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So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year. Now read on...

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Chapter 42

The Implicating Memories


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The Cracked Oath

Hermione turned her back while Harry, fresh from his shower, hurriedly got dressed. Then, with Hermione now invisible and immaterial once more, they left the bathroom together. She easily summoned and copied the oath from Daggard who had been waiting outside, puffing furiously on her pipe.

"Took yer feggin' time din't yer!" snarled the half-hag.

"Soap in my eyes," said Harry, and they did look rather sore.

"Good. Serve yer right."

Hermione shook her immaterial head and swept away down to the fourth floor secret passage where the twins had agreed to meet her again.

"It's legally flawless, isn't it?" said Hermione as she watched Fred and George study the copy of the oath she'd brought them. "I only browsed over it a couple of times on my way here, but it looks too simple a document for any get-out to have been overlooked."

"Hold your horses a minute there," said George. "The thing is, you think too rationally, Hermione. You need to look at with a twisted, devious attitude like we've carefully perfected for ourselves over the years. Let me read it out again..."

"If you must," sighed Hermione, "but it's just a standard oath with their names inserted."

"Exactly," said George, "and that's its weakness." He cleared his throat. "In recognition of James Potter saving my life and honour-bound by it, I, Steffilde Lusk Daggard give solemn oath on my life to preserve from death and grave injuries whilst not under his parents' protection, one Harry James Potter till year be done.'"

"At least it explains why they had to wait until Harry left his parents protection and came to Hogwarts. It also confirms that Harry will have some free time from the hag at Christmas."

Fred shook his head. "More than that, Hermione. Modern magical agreements declare various definitions at the start to avoid confusion or ambiguity. These old runic oaths were governed by general definitions that applied to them all – unless stated differently."

"So...?"

"So, till year be done doesn't mean twelve months," said Fred, "it means–"

"A calender year!" squealed Hermione. "It ends at midnight on the thirty-first of December THIS year?"

"Better than that," said Fred. "Her obligation will end when Harry returns to the protection of his family for the Christmas holidays."

"OH. MY. GOD!" cried Hermione. "That's only a few weeks away!" The words from Jop Gair's owled message came immediately to her mind: Daggard's held a bitter grudge against the boy for robbing her of the glory of vanquishing You-know-who, and she's almost certainly waiting an opportunity to get her revenge! How will she strike, and when? wondered Hermione. On the Hogwarts Express home? No, Harry would at least need to meet his parents at King's Cross to safely terminate the oath, and the hag would never get past the Fidelius charm of Grimmauld Place. Somewhere between then – else months later when least expected? While they're out visiting friends or shopping?

"Hermione?" said Fred. "You've gone all doolally. We'd hate for you to be carried off by wizards in white robes."

"–Especially without first telling us where the other secret tunnel is," added George.

"One-eyed witch statue, next floor down! Password is Dissendium!" cried Hermione as she ran towards the back of the mirror exit. "I've got to speak to Harry again... somehow."

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A Dastardly Demand

Preoccupied with the approaching threat to Harry, Hermione came out from behind the mirror and hurried along the fourth floor corridor. If her mind had been more sharply awake, she'd have reacted faster to the stink and body warmth that hit her from behind. One hand seized her right wrist while an arm snaked around her throat and she was dragged backwards, completely off-balance through a doorway, and down into an ungainly sitting position on the floor with the arm still tightly around her throat. She refrained from dematerialising when she recognised the door a few feet in front of her: she was in Room 4J – the Crest meeting room. Was this the traitor who gripped her from behind? Or was it Daggard she could smell?

Unwilling to reveal her ability to overpower her attacker, Hermione's instinct was to wait a better opportunity to strike back covertly. She'd not been cursed or injured so it seemed unlikely that would happen in the next few seconds; an assassin would not have delayed but cursed her in the corridor and dragged her body out of sight if that had been their intention. Something was odd. This was not Daggard's style.

"You have to do what I tell you, Mudblood, or I'll break your neck!" rasped a desperate voice. It certainly wasn't Daggard's, nor did it threaten with magic; a physical warning was a Muggle-born's instinct except when–

"Pleasthe don't! I'll do anything you thsay!" whimpered Hermione, trying to sound terrified.

"You'll ask Harry to help me, you hear! Tell anyone else and by Merlin I'll hunt you down and feed you to dogs!"

Emboldened by the news that she would be released eventually, she squeaked, "Why Harry?"

The arm tightened unpleasantly against her windpipe. "Don't play dumb, Mudblood! Everyone knows he's the Dark Lord's equal. He'll know what to do."

"About what? Who thshall I thsay needsth histh help?" Hermione gasped, for she was struggling to breathe against the pressure.

"He'll know. He knows everything. He's the only one who can save me now. Give him my message."

Hermione grimaced as it dawned on her who her assailant must be. He'd tried to murder once; should she strike while she was still able?

The arm at her throat slid down and Hermione felt a hand groping inside her robes. In one swift move the fabric was pulled over her head, trapping her arms and blinding her to what was going on – except Hermione had been released and the door slammed before she could struggle her face free enough to see again. Hermione didn't waste time opening the door but hurled herself invisibly through it and swung left, only to find the Weasley twins walking towards her.

"Fred! George! Who just passed you!"

They jerked to a stop, looking about themselves. "Hermione?"

"I'm under Harry's invisibility cloak!" she lied. "Who passed you!"

"Nobody," said George. "We've only just come out from the mirror passage. What's happening? Is Harry alright?"

"We're just going to check out the one-eyed witch statue route to Hogsmeade you told us about," said Fred. "But if you need help..."

To Hogsmeade... of course!

"Hermione?" said George. But she'd already fled the opposite way in pursuit of her attacker.

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Memo Randoms

But fast as Hermione had sped towards the one-eyed witch statue, there was no sign of her adversary within its secret passage to Hogsmeade. She gave up after a few hundred paces and trudged back, thrusting her hands grumpily into her pockets as she did so. But her left hand met resistance. Something was in her robe pocket that had not been there before! Her fingers instantly recognised the familiar shape and texture of a small book. Motionless, hand still in pocket, she looked ahead along the rock tunnel.

Long ago, by the looks of them, a worker's bench and stool had been placed at the start of the passage – very near where she had descended from the statue – and Hermione lit the wall torch above them before sitting down and withdrawing the sole content of her pocket. Her eyes alighted on a small ledger bound in rich, red leather with a smart gold crest on the front; it was an ornately-scrolled letter Z. By reason more than recognition, she identified it swiftly: here was the book she'd seen Zabini use on more than one occasion to take notes. With shaky fingers she opened and turned a few leaves.

The pages were of the finest vellum – though magic had tinged them pale blue – and she was at first disappointed to find them blank. But Zabini would not have given her such an unusual possession without reason. Give him my message, he'd said, but where was it?

Her fingers traced over the first page, tapping a few times as she had seen the Slytherin do. Nothing. Hermione shook her head and let out a long sigh. Where had she seen this rare type of parchment before?

"That's memory parchment, that is," came a voice from above her head. Fred let himself slide down the chute and George followed. "So what's a young Gryffindor doing gadding about invisibly, chasing people who aren't there, hiding down secret passages only she knows about, and trying to read the unreadable, we ask ourselves," said Fred. "Spill it, Granger, we like a mystery."

Memory parchment! Of course! So this is what it looks like! Maybe the twins can help, thought Hermione. "I want you not to jump to conclusions and to swear not to tell anyone in authority unless I say so."

George grinned. "Tell someone in authority? Us?"

Hermione nodded and showed them the front cover of the ledger with its ominous letter Z. Immediately their wands came out.

"Zabini escaped this way?" said Fred. "You're crazy coming down here alone!"

George peered into the diminishing light further along the tunnel. "Fred's right, Hermione! What if Zabini is hiding out down there!"

"He's long gone. But before he left – or maybe he came back briefly just now – he gave me this notebook to give Harry."

"Well, you'll never be able to read it, if that's what you're trying to do," said George as he tucked away his wand. "Memory parchment records a wizard's observations nonverbally and hands-free. Researchers and field workers use them for extended random notes – those that can afford one. But it's not visible writing; it's experiences. Only the writer himself can retrieve his own memories – well except for very powerful wizards like Dumbledore. What's that mind spell, he uses, Fred?"

"Legilimens. Yes, the Headmaster might be able to read it."

"So he told you to give it the 'boy who lived'," smirked George. "After the Prophecy was published, some thought Harry could walk on water, read minds, and fly through walls without a broomstick."

"Balderdash!" cried Hermione. "Yes, Harry's a great Gryffindor but just because his mother saved him from a killing curse as a baby, you can't really think–"

"I'm not saying we believe the stories!" said George. "But he did survive that infallible curse, so maybe he has 'special powers'" – George wiggled his fingers derisively in the air – "that we don't know about. Just saying. You know, in case you'd rather not take it to the Headmaster." George added a wink to confirm he didn't think much of the idea.

"I'll think about it," said Hermione. "Zabini must have thought he could trust my judgement."

Fred laughed. "You're joking! People like Zabini despise Muggle-borns. In his eyes, you're filth – lower than the underside of worm droppings at the Earth's core. He was treating you like a house-elf and expects you to run to Dumbledore or McGonagall like a good little, rule-abiding girl. Well it's obvious Zabini wants to do a deal. Maybe the book proves Draco provoked him."

"Or attacked him first," added George.

"Maybe," said Hermione, "or perhaps your thinking is too devious and he really does want me to give it Harry. I'll consider your suggestions though," said Hermione, wondering how to divert the twins away from her now she'd received their help.

But Fred and George were gazing eagerly down the tunnel. Fred lit his wand. George looked at his watch. "Look, we'll catch you later, we just want to..."

"Sure, sure. You go." Hermione tried to keep the relief out of her voice. She trusted the twins but they were not privy to her closest secrets.

For a while she watched their light diminish as they proceeded down the tunnel, then Hermione turned back to the ledger and began to mentally probe it. Words began to form in her mind, sensations too, fears, doubts, visions... The tunnel around her faded to black as her attention focused inwardly...

Desperate. Beg help, Harry Black. Only lasted one hour in first-floor girls' disused bathroom before Hufflepuff girl, reddish-brown hair, found me. Took me to secret room. Brings food.

Hermione was thrown back to her physical self in the tunnel, gasping in shock, hardly able to take in what she was reading. The girl she'd perceived in the sensations-memory was Susan Bones. That she could be the traitor within Crest was unthinkable, and yet there could be no doubt. Only the trusted core of Crest members knew about the Room of Requirement, and the magic would not permit entry to any other, but it would not have been too difficult for her to work out that the room could be configured for a different need: a hideout for instance! Was Zabini still–

And the realisation dazzled Hermione like a light switching on in her head: Zabini had never left Room 4J! Instead he'd covered Hermione's eyes with her robe, slammed the door without going out at all, then slipped back through the alcove into the Room of Requirement. He was still there!

Again, Hermione turned her attention to the ledger...

Told Draco not to keep bugging me but he's wearing me down. Decided to have it out with him. Accepted his offer of a full explanation up in the Tower, but suspicious. To symbolise trust in each other, both must drink from same chalice. I say you first. He agrees but while his attention is on turning the goblet to his lips, anger takes me! My jet of red light from nowhere thrusts him way, way up and off the tower. Panic and run. Panic and run! Oh, Merlin – RUN!

Hermione laid down the log of Zabini's thoughts and feelings then stared into the flickering flames of the wall light. What had Zabini been angry about? Draco's words must have seemed inconsequential to Zabini because he scarcely remembered them in the memo parchment – only impressions of routinely-expressed manners to sit, to have a drink – then anger! Why?

Hermione closed her eyes to shut out the bright yellow and orange of the flickering flames but the colours still danced on her eyelids, mixing with the jet of red from the memory – 'from nowhere.' What an odd way to put it: 'from nowhere.'

Was there more in Zabini's mind-diary?

Always scoffed at Hufflepuffs but I'd be in Azkaban if not for the girl who brought me here. She doesn't stay long. Leaves food and water and goes. So distant, I don't even know her name.

Hermione blinked back to reality. It was obvious with hindsight. 'Susan lacks focus' and 'She's been all broody and remote recently,' Neville and Ron had said. Those were all signs of the Imperious Curse. Why didn't I notice! Still... even Dumbledore and the Ministry had never recognised that Crouch was under the curse in her former life, she remembered. Had Zabini's infamous mother forced Susan to help her son? Surely there hadn't been time? And if Zabini had escaped to Diagon Alley then why did he return? His mother was as sharp as a Kneazle claw; had she used Polyjuice to emulate her son being near Gringotts, so diverting the hunt?

The remaining space on the opened ledger sheet remained blank and silent but Hermione turned over to the next page and opened her mind to Zabini's later notes about himself in the Tower, letting herself be drawn to the strongest...

Why? Why'd I act so foolishly? Not like me at all. Been over my memory so many times. And why cast a spell at such an angle when Draco was right in front of me and I keep my wand in my inner left pocket for speed... my wand... I remember pulling it out, pointing it at Draco – but no memory record here of that at all! Nor of dropping it! ... Aah!

Within Zabini's memory, Hermione stared into the blackness on her right and saw then what Zabini had finally focused upon for the first time: the narrow beam of red death coming – out of nowhere! Literally, there was nothing but the empty space behind the bench...

As if someone else had been there but removed from my mind or... was invisible! Who?

Hermione closed the book and straighted up on the stool. She knew of only one person in the school with an invisibility cloak and the ability to tamper with people's minds – the half-hag, Steff Daggard! When Zabini fled the Tower in panic, he'd have been vulnerable to the alteration of his memory: the odd angle of the red curse being changed and the anger of using his wand on Draco implanted in him. She'd certainly read Neville's mind; had she also inserted the memory of the kiss? She pushed the book into the bag and ascended up through the one-eyed witch statue to find out.

A glance at her watch reminded Hermione it was still early. So much had happened already, yet hardly anyone would be up and around at this time on a Sunday morning. Still, she'd need to sneak into the boys' dormitory to find out...

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Neville's First Kiss

"Kiss me, Neville," said Daggard. Crimson paint, stinking of turpentine, flowed out of her facial skin as, with an evil leer, her hands pressed his shoulders down onto his bed, pinning him helplessly. "I'm real flesh and blood and you cannot resist me!"

"NOOO!" moaned Neville, struggling to remove the hands.

"Hush, it's me..." said Hermione softly, "you're dreaming! Don't wake everyone!"

Neville's eyes blinked open. Hermione was leaning over him, shaking him gently awake. His eyes darted nervously around the dormitory. It was not yet light. Seamus, Dean, and Ron were still asleep; Harry's bed was empty and he realised with relief that Daggard was not there either.

"Hermione? What are you doing here in the boys' dorm!"

She thrust his dressing gown down on top of his bedclothes. "Hurry, I need to speak to you privately. I'll be downstairs in front of the fire."

On his way down, Neville passed Harry and Daggard coming up, and he cringed to one side. What if the hag had really kissed him while he'd been asleep? She was there all night and could easily take advantage. He hugged his dressing gown more tightly around himself and continued to descend.

Hermione patted the sofa beside her, and Neville sat down. "What's this all about?"

"Have you seen... what was her name? The girl in the painting?"

"Etherea? No, I promised – well, sort of promised I wouldn't, didn't I? In case you hadn't noticed, I've been miserable these last few days."

There was guilt in Hermione's grimace. "Yes, I have noticed, Neville, and I'm sorry, but it's for the best."

"Is that all you wanted from me? You could have waited till breakfast to–"

"No, no, I wanted to... uuh... well, I wondered if you'd... ask her something."

"You want me to see her again! Hermione, it's been hard enough keeping away. You've no idea how–"

"Neville, you need to ask her if you ever kissed her."

"What! You know I did. That's partly why I can't ever face her again. She hates me for what I did."

"Look, I don't think it ever happened. I told you there was no paint on your lips when we danced. I also suspect Daggard implanted in you a false memory of you snogging the picture."

For a moment, Neville stared in astonishment, then he shook his head. "No, it was real, and not just once, I was hugging and squeezing and kissing her again and again. I couldn't stop myself even though she begged me to."

"How can you possibly hug a painting?"

He blinked and his mouth opened silently for a few moments. "That's... right... how...? But I felt her so vividly. She was warm and soft and..." Neville's eyes began to glaze over.

"False memory," Hermione said firmly to snap him out of it. "As false as the paint conjured onto your lips. What sort of picture is it? How could you reach into a painting? Think about it."

She watched Neville as he absorbed what she was saying, then he cried out, "It's a scenic view of a window in a turret! I couldn't possibly reach across to her even if the picture was real!"

"Okay, don't panic. I can remove the false experience from you. Just sit calmly and I'll–"

"No! No don't! I'd rather– uuh..." He jumped up, flushed with excitement. "You realise what this means!" He ran to the portrait hole. "I've got to tell her! She'll forgive me, I know she will!"

"Neville, she won't know anything about–" But Neville was gone and Hermione sighed.

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Neville Explains His Absence To Etherea

"We are most displeased with thy prolonged avoidance of my chambers, Sir Neville," Princess Etherea said imperiously, rustling up her crinolines in a show of agitation. "Pray explain thyself."

"I crave thy pardon, majesty, but I was detained by foul rumours."

"Indeed? and what might be the substance of such knavery prattle?"

"I can scarcely convey the lies to one such as yourself, Princess, for they include your highness and myself both."

Etherea gasped. "Then I wouldst hear upon the matter this instant."

Neville squirmed. "An accusation was made upon myself that I defiled the lips of your majesty with kisses, causing your good self much distress."

The princess had the grace to become quite flushed and Neville perceived she could barely speak, so heavy was her breathing at the news he had brought. She raised her chin defiantly. "And how didst these wanton rumourmongers measure the distress of one so far above them, might one ask?"

Neville wondered how to answer. "It is my understanding that the party concerned directly discerned my belief, or rather, my conviction, by use of dark magic: that your virtuous nature would struggle strenuously against such an imposition."

"I see. And for how long, Sir Neville, have you harboured these desires so easily perceived by the mage?"

It was Neville's turn to blush. "Majesty, I did not mean that... that is... uuh... the dark witch perceived only what I might have thought should I have had the slightest inclination to consider the matter – which I had not."

"Your meaning is, I think, that you regard my lips as not worthy of your consideration?"

Neville gasped. "Not so, my princess! But defiling them with my own mouth and without your leave is the situation that never occurred to me. ... Ever!" He let out a long breath, pleased that he'd wriggled out of his dilemma.

"Your princess is much surprised to learn that her valiant Knight has then, spent so much of his time contemplating my lips at all, let alone done so with the assumption that I would readily give leave to his desire."

For a moment, Neville was shocked. Etherea's games of pretence were so intricate that occasionally he forgot she was always playacting. Then he smiled. "I lack the wisdom to answer you sensibly, my lady."

Etherea snapped, "We are not amused, good sir! A princess has the right to know the intentions of her subjects. I insist you convey your innermost feelings on the matter of my lips that I might judge for myself your worth."

And so their exchanges proceeded for another hour at least, becoming warmer, more involved, and very enjoyable as it went on. Neville was never so free and able to converse on the matter of kissing with any girl as he was with the princess, for though the ideas they shared were real enough, the consequences were not. The same didn't apply when he returned to Hermione in the common room...

"Well?" she demanded, as Neville swayed in the door wearing a grin as soppy as a wet rag.

"Well what, Hermione?" he smiled.

"What did she have to say?" she hissed.

"About...?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh, right..." grinned, Neville, coming back to himself somewhat. "She forgave me... I think."

"No..." glared Hermione with a strained whisper before glancing around to make sure no one was within listening distance. "Did she confirm there had been no kiss – not one – ever?"

"Oh, yes, you could say that," smirked Neville. "We discussed the matter at length."

"So that's that then?"

"Absolutely."

Hermione knew for certain now that if Daggard had the ability to plant such a false memory in Neville's mind then she was almost certainly the one who had tricked Zabini too. The circumstantial evidence would never be enough to put her in Azkaban but it was strong enough to warrant a Veritaserum trial at Devil's Deep with no risk of Daggard being released. Hermione began to make her plans to strike at the moment when Daggard returned Harry to his parents at Kings' Cross for the start of the Christmas holidays. And then there was Zabini to consider. Untangling the web needed further thought.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

oXCrystalAngelXo, you asked about Harry/Hermione action. Don't read too much into the shower scene – that was just Hermione in big sister mode (or even granny mode!) in a hurry to learn about the oath. Her mind is a varying mind-meld between little girl and old woman and there she was in mature mode and was too distracted to pay much attention to Harry's body. However, Harry reacted as one would expect an eleven-year-old boy to react. These are all steps along the way to romance as Harry begins to see Hermione more as a girl than an older sister. Maybe next year they'll be holding hands but don't expect tongues at dawn any time soon. ;)

Many report they hate Daggard and can't wait for retribution. These plot elements all tie the story together and are relevant so don't worry, we're getting there.

Many thanks for all 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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