The Mudblood's Logic

by Cervantes Diderot

Hermione Granger was a a plain mudblood. At least until one rash action leads to her battling Voldemort first year and miraculously surviving. Stuck in a whirlwind of political ploys, fame, wealth and power along with assassination attempts Hermione has a rather difficult path. But what is that saying, "The ends justify the means," and she will do whatever it takes...

25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five: Ekelectricity and Feminicism.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.

OOOO

"I have missed you, and Daphne, and Luna." Hermione smiled as she leant against the bridge. Peering down at the sunset's reflection in the water below. "Do you ever wonder about how strange it is? That I managed to get such a diverse group of friends? The Pureblood beauty queen, Hufflepuff's Quidditch star, and what will probably be Ravenclaw's most brilliant student in decades?"

"No." Cedric answered. He had grown much over that summer. Already taller than most men could claim to be. Burlier too from all of the time spent pounding on metal in a magical forge. "You are indescribable Hermione Granger." The wizard thought to himself that she had only become more of an enigma during his absence. Her brown hair was no longer perfectly sleekened, but still not quite so knotted and wild as it had been in her First Year. Now she wore it somewhere in between. A compromise between what was expected of her, and what she had been before. Even her fashionable clothes now seemed to be worn with complete ease and very little discomfort. What had happened behind the newspapers, he wondered?

"You are different," She stated suddenly with a scrunched nose. "Though I suppose by the time we are adults we will feel different then too."

"Especially if the world keeps up with its insane antics," Cedric contributed.

"Let's think about happier things." Hermione slipped away from the bridge's railings, reaching over to loop Cedric's arm in her own. "How about I show you my favorite spots in muggle London, Ced?"

His response was garbled as she suddenly froze in place against him. She no longer stood on the bridge in Westminster. Now the teenage Seer was stuck firmly in a misty, foggy vision. Ginny Weasley sat in the witness chair before the Wizengamot. A perfect, Pureblood image clad in all the perks newly found wealth could offer. Standing in chains off to the side, several feet from Ginny, was a filthy, depressing version of Gilderoy Lockhart. 'There was a time when I managed to begin remembering some things about Tom Riddle's exploits in my… Body. That was when I realized what I needed to do. I abandoned the diary in a bathroom.' The girl spoke in a cautious manner. 'There was one memory in particular. I-He attacked Hermione Granger. Pulled her into a secret passageway by wrapping a rope around her throat. They fought until she managed to hit us with a foul, dark Curse. Blood poured from every part of my body.'

'Why did Tom Riddle attempt to harm Hermione Granger?' Asked an elegant woman. 'From my readings of the reports this was not an isolated incident.'

'At first he… Hated what she represented. A muggleborn, stealing from Purebloods.' Ginny gasped suddenly as she broke herself off, eyes glazed. 'When he was angry he was also at his most powerful. Indescribably fearsome. Hermione Granger made him the most angry. So he dedicated himself to the threat that made him stronger. Professor Dumbledore would have been suicidal given how precarious his state of existence was, but Granger had not yet recognized her own potential. Th-Those were his thoughts on the matter, not my own.'

'Miss Weasley,' The woman sighed glamorously, tiredly, 'Need I repeat myself? There had to have been something that escalated matters so severely that your Possessor would snatch Miss Granger-Pyrites into a secret passageway?' Hermione peered up into the witch's face suspiciously. She sensed that there was something deeper, more incriminating. With a gentle sweep of her glossy black curls off of her red robes the snowy-skinned witch stared pointedly through Hermione right at Ginny.

'He saw her reading from the Villis Malificus, when I was spying for him. Riddle wanted it for himself.' There were gasps at the mere mention of the book.

'Truly?' The interrogator asked with an arched brow, 'The book really exists?'

'If the cover was to be believed, Madam Travers,' Ginny answered somewhat morosely, 'But that was not where it ended. You see, Hermione Granger is also the, forgive my language here, Mudblood Apostle.'

"Hermione!" Cedric shook her away from the nightmarish vision. Back onto the bridge in muggle London where she found herself gasping for breath. Clawing at him desperately as people looked on nervously. "What is it? Are you alright?"

Gaining some semblance of control over herself the witch suddenly realized her hands were pawing all over Cedric's broad frame and she blushed. Slipping back quickly whilst smoothing at her recently Colovaria'ed, honey-brown curls. "Ginevra Weasley," She spat with sudden distaste, "Is set to address the Wizengamot late this afternoon." Tugging him forwards by the elbow Hermione tried to clear her frazzled brain.

"What does that have to do with you having a breakdown on the bridge?" Cedric hissed urgently. "Did you have a vision?" He quickly realized, reminding Hermione that his darned cleverness was part of why they were friends in the first place.

"Yes," She answered shortly, "My political image is about to be destroyed. Which is concerning considering that it is the only thing keeping me safe from hateful Purists. I need to get to Diagon Alley now."

Cedric suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. "What can I do to help you? I'll do anything to keep that from happening." Their eyes, grey and brown, locked in a quizzical, rapid surveyance of each other's faces.

"You need to go to the Flamel's for me. They are the only trustworthy magicals I can think of powerful enough to forge the Villis Malificus." Cedric blinked at her words, no doubt realizing just how much trouble he was about to get himself involved with. "The real thing is still in their library where I left it last time. I'll just need to give you the address and directions to pass their protective enchantments…"

"What about you?" He asked concernedly.

"I need to go and see Dumbledore," Hermione sighed, as they began stalking hurriedly towards Diagon Alley again. "He is, unfortunately, the only person with the influence to help me. I'll owe him, but a debt is worth my safety." She cracked away the sudden tension in her neck. "After that we need to meet at the Ministry. Daphne should be able to help us with the fallout, maybe it is time I met Amelia Bones."

OOOO

"I am going to nominate you for the position of British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot." That one sentence, a declaration more like, prompted Daphne Greengrass' head to explode. She felt her fingers curl around the desk as she leant forward slightly in surprise. "Mr. Cuffe is here along with Mrs. Fentre to interview you for the Daily Prophet series on planned, governmental replacements. Given the vacuum caused due to allegations of corruption each of the ministerial candidates are facing pressure to decide on their prospective replacements now. Though you are well aware of the issues facing our Ministry already." Madam Bones finished with a tight smile.

Daphne could not feel her face as she thought quickly. Usually the British Youth Representative, BYR, was nominated for nepotistic purposes. Fudge, for instance, had placed his nephew on the Wizengamot, likely to secure the coveted tie-breaker vote for his own administration. Occasionally the odd-duck wizard or witch with integrity like Amelia Bones became Minister, however, and chose the BYR based off of the principle of qualifications. Yet the teenager was struggling to determine how she was qualified. Dumbledore, three Ministers for Magic, and many other famous magicals were noted to have served in the position. Of course, they had already accomplished more than most wizards by the time they were her age. "Madam Bones," She simpered as her parents had raised her to when caught off guard, "I am incredibly pleased to have been considered. Though I worry over my qualifications. If you need assistance I am more than happy to organize a briefing consisting of the best students currently at Hogwarts…"

Mrs. Fentre gasped in surprise while Barnabus Cuffe's mouth dropped. Likely neither of them had anticipated they would ever encounter a Greengrass who did not salivate for such opportunities. "I am busy filling more pressing positions, as you well know," Madam Bones' voice held a hint of impatience, a warning, "Though I can tell that you have been quite taken aback by your consideration of this post. Accordingly, I will take a moment to tell you why, precisely, I want you to fill it." The editor and reporter respectively began to slip for the door. Only to pause suddenly as the DMLE whipped her hand sharply at them. "Stay. You can include this in your article."

Then her steely eyes fell on Daphne. "I will not lie and claim that there were no other candidates considered. You co-published the Pressure-Manipulation Charm with Hermione Granger and Cedric Diggory. Luna Lovegood being far too young. They were also strong candidates. Both of them, however, were, in my opinion, too busy to commit to the BYR post as dedicatedly as I would desire. Several Seventh Year students were then examined only for something quite surprising to happen. Your Professors, all of them, returned glowing praises of your character and intelligence. Professor McGonagall, in particular."

Bones rummaged through some of the many papers on her desk until withdrawing a curled letter. "The very first time Miss Greengrass stepped into my classroom, I misjudged her terribly. Little more than an average, run-of-the-mill Slytherin, I concluded quite roundly. Certainly cunning and clever, but not much else. She proved me wrong. Showed me how prejudiced I was against some of my students, and that is her greatest strength. Miss Greengrass was braver than most of my Gryffindors. Standing against much resistance in her house to befriend not only a Hufflepuff, but a bullied Ravenclaw and a scorned Gryffindor. This young woman whom I had dismissed as average united with these other students to publish the greatest magical discovery in fifty years. She was clever enough to determine that a Basilisk was terrifying the school when Headmaster Dumbledore, and many brilliant professors could not. Survived an encounter with said Basilisk as well as the ensuing Petrification. Though I may only be able to describe her Transfiguration skills as solid at this point in time, Daphne Greengrass has certainly impressed Professor Flitwick with her alleged proclivity for Duelling. Not every witch must be a natural at Transfiguration to find greatness. Besides, what she has to offer the Wizengamot is of much more import than her way around a wand. No other student, in my mind, is more suited to the task of facing our broken political system than her."

Daphne knew that if Cedric or Hermione had been less committed to other things that they would have been offered this position instead. Though a larger part of her quietly reasoned that this was a chance. To distinguish herself from her family. Build a legacy for her bloodline that was more than organized crime or bribery. Perhaps an opportunity to impress McGonagall, who she suddenly wanted very much to please indeed. "I will do it, of course," The nearly fourteen-years-old teen smiled vibrantly, "You will not be disappointed in me Madam Bones."

Perhaps this would even calm down her parents, she thought, so much so that they would not even notice an Auror internship next summer.

OOOO

The girl smiled serenely as the drum on her lap thumped rhythmically. Almost hypnotically. Smoke from various leaves she had collected that morning billowing thickly in the hut. "Vér geftilr godsrinn. Okkar sjálf, líðlimpr með. Okkarr hugsumk, ótethered með insit. Okkarr makt, villr lítvindrr und þinn honor. Gefmikr…" Each Nordic Rune hissed out of Luna Lovegood's smokey mouth into its physical form above her before dissipating away. She wore a pearly-white gown which pooled across the floor like water. Her wild hair tangled with leaves, brambles, and silver ornaments.

"Is this wise? Are you certain Phila?" Antero asked her with uncomfortable eyes. He had never been bold, unwilling almost entirely to partake in the vulgar rituals of unbinding. "She is young. Not even truly of our country,let alone our coven."

"Lovegood has Finnish blood from her mother. I can smell it on her." Phila reminded him, "Our culture is dying. We must look to the outside world before war breaks out. There is power in Britain right now. Hildr Salverson said so. This girl will bring that power, some protection to our coven when the world descends into darkness and chaos." They watched as the circle of drummers sitting around Luna's prone form chanted in Old Norse together. The smoke condensing into a circular, wall-like barrier. Within the witch lifting up into the air as her white gown and trinket-clad locks of silvery hair dangled towards the floor.

"Unless she dies after being unbound." He responded snidely, hands shaking as he hid them in his pockets.

"She will not. The girl is special. Marked by the gods. They will not break her." Phila snapped, wanting to pound Antero's cowardly face in. The woman was nervous enough. Upon agreeing to tutor Luna Lovegood in the art of tattoo-related magic she had not anticipated that the girl might surpass her every expectation. The ritual magics of Scandinavia were ancestral and intuitive. What had at first begun with Phila slipping Luna an unrelated, ritualistic challenge morphed into this. A ceremony of unbinding. Once it had been a rite of passage in pagan covens all across Scandinavia, long before that in the rest of Europe too. Before the ritual had begun failing disastrously shortly after the Northern Crusades. Half-a-generation of magicals ripped violently to pieces before the coven elders recognized what it was. A punishment from the gods. Every so often a bold wizard or witch succeeded, but it was hardly a significant statistic compared to the failures.

Only one unbound witch remained alive in Scandinavia. Hildr Salverson was nearing one-hundred-years. Seers were a dime-a-dozen compared to a man or woman who had been unbound. Prophets, they were called, capable of communing with magic itself. So long as they did not go utterly mad, which was also rare, Prophets were capable of great things. Sometimes miracles. Power, protection, and influence which would be necessary in the coming days according to Hildr, and Hildr was never wrong. Standing straight Phila peered through the fog as Luna Lovegood appeared to shine. As brightly as a star. Still the drums pounded away. Ripples of blinding white light pulsed behind the screen of smoke. Then with a whoosh the room was sucked of its smoky air. Phila could no longer breathe, her eyes bugging violently.

The drummers had been thrown backwards violently into a tangle of limbs. Spinning in the air, arms outstretched fully was Luna. Her face held the same dazed expression as always. Except now she seemed to glow. Very rarely had Phila ever felt this way in the presence of Hildr, and never so strongly as she did now. The grace of the gods, of magic was in the room. As smoke billowed outwards towards her like an ocean she sunk to her knees in a penitent fashion. Antero following just behind her.

A new Prophet had risen.

OOOO

The fire blazed green as Cedric slipped out into the Ministry Atrium. He lost himself immediately in a crowd of bustling bystanders which was odd considering that it was early in the evening. Tucked under his arm was a brown parcel, and the young man could hardly believe how it had come to be in his possession. The Flamels had been nothing short of extraordinary. Cedric could hardly bottle his envy of Granger's apprenticeship long enough to focus on helping her. A strong grip suddenly tugged him by the nape of his neck off to the side of the atrium. Inside the shadows cast by one of the Floo's he locked eyes with a blistering Daphne Greengrass. "You and Granger. Back together. Always up to something, always causing trouble. Once again I have been dragged into the middle of it."

"We don't have time for this," Cedric began to say, moving to slip away only for her to yank him right back with shocking strength.

"You are an idiot, Diggory," She spat, blue eyes dark as a stormy sea. "We are in the cross-fire of every parasite in this god-forsaken place. They hardly know where to salivate. At me, apparently the popular choice for British Youth Representative should Bones win. Hermione for all of her dirty little secrets being aired in a very unfortunate setting. Or you, her new boy toy." With that the witch unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet. Right in the center of the gossip section were two pictures. One of her smiling back at Harry Potter as she led him forth by their connected hands. The other was of them together on the bridge from earlier that morning. Him trying desperately to shake her from her trance while she clung mindlessly to him. A title flashed which announced, 'The Muggleborn Who Lived to Love.' Daphne only seemed to grow angrier, "The lot of us are fucked. Except Luna. That lucky little bitch gets to freeze her arse off in Finland while Rita Skeeter rakes us over the coals."

The only thing that could have made this all any worse, Cedric thought to himself, was noticing that Skeeter had indeed written the day's gossip headliner. "Hermione must not have gotten here yet," He seethed, "She went to Hogwarts to try to talk to Dumbledore. We need to make sure she doesn't step out of the fireplace into this mess."

"Too late," Daphne sighed in a suddenly soft voice. Up ahead the crowd began to surge as Hermione revealed herself to have already been in the Ministry. Reporters surged, asking her questions loudly only to be distracted as other people who had been in the courtroom scurried to exit the Ministry. Eventually, the muggleborn witch managed to make her way over to them. The eldest Greengrass child quickly cast a quick Notice-Me-Not Charm, and a Silencing Charm as well. Taking advantage of the number of adult wizards around to confuse the Trace. "That won't hold more than a minute with all of the people looking for us. You are ruined Hermione. You own the darkest book in history. A book that should have been destroyed when your Godelot ancestors all died off."

Hermione smiled brightly. "No I am not. It could have been much worse. I had a vision, Daphne." Her lips grew tighter, "Dumbledore did me a favour in there. He cut off Ginny Weasley before she could really drive the knife in deep. Dismissed her from the testimony seat."

"Drive the knife deep?" Cedric wondered, curious what other secret Hermione had that could have been more damning than the Villis Malificus. She shook her head at him quickly with eyes that promised answers later. When they would have more time.

"Regardless," Daphne nearly snarled, "I am jeopardizing my chances at becoming the BYR by telling you such sensitive information, but I eavesdropped on a meeting between Madam Bones and Tyche Travers. You know about her, right? The woman who replaced Malfoy as the leader of the Purist faction on the Wizengamot. Bones' main challenger."

"She questioned Ginny today," Hermione answered, "I am well-aware of her now."

"The woman has an annoyingly comprehensive understanding of Wizarding Law." The blonde witch continued on quickly, "She rubbed in Madam Bones' face that the Wizard Council of 1604 decreed after the Godelots were supposedly exterminated that all of their property belonged to the government. The DMLE had no choice but to issue a warrant. They will likely be raiding your Townhouse as soon as they figure out a way around the wards."

"Dobby?" Hermione wasted no time. The House Elf cracked into existence. "I have no time to tell you what is happening." Dobby wasted no time dropping one of his serving platters from the Defiant Elf to the side. "You need to take Cedric to the Townhouse then away to the most secure place you can think of. He knows what needs to be done." In the blink of an eye they were both gone. Sighing, cracking her neck, the muggleborn turned to Daphne as the Notice-Me-Not finally collapsed around them.

"We need to get ready for tomorrow."

OOOO

Daphne resisted the urge to bite her fingernails, or find a bathroom and worry over her blotchy skin. Instead she paced frantically about the bustling courtroom and drained away at her third latte of the early morning. Muggles had been proven, at least to her last night, to be shockingly advanced. The towering buildings, tellyvision, ekelectricity, fashion stands with female mannequins who wore pants. Though Hermione had been quite preoccupied with preparing for any possible questions Daphne could imagine might be levelled at her, the Pureblood had insisted on stopping to browse the clothing. "You look… Different." A deep voice remarked, prompting her to spin around.

"Where have you been, Cedric Diggory?" She nearly snapped at him. Only restrained by the realization that many powerful, important people milled about around them.

He tugged her up into the stands which were not yet full. Securing one of the prime spots with a good aerial view of the courtroom. "The funny thing about helping to deceive the DMLE is that you never anticipate they will burst in right after you do it." He looked incredibly tired, she observed suddenly. His pretty eyes underlined with dark circles. "I barely managed to slip the decoy book into her room and get into the parlor room before the Aurors were inside. Ripping everything to shambles and interrogating us all."

"Drink the rest of this. Neither of us can sleep until this whole mess of a trial is over and done with." She pressed the half-full latte cup into his hand. Watching from the corner of her eyes as he sipped at it with all of the nervousness of a muggle-phobic wizard. His broad, tense shoulders unwound automatically as the liquid passed through his throat. "You seem different Cedric. Looser, more confident in your body. Was there a French lover I should know about?" He choked violently on the latte, shoving his face into the sleeve of his robes. "Now, now," Daphne smirked tauntingly, "Grandmother Diggory would not be very pleased to see her handsome grandson rubbing his face in his robes."

"How did you know-." He spluttered suddenly, realizing he had admitted his guilt. The blush on his angular dimples giving her all of the evidence she needed. Cedric sighed her way with a long, scrutinizing stare. Their friendship was a strange one. Both of them bound tightly into Hermione's orbit for different reasons, yet they had spent enough time together the last year that there was no point trying to hide secrets anymore. Besides, Daphne had always been a welcome presence when Luna's ramblings and Hermione's rather violent addiction to knowledge became too much for him. She was also the most worldly person he had ever met, unlikely to be shocked by a bit of bisexuality. "He is brilliant. A student at Beauxbatons. Morfin Gaunt. Handsome…"

"You have a preference," Daphne tossed her golden braid over one shoulder. "Brilliant, bigger-than-earth men and women with weird names. First Hermione, now this Morfin fellow."

"What?" Cedric wondered surprisedly, "How do you know about Hermione?"

Daphne rolled her blue eyes. "Everyone can see it but her. The girl is, quite frankly, obtuse. I worry she could only figure something like this out if it was written in one of her books. Which means it is up to you to open her eyes." She reached over and gripped his wrist. "You need to stop wasting time, idiot. The name Morfin sounds dangerous. It reeks of nothing but trouble and distraction. Yes, even I am unable to predict if our emotionally stunted friend will ever be as sexy and alluring as this French strumpet, but she is right for you. Just like you are right for her."

"How do you know that?" He felt stupid, asking a girl who was a year younger than him all of these questions. It was easy to realize that you cared deeply for someone. Another entirely to know that you were not inflating a tiny crush into utter obsession.

"You like danger. Thrill. Why else would you vault yourself hundreds of meters into the air on a broomstick otherwise? In her first two years that girl has battled Basilisks, the Wizengamot, Purists, young Voldemort, old Voldemort, and assasination attempts. She is going to need someone who likes to have their life in constant, mortal peril." Letting go of his wrist the witch stared impenetrably down at milling crowd. "Would you have risked your future to hide the Villis Malificus for Luna or I? What about Zacharias Smith?" He hesitated. "See. Hermione likes you too. Her eyes sparkle when you bring her food in the library. She touches your hair whenever she gets the chance. Then there is the fact that she wears your Quidditch jersey to all of your matches like a love-struck fool."

"She is a bit young for me," He shifted uncomfortably. "With Morfin I didn't have to worry ab-."

"Hermione has taught me about a little something called feminicism since we became friends," Daphne cut him off soundly. "You cannot approach her like you would a witch. That girl is more modern than any witch you have ever met. She knows what she is capable of, and has no need for a wizard to make the decisions for her. Do not fall back into the mindset of our, admittedly blood hungry and savage, forefathers. Respect Hermione as your equal. She is set to be the strongest magical at Hogwarts anyways. Thinking you have any of the power needed to make decisions in this situation is completely foolish."

He had so many questions left, though Cedric knew well that he needed to process this plethora of new information carefully. The room hushed anyways as Hermione finally arrived. Everyone bustled to their seats while his mouth dangled open in surprise. Standing there, her mother and grandmother behind her, was Hermione Granger. Her robes were dark as blood. The softest silk he had ever seen, which was quite a feat since there was Flobberworm silk all over Diggory Manor. They appeared to possess some sort of enchantment as well. Whispering around her every movement forwards like an angry cloud of smoke. Daphne's words began to ring warningly in his head again.

Hermione was in complete control, and something about her in that moment reminded him quite undeniably of Morfin Gaunt.

OOOO

She had not seen the point in shying away beneath her robes. As Daphne had pointed out during their intensive preparations, the Wizengamot, and every magical in the courtroom for that matter, now suspected what she was. The revelation of the Villis Malificus had proven to everyone that Hermione was not just Cordelia's puppet, or an unusually clever muggleborn doing what she needed to survive. They all knew how talented she was. All of them had already begun to recognize the power she laid claim to. What other fourteen-year-old witch could smash every window in Hogwarts, or slaughter a Anguigena? Now there would always remain a whisper. A thinly veiled question, truthfully. Of how much dangerous knowledge she had gathered from the Villis Malificus.

Slipping into the witness chair, Hermione studiously ignored the onlookers around her. Observing only the Wizengamot. "We commence the questioning and testimony of one Miss Hermione Granger-Pyrites on this day of…" Dumbledore began in a loud tone. Flicking his wrist, and prompting the Aurors stationed on the farthest, leftmost side of the chamber to do something. Shortly after they withdrew their wands a horrible clunking noise drowned out Dumbledore's voice. Lifting upwards from the stone floor was a cage with metal spears facing inwards towards the prisoner. Cowering away from the pointy metal was Gilderoy Lockhart. Eyes crazed, handsome self plastered in filth and rags. Whimpering at the sight of the room. Gasps echoed as wind suddenly gusted in the courtroom. Causing the candles to flicker menacingly.

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore snapped her out of the trance-like fixation on Lockhart. "I fully understand that this is a painful moment for you. If you can restrain your magic, however, it would help speed these proceedings." Trusting him was easier today, after he had helped spare her from assured destruction the day prior. She shook her fisted hands out quickly. Feeling frustrated that even after a summer with the Flamels her magic was still so tempestuous. So dangerously unstable. "Now. Could you please tell us what happened on the day of Ronald Weasley's death? Take all of the time you may need."

She did just that. Fighting the emotion as true memories, horrible memories clashed against what Tom Riddle had planted into her brain. "Well, Ginny Weasley was possessed by Tom Riddle. You all know that. It is why we are here today." Hermione felt a petty flare of victory swell in her chest at getting to muck Ginny after what the girl had attempted to do the day before. Knowingly or not. "She bound me in ropes. Murdered the Fat Lady with the Killing Curse, and managed to dis-animate hundreds of portraits before levitating me to the Chamber of Secrets." What followed was all lies. According to Riddle's manipulations Harry and Ron had played the role of sidekick as she battled Fiendfyre, slayed the Basilisk, and they managed to eliminate him. Then Lockhart crept up on them, attempted to wipe Hermione's memory only for Ron to interfere. Finding himself struck with a particularly powerful Killing Curse to the face which liquefied him into a puddle.

Hermione relished describing how she had wiped Lockhart's memory clear. "You deserved worse," She spat, "You filthy, poor excuse for a man." Ceasing the barrage of insults before Dumbledore was forced to intervene.

"I now open the floor to questions." The Headmaster of Hogwarts pounded his gavel.

"Is it true that you had an outburst, understandably so after what you had suffered, which caused the windows of Hogwarts to shatter?" Asked a petite, skeleton of a wizard who Dumbledore allowed to ask the first question.

"I was unconscious at the time." Hermione responded firmly, "Regarding that matter I know just as much as you do."

"But someone must have told you if-." He insisted.

"I fail to see the relevance of this question, Mr. Ogden." Dumbledore cut him off.

"With regards to the matter of Tom Riddle," Amelia Bones called out ringingly, over Mr. Ogden's protests, "Or Lord Voldemort." Many people gasped and hissed. "What you described paints a terrifying picture of his power. At that age he was capable of controlling Fiendfyre, dis-Animating hundreds of portraits at once, and powerful Mind Magic. Do you believe there is any chance for something like that diary to be hidden elsewhere in Great Britain, Chief Warlock?"

"I do not," Dumbledore stated firmly, "Though as you pointed out, Voldemort is a dangerous threat. Even in his weakened state, Miss Granger was astronomically lucky to have survived a battle with him."

"Pray tell," Came an elegant, acidic tone, "How exactly you, allegedly, managed to defeat one of the greatest wizards of all time as a First Year, Miss Granger? Especially when you needed so much help to survive the events which occurred in the Chamber of Secrets." Tyche Travers had raised her ugly, actually quite beautiful, head. "Newspaper interviews are hardly as accurate as a testimony before the Wizengamot. You cannot lie here."

Hermione knew full well that she was about to step on a horrible, unavoidable landmine. People did not know what to believe. They had been lied to by corrupt officials for probably decades. There was no Minister for Magic as a result, and many other vital positions were empty as well. Dumbledore had taken advantage of the confusion to begin readying the public for Voldemort's inevitable return. Wounding himself by admitting that he had covered up what happened during her First Year. Foolishly putting all of his eggs in one basket on the hopes that Amelia Bones, who agreed that Voldemort had returned, would become the Minister and strengthen his position. "My accounts have been widely publicized. The Chief Warlock admitted himself that he failed, and regrets it deeply, to fully inform the public of what occured. I will not engage in a petty fight with you, Madam Travers, when you already have all of the facts at hand."

"If the Chief Warlock lied, pardon me, failed to fully inform the public on that account," She grinned brilliantly in response, "How are we to know that you are telling the truth in this matter? What is to say he is not lying again. Omitting some truth for you?"

"Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were questioned by Aurors the same as I was," Hermione felt her palms moisten. She was lying after all. Something about it all made her feel sick. This foul, bigoted woman was supposed to be the villain. Yet Hermione had been tangled up too deeply inside of Tom Riddle's web. "Are you trying to insinuate that a girl who lost her brother, and a boy who lost his parents to Voldemort would lie? Gilderoy Lockhart is the biggest liar in this room. He Obliviated nearly sixty of the world's greatest wizards and witches."

"You are absolutely correct. I doubt Ginevra Weasley would lie. Especially not about having seen you with the Villis Malificus, which was recovered from the Pyrites' Townhouse yesterday evening." Tyche Travers leaned forwards ever so subtly, red robes clinging to her buxom form. "Can we believe the testimony of a child who has likely been half-crazed by the Dark Magic of her Morganatic ancestors?"

"As you will soon determine," Hermione snapped, "It is impossible to open that book." She had the fullest confidence no one in the Ministry could break through whatever wards Pernelle had placed on the fake tome. "I never managed to open the Villis Malificus, and thank goodness for that. I was a foolish girl to have kept it near me. Fighting off Tom Riddle only made it much too clear to me that Dark Magic corrupts absolutely." The lies were pouring from her mouth now like Carbon Dioxide. As her heart pounded painful from anxiety, that was when it happened. Hermione's brown eyes fell on a nearby brazier before rolling upwards.

The courtroom fell away. She stood on Diagon Alley. Blustery wind striking her face as people scurried about with worried faces. Hermione nearly sighed in relief as she caught sight of a newspaper stand. December fourth, 1978. That date was very familiar, though not at all in a good way. Fingers clutching at the red silk of her clothing she eyed Gringotts which sat up ahead nervously. Something simply felt… Wrong. Her brain finally managed to remember what had happened on that day when it happened.

The front of the Wizarding Bank exploded violently outwards in flames and rubble as masked magicals suddenly appeared from nowhere. She ducked even though it was merely a vision. Spellfire bombarded every inch of the Alley that was in sight. Bricks ripping themselves upwards as though a rope underneath the street had been tugged on by an invisible Giant. Glass exploded behind her as she ran forth. Then brick. Finally blood. A woman scurrying for her life, squalling child in both arms ripped to nothing more than gory tatters. Falling to both knees Hermione watched as the world erupted into chaos and misery.

Jaw gaping open she wondered how Diagon Alley had ever recovered from such utter disaster. A figured clad in black was suddenly slammed back into a wall so hard that their mask slipped. Slipping upwards again, clouds of concrete, spinning lights flashing everywhere about her Hermione peered right into the face of a much younger Madam Travers. Just before the female Death Eater mustered the willpower to apparate from harm. The building she had stood against collapsing downwards as Hermione was wrenched back into existence.

"Miss Granger?!" Excited voices bubbled about the courtroom as she fell from the air into the arms of a female Auror. Fingers clambering up the older woman's shoulders Hermione peered up at the distressed faces of the Wizengamot. Understandable considering that whenever she had visions she tended to levitate in the air with rolling eyes. Still, it took a long moment for Hermione to suck in a breath. She had never found herself vaulted into the past. Nor had she ever had to visions on the same day.

Still, stepping forth with wobbly eyes Hermione peered with a cold face upwards at Madam Travers. "I refuse to be labelled a liar by a Death Eater. A woman who participated in the Attack on Gringotts Bank of 1978. I can prove it, too." Pandemonium erupted at this declaration, as Hermione Granger stood defiantly in the middle of it all. An unapologetic glare gleaming in her brown eyes. The crimson of her gown writhing about her lean form like angry snakes.

OOOO