate to mask identities," said Adam.

Crouch said, "I think it's generally accepted that all those estranged from the House of Black are at the core. Bellatrix Black is definitely involved and most likely the leader in my opinion."

"Someone might know. We need to keep asking," said Adam.

"Very well."

Vera ticked her list. "What about the questions about their associates? They might choose to answer those to avoid the more direct ones."

"Not likely," said Adam. "If they believe they might wriggle free using that tactic then they also know the gang will inflict its own retribution – far worse than ours." She paused. "But yes, drop the one directly about the names and change the one about their crimes to include the names."

Crouch said, "Also drop the one about remorse. The onus is on them to show remorse. We don't need a question about it. Anyway, the one about them committing further crimes indicates lack of remorse. We could drop that too."

"No," said Adam. "We could prune this list down to four or five, but that's not acceptable. We have to give them sufficient choices so if this method is ever adopted by a future Wizengamot, no prosecutor can use it with limited questions to gain private information from an innocent. Remember, they'll choose their own questions. That's the only way I think we'll get them to accept it. The Pure-bloods are not all evil but they may have family secrets they wish to remain hidden. Seven should be the minimum."

"So, the questions for our purposes..." Vera read out the final list:

1. In order of severity, and most serious first, what crimes have you committed?

2. How did you carry out your worst crimes?

3. What secrets must you hide from this court?

4. What crimes have been committed by which of your criminal associates?

5. Who is the ultimate leader of the gang known as the Black Arc?

6. If you are released from custody, do you expect to commit further crimes?

7. Then why do you deserve punishment?

"They're always going to chose the final three," said Crouch. "Of those, only number seven will count."

"Which is why it's such a clever question," said Vera. "It doesn't sound so threatening as the first three, but actually it means much the same."

Adam nodded. "Yes, under the effects of Veritaserum, they cannot hide the truth of their guilt even from themselves. And any attempt to try would force them to divulge their crimes and why they think they don't deserve punishing for them. It's win, win."

A low growl from the darkness suggested Greyback had been awake and listening. Predators are quite proficient at remaining absolutely still. "Which is why I choose four, five, and six," he snarled. "My associates have committed many murders, torture, and a host of other crimes. I'll be happy to give you details under Veritaserum. I've no idea who the leader of the Black Arc is, and yes, when you release me, I intend to commit thousands of crimes. So what? You can't sentence me for crimes I haven't committed."

There was silence for a few moments, then Adam smiled. "Pity we've not put the questions to you yet, isn't it, Greyback?" He turned to the others. "We change question four to: 4. Which associates helped you commit crimes or did so on their own?"

Now both Crouch and Vera were smiling grimly. A howl went up from Greyback and once more he began straining at his bonds. Abruptly, his cry fell silent as he sensed his own magical impotence. "What ... have ... you ... done!"

Adam dematerialised and flowed effortlessly forward until his huge bulk towered over the former werewolf. With his wand pointing pointing directly between Greyback's eyes, he said, in the most girlish way he could manage, "Hello, Fenrir – remember me?"

Those eyes widened now. "YOU!" The dark lips curved back, revealing yellowish fangs. "That girl was you? A man? You lie!"

"I swear on my magic, that was me you tried to attack in the woods."

Within his binds, Greyback shuddered and Adam shook his head. "That's the weakness of pathetic bullies like you who attack the small and vulnerable. But now I outweigh you. I outwit you. And, believe it or not, I out-experience and out-curse you too. You see, your magic has been permanently drained away. You have become a Muggle. I'm not even sure you'll transform each month any more."

Greyback's scream of rage echoed around the pitiless stone walls of the receiving chamber. Adam let him rant for a while then silenced the beast with a few drops of Veritaserum. "Read him his chosen, four, five, and six, Vera. Let's get this over with."

.

The Secret Crush

With Greyback's incriminating testimony, not only did he receive a life sentence, but several of the worst of his former pack were rounded up over the next few months, and imprisoned in Devil's Deep out of harm's way. By the approach of summer, Hermione could focus more on visiting Luna and Ginny.

They greeted her off the Knight Bus and led her excitedly up the hill. "Mummy's working frantically to finish the Tutomees," said Luna, reaching out to finger-feather one of many silken scarves that were fluttering like flags from bamboo sticks, as if to keep the heat off the giant buttercups that lined the track. Hermione noticed her hair was braided with coloured ribbons in a neat plait down her back.

"I thought she'd perfected them?" frowned Hermione. "She said the diadem faded away after she used it last."

"Yes, it's returned to the care of the Grey Lady."

"Oh, you mean the new spell is complete, but she's still enchanting the books with it?"

"That's right. She's done ours first because we'll be leaving in a few weeks. Harry's ten this month, did you know? Poor Rose will have to wait."

Hermione blinked at the rapid changes in Luna's conversation as they neared the house. "Ah, I see..."

New string now bound the watering can even more tightly to the rainwater butt and a drainpipe, but was already being chafed against the brickwork. Luna peeped inside. "Poor thing's dry..." She eased the rubber bung in the side of the butt just enough for it to drip onto the can's grateful spout. "There..."

"Barking..." said Ron, grinning from the doorway. "Hello, Hermione!"

"Ron!" cried Ginny.

"I don't mind," said Luna, cheerfully. "I'm sure there are worse places than Barking."

"No Harry?" said Hermione, as they went inside out of the sun.

"Later," said Ron. "We're upstairs today because there's more of a breeze through the windows."

"Ah, Hermione! Come on up!" called Mrs Lovegood from above. "Xeno's in town so there's no noise."

Soon they were all sipping pumpkin juice and checking through the enchanted books once more. Luna and Ginny had the European version of a Magical History primer. Ron was absorbed in a basic Quidditch guide he'd help create. Hermione assisted Pandora and the next hour passed peacefully. Fluffy white clouds drifted across the blue outside and Luna gazed at them from time to time. Attracted by the smell of juice, Insects hummed through one window, flew around a few times, then departed out the back.

"That's pretty," said Luna, getting up from her work to examine a jug they'd emptied earlier.

Pandora sighed and rose too, knowing her daughter had already worked too long for a summer's day such as this. "I'll get fresh juice. I have some cooling in a bucket down the well."

"It's just a ladybird, Lune," said Ron, dismissively.

"Well, no, it is a flying beetle but it's not a common ladybird. I've seen it lots while we've been chatting so I know. It makes me talk funny sometimes. I think it must be infested with Wrackspurts."

Despite the warm air, Hermione's blood suddenly ran cold. The book she'd been working on flew one way and her wand leapt into her hand as she jumped to her feet, spinning towards where Luna was standing, peering at the jug handle.

"Oh, you've scared it off!" said Luna. Her mouth fell open when she saw Hermione charging at her with wand fully forward.

"Stupefy!" A beam of red light shot past Luna's eyebrows and out of the window. To hit an insect on the wing at that distance was asking a lot, but she got lucky. Perhaps it clipped one wing, perhaps only a tiny leg. Whatever the reason, the creature fell out past the sill with Hermione throwing herself after it, shrieking "Ooooooooh!" all the way down.

Ginny's own scream froze on her lips in horror. Ron gawped in shock.

"Ah, can we fly now?" said Luna.

But Hermione was not flying, she was plunging headfirst towards the rainwater butt, and shooting a charm ahead of her. At the last moment she dematerialised and curved out through the barrel just as there was a loud bang. It was an odd sound, somewhat like stuffing a sandbag into a trombone and hitting it with a hard rubber Bludger. GUNNNGGGG! it rang.

Hermione stood on the path, one hand clamped over her mouth in horror. "Omigod! I didn't mean it!"

Above, the three children stared down at her. "Whatever's the matter, Hermione?" called Luna, but Ginny and Ron, who had occasionally seen their big brother Bill dive off the Ottery bridge into the river, but had never seen a little girl dive out of an upper-floor window into a garden before, remained petrified.

They were too high to see much. Only Hermione could observe that the watering can was greatly distorted outwards from within and its handle and spout were bent and twisted. As the container struggled, the tether was tugged off the broken handle and, free at last, the enchanted can sailed away down the hill with Hermione in chase. By the time the other three children came scampering after them, she'd wrapped one of the long silk scarves around the can several times.

"Don't look – it's too horrible!"

So Luna looked. The metal container was buckled but not split. "Poor thing! But don't worry, Mummy can repair it good as new! There's..." Her voice tailed off. From within the can, staring up at her through the coloured silk, just for a second before Hermione obstructed it, she thought she'd glimpsed an eye. When Hermione next moved aside, there was no sign of the can, the scarf, not even a slosh of water.

"Oh, what a pity, it flew off again," said Hermione, but nobody believed her. "Guess we won't see that anymore," She looked at the others staring in confusion. Luna was clutching something too. Something dark, shiny, and scaly...

"I found this by the rain barrel..." she said limply, holding it out.

"Er... yes, it's mine," said Hermione – rather quickly, thought Luna, as it was grabbed from her.

"Yours?"

"Yes, my new crocodile handbag."

"It's not crocodile," Luna said firmly. "It's from a sea dragon called–"

"Who cares!" squealed Hermione, stifling her cry at the last moment with a fist half between her teeth. She summoned her beaded bag out from the window of the house and pushed the handbag inside. "I mean, I don't mind if it's not real crocodile – is what I meant."

Luna was giving her a funny look. Ron and Ginny still appeared dazed.

Hermione decided to play her last card. "Look, it's a big secret, yes? I have to dash. Tell your mum I've gone to the bathroom if she asks. I'll be back in five."

"'Back in five'?" muttered Ron, as she disappeared and they traipsed back up to the house.

" 'Back at five', I think she meant," said Ginny.

"But that's over six hours away," said Luna. "Nobody would be in the bathroom that long, not even on your birthday."

But Ron and Ginny had stopped just ahead of her, and were staring to the side of the path.

"Blood on the buttercups," whispered Ginny. "Splashes, see?"

Ron wondered if Hermione had banged her head after her fall – that would explain a lot. They swapped ideas for a minute or two, then continued to trudge slowly up the slope – Luna contemplating how she was going to obscure Hermione's absence.

Mrs Lovegood was hovering a big earthenware jug in the backdoor as they entered at the front, and didn't seem at all surprised they'd given up on their studies to play in the garden. "Yes, let's take a break," she said, "you've done well this morning."

She glanced up the stairs and shouted, "Hermione! Take a rest! Come on down and join us!"

"Erm..." began Luna.

"Okay." Hermione came down the stairs, slightly more breathless than one might have expected, but Pandora did not notice.

.

Corrupt in Mind and Body

Later that day at Devil's Deep, Hermione stepped back in disgust as she burst open the watering can with a spell. The lump of misshapen flesh that fell onto the stone floor was only half human in form and size. Stunted limbs stuck out at grotesque angles and the face was barely recognisable as Rita Skeeter held unconscious by the Draught of Living Death. This could never be explained to Barty and Vera, Hermione knew – she'd have to interrogate the woman alone, knowing there could be only one outcome.

The damage had not been intended, yet, knowing the evil caused by the witch, it seemed to the young girl quite fitting that the journalist's physical body should end up as corrupt as her hideous character. She removed the twisted spectacles then placed a magic leech upon the one eye that was most human, but whether it was the left or right there was no way to tell.

While she waited, she contemplated the published bile that had caused such suffering and, indirectly, even death, by the foul, uncaring reporter. It was likely that Skeeter had assassinated more characters than Voldemort himself with her spite, and had turned hypocrisy into an art form. In particular, the gutter journalist's vile criticism of Harry after his death had been hard to bear: 'weak', 'moping', 'undeserving of his awards' were just some of the lighter mud flung after the man himself could no longer defend his actions. Hermione's hand tightened on her wand; she was as close as she'd ever been to killing in cold blood. ... She let it go.

The contents of the handbag revealed nothing incriminating. There was the usual Quick-Quotes Quill and a blank roll of parchment, but with Pandora being present this morning, Skeeter couldn't have heard anything tasty enough to note down. A shudder ran down Hermione's spine. The protective spell that changed their words if anyone might overhear them discussing Hermione's previous life would not have prevented Rita gathering information, especially about some of her abilities, as well as their training and other preparations. The intrusive acid queen knew it all! A stealthy visit to Skeeter's office would be needed to make sure any prior notes were destroyed.

Hermione snapped the bag shut and smoothed her hand over the beautifully-polished, black reptilian skin of which it was made. What had Luna said about the hide? Sea dragon? It was a very select fashion accessory paid for by blood money and the death of a rare and noble creature. Who had paid her off or bribed her? A witch like Skeeter would sell herself on the street for information, so the bag must have been really pricey to buy her silence. Hermione put it aside as she heard a groan from the mess on the floor.

"What's happened to me?" wailed Rita, flexing her appendages like a large misshapen crab that had lost its shell.

"I partly-stunned you in your flying beetle form as you flew out the window so you fell down towards a watering can," said Hermione. "I cast an Unbreakable Charm on the can to trap you, but you were already changing back from your Animagus shape as you fell into it. The process continued as far as it could but..."

"You silly girl!" screeched Rita. "Release me from your curse so I can finish transforming. How have you done this!"

"There's no curse. I removed your magic."

The thing on the floor became still and silent. Then: "You what!"

"Your magic is gone forever."

Rita scuttled forward on three legs and an arm, warped face contorted even more by rage. "YOU INCREDIBLY STUPID CHILD! I could have fixed it!"

"Oh, sorry..." Hermione was, for the moment, slightly upset. It had not been her wish to add further pain on top of Skeeter's sentence. The moment passed.

Rita continued to rage. "I can't see myself. Where are my glasses? Have you a mirror? What do I look like?"

"Honestly, you don't want to know." Hermione replaced the jewelled spectacles over the distorted features as best she could. "Actually, you look like one of your own stories: bent and twisted beyond all recognition."

"AAAGGHHH!"

"Speaking of which, here's something for you to read." Hermione hovered her Triapetit question list before the crab-thing. "Instructions are at the top. Tell me when you've chosen your three questions."

Crab-Skeeter spluttered in disbelief, but her best eye scanned the document. "Fake! False! Illegal! You'll get Azkaban for this!"

"No, actually it's you who will be placed in Azkaban if you don't cooperate. Read it carefully. Your fate depends on it."

"YOU CAN'T!"

"Oh, do wake up, Rita! Did you never think there would be payback for the misery you have caused? Where do you think you are? This is your cell. The sky is not real. There are no entrances or exits here and Apparition won't work – assuming your were magical, which you're not anymore."

There was a stunned silence as reality began to sink in.

"You just ... can't..." whimpered the broken creature.

"CHOOSE!"

There was no reply.

"Very well," said Hermione, "the first three apply by default."

Hermione pinned Skeeter down with a binding spell and applied Veritaserum. Even she was shocked by the confessions that then poured out in a long, monotone stream. It became apparent that Rita was well aware of the terrible harm her career had caused, yet she didn't care in the slightest. Any regrets she entertained were for herself only.

When the potion had worn off, Rita whined, "Don't you understand? This is journalism. In order to survive, a profit-driven newspaper has no choice but to publish the most saleable, dramatic stories it can! That won't end with my forced retirement!"

"Then perhaps the media ought not to be profit-driven! Imagine if it published useful, informative, accurate news instead!"

"Are you completely mad!" Skeeter continued muttering about the ignorant naivety of people, especially stuck-up, brattish half-wits.

Meanwhile, Hermione repaired the watering can which, shocked by its experience, now looked more contrite and willing to behave itself in future. She then hooked her arm through its handle, ready to return it to the Lovegoods. Before leaving, she provided Rita Skeeter with a special version of the neverending book for company, telling her that only a portion of it was true. The rest was false, distorted, exaggerated, and padded out with repetition and meaningless irrelevances, while the illustrations had been instructed to give good advice only some of the time – the rest was deliberately misleading.

"What does it matter!" sneered Rita. "Sincerity died long ago with the Founders."

It certainly died in you... thought Hermione. "In time you'll value truth – you'll beg to know it."

"Truth! You dare speak of truth! Your whole life is a lie! Do you think I'm a fool? A little child with your abilities? Who can see the future? Fly? Pass through walls? You who are so gracious and considerate leave me in solitary with nothing but a book to read? I'm a writer you imbecile! I need to put down my ideas else I'll go mad!"

"Fine! Here..." She opened Skeeter's handbag and, taking the Quick-Quotes Quill, placed it between the leaves of the book. "There's endless space in there to write. Knock yourself out."

While Rita continued to rant and rave, Hermione turned aside to consider a fair penalty. Certainly there were precedents in Muggle legal history. Scandal writers had faced prison terms for far less than the catalogue of spite that had poured from Skeeter's quill during her career.

"The sentence is eight years."

Skeeter wailed bitterly at every subsequent statement as Hermione ploughed firmly on. "At the end of that time I shall attempt to straighten you out as best I can. Then you will be fully Obliviated of any knowledge of the magical community and of who you were. After that you will live out your days as a Muggle in some other English-speaking country. You'll also be magically traced. Should you resume your old career with the same wicked attitude, then you'll return here to serve time for the rest of your life."

.

Girl Talk... and Tears

Summer passed swiftly, and far too soon the departure of Luna and Ginny loomed close. On the last day of August, Mr and Mrs Lovegood had rushed out to buy last-minute items: trunks and robes and schoolbooks. Hermione found the two girls whispering alone in Luna's bedroom – breaking down into giggles when she came in.

"What are you two up to now?"

Ginny nudged Luna who said, "Tell us about... growing up."

Hermione laughed. "Luna, I can't believe you of all people don't know the facts of life – all those animals you've observed."

Luna and Ginny looked at each other before Ginny asked rather shyly, "Yes, but humans are... different. Tell us about... boys and... you know..."

"You mean the romantic, emotional side of lovemaking, don't you?"

They nodded, and a new eagerness was in their eyes. So Hermione sat down with them and for the next hour or two she conveyed to them what they might expect – the perfections and imperfections, the give and take, and what care they should take to keep control of their own lives. Her guidance evolved into practical matters. Cosmetics and scents were conjured and she taught them how not to apply them before demonstrating ways of enhancing their best features in ways suitable for young teens.

They shrieked with delight at their reflections in the dressing table mirror, strutting back and forth to catch a sideways glimpse of themselves.

"You're only ten but keep all this in mind for when you're a bit older," advised Hermione, feeling very much the big sister.

"But they grow up faster in France!" protested Ginny.

Luna said, "Yes, they wear lipstick in second-year! And... underthings!" She pointed at her chest.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but patiently conjured Muggle trainer bras and showed them how to slip them on and tweak them into position. Ginny said it felt like wearing a tiny vest and no way was she going to wear the silly things ever again even if she grew to be twice as big as her mum, but Luna asked for ones of every colour and size – 'so she could grow into them'.

It was a girly session and Hermione loved every minute. The experience had never occurred in her previous youth when she'd been obliged to seek out embarrassing books, or eavesdrop on Lavender Brown and the other girls in her dorm. Hermione cried that night, realising as never before, that she would not see her friends again as young girls – if at all.

On the day in question there were more tears, of course, but unexpectedly, it was Ron who was the most distressed. He'd never been without his little sister's company for more than a few hours – and that rarely. It was one thing for him to have left her behind when he went to Hogwarts, but for her to leave him produced a visible absence in their home that really hurt.

"You'll have to come over more often," said Harry to his melancholy friend. "You've not met Neville yet."

But through September, Ron could not be consoled. Hermione did what she could – though she was now intensely busy with her genetic research which had reached a significant phase. A chapter had closed in all their lives and each one knew that nothing would be the same ... ever again.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

There's a broken link to Pottermore on the wikia concerning the sentience of magical paintings. For me, it raises all sorts of moral questions to be able to create conscious life. I'd have thought there'd be a Gamp's law against playing God like that. I mean, you can't conjure food or valuables but you can create a living, conscious person trapped in a portrait? Nor can I think of a halfway house - they're either conscious or they're not. Anyway, in this story they are like interactive videos or computers – expressing genuine intelligence but not consciously aware so can't be hurt. However, I thought it would be fun to leave it slightly ambiguous with Hermione's statement 'you just think you are.' :D

I spoke about people transforming at the end of the last chapter. In this fic, clothes, handbags, wands, red-painted fingernails, and anything carried are all restored when reverting to human form – or in Rita's aborted transformation, just the handbag and her spectacles were restored before the process was halted.

In last week's reviews, Suzululu4moe, you raised a good point about the werewolves remembering Hermione's face. I confess I hadn't thought of that. But realistically they didn't see much of her face with the hood, and there were only a few survivors. The whole pack didn't turn out, that was just the sentries and Greyback. Still...

Jhotenko, you indicated Rita is not as evil as dark wizards. My view is she does acts of lesser evil but far more of them. The sum total of the suffering she caused ought not to be underestimated. A professional bully, she is cruel, malicious, and no doubt would ruin lives, careers, businesses, drive people to suicide, and indirectly be responsible for injuries and murders inflicted by those who believe her. However, after reading your comments, I did reduce the life sentence I had planned for her to only 8 years and loss of magic to keep it in proportion to criminals like Greyback. The malformation, of course, was an accident. As for the legality of it – no, it's not, but Rita would singlehandedly have revealed much of Hermione's plans and they would fail. Many dark wizards would not be captured but would continue to torture and murder. And Magical/Muggle cooperation would never take place. Billions would die just as they did originally.

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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