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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 Snape has made Ron totally unnoticeable except to Olive Hornby, who is also affected. They discover a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest. Meanwhile, in Devil's Deep prison, Rita Skeeter hatched a daughter, Imogene, who Hermione promises to help. Now read on...

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Chapter 56

The Proximal Son's Return


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Revelations and Recovery

While Hermione was bidding goodbye to Rita Skeeter's daughter, Imogene, at Devil's Deep, Hogwarts students were finishing their dinners and beginning to meander off, either to the library, or to attend to homework, or simply to relax. All were oblivious of Hermione's messages on the walls of the Great Hall, urging Ron to go to Room 4J – all but two: Ron and Olive.

Ron had readied himself to follow the Hufflepuff Crestors upstairs to the meeting but was disappointed to see them heading down to their house's common room. "That's funny," he said to Olive.

But Olive was still staring at the huge messages on the walls of the Great Hall. "How could your friend know about you? How could she even remember long enough to write your name?"

Ron shrugged. "That's Hermione for you! Always figuring things out that nobody else can. Smartest witch in our year anyway."

He'd cheered up considerably more than she'd ever seem him since they'd met. He was certainly very animated when talking about his friend. Olive frowned, almost pouted. "She sounds flawless. I suppose she's also the most popular and prettiest as well."

"Pretty? No, she's got horsey teeth and terrible hair. She's really bossy... oh, and a nervous lisp – though she's about grown out of that now, I think. No, apart from Crest, hardly anyone takes her seriously in Gryffindor. I think she prefers to keep a low profile behind Harry."

"Oh, her. No wonder I didn't remember which you meant." Olive brightened up a little. "This Crest meeting, what exactly is it?"

"We're a self-help group. We support each other – homework and that – and also learn to protect ourselves with magic. We usually get together in 4J so I reckon there's going to be a meeting tonight." Ron stared at Harry, willing him to move, but Harry remained at the Gryffindor table checking his watch. Ginny, Neville, and Luna were seated around him, and none of them appeared ready to budge at all. Only when most of the other students and staff had departed did Harry stand up, and the others arose likewise, then followed him out.

"This must be it!" Ron said excitedly, and he and Olive followed the others, as expected, up to Room 4J.

"I think it's to do with us recruiting more," Neville was saying. "Why else would Hermione only invite us four?"

Luna squeezed his arm but said nothing.

"We'll soon know," said Harry, as he opened the door to Room 4J and pushed on in. One glance around and he added in a disappointed tone, "She's not here yet... Wait! Look!" On the blackboard was written:

HARRY! LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN!

Neville, who was still in the doorway after letting the girls in first, took his hand smartly off the door handle and shrugged as he followed the others inside.

"Potions!" cried Ginny, pointing to a desk that had been pushed to the wall. Upon it were several vials, bottles, bowls of ingredients, and labelled packets, with a simmering cauldron of clear liquid off to one side. At the front of the desktop was a very wide measuring beaker, empty except for a single straw.

Ron and Olive stared. On the wall above the desk was a message scrawled in huge letters that nobody else seemed to notice:

RON! DRINK THE ANTIDOTE IN
THE BEAKER WHEN READY!

Ron pumped a fist in the air and cried out, "YES!"

Neville scratched his head. "I thought you said she'd be here, Harry?"

"Must have been held up."

"I think someone else is coming too," said Luna, gazing at the blackboard. "Perhaps a leprechaun – they have trouble opening doors on a Thursday."

Hermione had no such difficulty. She swept in through the stone walls and materialised before them.

"Hermione! You're hurt!" Harry ran to her, staring at the bruise on the side of her head.

"Uh? Oh, that, it's nothing. I tripped over and banged my head."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, I wish you wouldn't..."

But she'd scurried over to the desk that was set with potions and was examining the liquid in the cauldron very carefully. The brew was Stultitia and perfectly clear.

She looked at the others. "How long have you been here?"

"Only just arrived ourselves," said Harry. "What's up? What's happening?"

"We've a friend I'm hoping can be enticed here. If not today, then over the next week or so."

Taking several of the vials, she added their contents to the Stultitia which cascaded throughout with a smoky milk-like colour.

Luna piped up, "Oh, if it's a Knarl then you're wasting your time, Hermione. They'll know it's a trap."

"Not a Knarl, Luna, it's one of Ginny's brothers."

Ginny squealed. "Bill! You mean Bill's coming here?"

"Not Bill – nor Charlie either."

Ginny's shoulders fell. "But Percy and the twins are always here. I can talk to them anytime."

"Wait and see..."

Hermione ladled half of the mixture into a large pottery jar, sealed and labelled it 'Dangerous!' then carefully added her prepared mistletoe berries to the cauldron and stirred them around. Surprisingly, the liquid became more like thin jam stewing and bubbling in a pot. "Should be sweet according to the instructions," she mused.

After spooning out copious amounts of the fruity potion into a cooling trough beside the beaker, she raised her voice to say, "If you're here, Ron, it's scalding hot so leave it at least half an hour, then I'll transfer it to the beaker."

"Who?" said Neville.

"Hopefully, you'll see him in a while," said Hermione, "but if not, the potion will still be effective for months."

For ten or twenty minutes she busied herself, consulting the organiser she inevitably kept in her hand, examining the room to consider anything that might be a problem for Ron, double-checking the door was open, then studying her potion preparation one more time. Only when she was satisfied did she finally give her full attention to her companions who were staring at her curiously.

"Now, I have something to announce." She summoned six chairs and they jostled each other into a rough circle. Hermione sat down, and her friends, after a glance at each other, joined her, staring curiously at the remaining empty seat.

"As you know," began Hermione, "only you five are privy to my closest secrets."

"Four," corrected Ginny, but Hermione was looking closely at the empty chair, perhaps hoping to discern the form of Ron sitting there. But while Ron was indeed listening to the discussion, he and Olive were over at the Potions desk, hungrily eyeing the steaming-hot antidote. In the background, he could hear Hermione continuing:

"As well as Crest, I've set up another group outside of Hogwarts called The Cathesis League to combat corruption at the Ministry and to begin the integration of Magicals and Muggles."

"What!" exploded Neville.

Harry said, "I knew you were up to something but..."

"Muggles won't get along with us," said Ginny. "Dad says most of them are fine but many will be scared of magic and hate us for it."

"That's what we have to rectify."

"But why, Hermione?" said Harry.

"The future is very bleak if we don't. I've told you before, that in my former life the world practically came to an end and the few Muggles remaining were dying off. Magicals were virtually all dead as far as one could tell. I was the only one I knew and I'd given up magic in despair."

There was an astonished silence while Hermione continued to describe the original future in more terrible detail. It was a long while before she considered they really understood what might lie ahead.

"Yes, we are superior insofar as we have magic, but Muggles are far ahead of us in science, technology, and most social structures such as schooling, justice, and open, accountable politics. True, they are far from perfect, but they are evolving inevitably in the right direction. Evolution – including social evolution – always leads to the survival of what works best, given sufficient time. Unfortunately, that doesn't guarantee survival in the short term. We can help Muggles and they can help us. Unless we all work together, we're done for."

"Is this to do with where you were this evening?" asked Harry.

"One strand of it – the justice element. Azkaban is brutally cruel and insecure because it relies on Dementors, and not only are they despicably evil, they can be lured away. I have set up a provisional, simplified justice system to help eliminate the most vicious dark wizards who are the greatest threat. There is a new, much more secure prison in Europe, and Cathesis have already tried and sentenced several of the worst offenders to remain there. Among them is Umbridge. What she did to you, Neville, was dreadful torture of a child, and she has committed far worse – worse than you can imagine."

Shocked silence during which Hermione pulled out the crocodile handbag. "This was Rita Skeeter's. She confessed to countless activities, many of which she knew would most likely lead to deaths – all for the sake of selling her stories. Luna, what can you tell me about the material of which it's made, please?" While everyone else remained mute, she handed it over to the dreamy girl.

Luna took the bag and examined it on her lap, running her fingers over the polished hide. "This was the one in our garden, wasn't it? When you dived out of the window?"

Hermione nodded.

"So Rita Skeeter had been in our garden?"

"And in your house, spying on us. She was the flying beetle you saw."

"She's an animagus? That's how she gets her stories? What happened to her?"

"She fell into your watering can and was... severely impaired while trying to transform back into a human. She's currently in our prison. The handbag you hold was given to her by the Black Arc for services rendered."

"Merlin!" cried Neville. "What are you into, Hermione?"

"Crest is not a game in a painting, Neville – it's for real. All the training we do is for a very serious purpose – to keep us alive into and through adulthood." Hermione turned her attention back to the girl at his side. "Luna?"

"It's sea dragon – the skin from the tummy of a quite young sea dragon I think, because it's so gloriously fine. Sea dragons are not really dragons but seem to fly quickly through the water with their gorgeous wide fins and long necks. They can't breathe fire but their jaws are longer, more slender, and with lots more teeth – they're like needles." Luna gnashed her teeth to demonstration her admiration for the creatures. "Their backs are always nearly black but they're not quite so dark beneath – like this handbag."

"What do you know about the manufacture? Who makes them?"

"Why, nobody anymore, of course! It's illegal. Sea dragons are very rare. There's one that sometimes visits a Scottish loch in search of a mate but it returns less and less frequently."

"Does the creature have to be... uumm... skinned alive for some reason?"

"NO!" cried Luna, clamping one hand over her mouth in horror. "That would be awful. The last craft works that–"

–But Hermione had leapt to her feet and almost cursed the figure that had appeared across the room: a young girl of about their own age who, for a few seconds, had been talking to herself and suddenly cried out, clutching at the back of her head, rubbing an elbow, and looking very confused.

"Who are you!" demanded Hermione.

The girl turned, wincing as if in pain. "You can see me? You can see me!" She walked over. "You're Hermione aren't you?"

"Yes, but who are you? And where's Ron?"

"Who?" The girl was still tentatively feeling her elbow as though assessing an injury.

Hermione groaned and ran over to where the girl had been standing near the potions desk. The cooling trough was almost empty. Whirling back around she cried, "What have you done?"

The others had their wands out now and all were trained on the newcomer.

"I'm Olive Hornby. I saw your..." Again she looked confused. "I drank the..."

"But it was scalding hot!" shouted Hermione. "I put it there for someone else, not you! Why'd you – what did you say your name was?"

"Olive Hornby. I'm sorry, I've been–"

"You're Olive Hornby? The Olive Hornby? The girl who went missing fifty-odd years ago?"

Olive nodded. "But I've been here all the time – just unnoticed."

It finally dawned on Hermione what had happened to the poor girl. "But what about..." She hesitated, consulting her planner to refresh her memory out of habit, before repeating, "What about Ron?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you mean."

Hermione's heart sank. Perhaps she'd miscalculated and Ron was elsewhere – not even in the castle. "But how did you know what this was?"

"Uumm... I don't know. Just guessed I suppose..."

"Just guessed? After fifty years you wander in here and drink an unknown potion? You can't even see my message on the wall, can you?"

Olive turned about, searching all the walls the classroom, shaking her head as she did so, then grimacing as one hand explored the back of her head again. "I think I do recall a message but..."

Hermione realised what this meant. "Then Ron must know. He knows how I think and what I'd do. He must have brought you here! That's the only way you could have been informed!"

Excited now, Hermione whirled around; there was still plenty of potion in the cauldron. "Ron, Ron! I know you're here! I'll pour some more of the antidote directly into the beaker. It's very hot but apparently that doesn't matter."

She did so, taking care not to dislodge the straw, then turned to Olive. "You managed to absorb enough in what... the thirty or forty minutes we've been here? How long did you wait for it to cool?"

"I didn't. My body never reacted very much to hot and cold or any physical forces really. I've not even aged in fifty years."

Hermione gaped at the girl and her old-fashioned school robes as she absorbed the implications of that. She stood to one side of the potions desk to give Ron plenty of room to sit down. "Fifty years – my Goodness! That's why you showed up alone. He must have insisted you drink the potion first."

Scrutinising Olive, she said, "This is awful. I'm sorry. You've been trapped here all these years and no one knew..." Hermione stepped forward and hugged the girl. "And I'm sorry I shouted at you. I didn't know who you were or what you'd been through."

Neville said, "Hermione, can you please explain to the rest of us what you're talking about and who this girl is?"

After a long sigh, Hermione told them what she knew and Olive added to the account, how three friends had been cursed by Tom Riddle: one to an unfulfilled, stretched-out life in the library; one to purgatory as a ghost, and one to remain invisible and non-interactive. "So you see, Olive has been here at Hogwarts for decades, unseen and unknown until now. And there's someone else in the same situation, someone you've been missing, Ginny, without understanding why you feel so... incomplete."

"Incomplete? Me?" huffed Ginny, but her face fell and she lapsed into thinking about what had been said.

Hermione summoned a seventh chair and they all sat down to wait for what Hermione said would be the arrival of one of Ginny's brothers – but not Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, or George.

She grinned at their perplexion, especially that of Olive who was totally confused as to what she'd been doing during the last few weeks and how Hermione had saved her without even knowing about her. "I went for a walk in the Forest! I never go in there! Why would I? I saw centaurs and unicorns and–"

"–Don't take this the wrong way, Olive," cut in Harry, "but how much did you hear when we were talking?"

She shook her head. "You were speaking too quietly for me to hear you on the other side of the classroom and I had my face in the trough, but Ron was..." She clamped a hand over her mouth in astonishment. "...he was sitting right here..." Confusion spread over her face.

"Who?" frowned Harry.

"I'm not sure... wasn't there somebody sitting here?"

Luna said, "Dark wizards treated Olive very badly. I think we can trust her with some of our secrets."

Ginny agreed, and so did Neville. Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

Olive said, "Don't worry, everyone in the school has heard of Crest! I've been here all along, remember?"

"There's a bit more to it than that," said Hermione. She spent the next fifteen minutes informing Olive about their aims but gave away none of the secrets exclusive to the inner six friends. "We believe a dark period lies ahead of us unless we prepare ourselves. I definitely think you should get yourself ready too, so that – what are you going to do anyway? Continue your schooling?"

With a snort and a vigorous scowl, Olive elaborated for some time about how she longed to get away from Hogwarts. "After fifty years I'm sick of this place. One more minute would be one minute too long." On and on she poured out her heartfelt longing to escape the castle that had imprisoned her for years. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing, could compel me to ... to ... to leave..." She stared in wonder at the boy who was walking towards her.

"Olive? Are you hurt?"

"RON!" squealed the girl, and ran to him, arms outstretched.

"Merlin! Wh–Where...?" stammered Neville.

Luna nodded to herself as she watched Ron and Olive hugging each other. "I knew someone would turn up, but two is twice as good as one."

Harry simply stared blankly at the restoration of his red-haired friend, unable to reconcile what he was seeing with the confusing memories of the last few months: his barely noticing Ron so much all that time that he could scarcely remember anything he'd done. Ginny put her hands to her face and began to cry. Only Hermione's face relaxed into a smile; the six were together again.

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After Effects

Ron's concerns about Olive's physical discomfort were unfounded. The girl was simply suffering from the knocks to the back of her head and elbow when she'd been attacked fifty years before by Avery and Lestrange as they'd forced her down to administer the potion. She'd felt no pain once the potion had taken effect. It had taken all this time for the tissues to bruise, and she'd never noticed until her body rhythms were restored to normal time.

Not so straightforward were the explanations that Hermione had to give Dumbledore. She managed to pass off Ron's absence as a potions accident which, in a way, it partly had been, while hinting she'd had a crush on Ron to explain why she remembered him enough to work out a solution.

But what was to be done with their lost schooling? Ron had attended many classes and absorbed some theory, but now he was being set extra work to catch up. Olive's education had been uneven, however; she was far in advance in many ways yet lacking in others. Still only twelve, and with nowhere else to go, it was agreed she should remain at Hogwarts and work with Ron to get an up-to-date refresher on the second-year course. The arrangement was jointly managed and overseen by their heads of house: Flitwick and McGonagall.

Dumbledore had been fascinated by the account of Miss Hornby's experience, and asked Arthur Weasley if there were any Ministry records that might indicate the whereabouts of her brother's widow. Meanwhile, the Daily Prophet reported the incident in a low-key sort of way, there not being very much material to fill the article other than 'missing girl found after astonishing fifty years', no matter how much they tried.

Perhaps more profound was the effect on Madam Pince when Olive first entered the library with Hermione and Ron to research their homework. She'd heard the news of course, but the matriarch literally began shaking at the sight of her best friend and, showing great agitation, she elbowed a stack of books off the checkout counter onto the floor with a crash.

"Olive...? Olive..." was her first weak utterance, so overcome was she.

"Irma!" smiled Olive. She'd watched her friend grow old, so was well used to the changed appearance and manner, but she could not have prepared herself for what followed. Faced with the vision of the long-lost but still deeply-beloved companion from her happy childhood, the careworn features of the enslaved librarian screwed up tight and she fought hard and helplessly against the sobs that racked her chest and throat. Gripping the counter to hold herself up, she blindly clawed and groped a way around to grasp Olive's hands before steering her towards the privacy of the archive chamber – and leaving Ron and Hermione to gape, along with a great many other students who had been nearby, at the astonishing show of affection by the long-embittered librarian.

Madam Pince was never quite the same after that. In a strange way, the profound reminder of a relationship so sweet had debased the curse that soured her life. She appeared younger, more her age – the middle years for a witch – and definitely more mellow and tolerant. Her interest and profound knowledge of Ministry politics remained no longer a frustrated, unattainable ambition but an active correspondence and interaction, while managing the library was elevated in her thoughts to a joyful occupation and responsibility, and not at all a tedious duty.

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The Licentious Flatfoot

At the sound of a third knock, Mrs Williams opened the front door and stared in disbelief at the little girl who stood there. "No! Absolutely not! It was bad enough having a painted-up sixteen-year-old tart in my house, but he's old enough to be your–"

"–Who is it, Mrs Williams?" called a man's voice approaching from the shadowy hall.

"Mr Dunn! I will not permit–"

"Who are you?" demanded Rodney Dunn as his eyes alighted on the schoolgirl.

"My name is Rosemary Brown. I'm an acquaintance of Miss Skeeter and I wish to speak to you urgently about a family matter."

Dunn didn't flinch but Hermione could tell he was holding himself still enough to hide a reaction. Only moments were needed for the man to bring himself under control. "It's alright, Mrs Williams, Miss Brown and I are... both related to a client of mine – and a client pays the rent, you understand?"

"Yes, well..." Dunn's landlady waddled off in a huff towards the sound of television coming from her rooms, and the man waited for the door to shut off an announcer's oily promo gabble.

"Well? I tried to contact Skeeter but–"

"–We can't discuss this on the doorstep, Mr Dunn." She studied the man. He was certainly good looking, and had dark hair and brown eyes, but there was barely a trace of the far east in his complexion. He looked more European than Indian but it was not impossible he might be Imogene's father.

Grim-mouthed, he sighed a long breath down his nose then nodded resignedly, gesturing for her to come in. He followed her into his parlour.

"She sent you? What's your involvement in this?"

"I'll get right to the point. Rita is dying, Mr Dunn, and your daughter needs her father."

"Impossible! My accommodation is small and there's no garden for a youngster to play in. I'm a professional – out most days and certainly can't look after a small child."

A glance around the small, untidy living room, caused Hermione to frown; Imogene would feel very constricted in a place like this. "Not so small a child anymore, Mr Dunn. Strange things happen in the magical world."

Dunn gasped, then looked thoughtful. "You know what Skeeter is?"

"A witch, but her daughter is–"

"My God, I did wonder when you turned up – it's YOU, isn't it! She used her magic to make you grow up more quickly?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. "It most certainly is NOT me! Your daughter is... that is, she looks to be in her late teens – though mentally rather naive." She bit her lip, instantly regretting having added that.

Dunn's head tilted thoughtfully. He paced up and down for a few moments then turned to examine Hermione rather closely. "Rita was... shall we say... handsome at best, but my grandmother was a rare beauty. How can I be sure this girl... this teenager is really mine? What does she look like?"

Hermione stared in astonishment as she recalled Skeeter's comments about the man, and the suspicions that Mrs Williams had uttered at the door. "Sadly, she's put on a lot of weight, but she's almost as attractive as her mother, apart from a skin affliction."

Dunn wasn't fooled. He smiled craftily and murmured, "Dusky, is it?" He rubbed his hands together. "I'm trying to imagine her... I mean, how she would cope with life – her having only a few years experience of it? I think, in the circumstances, I must take on my paternal duty and accept the burden of raising the poor innocent. How soon can she be brought here?"

For several seconds, Hermione could not answer. When she finally did, her tone was both bitter and vicious. "Why you foul, lecherous cockroach! I'd rather feed her to dogs than hand her over to you!" She turned and stomped off towards the door.

"You can't stop me!" barked Dunn. "I'm her legal guardian now and it's my right! I know all about the Leaky Cauldron and how to get into that world. I'll find her – that's what I do best. And even if she looks it, nobody cannot present documents to show she's old enough to leave her rightful, loving father, can they?"

Hermione stopped and turned back to face Dunn, shaking with fury. "You're forgetting one thing."

"Oh, and what's that, you pretty little thing?" smirked Dunn, marching up to her, hands outstretched, fingers wiggling. "Are you wired up? Got a recording device in there somewhere have you?"

"No, but I've got this..." She drew ten and three-quarter inches of vine wood out of her pocket, and Rodney Dunn, eyes suddenly wide with fear, took a step back as Hermione continued, "A dragon's heartstring lies within this wand, Mr Dunn, and the heart of the witch before you is filled with righteous anger..."

She left Dunn with a cursed libido and Confunded into the false belief that both Rita and a baby son had died in childbirth.

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Impossible Solution

The problem remained, who was to care for Imogene? For many days, Hermione gave much thought to the solution. The right family had to be trustworthy, or at least, bound by a code of honour not to ill-use the girl. Their residence ought ideally to be large and open as well as secure. Above all else, they'd have to be tolerant of a beautiful young woman essentially being naked most of the time. Impossible! Hermione fumed to herself. With the best of intentions, what husband could be trusted? What marriage could withstand such constant temptation. And the children! How would they be affected?

The answer, when it came, was blindingly obvious. There was one candidate that Hermione knew who was not only immensely wealthy, but widowed and with a single child away most of the time at Hogwarts. Furthermore, the lady was already indebted to Hermione and could not refuse her. Taking out quill and parchment, the girl began to write...

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Ah, but who is Hermione writing to? Sorry, no house points will be awarded for guessing.

Thanks to reviewer, tricorvus, for pointing out my error way back in Chapter 1! I had Headmaster Armando Dippet as 'Tippet' in a couple of places. Now fixed. It's amazing how that could be missed. Not only do I check and polish chapters over and over, I've also re-read that particular chapter a few times since (it's my favourite) and never noticed. Yeah, I do sometimes read parts of my old chapters to refer to something then forget and carry on reading! Well, it's so big now, even I forget stuff. The other day I had to look up the humorous girls' promise (to be good and not stray in effect) to Pandora: "We promise!" in Chapter 27 which then led to the sphinxes - wow! Anyway, more shockers to come in future chapters.

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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