.

So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. Over a hotpot dinner, Jop Gair told Hermione he'd persuaded Fudge to accept Umbridge's removal from both Hogwarts and the Ministry, but Hermione must act very quickly to bring it about. Now read on...

.

Chapter 51

Ultimate Detention


.

Dark Return

The great Hogwarts clock was striking seven-fifteen in the evening as Hermione returned from discussion about Umbridge over dinner with the Gairs. She slid in through the stones of Gryffindor Tower and made her way to the Fat Lady Portrait.

"Pig Snout," she declared on her approach and, as the painting swung wide, she hurried through without pausing, book in hand, quill out, and clutching her open bag as if she'd just returned from the library.

Blend in, blend in, she thought to herself and quietly took a chair against a small table in the corner of the common room. She allowed a good five minutes before casually asking Dean as he passed by with Seamus, "Seen Harry?"

"Uuh... I think he and Ron went to see if Nev's out yet."

"Neville?"

Dean called back over his shoulder, "Detention, remember? Breakfast this morning?" Seeing Hermione's puzzled look he added while walking away backwards, "Chatting up Lavender Brown with her shiny blonde hairdo? ... Called her a princess?" Dean turned and hurried on after Seamus.

Breakfast seemed so long ago to Hermione, who now stared rigidly at the wall in shock. How could I have forgotten! What to do? What to do? Don't panic! Don't rush! Don't let anyone see any connection between you and Umbridge.

Two minutes slid slowly by after Dean and Seamus had disappeared upstairs before Hermione casually sauntered into the little Gryffindor reading room. It was empty and as far as she could tell, no one had paid any attention to her. Through the wall she flew, then sprinted on in the direction of the Headmistress's office, hoping she wasn't too late. How could I not have remembered Neville's detention! Still, at least the blood quill was neutralised. But over two hours!

Hearing faint voices ahead of her on the fifth floor, she sprinted into an alcove behind a statue of Boris the Bewildered, heart pounding. It would not help to be seen anywhere near the Headmistress. Not tonight.

"Hang on, Mate, we'll get you there."

"Need ... rest..." was the faint reply.

Had that been Ron's voice? Hermione peeped out. Two shadowy figures with another slumped between them being half-carried.

"Harry?"

"Hermione! It's Neville!"

"In here. Quickly." Hermione used her wand to open the door beside the statue and they all moved quickly inside.

"It's his feet," said Harry, laying Neville down on a wooden bench with Ron's help.

"Who's there?" came a voice. Ron saw a ghostly girl drifting towards them.

"Not now, Myrtle, please!" cried Hermione, and the ghost burst into anguished sobs and streaked away wailing.

Hermione cast a light then swore under her breath. Neville's feet were bare and dark with bruises and patches of dried blood.

"What is this place? Who was that?" said Ron, looking round. A sizeable pool was sunk into a white marble floor gently lit by a candle-filled chandelier at the far end.

"Prefects' bathroom. That was Moaning Myrtle. She haunts bathrooms because she died in one," said Hermione. She was scrabbling in her bag and soon pulled out a soft pouch and a small vial which she handed to Harry. "Murtlap. Remember how to prepare it?" When Harry nodded, she said, "Use the dittany on the abrasions."

"Ron!" cried Harry, "can you fill that bowl from the pool? Is it warm?"

Ron dipped a hand. "Yeah." He cringed as he spied Myrtle, arms folded, sulking at the bottom of the great bath and glaring up at him.

"Neville? Neville, can you hear me?" said Hermione, cradling his head in one arm.

"He's in a daze, Hermione," muttered Harry.

"Neville, I need to know what happened. May I see your thoughts? Will you let me in?"

"uuh..."

"I think he said yes," Harry murmured, guiding Neville into a sitting position so he could soak his feet.

Hermione braced herself. "Keep him as still as possible."

Then she swam into his most recent memory...

.

Neville's Experience

Hermione watched through Neville's eyes as he entered the Headmistress's office. Being swept into the lion's den was a strange sensation. His swaying over the pink spiral floor made her dizzy.

"Good evening, Mr Longbottom," came a sugary voice from Dumbledore's desk. Hermione could never think of it in any other way but his, despite the tray, teacups, and dreadful flowery teapot that now resided there.

Neville muttered, "Good evening, Professor Umbridge."

"Oh no, no, no, that won't do at all. Let's try again, shall we? Good evening, Mr Longbottom."

"Erm... good evening, Professor Umbridge." His voice had been raised in volume and pitch but not in interest.

She scowled. "We'll be re-evaluating your attitude to your betters, today, Mr Longbottom." A trace of humour softened her childish voice. "Shall we begin?"

Neville opened his mouth but he wasn't sure what to say.

She continued, "If you were asked to give total obedience to Ministry expertise, Mr Longbottom, what would you reply?"

"Uumm... depends on what they asked me to do?"

Umbridge's eyes bulged, and there was a snap to her quick response. "That is where you are sadly wrong and where correction is most necessary. I shall make this very simple: We are supported by authority's benevolence. Resisting achieves nothing but pain. Could you repeat that for me, please?"

"We are supported by authority's...?"

"Benevolence!" snapped Umbridge.

"...benevolence. Resisting achieves ... nothing ... but pain." Neville incanted dully.

"No, that is not good enough. Repeating words without meaning what you say is not taking them to heart, is it? Would you like to take them to heart, Mr Longbottom?"

"Erm... yes?" Neville didn't care. He wanted this nonsense over with at the earliest possible moment.

"Then I will help you. I'm your friend, Mr Longbottom." Delicately and slowly, she lifted the teapot and began to pour. Hermione noticed she only poured out one cup but added enough sugar for several.

Neville waited.

"Repeat after me: Doing is better than saying," said Umbridge, after taking a little sip of tea.

In a monotone, Neville rolled out the same words. The Headmistress shook her head and the dark little bow on top wobbled like a horrible black dung fly. "You see the floor on which you stand, Mr Longbottom?"

Neville replied that he did.

"And if you resist it? If you press upon it?"

Neville frowned.

"Do it," said Umbridge, more severely. "Press your weight down upon it. See if you can overcome, overturn, or break down that which is so helpfully supporting you."

A sigh escaped Neville's lip but he complied.

"Well?"

"Nothing happens," said Neville.

"Precisely," simpered Umbridge, as if she'd evoked some profound, earth-shaking revelation. She took another sip of tea. "And how about the centre? The one around which all your support revolves?"

"The brick in the middle?"

She inclined her head.

"You want me to step on it?"

She stared at him, unmoving, as if everything was so obvious and clear.

Neville went towards the middle of the floor. Through his eyes, Hermione noticed that whereas all the other bricks were laid end to end in a spiral, the central brick was upright showing only its smallest end. There was a sinister, unpleasant stain around it that disturbed the girl, but Neville didn't seem to notice. He stood upon it and lifted his heels up and down as if to press his weight down more firmly.

"And?" said Umbridge.

"Nothing," said Neville. He'd begun to think he might as well simply follow the game now, play it out and go.

"And if you try to remove the centre of your support?"

"You want me to try and get the brick out?" He stared down at it, puzzled.

"It's not cemented in like the others. Its secure because of its surrounding inferiors yet free of their control."

Neville crouched down and felt the top edges of the brick. "I can't get enough grip."

"Oh, I think you can if you really try."

He pulled a face and struggled to squeeze every finger around the coarse rim. With an effort he eased it up half an inch then found he had an improved purchase on its sides. He lifted the brick out with only sore fingertips for his trouble.

"Place it in on the floor in front of my desk where I can see it. There's an important lesson for you to learn."

Neville began to wonder if she wasn't a little bit mad but he laid the brick down where he was told.

"Try pushing it down now its temporarily away from its central position."

He pulled a face. The joke was wearing very thin. "You want me to stand on the brick?"

"No, you want to, don't you? I know you do."

He drew a long breath and stepped onto the brick. There was just room for the front of the soles of both his feet, and his shoes gave him a little support too. After a minute had passed he said, "How long for?"

"Oh, as long as it takes for you to learn the lesson," said Umbridge sweetly. She opened a drawer in her desk and drew out a pile of parchments which she began to check through with a red quill. Hermione recognised them as the Defence homework which had been handed into Quirrell.

Many minutes passed. Umbridge's quill scratched away – sometimes quite viciously – otherwise there was nothing to occupy Neville's interest. He became bored. His feet had begun to ache slightly but it seemed no worse than standing quite still waiting for a Puffapod to flower naturally. Only after a quarter of an hour did he become uncomfortable enough to try to shift his weight – but couldn't. There was no room other than to ease one foot up a time very slightly so that his tormentor might not notice. He began to breathe a little more heavily and stared down to see if he could edge one shoe a quarter inch differently. He couldn't.

Through his eyes, Hermione saw Neville look up at Umbridge. The Headmistress had been watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.

"Yes?"

"Uuh... I think I understand now," said Neville hesitantly.

"Oh, no, I don't think you do," was the reply. "You must will with all your heart to press down the centre of your support. Only by failing will you truly understand the futility of your arrogant stance and completely accept the truth."

Hermione could not bear any more. She moved forward through Neville's memory, then forward even further. The clock on the wall showed well past six o'clock but the boy was still standing to attention on the brick – though swaying a little, and there was sweat on his brow.

"Have you succeeded yet in pushing it down?" Umbridge said suddenly.

"No," croaked Neville, surprised by the abrupt interruption.

"Not even a little bit? In all this time?"

He shook his head. "It's hopeless."

"Exactly!" exulted Umbridge. "You may stand down."

Neville released a long breath in relief, but groaned as his aching feet tried to stand normally. He stumbled a few paces.

"You're thinking a different approach might not be so futile, aren't you?" gloated Umbridge, watching his expression for any sign of weakness. "I know just how the minds of underlings work. You're supposing the side must be vulnerable, yes?"

"The side?"

"Yes, turn it over. You need to learn this, don't you?"

"Turn...?" He leaned down and turned over the brick onto its narrow edge. He stared worriedly. Hadn't he done enough? Surely she didn't mean him to continue?

"Try, Mr Longbottom. It's the only way you'll learn."

"But..." Resignedly, he placed the ball of his right foot onto the brick in a half-tip-toe posture. Surely he couldn't balance for more than a few seconds? He lifted the weight of his left foot beside the right, wobbling for a few moments before he held position. His arms extended slightly to help keep him balanced but it was difficult.

Hermione had seen and felt enough. As the minutes dragged by, Neville's pain was as real to her as if she had been there physically. And yet she owed it to Neville to suffer with him. Guiltily, she moved forward half an hour through the remembrance. Then forward again! A sea of virtual pain now suffused her feet right up to her knees and she struggled to remain with him.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge cleared her throat finally, then slowly poured herself another cup of tea. "Well?"

"Nothing," Neville croaked hoarsely. "It's not yielded at all."

"That's right. Authority never yields. And deep down you know that's how it should be, don't you?" She took a long thoughtful drink before saying. "Stand down."

With a groan, Neville stumbled off the brick and fell over. He wasn't sure if he'd yet be able to walk to the door. He got to his knees and willed one foot to take his weight.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge wiped her mouth with a tiny handkerchief. "A few more minutes of your time before you go, Mr Longbottom."

"But..."

"Just five minutes. Unless, of course, you'd like to start all over again tomorrow night?"

Neville, still on one knee, winced and said dejectedly, "No."

"Very good." She tucked her handkerchief carefully up the sleeve of her cardigan. "There is one more approach I'd like you to try..." She looked pointedly at the brick where it still lay.

Neville stared. "You can't mean...?"

She nodded.

"Stood on end?" He shook his head vigorously and beads of sweat flew down onto the pink-bricked floor, spattering it with dark spots. "I can't anymore. Honestly, I just can't." He saw no pity in her bulging eyes. "And... it would topple over."

"I've thought of that. Perhaps you could wedge something down the cavity and push the brick down on top?"

"Wha...?" He looked wildly around.

"Have you nothing?"

With an effort, Neville struggled to his feet, grimacing at the fiery torture of his injuries. He patted his pockets and shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

He held his open hands out. "Yes."

"What about your Gryffindor socks? They should do fine."

"My socks?"

"In the hole, Mr Longbottom."

For a long time he stared at her in disbelief. Was this a nightmare? Or was she another devil sent to torment his soul?

Only when his legs gave way once more, and he sank to the ground, did he decide he must get this over with. "Only five minutes?"

"Yes. I think that will be enough to impress upon you this final lesson."

There was relief when he fumbled off his shoes and peeled off the socks. His swollen feet were a terrible mix of burning yellows and blacks but the air felt cool. On his knees he stuffed the sweaty socks down into the cavity and plunged the hated brick down on top. More than half of it protruded but it was held stable by the tightness of the gap. Nevertheless, he stared ruefully at the tiny rectangle on which he would have to stand. It was obvious he'd never get both feet onto it.

"I won't be able to. I know I won't," he said, struggling to even get up off his knees once more. The longer he left it the more his ankles swelled and stiffened.

"Only when you give your all, will you truly learn that resisting authority's benevolence brings nothing but painful failure. Five minutes, Mr Longbottom. Surely even you can manage that to improve yourself?"

"I really don't think it's possible."

"Oh, it's possible, Mr Longbottom. Trust me, I've had it thoroughly tested by... willing volunteers."

Hermione mentally shuddered. A quiet anger was bubbling up inside her but she had to remain calm and observe.

The spiralled brick floor felt rough and cold beneath Neville's agonisingly raw feet. Slowly he lifted his right leg then gingerly placed the foot atop the sharp-edge brick, grimacing as he did so. The boy shouted out in pain as he lifted himself up onto it, arms flailing wide to maintain his balance. His cries continued for the first half minute until they subsided into low, sustained groans.

Perhaps another minute had passed before he thought to look at the clock. It was almost seven.

"That was only twenty seconds, Mr Longbottom. Let's round it up, shall we? From seven to five past. That's easier for us, isn't it?"

Neville had no fight left in him to argue. Hermione read his courageous thought: I can do this!

Alas, in his second minute, the pain increased beyond his endurance and he toppled off, screaming as a cramp contorted his calf.

"Oh, dear," said Umbridge. "Begin again when you're ready." With a smirk, she began to pour another cup of tea.

Neville's right foot was now too severely bloated to be of use. He forced his left foot onto the brick and bit into his lip as he hoisted himself up once more. A minute of agony passed very slowly. Then another. At the end of the third, he squinted through sweat at the clock; it was five past seven. Pleadingly, biting hard on his lip, he looked at Umbridge.

"You began again, remember? Two more minutes."

Neville had nothing left. He collapsed, banging his knee to add to his agony. On the floor he writhed.

"Begin again when you're ready. Five minutes."

Unable to move, Neville curled up, wishing he was dead.

"Otherwise," simpered Umbridge with a girlish little giggle, "well I'm afraid you must return for another detention tomorrow night. Oh, and Mr Longbottom, refusing to attend a detention is automatic expulsion."

Tomorrow didn't exist. At that moment Neville didn't care if he never saw Hogwarts ever again. Prostrate, he began crawling away, leaving a faint trail of sweat and little blood spots in his wake.

Umbridge watched him for a minute or so until, bewildered, he bumped his head against the wall decorated with the ornamental plates. The kittens miaowed down at him.

"The door is the other way, Mr Longbottom," purred Umbridge.

Neville groaned. With a supreme effort mixed with both pride and despair he stood and turned. He ran. He fell. half-crying now but fighting it, he dragged himself on hands and knees to the door which lay open before him. Outside, only the smoothly descending spiral stair aided the boy as he pulled himself headfirst down onto it and lay still, grateful for the free ride. As he was drawn at last to the Gargoyle entrance, it sprang open. Harry and Ron stood there, calling out his name in shock, and reaching for him, lifting him up, caring for him.

Hermione pulled out of Neville's mind, shaking with rage, her magic crackling around the white marble of the Prefects' bathroom and fizzing the surface of the pool with angry bubbling tremors.

A flash of mirror-polished blade shone as she pulled out the Zabini presentation knife, eyes blind to her surroundings and squealing with fury, "She's dead! The bitch is dead!"

Ron backed off, frightened by the power and violence threatened. Harry seized her shoulders, the dagger moving inches from his face. "No, Hermione! NO!"

For a few moments she did not recognise him, then, as he continued to plead, her anger began to subside and she put away the knife. With a nod she conveyed to her friends that she had somewhat mastered herself once more and was taking stock of the changed situation.

"You're right, Harry. Death is too good for her." She thought some more. "Stay here with Neville until he is recovered enough. Help him back to your dorm when you can. Don't let anyone see you. Use the invisibility cloak and the map if necessary. Tell no one what has happened tonight."

"What about toad face?" said Ron.

Hermione's face was stony. "I'll take care of her. I'm going to do what I should have done on day one."

"You're not going to... kill her, are you?" said Harry.

"Worse," she said grimly. "I'm taking her out completely."

.

The Bloody Quill

Professor Umbridge hummed softly to herself as she began to burn another one of Dumbledore's books while it spun slowly in mid-air above the hearth. As she watched, the little flames guttered as though in a draught, smoked, and extinguished themselves. She spun around, puzzled. The book fell, almost unharmed.

"Who...? You're Granger, aren't you? What do you mean by this?" She strode over to her logbook on the Head's desk. "I have no other appointments this evening," she confirmed half to herself.

Hermione remained silent, watching her prey.

"Well?" said Umbridge. "Explain yourself."

"Detention," said Hermione.

Umbridge frowned, half-glancing at her log again. "No, but I shall oblige you with one if you have no good reason to be here. How did you get in?"

"You're the one who's in detention tonight, Dolores," Hermione said softly.

The Headmistress's eyes flared, then one eyebrow arched. "This is about Longbottom, isn't it? Has he been spreading ridiculous lies? He suffers from delusions. You heard him this morning. A pathetic infatuation with that Miss Lavender Brown he seems to regard as royalty."

"He hasn't spoken yet; he's still recovering." Hermione paused. "There's to be an investigation," she added quite firmly, knowing it was not quite a lie; Barty, Vera, and herself would scrutinise the evidence and decide Umbridge's fate.

For a moment, Umbridge hesitated, unsure of herself for the first time. "The boy must have had an accident then! He was fine when I dismissed him earlier."

Hermione waited, looking at the tiny stains on the floor, the still-protruding central brick, the pair of abandoned shoes. Her face was impassive, calculating.

Umbridge snorted, yet she was definitely unsettled. "You come here to...? Only to defy me, you impudent girl? Just who do you think you are! You will–"

"I'm Rosemary Brown, and I am your worst nightmare." Hermione winced inwardly. Her little girly voice rendered the cliché not scary at all.

Umbridge blinked. A few seconds were needed for her to make the connection with the anonymous owl message at breakfast, then her eyes bulged with glee. "Expulsion! I promise you that." She reached to her desk drawer to find the appropriate form.

"I agree," said Hermione, in a flat tone that stopped Umbridge in her tracks. "You are to be expelled after you have served your detention."

Colour spread across Umbridge's face and her ugly jowls quivered.

Out came Hermione's wand. She didn't need it, but wanted to move things along with an open threat.

A tiny girlish giggle came out of Umbridge's mouth as she casually drew out her own wand. "Oh my dear Miss Granger, are you going to tickle me with your immature witchcraft?" Her face hardened suddenly. "This action incurs a mandatory six months minimum in Azkaban. Surrender your wand now and I shall recommend that it be no longer than one year."

"I was considering a far heavier sentence," growled Hermione.

She made the tiniest of gestures and Umbridge's wand flew out of her stubby grip and splintered to dust in the air between them. Umbridge squealed a mix of anger and fear, her fat little legs running on the spot driven by a frustrated flight reflex that had nowhere for her to go. "You... you..."

Finally her mouth gaped and the frightened expression above it indicated Umbridge now knew she'd greatly underestimated the girl. "You're the one who..." Her arm flailed out in the direction of the quill box on the cabinet behind the desk. "It was you who tampered with my blood qu– with my quill!"

Hand in her beaded bag, Hermione strode forward so swiftly that Umbridge stumbled back a step.

The young girl snapped, "Call that a blood quill, Dolores? THIS is a fucking blood quill!" Hermione drove the Zabini knife into Dumbledore's desk with a heavy thud. Umbridge stared transfixed as it quivered there, then her hand began to slowly creep towards it.

Hermione read her intention as easily as her movement. "It's a cursed blade, token of a defensive debt owed by a most ancient and noble house. You cannot hope to use it against a Granger."

Umbridge drew back her pudgy little hand and hissed, "There will come a time when Mudbloods like you shall pay with–"

"SIT DOWN," Hermione said sternly. "You're going to be writing some lines for me, this evening."

"I shall not, and you cannot make me."

"We can do this the hard way or we can do it the really, really hard way," said Hermione and Umbridge felt every bone in her body seized in an invisible vice that pushed and animated her as a twisted marionette towards Dumbledore's chair. The knife leapt into Hermione's hand and, though she was several paces away, when she slashed it through the air, Umbridge's clothing: robes, underwear and all, fell in shreds around the woman's feet.

Umbridge squealed like a sow and cowered behind the desk, covering her nakedness as best she could, and blubbering incoherently, "You– you–"

Hermione threw the knife onto the desk before her. "You will carve the lines one at a time into the desktop."

"You want me to do lines? ... That's all? " Puzzled relief slightly lessened Umbridge's frightened demeanour. Arms crossed over her flabby breasts, she first rose uncertainly then darted swiftly into the seat, leaning forward as low as she could to grip the handle of the knife.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the woman. "I told you, it's the blood quill spell, Dolores. I modified the enchantment with a few extras, the better to help you learn." Hermione drew her hand across her throat to emphasise the meaning.

Umbridge's eyes widened and she dropped the knife as if it were hot. "No! No, I won't!"

The weapon rose of its own accord and its cruelly-curved tip poised ready at one side of the desk surface. Hermione said, "Left to itself, the knife will cut far deeper..."

As if to demonstrate, the blade plunged into the wood and Umbridge screamed in pain, blood dribbling down from a heavy wound in her chest. Forgetting all dignity, she squirmed like an eel to escape but was held firmly in the seat.

"Take up the knife again, Dolores, or you may not survive. The blade has no pity and I will not stop it."

Gibbering with fright, Umbridge forced herself to grasp the handle again, then looked at Hermione fearfully.

"You'll be re-evaluating your attitude to your betters, today, Dolores. Write out: Society is its own authority, and government merely serves it."

"But... that makes no sense to me at all."

"Write until it does!" barked Hermione.

As lightly as she could with the knife's fine point, Umbridge inscribed the declaration on the desktop, squealing and shrieking as the words were also scratched across her chest.

"How many times?" she gasped finally, fearing the worst.

Hermione had made a fresh pot of tea and was pouring herself a cup. She took a big slurp before saying sweetly, "Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in."

Many painful minutes passed by and emotions changed as Hermione sipped slowly of her hot beverage. Fifteen minutes ... twenty-five ... On her second cup, shame and pity swept through the girl. Umbridge's mind was foolish, friendless, and filled with dangerously unimportant notions, while her body was now red-streaked from throat to ankle with an assertion she could never grasp. What did such treatment prove?

"Enough." Hermione took back the knife, cleansed it, and put it into her bag and out of her sight.

Spite crept back onto Umbridge's face and she sneered at Hermione's weakness. Unmoved, Hermione stared right back – and much more deeply. Whispers of new thinking began to occur to the older woman. Confusion took possession. Words formed in her head and on her tongue, "I... I can never be worthy of this appointment..."

"You should leave Hogwarts in the morning," Hermione murmured softly.

"I'll go early... Hide my shame..." Umbridge mumbled to herself, eyes closing to dwell on some internal revelation.

"Perhaps the Minister will also accept your resignation from his office if you plead with him."

Umbridge began to shed tears, blubbering mindlessly to herself, "Might he be so gracious...? I do not deserve such release. I shall debase myself. Yes, if I beg, he may take pity on me and allow me to retire from his service."

"Pack your bags, leave home. Wait in the side alley amongst the filth thrown there. Someone will come during the day. They'll provide a suitable lodging in which you can spend the rest of your shameful life."

"Oh, I do hope so," sobbed the woman.

.

Cheers for Harry

Hermione gazed happily at the monster headlines in the Evening Prophet over dinner in the Great Hall the next day:

MINISTER FUDGE HAS
RESCUED HOGWARTS
UMBRIDGE RESIGNS !
DUMBLEDORE'S BACK
INGLETON PROMOTED
TO UNDERSECRETARY

In a surprise move, Minister Fudge sent his crack team of disposal experts to exterminate a vicious gremlin at the school whereupon Headmistress Umbridge, showing signs of stress and no longer needed as temporary caretaker, took the opportunity to retire from education and politics 'to stay at a pleasant new residence on the continent.'

'Rest assured' said Minister Fudge working hard from his family home today, 'that our children are safe and in good hands once more thanks to our Ministry which is even stronger from today because of our very experienced new Undersecretary, Paul Ingleton.'

"Fudge has a family? What family?" said Harry.

"It used to be his great-uncle's flat at one time," said Hermione, "until the Ministry forced the old man into a mental home and Fudge took over his affairs – and the apartment."

"So he gets all the credit," grumbled Harry to Ron, but Ron was writing excitedly about Umbridge's departure to Ginny using Harry's diary and not paying much attention.

Hermione shrugged. "The credit doesn't matter; it's only cosmetic to appease Fudge and means very little in the long run. Meanwhile, Dumbledore will be as secure as ever, the Board of Governors will be exactly as before, Umbridge is completely out of the picture, and a good man is now in a strong position to support the next Minister for Magic when the time comes."

"The next Minister? Who?" said Harry.

"Aah! We shall have to wait and see."

McGonagall rose at that moment to announce she would be running things for the next few weeks and Dumbledore's return at the start of the new school year in September, and that the recent Ministerial decrees would immediately cease to be enforced.

Cheers went up from the Hufflepuff Crestors and those exultant cries were immediately replicated by the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, with most of the applause swerving in Harry's direction, much to his embarrassment.

Harry and Hermione immediately used a charmed Galleon to call their first meeting of the term for the next evening which raised more positive shouts from around the Great Hall – and lifted a few eyebrows amongst staff and students alike.

"Harry, we need to consider next year's first-years, especially those Muggle-raised. It annoys me that kids like myself are left in the dark about magic until the summer before they start at Hogwarts! I wanted to get Crest to offer them support months ago but with Umbridge stopping all our meetings it never happened."

"But how can we tell who they are?"

"I'm thinking of looking in the Book of Admittance – oh, I hate doing it, it's kind of... irreverent."

"I'm with you," said Harry. "Whatever you decide."

Hermione smiled and impulsively squeezed the back of his hand. "Together then?"

"Together," breathed Harry.

.

The Book of Admittance

Hermione had known for a long time where the great Book was kept, but not how to get there. Harry was becoming rather frustrated as they searched for a likely way in.

"That little turret across the back courtyard? That's where the Founders put the Book of Admittance?" said Harry. "But we've already been down the corridor below that twice."

The two friends were looking out from a second-floor corridor. There was less than an hour before curfew but, being mid-June, the sun was still far from setting and the sky was bright with streaks of orange and gold.

"It is curious..." murmured Hermione. "I suspect there's a moving stair that only McGonagall and Dumbledore know about. Probably the door is extra warded and secure anyway."

"Can we fly over from here? There's three windows, look, but they're tiny."

"That's what I'm just wondering."

Hermione embraced Harry tightly and they swept out invisibly through the stone wall and slowly across the courtyard.

"I get what you mean about being secure in space," said Harry, snuggling in more tightly to his friend. "This is much better than no gravity and feels even safer than a broomstick! Like we're kind of held firmly by solid air. Can we look at the view for a minute?"

Hermione paused in her flight and they drifted gently together, watching a few kids below trudging back to their common rooms.

"How come we can still uuh... feel each other if we're not material?" said Harry after a while.

"Anything I carry with me from the start I include in the spell," explained Hermione. "That's how I can still use my bag and my wand. I can also cast magic and summon other objects but I wouldn't be able to grasp them. I'd have to hover them with me."

She turned her attention back to the objective ahead. "Ready?"

"Mmm...?"

"Harry?"

"Oh, yeah, right..."

They entered the turret through the central casement and settled down, solid once more, onto the flagstones in the centre of a small circular chamber. A large sloping desk resembling a lectern stood immediately below the window, and the light from outside danced down to illuminate the wondrous leather-bound tome that lay upon the polished oak surface. In the right hand corner of the desk, a large quill was poised within a generous pottery inkwell stained blue from centuries of use.

The Book of Admittance was open and they gazed across at it for a while, hardly daring to approach too closely. The Quill of Acceptance quivered occasionally but took no other action which they regarded as a good sign. Encouraged, they crept forward.

Hermione let out a breath as she beheld the displayed pages. "The entries are in surname order for each year by the looks of it. The ink is fresh; these must be the newest entries."

"Davis. ... Dorrick. ... Go back a page to the B's and C's," said Harry, "I want to see if there's a Black. My sister ought to be down for Hogwarts, right?"

Hermione reached out but the page turned before her fingers could make contact.

"There!" cried Harry. "There's Cadence! She's magical!"

"I should jolly well expect so," smiled Hermione. "You didn't really think she'd be a Squib?"

"Well, no – but it's nice to know for sure." He paused. "How'd we go back to my entry? It's annoying the Book has me as a Black as well. I should be a Potter."

"I told you, this is old magic before name-changing legislation." She looked at him. "You won't be able to alter it."

He frowned. She reached out to the book. Pages flew by.

They stared in astonishment. It was not the 'Black, Harry James' entry that shocked them but the name above it.

"I don't believe it," said Hermione.

"How can he be?" Harry shook his head.

Hermione read the entry aloud as if the sound of it might make more sense. "Black, Draco Lucius."

"How can he be a Black and why didn't McGonagall call him a Black at the Sorting – she did me!" Harry was clearly annoyed.

Hermione did not reply at once, she was thinking hard.

"And how come," continued Harry, in an even more irritated tone, "he didn't show on my map as a Black like me? You said it draws on the castle's old magic."

Hermione gasped. "Did you ever look for him?"

Harry frowned, then light dawned. "Daggard had my map most of the time!"

"Oh my God! That's it!" cried Hermione. "That might be to do with why she tried to kill him! She must have seen Draco's surname on your map!"

"Why? Why kill him just because he's a Black?"

"I'm not sure. It must mean something..."

"And the Sorting...?"

Turning away to stare at a blank wall, Hermione struggled to recall old memories. "Where an ancient and noble house wishes to extend their line, it is perfectly legal for the groom to take the surname of the bride. Lucius must have taken Narcissa's name!"

"But then they're all Blacks!"

"Yes. He must have done it covertly and, like you, had their names changed to Malfoy to cover it up. They really are legally Malfoys except to the old magic."

"Why by Merlin's tatty old cloak would they do that!"

She shook her head. "And being the Chairman of the School Board he'd have some access to records. Perhaps the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter List is submitted to the Board and he tampered with it. I think that same list is used for the Sorting. Didn't you say once that he knew about the Book of Admittance?"

"Yes, but why go to all that trouble?"

"I don't know, Harry. I just don't know. For now, we'd better keep very, very quiet about this. Don't even tell Ron. The fewer that know the better until we understand what's going on."

"Won't McGonagall know?"

"I'm not sure she'd necessarily look at the entries in the Book or even the List unless there was a special need like the Sorting. The Book must somehow..." Her voice faded as the thousands of pages in the Book suddenly fluttered wildly and came to rest at 1992 whereupon a single sheet of parchment rose up to rest upon the top. "...produce the ... List ... just before summer," she finished lamely.

As they stared there was a loud click and a rattle of keys from outside.

"GO!" cried Harry in a hoarse stage whisper.

Hermione had the presence of mind to copy the List, seize hold of Harry, and was passing invisibly out through the wall as McGonagall entered from behind them.

As they walked back to the Gryffindor Tower, Harry said, "It's hardly worth it now. They'll get letters in a few weeks anyway."

"Yes, I'd rather we'd had months to prepare but it's more about showing support. One day I hope the parents of Muggle-borns will be kept informed and given guidance about magic from the birth of their babies," said Hermione, "so they understand about the Magical community and what to do about accidental magic and so forth. She glanced down the list and shook her head. "I'm ashamed to say I hardly know any of these names except for Colin Creevey but each of those marked with an 'M' deserve more notice than they get at present."

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Summer Optimism

And so it was. At the next Crest meeting they had more enthusiastic volunteers to help the incoming Muggle-raised first-years than were available. Three or four Crestors were assigned to make contact with each one as early during the summer break as was possible. There'd be guidance, advice, shopping trips to Diagonal Alley in good company, and even financial help where needed.

Being also Muggle-raised, Dean was very willing to be the main agent for the recruitment of Colin Creevey whose parents were both non-magical. Dean then asked if his friend Seamus could join Crest because one of his parents was a Muggle too. Hermione quickly agreed; Seamus had proven in her 'future vision' that he'd fight for a good cause. On hearing that Seamus was joining, Padma begged Harry to consider her sister and Hermione gave a nod and also recommended Lavender, as well as Fay and Sally-Anne who had both stood up to Umbridge in class.

The meeting ended on the highest note of optimism it had ever attained with all members spontaneously bursting into song including a 'For he's a jolly good fellow' aimed mainly at Harry. In their eyes he'd proved himself right once again with his good advice about being patient with Umbridge and the implication that she would not remain at Hogwarts for long and nobody wanted her back. If they only knew, she'd now had all her magic removed by a leech and been committed to Devil's Deep for life; she wasn't going anywhere ever again and the only person she could torture and torment would be herself.

Summer was being looked forward to more than ever. Harry's spirits were still high because of his now-larger family; Hermione was happy that Cathesis had made significant advances during the year; Ron was eager to see Ginny over in France; and even Neville had not only recovered, but had become quite uplifted on hearing that Umbridge was removed permanently.

All was well.

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To be continued...

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

The story will continue in this same fic next week as Book 2 begins: Hermione Granger and The Gates of Life. Note that I'm considering temporarily marking the fic complete for a couple of weeks to give other readers (who filter out 'In-Progress' fics) to decide if they wish to read the books completed so far. So don't panic if you see it marked complete. The whole 8-book fic will continue; it's only the first two books that are complete so far.

Now I know what you're all worrying yourselves sick about: Did Neville ever get his shoes and socks back? And the answer is, yes he did. I made sure of that. ;)

Also, I'd have liked to show Umbridge being interrogated at Devil's Deep then her magic removed etc, but I'm afraid of those scenes becoming too much of the same thing. Suffice to say that Hermione's testimony of her torture of Neville was enough to get Umbridge a prison sentence. Hermione was confident they'd then uncover other crimes using Veritaserum without the Triapetit restriction or even Legilimens. :)

Here's my list of inmates in Devils' Deep so far (let me know if I've missed anyone):
1988 Alecto Carrow
1989 Barty Crouch Jr
1990 Wade Gibbon
1990 Fenrir Greyback
1990 Rita Skeeter
1991 Steff Daggard (Body removed early 1992)
1992 Dolores Umbridge

Who the hell was Wade Gibbon? I hear you (and me) cry. I confess I had to search my own story! (Chapter 31) He was a Death Eater in the first war who claimed he'd been Imperiused, but since Hermione knew he was still active later in her former life (he cast the Dark Mark over Hogwarts and fought in the Battle of the Astronomy Tower) then he was certain to fail the Triapetit for his early crimes (and he did!)

:)

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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