Harry Potter and the Aevum of Eternity

by Thundercracker-TC

The survivors of the second wizarding war suffer the scars of Voldemort's reign as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. Harry is spread thin across multiple responsibilities as he and Ron join the Aurors, where new challenges and mysteries await. Not all is as it seems though, and powerful forces lurk in the darkness, biding their time... Cover art by a.heesher

39. Chapter 39

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Chapter 39

Hermione held her coffee in two hands as she braved the chilly Sydney streets and dodged smart smartly dressed professionals hustling to work. The weatherman on the hotel telly had mentioned a high of sixteen, and while she'd dressed for Aussie winter, she'd forgotten just how much colder it felt when the wind whistled between the buildings. She tucked her elbows in tighter as an especially strong gust tugged at her coat, and recognised the next intersection from the previous year. She turned onto George Street, towards the blocky, glass-clad office building where her parents headed up two separate dental practices. She squeezed in behind a pair of young men wearing button down shirts and carrying laptop bags, through the revolving door, and into the lobby. The sound of heels and shoes echoed as office workers crossed the floor. She held up one fist to stifle a yawn; her body told her it was time to sleep but it was nearly eleven pm in London. She sipped her coffee through the plastic cover and forced her eyes wider.

"Just until I see them, at least," she thought. Hermione scanned the list of businesses on the directory mounted on the wall until she found both dental offices.

"Thank Merlin they haven't moved," she thought. She knew their home address, but it was in the suburbs; she had to take a cab to get there. That meant the trip would be expensive, so she wanted to make sure they were both in town first. It was entirely possible they were away on holiday.

"Truth be told, I could probably use some alone time," she thought. As scary as it seemed, she tried to convince herself it would be best to sort through her feelings on her own. After months of an all-consuming, intimate relationship, followed by yet another near-death experience and betrayal, her soul cried out for comfort, or at least a hug. Her frown turned into a scowl.

"Unfortunately, the person I want to see most, doesn't exist," she thought. Even as her internal voice spoke, a twinge went through her chest as if her very being rebelled against the sentiment. She closed her eyes as coffee again singed her lip, and she swallowed the bitter liquid, black without any sugar or cream. Hermione opened her eyes and almost missed her parents as they arrived together, just another day at work for them. Seeing them so close, yet so far away, caused tears to immediately well up, and Hermione blinked them away. She followed along at a safe distance as they kissed in the lobby and took separate lifts.

"This is why I'm here," Hermione thought as she once again put off tending to her feelings. She considered spending another night in the hotel, then decided against it.

"Why wait? Plus it's not like you're swimming in cash," she thought. She retraced her steps back to her room, collected her toothbrush and everything else, checked out, then hailed a taxi from the street. The meter ticked up rapidly as they accelerated away from rush hour traffic and left the business district behind. Just over thirty minutes later, Hermione paid entirely too many Aussie dollars for the ride and stepped out into an upper-middle class suburban street. Manicured lawns, still wet with dew in the shade where the sun had yet to burn it away, stretched as far as she could see. A BMW cruised down the street, and Hermione spotted the driver, a middle-aged man, holding a mobile phone to his ear as he drove. She walked up the driveway and onto the front porch.

"I'd forgotten how much larger than the house in London it is," Hermione thought as she surveyed the exterior.

For a moment she thought about the various ways she might enter her parents' home, then decided that being spotted loitering on their porch would not be a good thing.

"Alohomora," she whispered, and the door unlocked and opened by itself. Hermione slipped into the foyer and the first thing that struck her was the potted plant near the entrance. They'd had a nearly identical one in London, before it had died from lack of water over the year she was on the run. She locked the front door behind her and stepped past the foyer; she'd never actually been inside before. The house was posh… granite countertops, fridge built into the wall, larger television, and a DVD player.

"Definitely more posh than London," Hermione thought. Her parents had built a good life for themselves without her. A moment of panic seized her.

"What if they ask me to remove myself from their memories again?" she thought, and she suddenly wished Julia was there to reassure her.

"She's not real. Get it through your head!" she thought as she thumped the heel of her palm against her forehead a few times. She took a shuddering breath as, unbidden, images of her past school year with Julia flashed across her memory, and she lamented never properly learning occlumency aside from the few exercises Madam Schultz had shown her. No matter how she tried, she couldn't reconcile the girl she'd almost fallen in love with the woman who had tortured and scarred her.

"How could they be the same?" she thought.

Hermione absently ran her fingertips over her arm and looked down; a drop of blood had seeped through her sleeve and stained the beige fabric crimson. She rolled her cuff up and pressed a thumb to stem the bleeding. Then she rubbed her fingers together and inhaled the coppery scent to try and remind herself of what she had done.

"Focus," she thought. Hermione kept applying pressure to the small wound and surveyed the ground floor: living room, dining room, den, kitchen, toilet…

Bleeding stopped, she rolled her sleeve back down, set her beaded bag on the granite counter, and withdrew one of the bottles with the obliviation cure potion she'd prepared. She held it up to the light and swirled it. Now that the potion was completed, it was more or less stable. As a water-based potion, it would mix easily enough, and although it probably wouldn't taste fantastic, they didn't need to drink much for it to work.

"I'll mix it in with some tea, and a pair of confundus charms ought to do the trick," she thought. With her eyes growing heavy due to jetlag, she searched through the cabinets until she found her mum's tea bags, and brewed a pair of cups, just in case they came home early. Carefully, she added a measure of potion to each, then settled in on the living room couch to nap while she waited for her parents to return from work.

Hermione startled awake at the sound of the door to the garage opening, and she quickly reached for her wand, blinked the sleep away, and disillusioned herself with a whisper. The sound of outerwear being hung in the foyer closet reached her ears, and then footsteps thumped towards the kitchen.

"Hon, did we make tea this morning before we left?" her father asked. Hermione wordlessly silenced her shoes and, heart racing, stepped around the corner to see her father looking down in confusion at the two identical cups set on the table.

"I don't think so," her mother replied as she approached. Hermione crept behind her, stepping quietly on the linoleum even though the spell muffled her shoes almost perfectly.

"So close… so close," she thought as her mother joined her father to look down at the two cups. Hermione carefully pointed her wand.

"Confundus," she whispered as she dropped both the disillusionment and silencing spells, and her father's gaze went blank, "confundus."

She stepped into her confused parents' line of sight.

"Welcome home, it's been a long day, you should drink this, it'll help you feel better," Hermione said as she picked up the tea cups and handed one to each of them.

"Oh, it's cold," her father said as he took a sip.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" her mother asked as she set the half-empty cup down again.

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath.

"Moment of truth," she thought. She pushed all of her worries and doubts to the side and focused on the incantation and wand movement she knew by heart.

"Vivica scopum," Hermione said as her mother's eyes crossed to focus on the tip of her wand. She pointed to her father and repeated the charm. Both her parents looked at her in confusion, and then suddenly both doubled over and clutched their heads. For a few horrible seconds, the fear she had made a colossal misstep loomed large, then her mother stood up straight and turned to look at her, and, at long last, recognition crossed her face.

"Mum?" Hermione whispered.

"Oh… oh my sweet baby," her mother whispered as she pulled Hermione into a crushing hug. Hermione coughed out a sob as she registered her father had joined them.

"Oh, what happened?" her mother asked.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, "I'm so sorry. There was a war, and both of you would have been targets, and I didn't know what to do. And then when it was all over, I couldn't fix it. I thought I'd lost you forever."

The words continued to tumble out of her mouth and she realised they were somewhat jumbled up, but she couldn't stop talking until she finally ran out of breath and lost her place in the story at the same time.

"So, if I understand…" her mother said as she drew back a bit. Hermione saw tears had tracked down her mother's face, and she wiped at her own wet cheeks.

"You cast a spell on us, to make us forget you ever existed?" she asked.

Hermione nodded.

"It was the only way I could think of," she replied.

Her mother looked to her father, who merely shrugged.

"I think this calls for a bottle of wine," he said.

"Actually, we should wait, until the charm wears off," Hermione said, "try to focus on the memories as much as you can until it does."

Her father set three glasses on the table, then moved off into the kitchen to a wine cabinet and emerged with a bottle of red.

"I have so many questions," her mother said as they sat around the table.

"I'll answer everything, all night if I have to," Hermione replied.

Hermione spoke while they let the wine breathe, about the memory charm and compulsion she'd placed on them.

"I still think there must have been another way," her father said, "I wish you'd spoken to us about it first."

"Yes, there were about twenty other ways that I thought of after the fact," Hermione said, "there just wasn't any time…"

She slumped her shoulders and closed her eyes; this was what she had dreaded the most. Through all the decisions and sacrifices she had made, everything she had gone through, she and Ron and Harry, they had come through victorious. When viewed through the unforgiving lens of hindsight though, she judged herself incredibly rash and naïve.

"We did the best we could, and it could have been a lot worse," she thought, "…small comfort."

"Alright, I get it then," her father said, "it's definitely an odd sensation, I must say… having a life and then suddenly having a whole other life that's completely different, and then having both of them at the same time."

He took a sip of wine, then seemed to remember there were two other people sitting at the table, and cleared his throat.

"Right, cheers," he said. They clinked glasses and the tangy, fruity flavour of the Australian wine shocked Hermione's tastebuds as she took a small sip. Her father ordered pizza and they talked late into the night as Hermione recounted her adventures over the past year in the fight against Voldemort. Eventually, well after midnight, her mother yawned twice in a row.

"Sorry," she said as she covered her mouth, "the wine. It's been a long day, and we need to be up for work in about six hours."

"Oh," Hermione said, "I thought… I thought we might spend the day. After all…"

"Errm, well," her mother said as she and her father shared a glance, "well, we both have patient appointments scheduled."

"Oh," Hermione said as she tried to keep her disappointment from showing, "of course. Then, perhaps I'll explore a little bit and see you in the evening?"

Her mum nodded.

"Excellent plan, there's a park not far from here, good hiking trails. I'll show you on a map," her mother said as she stood up, "and I'll see if I can push out some of the afternoon appointments and come home early."

"Me too," her father said.

Her mother unfolded a map of the nearby area and drew a line on a few roads to a nearby park, walking distance, and then showed Hermione to a guest room with cream-coloured walls. A framed picture of a bouquet of flowers hung on one wall, thick wall to wall carpeting muffled any sound from the floor, and a queen-sized bed, already made up, lay near the window.

"Do you have any bags?" her mother asked after showing her where the toilet was.

Hermione held up her beaded bag.

"Just this, everything is in here," she replied.

Her mother looked confused for a moment, then nodded as she opened the bedroom door to depart.

"Right, magic," she muttered, "good night sweetheart."

"Night mum," Hermione said as she followed her to the hall, "its… it's good to have you back."

"You too," her mum replied, "I mean me too… I mean… you know what I mean. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione watched as her mum closed the bedroom door behind her, and settled in the guest room by laying out some clothes to wear the following day, then decided to take a shower. She lingered under the water a little bit, almost in disbelief that she'd actually succeeded in bringing her parents' memories back. She found a hairdryer in one of the drawers, but, aware that it was well past one in the morning, elected to wrap a towel around her hair instead and creep barefoot down the hall, back to her assigned room. There, charmed her hair dry, then pulled back the thick covers and slipped beneath the chilly sheets to wait for them to warm. In the dark, as she stared up at the ceiling, she pondered on the unlikely sequence events that had led her here, to an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar country.

"I wish Julia were here," Hermione thought. She bit her lip as the ache in her chest started up again.

"Bellatrix, it was Bellatrix all along. Yes, she blew up your lab, but without that, you probably wouldn't have found the mistakes you'd made until you decided to actually get some sleep, not to mention the rest of the work she did," Hermione thought.

A warmth started to collect in her belly, and she rolled over in an attempt to get it to go away, but the familiar tingle spread between her legs instead. After weeks of sharing the tent and climaxing with Julia every night before sleeping, sometimes two or three times, her body had apparently grown accustomed to it.

"Sleep!" she commanded herself, but unfortunately, it was the middle of the afternoon in England, and her body hadn't yet figured out it was in Sydney. She rearranged pillows, trying to get comfortable, trying to ignore the signals, refusing to touch herself because she knew she'd end up recalling their lovemaking.

"And that is definitely not a good idea," she thought.

For hours she lay there, alternately beneath and on top of the sheets, completely awake, completely aroused, trying to will herself to fall asleep, until she realised she could see the outline of the window as the outside world started lightening with the coming of dawn. Hermione huffed and changed into day clothes again, then descended to the kitchen. Birds chirped as the world slowly woke, and Hermione's stomach growled. She hadn't eaten much the night before.

"Considering everything I put them through, the least I can do is make them breakfast," she thought. It took a few minutes to find everything, but before long, she had a hearty meal of ham and eggs, with toasted bread and jam. The coffee maker was some kind of luxury brand she'd never used before, so she thought it safer to wait for her parents for that. Eventually, they arrived downstairs, dressed for the clinics.

"You made breakfast?" her mum said.

"I don't know if it's any good…" Hermione said.

Her father leaned over and took a bite of egg without sitting down.

"It's delicious," he said as he continued chewing while moving to brew the coffee. Then they sat and ate breakfast together and chatted awkwardly about her parents' life in Sydney. It had taken them some months to get their respective practices up and running, but things had finally settled down into more or less of a routine. Hermione was about to ask when they might return to London when her father stood up.

"Right, we've got to go or we'll be late," he said, "love you sweetheart."

He kissed her on the cheek, and Hermione smiled broadly.

"Enjoy the park," her mum said. They both exited to the garage, and Hermione heard the sound of the automatic door opening. She stepped out into the chilly, overcast morning in stocking feet to wave goodbye from the front porch, then returned inside to scrounge around for a water bottle. Unfortunately, after the few minutes it took to find it, fill the bottle from the fridge dispenser, and get her trainers tied, she opened the front door again to see a light drizzle. She frowned as the distinct smell of rain on asphalt reached her.

"Maybe it'll stop soon," she thought. She walked to the den, found the remote for the telly and turned it on, then flipped until she found a weather channel.

"…miserable, rainy day today, drizzle on and off and showers until mid-afternoon, high about fourteen. Tomorrow, partly cloudy skies and…" Hermione flipped off the telly and stared out the window as droplets started to collect and drip down.

Inexorably, like a moth to flame, her thoughts turned to Julia again.

"Wonder what she's doing now… probably sleeping at St. Mungo's," she thought. The healers had given her about a week to recover.

"And after that it'll be a trial," Hermione thought, "then a sentence to Azkaban, and maybe a Dementor's Kiss."

The good times she'd shared with Julia flooded her chest again, and she hugged herself.

"True, she isn't perfect, but who is?" Hermione thought, "She's not Bellatrix bloody Lestrange, that's for certain."

She kicked off her trainers, curled up on the couch, pulled a pillow in to hug instead of herself, and stared off into space.

"She loves you. You know she loves you, and if she hadn't exposed herself, saving your life, by the way, where was your relationship headed?" she thought.

After curing her parents, they would have submitted their obliviation cure to the Council of Master Healers. For such a discovery, they would have received an Order of Merlin, third class at least, possibly second.

"And then what?" Hermione thought, "well, we would have been a couple, perhaps rented a flat together. Try to find employment? Or perhaps do some traveling first. That would have been fun, just me and Julia, exploring new places and countries, and cultures and foods. What a difference a few days makes."

She shook her head violently.

"Stop it Hermione, what are you doing? She. Doesn't. Exist," she thought, "say it out loud."

"She doesn't exist," Hermione said, and she shocked herself with how uncertain her voice sounded.

"Julia White doesn't exist," she said. Then she squeezed her eyes shut as hot tears flooded out. The sound of them hitting the pillow competed with the raindrops pattering the windowsill.

"I've fallen in love with someone who isn't real," she thought, "but she is real. It would be impossible to fake all of that. Especially under veritaserum."

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt about that. Julia, no, Bellatrix, had begged her not to ask, and she did it anyway.

"Why didn't she want me to ask?" Hermione thought, but the answer came to her almost immediately, "she wanted to tell me herself, when she was ready. And you denied her that."

The fact that it didn't matter, not really anyway, since she was in all likelihood going to be sent to Azkaban in less than a week's time, did nothing to comfort Hermione, at all. In fact, the thought of Julia wasting away in that horrible place made her physically nauseous. Her mind whirled around and around in circles, until weariness overcame her and she stretched out on the couch to fall asleep to the sound of the steady rain, pillow still clutched to her chest.

The sound of the front door closing snapped her out of a deep slumber; her eyes stung.

"'Mine?" her mum called.

"Here," Hermione said as she forced herself to her feet and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She glanced around looking for a clock, only to see it was four in the afternoon; she'd slept the entire day away.

"Bit of a miserable day, sorry about that," her mum said as she rounded the corner.

"Not like you can control the weather," Hermione said. She forced a smile.

"Ugh, this is an awkward conversation," she thought.

"Where's dad?" she asked.

"Still working," her mum replied, "I was thinking… maybe I could bake some shortbread, your favourite? I know it's not Christmas, but-"

"We could bake it together," Hermione said, and she smiled for real.

Before long, the sweet fragrance filled the house as Hermione and her mum worked together on the dessert, and for a few moments, it was like nearly two years apart hadn't passed. The second batch baked in the oven while the first cooled on a metal stand.

"I was wondering… if you think you might return to London?" Hermione asked.

Her mum frowned.

"Well… it's something your father and I are going to have to talk about," her mother said, "it took a lot of work to build up our practices here… and the weather is nicer. People too."

"Oh," Hermione said as she tried to hide her disappointment.

"We'll visit, certainly," her mother said.

"Me too," Hermione said as she forced her lips into a smile, "it's only a few portkeys away, after all."

She needed advice, what to do about Julia, how to get over her, but looking at her mum's face, she knew she couldn't ask her, not now, when the realisation she had a daughter was so newly restored. Her parents needed time to process everything that had happened.

"How about…," Hermione said, "I'll head back first and… make sure the house is ready, so when you do decide to return..."

"The house," her mum said, "that's right. Is it..?"

"It's fine," Hermione said, "the grass is a bit long, and I'll need to check the water and electricity and phone, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"Hmm," her mum said with a thoughtful expression.

The timer dinged, and she moved to use the potholders to remove the tray from the oven, while Hermione turned it off. They allowed themselves one small piece of shortbread each before dinner, then worked together to prepare a hearty casserole before the sound of the garage door opener heralded Hermione's father's return. They ate together, and although her dad acted like nothing was wrong, she couldn't help but feel that he was holding something back.

"He'll come around eventually," she thought.

"I'm returning to London tomorrow," she said, "there are some things I need to do."

"So soon?" her father asked.

Hermione nodded.

"I'll come back to visit," she said, "and when.. if you'd like to visit, or… you know… return to live in London, just let me know. You can call the old house number. They won't allow you to travel by portkey on your own, but I'll come and pick you up. It's a lot faster, and cheaper, than a plane."

"Is everything okay?" her father asked.

"Yes," Hermione replied, "it's just… my life is busy, that's all."

Hermione practically saw the next question forming in her father's mind, about whether there was someone special in her life, and she was definitely not prepared to delve down that rabbit hole.

"And now is not the time to inform them of your non-straight sexuality," Hermione thought.

"There are a lot of things going on with research," she said, "I've made a fairly significant magical discovery, but I need to register it to receive credit, and royalties."

Both her parents smiled.

"That's my girl," her father said.

"I do believe she is both of ours," her mum said as she glanced at her father for a second, "congratulations Hermione, we're so proud of you. Can you say what the discovery is?"

Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks.

"Oh, umm," she said as her voice dipped in volume, "it's a cure for memory erasure, something thought impossible for hundreds of years."

"Oh," her father said, then he paused awkwardly, "so, does that mean we were guinea pigs?"

"No!" Hermione said, "I've tested it hundreds of times… on erm.. on myself."

Her father raised an eyebrow.

"The Jonas Salk method? That sounds risky," he said, "I suppose it worked out though. I suppose you'd better register it before someone else does."

"Right, yes," Hermione said, "that's why the portkey is scheduled for eight am tomorrow."

"Oh no, we missed your graduation!" her mum said, and Hermione felt heat rush to her cheeks.

"There wasn't… really much of a ceremony. None at all, actually," she said, "I have my certificate though."

She rummaged through her bag and pulled out the report with the NEWT completions.

"I don't know what I'm looking at," her dad said.

"It's good," Hermione said.

"Hmm. Okay, congratulations, and on the discovery," he said.

Hermione smiled at that. They finished up dinner and Hermione went to bed, and this time she managed to fall asleep for a few hours, though she still woke up before dawn. She rode with her parents, who insisted on heading to work early to drop her off, and then hugged them goodbye in the parking garage that concealed the entrance to the Australian Ministry of Magic.

"You're sure you have everything you need," her dad asked.

A small part of her wanted to remind him that she'd spent months completely self-sufficient while being hunted by a hostile magical government, but then she realised he was just showing concern, and she smiled.

"I have everything, don't worry," she said. They hugged again and Hermione rushed off to catch her portkey. She only turned once to wave at her parents.

The second leg of her journey brought her to Berlin. On the way through the German Ministry of Magic, she stopped and, on a hunch, fished around in her pouch and pulled out the card with the address she'd received from Madam Schultz. Hermione stepped up to the portkey counter and, after asking for someone who could speak English, rescheduled her portkey to London to the following day. She exited the Ministry into central Berlin, and walked into the night. She found a currency exchange at a nearby muggle train station which she used to convert some of her remaining Aussie dollars to the new Euro currency, then walked along the nearly deserted station until she found a foldable tourist map at one of the stalls. It took her a few minutes of scanning to find Schultz's street. She checked the map at the exit of the train station, matched it up with the tourist map, and set off to the east. Even though the hour approached midnight, plenty of muggles still walked the streets, mostly younger people on holiday, or out for a drink. Although cooler than the day would have been, Hermione was completely inappropriately dressed for the summer humidity, and it was a good twenty minutes before she passed a motel advertising vacancy, and rented a room. The walls were thin and the couple next door kept her up for a few minutes, but exhaustion overcame the rhythmic panting and squeaking of springs. The following morning, she awoke early, changed into capris and a short-sleeved shirt, found Schultz's address, mapped the route with a red marker, checked out, then walked the narrow streets, past a preserved section of the old graffitied wall that had previously split the city, to a four-story concrete building across the road from a park. Hermione double checked the card and the address listed on the front of the shop.

"A bicycle repair shop on the ground floor… how do I get to level two?" she thought.

She walked around the building and, among overgrown weeds, spotted a white door on the side of the building. Inside, she found a dimly lit, narrow concrete stairwell, and a simple wooden door on the second-story landing. Hermione twisted the knob and pushed it open to see what looked like a waiting room. Thin grey carpet covered the floor, a closed door lay to her left, comfortable chairs and magazines sat to her right, and a young brunette woman stared at her from behind a table on the far side.

"Guten tag," the receptionist said, followed by a string of German that Hermione had no hope of following.

"Umm, hi," Hermione said as she approached the counter, "Err, guten tag. Is Madam Shultz in?"

The receptionist looked annoyed, and said something that started with 'Haben', but Hermione couldn't even catch the rest of the words, much less understand them.

"I'm sorry, do you speak English at all?" she asked.

The receptionist shook her head, rolled her eyes, and motioned to the seats by the magazines. Hermione took the hint and sat down to wait. Twenty minutes ticked by, and a meek looking fellow in his mid-thirties opened the door, spared a glance for Hermione, and hustled out the exit. The receptionist said something about Schultz and motioned to the open door, then motioned again when Hermione apparently didn't move quickly enough. Hermione passed into a what appeared to be stereotypical Freudian psychoanalyst's office. A large couch lay on one side of the room, draped with blankets of orange and brown, which matched the carpeting. A padded wooden chair sat behind the couch and another, leather chair rested behind a large wooden desk. Bookshelves took up most of the space on two walls, and what space wasn't covered by books was filled with pictures and certificates. Madam Schultz stood behind the desk, slightly hunched but eyes twinkling blue as she smiled when Hermione entered.

"I had hoped you vould visit, but I did not expect it so soon," she said, "velcome to Berlin, fraulein."

"Thank you Madam Schultz, sorry for dropping in unannounced," Hermione replied as she closed the door behind her.

"It is fine, it is not busy today," Schultz said, and she smiled again.

"I'm not sure if you've heard, I've encountered a rather… difficult situation, and I'm not sure what to do," Hermione said, "I need advice."

"I do not know zat I vill be able to help, but I am villing to listen," Schultz said.

"Okay. Okay, thank you," Hermione said, "you remember Julia…"

Hermione recounted what had happened, and explained the student they thought was Julia White was in fact Bellatrix Black.

"I do not know zis… ah, zis is ze person from your memory," Schultz said as her gaze dropped to Hermione's arm. Hermione instinctively turned it across her stomach to hide it against her body, despite the transfiguration still in place.

"Yes, but she's not the same, she's younger, and she has no recollection of anything after school, back in the sixties," Hermione said, "I don't know what happened, but… they, the Ministry, they're going to put her on trial. She's going to be sentenced to Azkaban."

Schultz nodded.

"I don't know what to do, whether I should try to help her, or if I should stay out of it," Hermione said as she sat down on the couch, "she lied about who she was, but there was something there for sure. I mean… we were close. We were dating."

She closed her eyes and recalled their brief but intense relationship.

"But she's also the person who gave me these," Hermione said as she touched her arm, "and if I try to help her, I don't know if anyone would understand…"

"I might lose everyone," she thought.

She ran her fingers through her frazzled hair and let out a heavy sigh.

"Vell, zis is most unusual," Schultz said, "I do not sink I have all ze facts, but I sink you care for zis girl, vatever her name is, ya?"

Hermione closed her eyes, thought carefully for a few seconds, then swallowed and nodded.

"In times like zis, ven your mind tells you one sing, and your heart another, you should follow your heart," Schultz said. Hermione opened her eyes to take in every word, every facial expression.

"More zen anyone else, I vould sink you know who she truly is, so you should not be afraid to make ze choice zat is right for you," Schultz said, "Sometimes it may not make sense, and zere may be zose who condemn you for it, but if you truly listen, and not simply vish, zen it is never wrong to follow your heart."

Hermione somehow got the sense the elderly mind healer spoke from personal experience, and although she wanted to ask more, propriety stayed her tongue; she was here to ask Shultz for advice on her own life, after all, not delve into the Healer's past.

"She's not wrong though. If I don't act now and stand up for what I know is right, especially when no one else will…" Hermione thought.

"Thank you Madam Schultz, I know what I need to do," Hermione said as she stood up.

"You are velcome, fraulein," Schultz said, "I vish you luck. Come visit again ven it is done."

"I will," Hermione said, "thank you again."

She let herself out of the office and put the sun at her back, to walk towards the German Ministry to catch her portkey home. A few minutes later, she arrived back at the Ministry of Magic in London. She left a message for Ron and Harry to meet her the following morning, then took the floo to Diagon Alley, and apparated directly to her childhood home. Now that her time at Hogwarts was done, she needed a place to stay, and she'd promised to get it ready for her parents, so, it only made sense she would return to her old room. The house still smelled and looked the same, almost as if they'd never left. Only the cobwebs in some of the corners and the overgrown yard hinted that the house hadn't been lived in for over a year. She flicked on the light switch, and relief washed through her when they turned on; the electricity hadn't been shut off. She tried the tap in the kitchen which sputtered and spat before settling into a steady stream, and picked up the phone to hear a dial tone.

"Right, everything still works… I suppose it's cleaning time then," she thought. She changed into shorts and a t-shirt and opened a few windows to let the place air out. Then she tied her hair back, set some cleaning supplies near the sink, and got to work polishing the windows, wiping down the counters and table tops, clearing out the cobwebs, cleaning the toilets, and evicting a very irate chipmunk that had somehow found its way inside. As she stepped into the back yard, she spotted the table and chairs she and Julia had sat at during Christmas. That led her thoughts to turn towards all the time she'd spent with Julia, in the lab, cleaning the castle, in the tent…

"She's not a threat, I know she isn't," Hermione thought as she scrubbed and hosed down the seats, "If I can help convince enough of the Wizengamot of the same, then I should. Even if I can only save her soul from a Dementor's Kiss...if I don't at least try, I might regret it for a very, very long time."

House suitably sparkling, Hermione showered, changed, unpacked all her clothing from the beaded bag and returned them to bureaus and closets, then set her wand to wake her in the morning and slipped between the now-unfamiliar sheets of her old bed. The following morning, Hermione spotted Harry and Ron at the muggle café she'd selected, just a few dozen meters away from the Ministry entrance. Cars and muggles alike bustled down the street during the morning rush, but a privacy spell muffled most of the cacophony.

"Good idea meeting out here," Ron said as she sat down, "can you imagine the press if we met at the Atrium?"

Hermione nodded knowingly.

"So, how did it go?" Harry asked.

Hermione exhaled and smiled.

"It worked," she said. She could tell both of them knew it before she'd even said a word, but she still appreciated their broad grins.

"Brilliant, I knew you could do it," Ron said.

"That's amazing," Harry said, "are they here in London?"

"No, not yet," Hermione replied, still grinning, "they have a whole life to pack up in Australia, so it might be some time."

She left out the possibility that they might not return at all.

"Still, that's unbelievable, have you submitted the cure yet?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"Not yet, I plan to, today," she said, "that's not the only reason I asked to meet though."

Harry and Ron looked at her expectantly.

"Just do it," Hermione thought.

"Who's defending Bellatrix?" she asked, "I'm going to offer to testify on her behalf."

Ron looked at Harry.

"Err, nobody, really, not that I know of," Harry said, "it seems nobody wants to."

Hermione blinked.

"But… when is the trial?" she asked.

"Not sure, they haven't announced it yet, but it'll be as soon as she's fully healed, so, shouldn't be long," Harry said, "a few days perhaps."

Annoyance quickly turned to anger, and Hermione felt her brow furrow.

"Isn't there a requirement that the accused receives legal representation? It's one of the most fundamental rights under British law," Hermione said.

"Not in Wizarding Britain," Ron said, "err, the way Percy explained it to me, is that the accused can just tell the truth and then let the court decide."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"That's right, most of the trials I've seen, there was nobody representing the defendant, except Dennis," Harry said, "maybe he got one because he was under age? Then again, I didn't get one automatically at my trial, Dumbledore just sort of… showed up."

Ron shrugged and nodded most unhelpfully. Hermione closed her eyes; this would make things much more complicated.

"Okay… okay, I'll talk to Terry," Hermione said.

"Hermione, are you sure you want to do this?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course, why wouldn't I?" Hermione asked.

"Well, because it's… it's her. She killed Sirius, and Tonks, and put Neville's parents in the hospital, and that's just off the top of my head, I'm sure there's loads more," Harry replied.

Hermione shook her head.

"It wasn't her though, she doesn't remember any of that, and she saved my life, twice, and fought that Death Eater on New Year's," Hermione said, "you have to think of her as a completely different person."

Harry sipped his coffee as he thought about it for a second.

"Right but that's just it, she's not a completely different person. We don't know how the Aevum works… what if she gets her memories back? What if she reverts to the old Bellatrix?" Harry asked.

"She won't, I know she won't," Hermione said, and she heard a note of stubbornness creep into her voice. Harry looked unconvinced but he didn't press the issue.

"You're sure," Ron asked.

She looked at his concerned expression, thought for just a second or two, and nodded.

"I'm sure," she said, "she's not a bad person, maybe a little bit snarky from time to time, but she's definitely not a blood supremacist. She tutored two muggleborns in duelling, on her own initiative."

"Really? I didn't know that," Ron said.

"And a bunch of other things," Hermione added, "and she can cast a full patronus."

That got Harry to sit up straight.

"Maybe she really is a completely different person," Harry said, though Hermione suspected he might have been trying to convince himself, "there's no way Bellatrix Lestrange could conjure up a patronus."

He took a bite of a blueberry muffin and chewed slowly while staring off into the distance.

"All right," he said, "all right, I believe you."

Hermione kept her face passive, but inside she cheered; that was one major hurdle crossed.

"I know everyone's going to expect you to vote guilty…" Hermione said.

For Harry, she knew, if it ever came down to a choice between doing what was right, or what was easy, he wouldn't let her down.

"Don't worry about that," Harry said, "and I'm fairly certain Macmillian with vote in your favour as well, or rather, I'm fairly certain I can convince him."

"Professor Winthrop will vote to keep her out of prison too, I know he will," she said.

Ron nodded.

"I'll talk to my dad, I think I can convince him," he said.

"That's four already, a good fifteen percent of what we need. Maybe it's not impossible," she thought.

"Right," Hermione said.

"Right. Let me know how it goes with Terry," Harry said.

"I'm heading to St. Mungo's first, you?" Hermione asked.

"Street patrol today," Harry replied.

Hermione nodded. Harry and Hermione paid cash for the coffee and biscuits while Ron promised to pay them back, and they went their separate ways.

In the administrative level of the wizarding hospital, Hermione's steps slowed as she neared the office where witches and wizards could put forth their proposed cures for review by the Council of Master Healers. Months of research and weeks of compilation had gone into the draft in her bag, but she'd just realised one thing: The second author on the submission was Julia White. Hermione stepped into an empty waiting area filled with small leather chairs and a low coffee table, and withdrew the proposal.

"To remove it completely, or replace it?" Hermione thought as she stared at Julia's printed name at the bottom of the cover page.

"I never would have made it if it wasn't for her," she thought. With a quick, murmured charm, she wiped out 'Julia White' and then pulled out an inkwell and quill, and carefully scratched in 'Bellatrix Black' in its place. Before she could change her mind, she quickly stowed the ink and quill, blew on the cover page to dry it, and walked straight into the registration office.

"Hello, I'd like to register a magical discovery," Hermione said.

A dozen witches and wizards, some of them wearing white healer robes, twisted around to look at her.

"Take a number," the bored looking assistant, a wizard barely out of school, said without looking up. Hermione took a step to the side and pressed a green button on a small box, which spit out a piece of paper with a quiet belch. Hermione took a seat near the back while she waited for her turn, and observed the other individuals who were also submitting magical discoveries. They were all older than her, by a significant margin. One fellow had a nervous tick in his neck, and a witch two seats over continually muttered to herself under her breath and adjusted her hat.

"Are these healers, or patients?" Hermione thought.

She hunched her shoulders to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible; she definitely didn't want to get dragged into a conversation. It took ninety minutes to get through the queue, and people kept filing in after her, until the room was nearly full.

"Nineteen," the assistant said. Hermione bolted up and walked quickly to the small desk and sat down.

"What is the nature of your magical discovery?" the assistant asked, again without looking up from his form as his quill scratched away.

"It's a cure for obliviation," Hermione said as she set the proposal down with a thunk.

The assistant snorted.

"No witch or wizard has successfully demonstrated a cure for obliviation since the invention of the charm four hundred years ago, Miss-" he said, then he looked up and saw her, "Hermione Granger."

His expression turned from bored to intrigued as he looked down, flipped a page, and read the proposal summary, then looked back to Hermione.

"Have you tested it?" he asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Hundreds of times. It works. Every time," Hermione said.

The assistant, now with a star struck, open-mouthed expression, nodded.

"Right, let's see if your submission is in order," he said as he started paging through the document.

Hermione held her breath and hoped the review sessions with Professor Winthrop paid off.

"It all looks to be in place," he said. He tapped a stamp twice on an inkpad, thunked the cover page of the submission, then dropped it into a metal drawer behind him. He scribbled out a receipt, signed it, and handed it to her.

"The Council will schedule a session for demonstration of the cure. If you need to change your appointment, please use the provided return form, which will be owled to you," he said.

"Thank you, is there anything else?" Hermione asked.

"Errm, could I buy you a coffee?" the assistant asked as his face turned red.

"What?" Hermione thought. She put her best press smile on her face.

"Sorry, I just… I don't have time," she said, "thank you for the offer though."

"Right ehh, no problem," the assistant said.

Hermione stood up and made her way out of St. Mungo's, took the floo to Diagon Alley, and navigated the twisting roads to the offices of Tilworth and Jones. She pulled open the large wooden door and stepped into a high-ceilinged antechamber, obviously magically larger inside, complete with magically glowing crystal chandelier attached to the ceiling. The humidity of summer stayed outside and cool air hit her as soon as she crossed the threshold.

"It must be some kind of magical climate control," Hermione thought; there was no way it was muggle air conditioning. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the square antechamber towards the double glass doors emblazoned with stylised 'Tilworth & Jones Inc' in cursive lettering. She pushed the door and it resisted her effort for a second, then swung open. A pair of receptionists with their hair in identical tightly coiffed buns sat behind a mahogany counter. Unlike the antechamber, plush rosewood coloured carpeting deadened the sound in the office proper. Wooden panelling and various landscape oil paintings adorned the walls, a staircase off to one side led up to the second story, and more doors led from the reception area and adjacent hallway, all of them frosted glass to provide privacy. Hermione assumed some of them led to meeting rooms, and others to offices where the actual work of the law firm was done.

Hermione stepped up to the counter.

"Good morning, is Terry Boot in?" she asked.

"Do you have an appointment?" one of the receptionists asked.

"No, it's a personal visit," Hermione said, "I'll wait, if need be."

The receptionist folded an airplane and sent it zooming up the staircase behind her.

"Have a seat," she said as she motioned to the thick leather chairs to Hermione's left.

About twenty minutes later, Terry, looking very smart in silver trimmed blue robes, descended the steps. He smiled when she caught sight of him.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I wanted to ask a few things, do you have a lunch break?" Hermione asked.

"If it's quick, I have a client meeting at one," Terry replied.

They walked into Diagon to find a restaurant and ended up stopping at Dante's, an open-air bakery that also served meat pies. Hermione ordered chicken and Terry went for mutton, and they sat down while they waited for lunch to finish baking.

"So what's on your mind?" Terry asked.

"You've seen the news about Bellatrix?" Hermione asked, and Terry frowned and nodded.

"Crazy that she was at Hogwarts this whole time," Terry said.

"I actually know her quite well.. we worked on a project together," Hermione said, "I mean, I didn't know who she was at the time, but…"

"Oh wow, I didn't know that," Terry said as he leaned forward, "so… what was she like?"

"Completely different from what you'd expect," Hermione replied, "it's like she's not even the same person, at all."

Terry leaned back in his seat and took a sip of grapefruit juice, a contemplative expression on his face.

"That's… interesting," he said. No doubt he'd been expecting something a bit more spectacular.

"So, what I wanted to ask you, if it would be possible… she doesn't have anyone to speak in her defence," Hermione said.

Terry grimaced.

"I was afraid you might say something like that," he said.

He leaned forward again, and Hermione did the same.

"John Tilworth, one of the partners of my firm, is speaking for the prosecution, personally," Terry said quietly.

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"I thought the Ministry has its own barristers," Hermione whispered.

"They do, but Mr. Tilworth decided to take this specific case, pro bono, to help with publicity and reputation, I imagine," Terry said.

Hermione slumped back in her seat as the meat pies arrived. She breathed in reflexively as the rich aroma reached her, but her appetite had gone.

"So you see, I can't, but even if I could, I'm not sure I would want to," Terry said, "I mean, it's Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione suppressed a shudder at the way Terry whispered her name.

"She's not though, she's not the same person," Hermione thought. Terry had continued speaking, and Hermione refocused on the conversation.

"…would affect anyone's career, definitely be some negative reputation associated with volunteering for something like that," he said, "and that's not even mentioning the public safety aspect. I mean, I would have to be absolutely sure she was different. You are sure, aren't you?"

"Yes," Hermione replied with more confidence than she felt, "one-hundred percent. She doesn't remember anything past her seventh year, and she was a normal student, more or less, the entire school year."

Terry nodded and thought carefully.

"I don't think the law has any kind of provision for a case like this," he said, "I'll try to dig something up, but… well, for the trial, I don't see how anyone steps up to argue a case against John Tilworth, to protect her."

The thought of abandoning Bellatrix Lestrange to face the might of wizarding justice felt right, but if she pictured Julia up there with no one to speak for her, facing charges she couldn't even remember with a Dementor's Kiss waiting at the end of the trial, tears nearly sprung to her eyes.

"I'm going to do it," Hermione whispered.

Terry's fork stopped midway to his mouth.

"Sorry, I must have misheard you, because it sounded a lot like you said you're going to do it," Terry said.

"I am. She can't be left to stand trial all alone, it's not right," Hermione said, "and if nobody else is going to speak for her, I will. I know her better than anyone."

Terry looked at her for a moment.

"It's not going to change anything," Terry said, "it's Bellatrix bloody Lestrange, back from the dead. There's no way in a million years you convince twenty-seven Wizengamot members not to throw her in Azkaban for life."

"Maybe not, but I have to try," Hermione said, "if I don't try, then what am I even doing here?"

Terry shook his head and stared at her face for a few seconds.

"Alright," Terry said, "alright but… I can't help you, at all. I'd be going against my own firm."

"I understand," Hermione said, "I wouldn't want you to jeopardise your career."

Terry nodded.

"You should read up on how the law works, try Milford's Introduction to British Trial Law," Terry said, "and you'll want witnesses, someone who isn't you that can speak in her defence."

Hermione fished out a small spiral notepad and started scribbling. Terry shook his head again, and Hermione got the sense he wanted to tell her it was hopeless and she shouldn't bother, and the only reason he didn't is because it wasn't in his nature to be discouraging.

"Witnesses, right, I think I know a few who might be willing to testify," she said.

She closed the notepad and tucked in. Terry ate quickly, finished first, and stood up.

"I've got to make a move, client meeting in ten," he said as he drained his glass, then dropped a few sickles on the table.

"Oh, that's too much, I can-" Hermione said as she reached for her bag.

"It's okay, I've got it," Terry said as he waved her off, "just.. Good luck."

With that, he turned and left the bakery, and Hermione was left to finish her chicken pie alone.

---

Hermione wrapped the last flask in brown paper and placed it inside her pouch along with the others and the rest of her personal potions instruments and paraphernalia. With her short-term contract at Hogwarts expired, the post-academic year clean up complete, and her findings submitted to the Council of Master Healers, there was now no need for her to stay. She surveyed the empty potions classroom one last time. After spending almost an entire year researching and experimenting, it had become almost a second home to her. Now, everywhere she looked, memories of Julia came back: the time she dramatically fell back on the table, the time she'd stood in that spot twirling her wand… some of her handwriting was still on the blackboard. Hermione wiped it away with a wave of her wand. Days later, it was still difficult to believe Julia White and Bellatrix Black were the same person. Her wand vibrated; she had a schedule to keep. She tied off her pouch and hung it around her neck, feather weighted the bundled tent, then undid the wards around the classroom one last time and climbed the steps through the nearly deserted school, to the Headmistress' office. The stone gargoyle didn't even ask for a password, just silently spun to reveal the spiral staircase.

Hermione climbed and found McGonagall crocheting in one of the plush chairs near the fireplace.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," McGonagall said without looking up as she finished the row, then placed the patch of completed cloth on the arm of the chair and stood up.

"It seems the time has flown," McGonagall said.

"Yes, but a lot has happened," Hermione said as she stepped to within speaking distance.

"I am aware. It all must be incredibly trying for you," McGonagall said.

"I'm coping," Hermione said, and McGonagall nodded.

"If we had any credible suspicions-" McGonagall said.

"I don't blame you… who knows how things may have worked out," Hermione said, "I wouldn't have been able to cure my parents without her, and I'm not sure if you knew, but she saved my life on New Years'."

"Really, I had no idea," McGonagall said as she crossed her arms.

"Yes, so, actually, I was wondering if you might speak in her defence," Hermione said, "you were her professor, twice, actually."

Hermione smirked; McGonagall would have taught Bellatrix Black in the sixties as well.

"As much as I sympathise with you, and Miss Black, as Headmistress, I speak for the school," McGonagall said, and Hermione's heart sank. It had been a long shot to begin with, but somehow was still disappointing.

"It would not be in the best interests of Hogwarts to try and intervene," McGonagall said.

"I understand," Hermione said, "I'm… I'm going to speak in her defence."

McGonagall frowned, her lips becoming a thin line.

"I remember Bellatrix Black when she was a first year, full of confidence and potential, and I saw what became of her. I would caution you to aid her only if you're sure she is not a threat, but… well, of course you're sure," McGonagall said with a sigh, "you must do what you feel is right, of course."

Hermione sighed.

"It's not an easy choice," Hermione said, "I might be closing a lot of doors for myself."

"Well, you needn't worry about that. As long as I am Headmistress, Hogwarts will always open her doors for you," McGonagall said.

Hermione smiled.

"Thank you, Professor, I might take you up on that," she said, "Do you mind if I floo from here? I'm due to see Neville."

McGonagall nodded and gestured to the fireplace. Hermione stepped up and, with one more glance and a wave, tossed the powder in.

"Stone Towers Farm," Hermione said, and then the magical fireplace sucked her through time and space and spit her out into what looked like an abandoned barn. A few strands of hay still lay in corners, but aside from a few old harnesses hung on the wall, there was nothing to indicate it had ever been in use.

"Hello?" Hermione said as she leaned the bundled tent against the outside of the fireplace. She stepped out of the barn and into the sunlight to see crops growing off to her right and an orchard of some kind to her left; she suspected they were apple trees. Beyond the orchard she spied a small cottage, probably Neville's family home. Neville himself approached the barn, walking a paved path between the crops and the orchard. He waved as he caught sight of her, and Hermione waved back. She turned towards the field as the breeze stirred the stalks, partially because it was a beautiful sight, but mostly to avoid the awkwardness of watching someone approach from over two hundred metres away. She turned back when she heard his footsteps behind her.

"Hi Neville," she said.

"Hullo," he replied as he leaned easily against the open barn door, "welcome to my humble abode."

He gestured vaguely towards the cottage in the distance.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said.

Neville smiled and nodded.

"I'd ask you over, but I get the feeling we're going to want to avoid my gran," he said, "you wanted to talk about Julia? Or should I say Bellatrix?"

His face darkened as he mentioned her name.

"Yes. I know it's sensitive, but I wanted to ask for your help," Hermione said.

Neville didn't move or change his expression, so Hermione continued.

"I'm going to argue in her defence," Hermione said.

That got Neville to stop leaning on the door, and he placed both hands on his hips.

"Are you taking the piss? Why?" he asked.

"Because it's not right," Hermione said, "she's not the same person. You knew her in school."

"I spoke with her a few times, wouldn't say I knew her well," Neville said.

"But you did know her, I thought you fancied her," Hermione said.

Neville shook his head.

"I might have been interested, before I found out who she was, and yeah I asked her, thank Merlin she declined," Neville said, "I'm surprised it's not the same for you. You don't care that she lied to you all along?"

Hermione paused; that cut her deeper than she'd expected, but she put the betrayal aside for the moment and pressed on.

"It's not that I don't, but that's not a good enough reason to send someone to Azkaban for life," she said, "I was hoping we could talk to your gran-"

"No, absolutely not," Neville said as he shook his head, "she was Voldemort's second. How many of our friends did she kill?"

"I'm telling you, that's not who she is," Hermione said as she heard her voice rising, "you have to think of her like a completely separate person."

"I don't have to think in any particular way, thank you. But you seem awfully certain. How can you know for sure?" Neville asked.

"I interviewed her, with veritaserum," she said.

Neville blinked.

"Did you ask her if she cast any Unforgivables?" he asked.

Hermione paused with her mouth open as she realised that probably would have been Neville's first question.

"No," she replied.

Neville made a motion with his hands as if his point had been made.

"See? She's got you all turned around," Neville said, "the Hermione I know would never have overlooked something so obvious."

Hermione knew the real reason she hadn't asked though: she already knew the answer, that Bellatrix had used an Unforgivable while fighting the hags. She couldn't exactly tell Neville that though, not if she wanted to convince him she was worth saving.

"But I do know she won't ally with the remaining Death Eaters, and she's not a blood supremacist," Hermione said, "if she's not a threat, can we really send her to the dementors?"

Neville shook his head.

"It doesn't matter, even if she's changed, she could change again. Even if she had her memories removed, she can't undo the past," he said, "Plus, how did she survive? We all saw the body. The only person to come back from death was Riddle; there's definitely Dark magic involved."

"We don't know that for sure," Hermione said, "what happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

Neville shook his head in disbelief.

"Hermione, it's Bellatrix bloody Lestrange," Neville said as he gestured with his hands to emphasise how simple the concept was that he was trying to explain.

"Black," Hermione interrupted, "and she's not like that anymore… err, ever."

"I don't care what she calls herself, and… maybe you can't see it, but you're only doing this because of your personal feelings!" Neville said, almost shouting, "I never knew my parents; they're in St. Mungo's for life because of her. She belongs in prison for that alone, not to mention everything else! And… and don't even think of going to my gran; if you can't convince me, you sure as sickles won't convince her."

Perhaps it was true, that she was only doing this because of her personal feelings, but then, Neville was doing the same thing.

"I can't call him out on that though, is there no way to convince him?" Hermione thought. She swallowed and her shoulders slumped slightly.

"Please?" she whispered.

Neville's expression softened as he looked down at her.

"No," he said, "Look, I know you were… close. She's got you confused. Trust me, this is for the best."

Hermione nodded, pressed her lips into a line, and turned to walk back to the floo.

"Hermione," Neville called after her, and she turned around to see him silhouetted by the open barn door, "I know I said I would help you with anything, but can't help you with this. I'm sorry."

"I know," Hermione said, "I don't blame you."

She picked up a pinch of floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Diagon Alley," she said.

She hugged herself as she walked the twisted streets to Madam Malkin's, as the tent trailed behind her.

"Neville was always going to be a long shot," she thought.

The bell tinkled as she opened the door and she glanced around the nearly deserted shop. She fished around her pouch as she approached the counter, and as she stepped up, she produced the voucher she'd received as a Christmas gift.

"Hi, I'd like to redeem this please," she said.

The middle-aged woman put on her spectacles and looked over the slip of paper. She ran it through a small contraption that emitted a sound like tinkling chimes.

"Very well," Malkin said as she let her specs drop down to her chest again.

She picked up stamp from a drawer and thunked it down on the voucher.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"I need a set of professional dress robes, something I can wear to a argue a case before the Wizengamot," Hermione said.

Malkin walked out from behind the counter and looked Hermione over with an appraising eye. She tugged at Hermine's shirt shoulder with two fingers then let the fabric drop again.

"Hmm," Malkin said, "I think I know just the thing, follow me."

The store owner led Hermione to a large fitting room where she motioned for her to stand on a small stool, then disappeared through a curtained closet or back room. An enchanted tape measure sprung to life and flitted about Hermione's arms and legs, and wrapped itself about her chest, waist, and hips. Malkin returned with several sets of robes, set them on the counter, and lifted her specs back onto her face as the tape measure zipped over to bob and wave excitedly in front of her. Malkin held up several robes of varying colours to Hermione's chest, then picked a dark green one.

"This one, I think," she said. The store owner produced a wand and started making scribbling motions on the fabric, and a glittering silver script appeared where she made notations.

"Don't go anywhere, we'll try it on first," Malkin said as she vanished behind the curtain again. Hermione stepped off the stool and walked to one of the full-length mirrors set near the walls. She straightened her posture and mimicked motioning with her hands, imagining she was presenting to Wizarding Britain's governing body. Then she sighed. Malkin interrupted her thoughts as she bustled back into the fitting room.

"Right dearie, put this on and we'll see," she said.

Hermione accepted the altered dress robes, still with tags sticking out where further alterations would likely be necessary, and walked to the cramped changing room. The robes were a double layered design, with the inner layer consisting of dark vest and trousers, and the outer layer a detachable deep green robe which fastened over her stomach and opened up about her knees. The sleeves bore a white design reminiscent of tree branches against the dark green, and as Hermione pulled them on, she realised there were cinches for her wrists to keep the cuffs from falling back if she raised her arms. She fastened the belt about her midsection, then pulled her hair back momentarily, looked herself over in the mirror, and saw an adult witch staring back at her. Her eyes fell to her stocking feet poking out the bottom of the trousers.

"I'll need to purchase boots to go with it," she thought. She stepped out and Malkin was on her immediately, walking around and tugging on the fabric here and there.

"Not bad," she muttered, "we'll get it fixed up in no time."

Hermione thought it looked fantastic already, but she trusted the clothier.

"You'll need some colour beneath it, maybe a light lavender, something that leaves space for a necklace, perhaps," Malkin said, "do you need boots as well?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

They tried on a few pairs until they settled on a black leather pair with small heels, enough to make her feel slightly taller without compromising her balance. After checking her reflection in the mirror one last time, Malkin had her change out of everything and wait while she made the alterations. Hermione used the voucher and paid a few galleons for the boots and a light shirt to wear beneath the vest, so only the very top of her chest would show. She stowed them in her bag and left the shop before nightfall. Hermione apparated home and deposited the tent in the large storage closet, then stood in the hallway and stared at the picture on the opposite wall. She'd put it off until the end of the day, but she couldn't put it off much longer.

"Every vote counts, and there's one more Wizengamot member you know well enough to approach directly," she thought. She drew her wand and with a quick turn, apparated to a place seared in her memory, the black iron gates of Malfoy Manor.

She appeared about thirty meters away from the gate and the manor grounds proper; it wouldn't do to show up completely unannounced if there were people out front. She stood by the road leading to the gate and debated internally for a good two minutes, alternating between her need to do everything possible to save Julia, and her need to never see Draco Malfoy again. Then someone approached the gate from inside and she ducked next to a tree to stay hidden. She twirled her wand about to disillusion herself from sight, then peeked around the tree again. Several people were departing the manor, and Hermione crept closer to get a better look. She saw what looked like a Slytherin mini-class reunion: Tracy Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, and one dark haired young man she didn't recognise, all filed out of the manor gates, but there was no sign of Draco. Hermione watched as three of them apparated away, while Pansy held a wand out. Hermione's eyes widened and she fell back away from the road and into a patch of muddy grass just as the Knight Bus roared past her.

"Bloody hell," Hermione muttered as she stood up and scourgified her wet bum. The Knight Bus roared past her again, and all was silent except for croaking frogs and chirping crickets. Fireflies started dancing in the bushes as twilight inched towards night, and Hermione sighed.

"He'll probably vote in her favour anyway, without your talking to him," Hermione thought, "they are family, after all."

The internal debate raged within her for another minute, but she knew which way it was going to go. With a heavy sigh, she turned and apparated back to her empty home to write a few people she might call as witnesses.

---

Tiberius Ogden, the elderly chief warlock of the Wizengamot, coughed heavily several times into his plum-coloured sleeve, a grating, hacking sound that reverberated about the chamber.

"Forgive me, where was I…" he said, "Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, Rebecca Ann Fawley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Johnathan Tilworth, Head Barrister and Managing Partner at Tilworth and Jones. Counsel for the Defence?"

He leaned over the edge of his podium to stare down at the court floor, and Hermione stood up.

"Hermione Jean Granger," she said.

"Very well," Ogden said, "court is now in session. This trial is to determine whether the existing sentence for the Death Eater known as Bellatrix Lestrange should apply to the accused. Should the accused be found guilty, a vote on the administration of a Dementor's Kiss will be taken. Should the defendant be found not guilty, a subsequent trial on the charges of use of a fraudulent identity, wand theft, and coercion of a house elf in the commission of a crime will be undertaken. Counsel, you have the floor."

He tapped a small orb on his podium and the cracking sound reverberated about the chamber, then all but collapsed back into his chair. Hermione sat and glanced about the room. Instead of the dark and foreboding style courtroom Harry had told her about for his trial and that they had infiltrated during seventh year, Ogden had had the trial moved to the regular Wizengamot chambers, on the same level as the DMLE. Bellatrix sat upright, chained to a heavy wooden chair at the front of the room, facing the two oval rows of Wizengamot seats. A sense of revulsion passed through Hermione as she caught sight of her for a second, and she looked away. Jonathan Tilworth, one of the top barristers in Britain, and probably the world, sat on the right side of the floor. Perfectly clean shaven, not a single strand of his salt and pepper hair out of place, and wearing extremely smart gold-trimmed grey dress robes, his very presence demanded the respect of the room. He shuffled papers for a moment, then stood up and turned to face the Wizengamot.

"My fellow witches and wizards, today we will ensure justice is served to one of the Dark Lord's most fervent followers," he said, "Bellatrix Lestrange is a known blood supremacist, one of You-Know-Who's most devoted Death Eaters, and has freely admitted to kidnapping, torture, and murder, all without remorse."

Hermione turned to look at the people who would decide Bellatrix's fate. Most of them were middle-aged or older, but there were a few younger members, and a few familiar faces. Draco Malfoy sat on the bottom row looking very thoughtful as he stared at Bellatrix. To his right sat Theo Nott, sporting bronzed skin but still as stringy as ever, and bored out of his mind as he doodled with a quill.

"Damn, I hadn't known Theo had a seat," Hermione thought, "no matter, he'll probably vote with Draco anyway."

To Malfoy's left sat Ginny, looking very grown-up in plum Wizengamot robes, in the seat of House Black that Harry had temporarily allocated to her. Above the Wizengamot itself, individuals packed the mezzanine level, standing where there weren't seats. The press snapped away, though flash photography was forbidden, and Hermione spotted Terry Boot right up against the wooden railing as he watched his boss deliver opening remarks.

"Counsel for the defence, your floor," Ogden's voice rang out.

Hermione took a deep breath to try to calm her pounding heart, blew it out slowly, and stood up. She glanced at Bellatrix and had to look away as again, fear tightened her gut.

"You practised for this, you can do it," she thought as she rubbed her arm through her robe. She opened her eyes and looked out at the faces staring back at her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wizengamot, I come before you today to argue for the defence of this young woman, barely of age, whom I have known and worked with for the past ten months," Hermione said, "although she may appear similar to Voldemort's follower Bellatrix Lestrange, you will hear testimony and see evidence today that this is not the same person who was previously sentenced to life in Azkaban."

Hermione sat down to let Tilworth make his case. On the face of it, the evidence was damning. He went through a very brief interrogation of Bellatrix, asking her to confirm her name, birth date, and identify her parents, and then had Fawley confirm a blood match between her and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Whatever has been done to her memories and whatever magic has caused her to escape death and appear younger is irrelevant," Tilworth said, "this is Bellatrix Lestrange, and for her well-documented crimes, she deserves the fullest punishment allowable under the law."

He made a motion with his hands and sat down, and Hermione stood up.

"Mr. Tilworth has asked you to trust the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's test of this individual's blood, that it matches Bellatrix Lestrange's, but this is also the same department which confirmed Bellatrix Lestrange was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts, which was also verified by blood test. Since no magic can bring back the dead, the only possibility is that one or both blood tests are inaccurate, and they cannot be used to justify a life sentence in Azkaban."

She paced to the opposite side of the chamber, near to where Ogden and Kingsley sat.

"That aside, it's a well-known fact that all Death Eaters possess a tattoo of the Dark Mark on the inside of their left arm. Chief Warlock, may we roll up her sleeve?" Hermione asked.

Ogden nodded and one of the Ministry officials providing security for the trial stepped forward to release Bellatrix's arm from the chair and pull her sleeve up to reveal the clear, cream-coloured skin of her forearm. Hermione forced herself to walk closer to Bellatrix, purposefully avoiding looking at her face, and pointed at the untattooed flesh.

"There is no known method of removing the Dark Mark, and clearly, this individual does not possess one. Further, Bellatrix Lestrange was the Dark Lord's most fanatical follower; she would have died before removing his mark," Hermione said, "this individual cannot be her."

Tilworth stood up as Hermione finished.

"Clearly Dark Magic is involved somehow-" Tilworth said.

"Objection, speculation," Hermione said.

"It cannot be speculation when evidence sits in that seat," Tilworth said as he pointed at Bellatrix, "the only known individual to cheat death was her mentor, the Dark Lord Voldemort. The Ministry believes it is highly likely Bellatrix Lestrange learned some of his Dark Arts and applied them to preserve her own life in a similar fashion."

Hermione faced Tilworth directly.

"We don't know that Voldemort died, only that he vanished for a decade," Hermione said, "When interviewed under veritaserum, the accused possessed no knowledge of any ritual or Dark Magic to return after death and restore youth."

"Technically true, as horcruxes don't restore youth," Hermione thought.

"Convenient, is it not, that no memories of her previous crimes or death exist, and that there is no cure for obliviation," Tilworth said.

"Enough," Ogden said with a tap of the marble globe, "unless some hard evidence or testimony is presented, the Wizengamot will ignore the assumption that Dark magic was used to return the accused to life."

"Damage is done though," Hermione thought as she stared at the impassive faces.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, one of the exercises Madam Schultz had taught her.

"Miss Granger, did you wish to call witnesses to testify?" Ogden asked.

"Not yet," Hermione said as she turned towards Bellatrix but avoided looking at her directly, "it is well known that Death Eaters cannot produce a corporeal patronus. Have you produced a corporeal patronus?"

"Yes," Bellatrix said.

"And what form does it take?" Hermione asked.

"It's a raven," Bellatrix said. Tilworth stood up.

"Hearsay, there is no evidence this woman can produce a corporeal patronus-" Tilworth said.

"Give me a wand and I'll show you," Bellatrix said. The room nearly erupted in protest.

"Order," Tiberius said with a crack of the marble globe, "in accordance with the '98 decree regarding the rights of Death Eaters, the accused is forbidden the use of a wand. Counsel, you may proceed."

Tiberius nodded to Ogden and continued.

"Even if there were, some Dark wizards can produce a corporeal patronus, and it is not established fact that all Death Eaters cannot produce a patronus," he continued, "we know Severus Snape, marked by You-Know-Who, was capable of such advanced magic."

"I've seen her patronus, it's real," Hermione said.

"Has anyone else seen it?" Tilworth shot back.

Hermione shook her head, and Tilworth looked up at Ogden.

"As legal counsel for the defence, you cannot also testify on her behalf unless the prosecution wishes to call you," Ogden said. He glanced to Tilworth who shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"If you could just let her use a wand, she could demonstrate it," Hermione said as she looked up at Ogden.

"I am sorry, the law is clear," Ogden replied.

Hermione pursed her lips as she internally growled at the obtuse legal system in Magical Britain.

"Defence calls Allison Wong," Hermione said.

The doors in the rear of the chamber opened and the small Asian student walked in wearing brand new dark blue dress robes, escorted by one of the Ministry guards. She slid into a seat beneath Kinglsey's podium and looked, wide-eyed, around the room.

"Miss Wong, you were a student at Hogwarts this year?" Hermione asked.

Allison nodded.

"You need to say yes or no," Hermione said with a smile as she motioned to the scribe who sat near the centre of the room.

"Yes," Allison said.

"Which house were you sorted into?" Hermione asked.

"Slytherin," Allison replied.

"And how did the first half of your year go?" Hermione asked.

"Horrible, I was being bullied constantly," Allison said, "because I'm a muggleborn."

Hermione paused and waited for Allison to continue; there was more to the story.

"In fact, over winter holiday, I begged my parents to take me out of school and let me join a normal private school," Allison said. There were a few whispers from the gallery at that.

"By normal private school, you mean a muggle school?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Allison replied, and the whispering increased for a few seconds.

"You completed the school term and placed highest among all first years in the duelling tournament, what changed your mind?" Hermione asked.

"Um.. I met a senior student, Julia White," Allison said, "she tutored me in duelling, then I could defend myself, and things got better."

Hermione smiled.

"Would you say she discriminated against you because of your blood status?" Hermione asked as she pointed at Bellatrix without looking at her.

"No," Allison replied.

Hermione turned to the Wizengamot.

"Bellatrix Lestrange would have never tutored a muggleborn, and the accused kept a muggleborn from leaving magical Britain and living as a muggle for the rest of her life," she said.

She nodded to Tilworth to let him know he could cross-examine, and took her seat. She felt Bellatrix's gaze on her but pointedly ignored it, to focus on her opposing counsel instead.

"If someone commits murder, and then they're nice to a few people and promise not to hurt anyone else, do you think they should escape justice?" Tilworth asked.

"Uhm, no?" Allison replied.

"No further questions," Tilworth said.

Allison looked to Hermione who nodded at her. The young Slytherin glanced at Bellatrix as she stepped down, but the older witch didn't acknowledge her.

"Defence calls Ronald Bilius Weasley," Hermione said.

Ron stepped through the centre of the chamber and sat himself down on the witness stand, and the volume of shutter clicks from the gallery noticeably increased.

"Mr. Weasley, you were present at the attack at Cathedral night club on New Years' Eve, correct?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Ron replied.

"You wrote an Auror report on the events of that evening, correct?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, it's standard procedure to write an incident report after something like that," Ron replied. Hermione picked up a piece of parchment from her table and handed it to Ron.

"Please read the highlighted portion of the DMLE report," Hermione said.

Ron cleared his throat.

"Err, Harry and Ginny duelled Amycus Carrow and another Death Eater, while I disarmed and restrained Scabior, a wanted Snatcher. Hermione chased a third Death Eater up onto the stage, but she was hit in the shoulder with a bludgeoning curse. The Death Eater cast a killing curse at her while she was down, but Julia White flung a large table to intercept it. White then fought the Death Eater to buy time for me to recover Hermione, and had the upper hand until he summoned fiendfyre to cover his escape," Ron said. He looked up.

"Thank you. Does the DMLE report indicate that Julia White saved Hermione Granger's life?" Hermione asked. It felt odd to ask about herself in the third person, but that was the way trials were conducted.

"Yes," Ron said.

"No further questions," Hermione said.

She returned to her seat as Tilworth stood up.

"If someone commits murder, and then they're nice to a few people and promise not to hurt anyone else, do you think they should escape justice?" Tilworth asked.

Ron looked at John Tilworth for a few seconds before responding.

"I think each case needs to be handled individually, that's why we have a trial," Ron replied. Hermione smiled; in that moment, she could have kissed him.

"Please answer yes or no," Tilworth said.

Ron thought about it a few more seconds.

"I can't. If it were a simple yes or no for every case, we wouldn't have trials," Ron replied.

"You are an Auror, Mr. Weasley, you send Dark wizards and witches to Azkaban as a living-" Tilworth said.

"As an Auror, I bring them in for a trial; they only get sentenced if they're found guilty," Ron replied.

"Witness will wait for the question to be asked," Ogden said.

Ron clamped his mouth shut and leaned back in the seat while Tilworth considered his next words.

"Is Bellatrix Lestrange considered a Death Eater, one of Lord Voldemort's inner circle?" Tilworth asked.

"Yes," Ron replied.

"What is the mandatory sentence for Lord Voldemort's inner circle?" Tilworth asked.

Ron paused for a second.

"Life in Azkaban," he replied.

"No further questions," Tilworth said, and Ron stood up to be led from the room. He nodded to Hermione as he passed by, but she didn't acknowledge him as she focused on what was coming next. Ogden looked down at her from his seat.

"No further witnesses," Hermione said.

She would have liked to call Harry, Ginny, and Professor Winthrop, but as members of the Wizengamot, they were not permitted to testify, and she hadn't been able to find Wesley Michaels before the trial.

Tilworth stood to deliver his closing argument.

"I want everyone in this room to look at the defendant. Many of you will recognise her. Regardless of what the Defence may say to try and convince you not to believe your own eyes, this woman is Bellatrix Lestrange, and she must be held accountable for her crimes," he said, "Further, what my opponent fails to comprehend is that if we allow the defendant to escape justice, we would set a terrible precedent. Once Dark witches and wizards are allowed to evade punishment by removing a few memories and wiping them from their mind, then we will no doubt encourage a swarm of Dark wizards who cannot recall their crimes and promise reform. That, as members of Britain's governing body, is the decision before you."

Tilworth locked his cold gaze onto Hermione.

"I would ask one thing of the defending counsel, if I may," Tilworth said, and Hermione looked at him questioningly, "would the defending counsel look at the defendant, and tell the Wizengamot that she truly believes she is not Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Hermione froze. Somehow, the veteran barrister had noticed Hermione refused to look Bellatrix in the eye. She swallowed.

"Miss Granger, you do not have to agree," Ogden said.

She had to though, to refuse would blow a hole in her credibility, and might sink their entire case.

"It's only two seconds, you can get through two seconds," Hermione thought, even has her pulse skyrocketed. She stood up and faced Bellatrix, with her high cheekbones and raven locks, and Bellatrix looked right back at her. Hermione heard her maniacal cackle echoing in her thoughts, but she forced it to the side; she had to get through this.

"She's-" Hermione said, but her voice cracked, and her heart sank, "she's not Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione sat down quickly and shuffled through a few papers to find her notes on her closing argument.

"Miss Granger, do you require a recess?" Ogden asked.

"No, I'm ready," Hermione said as she stood up.

"What's done is done. Last chance to sway a few votes," she thought. She took a deep breath.

"What we've seen and heard today is records from the Ministry's own reports that Bellatrix Lestrange was confirmed killed. Through veritaserum interrogation, and from the testimony of people that know her, the accused does not believe herself to be Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione said, "you can see with your own eyes; she is too young, she does not bear the Dark Mark, and her actions are completely inconsistent with a blood purist, much less a Death Eater."

She took another breath and put every ounce of feeling she could into her next statement.

"If not for the actions of this young woman, I would have died six months ago on New Years' Eve, to a Death Eater ambush," Hermione said, "she saved my life, a known muggleborn and one of the three individuals most responsible for defeating Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange, on the other hand, were she alive, would have led the attack on us. Please do the right thing, do not send an innocent person to the dementors."

She made a motion with her hands to indicate her closing arguments were complete, and Ogden tapped twice with the marble globe.

"The Wizengamot will now vote on whether the defendant shall be remanded to life in Azkaban prison," he said, "all in favour."

It was happening too fast. Hermione turned around as hands went up into the air, far too many hands, including Winthrop's, to her surprise.

"No," Bellatrix whispered from behind her.

"All opposed," Ogden said.

Harry, Ginny, Draco, Theo, Mr. Weasley, and several others raised their hands, but the result was already a foregone conclusion. By Hermione's estimate, a good two thirds of the Wizengamot had voted against her.

"Accused is found guilty," Ogden said, "the court will now determine whether a Dementor's Kiss shall be administered, all in favour?"

Hermione nearly strained her neck as she whipped around to look at the assembled members again. This time though, far fewer hands went into the air.

"All opposed?" Ogden asked.

Roughly two-thirds of the hands went up. Ogden glanced down at the court scribe, who nodded back to him, then the marble sphere slammed down with a crack of finality.

"The court sentences the guilty party to life in the maximum-security section of Azkaban prison, for the remainder of her natural life. Court is adjourned. Bailiffs?" Ogden said.

Two Ministry security guards walked the length of the court to undo Bellatrix's restraints.

"You… fucking bastards," Bellatrix said quietly. The two guards picked her up under her arms and attempted to walk her towards the exit, while Hermione watched in shock. Then, as if something snapped, Bellatrix lashed out at the Wizengamot.

"YOU CAN'T BLOODY DO THIS! I DIDN'T DO ANY OF THAT!" Bellatrix shouted as she struggled against the guards, "LET ME GO, I AM A DAUGHTER OF THE MOST ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! I'LL-"

Hermione watched with wide eyes as Bellatrix, looking more like the Dark witch of old than Hermione had ever seen, raved like a maniac for a few seconds, until she passed by and glanced in her direction. For a split-second, they made eye contact, and Hermione saw on her face, beneath the mad fury, a desperate fear. Bellatrix immediately fell silent and looked away, then went limp and forced the guards to hold her up by the arms and drag her out of the court. Hermione sat down and stared blankly at the Minister's podium in front of her.

"How could we have lost?" she thought, "I failed?"

A camera flash snapped her out of her self-flagellation, and she looked about the room. With the trial over, the press had descended on the chamber. Several individuals, including Neville's gran, surrounded John Tilworth, shaking his hand and congratulating. He spotted Hermione, extracted himself from those around him, and moved towards her seat, then held out a hand to shake.

She looked at his offered hand and the golden cufflink just beyond it, then up into his green eyes.

"It is customary, after a verdict is rendered," he said. Still in shock, she stood up and shook hands as a flurry of camera flashes went off.

"Well fought," he said, but Hermione felt the tone of his voice was meant to convey: 'well fought, but you never stood a chance against me.'

It might have been just another trial for him, one of hundreds he'd won, most likely, but for her, it was her first, and it was personal. After the perfunctory handshake, John Tilworth returned to his spot, packed a few parchments into a leather case, shook a few more hands, and departed the chamber, probably back to his office. Hermione glanced up to where the Chief Warlock still sat, and it looked like he was short of breath. Kingsley had moved next to him, but Ogden waved him off. Another flash went off in her face.

"No more photos," Harry said, and Ron echoed him from behind her. Hermione looked around the rapidly emptying chamber and realised there was nothing more she could do here.

"Let's go," she said. As they departed for the lifts, the press followed them, cameras flashing away. Ginny joined them, but Hermione glanced beyond her to see Draco Malfoy still seated in his Wizengamot seat, his steely grey eyes following her as she walked out of the chamber.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked.

"I'm really not," Hermione replied, "but it's fine. I am hungry though; is there anywhere we can eat?"

"Not dressed like this," Harry said as they entered the lift, "the café, from before?"

"See you there in five," Hermione said.

They split up and took floos to lose the press, and Hermione changed quickly in the loo at the Leaky Cauldron, then, wearing muggle clothing, she flooed back to the Ministry and exited to muggle London. A few minutes later, she crossed a crosswalk and at arrived the muggle café a short distance from the Ministry entrance. A small platter of sandwiches sat on the table, and Harry and Ginny had already tucked in.

"Ron will be by in a few minutes," Harry said as Hermione sat down.

She sighed heavily and the thought of reaching out to pick up a sandwich seemed like a monumental task.

"I don't know what I did wrong," Hermione said as she forced herself to pick out a triangle of bread and cheese, "I mean I know I only had a few days to prepare, but… I thought it was convincing."

"It was," Harry said as Ginny nodded, "you were brilliant, really. It might have nothing to do with you. Sometimes… sometimes you can do everything right, and still lose."

Hermione bit into the sandwich, but her mouth stayed dry as she chewed, and she was forced to drink a sip of water to get it down. What Harry said was true, but she blinked tears away all the same.

"That may be, but Julia's still in Azkaban," she said.

She ignored the glance Harry and Ginny shared when she called her Julia, and buried her face in her hands.

"Fuck," she said.

Harry let out an exhale of surprise at the expletive, so uncommon from her. Hermione sniffed and dabbed at the corner of her eyes.

"Fancy seeing you here," Terry said.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see the young barrister, now wearing a blue polo shirt and khakis, stroll up to their table.

"How'd you find us?" Hermione asked.

"Followed you out the Ministry," Terry replied, "mind if I sit?"

Hermione motioned to an empty chair.

"Listen, I know it didn't go your way, but take it from me, you were fantastic, especially for someone who's never practised law," Terry said as he sat.

"Obviously not good enough," Hermione said.

"He's the best barrister in the country, and you had an impossible case," Terry said, "if it wasn't for you, she'd be getting the Kiss for sure, so at least there's that."

"You think so?" Hermione asked as Harry and Ginny both nodded their agreement.

"That's what Mr. Tilworth said," Terry said, "really, you should consider a career as a barrister."

Hermione sniffed and shook her head. Right at that moment, she couldn't think beyond the next few seconds.

"I need to get back to the office, but a word of advice? Try not to take it too personally," Terry said, "and… sorry I couldn't help-"

"It's okay, I understand," Hermione said, "it's your whole career, after all."

Terry nodded.

"Right, ehm… good luck," Terry said as he stood up, "Harry, Ginny."

Hermione nodded as he left.

"What are you going to do now?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, "see if I can get the cure approved by the Council of Master Healers… have myself a good cry maybe."

She shook her head.

"I really thought we were going to win," she said. She fought tears again and Harry patted her on the shoulder.

"Well, there is a spot of good news," he said, "we have a surprise for you."

A loud meowing caught her attention from behind her seat, and she spotted Ron walking towards them with a large wooden crate held away from his body.

"Alright you mangy bugger, just be patient," Ron said. He deposited the crate heavily on the table, and Hermione caught a glimpse of orange fur through the slats.

"Crookshanks?" Hermione asked. She lifted the latch on the crate.

"No no don't!" Ron said, but the door sprung open and a tawny orange blur shot out and nearly knocked Hermione backwards off her chair. The feline wrapped itself about her shoulders and hissed at Ron. Hermione pulled Crookshanks down to sit the cat in her lap where she could pet him.

"Where did you find him?" Hermione asked as her long lost pet purred against her chest.

"He's been hanging around the Department of Mysteries for months, apparently," Harry replied, "we spotted him a few weeks ago and they dropped him off this morning, but we didn't want to distract you."

"Oh, Crookshanks, have you missed me?" Hermione said as she scratched behind his ears. For a brief moment, she forgot the pain of losing the trial letting Julia be condemned to Azkaban for life.

"Thank you," she said.

"Anytime," Harry said.

"Yeah. If you need anything…" Ron said.

"I know," Hermione said.

"We've got to get to work; they only let us off for the trial," Harry said, "but-"

"Did you need help with anything this afternoon?" Ginny asked.

Hermione thought about it.

"No, I think I'd just like to be alone for a little while," Hermione replied, "get Crookshanks settled back at home, and then… think about what comes next."

Ginny nodded, and with that, they each hugged her, reassured her that it would be alright, and Harry and Ron vanished back into the Ministry, and Hermione walked Ginny to the floo, then apparated home. As soon as she arrived in the den, Crookshanks leapt from her arms and curled up on his usual spot on the sofa, as if he'd never left. Hermione sat down next to him and ran one hand down the length of his body.

"What are we going to do now…?" Hermione asked. She sniffled and then, in the privacy of her own home, let the tears fall as they wished.

Crookshanks merely leaned into her and purred contentedly.

---

A/N: Please review.