Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or any existing storylines. I do not own any allusions to existing pieces of literature (i.e., The Crucible), either. This piece of fanfiction is for entertainment only.

...

The second thing I do for myself is acquire a set of beginning Wizarding curriculum books. This Obliviate, whatever it is, brought the entire collection of plum robes to silence. While I had slightly inappropriate need to shout "Your robe is on fire!" just to witness the mayhem, my appropriate side won out when I realized that this was not the way to go. After all, I was trying to make a good impression on the people who could potentially sentence me to a fate worse than internet dating.

Thus, I remained silent as the peanut gallery alternated between feeling very sorry for me ("Poor girl, brightest witch of her age, having her memory wiped and all") and feeling not at all charitable about my predicament ("Devious girl, brightest witch of her age, wiping her own memory in order to escape justice"). I become, simultaneously, both sinner and saint in a Crucible-like production with a Herculean budget for costumes.

As the jury deliberated my apparent memory loss amongst themselves, Mall Santa looked at me thoughtfully, almost as if he could read my mind (that's not possible, is it?) with one finger tapping his lips. I raise my eyebrow as if to say, "It would be great if I knew what this Obliviate does," and his big blue eyes twinkled before proceedings adjourn for the day.

...

Afterwards, safely ensconced in my holding cell deep within a dark and imposing building somewhere off the coast of Britain, I commence my magical education with The Standard Book of Spells, Book 1, moving on to more advanced tomes as the night wore on. Despite their somewhat archaic origins, the philosophical paradigms behind magical subjects are simply fascinating. For example, are you aware that Charms as a subject is different from Transfiguration in that Charms is the study of altering the substance of an object whereas Transfiguration alters the object's substance completely?

Well, neither did I. Clever wordplay aside, the idea that fundamental properties of physics can be changed is ripe with implications for humanity.

Does your food taste bad? Make it sweet or sour, depending on your preferences!

Do you not have enough food? Simply multiply the food you have into more!

Do you need to preserve or deliver food long distances? Use your wand! There are a number of spells that defy both gravity and physics yet somehow work.

All in all, the idea of magic is simply filled with possibilities with a few hardcore rules. Take the properties of food listed above, for example. Food can only be manipulated when an existing source is available. Unfortunately, one cannot Charm or Transfigure food out of thin air, just as one cannot "magic" living things from nothing. While it is possible to alter the atomic structure of things, it is not generally possible to alter the cellular structure of living beings. (Dead beings are another matter, but necromancy is unfortunately not among the subjects I am allowed to study, nor have I made such a request given that I am...on trial for murder. Public perception, etc., etc.)

In other words, turning a few apples into oranges consistent with the rules (something called Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, look it up if you really want to, though it is quite dense and boring); changing the neural pathways of the brain is inconsistent with the rules in the sense that it is difficult to do so with a high degree of accuracy, unless of course one is very, very skilled. Even then, the intricacies of the human mind do not lend themselves well to a high degree of specificity for an infinite amount of time. As I suspected, there are, of course, rare instances in which memory modification have been broken through torture or significant emotional trauma (someone named Crouch and Jorkins?). There are also instances in which memory charms have been so severe as to completely "wipe" the personality of the recipient. The logical conclusion is that certain qualities that are inextricably bound to the physical properties of an object, and that memory charms are only adding or subtracting to the properties of the mind in varying degrees.

Meaning that I could, in theory, reproduce the memories that were altered because something of their fundamental structure is still inextricably bound to the structure of my brain even if I do not "remember" it per se.

This would be very helpful in determining whether or not I am, in fact, hallucinating, massively sleep-deprived, on something very potent, or all of the above. Figuring out how to recover my memories would help answer a number of life-saving questions such as: Who am I? Where did I come from? Why am I here? And, most importantly, How Do I Get Out Of Here, preferably alive.

Or as the Prosecution would like to know, am I really Hermione Granger, or someone with a similar enough personality with the "extras" carefully removed to resemble her? If I am Hermione, why did I murder innocent people and then wipe my own mind? Did I plan out enough to know that I would eventually recover my memories? What knowledge was contained within them, that I would need to erase them instead of carrying them with me to trial?

...

Luckily, I find the beginnings of some answers during the second day in court. A witness (actually, perpetually dim-witted prancing puppet) named Gilderoy Lockhart is brought in as a prime example of Hermione Granger's magical prowess, star witness to how a brilliant witch could both plan and execute a fantastical serial murdered plot and then conveniently remove herself as a prime suspect through memory modification. The argument against me, unfortunately, does not inspire confidence in myself; the person brought in to testify, however, inspires many feelings, mostly of mind-numbing exasperation.

Lockhart is presented before the Plum-robes with perfectly coiffed hair and, inexplicably, a straitjacket, as he was transported from St. Mungo's Hospital for the proceedings. The testimony before Fluffy and the prosecution is pronounced with great flourish as if starring in a movie. Name: Gilderoy Lockhart. Favorite color: lavender. Dream: marketing his own line of hair care products. Profession: famous celebrity, author, and former Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...where he taught one Hermione Granger.

This bleached, pompous milquetoast with an ego the size of Britain is a professor? No wonder wizards and witches were loons; these adults legitimately hired a permanent resident of a magical psychiatric ward to teach young children. Were no other qualified candidates available to fill the post? Can't these people conjure up some dancing candy instead? What kind of education are magical children receive at this Hogwarts, anyway? There were simply no standards!

"Ah, yes." Lockhart announced loudly, gesticulating grandly through his white-buckled spandex as soon as he spotted me, without any prompting whatsoever from Fluffy or any members of the gallery. "That's Miss Granger. A most prodigiously talented witch. Not as brilliant as myself, of course, though closer than any of my contemporaries. For full details: see my published works. She is reasonable bright for her age, however, being the student in the entire year to score above one hundred percent in all of my quizzes about my autobiography."

Fluffy is sickeningly happy at this. "Miss Granger is one of your favorite students, then? Would it be safe to state that you were supportive of, even indulgent, of her various requests even though they broke school and ethical rules?" Lockhart beamed in assent, blonde curls dancing, hardly noticing as Fluffy brandishes a lavender colored, scented piece of paper under his face. "Would you kindly confirm that this is your signature, Professor, giving Miss Granger special permission to access the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library?"

Without even glancing down, Lockhart leans forward and sniffs- sniffs!- the paper, muttering something about frauds copying his autograph for profit. "Yes, this is an authentic Gilderoy signature, done with my signature peacock feather pen. It has a distinctive sage and mint scent, you see, a most thoughtful parting gift from a most thankful Sultan after I rid his Kingdom of some particularly troublesome Cornish-"

The rest of a riveting tale is cut off by Fluffy's pointed, girlish cough, effectively robbing Lockhart of his one captive audience member who was not gaping in shock (too many adjectives, I suspect). As the paper is thrust under my nose, I, too, am visually assaulted by the sight of enough loops and whirls to strangle a small animal after the overwhelming scent knocks them unconscious. I was wrong; this Lockhart has an ego the size of several universes. Tucked in a corner with a minuscule twenty-five flourishes is a request for the library to lend Moste Potente Potions. "Do you recognize this permission slip Professor Lockhart signed for you, Miss Granger?"

"No." I reply shortly. "I do not."

The toad-like woman is not easily deterred by such items as reasonably firm denials of non-existent events. "Are you saying that you do not recall asking Professor Lockhart to borrow a most dangerous artifact of dark magic from the library at a school you have been attending since you were eleven?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying." I repeat again, a little less patiently. "I do not recall this book, nor do I recall asking this...this memorably humble gentleman...to borrow books on a subject that I do not believe exists at a school I do not remember attending."

"And yet Professor Lockhart here insists that you flattered him into signing this permission slip at Hogwarts to perform what later witnesses will testify to as a highly advanced level of magic for the purpose of deception and rule-breaking?"

I look at Lockhart (he's currently tracking figure-eights with his feet on someone's robes while laughing delightedly, like a small child) and shake my head again. "He is hardly a credible witness. With all due respect, ma'am, Professor Lockhart would be flattered if a shadow asked him to autograph the moon. If all the professors are as qualified as he is, I am not surprised that children at Hogwarts would resort to teaching themselves at the library."

There a curious gleam in Fluffy's eyes now. "Are you aware, Miss Granger, that shortly after signing this permission slip for you, Professor Lockhart was subject to an Obliviate spell?"

"Perhaps he was helping another Sultan?" I suggest helpfully, to a few sniggers in the audience. I didn't mark their owners, though Head Loon's mustache definitely wiggled.

"So you categorically deny that you tricked Professor Lockhart into providing you with the means to masquerade as forthcoming witnesses Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle in order to commit the serious infraction of breaking and entering a Hogwarts Common Room?"

For an answer, I turned to Lockhart again. "Would you say that I have attacked, tricked, or poisoned you, Professor Lockhart, during your time at Hogwarts?" Said professor didn't answer, as he had commenced singing about warty frogs and filling brains now that his autograph has been removed and no one was watching his one-man show of robe-stealing. In the span of a few moments, he seemed entranced by the light glinting off Head Loon's glasses and was trying to match the reactions of the sunbeams, rather awkwardly, as if he was trying to appear under a stage light for an opera. At his non-response, I shrug again. "It does not appear as if Professor Lockhart believes I have tried or manipulated him to commit any crimes, ma'am."

Fluffy is not amused; bits of steam are rising above her too-pink brooch, a gaggle of murmuring cats today. "Professor Lockhart unable to respond to your questions as he is the victim of a severe Memory Impairment charm, potentially cast by you as part of your quest to become the most powerful witch of your age. Perhaps, having successfully casting Obliviate on your professor to hide your dark deeds, you have been perfecting your technique as a serial murderer. Now, having been caught, you have turned your most useful weapon against others on yourself with the hope of escaping justice."

I couldn't help but laugh at this absurd yet perhaps all-too true theory of my rise to power. "Or perhaps the person who wiped my memory used him for target practice and missed. You have a nice theory, but we have yet to see any evidence that I have the means to perform Obliviate or any other spell. Everyone saw how the wand from yesterday, right? How exactly did I commit serial magical crimes without any magic producing implements?"

Euphoric expectation is the only description for the smile that lit up Fluffy's face. "Funny you should ask that, Miss Granger. All twelve of your victims were stabbed to death."