Disclaimer: Tick tock goes the clock, and all the JK Rowling they fly. Tick tock, and all too soon, Harry Potter must die…or not.

A/N: Don't panic. It's not over for Hermione yet. There's plenty of time for circumstances to change, and then, watch out.

Thanks to everyone who got The Arithmancer to half a million hits this week.

Chapter 58

Twelve Hour Earlier

"Mr. Crouch?" Bertha Jorkins said as she entered the old manor. "Mr. Crouch, I need your signature on the dragon transfer forms." There was no answer. That seemed odd. Surely, old Barty would be here somewhere if the door was unlocked. "Mr. Crouch, are you at home?"

She heard a faint murmuring coming from somewhere in the house. Her curiosity peaked, she tiptoed forward to investigate. As she approached one of the bedrooms, the murmuring resolved itself into two voices, one a soft, raspy tenor, and the other the high squeak of a house elf.

"And the Quidditch World Cup is being held in Britain this year, sir," the house-elf squeaked.

"Is it, now?" the man's voice said. "We must've offered an arm and a leg to get that," the man's voice mumbled. He sounded dazed and dulled, despite his insight. "Britain's not the best place to move that many people in and out."

That wasn't Mr. Crouch's voice, Bertha thought, and he already knew all about the World Cup. Who was he, and why was he here?

"That'd be nice to see," the dull voice continued. "It's been so long since I've seen a Quidditch match."

"Maybe…maybe Winky can be asking your father to let you go to the final. You is being a good boy, and you cans be hidden."

His father? Something was up. Mr. Crouch's only son was long dead.

"I'd like that, Winky. It's good to have a friend here."

"Winky is glad to help, sir. I has been telling your father he shoulds be treating you better, Master Barty."

Bertha covered her mouth with her hands to suppress a gasp. It was Barty Jr., one of the most vicious Death Eaters, still alive and being kept in his own home. Mr. Crouch had broken his son out of Azkaban! She would have to do something about this.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door.

"What was that?" Barty Jr. said in a voice that suddenly wasn't dull and dazed at all.

Barty Crouch Sr. arrived home to find the front door ajar. That alarmed him at once. Either his son had finally broken out, or this was the one time in forty years that he went out and forgot to lock the door. He ran inside and straight to his son's room, only to run into a witch in the hall.

"Bertha?" he said in surprise.

"Mr. Crouch!"

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his eyes bulging.

"Wondering why you have a Death Eater in your house," she said.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about! I have a Death Eater in my house? How dare you?" But he knew she knew. He drew his wand.

Bertha had hers out in a flash. "Don't come any closer!" she said.

"Expelliarmus!"

Bertha tried to block, but her boss was too quick for her. "Did you think you could stop me?" Old Barty demanded. "I was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I led the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Now, we can't have you remembering any of this. Obliv—ARGH!"

Without warning, Old Barty crumpled to the ground. Bertha looked around in shock, searching for the source of the attack. Then, a thin hand reached up and pulled an invisibility cloak down, revealing a tall man will pale hair and a freckled face: Barty Junior. Bertha was grateful for approximately one second before she remembered that her saviour was a Death Eater.

"Son! No!" Barty Senior shouted from the floor. "Get back in your room! Get back in your room this instant!"

"Master Barty! Yous must hides!" the elf squeaked, running out of the bedroom.

Quick as a wink, Barty Junior snatched up his father's wand from the floor and pointed it at the elf: "Imperio!" The elf stopped and turned glassy-eyed. "Do not try to stop me."

"Son! Stop this!"

"Not this time father. I've finally broken your control," Barty Junior said, a fanatical rage in his eyes. "How about a taste of your own medicine, eh? Imperio!"

Bertha gasped softly again as the implications hit her. Old Barty had been using the Imperius Curse on his own son. The older man now twitched as he seemingly fought the control, but he stilled, his eyes glazing over. "Continue to go to work and live your life as normal," his son ordered. "Continue to act as if I am dead. When you buy a new wand, claim your old one was broken. Do not try to find me or send Winky to do so."

Bertha edged towards her fallen wand, but Barty Junior saw her. "Not so fast. Imperio!" Bertha had no chance of resisting. "Why are you here?"

"I needed your father's signature on some forms," she said.

"Leave them here for him to sign, and follow me."

Obligingly, Bertha picked up her wand and followed her captor. Barty Junior led her out the door, took her by the hand, and started apparating.

Barty knew all the way points where one could apparate internationally without arousing too much suspicion—particularly some seedy places in Jersey, Luxembourg, and Liechtenstein. He needed time to rest after apparating that far, but he had no trouble pacing himself. While he rested, he made Bertha bring him up to date about the goings on in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It was surprisingly interesting.

Once he got to the former Yugoslavia, things were chaotic enough that the borders weren't patrolled very well. From there it was a straight shot to the place that he had overheard from Dolohov was his Master's fall-back base of operations in Albania. Once he knew he was within range, he pressed his father's wand to his left forearm. The Dark Mark was faded, but still partially functional, and at precisely one in the morning, local time—midnight back home in Britain—its homing mechanism took him straight to where he wanted to go—right to his Master's feet.

If his Master had feet, that was.

As soon as they apparated to the grove of gnarled trees, there was a loud hissing sound, and a snake struck at him, only to stop inches from his face.

In seemed that Lord Voldemort was currently possessing the body of an enormously magically engorged viper with glowing red eyes—an impressive feet of magic to make the snake strong enough to possess long-term without killing it. Barty slowly descended to his knees before it, and at a gesture from him, Bertha did the same.

"Master, I have returned to you…" he whispered.

The snake could only hiss, but Barty could hear his Master's voice in his head: Bartemius Crouch Jr. There are few things that can surprise Lord Voldemort, but you have done it. I was told you were long dead.

"My father is not the paragon he claims to be, my lord," Barty replied. "My mother sacrificed her life to free me from Azkaban, only for him to keep me a prisoner in my own home. I came to find you the moment I was free."

The snake seemed to laugh. Of course, Lord Voldemort knew that his servant was telling the truth. It was good to have a loyal servant finally return to him—better than he had dared hope, in fact. It is always the most vehemently noble who fall the furthest, he said. And tell me, my faithful servant, who is your companion?

"One of my father's employees, my lord. I know that you still seek the Potter boy, and Bertha has some interesting information about the next year at Hogwarts that may prove very useful…"

After some shuffling around, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick and a trio of Aurors led Sirius and Pettigrew out of the Infirmary to a more secure location so that they could be questioned. With the third year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws going to Astronomy Class at the same time the Aurors and interrogators were running in and out of the school, the news of what had happened was already sure to be spreading like wildfire, but for now, the four students in the hospital beds were resting in quiet. Hermione assured Professor Vector that she was alright and told her she could go back to bed, to which her teacher reluctantly agreed.

But while Hermione was already calming down, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were only starting to feel the full weight of the situation. With Harry, at least, it didn't surprise her. He always seemed to go into shock for a little while after one of their adventures. She was starting to worry about Ginny, though. She hadn't been involved in one of these messes of theirs before (she had been unconscious during the fight with the basilisk).

"S-s-so we did it, then?" Ginny said in a small voice. "We won?"

"I guess so," Hermione replied. "As much as we could win, anyway, if Voldemort's still out there."

"Eek!"

"Sorry," Hermione sighed, making an allowance for Ginny's delicate emotional state

"Is th-this what your life is like all the t-time?" she asked.

"It does seem to happen once or twice a year," Ron said. He sounded like he was trying to be humorous, but even he sounded shaky.

"Merlin's Beard! How can you do this all the time? I thought the Chamber of Secrets was bad, but…Hermione, I'm sorry. You were right about the d-dementors. I just couldn't see it. Those th-things are the most awful creatures on earth."

Hermione could see Ginny, who normally had an even stronger facade than herself, start to crack, so she did the only thing she could think of. With an effort, she pushed herself out of bed and sat down on the edge of Ginny's bed and put her good arm around her to comfort the younger girl, as Professor Vector had done for her. Ron wasn't far behind. He hobbled out of his own bed on the crutch that he had complained until Madam Pomfrey had set out for him and sat by Ginny's other side. His hands were shaking.

"I reckon you were right, Hermione," he said. "I thought you were just flipping out, but it's different when you see them up close."

"Thank you," she said to both of them. "It'll be okay. It'll get better with time. That's the most important thing I've learnt."

"You saved me again, Hermione," Ginny said. "Twice. I don't know how you keep managing it. How did I deserve a friend like you?"

"A friend like me?" Hermione said. "That's not very fair. It's by hanging around with me that you got into this mess."

"No! I don't think that at all! I—" Ginny started, but Hermione started sniggering softly.

"I'm kidding. I'm kidding. I know you don't think that, Ginny. And you never had to do anything. Friends stick up for each other like that." She looked over to the fourth bed where her closest friend still sat, unmoving, staring into space. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine…" he said, snapping out of it. "I…I'm happy. Really. It's just that…I wanted to kill him…I wanted to kill him so much…I probably would have if I knew a good spell to do it. But I was all wrong, and you were the only one who had a clue."

"It wasn't your fault, Harry. You had no reason to think different."

"I know, but…it's just so messed up. With the Ministry, and then the dementors—I almost lost him as soon as I found him."

"Yeah, but you didn't, though," Ron said. "And Dumbledore said he'd clear up everything. Just think; you can get away from the Dursleys. And I bet Sirius'll let you visit usany time you want."

Harry smiled wistfully; there were tears in his eyes: "Yeah…you know…the one thing I always wanted growing up was for some long-lost relative to take me away from there."

Hermione smiled: "Well, it looks like you've finally got your wish, Harry. And don't ever think you don't deserve it. It couldn't have happened to a better person."

By breakfast, the story was on the lips of the whole school that Sirius Black was innocent, and the real murderer had been caught by the usual Gryffindor suspects. Lavender and Parvati visited the Hospital Wing as soon as they were allowed out of the dorm in the morning, where they found Hermione being served an early breakfast that she was struggling to eat left-handed.

"You did it!" Lavender squealed happily. "You bound a servant of the Dark Lord by spells unknown! See, we told you the prophecy was about you."

"Yes, yes, it was a real prophecy," she admitted. "But Professor Dumbledore said Professor Trelawney has only made one other prophecy before."

"Sure, but they were important prophecies, weren't they?" Parvati said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. It looked like nothing would convince these girls to cast a sceptical eye on Divination Class. "I guess so," she said. "I'd just appreciate it if the next prophecy didn't involve me almost getting Kissed by a dementor and then almost getting blown up by a perverted madman. I could do with a quiet year for once." The other girls paled at that.

After she finished her breakfast, Hermione turned her attention back to academics: "Madam Pomfrey, may I please get out of here? It's only my hand that's hurt, and I really don't want to miss Arithmancy."

Pomfrey rolled her eyes: "You and your Arithmancy, Miss Granger. Very well, but I don't want you doing any writing, lifting, or spell-casting with that hand until I say so, and you'll need to come in to have the bandages changed twice a day. I suggest you get one of your friends to take notes for you."

"Yes, ma'am. I will," she said. But even as she said it, she thought perhaps she could be a little more resourceful than that: "But aren't there such things as quills that write on their own, ma'am?"

"Of course, but they're very expensive, and you'd need to go to Hogsmeade to buy one, anyway," Madam Pomfrey said idly as she changed Hermione's bandages.

Hermione remembered certain of her antics over the course of the year. "That's okay, Madam Pomfrey," she said. "I think I know where I can get one." She had just enough time before Arithmancy to run up to Gryffindor Tower to load her books and parchment in her shoulder bag and then rush over to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

I need a quill that writes on its own. I need a quill that writes on its own. I need a quill that writes on its own.

The Room of Requirement furnished a writing desk and a bin full of odd quills. Many of them were broken, and she tossed them aside at once. Some of them still seemed to work, though. The ones that reliably stood on their points by themselves she tested by placing them on a piece of parchment and speaking aloud. Some of these didn't respond to the noise, wouldn't dip in the inkwell, wrote in an illegible scribble, or misspelled words, but she kept going as quick as she could until she found two Dictaquills that seemed to be working perfectly.

Out of curiosity, she also tried a large, acid green quill that caught her eye in the bin. She stood it on its point on the parchment and spoke, "My name is Hermione Granger."

The quill, however, didn't write the words she said. Instead, it wrote, Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty muggle-born girl who has faced the wrath of dark wizards, giant monsters, and demons alike…

Hermione started laughing. She had no idea what kind of quill that was, but she decided to keep it for entertainment value.

As soon as she walked into Arithmancy, everyone turned and stared at her, which felt incredibly awkward, but she tried not to let it get to her. Hermione had meant to present her Laser Charm in class today, which she succeeded at doing left-handed, but only after three tries. For a bonus, she tried to show the Self-Tightening Slip Knot Spell she had used on Pettigrew, but she couldn't quite twist her left hand the right way, so she just wrote out the arithmantic expansion with her Dictaquill (with attracted a fair bit of attention itself) and handed it in to Professor Vector. Even after all this time, Professor Vector was impressed that she crafted that spell that fast in her head.

She barely noticed after they were dismissed when Rebecca Gamp came into stride alongside her. "Well, Granger, it looks like you managed to survive another year," she said. "After all, what could happen in another three weeks—we'll besides Pettigrew breaking out and coming back for revenge, if the rumours are true."

"I don't think he'll escape," she said. "He's under guard by people Dumbledore trusts, and they know he's an animagus. He's not going anywhere." Besides that, she knew the part of the prophecy where Trelawney said Pettigrew's "fate is sealed".

"Well, that must've been scary out there with the dementors. I don't know what I'd do if they got that close to me."

Hermione shivered, and she felt a twinge of pain run through her hand. "Yeah, really scary," she muttered.

"You seem to almost die an awful lot here. How many times is that now?"

"Four," Hermione said resignedly. "Depending how you count them."

"Wow, that is some bad luck," Rebecca said. "This place might actually be cursed for you."

For Harry, more like, Hermione thought. "The thought's crossed my mind," she said determinedly. "But I think I can take care of myself—or at least, I can learn to."

"Well, okay, it's your funeral."

Hermione stopped. Something about the way the older girl said that really grated on her, and with her temper still running short from last night, she'd had enough. She spun around and said, "Okay, that's it, Rebecca. What is your problem?" she demanded. "You've been really…aggravating all year. Are you trying to scare me away from Hogwarts? Because it's not working. Do you really care that much about being at the top of the class?"

"Tsk. You don't get it, do you, Granger," Rebecca snapped. "I'm a Gamp—of the Gamp's Law Gamps—the greatest line of spellcrafters in Europe. I was supposed to be the arithmancy prodigy. I was supposed to be Professor Vector's favourite. I was supposed to be the one who got an independent study and an early mastery. And then you come in, a titchy little muggle-born first-year, and you shoot right past me."

"Well, I'm sorry if my blood is not good enough for you—" Hermione said angrily.

"Please, I'm not a Slytherin, Granger. It's not about blood—it's about heritage. You come in here knowing nothing about the history of spellcrafting that my family built, and you expect to get by on brains alone—and it works. That's just not fair."

"I came here wanting to study arithmancy to the best of my abilities, Rebecca. That's it. I'm not trying to show up anyone—well, besides Malfoy. I'm sorry if you're jealous, but you're just gonna have to get used to it. I'm not going to change who I am just because you have a problem with it."

Rebecca's fists clenched, and for a moment, Hermione those she might hit her—or pull her wand and hex her.

Hermione took a nervous step back. "Rebecca, I don't to fight you," she said. "I have enough trouble already from Harry's enemies."

"You…why can't you be a normal Gryffindor, Granger?" the older girl demanded. But she didn't wait for a response. She turned around and walked away in a huff.

The stares were even worse at lunchtime than in class. Many Gryffindors congratulated Hermione for her known and suspected heroics, but she could tell that a lot of people were still suspicious of Sirius Black as, by extension, of her. Meanwhile, she was dismayed to hear that whispers about Professor Lupin were now circling the Great Hall.

"I don't know how you it, Harry," she said as she sat with her year-mates. They hadn't had a chance to talk all morning. "Any news on Sirius?"

"He's in custody," Harry replied. "But Dumbledore says Fudge is playing nice now, so it should be sorted by the end of term—hopefully."

"That's some good news for a change. You—"

"Hermione!" She was interrupted by a tall pair of exuberant redheads.

"O Great Lady Arithmancer!" said Fred, bowing at the waist before her.

"Ye who hast cleansed our house of the foul traitor," George added, also bowing.

"I may have doubted you before, but that plan was brilliant," said Fred.

"Yes," said George. "Lupin, Pettigrew, Black, the Map. I don't know how you did it, but that was almost Dumbledore-worthy."

"It really wasn't," Hermione disagreed. "I made one guess about Professor Lupin. The rest was just luck."

"But that's the best kind of plan, though," George said with a chuckle, "the one even you didn't see coming."

"I just can't believe that rat could be and even bigger rat than we thought," his twin continued. "Anyway, it's good to see you're still alive and kicking."

"And inventing spells."

"And fighting dementors."

"Ugh, the less said about that the better," Hermione interrupted.

"But did you or did you not cast the Patronus Charm?" asked Fred.

"Well, yes, but only because I've been practising it every night before I go to bed for three months."

The Twins laughed. "That's our Hermione," George said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Only you could give an answer like that."

"And more importantly," Fred continued seriously. "Is it true you screamed in the Minister's face for a full minute?"

Hermione turned a vivid shade of magenta: "Um…I think it was more like half a minute."

They laughed again. "Brilliant," said Fred. "Dad says there's loads of people in the Ministry who'd love to do that to Fudge if they could get away with it. And did you not also hex a Death Eater in the face?"

"Left-handed?" added George.

Hermione covered her face with her good hand: "Oh, great, now I've started a pattern."

This caused still more laughter. "Branching out this year, I see. So who's on your list for next year?" asked Fred.

She sighed heavily and glared up at them: "Whoever does the most evil and/or idiotic thing in my presence—so probably you two."

They wisely backed off.

Hermione's Dictaquill served her well in Ancient Runes (where Professsor Babbling gave Ron copious points for his quick thinking with the reinforcing and warning runes) and History. In fact, it worked a little too well in history: not having to take the notes herself, she actually fell asleep. However, she was still left with the problem that she wouldn't be able to use her wand safely for about a week. Her Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence classes, not to mention revising for exams, would be a challenge.

Well, she'd just have to do something about that, wouldn't she? After classes ended, she climbed back up to Gryffindor Tower. (To her delight, the security trolls were gone, too.) Once in the Common Room, she took a careful look around at everyone's hands.

"Neville!" she said when she found what she was looking for.

"Yipe! Uh, hi, Hermione," her excitable classmate said. "What's up?"

"You're left-handed."

"Er, yeah. So?"

"So, I can't use my right hand at the moment. I was wondering if you could teach me how to cast spells properly with my left hand."

"T-teach?" Neville said in surprise. "You want me to teach you?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Well…don't you think you should ask someone with better grades and stuff?"

"You do pretty well in Charms. Your wand handling is fine. And you'd have to be pretty bad to be worse than me at left-handed casting. Didn't you hear what I did to Pettigrew?"

Neville perked up "You mean the beetles? That's true?"

"Unfortunately. I'm lucky it didn't backfire completely and nail me. That's why I need you to teach me."

"Oh. Well, I guess I can try."

"Great. Thanks a lot. Let's see if we can find an empty classroom before dinner—if you don't mind."

Neville got up and went with her. He definitely had an extra spring in his step at being told he was better than Hermione Granger at something. "Say, Hermione, thanks for talking to McGonagall for me," he said. "She rescinded my password ban…and my Hogsmeade ban, too. I can go on the last visit on Saturday."

"It was the least I could do. I'm just sorry Crookshanks got you in so much trouble in the first place."

"Hmm…I guess it was for a good cause, though."

"Ah, here we are," Hermione said as they found a classroom.

"Okay…how do you want to do this?"

"I don't know. Why don't we just start with a Levitation Charm? You can demonstrate it and then work me through the wand movement."

"Alright, I guess," Neville said. He waved his wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa." A chair rose into the air and floated back down.

"Huh. That was a mirror image of how you cast it right-handed," Hermione observed. "Are all spells like that?"

"No. Some wand movements are mirrored, and some aren't. And a few are completely different. I don't remember which, though, but it's a lot easier with Charms than Transfiguration. The Standard Book of Spells actually has a left-handed edition that I use."

A left-handed book? That was a new one on Hermione, but it made sense. She attempted to wave her wand the same way Neville had. The chair only rattled on the floor, but she kept working. It took a lot of practice to get the wand motion smooth and precise with her off hand—as if she were in first-year Charms all over again—but she finally managed it. The bad news was that that it probably wouldn't help her in class tomorrow, but she would keep at it. It might take practising all summer (and luckily she could make her own toy wands to practice with if she bought enough flitterbloom), but she was determined not to be caught without a working wand hand again.

Things seemed to be looking up for Hermione, so she should have expected the other shoe to drop. It was Friday morning when it happened. She didn't usually receive any post on Fridays, so she was surprised when an owl dropped a letter on her plate. She opened it and at once turned as white as a sheet.

"Oh, no," she breathed.

"Hermione? What is it?" her friends said.

"He wrote them."

"Huh?"

"Fudge wrote my parents…They're pulling me out of Hogwarts."

Dear Hermione,

You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady. From your letters, we were under the impression that everything was fine at Hogwarts with no mortal peril this year. Imagine our surprise when we received a letter from the Minister for Magic himself that casually stated you were personally involved in the capture of a mass murderer who had been hiding out in the school the whole time. It also seems that the school was broken into twice this year, which you never mentioned to us, and the Minister had to apologise that those demon-guards you mentioned went out of control and tried to 'Kiss' you. He didn't explain what that meant, but from the capital letters, we're guessing it's more than an unwanted smooch.

We want a full explanation from you about exactly what's been going on this year, and we will be writing your teachers to make sure it's accurate. One thing we do know is that we will be sending in your application to Beauxbatons immediately. No arguments this time. We've given the wizards in Britain too much leeway as it is, and obviously, none of them knows how to keep a school safe. As your parents, it's our duty to get you out of there before your luck runs out. If you behave yourself, we can let you visit your friends later this summer, but you will not be returning to Hogwarts next year.

Love,

Mum and Dad

The whispers began to spread across the Great Hall at once. Withdrawals were quite rare at Hogwarts. A lot of the Gryffindors looked appalled.

"They can't do that!" Ron yelled. "They can't pull you out of Hogwarts."

"Yes, they can, Ron," she said dejectedly. "They're my parents. They can send me to any school they want. I can't stop them."

"You have to talk to them," Ginny pleaded. "Tell them you don't want to go anywhere else."

Hermione shook her head: "I was surprised they even let me come back last fall. There's a reason I didn't tell them about Sirius's break-ins. I'll only get myself in more trouble for trying."

"But there's gotta be something you can do," Parvati said from down the table. "You should talk to Professor Dumbledore. Your parents are muggles; there's gotta be some limits on what they can do to you."

"Parv!" Hermione recoiled in shock. "Even if Dumbledore has the power to override their choice of schools, which I doubt, I don't think I could actually do that to my parents. That'd be almost like…like running away from home or something…I'm sorry, everybody…I don't think I'll be able to come back."

All of her friends were dismayed, but she wouldn't hear another word to stop her leaving. As much as she wanted to stand by them, she knew when she'd been beat.

"It won't be the same without you, Hermione," Ginny told her.

"I know. Merlin, I know. I'll have to try to start over in France and everything. But I promise I'll still write, and I'll still visit during the summers. And…and actually, I'll be of age for spring term of sixth year, so I could transfer back then if I want to," she added hopefully. "That way we could still finish together."

"That'd be nice," Harry said softly.

She paused and looked at him. "Are you going to be okay, Harry?" she said. "I'm going to worry about you more than anybody else. I won't be here to keep you from getting yourself killed anymore."

That was a sobering thought for Harry. Hermione saved his life with alarming regularity, and he was amazed that she would stand by him with all the trouble he got into. But he put on a brave face and said, "I can get by. Ron and Ginny will still be here, and I'll be able to write Sirius now for help. I won't ever be able to pay you back for that."

"I told you it's no less than you deserve, Harry," she replied. "Just stay alive, and that'll be enough for me."

It took a real effort for Hermione to get through breakfast after that news, but she managed it, and she intercepted Professor Vector at once when she left the Hall.

"Professor," she said. "It's my parents. They—"

"I got the gist of it from the High Table, Hermione," Vector said solemnly. "So you'll be leaving us next year?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Professor. I can't stop them—"

"It's alright," she said comfortingly. "You can still keep in touch with us. I'll be sorry to see you go, but I'll at least be glad to know you're safe, and I still want to help you with those papers anyway that I can."

Hermione nodded sadly. "Could you do something else for me, Professor?"

"Anything, Hermione."

"Please try to keep Harry safe. You know how much danger he seems to get into. He needs someone looking out for him."

Vector sighed: "You're friend, Mr. Potter, seems to be a force of nature, but I'll do whatever I can."

"Thank you, ma'am."

By mid-morning, everyone who cared knew that Hermione Granger was leaving the school at the end of the year. Many people offered their condolences. Despite the uncertainty earlier in the week, she'd become surprisingly popular after helping to catch Pettigrew and most importantly, helping to get the dementors away from the school, above and beyond being friends with Harry Potter.

"Is it true, Granger?" Rebecca Gamp caught her after Potions. "Mummy and Daddy are pulling you out of here."

"There's no need to gloat, Rebecca," Hermione grumbled. "You sound like a Slytherin."

"Ooh, that's low, Granger," the Ravenclaw said.

"And so is gloating! You got your wish, okay? I'll be gone next term. You can be top of the class like you always wanted. But you know what? That's not going to stop me from corresponding with Professor Vector. That's not going to stop me from publishing papers. You think it'll silence me? At best it's only going to slow me down a little."

That really made Rebecca turn red: "Augh! I can't win with you, can I, Granger? Why are you doing this?"

"Why am I doing this? Why are you doing this? It's not a bloody competition! Look, you probably don't want my advice right now, but if there's one thing I learnt this year, it's that all the talent in the world won't help you if you don't get up and take control of your own life. You have to do the work, not just trying to stop me. Did you at least try to study to skip a year in the class like Professor Vector said?"

The older girl shot Hermione an annoyed look: "Of course I did. I am a Ravenclaw, you know."

"Well, there you go. That's still enough to get you an independent study and an early mastery. Now just give it a rest already. Don't you have O.W.L.s to revise for?" Hermione stormed off before Rebecca could reply. Some days, the people around here really got to her. She wondered if that's how Ginny had got so jinx-happy.

As she hurried away, she made it to Defence class early, though Harry and Ron turned out to be close behind. They hadn't been able to talk to Professor Lupin since the incident, and when they arrived, they were surprised to see Professor Lupin sitting wearily at a student's desk moved to the front of the classroom, while Hagrid was sitting on top of the teacher's desk, the only piece of furniture in the room big enough to support him.

"Hagrid? What're you doing here?" Harry asked.

It was Lupin who answered: "Well, after the unfortunate incident the other night, the Board of Governors was not pleased that Headmaster Dumbledore hired a…well, someone like me. Several of them wanted to fire me on the spot."

"What? That's not fair!" Hermione said.

"You can't leave!" Harry agreed. "You're the best Defence teacher we've ever had. Who cares if you're a werewolf?"

Lupin shook his head sadly: "I know you don't care. Perhaps even your families won't. But not everyone is so tolerant. I've already received a few Howlers from outraged parents, and so has the Headmaster."

"It's stupid," Hermione complained. "You're only dangerous one night a month, and—"

"You're very kind, Hermione," he said, holding up his hand, "but in a school full of children, that's more than enough. I forgot to take my Wolfsbane Potion this week, and I forgot when moonrise was. I can't afford one blunder like that, let alone two. However, as there is only one more week before exams, Professor Dumbledore convinced the Board to let me finish the year on the condition that all of my classes be supervised by another teacher.

"I volunteered for most 'o them on account o' I'm the biggest, an' I can keep him in line," Hagrid spoke up. He winked at trio. More likely, they were sure, it was really because Lupin liked to work with "interestin' critters".

The lesson was a good one, but sad for the Gryffindors, who had come to really like Lupin over the past year, and for the Ravenclaws because they had actually learnt something. Well, at least I can probably get some competent instruction in Defence next year, Hermione thought, but it would be nice if they could, too.

Of course, the Slytherins couldn't resist coming around to mock Hermione, disrupting an otherwise-fine afternoon lounging on the grass outside with Ron, Ginny, and Harry. "Well, well, well," Draco Malfoy drawled as he sauntered up to them with Pansy Parkinson on his arm and his two bodyguards in tow. "Are the rumours true? We're finally shot of the mudblood? Only three more Gryffindorks to go, then."

Ron and Ginny sprang to their feet in Hermione's defence, drawing their wands. "You shut your mouth, Malfoy," Ron yelled.

"Ron. Ginny," Hermione hissed, motioning them to lower their wands. She stood and said, "Can we just skip this, Malfoy? I'm having a lousy enough day as it is. Yes, I'm leaving this fall, though not by choice. Alright?"

"Oh, don't mind us, we're just enjoying the moment," Malfoy said. "Say, Potter, you thought about leaving with Granger? You almost get yourself killed even more than she does. Maybe you'd be better off somewhere else."

"But then I wouldn't get to beat you at Quidditch," Harry shot back. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh yeah? We'll see if you live that long without your girlfriend to save your arse."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"I'm not his girlfriend."

"She's not his girlfriend." Ginny said this last line and immediately ducked, red-faced, when people turned to stare at her. "Sorry," she squeaked.

"Ha! Too bad for you I'm taken, Potter," Parkinson said. "You seem starved for choices—a weasel and a chipmunk."

Hermione flinched just a little. "You take that back!" Ginny said.

"You wanna make me?"

Ron, Ginny, and Harry all drew their wands, and the four Slytherins responded in kind.

"Ah ah ah," Malfoy said. "It's four wands to two, plus the Weaslette. Granger's got a busted hand."

Hermione turned determined again. Busted hand, huh? she thought. "You know, Malfoy," she said, "if you fancy yourself an arithmancer, you should at least learn to count. Ginny's easily worth a third-year when it comes to hexes, and did you hear about that hex I used on Pettigrew? The one Madam Pomfrey didn't know how to cancel? I can cast that left-handed just fine." She saw Malfoy start to sweat just a little under her glare. He probably wasn't expecting her to be so resistant to his taunts. "Come on, I have an exam to revise for," she said.

The two groups kept their wands on each other until they separated, but the Slytherins didn't advance. Only Malfoy shouted after them, "Next year, Potter!"

"Bring it, Malfoy!" he yelled back.

Just the same, Hermione was stewing as she walked away. She'd never liked her front teeth ever since they grew in. Her parents said they weren't that bad, and she could easily fix them by wearing a removable brace for a year, but she knew there must be magical ways of fixing teeth. She'd been at Hogwarts three years now and never seen a witch or wizard wearing braces—that and the few people she'd mentioned them to thought they were a ridiculous idea. The spells were probably much faster and less painful fixes, too. She'd brought up the matter last summer, but she should have known better with a couple of dentists. This was something Mum and Dad were sure they knew all about, and they said that teeth and magic shouldn't mix. Hermione was starting to wonder if they just didn't want to be made obsolete. Maybe she should push a little harder on the matter this summer.

"Store-bought toy wands, final test," Hermione said, and the Dictaquill wrote her words down verbatim. That would have been great to have for their scientific tests all term. "Destructive testing of the one-galleon wand. Ready, Fred?"

"Ready." Fred pointed the wand at the target and cast, "Diffindo!"

For this test, she wanted an accurate measure of the power the wand could deliver, and it seemed that it could probably withstand fairly powerful spells. So she had asked the room to conjure up a large block of wood—a thick tree trunk section, in fact—which Fred would cast Severing Charms at again and again until the wand burnt out—not particularly powerful ones, though, so they could measure accurately. It was a decent measure of strength, which yielded surprising results. The cheapest toy wands could barely withstand a Severing Charm at all. The middle-ground ones an inch or so in. But this expensive wand cut nearly a foot before it sparked and shattered violently in Fred's hand. Of course, a real wand could cut down whole trees for years on end if its owner so desired, but it was still a surprisingly large jump.

"Eleven and a half inches," Hermione measured.

"Wow, you could use that in a fight in a pinch—for a couple curses, anyway," Fred observed. "No wonder it cost a galleon."

"Yes, but let's see how well it does against ours," George said.

"Yes, let's," Hermione said eagerly. She took up their best try at making a quality wand. They were proud of this wand. It had taken a lot of work—a lot more than one galleon's worth of work—to make it even better (they hoped) than the expensive toy. And now, in true Weasley Twin fashion, they were going to destroy it. "Toy wand test number twenty-three," she said. "Birch twig selected for tight, straight grain, magical glue and varnish believed to be the similar to the one-galleon toys, no rune carvings, and…Hippogriff tail hair core—thank you, Buckbeak. Destructive testing, same procedure. Go ahead, George."

George had his work cut out for him. Only a very strong wizard could cut down a tree in one stroke, and he was deliberately using weak spells. He cast Diffindo at the tree trunk section again and again, cutting deeper and deeper until his arm got tired, and then he handed it over to Fred, who eventually had to hand it back to George again. Hermione would have joined in, but she didn't want to risk using her left hand with that spell.

"Wow, this thing really takes a beating," George said as he started his second run. "We're nearly through the—" CRACK! THUD! The noise wasn't the wand. They'd cut clean through the thick log so the top half fell off and onto the floor.

"Yikes!" the Twins said in unison and then, after a pause, "Now what?"

"Hmm, make another cut, I guess," Hermione said.

George obliged and slashed the wand downwards, cutting into the now-horizontal log. He got a good long way into it before he abruptly handed the wand back to Fred. "Why don't you finish it off, brother?"

Fred took it in his hand, and his eyes widened. "Merlin, it's hot," he said. "That can't be a good sign. So that's why you handed it over, eh? Well, you get to do the next one, then. Alright, Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffin—"

BANG! The wand exploded, sending splinters all over the room. The Twins had to pick a couple out of their faces, but Hermione was far enough back that she was spared. When her ears stopped ringing, she mumbled, "Try to find the pieces…Test results: wand failure is more violent after prolonged intense casting. Measuring depth of cut…adding the two together, five feet, two inches."

"Five feet!" Fred exclaimed. "Bloody hell, a wand like that could last a whole week."

"Looks like the animal fibre core definitely helps," George said.

"Yeah, and hey, look at this." Fred held up what was left of the wand. "The hair's still in one piece."

"It is? That's interesting," Hermione said. "That means the hippogriff hair could definitely stand up to more magic than the wood. It's too bad we don't know if it'll trip the underage magic alarm…but, that's only a problem for me, isn't it," she grumbled.

"Well, you know, since you're leaving Hogwarts, you could get away with a little more than usual," George suggested. "You could just try and use one and see if it trips the alarm."

"What? Deliberately break the Restriction on Underage Sorcery?" she gasped.

"Well, you have been bending it for the past two years with those runic spells, haven't you?" Fred said.

"Well, yes—"

"And Harry only got a warning letter for that Hover Charm Dobby did, right? And you're the one who said the whole thing was unfair in the first place," George said.

"I guess…It would be nice to know how far I can push this craft," she said. "If I could make a working wand, even one that only lasts a day, I could practice my left-handed casting a lot more."

"That's the spirit," Fred replied with a chuckle. "Really, every muggle-born starts bending the rules sooner or later, and we get away with loads more than that at home when Mum isn't looking."

"Okay. My parents will probably go for it if I ask nicely. If they do, I'll write you about the results."