Scars

'Good news! There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with you, Miss Lestrange,' said Madame Pomfrey.

'But I don't remember anything at all!' snarled Amy, trying to rise for what felt like the twentieth time. Once more, Poppy calmly pushed her down again. 'That definitely falls under "something wrong", don't you think?!'

'What is the last thing you remember, Miss Lestrange?' asked Albus Dumbledore kindly, stroking his beard.

Amy scoffed. 'Walking to Hogsmeade. Right after that, Daphne and Harry looking down at me.'

'Nothing else?' asked Harry softly.

She shook her head.

'Several hours …' Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. 'Would you, perhaps, allow me to inspect your wand, Miss Lestrange?'

Amy scowled, looking at Harry. Harry gave a shrug. He doubted the headmaster would feel inclined to mete out punishment even if some rather questionable hexes turned up.

'Fine. Whatever.'

Dumbledore smiled kindly, taking the wand under intense scrutiny, rolling it in his hand, pointing it this way and that way, all the while muttering under his breath. After a while, he pointed his own ridiculously ornate wand at Amy's.

A ghostly door appeared above Amy's wand, and with a click, it unlocked. Next, the apparition of an older Hufflepuff scolding Amy near the main entrance rose from the wand. A jet of purple light cut the rant short, and the fifth-year boy gave an embarrassing squeal, holding the front of his robes. That, apparently, was enough for Dumbledore who, or so Harry could have sworn, fought to keep a straight face, cancelling the spell.

Poppy was less impressed; she was scowling fiercely.

Daphne was giggling. 'Was that a Shrinking Charm?'

Amy smirked back at her. 'Yes, it was. But I don't think it worked very well. Maybe there wasn't enough to be shrunk.'

Dumbledore, perhaps prompted by Poppy's disapproving glare, coughed politely. 'Do you remember casting the Alohomora Charm, Miss Lestrange?'

'No … No, I don't think so.'

'Do you still remember your plans for Hogsmeade?' asked Dumbledore, undeterred.

Amy very pointedly didn't look at Harry or Daphne. 'No,' she lied smoothly, and Harry was impressed. Neither voice nor face had betrayed even the tiniest bit of unease. 'Is there a way to regain the memories?'

Before Dumbledore or Snape could answer, Harry cut them short. 'Nothing you would consider.'

Dumbledore deflated a bit. 'Should you change your opinion, I would be glad to assist. I assure you I am just as curious as you about what really transpired. Until then, I suggest you spend the night under Poppy's care and rejoin us for breakfast tomorrow morning.'

'But there's nothing wrong with me!' protested Amy angrily.

'… sir,' added Daphne, almost as an afterthought.

Dumbledore turned around one last time. With an amused smile, he said, 'Except, as you put it, young lady, not remembering anything at all. Come, Severus – we still need to discuss your proposal.'

Snape, who hadn't said anything throughout the examination, nodded curtly. As he was about to turn around, he muttered, 'Am I correct in assuming that you attacked Hufflepuff's fifth-year prefect when he tried to give you detention, Lestrange?'

'Yes,' grumbled Amy.

'… sir,' added Daphne dutifully.

Snape seemed to hesitate for a second. 'No matter how insufferable the boy is, rules are rules. One point from Slytherin.'

Without another word, he turned around, strutting towards the infirmary's doors, cloak billowing.

'Professor Snape really doesn't like Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors. I wonder why,' said Daphne idly.

'Nonsense!' snapped Poppy, though she did look somewhat conflicted about her duty to defend her colleague and what she'd witnessed. 'Ten minutes, then I want you lot out.'

'But there's nothing wrong with me!' protested Amy again. 'Can't they stay? This is boring!'

'This is the infirmary, not some playground!' Poppy whirled around, raising her finger threateningly. 'Don't test me!'

Harry, knowing Hogwarts' matron fairly well, nodded sagely. 'Don't test her,' he advised, rubbing his elbows.

Poppy harrumphed one last time before she left through the door that led to her office.

Amy grumbled angrily for a few seconds until she seemed to remember something. 'What was it Dumbledore was about to propose earlier?'

'Well, you can break Memory Charms either by force, which I don't think he was about to suggest, or via Legillimency.'

'Hell, no!' snarled Amy. 'I'd rather stew in this kind of rapey uncertainty than have Dumbledore rummaging around in my mind.'

'Rapey?' repeated Daphne, disgusted. 'But I thought – I mean, nothing happened, right?'

'Yeah, well, I know. I think so, at least. But that charm my secret enemy cast to keep me warm freaks me out more than anything. Why go to the trouble?!'

Harry shrugged. 'No idea. But let's not jump to conclusions. Maybe some Hufflepuffs decided it was time for your comeuppance but held the view that it might be rude to leave a girl to freeze in an alley?'

Amy laughed. 'Sounds about right. Stupid Hufflepuffs …'

Memory Lane

Amy left the infirmary the next morning, looking somewhat worse for wear. Apparently, she hadn't taken Harry's words to heart.

'Aren't healers supposed to heal their patients?' she grumbled.

'Patients are supposed to stay in their beds, too,' said Harry. 'And yet, or so I imagine, some don't.'

Leo sighed dramatically from across the table. 'So much for security,' he said, his copy of the Prophet propped against a stack of spurned fruit.

'Hmm?' mumbled Draco.

'Antonin Dolohov's been spotted near Hogsmeade – yesterday!'

Amy sat bold upright. 'Dolohov?!'

Tracey made a face. 'You don't know if he had anything to do with your little … accident.'

'Accident, my bum,' snarled Amy.

'I'm just saying that you shouldn't jump to conclusions! I know he's got a nasty past, but …'

'Who is Antonin Dolohov?' asked Hermione. 'Is he one of the escapees?'

'I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that he's the worst kind of scum that Azkaban has ever had the misfortune to house,' said Harry.

'What did he do?' asked Hermione hesitantly.

'I don't think it's a tale to be told during meals,' said Harry delicately.

Tracey snorted derisively. She hadn't spared Harry more than the occasional glare since their confrontation. 'He's done it all: murder, kidnapping, rape, arson – he's a grade A psychopath! And he hates Muggles and Muggle-borns with a passion.'

'I don't think he likes anything very much,' said Daphne thoughtfully. 'Including himself. It's a bit sad if you think about it that way.'

'Don't be ridiculous! He's a rabid mongrel that needs to be put down – spare me your nonsense touchy-feely explanation. Urgh, I feel dirty just thinking about it,' said Amy.

'He's never done anything to pure-bloods, has he?' said Draco.

'Well, I don't reckon they get any pickier after years in the clink,' replied Amy darkly.

'I don't think Dolohov, if it really was him, would have bothered with the charm to keep you warm, Amy,' said Harry.

'Emeric's Evil Eye, I bloody well hope so!'

Amy wasn't the only one disturbed by the known sociopath lurking close to school, and the shadow of his presence easily overcame Hogwarts' impregnable walls. Where students had, so far, been wandering the castle more or less thoughtlessly, they now seemed to gather in packs, casting suspicious peeks into any of the old, forlorn corridors of the castle.

The best that could be said about the entire affair was that, from Harry's perspective and to his mild surprise, nobody questioned whether Dolohov owed his allegiance to the Blacks or not. A nice change of pace. While Harry knew that his grandfather had men at his disposal that wouldn't shy away from even the dirtiest tasks, Dolohov was more beast than man. And while he didn't want to encourage Amy's nasty imagination, he privately agreed with her notion of putting down a rabid mongrel.

Classes were, at this point, a pleasant distraction from Dolohov, Pettigrew, and all the other troubles.

With fondness, Harry began carving the second row of runes on his little wooden toy sword. Strictly speaking, the coursework only demanded he carve a single rune on the hilt (Glory), but Harry, to Draco's annoyance, was done with that bit within the first five minutes, so he decided to push things to the next level; currently, he was trying to finish a short string of runes that declared his work the property of Harry James Black.

Parkinson, sitting in the row behind him, was cussing furiously under her breath. Draco, at his side, had a small heap of broken toy swords next to him.

'How are your lessons, Hermione? I never asked,' said Harry without looking up.

'The Occlumency business? Confusing and tiring.' She smiled ruefully, inspecting her own very respectable attempt. 'But I'm glad for all the help. To be honest, Tracey seems a bit obsessed with helping me. She wouldn't say why when I asked though.'

'Er, yes, that might just be because of me. She … we had a bit of an argument.'

'That would explain why she glowered so fiercely whenever I mentioned your name these last few days,' said Hermione wisely.

'She only glowered?'

Hermione blushed. 'Erm, not exactly. She also called you a self-righteous twat – among other things.'

Draco chuckled appreciatively. The toy sword was creaking warningly under his shaking fingers.

'How nice. But I actually wanted to ask you about your etiquette lessons.'

'Oh, they're fine. I get along great with my teachers.'

'That's good to hear, I suppose. Do you mind me asking if anything special happened last Hogsmeade weekend?'

'No? Well, I was invited to dinner to practice table manners and banquet customs. I swear, you pure-bloods are obsessed with who's allowed to talk – obsessed!'

'Need I remind you as well that I'm not actually pure-blood?' said Harry, smirking.

'Oh! Well, I suppose you're right. It's so strange, honestly; for me, you're the embodiment of everything pure-blood. But maybe that's good news for me! I mean, if you can make it, then maybe so can I.'

Harry smiled benignly. 'Yes, maybe. So nothing extraordinary happened at all?'

'No? Why are you so hung up about my lessons?'

'Truth be told, Amy tried to follow you, and you know how that turned out.'

'She did?' asked Hermione, looking apprehensive.

There was a loud crack from Harry's other side. 'It wasn't anything personal though,' said Draco, tossing yet another split toy sword. 'She just likes to know what everyone's up to.'

Hermione sighed. 'I suppose. Why didn't she just ask?! I mean, I got into trouble last year because I went behind your back and started researching in the library and everything …'

'Fair enough,' said Harry. 'But to be perfectly honest with you, I suspect she simply wants to get whoever's giving you lessons into trouble.'

'She'd probably swell with pride like a balloon if it turned out to be someone like Abbott,' said Draco.

'I see,' said Hermione tersely.

'It's not Abbott, is it?'

Hermione didn't respond.

'Smith, maybe?'

'I'm not telling, Draco!'

'Aw, come on, Granger!'

'No!'

'Everyone,' shouted Babbling, 'you should all be putting the finishing touches to your work about now. All those who don't, kindly finish your work for next class. I expect artful exhibits. I shall be most displeased if you try to fob off an inferior product on me. Rest assured, there will be … consequences for faineants. Questions?'

'Why can't we just paint the runes, Professor?' wailed Parkinson in her gratingly affected voice. Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw that her painfully intricate manicure was completely ruined.

Tracey, sitting with Daphne in the row behind Parkinson, sniggered unkindly.

'Because it's much easier to protect carvings, because they're much more difficult to meddle with, because it's been done like that for more than two thousand years, and because I say so.'

'Couldn't we just charm the ink to last?' grumbled Parkinson.

'Yes, Parkinson, but you can also change painted runes after the fact. And, I want you to pay attention to what comes next, you really don't want that.'

'Why?!'

'Because it would ruin the work, of course!' said Babbling, her eyes narrowing slightly. 'Art is meant to last, to be enjoyed for all eternity! That's obviously a bit difficult if any low-born peasant can besmear even the most precious cultural asset of humanity.' After a short pause, she added, 'It will also blow up your face.' Her tone suggested that this was, at most, a minor inconvenience in comparison to the defilement of art.

'Why is that, Professor?' asked Daphne from the back. Babbling narrowed her eyes even further, and Daphne hastily added, 'I mean, if we were to know, we could spread the word. We could save so many lovely runes!'

Harry grinned a bit. The class had learned fairly fast how to handle Babbling's obsession.

To nobody's surprise, Babbling nodded slowly. 'You make a fair point, Miss Greengrass. All right, I usually don't like going into this subject until fifth year, but it comes down to imagination. If you all were to imagine abstract concepts like peace, comfort, or friendship, no two results would be exactly the same. The human mind is the apex of subjectivity. But runes are all about visualisation, about vague concepts, about intentions. I don't mind telling you that I'd gladly marry whoever would prove to be so singularly compatible with me that we'd be able to work on one set of magical runes.'

There was a lot of frantic coughing from the back row.

'Are you okay, Harry? You look at bit green,' whispered Hermione.

Harry cleared his throat. 'I'm fine.'

'Ah! Imagine the joy. Sitting in front of a cosy fire,' raved Babbling with a misty look in her eyes, 'writing runes – together.' She gave a sigh of longing, staring ahead, unseeing. After a few seconds of awkwardness, she coughed importantly. 'Anyway. Does that answer your question? Yes? No? Read up on it in your spare time! Class dismissed.'

Harry, Draco, and Hermione unhurriedly packed their supplies, waiting for the rest of the class to squeeze through the door.

'They always do that,' said Draco with a bit of a sneer directed at the crowd. 'Don't they know how ridiculous that looks?'

'Not everyone is obsessed with appearing prim and proper,' said Hermione delicately.

'They should be!' said Draco. 'Dressing to lose is losing already.'

'That's so … superficial!' replied Hermione, disgruntled.

'Is it though?' said Harry mildly. 'Would you rather hire someone who's made the effort to appear presentable or some slob who looks like a tramp? It comes down to respect – for yourself and others. Nobody denies that the latter could possibly be just as good or better than the former, but you can't deny what your instinct would say. Maybe you'd think along the lines of "If he can't even look after himself, why should I entrust my job to him?"'

'And even if you don't buy into that, you should at least try to take advantage of it,' added Draco thoughtfully. 'It's a matter of fact that dressing to impress can have advantages, so why wouldn't you?! If you don't, you just willingly make it harder on yourself.'

Hermione frowned, but she didn't contest his statement.

Tracey and Daphne had already vanished along with the rest of the mob, so the three of them walked through the cool corridors. A group of first year Hufflepuffs hurried out of their way when they saw them coming.

'You'd think we made a sport of hunting Hufflepuffs just for the fun of it,' said Draco.

'They're just scared,' said Hermione.

'Scared people do stupid things,' said Harry absent-mindedly.

Draco sniggered. 'Wouldn't change too much for that lot, then. Watch this!' Loudly, he said, 'So, Harry, do you really think Dolohov will go after Hufflepuff first?'

The first years gave a squeal of terror and fled.

'You're impossible!' Hermione scoffed angrily.

'Impossibly good-looking, maybe,' replied Draco, smiling smugly and raising his chin.

'Yes, yes,' mumbled Hermione. 'You're the best in about everything you do and have.'

'Good of you to notice, Granger.'

Hermione harrumphed scathingly. 'Come on, I don't want to be late for History.'

Harry came to a sudden stop. 'Oh, right, forgot you had that.'

'You have History as well,' Hermione corrected him with a hint of reproach.

'Only technically speaking,' replied Harry smoothly. 'What's that clown up to in class anyway?'

'Revising the history of the Ministry and its organisation,' answered Draco with a groan. 'You'd think he gets paid a bonus every time he gets on his knees to kiss their buttocks.'

Harry held one hand in front of his mouth to hide his yawn. 'Fascinating. Well, don't let me keep you. I think I'm going to start on Snape's essay. Enjoy the brown-nosing.'

'Thanks,' muttered Draco glumly.

'By the way,' said Hermione, who appeared to be deep in thought. 'Professor Prewett always goes on about how the seven major departments house several smaller departments each, right?'

'Right,' said Harry, leaning against the wall, his bag slung over his shoulder. 'And?'

'But there are others, aren't there? Prewett never quite explained what the difference is between those major departments and smaller ones such as the Department for Education. That one's autonomous as well, isn't it? Even though it's not counted among the other seven.'

Draco made a loud snoring noise, tapping his foot impatiently. 'Is that really so important, Granger?'

'Yes!'

Harry smiled though – to be fair – that was mostly directed at Draco's annoyance. 'The seven major departments all enjoy some level of autonomy from the Minister, Hermione. Crouch can't just sack Bones even if he wanted to. But he very well can sack the head of the Department for Education. It's been determined in the past that some things shouldn't be dependent on the whims of the Minister.'

'And education isn't included in that?!' asked Hermione with a horrified expression.

Harry shrugged. 'No, and I don't disagree.' Seeing as the Muggle-born was about to protest loudly, he added, 'From my perspective, education is a private matter. Everyone is responsible for his own education because everyone is ultimately the sole beneficiary of his own education.'

'But children –'

Harry waved a hand. 'Attending a public school isn't a must. In any case, children are under the protection of their parents. If they're too young to make that sort of decision, the parents naturally have the responsibility to make that call in their stead.'

'And what if they don't bother?!'

Harry shrugged again. 'Then they don't. But that's rather unlikely, seeing as … reputable families are constantly vying for any edge imaginable. But nobody has the duty to become educated. We aren't Muggles, Hermione. A wizard or witch is unlikely to starve even if they never learn to spell. It's everyone's own lot in life. Education, even though I personally see the benefits, isn't a means to absolution, a means of becoming happy, or some sort of divine obligation. Wars and death existed thousands of years ago when sophistication was measured by the amount of pelt you were able to wear. It's not much different now, and it presumably won't become any better if humanity should manage to survive another millennium or two. Knowledge might expand, but humans are bound by the shackles of their shell.'

'That's a really dreary outlook on life … Then why bother learning at all?'

Harry exchanged a puzzled look with Draco. 'Because it gives me an edge, naturally.'

'Right,' agreed Draco.

Hermione deflated. 'This is so twisted …'

'No,' said Harry calmly. 'It's just different from what you've come to associate with normal. Normality is, after all, nothing but the pitiful attempt of the human mind to cling to familiarity.'

'You're sounding like a textbook again, mate,' said Draco. 'Take a breather!'

Hermione tore at her hair, making it even bushier. 'Ack! Fine! I'll … I'll think it over some other time.'

'All right. Anything else? Otherwise, I'll be heading to the dungeons now.'

'Wait! Is there a list of the Ministry departments?' asked Hermione.

'Prewett handed one out, didn't he?' interrupted Draco, looking more bored than ever.

'Yes, but it seems … incomplete.'

Harry, who had been about to turn around, stood up straight, examining Hermione carefully. 'What makes you say that?' he asked in a soft voice.

'Well, there's this one department I just couldn't find on that list –'

Harry's hair stood on end. He listened, transfixed.

'– called the Department of Ethics –'

Harry stared at her without moving a muscle. Draco, too, had gone rigid.

'I'm afraid I can't help you there, Hermione,' said Harry after a short internal struggle.

'Really?' asked Hermione, looking astonished.

Harry shrugged in a truly dramatic fashion. Maybe he was overdoing it a bit, but Hermione wasn't a keen observer of mannerisms anyway. 'I'm not omniscient.'

'Could have fooled me,' said Hermione teasingly.

'It's true,' replied Harry with a small smile. 'I didn't, for instance, know about Pansy's fascination with boys' underwear until Draco –'

'All right, all right,' said Hermione hastily, holding up her hands. 'I think this is where I hurry to class. You coming, Draco?'

'Hold on, I never told you –' began Draco sceptically.

'Nevermind,' snapped Hermione, stomping off.

'Seriously, I never mentioned her knickers!' whined Draco. After a second, he added, 'I wouldn't mind trading if she's into that sort of thing.'

Harry watched Hermione leave, his lazy grin vanishing with her when she turned around the next corner. He nodded at Draco.

'Who the fucking hell told her?!' snarled Draco angrily. 'There'll be hell to pay if she keeps blabbing that name in public.'

'So I imagine. But I didn't tell her. Going by your expression, I'd say you weren't daft enough to tell her either.'

'Of course, I didn't!' insisted Draco hotly.

'And I doubt Tracey did.'

'That's great and all, but it doesn't explain who did! It wasn't Longbottom Jr, was it? "Would you please pass me the fertiliser, Hermione? Oh, by the by, my mother's the head of a secret department of the government that's totally outside Wizengamot control."'

'I doubt it,' said Harry dryly.

'Not even Bones would be moronic enough! And they don't talk with Granger anyway.' His dark expression suddenly turned gleeful. 'I hope she asks Prewett. They'll have to investigate the entire class if she does.'

Harry hummed ruminatively.

'What's that? And here I thought you'd relish the thought of that idiot getting sacked.'

'I do, but aren't you worried? What if someone deliberately put her nose on the department just to check if we'd told her.'

'Yeah, but who would?! I think she would've mentioned a hearing at the Ministry, don't you think? And you know they had to compromise with Bones, back in the day; they aren't allowed to use magic on civilians under any circumstances, so how would they know if Granger lied?!'

'I don't know,' mused Harry, his brow furrowed. 'But this feels … wrong.' After a second of hesitation, he made a decision. 'I think you'd better double your efforts to teach her Occlumency, Draco.'

'Tracey will be thrilled,' said Draco, smirking.

' … and don't tell Tracey I told you to do it.'

'Aw, gosh darn it!'

Memory Lane

'Great! Sit down, folks! Sit down,' called Professor Prewett amiably over the ruckus. His smile didn't waver even as Draco entered rather late. 'Ah, Mr Malfoy. Excellent! Please take a seat. No luck with our elusive pair of Slytherins?'

'Maybe next year, Professor,' called Zabini.

'You never know.' Prewett smiled mysteriously. 'Anyway, I think we about covered everything regarding the Ministry last time. Are there any more questions or should we proceed with something more fun?'

Hermione hesitated for a second before she relaxed her well-trained arm again. She was curious, true, but she didn't want to waste any more class time with Ministry organisation. The library – surely – would hold all the answers she'd need.

'None? Splendid! I don't mind telling you that the topic was getting a wee bit mouldy; there are only so many anecdotes I can tell you to liven it up, after all!' He beamed at them. With a boyish grin, he took a seat on top of his desk. 'So, what to do … What to do?! The syllabus says we really ought to start with goblin rebellions, but I never really bought into that stuff. Dreadfully boring and dry as dust. To cut it brutally short, don't buy heirlooms from a goblin, don't borrow from a goblin, and don't trade goblin-made artefacts. You'd be astonished how much bloodshed could've been avoided if people had wisened up a bit earlier.' With a conspiratorial wink, he continued, 'So … any complaints if we leave it at that for now and do something more fun in the meanwhile?'

Prewett had probably expected the class to cheer, and with five out of six possible combinations of houses, he would have been right. But as it turned out, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws merely stared impassively at him (though some did at least smile back at him with a mix of confusion and pity).

Hermione settled for indifference. She thought the entire topic of goblin rebellions was highly suspicious in itself, but she desperately hoped she wasn't about to endure another lesson on 'fun stuff' like the history of magical sports.

'Let's do sports!' called Basil Fawcett from the back row, to some general murmur of consent from most of the boys.

Hermione groaned.

'I'd love to,' replied Prewett longingly, 'but Minerva, well, she had a bit of a word with me. I'm supposed to "balance my curriculum" – whatever that's supposed to mean. I guess we mustn't do Quidditch more often than once a term.'

Padma Patil raised her hand.

'Yes, Patil?' said Prewett.

'How about something like fashion throughout history?'

Hermione groaned again.

Their Professor's smile seemed to turn a little glassy as well. 'Yeah, Patil, thing is, as … fascinating as that sounds, I'm not sure if it's a topic suited for school.'

'And all those stupid Quidditch precursors are?!' demanded Tracey quite audibly.

There was approving grumbling, but Prewett didn't seem to hear it. 'Anything else maybe?'

Jermaine, who was sitting next to Hermione, raised his hand.

'Yes?' prompted Prewett.

'What about the Great Wizarding War?' proposed Jermaine. 'I'm sure Professor McGonagall would approve.'

Hermione sat up straight – even straighter than usual.

'Are you sure? That's kind of dark.' Prewett hesitated, clearly willing to give this option more consideration than fashion. 'I thought we should leave serious stuff like that for later maybe.'

'We aren't children anymore, Professor,' called Parkinson indignantly.

'Of course, of course,' replied Prewett, placatory. 'I just thought –'

'Come on, Professor,' demanded Fawcett. 'It sounds wicked! Dark Lords, war – what's not to like?!'

'Better than fashion,' muttered Draco from the front row.

Prewett seemed to agree. 'All right, I suppose.' He scratched his cheek. 'Okay, I'm sure most of you are aware of this at least, but for our less well-read Muggle-borns, maybe we should start at the very beginning.

'I'm sure many of our newer additions to magical society will find this hard to believe, but Britain isn't the most conservative magical society – far from it. In the Far East, there are magical enclaves that have seen next to no change for nearly two thousand years. Even only counting those you might, in your Muggle terms, label 'western', there are some very … traditional countries in Europe alone. Many, like Sweden or France, are quite progressive, but others will give you the impression that you're still living in the 13th century.'

'What – they don't wash?!' asked Laurel Lightflight to general laughter.

'No, no,' said Prewett with a grin. 'I meant, well, traditions, everyday life, customs – that sort of thing. Magic, you will find, can solve many a problem; witches and wizards didn't have much need to change since magic could solve virtually anything for them. The gap between Muggles and magical people is … truly astounding in some places. Take northern Germany or Denmark, for example; the magical community doesn't even speak the same language as their own Muggle counterparts. Most learned witches and wizards are perfectly capable of speaking modern Danish or German, naturally, but some don't. Imagine coming to Hogwarts and finding your classmates prattling in Middle English. It's not great for integration purposes, let me tell you.'

'What do the Muggle-borns do?!' asked Hermione, shocked. 'That's horrible!'

'Generally speaking, they struggle – a lot,' replied Prewett severely. 'Up until the early 19th century, there were still countries in Europe that banned the acceptance of non-adopted Muggle-borns into their most prestigious schools. Nowadays, Europe, at least, tends to take a very meritocratic stance.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' asked Fawcett.

'It means they don't pay too much attention to your background as long as you're good enough. But remember, the situation is different in every country. France, for instance, feels a lot like, well, a magical grammar school.'

'What's that?!' asked Draco, puzzled. 'Do Muggles even need a school to learn how to talk proper?'

A few Slytherins sniggered.

' … properly,' breathed Hermione absent-mindedly.

'No, it's … an advanced sort of school for Muggle children, Malfoy. Anyway, I just wanted to make it clear that the rift between Muggle-borns and pure-bloods, even though some countries might dispute the very term, can be severe. Britain used to be on the very conservative side of things, but there were worse cases – far worse.'

'Seemed like they had an iron grip on things, Professor,' said Michael Corner. 'So what happened? Grindelwald?'

A few classmates, to Hermione's surprise, flinched or hissed angrily. Even Prewett looked slightly unsettled.

'Er, no. Not at first, anyway. While everything I told you thus far is undeniably true, you have to understand that many magical countries, most of Africa for instance, are quite modern and forward-looking. I suppose the trouble really started at the turn of the century when a coalition in the ICW proposed a bill that would've made the facilitation of discrimination against Muggle-borns a statutory crime – not for the individual, mind you, but for the state.

'To be honest, nobody paid too much attention at first. Every other day, someone's trying to pass some queer law through the ICW, and the vast majority gets hammered. Not even one in four hundred draft laws passes. It's quite difficult for all the countries to agree on anything but the most fundamental of crimes. What made this case special, though, was that a very prominent voting block of progressive states had backed this bill. They didn't have nearly enough votes to make it pass, but it certainly made waves.'

'What happened, sir?' asked Hermione.

'Well, as you might imagine, there were those who felt their way of life at risk, which – as it always does – prompted others to attack them as self-serving, political die-hards. This vicious circle of instigation continued to simmer beneath the surface for a decade or two in some countries. The few Muggle-borns that had made it in those countries caught wind of what they perceived as a chance, and that's where the trouble really started: agitation, political threats, riots, oppression – in a few more sparsely populated countries, the situation was beginning to spin out of control. The ICW had trouble covering it up with the Muggles. The papers were full of bad news during the twenties. And when the chaos was at its highest, a man entered the scene with a very … simple and radical idea: what if all the countries pooled their resources and cast a spell that would make the Muggles forever incapable of discovering the magical world. And that man was Gellert Grindelwald.'

'It doesn't sound too bad,' said Yaxley, frowning. 'I mean, isn't that was the Statute of Secrecy is supposed to do anyway?'

Prewett gave a humourless smile. 'That was precisely the reaction many people had. The European section of the ICW actually started investigating the possibility of casting this spell, headed in their efforts by Grindelwald himself.'

'But that wouldn't have done anything about the Muggle-born situation!' said Hermione, disgruntled.

'Which is precisely, of course, why countries of both political camps were able to entertain the notion. Many of Europe's most brilliant heads gathered for a symposium. Charms were invented and dismissed on a daily basis. It was, perhaps, the most astounding leap in magical research the world had seen in recent times.'

'What went wrong?'

'Even though many noteworthy names were involved in the research, the most brilliant, or so it seemed, were Gellert Grindelwald and a … close friend of his. The research, as grand as it was, progressed surprisingly well. Grindelwald was hailed as the miracle healer of an ailing world – brilliant, unsurpassed, untouchable.

'It was only when another man, another very experienced man, decided to have a look at their research that it all came falling apart. You might've heard his name; it was Nicolas Flamel.'

'The alchemist?' asked Tracey loudly.

'The very same. Monsieur Flamel was nearly six hundred years old when he politely asked to have a look at this research the continental press was hailing as the 'wonder solution'. Grindelwald, no doubt taken by his own genius, agreed.

'Monsieur Flamel had a look – and what he saw terrified him. Grindelwald's design for a spell ostensibly held its promise; it would make Muggles forever forget about Magic. But the spell wasn't anything like an ordinary Memory Charm. It was closer, much closer, to a curse – and a dangerous one at that. You see, Grindelwald intended to make Muggles oblivious to magic under any circumstances, completely erase us from their existence.'

'I thought that was what he set out to do?' asked Fawcett, confused.

'Yes … and no. Grindelwald's spell would have made it impossible for anyone without magical blood to see us, to speak to us, to even feel our presence. A witch or wizard could have walked through the streets, kicking, striking, or otherwise manhandling Muggles in any way imaginable – and they would have been doomed to remain forever oblivious.

'Don't you see how twisted, how sadistic the idea truly was? They would have been able to feel pain but not understand why. They would have been helpless to anything: theft, exploitation – even murder or rape. And their minds would have been utterly incapable of ever understanding what had happened.'

'I don't mean to be crass, Professor,' said Blaise Zabini, 'but aren't Muggles helpless to all of that even now?'

Prewett grimaced. 'Not quite. Memory Charms can be overcome, curses can be fought – sometimes even by Muggles. And despite the Statute of Secrecy, Muggles often serve as valuable witnesses for crimes committed by wizards or witches. All of that would have been rendered absolutely impossible. Don't you see? Grindelwald wasn't planning on protecting the magical societies from Muggles, or even to lessen the tension between them; he was researching how to defeat them – once and for all.'

Memory Lane

'Well, that was cheerful,' said Hermione as she accompanied Tracey to the abandoned classroom they used for their private practise sessions.

Tracey bobbed her head. 'I know, right?! You get lessons about doom and death every other day, but sunshine and roses are never mentioned. I find that highly suspicious!' After a thoughtful pause, she added, 'For what it's worth, I think he actually did a good job for once. Turns out he knows as much about the war as he does about Quidditch – who would've guessed?!'

Hermione nodded emphatically. 'It's kind of scary though, isn't it? What Grindelwald planned to do? Even if he didn't want to outright kill them all …'

'Worst thing is how proud he was. His perfect 'clean' solution, that's what he smugly called it.' Tracey scowled. 'It was all rubbish, of course. Madmen are madmen; I'll eat my hat if Flamel disappearing within the first week of the war was unrelated to his discovery of Grindelwald's plans. You can't argue with lunatics.'

'Grindelwald killed him?!'

Tracey shrugged. 'Who knows? But he's definitely gone. Even if it wasn't him, it was probably one of his nutty bootlickers.' She opened the door, waiting for Hermione to step inside.

Hermione nodded thankfully, walking towards the modest seating arrangement near the cobwebbed windows. 'There were a lot of them, weren't there?'

Tracey gave a stiff nod.

'Did they catch them all?'

The petite witch gave a mirthless laugh. 'Oh, no. Merlin, no! Not by a long shot. Grindelwald was a maniac, but he was brainy. Most of the big stuff – terrorism, extortion, the killing – that was all done covertly. They had a real problem finding evidence and witnesses even for those they caught in the act. Many got off scot-free. Worse, some were still organised in their exclusive little terrorist cells even after Grindelwald was sentenced to death.'

Hermione stared, horrified. 'They let them go?!'

'Yeah. They never got them to talk either. They'd all sworn some kind of binding magical oath that made betraying their comrades or their secrets impossible. It was a massive headache for the DMLE.'

'So most of them are still at large?!'

Again, Tracey nodded grimly. 'More or less. Some did get sentenced, and those that pulled the strings, heads of families and the like, are mostly either dead or senile now, of course. But yeah, they got away. There was a lot of trouble for almost two decades after Grindelwald's downfall. Acts of revenge, public displays of loyalty to his cause … those kinds of things.'

'What families were accused of supporting him, then?'

Hermione's vis-à-vis was about to answer when her mouth suddenly snapped shut again. 'Enough with the silly questions. Come on, let's start with the meditation exercises again. Leo and Draco will be here in ten, and I don't want Draco to get the idea that we can't get anything done without him.'

'Oh. Yes, of course. I suppose he doesn't need his ego inflated any further,' said Hermione with a shy smile.

'Probably not. But, to be honest, I don't hate that about him. At least he's being honest about being an arrogant prick.' Tracey grinned, but her words were sharp, acrid.

'You're … talking about Harry again, aren't you?' asked Hermione in a quiet voice.

Tracey's grin vanished fairly quickly. She picked up their study plan. 'Let's not talk about that.'

'Him,' insisted Hermione. She didn't enjoy all the bickering very much.

'… him,' repeated Tracey reluctantly. 'Let's just get on with it, please.'

'All right. I suppose with the joy of another endurance run looming tomorrow, we should get all the sleep we can.'

Tracey snorted. 'Yeah, probably.'

'I'm surprised Greengrass isn't giving up, to be honest,' mused Hermione, oblivious to Tracey's attempt to subtly push the course material in her direction.

'What? Daphy? Oh, she's pretty tough. I wouldn't underestimate her.'

'She's barely able to talk for a few hours after each run,' pointed Hermione out.

Tracey sniggered. 'Yeah, but – to be fair – she always manages to finish.'

'Barely. Have you seen her staggering in the shower?! She's so wobbly she hardly manages to dress properly, wincing with each movement!'

'But she does it anyway,' said Tracey proudly. 'She can be a bit … girlish at times, but she's got plenty of grit when it really counts.'

'Did she have a wild childhood?'

Tracey sighed, putting the material for the meditation exercises away. 'Not exactly. Turbulent, maybe, but she wasn't much of a tomboy. She's always been pretty stubborn though. Really stubborn! When Daphne was five, she heard some stupid tale about a princess riding an Abraxan. And guess what! When she finally got around to seeing one, she immediately climbed the fence to imitate her childhood hero. She probably didn't even hear her parents, me, or the terrified handler as we screamed for her to come back. She wanted to do it, so she did it.'

'Nothing happened, right?!'

Tracey laughed. 'No. The Abraxan simply gave her an annoyed look and ignored her. Daphne was super mad.'

'That would explain some of her injuries though,' said Hermione thoughtfully.

'Injuries?' asked Tracey, looking confused.

'Well, yes. After our first run, when she nearly collapsed in the shower, I noticed her wearing some kind of charmed bandage to hide a really long scar on her left arm. I haven't seen it since, but I don't think she takes the bandages off except to shower.'

'Oh. Right. That,' said Tracey. 'She doesn't like talking about it. Thinks it disfigures her. Best not to mention it.'

Memory Lane

Night time wanderings were a common occurrence at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Pranks, pranks gone wrong, hiding incriminating evidence, exploring, exploring broom closets, idle curiosity, or just because – those were but a few of the popular reasons that drove the students to sneak out of bed despite the prefects' best efforts.

More often than not, they were repeat offenders. It required a certain kind of mindset to sneak out of the dormitories, hide between the columns whenever a patrol (be it teacher or prefect) walked past, and scurry about the cold, lonely halls, but if you'd done it once, you were twice as likely to do it again.

All the more unusual, there were two first-timers from the same dormitory prowling the castle, or at least out of bed, this night.

Hermione Jean Granger, Slytherin, was currently violating curfew by breaking into the library, and she was doing so with a guilty conscience. Not only because she was breaking a very sensible school rule (or two, as the lock softly clicked following her spell) but also because she was breaking a promise to Leo, who had – to her initial surprise – always been very decent to her, despite the bad reputation his family had. It was probably all just stupid rumours and hearsay again. What could the Lestranges possibly have done to deserve this hate?! Even if Amadina was, admittedly, slightly scary.

Leo was, in contrast to Harry, despite his superficially cold appearance and his craze for cleanliness somehow somewhat approachable. Easier to understand. Less layered, perhaps. Yes, that was it. With Leo, Hermione always felt like she knew where she stood.

She was being silly, maybe, but curiosity wasn't a sin – or was it? She'd only check this one more time. The truth couldn't hurt, could it? No, the very notion that the truth could be … bad was ridiculous. People had fought for truth and freedom for the better part of humanity's past, hadn't they?

On quiet feet, Hermione approached the history section of the library, her wand casting a dull, grey light on the endless rows of knowledge.

She knew the library very well, and it didn't take her long to find what she was looking for.

On the Great War, by Bathilda Bagshot

Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. All was quiet. With shaky hands, she flipped the pages to Britain's Grindelwald Trials. Of twenty-seven main suspects, nine had died before the war had come to its conclusion or shortly afterwards – sometimes fairly mysteriously within their holding cells. Three had been completely cleared of all doubt. Thirteen had been sent to Azkaban. Two, those accused of being direct supporters – if not close confidants – of Grindelwald himself, had left the court free men … somehow.

Shaking with nerves, Hermione turned the page.

And there they were. Unfamiliar forenames she had expected. Familiar surnames she had dreaded. Leaving court in triumph, nodding imperiously in the direction of the photographer, clad in pristine robes of smooth silk, wearing respectability and grace like a second skin were Sirius Black II and Radulf Lestrange.

Hermione continued to stare at the picture for longer than she cared to remember. It was an old black and white picture, and that was exactly how it should have been; colours would have been woefully out of place.

Memory Lane

Harry was no stranger to mild bouts of paranoia. The feeling of someone following you, the vague hunch that events were unfolding due to an unseen person's influence, the sense that someone was staring down at you in your sleep …

Those shouldn't even count as personality disorders, really. For people with a … colourful personal history, they should be totally acceptable. Besides, he knew better.

With yet another frown, he turned around, drawing the blanket over his shoulder.

It didn't help, of course, that you knew nothing was there. Not making sure only reinforced the anxiety and looking felt like losing some inner struggle.

He gritted his teeth. He hated losing. He wouldn't look. Nothing was there. He was just being silly again …

For one or two minutes, Harry tried to relax.

On the other hand … if it were possible to check without looking, well, that could hardly be construed as losing, now, could it?

Without opening his eyes, he slowly stretched out his hands.

'See?' he thought. 'There's nothing at a–'

His hand brushed against cotton. He gave a start, staring with bulging eyes at the person looming over him.

'Good evening, Harry,' said Tracey. Her voice was as calm and cold as a frozen sea. 'Sleeping rather peacefully, aren't you?'

'Tracey?! What in Merlin's name are you doing?!'

'I had a chat with Hermione this evening, you know?' she continued as if she were telling him about the weather, as if she weren't standing stiffly right next to his bed in the middle of the bleeding night, wand clutched tightly in her delicate hand.

'Yeah?' asked Harry numbly, looking at the other beds. The curtains weren't drawn. Lying in each bed, spread-eagled and clearly out of it, lay the other boys.

'Yeah. My mum always says, "only children and fools tell the truth". I've always hated the saying, you know, but I have to grudgingly admit there's something to it.'

'What are you on about?! Listen, it's the dead of night! Can't we talk tomor–'

'I know about Daphne,' said Tracey smoothly, still staring down at him. 'I've had a look at her arm tonight.'

'What about her a–'

A blow so fierce struck Harry's face that he crashed painfully against the dormitory wall. At the same time, he heard a muffled yelp and a thud from in front of his bed.

With a snarl, he spat blood and a broken tooth on his duvet. His jaw was on fire. Tracey, her entire face red and raw, her left eye swollen as if she'd been punched, was struggling to get to her feet again. 'So worth it,' she spat. 'She could have died! Do you actually care?! Is this all a game to you?! She could have DIED! You enslaved my best friend, someone who's trusting you with all her heart! Can you actually sink any lower?! You're scum! I hate you! I hate, hate, HATE you!'

She shot him one last contemptuous glare. 'If I never have to speak to you again, it'll be all too soon. We're through!'