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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. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school – but Ron has become totally unnoticeable except to one girl, Olive Hornby, who is similarly affected due to a potion. Together they trek through the Forest and discover a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns. Now read on...
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Chapter 55
Dark And Slender Clues
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Forgotten Crimes
Severus Snape had suffered another long day. He sighed with resignation as he leaned back from angrily scratching a 'P' on the final homework before him, then reached for the half-emptied Draught of Peace goblet that stood tempting him on the desk.
"You'll need more than–"
Snape lurched sideways from his chair, wand out and pointing at the intruder whose voice had startled him. "Granger! How dare you enter my office without knocking!" Snape was on his feet, and clearly irritated, embarrassed at his brief show of fear.
"Why are you here?"
"I'm here to help you Mr Snape, to help you undo the dreadful mistake you've made."
"You insufferable know-it-all! I do not need your assistance."
"Your career and your freedom are at risk. You'd better listen."
Snape hesitated for a moment, then sneered. "And you are here to save the day as usual? Get out of my sight!"
Hermione consulted her organiser then uttered one word, "Stultitia."
Snape's face turned a pastier shade than usual. "You have one minute to explain yourself, then you will answer to the Headmaster."
"A boy has been gravely affected, possibly killed, by your meddling. You–"
"Wrong!" A snort of relief escaped Snape's lips. "Leave now and perhaps–"
"–You fool! You won't recall your blunder because you yourself are affected!"
Now Snape's expression darkened. "Explain."
During the lesson, you compelled a student to–"
"–Who?"
"Don't you understand? Even if I say his name, you..." She frowned and re-read the open page of the planner in her hand. "You will be unable to remember – as am I, myself, without a regular written reminder." She stared hard into his eyes, unafraid of his powers of Legilimency. "You compelled him to clean up certain ingredients. I believe they were later absorbed through his skin. Their combined effect is unknown to me but it would certainly be mind-altering." She walked forward. "Here's a list of them."
The parchment he snatched from her grasp and scowled at her before glancing over it. "So, the mighty Miss Granger, majestic potions professor, now acknowledges her superior."
"I'm a fully qualified and efficient potions teacher for my year whereas you are a potions master with no teaching skills whatsoever and the ugly manner of a bottled cockroach. Read the list!"
Glowering with annoyance at her tone, his eyes swept over the notes, then again, more carefully. "This is nothing. Mere harmless discards."
"But calibrated and adjusted by Stultitia – bearing in mind that traces of it remain in the system for many weeks?"
His jawline stiffened. "Do you claim that during one of my lessons both accidentally–"
"–Or was it deliberate?"
"How dare you!"
"Some of these ingredients were not even needed in the Stultitia brew; I wondered about that at the time. Enough time-wasting; I want the antidote."
"It can't be–" He stopped himself and glared silently at her.
"–Can't be what? Reversed? You KNEW didn't you!"
"Get out! And don't come back!"
"A student is in serious trouble – and so are you, Mr Snape. You will help me find a way to–"
"–Out!"
Hermione shook her head. "Snivellus, you foul, loathsome lump of maggot filth! No wonder Lily grew to despise you – and you take out your hatred on her child!"
Snape literally staggered but recovered, one hand pressed against the edge of his desk to steady himself. His eyes yearned towards the goblet but he thought better of it. "How could you...? His brow darkened. You've spoken to Professor Dumbledore, haven't you!"
"You're incapable of love," goaded Hermione. "Your pathetic infatuation with Harry's mother was never–"
"Stop this! What of YOUR secrets! I've always suspected you to be more than you appear – now I'm certain!"
Hermione decided to push him further, push him over the edge if possible. "Harry told me about you but It was not Dumbledore that revealed your past desires to him – it was you, yourself, as you lay dying at the hands of Vold–"
Snape's eyes bulged in even greater astonishment. "By Slytherin! You're the mave–!"
"The what?"
He shook his head. "You fool! You're meddling in things that–"
"–What were you going to say?"
She saw the intention in his eyes almost before he knew it himself. As his hand plunged into his robes for his wand, she disarmed him, snatching it out of the air and stuffing it swiftly into her bag.
"You attack a teacher! You'll pay dearly for–"
–Thin, snakelike cords burst from the Hermione's wandless fingers and twisted themselves around Snape limbs, binding him helplessly. Unable to balance, he crashed down clumsily beside his desk.
"I must learn what you meant to say, Snape, and you WILL tell me! Where do you keep your Veritaserum?"
Scorn and fury mixed in his expression. "You'll never find it, girl – if indeed, you are a girl."
A thin smile creased Hermione's lips, and she drew a vial out of her bag. "No matter. I have my own supply but it's tiresome and time-consuming to prepare."
No time was wasted asking Snape to open his mouth. The bones of his jaw, compelled by Hermione's bewitchment, forced his lips apart and she was quick to place several drops of the truth serum onto his tongue while he gurgled and spluttered in fury. Then she waited for a while, glancing around the room to prepare for what she had to do. The door she had already sealed. For a while she pondered how she had come to bring herself here, but a quick read of her planner soon reminded her.
"Let us begin, Snape. What did you mean when you said I was the mave–something? What were you about to say?"
The potions master could not resist the powerful concoction and he replied in a dull monotone, "The maven. I believe you are the maven."
"What is that? An adept? At what?"
"The one of special knowledge. The twice-born."
Fearing betrayal, yet unable to believe it, Hermione drew in breath and stared at Snape. "Who told you about me?"
"Draco informed me of a prophecy that Trelawney recited to him."
Hermione's heart relaxed. "Repeat it."
Snape remained silent, and Hermione knew why. The Veritaserum would not compel him to obey orders but only to answer questions truthfully.
"What was the prophecy that Draco told you?"
Darkness comes. The beast shall be its only sign. On a high place, the cursed shall be set against–
Hermione gasped. Back in Devil's Deep and overwhelmed by terror, she'd forgotten the fragment she'd extracted from Steff Daggard's mind as the hag had died; the experience had been too awful.
But there was more, and Snape continued, "–On a high place, the cursed shall be set against a maven. Equal yet greater, neither can survive the other's defeat. Darkness comes."
"Are you and Draco members of the Black Arc?"
"I do not know."
"What do you mean, you don't...? Are you a member of the Black Arc?"
"Yes."
"Is Draco?"
"I don't know."
"Speculate."
There was silence.
"If you were speculating about Draco's allegiance to the Black Arc, what would you be thinking?"
"That he might be. That it is likely. But I must never ask."
"Why?"
"It is forbidden."
"By who?"
"I don't know."
Hermione sighed. "Who do you know is a member of the Black Arc?"
"Myself."
"Who else?"
"I do not know."
"What? You don't know anyone else in the Black Arc. How did you join?"
"I was recruited by an anonymous message."
"How do you contact them?"
"I do not know."
"Impossible! You must surely have... if you had something important to tell the Black Arc, what would you do?"
"I do not know."
Hermione sighed and glanced at her watch. She had more questions and the Veritaserum wouldn't last indefinitely. "If you were speculating about what you would do if you desperately needed to contact the Black Arc, what would you be thinking?"
"I believe I would remember the method temporarily. I believe I would send a message somewhere then forget how I did it."
"My God! No doubt one of your own potions?"
"I do not know."
"How can they operate like that?"
"I do not know."
"If you were speculating about how the Black Arc sensibly functions, what would you be thinking?"
"Colony intelligence. Individual ants have no idea how to build a well-structured nest but together they can achieve it. No single ant can conceive how to build a bridge over a gap, or even what it is, yet as a large group they produce a practical, intelligent construction. Alternatively, there may be just one or a few leaders managing the Black Arc. Or a combination of leader management and colony intelligence. Or there could be some other control structure I have not thought of. Or a hybrid of all three. Or there–"
"Yes, yes. I get the picture – you're just a bug and you don't have a clue. Any idea what the beast might be?"
"I heard someone jest they were paid off by the beast."
"Who?"
"Rita Skeeter."
Hermione rubbed her eyes in surprise. "If you could elaborate, what would you say?"
"In a careless moment, Skeeter implied she'd received an expensive gift in payment for services rendered."
"The crocodile handbag!" cried Hermione, remembering her own reaction to seeing it. "Why did she tell you that? Why were you with her? What was the situation? If you were to speculate, what would you say?"
On and on, Snape droned in the same flat voice, "There are only fragments of memories and I do not know why or how I was there. I recognised Skeeter's voice in the next room. I assume I'd had to provide a potion and that she'd been paid off to publish some misinformation or else refrain from publishing unwanted material. I was, as usual, Obliviated, but afterwards in the few brief moments before I departed, I heard her laugh as she asked if the gift was still living as well."
"As well as what!" It was Hermione's turn to stagger. She paced up and down to think it through. Had the crocodile itself still been alive when the handbag was made? She shuddered. Or, no, was it crocodile at all? What had Luna said the day that Skeeter had fallen into the watering can? Hermione tried to remember but resigned herself to adding another note in her organiser; she needed to stay on track.
"What is the effect of Stultitia in combination with the ingredients on that list?"
"Extreme body rhythm contraction reducing interaction and making one permanently unnoticeable."
"Why give it Ron Weasley?"
Snape frowned in puzzlement, struggling to answer. Hermione jolted his memory. "You forced a student to scrape up discards and drink an entire beaker of Stultitia. Why? What would be the point of making him unnoticeable in class?"
Again, Snape had to fight hard to answer under the compulsion of the Veritaserum and the conflict with the other potion. "I was to provide the student without anyone knowing. The plan went badly wrong due to the poorly-worded order. The intention had been to supply the child and the discarded material to the Black Arc."
"The Black Arc? What did they want with him?"
"I do not know."
"Have they got him now?"
"No. The plan failed. I tried to complete it again during the summer but..." Snape squirmed while striving to recall the attempt.
"...but the Weasleys were away on holiday in France! So it was you who broke into their house?"
"Yes."
Hermione sighed. "So now even the Black Arc have forgotten all about him! How do I make the antidote?"
Snape recited the ingredients and preparation while Hermione jotted them down in her planner. Most of them were for producing Stultitia itself with the same additives that she had discovered on Ron's pestle. Only carefully processed mistletoe berries needed to be added to provide the counter-potion.
"How was this to be administered?"
"It wasn't."
"What! They intended him to remain unnoticeable? Why? ... What do you think?" she quickly added, realising the Veritaserum was beginning to wear off.
"So he would never be missed until he died much later when it didn't matter."
"My God! You people disgust me!" Hermione almost threw her planner at Snape. "Then what use is the antidote? How can it be administered? How can it even be drunk?"
"Very, very slowly..." sneered Snape, and, now able to fight the fading effects of the truth potion, he began wandlessly working against his bonds; Hermione could see them visibly loosening.
"Stupefy!" cried Hermione.
Having finished her interrogation, she hovered him back into his chair, replaced his wand, then poured the remains of the goblet of peace down his throat so he'd be too relaxed to notice the passing of time or anything else out of place. A failed kidnapping would not get Snape a life sentence in Devil's Deep but she could be patient and deal with him later when more concrete evidence of crimes became available. There was even the possibility he was working as a double agent for Dumbledore again. Then finally...
"Obliviate!" It was a detailed and carefully-crafted enchantment she weaved to wipe out all memory of her visit and any suspicions he might have had. If the Black Arc could keep him in the dark, then so could Hermione Granger.
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A Message of Hope
When Ron and Olive finally returned to Hogwarts Castle, a surprise awaited them. They stared in astonishment at the walls of the Great Hall. Centred on each one of them, in very large bold letters, was written the same, simple message:
RON! GO TO 4J
They looked around at the students and staff who were eating dinner; none of them appeared to have noticed the huge words.
"I think it's Hermione's handwriting!" Ron cried excitedly, but when he looked towards the Gryffindor table, her usual place beside Harry was empty. "If anyone can sort out the mess we're in, it'll be her!"
He looked back towards the open doorway that lead to the Entrance Hall. "No use going up there yet until the Crest meeting begins, then we can slip in with the others. Still, we can wait."
He grinned as he considered the likely outcome of Hermione's involvement. "She's smart. You realise what this means, eh?" He looked towards Olive as he became aware of her silence. "Olive?"
"Is she your uuh...?" Olive said softly, and he felt her grip on his sleeve loosen for the first time.
"My what?"
"Girlfriend?"
Ron laughed. "Hermione? Seriously? Not my type. Anyway, she's well in with Harry. In fact, he's probably covering for her right now. He'll have some excuse ready if anyone asks. She might be already up in Room 4J but she's often busy doing all kinds of other stuff. Wonder how long she'll be and where she's gone?"
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Satan's Spawn
While Ron was in the Great Hall wondering about Hermione, she herself had just arrived at Devil's Deep's receiving cell and bracing herself to enter the cavern of Rita Skeeter. The bile-mouthed ex-reporter's body had been hideously distorted while attempting to transform from her beetle form inside the Lovegood's watering can, and though Hermione had witnessed more disturbing injuries, she was not looking forward to interviewing the corruption face to face again. After taking a minute to recover after the long Apparition from the bell tower in Germany, Hermione dissolved into immateriality and entered the granite.
Emerging silent and invisible, Hermione paused, wary of any trap the scheming woman-thing might have prepared. True, Skeeter no longer had any magic, but neither had Barty Crouch Junior, and he'd simply pulled Hermione's legs from under her when she'd wrongly assumed he was incapacitated by the captive Dementor.
Warily the young witch crept forward, and only relaxed when she finally observed Skeeter across the cavern just outside her darkened sleeping grotto, feeding from the trough that Hermione had arranged to magically supply the can-sized creature with provisions she could consume using only malformed limbs and claws. Hermione grimaced; her own enchantments had summoned whatever food was needed from a large supply she kept stocked for all the inmates. It was exceedingly unpleasant to observe the slavering mandibles ripping and drooling raw and bloody flesh.
The moment Hermione became visible, Rita caught sight of her and spat out a chunk of gore with a hoarse cry. "GRANGER! YOU'RE EARLY! COME TO GLOAT ON MY MISFOR–"
Both the disgusting sight and the harsh, rasping shriek obscured murmurs from the shadows on Hermione's left: "Confundus. Petrificus Totalus," and the girl fell, semi-paralysed and half-dazed by the bewitchments. She struck her head on the rocky floor of the cavern which did not help her jumbled perceptions one bit.
Skeeter's cry was gleeful now and the satanic nightmare crabbed over like a warped spider to a feast, jaws side-clicking audibly.
"Silly girl," snorted Rita, "did you suppose I couldn't outfox you?"
Hermione tried to voice the question 'How?' and perhaps it showed as a twitch on her near-rigid lips, for the misshapen thing replied, "Tricked you rather nicely, Granger, didn't I? It's not difficult to play with people's feeble sympathies – I used to do it all the time."
Twisted eyes gleamed at the tiny furrow of Hermione's puzzlement showing on her brow, and it wasn't all due to the Confundus charm. "I enticed you to leave me my Quick-Quotes Quill, remember?" She paused for effect, enjoying Hermione's distress. "It's a wand as well as a magical quill, you foolish child!"
The corrupted ex-reporter strutted back and forth on unrecognisable limbs – clack – clack – clack on the granite floor – knowing exactly what Hermione was thinking. "No magic? You suppose you stole all the magic within me? Not quite all..." Drool slathered down from the fangs, and the deformed head turned slightly. "You can come out now... Imogene."
From the darkness of the sleeping area echoed the faintest of sounds – the soft, catlike padding of an unknown creature. Hermione stared in astonishment as a tall, pallid shape ghosted through the shadows before finally emerging. No fantasising could have prepared the young girl for what she now observed in reality. In these few seconds she'd braced herself for a horror more extreme than Skeeter, but the reality shocked Hermione to the core. For the creature that stepped out into the light was a young woman whose beauty and posture might be compared to Aphrodite coming forth from the sea. And, just like that goddess, this woman was voluptuous, nubile, and completely naked. As she strode forward, the heavy fullness of her breasts caused them to gently sway counter-wise to the balancing swing of her broad hips, and the child Hermione became mesmerised into inadequacy by the womanly perfection of the newcomer.
How could such a person have entered Devil's Deep? Her complexion was a very delicate, light golden coffee, suggestive of an origin in northern India; her long, silky black hair supported that belief, as did her dark brown eyes. In her right hand she held Skeeter's quill, and it was pointed directly at Hermione.
"HURT HER, Imogene!" cried Skeeter. "Make her crawl and beg to help us out of this place!"
But though she instantly reacted to Skeeter's command, the unclothed woman's voice and manner was far too gentle to convey the Cruciatus curse with any conviction, and Hermione felt only the slightest tingle. The maiden wavered as if she only now had truly observed Hermione. "Why, it's a little girl! You are a girl, aren't you?"
Approaching closely, the statuesque beauty towered over Hermione's prone body then crouched down for a closer inspection. Delicate fingers stroked Hermione's cheeks. "You're a real person... a lovely, lovely child." The hands moved with curiosity over Hermione's school robes then withdrew sharply. "Clothes!"
"You witless idiot!" cried Skeeter. "Use the curse like I've taught you!"
"But, Mama...!"
In that one word, Hermione's puzzlement was answered. Skeeter ... must have ... pregnant when ... The young girl struggled now to throw off the effects of the Confundus charm. It had been weak; if she made a huge effort then perhaps...
"You have to really WANT her to suffer!" cried the Skeeter-bug. "Think, think, Imogene! She's the one who locked us in here! Granger is the cause of your incarceration and frustration!"
Hermione tried to protest, but it was the fear in her eyes that triggered a response from Imogene:
"No, Mama, I can't hurt a little girl."
Beetle eyes glittered with malice. "Then I, will!" Rita scurried towards the helpless schoolgirl – but Imogene was nearer. She swept Hermione into her arms and pulled her away. "Mama! Please don't!"
Skeeter paused. No bigger than the size of the watering can that had distorted her, and with malformed, inefficient limbs, she knew she wouldn't be able to outrun her daughter, even dragging Hermione. Wit was her greatest asset. "Then let's discuss this reasonably, shall we? Do you want to see all the wonders of the world that I've shown you in my magic book? Or would you rather remain trapped in this dark dungeon forever?"
Hermione's face was squashed into the generous bosom of the young lady and could barely see anything but flesh. She sensed Imogene wincing as if in pain, but the woman did not relinquish her hold, and clutched the girl within her embrace even more protectively. "You know I can't wear outsiders' clothing, Mama. My skin is too soft."
"Yet you're pressed against her robes now!"
"Because I must!"
Whenever Skeeter tried to approach, Imogene drew Hermione further into the centre of the cavern where the magical faux-daylight from above was brightest. Only when Rita gave up, did the young woman lay Hermione carefully down, keeping her gaze firmly in the direction of her mother who remained watching from the side. As Imogene stood erect, Hermione noticed sores reddening in patches over the flesh that had been in contact with her school robes. The discomfort showed in the woman's expression too.
"I don't have long, Imogene," called Skeeter, "you know that. Do you really wish to remain here with my corpse for all time? Strike now while you can!"
Biting her lower lip against the gathering pain, Imogene raised the quill, studied the terrified face of the helpless schoolgirl at her feet, then... she lowered the feather wand. "I just can't, Mama."
Hermione's fear began to ease, and as it did, the compassion shown by the woman standing over her began to clear the girl's mind; Hermione sensed she might, in some degree, use her silent, wandless magic again. Keeping her renewed power to herself until a needful moment, Hermione managed to murmur, "can ... heal..."
"WHATEVER SHE SAYS, IGNORE HER!" screamed Rita, edging nearer – but Imogene merely pulled Hermione away, so Rita desisted again with a rapid tattoo of frustrated mandible clicking.
"bag ... dittany," whispered Hermione.
Imogene's eyes widened and she sat down to examine the beaded bag peeping out of one of Hermione's copious robe pockets. She hesitated, but a tiny nod from the young girl encouraged her to take the bag and open it.
"Accio?" prompted Hermione very softly.
"Oh, I know that one!" Imogene pointed the quill into the mouth of the bag and said very firmly, "Accio dittany."
Up popped a vial and the woman wasted no time in rubbing the oily liquid into her stomach and thighs which were the worst affected by sores. Clearly she had learned much from the book that Hermione had left with Rita Skeeter.
After watching the tincture rapidly soothe away the stinging inflammation, Imogene said, "Thank you," quite shyly, then returned the bottle to the bag. Perhaps she was now uncomfortable – even ashamed – that she'd attacked Hermione.
Such was Hermione's hope anyway as she tried to assess the woman. There were indications that Skeeter's influence had actually brain-washed her own child, trained the girl over and over to perform an orchestrated strike instinctively on hearing a command word – probably simply the shout of GRANGER! Now that phase had passed, Imogene's naivety was very evident. She was vulnerable and innocent – certainly she did not deserve to remain in prison.
Finding her voice returning, Hermione whispered, "Do you really want to leave here? You'd have to leave your mother behind."
The woman's eyes shone suddenly. "Mama is unkind to me, but I'm not able to leave. It's not what you think. Everyone outside would expect me to wear clothes and I can't, I just can't. She shuddered at the thought and a tear was shaken loose to fall upon Hermione's cheek.
"I'll try to help you," said Hermione. "I'll find enchanted fabrics that won't rasp your delicate skin."
Imogene looked doubtful. "I've seen those stifling pictures. I dislike the thought of clothes. Mama says it's in my nature."
"Then perhaps I might discover somewhere you don't need them, except occasionally for visitors and so on?"
Wiping her eyes, Imogene's face brightened a little. "You're very nice. But I've seen houses and little rooms in Mama's book – there'd be no space for me to–" She broke off, abruptly self-conscious. Hermione did not press her for an explanation.
"A large garden perhaps? Plenty of room to move about. A real sky above?"
The pretty young woman's eyes widened. "Like in the picture book?" With childlike interest, she sat up straight and crossed her legs.
"Better than the picture book," smiled Hermione.
Imogene gazed at Hermione's face for a long time in silence. "Are you my...?"
"Your what?" said Hermione, smiling again at Imogene's innocence.
"People in my favourite stories... they have friends. ... How do people become friends?"
Hermione's heart was touched. This young woman had never met another living person other than the distorted Skeeter-creature. "Imogene... how were you born?"
"Mama said that when I hatched from my egg I was like a merbaby with a human body, arms, and hands, but a tail instead of legs. I crawled immediately – but insects develop really fast and in only a few months I pupated. I was practically mature when I emerged from my chrysalis, and only needed to widen out – you know, bulge more? She stood up to pat her generous hips, turning about to make sure Hermione understood. She took Hermione's astonished blinking as an indication that she did.
Feeling even more deficient and immature, Hermione said, "So you're... how old?"
Imogene smiled as she sat down again, and a curiously sweet sound arose in her throat, as though she'd not yet learned to laugh. The young adult shook her head. "Insects mature faster than humans! I'm a truly grownup woman! Look!" Proudly she squeezed her breasts together, lifting them quite innocently for Hermione to inspect. "How old would you say?"
Mesmerised, Hermione tore her gaze away and tried to focus on Imogene's face. "Physically I'd take you for a perfect eighteen or nineteen."
Imogene beamed with pleasure for a few moments, then her face saddened as she leaned forward to feel Hermione's chest. "But yours are very small... How old are you? How do human girls get–?" She pulled away abruptly to examine her tingling palms. "My hands and feet don't hurt so much because they're hardened by – what's wrong?"
"I'm thirteen going on fourteen. ... Imogene, uuh... certain actions are not... erm... will not be appropriate when you leave here. People do not touch each other on the uuh... chest and uumm... tummy... legs ... between the legs especially – pretty well everywhere actually so–"
"–What! How on Earth do you mate!"
"Aah... that's by... when you have a special relationship with–"
"–Like a boyfriend! That's what you're talking about isn't it! Then you can touch! Oh, how I wish–!"
"–Well, not quite. Even a boyfriend might only hold your hand to begin with. Then later you could begin to kiss a little and uuh... so on."
"Firstplay! That's what I read too! It can take several minutes before mating! One has to be patient and discreet."
Hermione sighed. "That's foreplay, Imogene. It can take months or years before–"
"–NO! NO! You can't mean that! I could never perform firstplay for years; I'd burst with longing! You're still young. You can't possibly imagine the passion that will seize you when you grow up."
It was Hermione's turn to chuckle. "I was speaking of forming the special relationship. Listen, Imogene, you are mature and intelligent but lacking in knowledge of our ways. You'll need someone to teach you. Your mother will have to take more time to–"
"–But she won't be here! Mama is mostly insect..."
Hermione gasped in realisation. "Is that what she meant when she said she didn't have long? That the lifespan of insects is much shorter? And she's half and half..."
A nod confirmed Hermione's guess. "Mama says she's in her last year. I'll be all on my own."
Hermione took a few moments to absorb that, then said, "Imogene, who is your father?"
"I don't know. Mama only ever called him a dick but never explained what that was. She told me she only used him to find out things for her. I think he might have been a Muggle policeman who worked for her."
Releasing a long sigh, Hermione said, "A private dick is a hired detective, Imogene. I'll need to speak to your mother. Can you help me sit up, please?"
"Oh, yes! I'm so sorry I petrified you, uuh... Miss Granger." Imogene scooped one hand under Hermione's back to lift her gently upright into a sitting position, and there she held her steady with her other hand on Hermione's arm.
"Call me Hermione. I think I can brace myself now – you don't need to hold me up if it hurts you."
Imogene slowly moved away her support, checking carefully that Hermione looked secure before backing off and waving her hands limp-wristedly to cool the stinging sensation.
The wand that Hermione pulled out and held up was not needed but she wished to display her returned authority. "Rita! Get over here! We have to talk."
Skeeter took her time, sulkily clattering left and right before approaching the young girl and snarling at her, "You've destroyed me. You know that?"
"You defiled yourself, Rita. Now listen, we have to consider your daughter's welfare and who'll look after her. Tell us about her father."
Rita snorted. "A Muggle low-life. A pervy womaniser called Rodney Dunn. He's a private investigator that I employed to research news stories. I let him shaft me once when I'd nothing else with me to offer for his services."
Imogene said, "Is that the same as mating? That's a poor way to select a male."
A rasping sound emitted from within Skeeter. "And you're the expert now, are you?" Rita turned to Hermione. "Take her. Get her out of my sight."
As the twisted monstrosity tip-tapped away, compassion arose within Hermione, but there was nothing she could do for the creature. "Your handbag. I need to see your handbag, Rita."
The warped beast froze for several moments, then appeared even more crushed as she continued limping away. "Why not? You've stolen everything else from me: my freedom, my career, my dignity..."
"You never had–" Hermione stopped herself; it had become clear that Skeeter had not long to live, so why insult her further?
"What lies did you spread for the Black Arc after they gave you that handbag?"
There was no way to guess the expression on the faceless misshape but Hermione sensed the astonishment.
"How could you possibly...?" Again Rita drooped in resignation; the certainty of death had changed her outlook forever. "I had to drastically play down my report of their involvement in the Hyde Park massacre."
Hermione's eyes flickered at the memory of that event. "Why?"
"I suspect that Rowle and the Carrows acted without authorisation. The Black Arc were beginning to dig in, go underground even then – that much is obvious. I assume they are secretly planning, recruiting, growing in strength for the future. They're much smarter than You-know-who ever was."
"Which of them gave you the bag?"
"No idea. They Obliviated the meeting out of me – but they couldn't take away the memory of their instruction of course, what they'd asked me to do."
Hermione nodded. With an effort, she stood up and headed for the darkened sleep alcove. There she found Rita's pitifully few personal effects. Hermione was only interested in one of them. She hovered up the crocodile handbag, though it was soon obvious it had no traps – magical or otherwise. Beautifully crafted, the slender, stylish handbag sported a silky black skin with a scale pattern that indicated a reptilian, serpentine, or dragon origin. Hermione emptied out the contents and put the handbag inside her own beaded bag as she became aware that Imogene had followed her and was watching closely.
"I'm sorry, Imogene. I can't take you right now. I have to find somewhere safe for you first and I also need to get back to school quickly." She looked anxiously at her watch.
"You'll come back?" whimpered Imogene. "You won't leave me here alone forever?"
"You have my word..." smiled Hermione, "the word of a friend."
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
Still quite a way to go, but this Book 2 is likely to be shorter than the first two. Book 0 was about 175,000 words because it covered Hermione's age 0 to 11, and Book 1 was about 110,000 - so epic length. This Book 2 might be a normal novel length, about 50,000 to 70,000 is my guess so we're about half way. I don't write to fit a certain book length; I don't even write chapters. I paint scenes and compile related scenes into a chapter. I have all the scenes in my head where they talk to me. Usually they say, "hurry up and write this down!"
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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