A/N: I realize I made an error in chapter 11. I mentioned that Molly Weasley had been killed by Death Eaters, when in chapter 1, I clearly indicated that she was alive at the present time. Sorry, I have a tendency to be a bit slash-happy (as in Friday the 13th not Harry and Draco getting it on in the Astronomy Tower). I fixed the problem after it was not-so-kindly pointed out to me by a friend of mine. I promise to try and restrain myself, really. But you know, the bodies are piling up in this one. I do believe the dead almost equal the living characters by now. Not quite yet, but almost.

Hermione sat patiently in the chair at the center of the court as a witch, who was a professional of something she was unable to pronounce, waved her wand around her and muttered a strange incantation. Her nails were biting into the palms of her hands with the effort, but goddamn it, she was being patient. And she had not yet screamed, cursed, or threatened to kill anybody yet. So she thought she was doing pretty good. Especially when the hag almost poked her in the eye with the tip of her wand.

She turned her head to the left and glared at Zabini, who was sitting in an elegant little arm chair he had conjured and looking bored. She looked down at her arms, which were once again chained to the chair in which she was sitting, in which she had sat through countless hours before, then back at her lawyer. He had gone down several enormous leaps from 'god among men' and was now hovering perilously close to 'sodding bastard".

He had explained to her in meticulous detail what she could expect at the hearing. The Wizengamot would question her and call witnesses. She was allowed to call witnesses of her own, if she had any—which of course she didn't—and she, or her representative—that would be Zabini, but she was seriously wondering if she were allowed to fire him. Or if she did, if he would listen—could question the witnesses called to testify against her. Hermione had already seen Molly and Ginny Weasley when she walked in; they had both testified against her last time. Molly had swayed more than a few people by muttering unintelligibly through her tears, and Ginny's righteous anger had done the rest.

So Zabini had explained the situation to her. But he had somehow failed to mention that she would be strapped down and forced to sit there while some deranged old bat with yellow and lime green polka-dot robes and shells braided into her hair brandished a wand under her nose.

"I am so going to make you pay for this, Zabini," she told him.

"Yes, and I'm sure I'm not the only one that you've said that to the last month or so, am I, Miss Granger?" he said.

No, he wasn't even the only person she'd said that to in the last week. She'd said it to Draco at least twice. "I'm going to have to start a list," she muttered.

He apparently heard her and grinned.

"What exactly is this nutter doing to me, Zabini?"

"She is searching for the memories of the day Ronald Weasley was killed," he said.

"She what?"

He sighed. "She is searching for the—"

"I heard you," she said. "This was your brilliant idea, wasn't it?"

"Actually, yes, it was," he smiled at her pleasantly. "Now stop frowning so much. You'll put people off."

Why was it that whenever the urge to strike him was at it's strongest, she was always chained down to something? "If I don't remember it, then how is she supposed to find it in my head? What if it isn't even there?"

"That is essentially what we are trying to determine," he said.

The witch suddenly stopped waving her wand and muttering and stood back with a deep frown on her wrinkled old face. She looked at Zabini, then walked over to him and whispered in his ear for nearly a full minute. As she did, Zabini's expression changed from bored to what could only be called triumphant.

"What is it? What did she find?" Hermione demanded.

He waved her off and stood to address the Chief Warlock and the rest of the Court. The muttering among the witnesses suddenly stopped as though a switch had been thrown.

The Chief Warlock, an older, dignified looking man with round gold rimmed spectacles and iron grey hair looked down at them and lifted a brow. His name was Tobias Skimble, and he looked like anyone's favorite uncle, but Hermione knew differently the instant she saw him. He had a look in his eyes that spoke of deep steel and something more, something she'd seen too many times in the eyes of men and women who had gone to war and never been able to come all the way back. It was a look she often saw when she looked in the mirror.

"Are you ready?" Skimble asked.

"Yes sir, I think we are," Zabini said.

"And your findings?" Skimble asked. "What are they?"

Zabini gestured for the old witch to come forward. She did so confidently. "They aint there," she said flatly.

The many witnesses in the benches all around the dungeon-like room began to mutter to each other excitedly. The noise became quite loud and finally Skimble raised his voice in a way that commanded obedience and said "SILENCE!"

And there was silence.

"Madam, what do you mean, they are not there?" Skimble demanded of the witch. "Do you mean to say that her memory has been modified?"

The witch looked at him like he was a simpleton. "I mean t' say," she said slowly, as though she were speaking to a child, "they aint there."

The commotion this time was much louder. Hermione thought she heard Ginny's voice amid all the racket shouting about injustice. She smiled grimly.

"I WILL HAVE SILENCE THIS INSTANT OR I WILL EMPTY THE COURT!" Skimble roared.

And, by God, there was silence and it was deafening.

"Now," he said calmly, "Madam—what is your name again, I'm sorry?"

"Velma Griddlebone," the woman said proudly.

"Yes, well, Madam Griddlebone, I am afraid you're going to have to explain just precisely what you mean to the Wizengamot."

She rolled her eyes expansively and Hermione decided she rather liked this Velma Griddlebone, even if the woman had almost maimed her with her wand. "What I mean is; the memories? The ones this la'yer wanted me t' search for? They aint there. There's this big space of nothin' where they's supposed t' be, but that's it."

The onlookers shifted like they could hardly contain themselves from chattering, but at a warning glare from Skimble, they quieted down. Nobody wanted to be ordered from the court. They'd miss this, and this . . . well, this was just too much. Hermione was sure that if Rita Skeeter was somewhere in the audience, her Quick-Quotes Quill was on the verge of exploding with excitement.

"Do you mean to tell the Wizengamot that the memories of the day in question have been removed?" Skimble asked.

"That's 'bout right, yeah," Velma Griddlebone said. "Someone took 'em."

Skimble sat back and for quite a long time, he discussed the matter with some of his fellow Wizengamot members.

"I thought they were going to call witnesses. Did you know this would happen?" Hermione asked Zabini when he returned to his seat beside her.

"I had hoped it might, yes," he said.

"This means I have to be innocent, doesn't it?" she asked him.

He smiled. "They may or may not bring in another witch or wizard to verify Mrs. Griddlebone's findings, but yes, that is likely the case."

Hermione smiled joyfully. "I could just kiss you, Zabini," she said. "You are a knight in shining armor, you are a prince, you are a god among men. I take back every unkind and purely hateful thought I have ever had about you. You are a saint."

"Miss Granger," he said, amused, "if you do not stop that, I may just kiss you myself to shut you up."

She laughed. "And I'm just happy enough right now, Zabini, that I'd probably let you."

"Miss Granger," Skimble said, returning to his seat and looking down at her in a way that made her distinctly uneasy. "Miss Granger, would you care to tell the Wizengamot the location of the memories that are missing?"

She gaped at him. "I—What?"

"The memories, Miss Granger," Skimble said impatiently. "Please tell us where they are."

"But—" She looked to Zabini for help, but he was staring at the Chief Warlock looking stunned. Apparently he had not anticipated this. "But, how would I know—I mean . . . I don't know where they are."

Skimble's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Miss Hermione Granger, are you refusing to tell the Wizengamot where you have hidden the memories which have been deliberately removed from your mind?"

"I—I—don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Hermione said, her voice rising on the second part of the sentence to almost a scream. Beside her, Zabini winced.

"Miss Granger, I am going to ask you one final time to reveal the location of your memories from the night of the murder in question."

"I already told you," she gritted out, "I don't know what the fuck you are talking about. I don't know where they are. Until today, I didn't even know they were removed."

Skimble gave her a pitying look and gestured for the guard that had accompanied her and Zabini to take her away. "Miss Hermione Granger, you will be returned to Azkaban Fortress until your sentence has been served or you change your mind and agree to cooperate with the Wizengamot."

"And if I did know where they were?" she asked him as the guard released the chains on the chair and snapped her manacles back on. "If I did know where they were and I could tell you, you would let me go?"

His lips drew back in a humorless smile. "No, Miss Granger, but we would consider granting you leniency."

"Zabini—" She snatched the sleeve of his robes. "Zabini, what do I do? What happens now?"

He looked between her and the Wizengamot, who were leaving the court room. "I don't know, Miss Granger," he said. "I really don't know."