Cathal's wand made all the difference. After sneaking back into Hogwarts and the Room of Requirement, Hermione tried a few spells and they just flowed. She snivelled a bit alone in her facsimile bedroom, shedding the creeping worry that her return had permanently affected her magic. Her struggles with Derica Max's wand in the cellar had left a gnawing doubt. She had fought so hard to cast such simple charms.

She waited until after Moppet had brought her dinner and all the teachers were sitting down to their meal in the Great Hall to swap from Requirement to Hidden. Hermione sat on a spindle legged chair to eat steak and kidney pie while she cast Mending Charms on a battered trunk. She tried a few polishing charms, which took most of the tarnish off the brass fittings, then a shrinking charm. The latter worked but left her sweating. There was a limit to the amount of magic she could channel through Cathal.

Mindful of her body's parameters, Hermione cleared a small area by hand then tried a Summoning Charm. The spell was first taught in Fourth Year so casting it definitely would have been a challenge for an eleven year old. The rush of magic burned across her skin, making her hair stand on end and bright spots dance in front of her eyes.

'Accio Hogwarts uniforms' also caused a hailstorm of clothing. From every quadrant, misplaced garments rained down on her. Hermione dove for the shelter of a tallboy to fend off the storm. She emerged light-headed and knee deep in wool blends. Sorting out the largesse took about an hour. The evolution of the school uniform was fascinating though no one should be subjected to a box pleated serge pinafore.

Hermione chose items that were loose fitting and in good condition. She hit everything with a Scourgify, changed the name tags then folded the clothes into her trunk. Where she could, she picked five of each as there was sometimes a lag on the laundry. Shoes were a problem as people rarely lost both. Checking all the footwear got her one pair of mary janes. Well, she'd keep them for uniform hours and wear the boots at other times.

The clothes she didn't pick got put away in three chests of drawers she coloured white. She'd need replacements when she outgrew what she had and once she was more used to Cathal, she would be able to Transfigure the garments. Hermione mulled over casting the Summoning Charm again for ordinary clothes but chose to add some more robes to her trunk instead. The Rosiers were pure-bloods. They wouldn't go in for t-shirts and jeans.

As she didn't want to give herself a concussion with flying books, Hermione searched for her First Year reading list manually. She found a trove of text books scattered among a mountain of old fashioned desks. Some inelegant amateur parkour got her a supply of notebooks, quills, and ink, including a bottle of fancy self-correcting ink that if she had lost she definitely would've hunted down.

A suitable cauldron was an easy find. Hermione lucked across a set of glass phials with only one missing. Protective gloves had the same problem as shoes so she went with the first left and the first right she found that fit. A battered pointy hat joined her provender almost as an afterthought. She had worn her own dutifully purchased hat for a few weeks during her first term then afterwards only for each Sorting Ceremony.

Checking her personal list, Hermione caught herself biting her lip. She shook her head to loosen her facial muscles. She had to be careful not to fall into the same habits as her other self. Cathal did not bite her lips. Miss Rosier was going to be a taciturn loner who liked walking around the Castle and minding her own business.

Miss Rosier was going to need shampoo. Hermione scanned the mountains of furniture. There was self-sufficiency and then there was pigheadedness. She shrank her trunk and crept out of the Room of Hidden Things. It was later than she realised, the hallway pitch dark. Hurrying into the Room of Requirement, she changed into her pyjamas then tucked herself into bed with the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.

In the morning, Hermione had a conference with Moppet. The house elf could provide her with the miscellaneous necessary toiletries by decanting them from the Prefects' Bathroom. She volunteered to keep special track of all Cathal's belongings in case anyone thought it funny to do to Rosier what they had to Luna. Hermione gave Moppet half her remaining Galleons in case of emergencies. Then the witch threw herself into revising.

By the first day of September, Cathal was as prepared for Hogwarts as Hermione could make her. Very early in the morning to avoid the staff, Moppet popped them down to London so Cathal could catch the Hogwarts Express. The house elf dropped her off at the Leaky Cauldron before heading back to the school to help with the last minute rush. If there was ever a day Moppet would be missed, it would be the first day of term.

Hermione ordered a pot of tea and read the Daily Prophet. She was going to take the Knight Bus to Kings Cross station at about half past nine so she could find a compartment with a minimum of hassle. She also wanted to avoid seeing her parents drop off her other eleven year old self. Just thinking about it hurt.

The teapot was getting tepid and she was eyeing the clock wondering whether it would be better to go earlier to loiter on the Platform when a hand dropped onto her shoulder.

"You and I are going to have a word, Rosier." The Auror said stonily.

She didn't think. Hermione was fairly sure she didn't engage brain at all. She grabbed the teapot and swung it, smashing him in the face. He probably didn't deserve that but years of war had removed her middle gears. She ran for the door as fast as Cathal's legs could take her and almost made it before being hit by a Full-Body Bind. The floor rushed up to meet her face with a crack.

"Ministry Auror!" The wizard announced as he hauled her to her feet. Tom the barman found something interesting to look at on the other side of the room. A well-dressed elderly couple eating crumpets, who had noticed the quiet child sitting by herself being no trouble, both rose from their table.

"You will show us your accreditation." The witch demanded, drawing her wand. "We'll not see a child hauled away by some random scruff." Her gaze swept the man up and down. "Are those Muggle shoes you are wearing? The Ministry has let its standards go lax since my day."

"I'm Jeffrey Williamson." The Auror propped the girl against a table and dug out his warrant card with his DMLE badge. He'd hoped to talk privately to the little Houdini, chiefly to find out where the hell she had gone. She didn't look like she'd been living rough for weeks, which made him suspicious of who had helped her. There'd been no whisper about Rosier in the Department.

"Pray tell us, Mister Williamson, what crime this young witch has perpetrated." The white haired wizard put just enough emphasis on his title to make the Auror feel like he was still in school, which was doubtless the intention.

"She's a runaway. I am taking her into custody for her own protection." Williamson replied in his best talking-to-the-nosy voice. He pointedly dabbed the cuts on his cheek and was not surprised when the snobs did not deign to notice. The vicious little bitch could've got him in the eye but that apparently paled in comparison to her bumped beak.

"A laudable endeavour. We shall accompany you." The witch declared as her husband settled their shot with the publican. She elected not to see the Auror's glare. His sort had ransacked their home and dragged their son away for questioning. Her boy had spent five weeks in Azkaban solely because some of his school friends had been political radicals. They had been powerless to help their son. Today was different.

Eustace and Beatrix Radnott would not be dissuaded from accompanying Auror Williamson to the Ministry. He gritted his teeth, dropped the Body Bind when the old baggages threatened to lodge a complaint, and marched Rosier to the Floo. They made a wondrous scene striding into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, two red faced from blood and two from righteousness.

Hermione stood scruffed like a kitten as the Radnotts took out years of suppressed resentment on Williamson then on his boss Proudfoot then on Gawain Robards, Deputy Head of the Auror Office. She tried to wriggle free once at ten thirty; as late as she could leave it and still get to the train on time. Williamson gripped the back of her shirt tighter, continuing to interject in the Radnotts' harangue.

It was twenty past eleven before anyone asked her a question. By then her chin was crusted with blood, her nose clogged with the same, and her capacity for tolerance much diminished. So when Robards inquired of her if she had anything to say, Hermione answered promptly.

"I want to bring charges of abduction against Auror Williamson." She didn't really but she wanted some answers.

"This hardly counts as kidnapping." The Deputy Head did not roll his eyes. The Radnotts had only stopped because of the necessity of letting someone else talk if they wanted the explanation they had demanded.

"Not this time." Hermione agreed. "On the nineteenth of July, Auror Williamson broke into my mother's home and abducted me. I woke in a locked room in a Muggle house. Auror Williamson and a witch were there. When I requested to be released they refused. I asked to be put in contact with my grandfather's solicitor, which was also refused. After they left, locking me in again, I escaped."

After that, paperwork happened. Both she and Williamson were photographed then healed, in separate rooms. She was asked to give a statement. Hermione kept to the facts except for where she had been during the interval. In line with what she had told Harnak, she said she had been staying at Muggle shelters. When asked for the addresses of the hostels, Hermione refused on the grounds she wanted to return there and didn't trust Williamson or his accomplice not to search for her.

Her stubbornness got her the hairy eyeball from the Auror interviewing her but he accepted it, continuing on to the events of the day and her reason for being in the Leaky Cauldron. Not wanting to mention Hogwarts at all, Hermione lied again, saying she had gone to the pub for the newspaper, wanting to see if the Curse-Breakers had got into Rosier Hall yet.

When the interview was over, she was put in a holding room with orders to remain there until called. The Radnotts had been hustled out of the building otherwise she would have thanked them for their concern. Hermione spent some of her time writing a letter to them in a suitably formal style. They knew her name and depending on what happened with the charges she might need friendly witnesses.

Williamson was sticking with the story that he had chanced across a burning building and on hearing a noise from the cellar had gone to the rescue of a disoriented child. His decision to take her to his house was because his wife was a Healer. He was on the point of bringing the confused girl to the Ministry when she became hysterical and smashed her way out of the guest room. Only an unstable person would bash a stranger in the face with a teapot.

Hermione got the impression the Auror was sore about the tea. His tale was plausible so for the sake of her reputation, she stayed put. If she legged it now, the DMLE would have it on record she was unreliable. It was extremely frustrating to watch the clock tick by while other people debated what to do with her.

A kindly witch with sharp eyes showed up to escort her to lunch at the Ministry canteen. Hermione noticed how much attention the woman was paying to the cutlery and at first was puzzled by the interest in her table manners until she realised the witch was making sure she didn't palm a knife. It put the idea in her head that a blade would be useful. Not for attacking people but because it was an option not many magical folk anticipated.

She was escorted back to the holding room and left there. Hermione pulled a book out of her backpack, settling down to read until her fate was decided. Mostly she thought about ways to get to Hogwarts and excuses she might give for her tardiness. If she could get to Hogsmeade in time to meet the train, she might be able to avoid questions. There were Scottish students who opted not to travel down to London at the start of each term. Really, all she needed was a Floo.

The book was one Moppet had found in Rose Cottage. The cover had been scorched so Hermione had replaced it with the anodyne volume two of the Encyclopaedia of Bat Eyes. What she was actually reading was an Occlumency primer with Cathal's mother's notes in German in the margins. She intended to make her mind a fortress.

Some hours later, Hermione was thinking about that Nietzsche quote about the abyss when Gawain Robards strode into the holding room and beckoned for her to follow him. The Deputy Head looked disgruntled, an expression he quickly smoothed when he showed her into a rather more comfortable interview room. The cause for the upgrade and the poker face gave the Auror a frosty look. Narcissa Malfoy was not pleased.

Cathal Rosier really could not get a break, Hermione thought as she sat down tidily with her book on her lap. Bolting now was out of the question. Perhaps she could persuade Mrs Malfoy to send her to Hogwarts. Hermione doubted the gilt witch would want a child under foot at Malfoy Manor. In any case, she was not going back to that place. She didn't have the word on her arm any more but she could still feel it.

"Madam Malfoy, this is Miss Rosier. Gringotts has informed us she is the daughter of Evan Rosier, and thus your ward." While Robards's voice was bland enough to be mistaken for porridge, his eyes were avid.

"I was not aware of the existence of a child." When Narcissa had been summoned abruptly to the Ministry, she had prepared for an interrogation. This was not at all what she had expected. She studied the girl, who with her fair colouring somewhat resembled Druella Rosier except for the Selwyn jaw. Evan's daughter would never be a gentle beauty but she might grow into something passable.

"Madam Rosier apparently raised her in secret. She came to our attention after the unexpected death of Piers Rosier." The Auror remained audibly beige, shifting a file on his desk marked with the red stripe of an active investigation.

"Hardly unexpected given his temper." Narcissa remarked, aware Robards thought he was directing this interview. Piers had been a good ally until the imprisonment of his wife had removed any moderating influence. Two bottles of Firewhiskey and a raging quarrel with Valentine Crabbe had seen him off before a Healer could reach him. Now the Aurors were trying to turn his death to their advantage to restart the household raids.

"Nonetheless, you are now responsible for his only living heir." Robards glanced at Cathal Rosier, seeing for himself what the counsellor had termed 'wilful detachment'. Williamson's brashness coloured his report so he'd sent in a more perceptive person in to get a feel for the child's aura. He wasn't convinced Rosier Senior had fallen off his perch naturally. The Auror suspected someone had given him a little nudge.

"Uncle Piers and I were always close." She had thought so until this afternoon's revelation. Narcissa had attended Evan's small, private wedding to a witch of impeccable heritage. The match been arranged by the respective grandfathers, with the bride and groom meeting a week before the ceremony. Evan had died before his second anniversary.

"And yet he kept his granddaughter from you." The wizard's gaze flicked from Malfoy to Rosier. Both witches were composed and silent. Robards considered sending the girl to an orphanage until the Malfoys could clear Rosier's probate. He could play the paperwork waiting game or charge the under-age witch with assault on an Auror. Something was rotten. He just couldn't tell what whiffed.

The Deputy Head might have pushed the issue except Williamson had lost a brother in the Wizarding War. He didn't make a big noise about his grudge but it was there, which made his presence on the Isle of Man suspect. Williamson hadn't been on duty on the island, hadn't had any better reason for being there than 'fancied spuds and herrin for lunch'. If Robards came down heavy on Rosier only to discover Williamson had been involved in her mother's death, it'd be him in the cauldron.

"It seems to me that while there are ongoing investigations into the death of Piers Rosier and disappearance of Derica Rosier neƩ Max, the safest place for Miss Rosier would be with her peers at Hogwarts." Packing the girl off to school would keep her out of the claws of the Malfoys. Robards wasn't fond of how Dumbledore ran the castle as his own fiefdom but the old man was firmly not in Lucius's pocket.

"My mother went to Durmstrang." Hermione made a token protest. Robards shot a stern look at her, dropping his gaze pointedly to her feet, to her Quidditch boots.

"I regret we must insist." He'd noticed the girl was in trousers and flying boots, an unusual combination for an idle trip to read the newspaper. Robards suspected Rosier had a longer journey in mind. He would owl the Maxs, the family needed to be notified of Derica Rosier's possible crossing the Veil, and mention the daughter.

Gawain Robards's insistence ran to two Aurors accompanying them to Diagon Alley so Narcissa Malfoy could supervise the rapid purchase of supplies. Hermione did not mistake the shopping trip for generosity. The pure-blood witch insisted that she change into her new uniform, after which her old clothes mysteriously vanished. The message was clear; if she was going to be associated with the House of Malfoy, she would conform to their high social standards.

Her dispatch to Hogwarts was not suave. They had missed the arrival of the train at Hogsmeade and the boat trip so the Aurors marched her directly into the Front Entrance, handing her over to Professor McGonagall in front of the goggling First Years. The Scottish witch took in the mulish expression on the girl's recently healed face and crisply dismissed the guards. There had been quite enough drama already.