Disclaimer: Quantum mechanics says that Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling…probably.

A/N: Well, here's the end of Hermione's second year. I had a surprising amount of stuff to wrap up the year with. What new adventures does third year have in store? With O.W.L.-level Arithmancy, it won't be boring.

Chapter 38

Hermione was still tired, sore, and a little shell-shocked when she trudged up to her room after breakfast the next day, lost in thought about a certain wild plan for the summer that had come to her in the night. Harry would be in the Hospital Wing for another day, and Ron and Ginny were keeping to themselves for the moment, but of course, her four roommates cornered her at once (Dumbledore had only told them that the Heir and the monster had been defeated at breakfast) and demanded to hear the whole story. Sally-Anne hugged her tight and thanked her profusely when Hermione explained what had happened, and she didn't blame her. There were finally safe now.

All of her roommates were horrified at what she'd had to go through, especially for the second year in a row, but Parvati was especially concerned. "Hermione, we're sorry we haven't been more help to you this past year," she told her. The other girls nodded in agreement. "It had to have been terrifying with all those attacks on muggle-borns. We're sorry we weren't paying more attention."

Hermione blushed. She couldn't help thinking how she'd been ignoring Ginny for so long. "It's okay, girls," she said. "I got by well enough on my own."

"You! Potter! Granger!" Draco Malfoy stormed up to the two of them (and Ron and Ginny) once Harry was out of the infirmary. He was so livid that he had run ahead of Crabbe and Goyle, leaving them panting to catch up. "My father told me you tricked him into freeing our elf," he spat.

Harry and Hermione stood their ground against the Slytherin brat. Ginny trembled, but Ron supported her.

"Yeah? Well, he deserves worse than that for what he did to Ginny," Ron shot back.

"The way your father treated that elf was abominable," Hermione added. "In the muggle world, he could get in trouble treating so much as a ferret like that."

Ginny conspicuously looked Malfoy up and down and quipped, "Looks like it's a good thing he doesn't," to general laughter.

For a moment Malfoy looked more like a fish than a ferret, but he collected himself and said, "You stay out of this, Weaslette. You two—" He pointed at Harry and Hermione. "—you owe us a new elf."

"Dobby was freed fair and square," Hermione informed him. "I even checked with the kitchen elves."

Malfoy made an exaggerated retching sound: "Ugh, figures the mudblood would be an elf-lover."

"You shut up about her!" Ron yelled. However, as he had not yet received a spare wand (Bill was sending him his old one), he couldn't hex Malfoy this time.

"It's a good thing I am, Malfoy," Hermione replied. "My having an elf as a friend probably saved Ginny's life."

"Oh, yes, tragedy averted," the Slytherin replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ron growled, and Harry said, "Sod off, Malfoy," and drew his wand. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle did, too, and Hermione was close behind them.

"Expelliarmus," Harry said, while Hermione cast, "Lumos Solem," both of them using the same spells they had used in the Chamber.

Harry's spell hit Crabbe before he could get one off, and Hermione blinded Goyle, causing his spell to go wide. Malfoy, however, had got creative. Ron's large Herbology book was transfigured into an equally large spider, which clung to his robes. Ron screamed like a girl and ran in circles, trying to knock it off.

"You—you—!" Ginny stammered as Malfoy laughed. She drew her wand, and Hermione knew at once what was going to happen and watched Ginny's hand carefully.

"Chiroptera Mucosa!"

"ARGH! You'll pay for this, Weaslette!" Malfoy choked before running away from the black bats crawling out of his nose and beating him about the head.

"Ron, hold still!" Hermione said. She shot the strongest un-transfiguration spell she knew at his chest, and the spider turned back into a book and fell to the ground.

"Phew, thanks, Hermione," he said.

The boys went outside after that, with classes over for the day, but Hermione hung back, saying, "Ginny, could I talk to you in private for a minute."

"I'm still not gonna teach you that spell," she said with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes: "Not about that."

"Oh…okay."

Hermione was suddenly aware that more parts of the castle didn't really feel appropriate for this kind of conversation, and she tried to think of an appropriate place to go. Empty classrooms were usually good for a private chat, but they weren't particularly comfortable or intimate, which she really wanted in this case. The Common Room almost always had people in it—not the privacy she was sure they needed. The library was better, but even there, there tended to be prying eyes. It seemed odd, now that she thought about it, that there was no really comfortable place in the castle where two students could go alone to talk without fear of being interrupted…Actually, no, it wasn't odd, she realised. It would discourage amorous upper-year students. She pulled her map from her robes, though it was still missing a few of the secret rooms, to look for more ideas.

"Is that the famous map?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, I just thought I'd look for something more comfortable than an unused classroom."

"Is it really that big a deal?"

"Maybe not. But I really wanted to find someplace where you could—where both of us could talk comfortably." Then, she remembered something Sonya had said: Hogwarts is always having more secrets. She knew a secret or two herself that she hadn't—couldn't have—drawn on her map. "Ginny, would you mind doing a bit of climbing?" she said. "I want to show you something that very few people know about."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her friend's suggestion, and Hermione led her to the Grand Staircase. They climbed. They passed the seventh floor and into the Great Tower proper. They passed the fourteenth floor, the highest that students could climb in any of the other towers. Finally, they hit the seventeenth floor, where things started to turn strange. Everything was a copy of something else in the castle from the seventeenth floor upwards—more and more distorted copies the higher one went. The portraits were blurry and didn't speak, the stairs were crooked, the stones in the walls weren't square cut, and the rooms were based on other rooms in the castle.

Ginny was panting. She'd only really conditioned herself to climb up to her dorm on the eighth floor (besides Astronomy once a week) rather than Hermione's dorm on the fourteenth. "How high up are we?" she asked.

"High," Hermione said. She was looking in each room they passed, now. "Higher that the whole castle from the outside."

"Really? How high does it go?"

"Forever, I think. It's a weird place. I think it's kind of generated by the magic of the castle. The rooms change when you turn your back, and if you go up another ten floors, it's downright scary, but we should be okay if we don't go much higher than this floor. Fred and George might have mentioned when I sent them up here."

"Oh, yeah, I remember. That was a good prank."

Hermione kept looking in the rooms as they passed: classroom, study room, bedroom, seventeenth floor, eighteenth floor, nineteenth floor—jackpot. It was a miniature common room, with a single sofa, a table, and a small fireplace (that might or might not work). It was decked out in Ravenclaw colours, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and she didn't feel comfortable going any higher. She laughed at her find. How many amorous upper-year students knew about this little trick?

"Hermione, what is this place?" Ginny asked in surprise.

"Don't know. The castle just created it. My best guess is that there's some magic that expands the Great Tower, but the castle doesn't really know what to put here, so it just fills it in with bits of the rest of the castle. Come on, let's sit down."

Ginny sat next to her on the single sofa.

"Look, maybe I'm overreacting here," Hermione started, "but I wanted to sit somewhere comfortable where there was no chance of anyone walking in on us. No one ever comes up here…we're not really supposed to come up here."

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Ginny asked nervously.

"Well, the first thing is…I want to apologise to you, Ginny."

"Me?" the younger girl said in surprise. "Why would you need to apologise to me? I was the one who—"

"No, Ginny. We've been over this. What Riddle did wasn't your fault. That was all on him." Ginny swallowed hard and nodded sadly. Hermione continued, "I wanted to apologise because I've been a terrible friend to you."

"No you haven't," Ginny said automatically.

"Yes, I have. I saw how lonely you were at the beginning of the year, and I tried to be your friend. But then, when the attacks started, I got scared, and I started ignoring you. If I'd been there for you, maybe you could have…"

Ginny started to crack. With tears forming in her eyes, she said, "No, Hermione, I was the one hiding everything. Tom was…he was trying to make me hide it. I was so scared of Percy turning me in or something…"

"Hey, it's okay," Hermione said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "And I mean it. I'm going to try to be a better friend to you next year. I'm going to be really busy with all my classes, but I'm going to try not to leave you out—and I'll tell Ron not to leave you out, either."

Ginny chuckled weakly at that. "Thanks, Hermione."

"It's really no trouble. The other thing was…I wanted to ask how you've been holding up."

"What? I mean—I'm fine. I mean…I'm doing okay."

"Ginny, please. I know Harry thinks you're perfectly happy again. And I'm sure Ron wants to think that. But I'm not so sure. I know I'm not okay right now. I'm already having nightmares, and I feel close to panicking sometimes." She could see the dark circles under Ginny's eyes, too. "I'm honestly not sure even the boys are okay, but I really don't think you are. And that's nothing on you, mind. We've all been through a really traumatic experience, and as brilliant as Dumbledore is, in the muggle world, you don't just send someone to bed with a mug of hot cocoa after something like that. You give them someone to talk to…if you want to, that is."

Ginny started shaking and crying openly. Suddenly, she threw her arms around Hermione and clung tight to her chest. "I…I can't…" she muttered.

"It's okay," Hermione whispered, stroking her hair. "I understand if you don't want to, but…I don't know how much Ron told you about what happened last year, when Professor Quirrell died. I was there, remember? And it was scary. But last summer, my parents made me talk to a counsellor—it's like a…a muggle mind healer, except they mostly try to help by talking—we used a cover story. Anyway, at first, I didn't want to talk about it any more than I had to, but after I did, I was glad I had. It really did help." Actually, it was why Hermione had thought to have this conversation with the little redhead in the first place.

Ginny whimpered softly and sat still in Hermione's arm for a few minutes. And then, haltingly, she started to speak: "With Tom, he…he was always there to talk to me…He was always nice to me…He…he had…he had nice things to say when I was scared or worried…I thought he was helping me—he even helped me with my homework sometimes—but…but then it was all a lie, wasn't it?" She was suddenly very glad that Hermione had insisted on such a private setting.

Hermione tried to remember the way her counsellor had talked to her and said, "That must make it really hard to trust people, doesn't it?"

Ginny clutched Hermione's robes even tighter and nodded. "I…I thought he was my best friend," she whispered. "He was just using me the whole time…H-Hermione, where do I go from here?"

"There, there, Ginny," she replied. "Just think about what you really do have. You…you trust your Mum and Dad, don't you?"

She looked up and nodded again: "Uh huh."

"And you trust your brothers, right?"

"Yeah…except…" She broke away and curled up in the corner of the sofa.

"What?"

"It's hard with Percy," she admitted.

"You know he loves you just as much as the others," Hermione insisted.

"I know, but…I just don't think he gets it. He's so worried about becoming Head Boy," she complained. "I was…I don't know."

"You said you thought he would turn you in," Hermione recalled. "Why?"

"Because he's Percy!" Ginny burst out. "Because that's what he always does."

"Because that's his automatic response? Because you thought he'd do it 'for your own good' whether it was the right thing to do or not?"

"Yes! Exactly! I know he wants to help, but I thought he'd just make it worse."

Hermione could see it now. Percy was what she could have become if she hadn't met Harry and Ron: an overachiever, a stickler for the rules, and always deferring to authority, right or wrong. She could see how it would grate on all of his younger siblings—after all, she had grated on Ron pretty hard at first.

"I trust you, too," Ginny blurted out, and immediately regretted it. It made her feel incredibly vulnerable. Hermione had been good to her, but she wasn't family, and if the girl said anything to shake that trust now…

"I…er…it's good to hear that," she said lamely. She couldn't help but think it was more than she deserved.

"I couldn't believe after I tried to—" Ginny stopped herself. "After you were attacked by the basilisk, and you still came down there to save me."

"Ginny, I tried running away at Christmas, and I hated it. I'm not gonna be stupid about it, but I don't want to run anymore. I'm really glad that you trust me, and I can't promise I'll be perfect, but I will promise to try my hardest never to betray that trust."

Ginny hugged her again and said, "Thanks, Hermione. You really are a good friend, and…and I'll try to come to you if I feel like I need to talk…Actually, there was something else."

"What is it?"

"Harry," she said nervously. "What does Harry think about me?"

"What, you mean being a clueless boy and thinking you're perfectly happy again? Or what does Harry think about Ginny Weasley in general?"

"Um, the second one, I guess," Ginny said, blushing.

"Well, I know he's really happy you're alright. He thinks you're a nice kid. He knows you're good at flying. And I know he likes your entire family. He thinks you're all fun to be around—and so do I for that matter. But…I think he doesn't really know you all that well. To be honest, I feel like I don't know you all that well, and I was at least halfway trying."

She sighed: "I was afraid of that."

"Hey, it's okay. There's always time for us to get to know you better."

"Yes, but…" Suddenly the words came tumbling out: "You know I really like Harry, Hermione. I mean, I've liked him forever because I've heard all the stories, and I know most of them are made up, but when I heard what he did in the Chamber—with a sword! That was amazing! There's so much more to him than the stories. I couldn't believe he'd risk his life like that for me."

"Of course he would. He's Harry. Besides, you're Ron's sister. We couldn't just leave you down there. We're all here for you."

Ginny didn't know what to say, so she just hugged Hermione again, but she still sounded sad. "Harry doesn't even know I'm there, though," she said. "Not…not normally, anyway. I want to get closer to him, but I can't even talk to him! I try, and I just freeze up, and it's got even worse now. I'm so worried he's never going to notice me. I…I know he could wind up with somebody else someday, but…but I at least want to have a chance."

Hermione looked at her awkwardly. This was fast getting out of her area of expertise. "Well, I don't have much more experience with boys than you do," she cautioned, "and I wouldn't trust my roommates' advice as far as I could throw them. But…I think Harry notices you a little more than you think…but honestly, Ginny, I think maybe you need to stop trying so hard to talk to him. Hear me out. You freeze up when you try to talk to him, so maybe you need to back off and just try to relax around him. Be yourself, and don't worry about what Harry will see. I saw you fly back at the Burrow, and I spent the whole week with you. Believe me, there's definitely a girl in here worth noticing—" She laid a hand on Ginny's chest. "—but you have to be able to let her out."

Ginny smiled at this more brightly than Hermione had seen in months. Hermione really thought she would attract Harry's attention if she managed to loosen up, especially if she kept flying like she had last fall. Of course, this was Harry they were talking about; he was almost as clueless as Ron sometimes. She didn't want to get the younger girl's hopes up too much, so she continued, "And one more thing, Ginny: you and Harry are both still really young. You have plenty of time for romance. Right now, you should focus on getting to know each other, and when you get a little older, maybe even consider dating somebody else for a while. Who knows—maybe you'll find out somebody else was really the right one for you all along. Or maybe not. The important thing is you shouldn't put your own life on hold for Harry. You should go out and live for yourself. Plus, Harry's has a rough childhood, and frankly, I have a feeling he's going to be a bit slow on the uptake."

"Well…I'll think about that," Ginny said, clearly overwhelmed by the unexpected advice. "Thanks…for everything."

"How are you holding up, Hermione?" Professor Vector asked.

Hermione took a contemplative sip of tea as she sat in the parlour of her teacher's apartment. "It's hard," she said slowly. "It's strange—I felt like I knew exactly what I needed to say to Ginny, but it's so much harder to deal with it myself."

Vector smiled kindly at her: "I'm not surprised. It's always one of the hardest things to deal with your own problems. Plus, I could tell almost from the beginning that you're one of those people who's your own worst critic. But I hope you feel comfortable coming to me any time you need to talk."

"Mmm…thank you, ma'am." Hermione took another slightly shaky sip of tea. "You know what the craziest part is?"

"Hmm?"

"The scariest thing that happened to me down there—it wasn't anything to do with the basilisk. It wasn't anything to do with Riddle…It was when Gilderoy Lockhart tried to wipe my memories!" Her hands started shaking so hard that she had to set down her tea.

Causing almost as much buzz as the slaying of Slytherin's monster was the arrest of Gilderoy Lockhart for illegal use of Memory Charms. The news was met with outrage, shock, and outright denial from many of the girls, while many of the boys claimed they knew he was a fraud all along. After being taken away and questioned by the Aurors, the charges piled up, as it was revealed that he had memory charmed dozens of people around the world, who were now being sought out for treatment, enough to potentially send him to Azkaban Prison for life.

"Honestly, that's not all that surprising, either," Professor Vector said. "Unusual, perhaps, but not surprising. I know you place a great deal of value on the integrity of your mind."

"Well, shouldn't everyone?" Hermione said hysterically. "I mean, Memory Charms are terrifying! Just a wave of his wand, and he could make everyone think we'd lost our minds? How much is that? Months? Years? Isn't that almost as bad as killing somebody? I mean, I've seen Short Circuit 2—"

"What?"

"Muggle film…never mind. It's just that it's so horrible. You can have everything you are taken away in an instant…Professor…are Memory Charms reversible?" she asked, fearing what the answer would be.

"Well, it's complicated," Vector said apologetically, "but usually yes, except in the rare event something goes wrong. Specific, recent memories can be removed more thoroughly than older or more general ones and are very hard to get back. On the other hand, large memory wipes still require intensive healer's therapy…and roughly as much time as the amount that was lost."

"But that's still horrible! I could have been laid up for years getting my memory back, even if anybody knew what really happened. We all could have!"

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't know what to say. Lockhart is a bad man. Fortunately, he was stopped, and he'll be brought to justice."

"And his story was so ridiculous, too!" she went on. "Lost our minds at the sight of her mangled body? Emotional trauma doesn't cause memory loss. Not that much. Not permanently."

Vector set down her teacup and looked at her with intense interest: "Hermione, what would your parents have done if you'd come home missing months or years of your memory?"

She shuddered at the very thought. "My parents both have muggle medical training. They…they would've taken me to a muggle doctor for a second opinion," she realised with a start. "And they would've given me an MRI to see what was wrong with me. Ma'am, what does a Memory Charm physically do to the brain?"

"Physically? Nothing. The memories aren't gone. You just can't access them. Otherwise it wouldn't be treatable. Hermione, are you saying that your parents would have recognised that magic had been used on you?"

"Yes! I'm sure they would. If they saw I'd lost my memory, but nothing was physically wrong with me, they'd immediately think magic—especially after last year."

After this, Vector laughed loudly and heartily. "Merlin's beard! I think Lockhart made a very big mistake trying to Memory Charm a muggle-born. You see, so many strange things can happen in the wizarding world—and he was so famous—that most wizards would have believed his story without questioning it, but you say your muggle parents would have seen right through it, gone to get you treatment, and caught him anyway. I'll have to tell the Aurors to tell him that."

"Wow…I guess so…but still, I could have lost years of my life and spent years getting it back. I would have lost my friends, my teenage years, my career—"

"Not if I had anything to say about it. Once I got my own memory back, I would have tutored you as far as I could take you. You might have got a late start, but witches live a long time."

"You'd do that for me?"

"I certainly would. Seeing your spellcrafting skills in action, well, I've rarely seen such a combination of raw intelligence, courage under pressure, and dedication to your friends. After the past two years, I'm not going to leave you, Hermione Granger, and I don't think your friends would be ones to abandon you, either."

Hermione leaned across the table and hugged her teacher: "Thank you so much, Professor. I know my friends, too—of course, Harry would've been in there with me—but when Ron came and knocked Lockhart down and took off the invisibility cloak—erm, that was pretty impressive."

Vector smiled to herself as her student's face lit up talking about her friends. She was in for a rough summer, perhaps, but she was going to be fine. "Muggles call that 'the cavalry', no?" she said.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione laughed.

"I never thought I'd be so glad to see a student breaking the rules," her professor laughed with her.

"Things have got really weird around here."

"Sadly, yes…" An awkward silence stretched after that painfully true assessment. "So how are your differential equations going?" Vector asked.

Hermione shrugged. "They're going—on schedule. It's kind of creepy because I can already see the elements of curses in them."

"It can be, yes, but you get used to it for the most part, and many other powerful spells are described with differential equations." Hermione nodded to her. "So what's next for you?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe linear algebra."

"Really?" Vector said interestedly. "You know, that is starting to touch on advanced arithmancy research."

"It is?"

"Of course. A lot of advanced techniques are in linear algebra—solving arbitrary linear systems, regression techniques, Fourier expansions…"

"I'm pretty sure it's the maths in quantum mechanics, too."

"Quantum mechanics?"

"The muggle science of the fundamental physics underlying all matter and energy."

"Well, then, it's not surprising it's involved in so much advanced magic." She gazed off into space in thought for a moment. "Hermione, would you be interested in an independent study in advanced arithmancy?"

Hermione's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Professor…do you mean, like, N.E.W.T.-level arithmancy?"

"Strictly speaking, I'm talking about masters-level—but that's not really the sense I mean. I mean that if your linear algebra book is as thorough as your calculus book, you may well reach the point where you could teach me a few things this fall. Don't mistake me—you still have a long way to go in actual spellcrafting, but I'm suggesting that we could explore the applications of the maths you're studying with those arithmantic techniques that you already know. It won't exactly be cutting edge, at least at first, but I think we may be able to put together a paper for the Annals of Arithmancy by the end of next year. It wouldn't need to be a major commitment. I know you'll be very busy with your new classes. Perhaps just an hour a week would be enough."

"Ma'am, I…I don't know what to say," Hermione stammered. "That would be wonderful. But…why are you offering this to me?"

"Because I'm very interested to see what you'll come up with. Because you're easily capable of it. And one other reason: a mastery normally takes three years of study post-Hogwarts. But if you get a head start on the research before you take your N.E.W.T.s, I believe you could complete one by the time you graduate."

Hermione squealed with delight as she ran around the table to hug her professor. Yes, Vector thought. She's going to be just fine.

"So let me get this straight," Cedric Diggory said. Life went on after the incident, as did Arithmancy class, and so the study group. "You invented a new variant of the Colour-Change Charm."

"On the spot—in your head," Roger Davies emphasised.

"And it let you look a giant basilisk in the eye without even losing consciousness, let alone being petrified."

"Basically, yes," Hermione said. "I blocked out almost all of its eye colour, so I pretty much couldn't actually see its eyes. And even then, it felt like being hit in the head with a Bludger—or so I assume."

Cedric threw up his hands at that—although he and the others were still smiling in admiration. "That's it," he said. "You win. You win at Arithmancy forever. I could never come up with a spell in my head like that."

"Oh, I'm sure you could in a pinch," Hermione said. "Especially one that we've studied in so much detail, like the Colour-Change Charm."

"Yeah, we could," Roger said, "but we could never make it look easy, like you can."

"We're proud of you, Hermione," said Alicia Spinnet. "I know Gryffindor is—"

"Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had victims, too," Cedric pointed out.

"Yeah, you might've saved Penelope's life," Roger said, "and I think everyone's glad the school won't have to close."

"Mm-hmm," Hermione blushed. "Oh, and Filch even came up to me yesterday and thanked me for defeating the monster."

"Filch being nice," Alicia said, shaking her head. "Only you, Hermione. So how are you holding up?"

"Oh, I'm getting by. Professor Vector's been a big help. But I'll feel better when I convince my parents to let me come back again."

"They wouldn't withdraw you!" Alicia gasped.

Hermione shook her head: "They wanted to last year, and again at Christmas. I'm gonna try my hardest to come back."

"You'd better. The monster's dead. The threat's gone, now."

"I know, but you how parents can be. I'm gonna try, though."

"Well good. And you know you can still come talk to us, too."

"Uh huh. Thanks."

"You know, this polyhedra stuff is actually pretty interesting," Roger said, opening his Arithmancy book.

"Yeah, it's nice that they actually teach the Archimedean Solids…" Hermione replied.

They were interrupted as they saw a girl with black hair and tanned skin approached the table. "Oh, hi, Rebecca," Roger said.

"Hey, Roger," Rebecca Gamp replied before turning to her youngest classmate. "So is it true what they're saying, Hermione?" she asked. "About the basilisk and the spellcrafting and stuff?"

"Well…not a hundred percent," Hermione said, "but most of the rumours I've been hearing are more or less right."

Rebecca shook her head in disbelief. "I don't know how you got so good," she muttered. "Hey, I'm, uh, sorry I didn't help you out the other day, but you were being pretty vague."

Rebecca sounded more annoyed about it that anything else, but Hermione replied politely, "It's alright. It all worked out in the end."

It had taken three long weeks for the mandrakes to mature after the basilisk was killed so that the victims of its petrifying gaze could be revived. Once that happened, Hermione worked up the nerve to talk to a certain one of them—one she had wanted, and feared a little, to talk to for months. Things had got a lot better for her now, but on top of the nightmares and the horrors of Riddle, the basilisk, and Lockhart, there was still one nagging fear that was eating at the back of her mind.

"Excuse me, Sir Nicholas?"

The ghost turned in the air. Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape, and Professor Dumbledore had put their heads together and decided to just spray the Mandrake Restorative Potion through Nearly-Headless Nick in a mist. Even though ghosts couldn't taste food, it actually worked, and Nick was back to his usual, mournful, silvery self.

"Why, hello, Miss Granger," he replied.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few things, Sir Nicholas. I've tried to ask Myrtle, but, well, I think she's too young—and being a muggle-born doesn't do her any favours."

"Oh, I suppose so," Nick sighed. "Actually, I suppose I must thank you, both for defeating the monster and saving the school, and also for helping Myrtle. The change that has come over her is simply miraculous. What did you want to know?"

Hermione's folded her hands to suppress their trembling as she asked, "Well, the first thing was…how does someone actually become a ghost?"

Nick's shimmering countenance fell. "You are very young," he said. "You do not know what you are asking." He started to drift away.

Hermione ran after him: "Please, Sir Nicholas. I've faced death enough times, now; I think I need to know."

The ghost's eyes narrowed in evaluation of her. He seemed to be considering whether to respond, but finally, he said slowly, "A witch or wizard may choose to remain behind when they die—may choose to leave an imprint of themselves behind, to walk palely where they once trod in life. But very few choose that path, and it is not a path I can recommend."

What? she thought. Did Nick think she wanted to become a ghost? He had to be mad! "Talking to Myrtle, I couldn't recommend it either," she said.

Nick was so surprised that his head wobbled on his neck. "You—couldn't?" he stammered. "But then, why would you want to know?"

"Because I wanted to know how you—Myrtle—all the ghosts…I'm sorry, but how you became…trapped like this, Sir Nicholas. You say it's a choice? What, some kind of spell? A ritual?"

"Nothing so concrete," Nick replied coldly. "Our secret is only that we were afraid of death. The choice is the choice to give in to fear—to remain behind, trapped forever between the world of the living and what lies Beyond. I am here because my Gryffindor courage failed me."

Hermione frowned and shook her head: "But that doesn't make any sense. Lots of people are afraid of death. But I can do the maths, and ghosts have to be rare—one or two in a hundred wizards, by the look of it. What's so different about them—no offence?"

"It is not ordinary fear," Nick clarified. "A witch or wizard becomes a ghost if they are more afraid of death than they are of the pale half-life of a ghost, even if they are not consciously aware of that choice."

"Ohhh…" Hermione sighed with relief. Hadn't she told herself explicitly that the fate of a ghost was a fate worse than death? It was a strange comfort to hear that magic itself was aligned with her values. She feared death, certainly. How could she not when she was confronted with it at thirteen? But she would not give in to fear. Still, it wasn't good that the ghosts who had made that choice were forced to suffer for it. "Isn't there any way for ghosts to…move on?" she asked. "That's what happens in muggle stories."

Nick shook his head sadly: "We do not know—or if we do, I've forgotten. None have seen it. Since only magical beings can become ghosts, there are some who believe that if all the magic were somehow drained from the world, Merlin forbid, then all the ghosts would fade. There are others who believe that if a ghost came to regard the unknown that lies beyond the Veil as less frightening than their own meagre existence, then they would go on, but because ghosts cannot grow beyond what they were in life, none has ever been seen to do so."

Hermione nodded solemnly. So there was no real help for Myrtle or any of the others, then. "There was something else I was wondering, Sir Nicholas."

"Yes?"

"I was thinking about your deathday party. Where do ghosts get quills, ink, and parchment to write letters? Where do they get musical saws to play or ghost horses to ride?"

Nick tilted his head (to the non-flopping side, of course) as he regarded Hermione. "Strange to see such an interest from one so young," he said. "As for the horses, ghosts may take some of their property with us when we die. Just as we retain imprints of our clothes, swords, and jewelry, so may avid riders ride into the afterlife on ghostly horses. As for the other effects, there is a ritual, of sorts. When an object is burnt in a magical fire, a ghost can reach in while it is burning and pull out a ghostly copy of it, provided it is small enough to lift."

"You can?" Hermione said. "But then you could make food—"

"Not food. The burning is still a transformation, of sorts. Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration applies to ghosts, too. Just as our wands become mere sticks in the afterlife, so too we cannot acquire intangible food."

"Ah, I understand," she said. That actually makes quite a lot of sense.

"Was there anything else, Miss Granger?"

Hermione thought about another tidbit she'd learnt recently: "Well…"

"Come on, Myrtle," Hermione said. "I arranged the whole thing with Sir Nicholas. We've got all the ghosts in the castle and a few from outside, and five live guests—and the Bloody Baron's even agreed to keep Peeves away. You've been feeling a lot better since the whole basilisk incident, haven't you? You should get out and live—afterlive a little."

"Oh…I guess, since you've been so nice to me."

Myrtle Warren floated through her stall door and followed Hermione out of the bathroom.

Hermione had noticed the dates in passing and subconsciously subtracted them to discover that the thirteenth of June was Myrtle's fiftieth deathday. It would be a crime, she thought, not to have a party for her on such an important day (in ghost culture), especially when she had cheered up so much—though "cheered up" was still pretty maudlin coming from Myrtle—after having her death (partially) avenged. Convincing Nick to help set it up was the easy part. Convincing Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Professor Vector to attend was the hard part.

They descended the stairs to the dungeons, turning the heads of the few people they met on this Sunday afternoon to see Myrtle out of her bathroom. All of the live guests were wearing their winter cloaks, fully prepared for the cold this time.

The party was a lot smaller than Nick's, but the atmosphere was similar. The dungeon was lit with tall black candles burning blue. There was no orchestra of musical saws at this party, but it turned out the Fat Friar played a mean fiddle, and there was passable dancing. And rotten food was laid out on a table, including a tombstone-shaped cake reading,

MYRTLE WARREN

DIED 13TH JUNE, 1943

Myrtle began crying, uncharacteristically, with joy when she saw the festivities, and of the other ghosts greeting. "Thank you, Hermione, Sir Nicholas," she said. "No one's ever done this much for me before."

"Well, you helped us, too," Hermione said. "And besides, no one should have to be alone…on…their…fiftieth deathday…" she trailed off awkwardly.

Myrtle stopped crying and turned to her curiously: "Hermione, you're a muggle-born. How did we get to the point of putting those words together?"

"I've been asking myself that for two years, now, Myrtle. I have no idea."

"This is all, miss," Sonya squeaked. "This is being the whole castle."

"Really?" Hermione said excitedly. "The whole thing?"

It was the last week of the term, and Hermione had finally—finally completed her map of the castle. Sonya was showing her around the last section, the seventh floor of the East Wing, and had stopped beside a ridiculous magical tapestry of trolls in tutus. Next year, she decided, no more pacing off and detailed measuring. Just a quick once-over to see what had changed.

But then, Sonya clarified her statement with a cheeky grin: "There is being one last secret room, miss. It is right here, miss, but it is being extra special, and Sonya will tell Miss Hermione Granger about it in the fall."

"What?" Hermione said in disbelief.

"Sonya will tell Miss Hermione Granger in the fall," the elf repeated.

"But that's—but…why?" she whined.

Sonya giggled: "Because this room is being extra special, and Miss Hermione Granger will want more time to explore it."

"Sonya, you can't do this to me!" She couldn't believe the elf would make her wait all summer to learn about the one last room on her map. She might not even be coming back in the fall—but no, she refused to think that.

"Well, Sonya supposes Miss Hermione Granger could order her to tell…" Sonya said innocently.

That little rebel! She knew Hermione didn't like giving elves orders, no matter how willing she was to accept their station in principal. "Alright, you win," she grumbled, causing the elf to giggle again. "Should we go back to your quarters, then?"

With that, Sonya's ears drooped, and she looked down at her feet. "Sonya is not thinking that is such a good idea, miss. The other elves is scared to be close to you, miss…They is afraid you will try to free them, miss," she whispered.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said. "Dobby's situation was completely different. All the Hogwarts elves are happy here. Didn't you convince me not to try to free them when we first met?"

"Of course, miss, but freeing an elf is a very great offence, and the other elves is still not liking it."

Hermione sighed, remembering the plan she was working on. She had cleared everything with Professor Dumbledore and had mentioned her plans to a few people as she wrote her parents, pleading with them to hear her out when she got home. "Well, they're going to have to get used to it," she said. "One way or another, Dobby's going to be working here next year."

Sonya winced slightly, but she nodded. She seemed to think Hermione's plan was as bizarre, if not outright wrong, as Hermione found the enslavement of the elves in the first place, and she wasn't crazy about Hermione's idea for a number of reasons. "What is going to happen next year, miss, if Hermione Granger is not needing to call Sonya?" she asked.

"I'll still visit, of course, Sonya," she assured the elf. "Even if some things change, you're still my friend, and I don't abandon my friends."

Sonya smiled at that and hugged Hermione: "Thank you, miss. You is a good friend, even if you is a strange witch."

Of course, Sonya wasn't exactly a normal elf either to be brave enough to say that out loud. Yes, by witch standards, Hermione's life was pretty strange. Huh, why do I suddenly feel like Luna Lovegood? she thought.

It wasn't until the very last day of the term (she'd passed her exams with flying colours, of course) when Hermione finally got the visit she'd been waiting for. She was sitting under a tree out on the grounds working on her differential equations, when she heard a pop beside her. She looked up and saw a middle-aged elf with a long, thin nose and tennis ball-green eyes. He still looked pretty badly scarred, but his bruises had faded, and he was proudly standing up straight and tall (all three feet of him).

"Miss Hermione Granger!" the elf said. "Miss Hermione Granger put out word to the elves for Dobby to come speak to her, and Dobby has come!"

Hermione smiled as she remembered the unusual letter she had posted to her parents a month earlier: Dear Mum and Dad, This is going to sound really strange, but could you please tell me what is the most money you'd be willing to pay for a live-in domestic worker who is allowed to use magic at home. Please just give me a number, even if it's lower than you could in good conscience pay somebody. I'll explain when I come home. Love from Hermione.

"Hello, Dobby," she said, rising to her knees so that they were eye to eye. "Would you like a job?"