The next day when the guard brought her food—hard bread and water, no little sliver of meat this time—she told him she was ready to cooperate with the Wizengamot. She wanted to tell them where the memories were hidden.

He nodded once and left. A little over an hour later, he returned, and he had Zabini with him.

"You bastard," Hermione hissed at him.

He lifted a dark eyebrow. "Have I done something to offend you, Miss Granger?"

"I could just strangle you," she said in that same angry voice.

"For what, may I ask?" He only sounded mildly curious.

"You abandoned me here, you—"

"I did no such thing, Miss Granger."

"You did," she insisted, facing him like a duelist. This did not have quite the effect she had wanted as Zabini was easily a foot taller than her. "You lost and you just gave up. You helped get Malfoy out, that was no trouble at all, was it? But me, I—"

"I was under the impression that you wanted me to help Draco Malfoy, Miss Granger. Perhaps I was mistaken?"

"Perhaps I was mistaken," she muttered in a mocking impersonation, right down to the Italian accent. "No, of course you weren't mistaken. I'm sorry," she said.

"Apology accepted, Miss Granger."

"But you're still a bastard."

"I never denied it," he said with a grin. "Now what is this I hear about you wanting to speak to the Wizengamot?"

"I know who did it, Zabini," she said, lowering her voice and trying to keep her words from reaching the guard, who was standing by the door with a glazed look in his eyes.

"You know who did it?" Zabini asked skeptically. "Did what, Miss Granger?"

"Killed Ron, you idiot," she hissed. "Look, could we maybe talk somewh—"

"Miss Granger, do you mean to tell me that you brought me down here because you've suddenly had an epiphany?"

"Epiphany! Zabini, don't make me hit you. I'm not chained down now, and so help me, I will do it."

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, I'm sorry. Where would you like to talk?"

"Somewhere private," she said. "Not the visitor's room. I want to sit down."

"I'm sure our fine—er, man here can find you a chair."

"Fine, whatever," Hermione muttered. She didn't even look at the guard as he snapped the cuffs on her.

They were silent until the guard locked the chains around the iron ring, brought Hermione a chair, and left the room.

"It was Lavender Brown," Hermione told him the second she was sure the guard was gone. She had been yelling the same thing to the rooftops the day before, but they were getting rather sick of hearing it by now and had started yelling back at her to shut the hell up.

"Lavender Brown?" Zabini said.

"Yes, Lavender Brown. You remember her, she was the silly girl that always ran around with Parvati Patil."

He vaugley remembered them, though in his mind, they had both been rather vapid and silly. "Yes, alright. So how did you come to this realization?"

"Don't fucking patronize me, Zabini," Hermione snapped. "Lavender Brown came to visit me yesterday and she confessed."

"She confessed," he repeated.

"She said she did it because Ron was in love with me, and she hated the way he was always looking at me, and—hell, does it really matter why the crazy bitch did it? She did it, which means I didn't, and you can get me out of here."

"I am afraid it's not going to be as easy as that, Miss Granger," he said cautiously.

"Of course it is. She did it. She told me she did it, right here in this room."

"If Miss Brown confessed to killing Ronald Weasley as you say, that's very interesting, but it still doesn't prove anything. No one but you heard her say it. And there happen to be several witnesses, highly trained and very well respected Aurors, that discovered you alone with Mr. Weasley's body."

Hermione put her head in her hands with a little huff of frustration. "That's why I need to speak to the Wizengamot. Tell them that Lavender has the memories. She has to have them somewhere, and if they could just get them, then they would see—"

"Skimble is not going to arrest Miss Brown simply on your say-so, Miss Granger."

"Christ, Zabini, will you stop calling me that?" she demanded irritably. "It's getting on my damn nerves."

"Hermione then," he said with a faint smile. "But as I said, Skimble is not going to arrest her based on the accusations of a murderer."

"Accused murderer," she corrected.

"Accused murderer," he agreed. "But—"

"I know, all right?" she said. "I know. I just . . . I have to do something. I can't stay in here, Zabini. I can't."

"If you would allow them to use Legilimency—"

"No," she said flatly. "No."

"Why not?" he asked. "As far as I can tell, it's the only way they would be willing to believe you and arrest Miss Brown. If they heard her say it in her own voice—if they had proof that what you are saying is true—"

"I already told you, I can't do that," she said. But the urge to say yes was an agonizing weight on her chest. "I can't risk it. I've done things, Zabini, terrible things, that would have me right back in here. I have friends that I have to protect."

"Goddamn Gryffindors," he muttered.

Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. "Yes, I know."

He rested his chin on his fisted hand thoughtfully. "You know Occlumency, don't you?"

"A little."

"How much is a little?"

"I don't know," she said. "Enough to keep someone out of my head long enough for me to kill them."

He looked a little startled by this confession.

"The war, Zabini," she reminded him. "Don't forget who you're talking to."

"No, of course not, I just—"

"Thought I was confessing to murder?" she teased. "That would be kind of stupid of me since I just accused someone else, now wouldn't it?"

"Yes—I mean . . ." He sighed. "Can you control what part of your memories that you allow—what I mean is, can you restrict the Legilimens to only those memories that you wish them to see?"

She thought about it. "I don't know," she said at last. "I've never tried to do that before."

"Do you think you could do it?"

"Maybe," she said. Now that she thought about it though, she was almost certain that she could. At least for a little while.

"Would you be willing to risk it?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I think so . . . Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back," Zabini promised as he left the room.

She stared down at the manacles around her wrists and tried to imagine them gone. Not gone for only a day while she was left alone in the dark with only the Mother Crier for company. Gone forever.

It was harder to do than she thought.