.

So far... The reborn Hermione launched the Cathesis League to fight Dark corruption, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she'll soon begin her third year. Luna and Neville have been summonsed to be tried at the Ministry on charges of violence against Bole and Bletchley. But when Hermione enters the courtroom it is empty. Now read on...

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Chapter 73

The Runcorn Conspiracy


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The Witness

Hermione stared around the empty courtroom in disbelief. "They trusted me ... Luna and Neville ... relied on me ... yet I failed them ... led them right into this dark trap. If the Black Arc have taken them then they're already worse than dead."

Mr Crouch joined her. "But if the families of Bole and Bletchley together with Lucius Malfoy accelerated their conviction they face the Dementors of Azkaban which is... unthinkable."

A little seat was overturned near the tribunal benches, as though pushed aside by someone in a hurry. Desolate, Hermione set it right instinctively, almost as if trying to compose her mind to its correct habits of thought. She failed. "What have I done...?"

"Careful what you say," Crouch said softly, eyeing the Prophet reporter and his cameraman. Sirius Black was only now returning with Harry and gaping with astonishment at the forlorn scene. The siren's wail was growing fainter. Finally the noise stopped.

"Outwitted..." muttered Hermione. "Poor Luna. Neville too. I would be ashamed to face them again, yet that is my best hope."

"Mr Sharpe?" said Sirius, seeing the reporter easing over to hear what Hermione was murmuring.

"How'd you know my...? So it was you that sent that owl to tip me off? Why me?"

"I've heard good things about you," said Sirius, struggling to not look in Hermione's direction.

Sharpe frowned. He wasn't old but his face was careworn. "Several senior reporters have been vying for Skeeter's dominant post since she disappeared, while I deal with mundane garden parties and the odd pub brawl – usually uncredited I might add. So I repeat, why me? How'd you even hear of me? Sensation and scandal make headlines; I only cover minor events."

"But you do so with great insight and integrity," smiled Sirius. He became aware Crouch and Hermione were checking the far doors but observed that they came back with disappointed expressions. Crouch mouthed the word 'Floo'. Sirius gave Sharpe his full attention once more. "And the truth can be sensational too."

"It's obvious now there was more than this promised encounter with the boy who lived," said Sharpe, glancing at Harry who stood in the doorway watching Hermione's pale face. "Lord Black, how did you know about this supposedly-fabricated trial?"

"Can I trust you with a confidence if I offer you sufficient of the story to make a bold headline?"

"My informants rely on me, sir, and so can you," replied Sharpe, "But without a single witness to what happened in this chamber, where will your account lead?"

"A little help here?" came a fluttery, feathery whisper from near their feet.

Instantly, Hermione said, "Mr Crouch, I feel faint..." and sank onto the little seat.

Barty was kneeling beside her in a moment.

She was gasping as if about to be sick but her heavy breaths hid whispered instructions: "We might have a witness after all. The book is enchanted and might not be beyond repair. Do what you can and interrogate it for any information you can discover. Share it with Sharpe with full confidence. Get message to me the moment you determine Luna and Neville's fate. Somehow contrive or demand that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement recall Frank and Alice, and inform Madam Longbottom and the Lovegoods too. First, ask Sirius to come to me."

With all the solemnity of an undertaker, Crouch rose, shaking his head at Sirius, and gestured him to come over to the poor girl.

"You look ill," Sirius said as he knelt down at Hermione's side.

"See if you can track the assistant bailiff's helper," hissed Hermione. "I believe he was controlling his master with the Imperius curse."

Sirius nodded. "The crafty-looking one with the broad shoulders?"

"No, the dull one who looked too much of an idiot to be true. And Sirius, take extreme care! Now ask Harry to help me to get assistance. My duty is with Luna and Neville but I cannot vanish with Sharpe taking note of all that is happening."

"Understood," whispered Sirius He hurried out the door, shouting, "Harry! Hermione is very upset about her friends. Can you help her to the Atrium, please? Give her a glass of water; find a Healer?"

Sharpe was distracted by Crouch casting delicate spells to repair the book on the floor, but the photographer widened his lens to snap Harry Potter, the heroic boy who lived, carrying out a weeping heroine in his arms.

"Are you able to speak?" said Crouch to the illustration inside the blue book's front cover. "Who did this to you? Who tore you apart so savagely?"

The wizard in the picture was rubbing paper dust off his robes, and trying to compose himself. "My mistress did this! It was Luna Lovegood who near destroyed me!"

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An Irregularity

"Lord Black! Such behaviour is very irregular!" cried the desk man as Sirius flung himself through the doorway into the busy clerks' chambers, scattering several chattering law students.

"If a member of the highest seats of magical law in the country cannot enter these rooms then who can?" snarled Sirius, his hackles rising. "Show me your register."

He didn't wait, but spun the book around, his finger stabbing at the last admissions. The assistant bailiff was listed there along with two attendants.

"Pearson and Dooley! Where are they!" Sirius scanned the room and spotted eyes looking back at him from the dark face he sought.

"YOU!" Wand forward, Sirius sprinted across the crowded room.

"I say! This is awfully irregular!" the desk man called after him.

"COLLOPORTUS!" bellowed Sirius, and the far door to which his target had turned in flight slammed shut and locked tight.

"STOP HIM!"

Too late. The attendant's wand was shaking at his own head. "O–Oblivi – Obliviate!" He collapsed to the floor, eyes rolling in their sockets.

"By Merlin!" groaned Sirius in mid-stride, then resumed forcing his way through a group of quill-posers who were pushing each other to get a better view.

"Your name?" demanded Sirius, when he reached the dazed attendant.

"Nn... nnn... mmm?"

Sirius winced. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Blinking rapidly, the man mumbled and gazed at his own hands as if he'd never seen them before.

"This is worse than I thought." He turned at the approach of an older, smartly-robed man who carried himself with some authority. Sirius quickly explained, "I believe he was trying to Obliviate some incriminating memories, but panicked and wiped his entire mind."

The white-haired man scowled. "Your wand is out, Lord Black. Have you used it on Dooley?" Hearing a stir in those around him, he continued, "Never mind." He raised his voice, "I want signed statements from all witnesses including Lord Black and someone get Dooley to St. Mungo's."

"so irregular..." muttered the desk man.

.

The Reserve

"Sharpe, I've been told your note-taking is meticulous and utterly reliable – it had better be!" growled Crouch.

A quill flashed indignantly but the reporter was focused on the wizard illustrated within the repaired book that Crouch had picked up and held open at the first page.

"Who or what are you?" Crouch demanded of the book.

"My name, sir, is Aloysius Askwith, and I am, or rather was, defence counsel for Luna Lovegood in this sad case."

Crouch nodded. "Yes, I'd heard she was bringing along her own advocate, but why did she try to destroy you?"

"Destroy me? Miss Lovegood was protecting me! Her quick thinking prevented... perhaps I had better give a full account of what transpired?"

"Please do."

"A minimum of seven members of the Wizengamot must be present at any full trial, and precisely seven quickly took their seats as Luna carried me in. She and Mr Longbottom were forced into those two chairs and held by chains."

Crouch wore an expression of sudden pain. His own son had struggled against his constraints within one of those very chairs many years before; the heavy wooden frames bore the anguished marks of many.

Oblivious of Barty's expression, the blue book continued its report, "The doors were then sealed so no others could enter."

"Even an emergency session of the Wizengamot requires at least one hour's advance notice!" raged Crouch.

"I concur. However, the method of that forewarning is not precisely described in any legislation. I recall in 1621 how–"

"–Yes, yes, I think we can agree the call to the meeting was legally unflawed? What about the trial itself? Who presided?"

"Cornelius Oswald Fudge, the Minister for Magic."

"FUDGE!" cried Barty. "Fool that he is, I can't believe–" He glanced sideways at the rapidly scribbling quill. "Don't quote me on that, understood, Sharpe? If we are to cooperate?"

"Line out," said Sharpe – the quill scratched a broad trail left – "and call me 'Raymond' or 'Ray'."

"Off the record then, Ray, it seems unlikely that Fudge – I mean, why would he? He has no grudge against those children or their families."

"Perhaps we should listen to the rest of the book's testimony?"

"Yes, of course. Carry on, Askwith."

"A senior investigator from the DMLE was prosecuting and he swiftly–"

"–His name?" cut in Barty.

"Albert Runcorn."

"Damn! Carry on."

"He raced through brief written testimonies of Bole, Bletchley, and Snape, all of which described how the accused had attacked with intent to kill both boys. Even Fudge looked bewildered at the rapidity with which Runcorn stated Longbottom and Lovegood had offered no defence and called for an immediate vote."

"But didn't you–?"

"–I demanded the right to speak on Miss Lovegood's behalf. Runcorn aimed a blasting curse at me. Luna quickly crashed me down hard against the arm of the chair in which she was constrained and tore at my pages as she flung me to the floor. I, being such a thin volume, was easily damaged and rendered near mute. 'USELESS!' is what she called, as she kicked me away to be ignored ever after – but her insult was not intended for me."

"She didn't blast you with her wand? She saved you? From utter destruction?"

"Of course. At least I could continue to observe and listen. Anyway, she'd already hidden her wand so had to physically disable me. The vote was cast unanimously: – GUILTY! – and Runcorn demanded the maximum penalty. Only minutes had passed you realise since the trial began. Fudge was flustered, confused..."

"Your opinion, sir?" asked Crouch.

"Not Confunded, but almost as though he'd expected something else."

"Fourteen days in a holding cell at the Ministry?"

"Thereabouts, yes. As it was, given the limited testimony and final verdict, he could only impose the minimum allowed by law."

"Not... not ten years in Azkaban?"

Sharpe sucked in air through his teeth when the book did not reply. The photographer looked shaken.

The book recited, "The last occurrence when an underage witch was sent to Azkaban was in August, 1939 for assisting Grindelwald with his European plans. At the beginning of September, Nazi Germany invaded Poland. By October, the child was declared insane, driven mad by the Dementors, and subsequently died from dehydration having forgotten how to drink sensibly from her trough."

"No youngster has ever survived Azkaban..." added Crouch, grimly.

"Anything else you can add?" The keen reporter asked the book directly.

"Fudge stormed out, shaking his head but without any audible protest. Others hustled Longbottom and Lovegood away. Muffling spells were cast on the doors to obscure the noise of their early departure."

"Nothing else you noticed that might help?" said Crouch. "Did you recognise any of the Wizengamot?"

"Sadly, being book-taught and reliant on photographs and illustrations, I knew none of their shrouded faces – except to note that none of them were well-known figures in society. However, in regard to your first question, there was one thing..."

"Well?"

"One of them was arguing with Runcorn. I believe I heard the words – made indistinct to human ears by the muffling spells, you understand? – 'but he's the reserve!' to which Runcorn replied, 'Wait till we've registered them.' I am reasonably confident those were the phrases I overheard."

"'Reserve'? You're sure? What can it mean?"

"A reserve is a backup or substitute used to–"

"–I know what the word means, damn it! But in this context...?" Crouch looked at Sharpe for suggestions.

The reporter shook his head doubtfully as he rechecked his notes. He looked up frowning. "Askwith, my quill has noted you said Miss Lovegood hid her wand. Did they search her?"

"They took Mr Longbottom's wand from him but Miss Lovegood's wand is still here."

"STILL HERE!" Barty's head twisted around, scrutinising the floor in all directions.

"The chair," prompted the blue book.

Sharpe and Crouch strode over. The camera flashed low. Chains glinted in the sudden flare.

Sharpe noted how the two chairs were angled away from each other so the accused could gain no prompt, no moral support from each other. "The poor children would have felt utterly, desperately alone against these overpowering fiends." His quill scribbled gleefully, gobbling up the drama with hardly any modification.

"There! – attached beneath the seat." It was the photographer who spoke. He was examining his first instamagic proof and frowning at the spoilt outline of the ancient chair's curved frame.

"Stickfast Hex, I think..." mused Sharpe, cancelling the spell and holding up the pale wand to examine its intricate carving.

The camera flashed.

"Do NOT publish that information!" cried Crouch. "Nor that photo of the chair. Take another picture if you wish. No mention of that wand, please." He held out his hand, palm upward.

Sharpe looked curiously at Crouch but said nothing as he handed over Luna's wand. His quill needed no prompting but began scratching mournfully backwards...

"I must get word..." Crouch's arm swiped the air and a paper memorandum fluttered rapidly away out the open door.

He tucked Luna's wand and the little book into one of his robe pockets. "Come with me, Ray, and bring your cameraman! I want everything documented."

"Where are we headed?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

.

No Holding Back

Though Harry had been carrying an apparently helpless and distraught girl, the moment they were out of sight, Hermione was carrying him! Through the stonework they invisibly glided; ignoring corridors and lift shafts they headed down to the Ministry's holding cells.

"So many..." murmured Harry, on sighting the iron bars, cages, and steel doors.

"Hush," whispered Hermione.

An old Auror on guard duty sat on a rickety wooden chair reading a Daily Prophet in the main hall of the Ministry's security section. Numbered hallways led off in all directions.

"I guess we start with number one..." said Hermione.

"They might not be here yet," Harry pointed out. "We came pretty fast. Could they really have got here, had them locked up, and left this quickly?"

"You're right, but if we wait we might..." A low moan distracted her and she swept Harry down the first corridor, peering through the grid of each metal door they passed. Low mutterings surrounded them, and she pressed Harry's arm to again warn him to silence.

They'd reached Corridor 3 when a fluttering caught their attention. Hermione solidified and seized a winged memo out of the air, then eased inside an empty cell to study it.

"It's Barty!" She paused, reading, then screwed up her face in horror. "Azkaban. Ten years. Oh, God! Not Luna!"

"QUIET, YOU LOT!"

Harry and Hermione froze. The voice had been loud enough to suggest the guard had walked to the top of their corridor.

"There was a big log book on his table..." whispered Harry.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, then, after rapping the door with her knuckles, she whisked Harry away to investigate.

"DON'T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE!" the guard was shouting, as he strode down Hallway 3, squinting in an effort to determine which occupant had been making the noise.

Taking advantage of his brief distraction, Hermione inspected the booking journal on the man's desk. The last entry was timed at six hours earlier than the trial, so Luna and Neville could not have been brought here at all! Her eyes widened. Before the guard had turned back, she and Harry had departed.

.

The Sensation of Love

"What did it say, Hermione?" Harry asked, breathless and queasy with a rapid flight to the surface. He blinked around the street they were in until his eyes alighted on the red telephone box which was the visitors' entrance to the Ministry. Perched atop was an owl that immediately flew down to them, clutching a pale acorn wand in its claws.

"Luna's! What's this owl doing with Luna's wand?" cried Harry.

"Barty sent it ahead. Luna hid it in the courtroom."

"Why'd she do that?"

"Oh, Harry, isn't it obvious? She knew it would be taken and snapped so she left it for us to find."

A sudden thought struck Hermione and her eyes became shiny with unshed tears. "She doesn't hate me... of course she doesn't..." her lips mumbled. "Still trusts me..."

"Hermione?"

"Take my wand, Harry," said Hermione with a new resolve. "Don't worry, the Underage Trace won't trigger an alert because a magical adult is with you. ... Me," she added in response to his puzzled expression.

Harry gawked down into the eyes of his young girlfriend, but did as she asked.

"I'm going to teach you the Patronus Charm."

Harry's jaw dropped. "But that's beyond most NEWT–"

"–You drove away a hundred Dementors with this spell when you were not much older than you are now, Harry, so I know you can do it."

Harry shook his head disbelievingly.

"Harry, you were determined then to save Sirius, and you succeeded."

"That was the other–"

"–There is no other Harry! It's you, don't you see? Now you must help Luna or she may die."

"But you–"

"–I will be helping Neville. Be brave, Harry, be brave for Luna's sake, or our friend is lost to us forever."

Shaking, Harry nodded dumbly. "For Luna..."

Hermione watched his face as a more stern expression took hold and he braced himself. "Okay, what do I do?"

"You need to think of a really happy memory, a good one, mind. Absorb yourself in it. Feel it. Then make the incantation, expecto patronum!"

He mouthed the words. "Expecto patronum – right, got it."

They looked up and down the deserted, Muggle-resistant street lined with derelict buildings. A cloud had temporarily covered the sun. Nobody came here except the occasional wizard held in low regard by the Ministry.

Harry closed his eyes and held out Hermione's wand. Somehow it felt comforting to know it was her very personal property. "Expecto patronum!"

A long, silvery shadow came streaming out of the end of Harry's wand. It drifted along the road for quite a while before blending into the dusty haze.

"You did it, Harry!" cried Hermione. "I can't believe you did that first time! I took a zillion attempts before ... what?"

"You sound surprised. And it was rubbish! I thought you said–"

"–Never mind what I said," Hermione said bossily. "Try it again, but focus more on your happy thought."

For several minutes, Harry repeated the procedure, but though the luminescence extended further and lasted longer, it remained shapeless.

"Don't be discouraged, Harry. You're doing wonderfully well." She glanced down at her watch but could not conceal her disappointed expression. "We'll try again tomorrow. Right now I want you to go back into the Ministry and find your father while I–"

"–You're going on your own, aren't you?" said Harry. "To Azkaban, I mean?"

Hermione nodded.

"You could be at risk there. Back and forth between Luna and Neville..."

"No way, Harry! You know I can–"

"–You're right," Harry stopped her protest before it gathered steam. Inwardly his thoughts were racing with a new idea and he flung his arms around her. "I just know you'll come back to me, Hermione!"

Surprised, Hermione returned the first hug he'd truly initiated himself. Despite the lost minutes, she could not release him from the embrace: body to body, soul to soul, for she knew he was wrong: there was a chance she might not return to him. Yet, the growing sensation of love between them filled her up with a new, increasing warmth so unusual, so special that–

"–Expecto patronum!" Harry still held her wand.

Hermione turned in his arms. Behind her, a silver stag had burst forth, tall and majestic. The creature strutted silently along the street then turned back to look at the couple with a gentle, reassuring gaze.

"aaahhh... that was extraordinary!" said Harry, opening his eyes after a while. "Oh Merlin, and look! He pointed wide-eyed as he realised he'd achieved the aim he'd forgotten while infused with overwhelming happiness. The stag vanished, its task complete.

"I have my happy memory now, Hermione. It's here and now. I'm coming with you."

.

Dozens

The unwarded east wing of Azkaban felt especially cool after the hot, dirty London street, and Harry shivered as Hermione's warmth moved away from him for a few moments. She waited patiently for her magic to regain its full strength after their long Apparition, listening to distant echoes of the cursed fortress's long history of suffering.

"How are prisoners brought to Azkaban, Hermione?" said Harry. The blissful trance that had filled him with joy was receding into the back of his mind as he gazed up and down the gloomy passage into which they'd manifested.

"Secure Floo. I hope they're not here yet, but... well, Harry, the enemy have rushed this through so quickly, I think we should prepare for the worst."

"For the best, you mean," smiled Harry, knowing they'd have to resummon positive thoughts to complete and survive their quest. He reached out to her.

Hand in comforting hand, the couple made their way cautiously to the upper, central area where Hermione knew was positioned both the Floo and an entrance that opened out onto the old dock used in earlier centuries. There was low chatter from the guard room but the front desk was unmanned; nobody ever came or left here without advance warning.

The fireplace was large enough for two or more, and Harry visualised prisoner and guard manacled together. Heavy metal loops from which hung short chains were bolted into the brass surround of the hearth. Hermione placed one hand upon the sooty brickwork of the chimney stack. Slightly warm! Had Neville and Luna been brought this way within the last hour?

She drew Harry over to the reception desk, pausing only momentarily as coarse laughter arose from the distant guards in their barracks. The entry in the log could not have been clearer:

Prisoner – Location – In/Out

– and below, Neville and Luna's names marked 'IN'.

Harry, peering over Hermione's shoulder, released a breath of disappointment, as though something within him had hoped the whole situation had been an outrageous misunderstanding.

Hermione growled viciously. "4J9 and 4D12 – they've put them in separate corridors so they can't even comfort each other! Not that they'd be in any state to..."

As they made their way down winding steps to Level 4, Hermione, sensing an increasing iciness in the air, urged Harry to cast his Patronus ahead and the stag appeared with surprising ease to lead the way.

"I've been building myself up for this since we saw their names in the book," Harry said forcefully.

"Good, keep that attitude, Harry. We'll drive the Dementors away together but then you should adopt a sentry attitude and you'll find your Patronus will stand guard almost indefinitely without too much effort or distraction."

Harry nodded into the darkness. "Then what? What's the plan, Hermione?"

Hermione's faint footsteps had stopped a couple of steps behind him.

"Hermione?" He squinted up at her expression but it was hidden in shadow, her figure faintly silhouetted by the last wall torch they'd passed far above. "You do have a plan, don't you?"

A fear took him, and his Patronus shimmered. "We're here to rescue them, right? I mean, we can't leave them here! They need to be back at Hogwarts in a few weeks!"

Even as he voiced it, he realised the absurdity of the idea and that Hermione must be thinking the same. Luna and Neville were convicted criminals and could not legally walk free. The stag's luminescence became fainter.

"Something wonderful is happening between us, Harry. We'll find a way," said Hermione softly, and Harry's Patronus blazed out once more to lead them on through the increasing darkness.

None too soon. As they reached the foot of the spiral stair, a sudden dread impinged at the fringes of Harry's core happiness. The dampness in the air turned to mist, and the dank walls glistened with ice. He raised his wand in defiance. Gliding towards them from a dark passageway were tall, hooded figures, several of them. And more! Despair gripped his heart as he became aware that corridors radiated in various directions from this central point, and shrouded creatures were streaming along most of them, heading their way. Dozens of them!

Dozens.

And then, as his mind sank into an obscure fog of hopelessness, and his vision failed, inside his head he heard a cry, as if from far off: But the Dementors, Captain! Would you risk all for a strange and mysterious gypsy girl and confront so many dozens of these evil creatures?

In an instant he was back at the ice cream parlour, but many years before, playing oh so happily with the Baked Nebraska he and Luna were sharing as little children.

Blue light blazed through him: it was Hermione's otter swimming effortlessly in the air towards the inexorable mob of hooded creatures coming along Corridor J. Harry's stag flared to life again and galloped in that same direction. Three Dementors that were emerging from the passage scattered sideways allowing the Patronuses to race freely down the narrow hallway.

"Follow us, Harry!" Hermione raced after her Patronus, wand drawn, and the fierce light of battle in her eyes. Far beyond, the passage ended in a stone wall. With no way out, the Dementors remaining in the corridor thrust open doors to take refuge in empty cells, leaving Harry and Hermione able to sprint onward down a clear path.

"Block them!" Hermione was frantically casting a light with her left hand, squinting at the numbers above the cell doors, searching for Number 9, and knowing there would be no particular order. Chaos and Confusion reigned in this wizards' prison.

"Wha...?" Harry struggled to remember everything Hermione had taught him about Dementors. Near-weightless, they glide but cannot fly... What else? Physical! They were physical. He'd just watched them pushing open cell doors, not vanishing through them!

"Geminio! Geminio! Geminio! Geminio! " Stone blocks began duplicating from the walls with Harry hovering them into position to barricade the corridor behind them.

"Here!" Hermione stood gazing at the heartless steel door above which was one stark digit chiseled into the stone: 9. Cautiously, she peered in through the small door grill. Shaking with cold, a small, lone figure was curled up within one of the thickest heaps of filthy straw that littered the floor.

"I tried to cheer them up... but I've been feeling so sad myself..."

"LUNA!" cried Hermione. With a swipe of her wand, hidden bolts moved aside with loud clicks and the door swung open.

"They're always unhappy," sighed Luna, "and I couldn't help them..." She blinked as Hermione and Harry entered the cell, the Patronuses staying on sentry duty in the passageway.

"I'm so sorry, Luna. Are you alright?" said Hermione crouching down to hug the blonde girl.

"Oh, you've come! How many months has it been?"

"You've been here about an hour, Luna."

"Is that all? I thought it was more – look, I scratched the days on the wall. I've not heard from Neville in weeks," she added mournfully.

Hermione shook her head.

"We've come to rescue you," declared Harry.

"Oh, that's nice."

Hermione winced. What were they to do? "Harry, here's Luna's wand. Stay on guard but I'll leave my Patronus with yours. Protect Luna while I find Neville. Teach her the Patronus charm if you can – she'll be really good at it."

Luna gaped at Hermione. "But–"

"–I won't be long." Hermione flew out of the open doorway then swerved left straight through the stone barrier that Harry had constructed.

"But..." Luna frowned. "How does she know where Neville is?"

.

The Discard

Ignoring the gathering swarms of Dementors at the centre of Level 4, Hermione glided, immaterial and unaffected, into one of the adjoining corridors, then slowly came to a halt, trying to remember the cell number she wanted. Certainly it was on this same Level 4, wasn't it? Annoyed with herself, she drifted back and forth wondering why she'd left Luna.

Neville! I'm looking for... uuh...

Something was wrong. Becoming more and more confused, her instinct was to read a book as the solution to any problem. Stairs. Yes, there was a book somewhere up the stairs. As she flew up them, Hermione relaxed. Of course! Her current task here was done. She could return to Luna and Harry.

A haze of blue light greeted her as she came back through Harry's wall but Luna's attempted Patronus was quickly dispersing.

"Well done!" Harry's voice. "Now, try to think of the absolute most happiest memory, you can, and try again. You can do this, I know you can."

Something wasn't right.

"Oh, that was quick!" cried Luna, as her gaze fell upon Hermione reentering the cell, and then over her shoulder. She scrabbled excitedly to her feet. "Is he... is he with you?"

"Who?"

"Wrackspurts!" cried Luna. "I knew it. They've been troubling me in here for months!"

"Hermione?" said Harry. "Where's Neville?"

Hermione blinked and tried to snap her fingers. "Sorry, I..." She frowned. "Uh... oh..." With a frown, she said, "Harry, you saw Neville's cell number in the book, didn't you? Over my shoulder?"

"Yes, of course. Don't tell me you've forgotten it!"

"Well? ... What is it?"

"What's what?"

Hermione sighed. "Thought so. There must be a mild Confundus charm on the book entry. But why?"

Luna sank to the floor into a cross-legged position and began rocking back and forth. "They took him away..."

"What!" Hermione knelt down to put an arm around Luna. "Tell me what happened."

"I thought you knew. They booked us in, but Mr Runcorn told the guard he'd deal with Neville personally."

"The Black Arc? Has to be," said Hermione. "But what would they want with Neville?"

A few moments of silence descended upon them. A scrabbling, scratching sound could be heard in the distance, like rat claws on stone. Luna closed her eyes tight and covered her ears.

"To protect Draco of course!" cried Harry punching the air. "They must know Neville would totally crush Draco in next year's duel. Put him out of action for good!"

"Perhaps," said Hermione, "but why not just leave him here in Azkaban? Even if he was pardoned within a few days or weeks, his mind would have... I mean, they've snapped his wand and taken Luna from him; what more can they do to break him?"

Luna shrugged off Hermione's arm and pulled her thin prison robe over her head. Harry gasped and turned away. Naked, Luna's back and arms were heavily bruised.

Even Hermione was shocked. "I'll gut that bastard, I swear it. Runcorn did this to you?" She cast healing charms then pulled Luna's robe back down over her.

Luna shook her head. "Mr Runcorn and a witch were talking to Neville outside my cell. Neville couldn't see. The guard – Tashew they called him – he took my clothes." Luna sniffled for a while. "It was cold but he wouldn't give me my prison robe straight away. ... He kept looking at me. He had a funny, lopsided grin. I didn't like him looking. I told him he's a bad person. He cast a silencing charm then punched me lots of times."

"He's dead!" screamed Hermione and with a violent jerk of her arms some of the stone slabs beneath them split with a thunderous crack. "Tashew, you said? He's a fucking dead man!"

Her curse shocked Harry. It hung in the air like the final knell of Retribution. And for the first time, he began to appreciate the bitterness and hatred within his girlfriend. What horrors had she witnessed that could never be told? And poor Luna! A ferocious anger surged up through his chest. The wand he held – Hermione's wand – slashed in an arc as he was overwhelmed with the desire to cut and rip and bleed the guard who'd hurt his friend. If only he'd been here! "Why didn't Nev–?"

"–Mr Runcorn had cast a spell," said Luna. "He was nice to Neville. Kissed him. Gave him back his wand."

"What!" Harry looked toward Hermione in shared astonishment, hoping she might offer some explanation. She shook her head at him, eyeing Luna sideways as if to suggest she was still very confused.

"What did the witch look like, Luna?" Hermione asked gently.

"Pale, handsome, tall. Robes of velvet black, eyes proud and piercing. Hurts to look."

"Did you hear her name used?"

"Only Mistress. Mr Runcorn called her Mistress when he knelt before her."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Was this the breakthrough for which she'd hoped? The woman must be very highly ranked within the Black Arc if Runcorn had knelt before her in obeisance! Bellatrix? "Her hair, Luna, what colour was her hair!"

"Harsh silver. Only a little slipped out from under her hood, but it dazzled like her diamond eyes."

Hermione sagged a little. Bella was neither fair nor tall. Still, it would be worth scouring Runcorn's memories to help identify such an important Arcanist! But what would she want with Neville? "Did she speak at all, can you remember? What was her voice like?"

Luna hesitated. "Cracked. High. Soulless. She told Tashew to dispose of the discard once things quietened down next year, and if he'd finished using it."

"Discard?" murmured Harry, looking at Hermione.

"They only wanted Neville, you see," Luna said mournfully.

"You? You're the discard?" raged Hermione, and the ice on the walls fractured as her magic crackled about the chamber. "I'm not holding back any longer, Harry! When I meet up with these fiends, I'm not holding myself back!"

.

—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Phew! Things are hotting up!

Speaking of hotting up, AnonymousBunnyRabbit reminded me that if Magical/Muggle cooperation leads to radioactive waste disposal using the Vanishing spell, then because like materials are drawn to like materials within non-being, a chain reaction might ensue. Sounds feasible. I'll try to keep that in mind if and when I get to that stage. Depends on what detail I cover the subject, I suppose. I mean, there's no gravity as we know it in non-being so maybe there's no nuclear force and something else holds matter together. Is it even matter? Dark matter? We'll see.

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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