False Fate
By MD1016

Part II: Trial of the Century
Chapter 9 – To Do Something

By the time Ron and Harry had apparated back to number 12 Grimmuald Place word had gotten out about how the hearing had been run, and the basement kitchen was brimming with Order members in varying states of outrage. Lupin and Shaklebolt were conspicuously missing as they were usually the two to lead the Order meetings now that Dumbledore was gone. It was Moody who finally quieted the room with a slam of his artificial leg on the stone floor, and asked for any new information gathered on the Malfoy family. Hestia Jones, a small woman with shiny black hair, and Elphias Doge wearing a tweed robe, had been assigned to tail the Malfoy family ever since Hermione first went missing weeks before, and then continued when Draco couldn't be found to answer charges. They both stood now and addressed the room.

"Well, we been dividin' the work between us, we 'ave, and 'aven't much luck to speak of," said Hestia, her round cheeks flushed bright pink as usual. She seemed younger than her probable fifty years – Ron thought due to her dark hair and round face.

Elphias spoke up. "Right she is. The family hasn't so much as gone to a pub since all of this has happened. Haven't seen a hair of young Draco, either, curse him. His mother seems genuinely distraught at his absence. The family has a lawyer on retainer, a Mr. Berry Stir, Jr. He's visited the Malfoy family manse several times in the past few weeks and now lately it's been nearly every day. We've been looking into him, as well, but it's been hard to find any information on him at all. He's had some work with the Ministry, but his files there are sealed. Not at all uncommon, and yet..."

"He's a Death Eater," Hestia whispered excitedly.

"Unconfirmed," Elphias corrected. "But it is looking that way."

"Which only makes sense," said Moody. He straightened his prosthetic nose, and then wiped it with the back of his hand. His magical eye sized up the two speakers. "Have you seen or heard anything to make you think they might've had something to do with Hermione's advocate's absence? The timing seems too perfect for it to be coincidental. I don't like it."

There was a general murmur of agreement in the room.

It was just then that Lupin came in. He looked pale and pasty, and Ron recognized the symptoms right away. Undoubtedly there would be a full moon tonight, and Lupin would be out of commission for the next couple of days. Talk about bad timing.

"There's no sign of him anywhere," Lupin said, breathless. I managed to track down where he lives, and talked with his landlady - a Muggle, so I had to play that one just right - but she said she hadn't seen him in several days. His office is closed with no sign explaining." He lowered himself on to one of the wood chairs, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his brow. "I've just been to see Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who by the way, now have absolutely no trust in me or the magical community any longer, it seems. But they're also at a loss. They tried several times to contact Mr. McTurvish, with no success."

"And McTurvish is?" asked Doge.

"Hermione's hired retainer," responded Lupin, testily. "James McTurvish. I was told he specializes in cases involving Muggle-borns."

"What do we know about McTurvish?" asked Moody. "I want a full background check on this man." His eye scanned then room before he grumbled, "I'll do it myself."

"Good man," said Lupin. "You do that. You know, we really should do something about not letting Muggles into the Ministry ipso facto. The Grangers should have a right to see their daughter tried, regardless of their non-magical status."

Just then Tonks hurried in, her clothes still black and her hair still blue, but now more upset than Ron had ever seen her. She knocked over a chair on her rush to get to Lupin's side. "Remus," she said breathlessly, as if she had run all the way. "Remus, they won't let us in to see her! They've got her locked up and we can't get in! I'm an Auror and they won't let me through! How can I not have clearance? An AUROR!"

"All right, now." Lupin pulled her down into the chair next to his. "Tonks," he said slowly. "Start from the beginning."

"They won't let us in!" exclaimed Ron's mum from the doorway, having just caught up. "Those bureaucratic imbeciles say little Hermione Granger is a danger to society, and they have her locked up in maximum security down on level 9! LEVEL 9, Arthur! That wonderful child is being held in level 9! You've got to do something!"

Ron's father looked stunned.

"We brought her some clothes and books and things," Tonks continued, on the verge of hysteria, "But they wouldn't even deliver them to her. They said I posed a probable security risk - ME! I'm a security risk!"

This time Lupin put a hand to her belly, and her gaze rose to meet his. They had a moment of stillness between them where they seemed to loose track of everyone else in the room. Ron felt awkward, like he was intruding on a private exchange, and he tried to shrink back against the stone wall. But then, Tonks gave Lupin a small smile of understanding and the moment ended. Taking a deep breath, Lupin looked to Moody.

"There's nothing we can do about the security. They have the legal right," Moody told them. "She did cast an Unforgivable. The law now classifies her as a danger to society, both magical and Muggle."

"Preposterous!" cried Mrs. Weasley.

Tonks shook her head. "You know Hermione, Alastor. Without her wand she can't open a can of soup! She doesn't pose a danger to anyone. They're doing this for some other reason. To make an example, or- "

"It's disgusting!" Ron's mum insisted. "Those people are making this into some huge sensational piece of propaganda! Just look what's already in the Daily Prophet! And the hearing didn't even adjourn an hour ago!" Ron's mum dropped the latest copy of the Prophet on the table, and Ron saw very clearly an upset and silently shouting Hermione leap from the witness chair and disappear into a puff of black and white smoke. The headline blinked, "TEEN LOVERS COMMIT UNFORGIVABLE!" with a subtitle of "HARRY POTTER'S LOVER GOES MAD!"

Tonks shook her head, calmer now, yes, but still angry. "Who's calling the shots in the hearing?" she asked. "Who's behind this Bombridge fellow. Surely there's someone controlling him, or influencing his line of questions. I mean, why else ask a teenager about her sex life?" Ron looked at his shoes to keep himself from looking at Harry at the mention of Hermione having a sex life.

Tonks accepted Lupins handkerchief and blew her nose. "Are the Malfoys behind this? It must be the Malfoys. Some sort of smear campaign."

"If the Malfoys are behind this," Mrs. Weasley said, "we'd best figure out why, and quickly."

"Revenge!" insisted Hestia.

"Do they need a reason?" asked Doge. "Isn't this just the sort of thing they DO?"

Ron felt a little queasy and turned away from the newspaper and then rest of them. None of them seemed to remember that he and Harry were even in the room; and with their candid talk, even in the cool, dark kitchen Ron found himself sweating. No one was doing anything, they were just sitting around talking as if trying to decide the best course to win a quidditch match. If ever Hermione need him it was now, but Ron was at a complete loss as to what to do. Why hadn't he stopped her from casting that bloody spell? She'd been right there, pressed up against him, he easily could have done something, anything...snatched the wand away from her sooner. Killed Draco himself.

He thought his head might explode.

"She shouldn't have to go through this," Ron said to himself, under his breath. "None of this is her fault."

Harry was beside him, and still facing the rest of the room. He put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "We'll figure it out," he assured. "We always do."

How? Ron couldn't see his way through the fog of injustice. "I just hate seeing her cry."

"I know. Me, too." There was a pause, a moment of exhale, and then Harry slowly asked: "Do you remember the last time she cried? Before all of this, I mean. The last time you saw her really cry?"

Ron thought back, but every image that flooded his brain was Hermione reading, or Hermione looking irritated at him, or Hermione rolling her eyes. "No. Not really." She wasn't that type of girl, thank Merlin's beard! Hermione was as level-headed and practical as they came, if prone to outbursts of righteousness and bossiness.

"I do," Harry said quietly. "First year. Remember? She was upset and hiding in the girl's loo, and then the troll-"

"Right," said Ron. He couldn't help but smile a little. They'd been so young then, and Hermione so very annoying. If he'd known then even half of what he knew now... "Now I remember. Oh, and there was the Yule Ball in 4th year. She was a little off her game then."

"We've been through a lot," Harry continued. "The three of us. And I remember a lot of crying on my part, but not her. She's not normally the weepy type." He turned and looked at Ron with sad eyes. "You were there, outside the kitchen with me. You heard everything I heard."

"What?" Ron asked, lost.

Harry nodded back to Tonks, who sat in the chair with a new bout of tears tracking down her cheeks and a protective hand over her stomach. It was no longer flat, but the small bulge was so slight that if one didn't know what to look for it would go completely unnoticed. Lupin was still talking, discussing options and strategy with Moody and several of the Order, but he sat very close to Tonks, his arm around her shoulders, and every so often he cast a concerned glance at her. He didn't like that she was so upset, not that Ron blamed him, but then his eyes lowered to her belly and…Ron knew what to look for. Ron remembered what they'd heard in the hall.

"Do you think?" Harry asked. "Is it possible? That Hermione...?"

Ron's flushed face went ice cold, and the edges of his vision dimmed. For a moment he thought he might topple over, or that his head might actually explode, but then at the last second he lurched to his right and vomited all over the slate floor. His knees buckled and had Harry's reflexes not been what they were Ron would've landed in the mess he just created. Ron's dad bounded to him and they managed to get him seated.

"Head between then knees," Ron's mum ordered. "I'll put on some tea." She flicked her wand and a mop and bucket bounded in from the broom closet at the other end of the room.

Ron barely registered any of this. His mind was lost in a mantra of: "...she's not, she's not, she's not..." Hadn't she said she wasn't? Ron couldn't remember the exact words. All he could recall from that moment was a gut-ripping hatred and the feel of Harry's thin neck between his hands. He looked up at Tonk's stomach - he couldn't help himself - and then had to close his eyes again. A moan escaped his throat. Women in that condition cried all the time, didn't they? Where was she now, at that very moment? Was she afraid? Did she think he'd abandoned her? Or that he would if he knew? He had to go to her. He had to see her for himself, to reassure her. To reassure himself.

His father stopped him before he was even out of the chair. "Easy, now, son. Just sit still for a minute."

"Dad," he croaked out. "You have to get me in to see her!"

"You know I can't," his father said. "And this isn't going to help her. We need to think logically, we need to figure out what's-"

"She's all alone!" Ron insisted. "On level 9. And what if she's…she's…" He lifted his eyes to meet Harry's.

"She's not," Harry said quickly. "She said so, remember? She's not."

"Then why the bloody hell did you bring it up?" Ron's voice went shrill and cracked.

"I don't know!" They were talking over each other, and tension was flying. "I was just thinking how emotional she's been-"

"She's been cursed, pulled apart, thrown to the curb, kidnapped, beaten, tortured, and you wonder why she's been a little weepy lately?" Ron shook his head. "This is about her, Harry, not you! And just so you know: it wouldn't matter to me if she was, either! She's still Hermione! And it's about her, not you!" His gaze shot back to Tonks, the shock on her face and the protective hand over her middle. His insides went wonky again. He needed some air. "Let me go," he said as he yanked his arm from his father's grasp.

He headed out into the cool night with the intent of walking off the craziness buzzing through him, the steady beat of his mantra powering each step. He didn't even notice when it began to drizzle.

He ended up, hours later, exhausted, and outside the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. He crammed himself into the Muggle telephone booth at the corner the way his father had done him the few time Ron had accompanied him to work.

"Wretched people," he grumbled under his breath. "Can't make a booth big enough for a man. Stupid Muggles." He picked up the receiver, dialed MAGIC, and yelled his name at it. There was a voice, but it was so small and far away that he couldn't make out what it said. He yelled, "Ronald Weasley! Here to see Hermione Granger!" After a moment a small badge plopped out of the coin return and Ron glanced at it before he angrily clipped it to his shirt. "RONALD WEASLEY, Lost Cause," it read. A grinding noise shook the booth and it began its descent into the ground. By the time he arrived in the Ministry's lobby he'd had enough time to think about what he was doing here, and what he was going to say. Not that either would win him a prize for brilliance.

"State your name and business," said an older black witch, with bright white hair and teeth. "And slowly, mind you. I have to write it down." She held the quill out, ready to scribble down whatever he said.

"Ronald Weasley," he said as slowly as he could without feeling ridiculous. "And I'm here to see Miss Hermione Granger."

The woman looked up at him. "Oh. Her. You can't see her, you know. She's on level 9."

"I know that. But I need to see her anyway." The woman stared blankly at him over half-moon spectacles. "I need you to make an exception," he said. In his head it had sounded a lot more plausible than it did when it left his mouth.

The guard's eyes narrowed, and her thickly painted lips pursed. "It's for your own safety, you know. She's committed an Unforgivable. That witch is unstable."

"I'll take my chances," he said.

The guard cocked her head to one side, and Ron was certain she'd seen his like before. "You know I'm just a guard here. I can't make that decision for you. Though, if I could, I wouldn't."

"OK," Ron said, revamping his plan. "Then I need to see someone who can make that decision. I've come to see Miss Granger, and I'm not leaving until I have, see?"

"You really think the Minister of Magic has time to talk to the likes of you? He's a busy wizard, and not in the habit of admitting wizards in the middle of the night without an appointment just so they can see their criminal girlfriends! Now, Mr. Weasley, you have exactly ten seconds to turn around and march yourself back into the telephone box before I call security and have you thrown out!"

"She's not a criminal," Ron objected. "She's a girl, and she's scared. She's all alone here on level 9, and I want to see her! Now!"

The guard didn't bother to count. She pointed her finger at the large red knob on the wall beside her and the alarm sounded. Three more guards in peacock blue robes appeared out of no where and had Ron surrounded, with wands drawn, before Ron could even blink.

They threw him out like a rubbish bin, and he landed hard on the rough sidewalk. It was a seedy neighborhood in the Muggle world, and the street was narrow - made even more so because of the broken down and abandoned cars, bags of rubbish, and dim lighting. Worn out and defeated, Ron picked himself up and dusted himself off. The right knee of his jeans was ripped open. It only stung a little.

What was he going to do to help her? What could he do? She needed a new lawyer, right? An advocate who would object to how she was being treated, and who would steer the case back in her favor. So, he reasoned, he'd get her one. He had some money saved. But how did one go about finding a lawyer? Fred and George would know, he figured. With as much liability as they carried? Yeah, they probably had two.

Ron pounded on the door without success, and then went to shooting flares from his wand on to the windows above the store. Eventually, Fred made it to the window. "What's your problem?" he demanded through a yawn. "It's the middle of the night!"

"That's what I told him!" the sign said.

"Open up!" Ron shouted. "I need your help!"

"You're off your nut! It's bleeding one in the morning!"

"Fred! Hermione needs me, and I need your help! I don't know what to do and they've got her locked away and…" He was grasping, he knew, but what other choice was there? He couldn't think straight. "Help!"

For a second his brother hesitated, and Ron could see the battle playing out in his head.

"Freddy?" It was a girl's sleepy voice. "What'cha doin'?"

"Nothin'," he said over his shoulder. Then to Ron: "OK. But just because I like Hermione. Don't make a habit of this." Then he came down and let Ron in.

It took no time at all to retell the story to his brothers. George, a little less receptive than his twin, sucked down two cups of coffee before he said, "Another advocate won't do her a lick of good. The Malfoy's will just get to him, too. You need a better plan, mate."

"Assuming it was the Malfoy's," Fred added unhelpfully.

Ron wasn't ready to abandon the only plan he'd been able to come up with so easily. "What if the new advocate was someone they couldn't get to? Like someone with the Order?"

Fred shrugged. "Are there any barristers in the Order?"

Ron thought for a moment and then sighed. "'Don't think so. But she can't be left alone up there in the chair without council, without someone to object to the way she's being treated. It's like watching a lamb being slaughtered."

"Hardly that," quipped George. "More like a badger, I'd say."

"She's defenseless up there, and the whole time she's trying to protect me and Harry and Ginny..." Ron got lost for a moment in the image of Hermione taking one of the shocks from the chair, and then wild, terrified look her eyes held afterwards. "Do you have any polyjuice potion already made up? Maybe if I look like one of her guards I can get inside to talk to her."

"Talk to her?" George said, as if he'd just tasted something bitter. "She doesn't need a chat, man, she needs action! You've got to find that Draco kid. Get him to admit to torturing her. Maybe if they understand how bad she had it, they'll let her off easy, and stick it to that little wart instead."

"I don't really see what that would do," Fred said, sipping his own coffee, black with seven sugars. "She cast an Unforgivable, not an Unforgivable-Unless-You've-Been-Tortured. Why are they having a trial, anyway? There's not a question of whether she did it, is there? Not that I want Hermione to go to wizard's prison or anything."

"It's a hearing," Ron said, "and it's to determine sentencing." He shook his head. They couldn't send her to Azkaban, they just couldn't. It would break her. If this is what she was like after just two days with Draco, then what would she be like after a month or two in prison? "Do they even send teenagers to Azkaban? Cripes! I've got to do something."

George sighed. "You know we'd help if we could."

"Just be careful," Fred warned. "Don't do anything that might make things worse for her."

Ron glared at his brother. "What kind of a cad do you think I am? Make things worse for her!" Indeed!

"The kind who leaps before he looks," George agreed with his twin. "You've got to admit you're not exactly thinking clearly these days. I mean, case and point, you came to me and Fred for help."

Ron looked from one twin to the other. Damn.

"Go home," George said. "Get some sleep. And stay out of trouble. And don't wake us up in the middle of the effing night anymore!"

"I wish Dumbledore was still alive," Ron said quietly. Everything would be different. Ron thought that they'd probably all be back at Hogwarts, if Dumbledore was there to protect them. But even if not, he certainly would've been able to intervene and help Hermione out of this nightmare. Dumbledore was always a wizard that created fear and awe in Ron, but he always felt safer knowing he was nearby and in control.

The twins nodded in solemn agreement.

Ron didn't go home. Moments later he apparated outside and across the street from number 12 Grimmuald Place. The protective spells and guards on the manse prevented anyone from apparating directly inside, and belatedly Ron realized he no longer had a key to the front door.

It hardly mattered because a moment later Harry skulked out in a dark coat with the collar turned up. It was a chilly night with a stiff breeze that raked dead leaves from the trees, and Ron wished he had his own coat as he followed his friend down the street and around the corner. Harry did a lot of walking in the shadows, though it was difficult to know if he was deliberately trying not to be seen. After all, there was a bright moon out now that cut a path between the clouds and Ron had no problem following him, which meant others wouldn't either.

They walked along a couple of minor roads, down an alley, and out across a public lawn. Ron stepped over the KEEP OFF THE GRASS sign, giving it only the briefest of thoughts. Muggles were concerned with the strangest things.

Harry stopped at a smoke shop, and looked around before heading inside. With his hand on the door he spotted Ron, and for a moment they both just stood there looking at each other. Then Harry let the shop door close, and then went over to meet his friend.

"Fancy meeting you here," he quipped. "Following me?"

Ron shrugged, looked out into the dark, damp. "You looked like you were up to something, and you didn't bother to let me in on it."

Harry's brows rose at the accusation. "You ran off, last I knew. Where did you go, anyway?"

"No where," Ron mumbled. "So, what are we doing here?"

Harry seemed pleased that Ron was ready to join him, and threw a glance back at the dark store. There were lights on, and a figure moving inside, but for the most part the place looked gloomy, especially on this glum night. "I thought of a way to get in to see her," he said quietly. There was no need to ask who he was talking about. "Moody knows a guy who has a brother who works for Madame Stoley," he indicated the figure walking behind the cloudy windows. "She once ran the securities department for the Ministry building. She knows the ins and outs of the whole complex, where the anti-magic spells are, and how to get by them."

Ron blinked at him. "Harry. You're never going to break into the Ministry, are you?"

"Not exactly. But if I can navigate around some of the-"

"Harry! Think, mate! What if we get caught?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll go alone," he said flatly.

"I didn't mean that. What if we get caught and they associate Hermione with us? Or what if we get caught and arrested, and then Hermione needs us even more? Or what if we get caught and it's decided that the Ministry isn't a safe enough place to keep her and they move her to Azkaban until the hearing plays out?"

Harry went a little green. "Uh...I hadn't thought about that."

Ron rolled his eyes. He felt very like Hermione at the moment, and he didn't like it one bit. "Don't make me be the sensible one, Harry. I'm no good at it."

"But how can we do nothing? Lupin said to let the Order handle it, but from what I can tell, they're not doing anything."

They were both men of action, Ron decided. Doers, not talkers. They needed motion to feel useful. Hermione wasn't like them. She was always in her head, always thinking and planning. She would talk an opponent to death faster than either of them could lift a wand. So, what would she do, when there was nothing to do?

The answer dawned. "I think I have an idea," Ron said, feeling a smile cross his lips.

"You think?" Harry asked, doubtful.

"Where's the Daily Prophet building?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Diagon Alley, I suppose."

"Great. The last one there has to spill his guts." Then Ron disappeared with a CRACK.

The building was squat, leaned to one side, and had the Daily Prophet logo animated across the second story windows, and like a ticker tape, the day's headlines ran in a constant flood of sensational story-telling below. HARRY POTTER'S CRAZY KIND OF LOVE...TWO GIRLS AND NOT EVEN TWENTY...RAIN TOMORROW...FIRST DAY OF HEARING ENDS IN SMOKE...

Harry grimaced at the words. "Whatever you're thinking, Ron, I'm sure I don't want to do it."

"They're waging a war against Hermione in that courtroom. We need to wage one for her out here. And you, as it happens," Ron said happily, "have an in. Not only are you friends with Rita Skeeter-"

"I wouldn't call us friends," Harry grumbled.

"You also happen to be The Harry Potter. You'll give them an exclusive."

"Again?"

Ron could see his friend remembering a few years back when Rita Skeeter had painted him a pathetic boy craving attention and love, and mildly insane, and then a second time when Hermione arranged an interview with Rita for the Quibbler telling the truth about You-Know-Who's return. "It worked the last time, didn't it? Hermione's ideas always work. Must be odd to be her."

"I'm not sure she can help it," Harry said, glaring at the building.

"Tell them about Draco, and what Draco did. Tell them about Hermione's advocate and his mysterious disappearance, and about the Malfoy family's connection with the Death Eaters. Lucius is still in Azkaban, after all."

"And us? Do I tell them about her and me? About you and her?"

"If you tell them, then she won't have to feel like she has to protect us."

"And Ginny?" Harry asked. "Do I drag her into this, too? I won't do it."

"She's in it, Harry."

Harry shook his head, hating all the choices before him. Ron could feel the tension in him, the battle of what to do or not do. "If I could just get in and talk to her-"

"What?" Ron demanded. "What would you say to her?"

"I'd tell her that she's not alone," he said lamely. Ron understood. It wasn't about what he'd say, it was about what he wouldn't have to.

Ron pointed to the Prophet's front door. "Tell her in there," Ron said.

Unconvinced and dragging his feet, Harry went inside.

The second day of the hearing had the judge's chamber was packed so tight people were practically sitting on top of each other. Not an inch of standing room was left, and the doors wouldn't shut for all the bodies. The room was overly hot, and before things got started, Tonks excused herself, saying she needed some air. "I'll be back at Headquarters," she told them. "Let me know what's happened the instant this is over."

Ron was beyond nervous. His legs bobbed in an anxious rhythm as he pretended to ignore the whispers and pointing fingers around him. The Daily Prophet had gone to print shortly after Harry got his story out, and the cover page held Ron's Hogwarts picture along with the older picture of Harry and Hermione caught embracing at the Triwizard Tournament a couple of years back. The headline read: DROP OUTS IN LOVERS TRIANGLE, HARRY POTTER SCORNED. Once people got past all the crazy Fated stuff, the article talked in depth about Draco Malfoy and his association with the Death Eaters, as well as the tattoo he wore and the reason he needed the Cup and what he did to Hermione in his attempt to get it.

Of course, that was assuming that people got past the Fated part. Ron was nervous about how his mother would react to the article. He'd crashed at Harry's after they finished at the Prophet, and so he managed to put off that particular moment of awkwardness a little longer. Would she be happy that he and Hermione were Fated once again? Would she scold him for going public with such a private story? Would she understand the necessity?

Judge Rosmarus came into the room, not at all surprised or concerned with the number of people in his chamber. He sat comfortably in his overly large judge's chair, waved at the Amplifitizmo which descended as he announced in a somewhat bored voice: "Let it be known on this day We are continuing to Hear the case of Hermione Granger v. The Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Chancellor Xavier Bombridge for the Prosecution. Chancellor Bombridge is in attendance, as is the Defendant."

The room grew silent in anticipation, and in the next moment there as a huge plume of orange smoke and Hermione appeared on the small dais. She looked awful. Her hair was limp and unkempt, her robes wrinkled as if she'd slept in them - only Ron doubted she had slept; the bags under her eyes were so very dark and pronounced. She didn't startle this time, but quickly took the offered seat, sinking down into it in a very uncharacteristic slouch. Immediately, chains snaked up from under the seat and bound her wrists to the arms of the chair. She stared down at the chains, not in surprise, but more contemplatively, as if she couldn't figure out how she came to find herself in this situation.

"Miss Granger. How lovely to see you." It was Bombridge's pompous clip that curled through the quiet. "I trust today you will keep your composure and give us only the truth. I'd hate to have a repeat of yesterday."

She didn't say anything, didn't look at him. Ron wondered if she had been drugged.

"Let us begin again," said Bombridge. "Please do tell the court about the night of September 19th."

Ron watched her swallow, and then the tip of her tongue flicked out to lick her lips. She closed her eyes. "That's was birthday," she said. Her throat sounded crackly, dry. "You know all about that now."

"Oh, not quite all, Miss Granger. Kindly tell us: What is the Order of the Phoenix?"

End of chapter 9