Its Own Reward

"Any advice for the condemned?" Hermione asked glumly as McGonagall led her to the head office.

"Madam Bones has a reputation for strictness, but she is always fair," the professor said. "Do not mess her about, answer her questions truthfully, and remember you did nothing wrong."

"Professor?" Hermione queried in shock. "Nothing wrong? I-"

"Did what you had to, I've no doubt."

"I haven't even told you what happened," she protested.

"The beautiful thing about trust, Miss Granger, is that it transcends the need for such little details. I trust that you would not harm anyone, in any way, without good reason, and so when I hear that you have done harm my assumption must be that reason was given."

"But I killed him," Hermione whispered, not daring to speak the words any louder lest some karmic deity overhear.

"Then he gave you very good reason," McGonagall declared. "Never liked the man anyway. He was undeservedly full of himself as a student, and worse as a teacher. Ah, here we are. Sugar Quills."

Hermione heard the gargoyle grind aside, and the professor guided her to the opening.

"Go on up, they're waiting for you."

She gulped away some small part of her trepidation, and mounted the stairs to her judgment. At the top she didn't even bother to knock; the headmaster's ability to know who was climbing his staircase was as legendary as it was easy to accomplish with charm work. Ideas of repurposing the runic array into a mobile version she could use to identify people around her bubbled up and had to be suppressed until another time.

"Miss Granger, do come in," he called, just when she would have been raising a fist to knock. "Please, take a seat," he continued when she entered.

There was no effort to guide her to the chair, which spoke of a faith in her capability which she would have greatly appreciated had she not been in a room she had never had the chance to pace out and being watched by the head of the DMLE. As she shuffled across the room, searching with her toes for the steps she remembered, she wondered if it wasn't a subtle play on his part to make her appear more, or less, able in front of Madam Bones. Crashing into obstacles and embarrassing herself might draw a sliver of pity even from the sternest of hearts. Navigating the room without issue would show she was confident and independent, which was not a promising look for the accused in the docks.

By the time she had come to that conclusion her instincts had her cleanly up the steps and groping for the chair, only to find it with her first sweep. She sat down and tried not to think about it.

"Good afternoon Miss Granger," Dumbledore said pleasantly.

"Good afternoon headmast- or, uh, are you-"

"As of my reinstatement not an hour ago," he helpfully interrupted, "you are correct."

Madam Bones coughed meaningfully.

"Yes, to business then. Miss Granger, I expect you know why you have been summoned?"

"L-Lockhart."

"Precisely. I have offered Madam Bones the use of the most secure room in Hogwarts - this office - to conduct her official questioning, and my own services as your legal chaperone. If you wish another to fulfil this role, do speak up."

"Thank you sir," was all she could think to say as she worried the upholstery she sat on with a fingernail. Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock, was definitely the best legal counsel she was going to get.

"Miss Hermione Jean Granger, of Number thirty-one Spinney Avenue, Hampstead?"

"Yes?"

"I must inform you that as of this moment you are being detained for questioning regarding the death of Gilderoy Lockhart."

"Detained?" Hermione gasped.

The severity of her situation hit home once more as she heard that word. She was starting to feel like she'd fallen under a jackhammer.

"As a minor you must be accompanied by an adult when questioned," Bones continued unabated, "and you have the right to legal counsel. Chief Warlock Dumbledore has offered to act on your behalf in both regards. Would you like to request different counsel?"

"Um, no, the headmaster will be fine, I think."

"Very good. I have already spoken with your legal counsel and together we are in agreement that your best course of action is to submit to interview under veritaserum. You are entitled to refuse, and doing so will not reflect poorly upon you at all."

"Veritaserum? Sir, didn't you say before that-"

"Alas, we find ourselves in a rather more serious situation," he intoned. "Unless you believe the truth would be self-incriminating, I would strongly recommend taking the serum."

"What if I say something else though? I don't want all my secrets on display."

There were a worrying number of things Hermione didn't want to air in front of an auror. Brewing a potion in a toilet for human use was probably a crime. Sneaking into the restricted section technically was a crime, and Bones sounded less likely to let it go than Tonks and Moody. On top of those, she didn't want to discuss her affliction honestly with anyone.

"I shall ensure the questioning remains firmly on topic," he assured her.

"It is my hope," Bones interjected, "that if your answers under veritaserum are satisfactory, we may avoid the need for arrests and trials."

Hermione recognised that the woman was dangling a carrot as bait, but it was an undeniably tasty one.

"Alright then," she said cautiously, "if you both think it's for the best, I will take the serum."

Taking the serum was shockingly simple given its potential power. She was handed a vial with pipette and instructed to put two drops on her tongue, then swallow. The liquid tasted like purple. Hermione had never tasted purple before, nor known such a flavour could exist, but veritaserum definitely tasted the way purple looked. She shivered as it went down, and had a sudden urge to tell everyone how nice purple tasted.

Madam Bones had other plans as she cut right to the chase. "Did you kill Gilderoy Lockhart?"

"Yes," Hermione answered happily. She was happy to help the nice auror lady with her investigation. So happy she wanted to say more, so she did. "I killed him. I-"

"Why did you do that?" the nice lady interrupted, which was rude of her but Hermione didn't mind. She was the one in charge after all, and Hermione was just there to answer all her questions, so she replied promptly and without complaint.

"He was going to attack us - me and Harry. He said he was going to wipe our memories which is something I object to in the strongest of terms, and if he did that no-one would have saved Ginny so she would have died so I had to do it you see?"

Hermione hoped she was being understood. It would be just terrible if she wasn't understood. Maybe she should say more to be sure? Yes, that seemed like an excellent idea, but the nice auror lady spoke first.

"Going to? So he did he make an attack or not."

"Yes. He tried to stun me, but I don't think it came out right. He was using Harry's wand you see because he lost his on the slide down, I think, which was very lucky for-"

"Did you attack him before or after he attacked you."

"After," Hermione stated with a force that surprised her, in an abstract sort of a way. Was it that she was suddenly so forceful, or that she should have been the whole time? No matter, answer the question. "I'm not a murderer. If you want a murderer you should-"

"-How did professor Lockhart die?" Dumbledore cut in loudly, drowning out Hermione's statement about all the known death eaters roaming around freely which was something that almost made her not happy at all.

"Snake venom, sir. I summoned a snake to bite him, and I needed it to be a dangerous one or what would the point be but the only properly helpful one I could think of was a taipan; that's the most venomous snake in the world. Except a basilisk, I suppose."

"A summoned snake killed him? That's a very rare occurrence."

"Why is that madam? Summoning a venomous snake is easy," Hermione assured her though surely she knew that already. Better to be sure.

"Snake venom takes several minutes, or even hours to kill a victim, and when the summons is cancelled the venom disappears from the victim's blood as well, effectively curing them. The only way it should kill is if the caster deliberately maintains the summons…" The nice auror lady was not sounding so nice; she was sounding accusatory. That was OK of course, this was her investigation, but Hermione shifted nervously all the same. She didn't feel nervous - or anything much really - it just felt right to make those motions.

"I did keep the snake around for a bit so Harry could use it to scout ahead, but that was only a few minutes."

"Define a few."

"The dictionary defines a few as a small number of units or individuals," Hermione recited, smiling proudly at her exceptional answer.

"Miss Granger, how long precisely did you maintain the summons after Mr Lockhart was bitten."

"Oh, three and half minutes, with a margin of error of twenty seconds or so. My timekeeping is very good you see because I use it-"

"Thank you, miss Granger. Do you have any idea how such a short exposure to venom would prove lethal?"

Maybe the nice auror lady doesn't know snakes as well as I thought. It's a good thing I'm here to explain it to her.

"Well the venom causes coagulation of the blood, see, so although the neurotoxin elements and such would stop working after the venom disappeared, if there was a clot formed already and it made its way somewhere important then it could cause a stroke or a heart attack or all sorts of problems."

"Ah, I think I understand," Dumbledore said sagely.

"That's good," Hermione said, because it was.

"Do go on," the nice auror lady encouraged him. Or was it him she was speaking to? I'm here to answer questions, I should talk.

"A conjuration of a creature," Dumbledore began, so Hermione stopped to listen, "depends on the caster's innate understanding of that creature. Should the average witch or wizard summon a venomous snake, they would produce something with venom which acts as you have described, madam Bones. The venom would act in the way they expect, causing symptoms, but without an understanding of how exactly those symptoms occur, the symptoms would cease with the magic. Young Ms Granger here has I daresay a far better understanding of what it is that she was summoning, and yet tragically… Ms Granger, what is the survival rate of a human bitten by a taipan who does not receive antivenom?"

"Awfully low sir. About twenty percent I think."

"As I feared. It seems Ms Granger's mind created a venom which would not simply poison the victim until removed, but rather which specifically gave its victim a twenty percent chance of survival until treated - not merely dispelled - by way of causing permanent blood clots."

"Well that is how snake venom works, sir, so I don't think that's unexpected."

"Not for you, Ms Granger, which is entirely the point."

"I see," the auror lady said thoughtfully. "Well, we should continue with the questions. Ms Granger, did you intend to kill Gilderoy Lockhart."

"No ma'am. I never meant to kill, per se; I only meant to maim, or seriously injure."

"How reassuring," she scoffed.

"That's how self-defence works ma'am. Take down your assailant by any means necessary, with neither a desire to harm the attacker, nor concern for any harm that may be caused," she quoted, though she couldn't recall from where. "Render the assailant unable to make further attempts to cause you harm, ceasing not a moment before nor after this is the case."

There was silence for a short while, which to Hermione stretched on forever. She was bursting to fill it with something, anything they would want to hear, but there was nothing more to say on the matter. She had done what she had to.

"One more question, then," her interviewer finally declared. "How do you feel about your part in the death of Mr Lockhart."

"What do you mean?" Hermione requested. The question seemed unnecessary, but she wanted to understand so she could answer to the best of her ability all the same.

"Do you feel regret at his passing?"

Hermione went to answer, to describe the weight she had felt on her shoulders since the chamber, the nagging doubts about what sort of a person she was, but when she moved her mouth the words wouldn't come. She tried again, rewording and rewording, but in the end there was only one combination of sounds her tongue would permit. When they were spoken, the cloud lifted, for she knew she spoke the truth.

"Why would I?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why would I feel regretful about the death of a no-good, pomped-up vicious fraudulent bastard who tried to violate my mind!?" - Hermione hadn't thought it possible to shout whilst under veritaserum, but that was apparently untrue - "He attacked me, he attacked Harry, he tried to leave Ginny for dead and he got what he damn well deserved, and I'm glad I was the one to give it to him! I'm glad because-"

"-I think that's enough," Dumbledore cautioned.

"No it isn't! You wanted the truth so you can bloody well hear it through! I'm glad because if I hadn't killed him then Harry might have had to, and he wouldn't have dealt with his guilt at all well afterwards." - she slammed her fists down on the arms of her chair - "I'm glad he's dead because it means he can't obliviate anyone else ever again!"

"It seems the veritaserum has worn off. Ms Granger you would do well to stop talking now. This interview is over."

"I can't stop; the serum's still working," Hermione seethed. How dare they try to silence her when she was telling them truths that needed to be told? The world needed to know what a sick, twisted excuse for a human Gilderoy Lockhart had always been and she would tell them, and they would sit there and listen.

She heard the distinct sound of two people making to rise, then slamming back down into their seats

"Ms Granger, please control your magic," Dumbledore asked her. Was that a hint of fear in his voice?

"Release us at once Ms Granger," madam Bones demanded.

"No! No, you're not listening. You're not, you're not…"

Hermione broke down then into a fit of sobs. All the emotion she had pent up came spilling forth, drowning her righteous anger in a wave of raw feeling she couldn't put words to. She felt her magic unclench, and only then did she realise she had been using it to pin them to their chairs.

"Sorry," she choked out, "I'm sorry."

"That's quite alright, Hermione," Dumbledore assured her. Fawkes trilled a little tune in harmony with his comforting words. "We understand you've been through a most harrowing ordeal, but it is over now. You have nothing to fear."

"I'm not going to jail then?" she asked. She knew she didn't deserve to; she hadn't done anything wrong, but no justice system was perfect.

"No," Dumbledore answered, as madam Bones spoke also:

"A report will have to be filed before a decision is made on whether or not to bring charges."

Hermione's heart dropped. It felt like the room was getting colder - no, the room was getting colder. Fawkes' gentle hum had stopped, as had the hundred odd doodads that whirred and whistled away in the background. Only the metronome on the headmaster's desk still ticked, slow and methodical, pounding its rhythm loud as foreboding as a war drum. There was a tingling of pure magic in the air, raw and full of implications that made the skin shudder.

"I am sure everything will be fine," madam Bones stuttered, and the room returned to life at once. Then she spoke in a whisper Hermione was certain she wasn't supposed to hear. "That girl is something else, Albus. Such intense conviction, and I hear she has the talent to back it up… They said much the same about a young Bellatrix, you recall. I hope you know what you're doing."

Hermione couldn't make out Dumbledore's short response. She made a mental note to research this 'Bellatrix' person.

She and the headmaster sat a while in the tense quiet that followed, as madam Bones made a hasty retreat. When she was well away Hermione approached the elephant in the room head on, as a Gryffindor should.

"Sir, did you just intimidate the head of the DMLE?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Madam Bones is a fierce woman; to intimidate her would be a remarkable achievement."

"That isn't a 'no'," she noted.

"Observant as always, Ms Granger. Care for a lemon drop?"

"No, thank you headmaster."

"No, not the best for the appetite is veritaserum. Best you run along; I believe a letter has just arrived for you in the owlery. But if you would be so good as to meet me in the infirmary in a half hour?"

"Yes, headmaster," she said rising to leave. "Of course."

Harry was just waving goodbye to his friends as Pomfrey herded them out of her infirmary - although waving was a strong word for what little motion his arm was capable of - when headmaster Dumbledore appeared. He was in no rush, stopping to bid each student a good day before having a quiet word with the matron. Harry really wished he would hurry up, because he was no doubt bringing word about Hermione.

"Ah, Harry, there you are," he said softly as he finally settled into a chair nearby.

"Hermione?"

Dumbledore raised a hand; "in a moment, dear boy. I have found patience to be one of the greatest virtues, and equally the hardest to maintain."

"But-" Harry started. The look the headmaster shot him over his half-moon spectacles caught the next word and shoved it back down his throat.

They sat in the resulting silence for a few minutes, Dumbledore checking a little golden pocket watch more than once, though with no apparent urgency. Finally, what he was waiting on came; a knock at the open door, from the knuckles of a brown-curled girl in a Gryffindor red blindfold.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted.

"Miss Granger, do come in. Only two minutes late; some may call that fashionable," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Sorry sir," she mumbled, through a small smile.

"Not to worry, I'm sure you had very important things to attend to," he said knowingly. "Good news, I hope?"

Harry noticed she was holding a letter tightly in her left hand.

"The best, sir."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Wonderful."

"So you're not in trouble? You're not…?"

"This is… something different," Hermione answered, flapping the letter. "But no, I think I'm going to be alright? It's going to be alright."

"I have always found Madam Bones to be an exceptionally fair woman. And your arguments under veritaserum were most compelling," the headmaster said as he moved a chair for her to sit in.

"Sorry about the, uh, you know…"

"Not at all, miss Granger. A more interesting five minutes I have not experienced in some time; never apologise for making another's life a little less monotonous."

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were talking about - not with the headmaster in the room.

"But, to the next business. Whilst recovering you pair from the chamber, I came upon a most curious object. I am rather hoping you might be able to enlighten me as to its nature, and perhaps give an account of how two students overcame an adult basilisk."

Dumbledore withdrew from his robes a dark leather book - or rather the remains of one. It looked to have been melted somehow, stained black and bubbled at the surface.

"The diary?" Hermione guessed.

"Is that what it is?" Dumbledore mused. "There is, I see, some lettering engraved on the front, but the corrosive properties of basilisk venom appear to have all but erased it."

"It read: Tom Marvolo Riddle," Hermione spat with unconcealed loathing.

Dumbledore flinched, and Harry didn't think it was due to her tone.

"Do you know who that is, sir?" he asked.

The headmaster sat in thoughtful silence for a long time before he answered. "Mr Riddle was, many years ago, a student here at the school."

"He's a bit more than that," Hermione scoffed.

"That he is. Am I to believe you know who he became?"

"He spent enough time gloating about it," Harry muttered, not enjoying his memory of the spectre taking credit for his parents' deaths.

"Gloating? You were able to speak with him?"

"He was a - a ghost of some kind. Looked like a student. I think he only knew about us through Ginny."

Dumbledore looked at the book in his hands like it was a live grenade. "A ghost, you say?"

"Maybe? He was getting more solid as he talked. Said he was draining Ginny's life away. Spells went right through him though."

"That is… concerning. Did he say anything else of importance?"

"Just taunted me about my parents, called Hermione some-"

"Actually, there was one thing," Hermione interrupted he shifted nervously in her chair. "After Harry killed the basilisk, there was this wave of magic, and… I think, before he went, Riddle tried to possess me."

Harry jolted upright with sudden concern, and only a cautioning hand from Dumbledore kept him from saying whatever ridiculous thing would have sprung off his tongue.

"He was in my head. It was like a dream, only more real, and horrible. I could feel him in there, and he just… he didn't belong," she said, shivering and rubbing her arms. "He didn't feel like just a ghost; it was like there was this whole other person in my brain. He felt alive. I didn't know people could do that - get in other peoples' heads."

"There is an art, a branch of mental magics, we call legilimency. It is the practice of reading another's mind - their emotional state, their memories, and at the most extreme, theoretically, the exertion of control over the victim."

"Wizards can read minds!?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Very few have the ability."

"How do you defend against it?" she demanded, getting right to the point as she always did.

"By spending many hours, over many years, mastering occlumency - the art of ordering and fortifying one's mind, to the point an intruder cannot pierce or navigate it. Or, apparently, by whichever method you employed?"

"Ordering and fortifying… You mean, like filing all your memories into place, and putting them in a building in your head?"

"That is not the worst summary of occlumency I have heard. Mindscapes are one technique often used."

"I think I built one already, sir. I didn't mean for it to be, but… when I lost my sight I needed a way to visualise space, and to memorise things I wouldn't be able to look up easily, so I started putting everything into a library I imagined. That's where we ended up when Tom invaded."

"Most intriguing… but how were you able to eject him?"

"He was in my head, and he didn't belong there."

"But how?"

"He didn't belong. I didn't want him there. I acted on instinct, really; I guess I banished him."

"A natural occlumens? You are full of surprises Ms Granger."

"Hang on," Harry interjected, "so he was actually in your head?"

"It felt like it."

"Is that how this legimency works then?"

"Not precisely. You see, typically a witch or wizard is anchored to their body, and can only project their self onto others. Tom was without corporeal from; it is entirely possible he invaded Hermione's mind in a more literal sense."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"I fear if he had been successful, he would have overcome you entirely and taken your body for his own."

"He can do that? Why not do that in the first place?"

"Slow, methodical possession, such as he attempted on Ms Weasley, has a much higher likelihood of success. But Riddle is a man of many disturbing talents. Even as a child, it seems he was darker and more powerful than I ever realised," Dumbledore sighed, staring at the book held limply in his hands. "Darker by far."

Despite the letter she had been waiting on arriving, and bearing good news, the following couple of days passed in something of a haze with Hermione hardly noticing anything that happened around her. She availed herself one last time for the year upon the library, devouring every lawbook she could find, and otherwise lived within her own head. People tried to get through to her, but it turned out when you'd faced a basilisk in a life and death situation little matters like small talk and holiday plans became so utterly unimportant her ears didn't bother letting the brain know they'd been heard.

Her funk didn't break until Harry was discharged, conditionally, into her care so that he might attend the end of year feast. He wouldn't be able to eat solids, partly because his stomach would reject such food after a week on fluids, and partly because only one of his kidneys was in working order, the other being on a magically imposed sabbatical as it healed. In other words, his concerns were as important as Hermione's own, so she put hers aside for a while. The library's selection on law was rather useless anyway, almost as if the school actively discouraged students knowing their rights.

Hermione was weighing her indignity at such an idea against the havoc people like the twins could cause if they knew exactly what they could get away with, and how, as she helped Harry into the Great Hall. Which was to say she walked at his side with an agreement to grab him if, and only if, he was falling on his face. That she wouldn't be able to see him falling to catch him was apparently not reason enough to permit a hand on his elbow. Ginny's ridiculousness had clearly set him back in terms of allowing physical contact, not that he would talk about it.

For what felt like the hundredth time that year, their entrance to the hall created a wave of whispers. For the first time, she was able to properly ignore them with a clear head; what did she care what people thought? The idea that either of them was the heir should be well and truly dead - many of the little conversations she hadn't bothered with had been Puffs and Claws trying to apologise, too meekly and too late to matter. Harry would be the one getting all the acclaim, because he was Harry Potter, and Hermione didn't envy him more than a smidge.

Oh, and compared to fighting the shade of the dark lord and his pet basilisk, why would I care about any of that?

They took their habitual seats at the empty end of Gryffindor table, although it was nothing like empty; the Quidditch team, first years, Sally, and Luna had gathered there already. Hermione was fairly sure Luna was supposed to sit with her house for this particular feast, much the same way Harry hadn't at the sorting, which was to say she was entirely welcome and any professor looking to correct her would find themselves grossly outnumbered. And probably arguing against McGonagall, because there was no way Luna wasn't an honorary cub in the lioness' eyes.

Harry and Hermione must have been the last ones in, because they had hardly started greeting their friends when Dumbledore cleared his throat to deliver a speech.

"Settle down, thank you, settle down. Silence please, for this year's speech will be somewhat more solemn than anyone had hoped. You see, here at Hogwarts, we are as family. We live together, we celebrate together, and we grieve together. This year we tragically lost one of our family. To some, Penelope Clearwater was a friend; to others only an acquaintance; but to all she represented something so much more. Her life was a promise of a future. A promise cut short."

"There has no doubt been much speculation upon the events of Ms Clearwater's passing. While it is not my place to say, nor would I wish to should I have the right, I will say this: She is to be awarded an order of Merlin, second class, for her actions. There is a student amongst our number who owes their life to Ms Clearwater's remarkable compassion and bravery. Ms Clearwater was an example to us all; an example which has already been followed; a good deed passed forward; and in this way her legacy lives on. A moment of silence, if you will, for a heroic young woman gone before her time."

Hermione had never quite understood the saying 'deafening silence' until then. She felt the crushing weight of responsibility the headmaster laid upon her shoulders, the stares of those who knew her to be the student in question, and the crippling guilt of being the one who survived. As the moment stretched on, she begged for it to end, to release her from its oppressive spell, yet also she hoped that it might last forever; that she might never have to face the world which lay beyond.

Then Dumbledore ended it and she wanted to scream at him, because it had not been long enough by half to honour Penelope's memory. The minute she had spent with nothing to do but think was neither time enough to put her grief in order, nor penance enough for her allowing Penelope to take her place.

"Now, as is ever the way of life, to happier tidings," Dumbledore announced. "And to the awarding of the house cup. Before I announce the scores, I would grant Ravenclaw one hundred points for Ms Clearwater's shining example."

Ravenclaw erupted into applause, but there was no shouting or catcalling to go with it - not when the winner of the points was not there to receive such praise.

"Keen eyes amongst you will see that puts Ravenclaw into a close second place, eighteen points behind the leading house, with eight hundred and forty one points: Slytherin!"

Slytherin's jubilant explosion from across the hall was cut short as Dumbledore thundered on.

"But! More recent events must be taken into account, before the scores are finalised. So... for a formidable display of defensive magics, and for holding tight to what mattered the most when all hope seemed lost, I award seventy-five points, and a special award for services to the school, to Miss Hermione Granger."

A formidable display? Does he mean against the basilisk, or…? Hermione thought as Gryffindor stamped and cheered her name. The hypocrites.

"Also, for fast action in a time of crisis, and faster friendship in the face of absolute peril, I award seventy-five points, and a special award, to Mr Harry Potter."

The cheering was louder for him, she dryly noted. Although that might simply have been because he wasn't in much of a state to cheer her, whereas she was belting her lungs out for him. It may also have been because the Gryffindors keeping up with the maths would have figured out their house had just taken the lead. Victory had gone to the lions, thanks to the lucky success of the two who had been least welcome all year. A success buoyed up on Luna's dash for help, and Patricia's training, and Penelope's sacrifice, handed to them on a silver platter by a conniving headmaster.

"So, with those points counted, I believe the winners by all of twelve points are-"

"Headmaster!" Hermione called as she stood and faced the head table. Her pulse started to race, but she quashed the anxiety rising with it; she was a Gryffindor, damn it, and she had faced a basilisk side by side with the magnificent boy who sat beside her. There was nought to fear but fear itself, and she would not cower.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I believe you've missed someone in your accolades," she boldly stated. "For the past few months, Patricia Stimpson has been training myself and Harry in defensive techniques" - she paused for dramatic effect, and to let the whispers subside - "and without her help, we would both have perished. She deserves recognition."

"Is this so?" Dumbledore asked with amusement. "How interesting… and just how much recognition do you believe she has earned?"

Hermione did the maths in her head, checking it thrice over.

"I think thirty one house points would be adequate, headmaster."

"And do you agree with Ms Granger's assessment, Mr Potter?"

"Y-Yes sir," Harry faltered as he was put on the spot, "I do. Thirty one sounds right to me."

Hermione was very glad to hear her friend was supporting her as she attempted to throw away Gryffindor's win. With his blessing, it felt less like betrayal and more like justice. Or maybe just plain vengeance; she wasn't feeling picky.

"So many?" Dumbledore muttered. "Well… I suppose if we're attributing your successes to her aid… Why not let us make it a nice round number? Dumbledore cleared his throat before announcing "Thirty points to Ravenclaw, for Ms Stimpson's excellent tutelage."

Thirty points! He made it a tie! There hasn't been a tie since 1841!

The gasps of the student body were quickly silenced by the scraping of a chair, as someone else stood at the head table.

"Ahem" - McGonagall? - "I would also like to award, for the virtue of staying loyal and true to one's friends in times of great adversity, one house point…" - there was as smugness to her head of house's voice that gave Hermione chills - "to Miss Luna Lovegood."

The hall exploded into cries of shock, protest and general confusion as Professor McGonagall deliberately threw away her house's joint victory. Hermione worried for a moment that the headmaster would find someone else to give a point to, like Neville, until McGonagall spoke again.

"I think that will be all in the way of last minute points, Albus."

Her tone was one Hermione recognised, from the headmaster's office all those months ago just after Mrs Norris' petrification. It left no room for negotiation or compromise; the professor was laying down the law to the most powerful wizard in Britain, and Merlin forbid he take umbrage with it.

"In that case," Dumbledore bellowed over the chaos, "it seems a change of decoration is in order! The Hogwarts house cup goes to Ravenclaw!"

The cheering of the 'Claws drowned out the protests of the Slytherins and the bewildered groaning of all but two Gryffindors. Harry was on his feet beside Hermione, and the two of them hollered as they applauded - not for the Ravenclaws as a whole, but for their two friends in blue, the memory of a heroic young woman, and the unshakable pride of Minerva McGonagall.

House points and cup be damned; the victory they had fought for was its own reward.

A/N:

This chapter brought to you one day late, questionably proofread, and without proper author notes, by the sinus infection gang. Bleurgh.