Harry sobs echoed throughout the otherwise silent bathroom. Hermione's body lay on the floor, deformed and crumpled, with blood pooling around her skull.
"Mister Wayne," Professor McGonagall said, and Harry looked, seeing the unshed tears in her eyes. "There is nothing we can do." Harry shook his head, looking at Padma, Michael, and Ron for support. Tears were freely running down Padma's cheeks, Michael contained his emotions although his lip constantly quivered, and Ron looked to be on the verge of either vomiting or passing out.
Professor Snape nodded. "Professor McGonagall is correct. Miss Granger is dead." His voice was neutral, with none of his usual malice or spite.
"No," Harry protested. "She can't be!" he half cried half screamed, silencing the room.
The silence was broken by a voice that echoed, as though it was being repeated as it spoke. "I... I'm dead?" The voice was young and female, and it was unmistakably Hermione's voice.
"Hermione?" Harry asked, looking at her body.
The body was still unmoving, the eyes glazed in a constant stare, the blood drying and matting her frizzy hair.
Harry looked around the room, and saw where Hermione's voice came from. Hovering a few feet above the tiled floor, floated a transparent, silvery-grey version of Hermione, a spectral cascade of blood running down her face, fading out of existence before it met the ground.
"I'm dead?" Hermione repeated, her voice carrying in the room, as though all other noise had ceased.
"I, I ... I," Harry paused, stunned by the development. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "We were too slow. The troll –"
Hermione shook her head, silencing him.
Professor McGonagall took charge of the change of situation. "Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to the Headmaster's office, we will need to discuss this. Miss Patil and Mister Corner, please take Mister Wayne to the hospital wing."
"I'm fine," Harry protested, his pleas ignored by the teacher. "Let me talk to Hermione," he demanded.
Professor McGonagall turned and left, Hermione somewhat trailing awkwardly behind in the air, giving a final look towards Harry.
Padma and Michael both led Harry out of the room and through the castle's corridors, leaving Professors Snape and Quirrell to deal with the troll. "She's a ghost," Harry stated, still shocked. "How?"
Padma nodded, wiping her face with the sleeve of her robe. "What do you know about ghosts?" she asked.
"Only what the Ravenclaw ghost told me," Harry replied. "They're the remainder of a person when they die, but they decided to stay here. Forever."
Padma smiled, although it was a weak smile. "I know you don't like what happened to Hermione. You're probably wondering why it had to happen in the first place. Nobody likes it. But, she's still here, she's going to be around."
"Good. I wouldn't want to do this without her," Harry responded, pushing open the door to the hospital wing.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Michael yelled into the empty room.
The walls of the room were lined with perfectly made beds, an office on the far side of the room. The door opened, and a grey haired woman with her hair pulled in a rough bun bustled out. "Yes?" the woman asked, her bleary eyes quickly becoming focused on the three students.
Michael indicated Harry. "He's just taken down a troll. Professor McGonagall ordered him here.
Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrow with apprehension before sighing with exasperation. "Very well, help him into a bed, and then answer my questions."
Padma and Michael helped Harry into the closest bed, Harry objecting all the while. His opposition to the bed rest ended when he entered the bed, and his body gave into the magical, physical, and emotional exhaustion, and he passed into a deep sleep.
His dreams were full of death, an odd amalgamation of all the murder he had seen over the years. The dreams were nonsensical starting with a trollified version of the Joker entering Hogwarts only to kill Vernon Dursley who was dressed in Hermione's school robes.
The dreams varied from morbid thought to thought before ending suddenly, and Harry entered a dreamless sleep.
He woke with a start, sweat sticking his robes to his skin. Madam Pomfrey stood near Harry's bed, organising a pile of objects on his bed stand, illuminated by the moonlight shining through the room's windows. "Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked weakly. "Am I allowed to leave?"
"No, Mister Wayne," she replied, her tone kind yet strict. "I will need to do a diagnosis on you in the future to see if you have recovered adequately, and regardless it is past your curfew. I recommend you go back to sleep, the Headmaster has given you the week off of your lessons."
"The week?" Harry reiterated. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Two days. I will go get you a Sleeping Draught." The healer left for her office, mumbling about 'a troll' and 'the nerve'.
She returned within the minute, ushering Harry to drink the lavender scented concoction. Harry gagged at the taste of the thick liquid entering his throat, and he would have complained if not for the fact that the potion had rendered him into an instant deep slumber.
Waking up, Harry groggily shook himself awake, looking at the sunlight that was now visible through the window. Madam Pomfrey walked over, waving her wand over Harry without a word. "Looks good," she informed. "You may leave, but try not to exert yourself."
Harry gave his thanks, and headed back to Ravenclaw tower. He penned a letter to Bruce explaining what had happened and his current thoughts, before Flooing it to Wayne Manor.
Hours later Alfred passed the letter to Bruce who read it eagerly, his expression darkening as he read the brief note. The letter was warped from dried tears and the letter had various words crossed out.
Bruce
Hermione has been murd killed is dead. A troll got in. I tried to save her failed at rescuing her. She's a ghost now, but she might not have been. I want to make whoever is responsible pay. I want more training from more people.
Harry
"Alfred," Bruce spoke. "Prep the Batplane. We're visiting the Grangers to give our condolences."
Alfred nodded obediently. "Sir, I shall also instruct Zatanna and Master Richard to find any suitable instructors for Master Harry."
Bruce gave an absent-minded thanks, before heading to the Batcave. He turned on the Batcomputer and inputted the few things he knew about the family. Lucas Granger, Matilda Granger.
He hit search and waited for the results to come back. He grinned briefly as he looked at the findings. Displayed on the screen was a driver's licence for one Lucas Granger. He looked at the picture to confirm it was the right man, before noting down the address. St Jude Street, Hampshire, London.
Bruce walked to the now prepped Batplane, where Alfred stood. "I have the address of the Grangers," Bruce informed. "Ready to go?"
Alfred nodded. "I have sent messages to both Zatanna and Master Richard. I assume they will reply by the time our business in England has concluded."
The two entered the sleek jet, and Bruce set the autopilot for the closest private airfield near the Granger's residence.
The flight would take around seven hours according to the autopilot system, so Bruce spent his time formulating what he would say to the Granger family.
Eventually settling on simply improvising and going with the moment, Bruce allowed himself to rest, trusting he would wake up upon descent.
Hours later, he awoke as the plane landed upon an airstrip. Bruce exited autopilot and manually piloted the plane into a nearby hangar.
Him and Alfred exited the plane, beginning the walk to the Granger's house.
Arriving at the house, they saw a large detached house, with an unmaintained garden full of trees and overgrown bushes.
Bruce took a breath through his nose before raising his hand and knocking on the door.
Lucas Granger opened the door, a tired look on his face. "Can I help you two?" he asked as he eyed up Alfred and Bruce's suits.
"Mister Granger," Bruce said, offering out his hand. "I'm here about Hermione."
Lucas's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Hermione? Sorry, I don't think I know anyone with that name."
Bruce returned the confused look. "Your daughter? At Hogwarts?"
Shaking his head, Lucas's expression turned from tired to steely. "My daughter?" he repeated, with a harsh tone. "I can assure you that I don't have a daughter, I think you have the wrong house. And Hogwarts? Never heard of it." At Bruce's confused look, Lucas's face relaxed slightly. "Look, I'll ask my wife, she remembers all these places and people." With that, Lucas turned his head and shouted, "Matilda, can you come to the door."
Within the minute, Matilda Granger had stood next to her husband, a polite smile on her face, equally tired as her husband was judging by the dull look in her eyes.
"Honey," Lucas asked, "do we know a Hermione?"
Matilda's face briefly twisted into a look of thought. "Not that I can think of."
"Know a place called Hogwarts?"
Matilda laughed. "I'd remember a place with a name like that."
Bruce held up his hand, silencing the married pair, sharing a glance with Alfred. "Maybe I do have the wrong house. Just to make sure, have you ever been to Diagon Alley?
Matilda and Lucas both looked at each other before shaking their heads. "Never even heard of the place," admitted Lucas.
Bruce nodded. "My apologies, I must have the wrong house. Enjoy your day." He walked back along the garden path, Alfred beside him, before the Grangers could formulate a response. When the two were out of earshot of anyone, Bruce turned to Alfred. "Explain?" he asked simply.
"I believe the Grangers have been the subject of a spell known as Obliviate, the Forgetfulness Charm."
Earlier that day
"Arnie," A woman said as she pushed open his office door, ignoring his look of annoyance as she sat on a chair, resting her feet on the man's desk.
"It's Arnold," he corrected, knowing the girl would ignore him. "What do you want Morgan?"
"You not heard yet? Some girl got herself killed by a troll," Morgan explained.
Arnold raised his eyebrow expectantly. "Your point?" he asked.
"Muggle-born at Hogwarts. We gotta take care of her parents."
"Ah." Arnold nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer. "Can't have them remembering the Wizarding World. We leave now, I assume."
Morgan shrugged her shoulders. "I guess. Here's the address." She placed a parchment on the desk which Arnold read.
"Anyone else, or is it just the parents?" Arnold asked.
"Just the parents," Morgan clarified. "The dad does have some distant family in America, but they haven't spoken in years."
"Good, good. We'll send the paperwork to MACUSA, and let them deal with the relatives if they want. Let's go now," he instructed. The two apparated, leaving the room with an audible pop, reappearing near the Granger house.
The two walked calmly to the house, transfiguring their robes into more mundane clothes. "Remember the drill?" Arnold asked.
"Course," Morgan confirmed. "Knock 'em out, Obliviate, leave."
Arnold didn't respond, instead knocking on the door.
The door opened, revealing a woman with light brown, frizzy hair. "Hello," she said. "How can I help?"
"Matilda Granger?" Arnold questioned. The woman nodded yes, and Arnold's reaction was instant. His wand was pointed at the woman, and he yelled "Stupefy." Matilda Granger slumped to the floor, her body now devoid of energy and stamina.
Arnold looked up at the stairs as an angry man charged down towards him, having heard and seen the commotion. Sighing, Arnold readjusted his aim, "Stupefy." The man flew unconscious down the stairs, only not being hurt by a quick Cushioning Charm by Morgan.
"Nicely done, some quick thinking there," Arnold complimented. The two cast a levitation spell on the two bodies, moving them into the living room and onto the couch. The two Obliviators looked at each other before raising their wands on their targets. "Obliviate," they spoke in unison, and with that all memories of Magic and Hermione were stripped from their minds.
The two ministry workers made their way around the house, vanishing any indication of a child living there.
They erased all pictures of the young girl from the photos on the walls, what was once a picture of Hermione and her family at the park, was now simply a photo of Lucas and Matilda that neither would admit to not quite remembering.
"Done?" Arnold asked.
"Done," Morgan confirmed. She glanced at the window, eyes widening as two people approached. One was middle aged with black hair, the other balding with a thin moustache, both dressed in expensive suits. "We gotta go," she told Arnold.
Arnold nodded, and the two apparated away moments before Bruce knocked on the door.