Phoenix Intuition

Chapter Six

It was a very busy time for Drake, but it was what he had been looking forward to for the past three years. All that time, spent patiently planning, setting things in place that would be used once everything started; it almost took great mental discipline to remember everything he had done, all the preparations he had made. It was a schedule, reminding him of what was next to do, to check on the things that needed checking on, like the events in the Muggle world.

He summoned Hugo. "Your next job is to come with me to Hogsmeade," Drake informed him. "You'll be under the Imperius Curse. We will both be under an Invisibility Cloak; the purpose is to gauge the mood of the inhabitants, see if anything unusual is happening. Malfoy will be standing by. Aurors will be an obvious presence; if we can catch one alone, I will call in Malfoy, who can dispose of him. Eliminating a few Aurors will be very helpful."

"The Aurors will probably be in pairs, and they'll be the ones who can use the Killing Curse shield," pointed out Hugo.

"Malfoy knows other spells than the Killing Curse, and because of the ring, he is very strong right now. I think he could overpower two Aurors if he caught them by surprise. Part of your job will be to confirm that they are surprised."

Hugo nodded. Now that the killing had started in earnest, it was harder than ever for him to face up to his role in what was happening. He was still just an instrument, but he would be helping in the killing and harming of people he respected and cared about. At what point was it the better thing to do to simply resist full on, and accept the consequences, no matter how horrific? Yes, the Curse will defeat everyone in the end. But can I live with myself if I, not under the Imperius Curse, give him information that leads to the death of someone who wouldn't have died if I didn't give him the information? Could I live with myself better if I suffered the Curse however many times in order to prevent that? At least then I could say to myself, I'm truly not responsible, since I resisted with every ounce of strength that I had, rather than made a rational decision to succumb to the inevitable, just to save myself pain. How far does my conscience demand that I go? I guess that's an individual decision, not a matter of right or wrong--

Hugo felt memories being viewed; he snapped out of his reverie and looked at Drake, who he realized had seen Hugo thinking and decided to find out what it was. After Drake was finished, he paused, thinking.

"I do understand how you feel," said Drake evenly and reasonably. "I don't have much of a conscience now, but I did at one point. I haven't had this problem before, because I didn't ask Brenda to do anything that could help kill someone until well after she'd been broken in, and as you know, Malfoy has no conscience, so it wasn't an issue for him. Your conscience is so offended by what you are being made to do that it is even willing to consider the Cruciatus Curse as preferable. That would not last long, of course, but then at least your conscience would be satisfied, as you had done your best. It is fascinating how some people react that way when asked to commit acts that may cause harm to come to another, yet on a daily basis do not consider the harm that may come by a lack of action on their part. They don't grasp the concept of collective responsibility.

"For example, the American Muggle government--which as you know, I am of necessity following closely right now--has for some time been using torture, or what amounts to torture, on many of its non-American prisoners. Despite legalistic denials by the government, this is well-known and fairly well-publicized. If you ask the average Muggle if he approves of torture, he will say, of course not. At most, perhaps only if lives are in immediate danger. Yet they are indifferent to the government doing it in their name; so indifferent that the political opposition dares not use it as a political issue, as it has so little resonance with the public. This collective indifference causes more torture; everyone shares responsibility. Another example would be my own situation, which you know well. Collective interest and pressure not to kill those who did not deserve death would have saved my brother and father. Did you, for example, ever consider the question of whether those who Voldemort took from American and Australian wizarding prisons truly deserved to die?"

"I thought about it," said Hugo, wishing he didn't have to discuss it because he knew where Drake was heading. "A Ministry spokesman said that... I forget the phrase he used, that they all had murderous intent, and that they had all joined Voldemort willingly. I assumed that they were going to go over everyone with Legilimency, and weed out any who didn't belong, if there were any."

"And it didn't surprise you that there weren't any?"

"A little, but not much," Hugo admitted. "I suppose it was because he only used fifty or so non-Death Eaters in the broom battle; I assumed that he only used the ones who were with him willingly."

"A reasonable assumption," agreed Drake. "In fact, however, it was because many of those who were broken out managed to escape from Voldemort on the day he was first injured by Potter. My father and brother were not among those, however. Now, you have a greater understanding of such matters than most citizens, and you were still willing to believe the Ministry's reassurances. You wanted the right thing done; you just didn't care enough to make sure, as Potter also did not. Most people didn't even care whether the right thing was done." Drake paused, then added, "I do go on about this, I suppose. Normally I don't have an audience intelligent enough to grasp the issues involved, and who can still think on their own. I suppose my point is that if you want to beat yourself up over your unwilling assistance to me, then you can do so for your willing indifference to the suffering of others.

"However, I will allow you to do neither. Your agonizing over your responsibility, while understandable, is inconsistent with my objectives, so it must stop. You are being given new instructions, so listen carefully. You will no longer contemplate your responsibility for your actions. You will simply accept that you have no control over your actions, and leave it there. You will also not contemplate the reason for this directive. Do you understand?"

Taking a deep breath, Hugo nodded. "Very well," said Drake. "I expect Malfoy back within the half-hour; we will leave shortly after he returns." Drake took a few steps away and picked up some papers. Not having been dismissed, Hugo remained, and took a seat in a chair.

A minute later, Hugo let out a sharp, quick scream, and cowered. Not seeming surprised, Drake turned to him. "This happened with Brenda as well. You have just had a forbidden thought, no doubt the one I just forbade, and you know it will be found; you experience great anxiety and pain at the very anticipation of the Curse. This is the sort of reaction that helps the conditioning process." Drake was conversational, cold, and clinical.

Hugo's voice was pleading, even though he knew pleading would do no good. "I can't just turn off my conscience!"

Again, the clinical tone. "Yes, you can. It's simply a matter of how many times you have to endure the Curse before you do so. Self-preservation is a very powerful instinct. Anyway... it is too bad Malfoy is not here, I have to do it myself." Drake raised his voice and made eye contact with the terrified Hugo. "You will not contemplate your responsibility for your actions. You will not contemplate the reason for this directive." Drake then Silenced Hugo, and cast the Cruciatus Curse. Hugo screamed and screamed, and managed to wonder if he would ever have a conscience again.

When it finally stopped, Hugo wasn't able to think for a minute. When he could, his first thought was: I'll do whatever I have to do so that doesn't happen again. That can't happen again.

* * * * *

Less than an hour later, Drake Apparated himself and Hugo, now under the Imperius Curse, to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Malfoy was nearby, having Apparated himself into the branches of a large tree not far away; he would see what was happening as long as Drake and Hugo didn't go behind buildings. He was to Apparate to their location when Drake signaled him. Drake and Hugo were under an Invisibility Cloak, but Malfoy had been told their route. Hugo held in his hand a Portkey, a simple metal bar. The Portkey had been made with Hugo already holding it, so it hadn't yet activated; it would for both of them only when Drake grabbed it.

As expected, Aurors were there, in pairs, making their presence known. Drake and Hugo walked slowly, about half normal walking speed. "Some people are concerned, some aren't thinking about it," reported Hugo.

A few minutes later, Hugo whispered, "See that young woman up there, in the pink dress. That's Lavender Brown, a classmate of Harry's. She looks casual, but she's not just strolling. She's looking around. It's not hard to see that her purpose is to contribute a Killing Curse shield if something happens."

Drake nodded. It would be good to get one or two of them, he thought, and easier than getting Aurors. But, one thing at a time.

They walked down the main street, then down a side street that had some residences. The fifth house on the left was a large white one, with the sound of loud conversations coming through the open window. "That one," whispered Drake, gesturing. "Is anyone in there nervous, or on guard?"

"No, they're just having a good time," replied Hugo.

Drake spoke into his bracelet, telling Malfoy to be ready. He walked up the path and gently tried the front door, but it was locked and bolted. Drake Apparated he and Hugo inside, to an upstairs room so the Apparation sound wouldn't be heard, and approached the living room. There were seven people: four men and three women. They closed to within three meters, still unseen.

Drake spoke quietly into his bracelet. "Now."

Disguised in Polyjuice Potion as a young, dark-haired man, Malfoy suddenly appeared. Drake immediately cast a wide-field Silencing spell; it wasn't strong enough to silence everyone, but it muted their screams enough that they wouldn't be heard by neighbors. A few people started running away, Malfoy got them first with silent Killing Curses. Drake Stunned two more who ran. Two drew their wands and tried to Stun Malfoy, whose Protection shield was up; there was no effect. Within seconds, all seven were dead. Malfoy took deep breaths, euphoric. He looked around as if hoping for someone else to kill.

"No one else in the house?" Drake asked Hugo, who shook his head.

Drake turned to Malfoy. "Okay, back to your spot. Be ready." A grinning Malfoy Disapparated as Drake and Hugo left the house.

"Did you feel something?" Neville asked Ron.

They had been patrolling Hogsmeade all morning, and were now in the Three Broomsticks. "No," replied Ron. "You mean Dark magic?"

"Yeah."

"You know I haven't been able to do that yet," Ron pointed out. "How strong was it?"

"I can't tell, I'm not even sure that's what it was," said Neville, slightly uneasy. "My Dark magic sensing isn't exactly consistent. Let's get outside."

On high alert with wands at the ready, they stepped out into the main street, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Neville tapped his pendant. "Kingsley."

"Yes, Neville."

"I thought I felt something, but I'm not sure, and nothing's happening. I thought it might be worth sending Dawlish out." Dawlish was the strongest Auror, and had the best Dark tracking skills.

It might be nothing, thought Kingsley, but when an Auror had a whiff of something, you didn't argue with him. "Got it. He's on his way."

Hugo and Drake continued down the street, but had only traveled thirty more meters when Hugo whispered. "We've been seen. Behind us."

"How?"

"I don't know. He's stalking us, looking causal, gaining." Hugo sensed that the one following them hadn't called for help because he thought he hadn't been seen.

"Malfoy!" Drake whispered. "The one behind us, now!"

They heard the popping sound behind them and turned. Malfoy shot a silent Killing Curse, which the old man barely dodged. He sent three curses and jinxes Malfoy's way in two seconds, but again, they had no effect on Malfoy. Malfoy sent the Killing Curse again, and this time it found its mark. Alastor Moody lay in the street, dead. Malfoy shuddered with pleasure and power, and Summoned Moody's magical eye.

Hubert Dawlish suddenly appeared fifteen feet away, shouting his location into his pendant. Dawlish adopted a dueling posture, but it was no contest. Malfoy started sending Killing Curses, and as the third one found its mark, Ron and Neville Apparated in. Ron put up a shield around Dawlish, but it was too late; he was already crumpling to the ground. Malfoy started to raise his wand at Neville, but a dozen Aurors Apparated in within a second. Malfoy Disapparated, and Drake whispered urgently to Hugo, "Get a read on them, quickly!" Two seconds later, Drake grabbed the metal bar, and both were gone.

The Aurors stood alertly on the street, wands ready, but there was no sound except the shouts of a few residents who could now see the scene in the street. An Auror checked the bodies of Dawlish and Moody, just to be sure. The seven bodies in the white house wouldn't be found for another half hour.

* * * * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt was beginning to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had borne burdens in the last war, four years ago, but as Voldemort's main target and the one marked by the prophecy, Harry Potter had borne the largest burden of all. It had all been on him. This time, he gets a break, thought Kingsley wryly. Couldn't get involved if he wanted to.

He didn't know that they were in an all-out war yet, but it was beginning to look that way. Three had died in another quiet attack in a small Diagon Alley shop, for a total of twelve deaths that day, and adding to the sense of organization was that similar attacks had killed five American wizards earlier in the day. At least we'll have help from the Americans this time, he thought darkly. Just not help in England.

What had hit hardest, however, was the death of Dawlish. Kingsley and Dawlish were never personal friends--Kingsley wondered if Dawlish in fact had any--but had been co-workers for many years, and the two most senior Aurors for the last seven. Dawlish had also been the strongest and most talented Auror; that he was beaten with such ease and alacrity was very alarming. Also disturbing was that Dawlish's anti-Disapparation field, not to mention Ron's and Neville's, had been beaten. If this was Malfoy, he had become very much stronger than he had been.

They were fairly sure now that it was Malfoy, however; Neville had cast a Polyjuice Revealing spell on the attacker just as he Disapparated, and thought he saw Malfoy. He wasn't positive--it had only been a tenth of a second, he said--but he was pretty sure. Kingsley had decided to accept it as fact, and announced that the culprit had been identified as Malfoy. At least that would calm down the people who still thought it was Voldemort. He withheld the information that suggested the assailant had displayed unusual strength.

This was by far the hardest part of his job, harder than finding the attacker: dealing with the deaths. An Auror had died, as well as an ex-Auror trying to help out. More might very well die, and he was responsible for them. He remembered vividly how almost five years ago, five Aurors had died in a massive ambush set by Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy didn't seem to have an army at his disposal, but one never knew.

His next duty was also unpleasant, just in a different way. He had to visit Minister Bright and brief him on where things stood. He knew that Bright would be under intense political pressure to bring an end to the current wave of attacks, even though there was nothing Bright himself could do. It was just the way things worked.

* * * * *

"Okay, that's all for today," shouted Hedrick. "Next practice is Sunday, at seven p.m." All eleven fliers headed for the ground, but he tapped Helen on the shoulder and gestured to the stands, indicating he wanted to talk to her privately. They flew to the far end of the stadium, landed on the steps, and sat on a bench.

She smiled at him. "This isn't a great spot for a snog."

"Yeah, pretty visible," he agreed, more serious. "Look... did you notice anything strange about this practice? I mean, the way some of the others were acting?"

"I was going to talk to you about it," she said emphatically. "What was with them? And it wasn't just 'some' of the others, it was all of them, the starters anyway." Because all seven starting positions were held by seventh years, four reserves had been recruited to be trained for starting positions next year. "They just had this... attitude. At one point I gave Augustina a look, and she just looked back at me like, 'what?' She's never done that before. I'm going to see if I can get her alone later, talk to her."

"I can't imagine what it is, since it was all five of the others on the team," said Hedrick. "Maybe there was some fight that we missed, some are mad at the others."

"I'm pretty sure we'd have heard about it," said Helen.

They drifted on to other topics, and fifteen minutes later, reluctantly decided to head in ("Professor Granger isn't going to go easier on us with homework just because she's the headmistress now," observed Helen), holding hands until they reached the castle entrance.

"Let's check to see where the others are," said Helen, getting out the map. Trusting Hedrick to make sure no one was watching, she activated it. "That's strange... the other eight are all in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom."

"Well, let's go and talk to them," suggested Hedrick. "See what's going on."

A few minutes later, they walked into the classroom to find the other eight sitting at desks in the middle of the room; they stopped talking as soon as Hedrick and Helen walked in. Hedrick thought he saw a few of them put something in their pockets. "Hey, everyone, what's up?"

"Nothing," said Matthew nervously. It seemed to all of them looked to varying degrees as though they weren't happy to be intruded on.

Derek was less reluctant to talk. "We were just wondering what was going on with your map. With our map, really, but you two seem to have commandeered it. Pansy gave it to all of us, not just you two."

Helen's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "You know it's more useful to us as Head Girl and Boy, we talked about this in the summer. None of you cared, I thought."

"That was before you started not telling us stuff," responded Derek. "Apparently something's changed with the map, and you decided we didn't need to know."

"Because it wasn't important," responded an annoyed Hedrick. "And because we didn't need you harassing us."

"Oh, we harass you now, do we?" mocked Derek.

Hedrick rolled his eyes. "Not everyone, just you. You've always got some comment or another. It really wasn't important. But if it'll make you feel better--"

"He'll deign to tell us," muttered Derek.

"--Professor Potter changed the map to warn us if anyone was getting close enough to be able to see us, when we're on patrol."

"Because why patrol when you can be necking," said Derek disdainfully.

"It's just that kind of comment--"

"Derek, are you really upset about this?" asked Helen, cutting Hedrick off. "Do you have some problem with Hedrick, other than this?"

"With both of you," put in Vivian, to Helen's surprise. "You've been acting like you're better than us, like you're special. It's just this attitude. You're Head Boy and Girl, you're Professor Potter's favorites, you--"

"We are not!" shouted Hedrick. Helen gaped.

"A little sensitive about that, are we?" taunted Derek.

"Come on, it's true," added David. "We all know it. That's part of the attitude Derek and Vivian are talking about. You're sort of separating yourselves from the rest of us. You can do that if you want, just don't expect us not to notice."

"Why don't you both just leave," said Derek, hostility not far below the surface. "We didn't invite you. And don't use the map to spy on us anymore, or we'll ask Professor Granger to take it from you. You don't really need it anyway."

"We were not spying--"

"Hedrick, let's go," said Helen quickly. She took his arm and half-pulled him out of the classroom. As they walked toward the Slytherin area, he gave her a questioning look, asking why she'd made him leave. "It would have only made things worse if we'd stayed," she said. "They weren't in any mood to talk, and Derek would have only become more argumentative. We should just leave it alone."

"What in the world got into them, anyway? Where did this come from?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't think we'd been acting differently, and they seemed happy when we were made Head Boy and Girl. We spend more time together because of that, but that's natural. I..." She trailed off, baffled. They walked more in silence, then she pulled him aside into an empty classroom.

"Look... let's admit, I think we both think that we're Professor Potter's favorites. He's always talked to us more than the others. He doesn't show it, but it's what I've thought. I guess the others think so too."

"Is that our fault?" Hedrick asked defensively, not denying that he felt as she did.

"No, it isn't," agreed Helen. "I don't think so, anyway. The weird thing is that it's all eight of them. We have arguments among the ten of us, obviously, but usually the rest of us don't take sides. Who knows, maybe they were just talking about it, and we interrupted them. But like you said, they were weird at the practice, too... oh, I don't know. Let's just go to the common room and study, see what happens. If they want to talk, they can, but we shouldn't try to talk to them for now. Maybe they just need to work out how they want to deal with us about this." They walked out of the classroom.

"It's not fair," grumped Hedrick.

She took his hand. "I know. But maybe they don't think it's fair that we're Professor Potter's favorites. Let's see how it goes. Whatever you do, don't get into any arguments with them. If they get hostile, just walk away."

"I'll try," sighed Hedrick. He had never been good at walking away from an argument.

* * * * *

Hermione had a very hectic day, and felt at the end of her emotional tether by late evening. Thank God for Flora, she thought; Flora had spent much of the day with her, and she hated to think about how she'd fare without Flora's calming influence. She knew Neville's day had been worse--he'd seen death for the first time in years--and she would try to be as supportive of him as she could. Fortunately he'd be off at six p.m., so they could have dinner together for the first time in four nights. Clearly, neither was going to be in any condition to cook. That was often the case with them, and they were regular users of a wizarding food delivery company that prepared home-cooked meals and delivered them to one's door. It was expensive--five Galleons for two meals--but with two good salaries, she and Neville could afford it without difficulty if they kept other expenses down. More than once she'd thought of asking Harry and Ginny how much free time Dobby had, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She still wanted to see house-elves free, but she realized that her Hogwarts efforts had been clumsy and culturally insensitive. She hoped that the example Harry had set with Dobby would catch on, but so far it hadn't. She supposed Dobby was considered too strange by other house-elves to be any kind of example.

Even so, she reluctantly decided to rely on house-elf labor tonight; she would have Flora bring Neville to her Hogwarts quarters, and ask the house-elves for dinner. It was sometimes hard to resist having someone wait on you when you had the option.

Neville arrived on time, and the house-elves brought the food, again right on time. She was just lifting the first bite to her mouth when the fireplace in her quarters lit up. It was Helena Rostoy, the reporter from Witch Weekly, asking for a moment of Hermione's time; as politely as she could manage, Hermione said no, and sat back down to dinner. The next morning, she would realize what a mistake she had made.

* * * * *

The time was five a.m., both in real life and in Luna's dream.

The setting was Hogwarts; the time, five years ago, in what had been the worst two days of her life, excluding her mother's death. She had been badly burned in the fire caused by the disruption of magic at Hogwarts at the welcoming feast at the beginning of her sixth year. Due to the impressive efforts of the St. Mungo's Healers, she'd only had to stay there for one night; she had returned to Hogwarts on Tuesday night. Then the very next morning, she'd been dragged out of bed at gunpoint, wandless, and taken to the Quidditch pitch along with all the other students by the very Muggle troops who were supposed to protect them. She had later discovered that the Muggle troops wouldn't have harmed them, but she hadn't known that then. Harry had eventually saved the day by using his new Imperius Charm.

But in this dream, Harry didn't have the Imperius Charm. And the Muggle troops had the mentality of Dark wizards.

They had lined up a row of twenty students, including Luna's Ravenclaw classmates. The head soldier--his name was Ingersoll, she vaguely remembered--took out his gun. It was the same kind of gun that had been used by Goyle in his attempt on Harry's life, and the only Muggle gun she had ever seen. Without a word, Ingersoll opened fire. She heard the loud popping noise, and the student fell over and died as blood poured from the wound. Ingersoll moved on to the next student, and fired. Luna watched in horror as student after student was methodically killed. She felt the eyes of other students on her, as if accusing her. Why are they looking at me? she thought. I want to help them, but I can't! They must know that!

Ingersoll finally reached the last student of the row, but to Luna's shock, it wasn't a student, but her father. Ingersoll raised his weapon--

With a sound that was a combination of a gasp and a scream, Luna awoke and instantly sat up. It took a few seconds to orient herself as she gasped for breath. It was only a dream, she thought. But she couldn't shake the feeling that it meant something, even if she had no idea what that was. She had learned in Tibet that dreams were sometimes your unconscious, or your higher self, telling you things you didn't know consciously. She wondered if the recent killings had inspired the dream.

Luna got out of bed; she saw through her bedroom window that it was just starting to become light outside. She felt a compulsion to check on her father, and even though she knew it was irrational, she did anyway. She walked quietly to his bedroom, which he usually kept cracked open when he slept. She looked inside, and saw him sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked up at her. "Luna?"

"Daddy," she answered with relief. She'd always called her father 'Daddy,' and she knew she always would. She knew others would think it strange, but she didn't care. She walked to his bed, sat next to him, and hugged him around the chest. He put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, and squeezed. "I had a bad dream," she said, sounding more like a child than a twenty-one-year-old woman. "They were about to kill you, and I couldn't stop them."

He squeezed again. "It's all right," he assured her. "I know you'd always help me."

She nodded into his shoulder. She had friends, but really, her father was all she had. "I would. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie," he said, and kissed her cheek. He looked out the window and said, "Well, we're both up. How about we go out and watch the sunrise." She nodded, and they Apparated to the part of the house's roof that was flat, and sat in the lawn chairs he kept there. It was a beautiful sunrise.

* * * * *

Hermione woke up at her normal time, a little after six. Still tired, she got out of bed immediately, as was her habit; she didn't want to lay there and be tempted to fall back asleep, as she knew many people did, especially Ron. She'd gotten enough sleep, at least; she was grateful that Neville hadn't been called for any Auror emergencies. She'd hoped to spend some 'quality time' with him last night--at least, that was what they called it--but they were both too tired. Not wanting to wake Neville, she went to the bathroom for her shower.

After she was finished and dressed, she summoned a house-elf and asked for breakfast. Neville was starting to stir, but as she walked to the bed, there was a knock on the door. Surprised that the food could arrive so fast, she closed the bedroom door and walked towards the door to the quarters, opening it with her wand. "Archibald!" She gestured him in.

"Sorry to come so early, but I know what time you wake up," he said, meeting her near the sofa. Holding up a newspaper, he added, "Since this crisis began, I've been getting the early edition of the Prophet." For an extra fee, the Prophet would send someone to Apparate to one's door with a copy so it was received as quickly as possible; in Dentus's case, since he lived at Hogwarts, the delivery person Apparated to the front gate with an owl, which then finished the delivery.

"Good idea. But by the look on your face, I don't think it's good news."

He shook his head. "No, it's not." He had the paper folded open to page three; Hermione took it and started reading as Neville walked in from the bedroom, Auror robe on. He exchanged a silent greeting with Dentus, and read over Hermione's shoulder. "Oh, crap," he muttered. "Any article with 'Umbridge' in the headline has to be bad."

It was indeed bad. It was written by the Witch Weekly reporter--why was she writing for the Prophet all of a sudden anyway, wondered Hermione--who'd tried to contact Hermione last night. It was Umbridge's account of the events on the day Sirius had died--an account that was full of distortions and lies. The article described how Umbridge had been deceived by Hermione, who'd led her to the forest to be ambushed and kidnapped by centaurs, until she outwitted them and managed to escape. Hermione was said to have in effect commissioned a murder, which only Umbridge's quick thinking had prevented. Umbridge questioned Hermione's fitness to serve as the Hogwarts headmistress, especially at such a young age and with further unanswered questions about her past.

"Oh, God," muttered Hermione. Neville held her shoulders in reassurance. Finished, she shook her head. "The thing that makes me almost as angry as this pack of lies is that it says that I declined to be interviewed for the article." She explained to Dentus what had happened the night before.

He nodded in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but that's a public-figure beginner mistake. I told Harry this a long time ago, but I didn't happen to tell you. You always ask what they're calling about. You never just dismiss them, because then they can say that. It's still unethical--Hugo would never do it--but the Prophet allows it."

Neville tried to reassure her. "This'll never stick," he said confidently. "Too many people were there. Hell, Luna was there, and she's with the Prophet now. She'll write what really happened tomorrow. We'll come charging back, tell them what happened, what she tried to do to Harry. Come to think of it, I'm surprised she risked that."

"She sees an opportunity," said Dentus. "Harry's out of the picture for the time being. With his status, he could slap her down hard. As it is, this may be her best chance to go on the offensive. From what she said, it looks like she's angling to be installed as headmistress again."

Hermione scoffed. "Over my dead body."

"With what's going on," said Dentus somberly, "that may be part of the plan. One headmistress dead, one put out of action..."

"They can't touch me as long as I stay at Hogwarts."

"Then you'd better not leave," said Neville sternly. "Or if you do, take Ron and I with you. I'm serious, and Kingsley will support it."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "I know. Don't worry, it's not going to happen. I'm more worried about you."

"I'll be careful too," he promised.

"There's one silver lining, at least," pointed out Dentus. "Notice that this article is on page three. Normally it would be front page, but not with what happened yesterday." Hermione turned to the front page. The main article was about the deaths in Hogsmeade, followed by an analysis piece about the crisis and Malfoy. On the bottom of the front page was an article about the political ramifications of the current crisis, with quotes from Umbridge and fellow Undersecretary Roger Trent, who four and a half years ago had positioned himself to benefit politically if Harry and Hermione failed to survive Voldemort's Ring of Reduction. Hermione gave that article a quick skim.

"He has some nerve, suggesting that somehow he would know how to deal with this, or that Bright's messing up somehow," said Hermione indignantly.

"Very true, of course," agreed Dentus. "But as you know, he's long positioned himself as a populist, with an emphasis on security. Something like this plays into his hands. Bright's position isn't in any danger, mind you, it's just that Trent is scoring some cheap points."

"I especially don't like the suggestion that he'd be handling the Aurors differently," put in Neville. "Ministers don't interfere with how we run our shop. Kingsley said that's a long-established tradition. They can tell us what to do, but not how to do it. He's criticizing Kingsley as much as Bright."

"He probably imagines that he'll make it up to the Aurors if he ever becomes Minister," guessed Dentus. "Anyway, I should go. I just wanted to let you know about this before everyone else does."

"Thanks, Archibald," said Hermione. "See you later."

The house-elves came just as Dentus was leaving. Neville spent breakfast trying to reassure Hermione, with only modest success.

* * * * *

Drake woke early; a few more plans would be set in motion.

He'd had nothing to do with nine-eleven, but he admired its simplicity, and felt it was the kind of thing he'd have done if he'd thought of it. Today's plan was more mundane, and it had been done before, but it too was simple, and time-effective. Drake had a full plate, and he didn't want to spend too much time on any one operation.

As with all the other operations, the research had already been done. It hadn't taken long to find sarin in its liquid form; the U.S. government's highly secret chemical weapons laboratories kept more than enough. Accessing it hadn't been difficult, not for a wizard. Great care had been required, and taken. The government had noticed that it had been taken, but it couldn't explain how; it should have been impossible to do such a thing, and the information had been suppressed.

He applied the Bubble-Head Charm to himself, and went into the sealed room which housed the box containing six thin glass spheres. Each was about five inches in diameter, and each was half-full of liquid sarin. Lastly, his unwilling but unconscious passenger was magically strapped to his back. He Disillusioned himself, mounted his broom, threw on the Invisibility Cloak, and Disapparated.

He appeared in the air, thirty feet above the floor of Grand Central Station. The time, according to the large brass clock at the information center, was eight-ten a.m. He'd initially planned to do it at eleven minutes after nine o'clock a.m., but ended up choosing the busiest time instead. Hundreds of commuters swarmed back and forth in the cavernous hall.

He opened the box and lifted the Cloak just enough to set the glass spheres in motion. As he turned on the broom in a circle, the six spheres flew out, one to each of the most frequently used entrances to the hall. It was so noisy that he didn't hear the glass break, and there was no immediate and obvious reaction. In less than a minute, he heard the first screams, and within seconds there was panic, and a predictable stampede. Only then, when it wouldn't be noticed, did he descend to the ground, where he detached the man from his back, letting him slump to the ground. The man's unconsciousness had been caused by a Stunning spell, but his death would be caused by the highly toxic sarin gas. Drake didn't know his name, only that he worked for Iranian intelligence. He wore jeans and a white tank shirt on which was written, in his own blood, 'Death To America.' Drake had done enough research on recent Muggle history to know that the phrase was well known to any American Muggle over the age of thirty, and that while the phrase had caught on in the Middle East, there was one country with which it was particularly associated.

Drake took one last look at the melee, and Disapparated. Very unsubtle, he thought as he dismounted and put the broom away. Of course, that was the point. Only an idiot, he felt, would accept as fact the extremely obvious indications that Iran was responsible. Only one who would act on the surface evidence, not troubling himself to look beneath it, to seek the truth. But that was exactly what had happened to his brother and father, so this was the test he was giving the world. Act thoughtfully and responsibly, and further bloodshed on all sides could be avoided. Act rashly and vengefully, ignoring all evidence that pointed away from those who appeared guilty, and the situation would only escalate. Punish those who aren't responsible, and you deserve your fate. As the wizarding population of England was learning.

* * * * *

Hermione stormed into the Potions dungeon at a few minutes before noon, as Snape was about to head out. Noting her expression, he said, "I apologize, Professor. I have procured nothing for you to kick."

Normally she would have smiled, but not then. "I got an owl thirty minutes ago, it came right in the middle of class. It said that if I'm still the headmistress of Hogwarts in one week, a Pensieve memory of my meeting with Skeeter at the Burrow would be made available to the Prophet, along with 'proof' that you killed her."

Snape calmly considered it. "Such objective 'proof' does not exist, so I assume that refers to another memory, which as we know is not proof in a legal way. Still, this is great cause for concern. Your professional standing aside, it confirms that someone we trust has been compromised. The only possible sources of that memory are you, myself, Mr. Weasley, Healer Parkinson, and Mr. Brantell. We must check all those people, except of course Mr. Brantell, who is unavailable, as well as your husband and Ginny."

Funny how he uses Ginny's first name, but not Ron's, she thought fleetingly. "How are we going to do that? Except for Ginny, everyone's pretty busy."

Snape responded by tapping his pendant. "Mr. Shacklebolt."

After a few seconds, Kingsley's voice answered. "Yes?"

"There is an urgent matter which requires the attention of Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom. It should not take long. Can they be spared?"

"Okay. I'll tell them to expect Flora." Kingsley signed off, then Snape made a similar call to St. Mungo's. Within two minutes Ron, Neville, Pansy, and Ginny were in attendance. Hermione showed them the letter and explained the situation. "Professor Snape and I think it's probably Hugo they got the information from, but we have to be sure. Will everyone agree to be checked for a Memory Charm?"

The others nodded, except Ron. "By you, not him. No offense," he added to Snape unapologetically. Snape's reaction was a mild smirk.

"Professor Snape and I will check each other first," said Hermione. They did, and found nothing.

"I'll go first," volunteered Ginny. "Is one of you going to be better at this than the other?"

"I would probably be faster," said Snape. Hermione nodded her agreement, and Ginny gestured Snape to go ahead. He cast Legilimens, and searched for less than a half a minute. He put down his wand and shook his head.

Pansy was next; she also gestured for Snape to do it. He did, with the same results. "I guess I'll be next," said Ron reluctantly. Hermione took more than a minute, and her eyes flew open wide. "There's one here." Ron's shoulders slumped in a gesture of frustration, as the others exchanged alarmed glances. "I assume there were no Memory Charms there that you knew of," said Hermione. Ron shook his head. "I didn't think so, I just had to make sure."

"I assume you have one of Professor Potter's artifacts," said Snape to Hermione.

"I had him make my wedding ring into one," she said, holding it up. She turned to Ron, pity in her eyes. "Ready?"

"I'm afraid of what'll be there," admitted Ron. "But yes, I'm ready." Pansy took his hand for a second in a gesture of reassurance.

Hermione raised her wand, entered Ron's mind, and focused on the Memory Charm. It began to dissolve, and she got a rush of images, seeing them quickly, as Ron did; she could remember everything about it. A look of horror came to Ron's face; he cringed and bowed his head, clearly miserable. "Oh, Ron..." said Hermione sympathetically, glancing at Pansy as well.

If Snape noticed Ron's reaction, he gave no indication. "Well?"

Ron glared at Snape. "It's private."

Snape and Hermione exchanged a look. Sadly, Hermione said to Ron, "I'm sorry, Ron, but they have to know."

Ron looked almost panicked. "Not every detail, they don't."

Hermione was even sadder, knowing how hard this would be for Ron. "I'm afraid they do. Any of us could be compromised, and that could cost lives. We have to know how these people work."

Pansy was very anxious, clearly wondering what had happened to Ron, who appeared to be fighting hard just to stand there and not run away. "Not him," he said, gesturing to Snape.

Having viewed Harry's memories five years ago, Snape knew very well how strongly Ron valued his privacy. "Mr. Weasley, I may be of great help in unraveling what is happening, but I must have all the facts. I must understand our enemy's modus operandi intimately. I promise," he added, with a slight emphasis on the word, "that I will not use the information in any way you would find inappropriate." Snape knew Ron's mistrust of him was only part of the issue, but it was as much as he could say.

Ron sat in a classroom seat, head in his hands. After a minute of silence, he surrendered. "You tell them, Hermione. I don't think I can."

Extremely uncomfortable, she began. "This was a few months ago, when Ron and Pansy were separated. Ron was depressed one night, and went alone to a Muggle pub he'd heard about. He got pretty drunk, and then was approached by a woman, dark hair, maybe mid-twenties, very attractive. She started talking to him, really flirting with him." Hermione noticed the slowly growing look of shock and dismay on Pansy's face, but there was nothing she could do about it. "Without him noticing--he was drunk, and had no idea she was a witch--she cast a mild Confundus Curse on him to distract him, then a strong Suggestion charm. The suggestion was..." Hermione seemed to squirm, then continued. "I think she put something in his drink, too, but I'm not certain. Anyway, she took him to a nearby hotel, reinforced the Suggestion charm in the lift, and went to her room--"

Pansy had now sat down as well, staring straight ahead, not looking at Ron. "I really wish you would stop there, Hermione," she said, clearly distraught.

"I wish I would too. But there's one more thing I need to say. At the... moment, you know, at the end, she did another Suggestion charm. This one was that he should go to the same place every week at the same time. She would come, sit nearby, do Legilimens, look for anything interesting, then cover it up with a Memory Charm. For all he knew, he'd been sitting there for the whole time, with nothing happening. She also, of course, gave him a Memory Charm after she was done with him in the hotel room and taken him back to the pub. He thought he'd just got really drunk and gone home."

No one spoke for a minute; everyone except Snape was very uncomfortable. "Is this common?" Ginny finally asked. "I've never heard of it."

"It is extremely common, or at least it was, until thirty or forty years ago," replied Snape. "It is usually done by wizards to witches, of course. Long ago, it was regarded as a cautionary tale to witches not to drink with men they did not know well, and any witch it happened to was simply considered not to have used good judgment. Thirty years ago it was criminalized, made legally equivalent to rape, which caused its occurrence to decrease dramatically."

Ginny had another question. "Well, why did she even do that? She could have just raided his memory right in the pub. Why bother to take him back to the room?"

Having read about the Suggestion charm, Hermione knew, but wasn't going to answer the question. She knew Snape would. "The Suggestion charm is at its strongest when applied at the moment of... sexual climax. The suggestion becomes associated with the pleasure of the moment, and is much more likely to be followed. Mr. Weasley was no doubt made to feel as though going to the place was a custom, one it was important to follow regularly."

"Is that how they got the memory of the Skeeter meeting at the Burrow?" asked Ginny.

"Yes, it seemed that way," said Hermione. "That was one of the memories accessed. Lots of stuff from the Voldemort era, the Umbridge incident, and some recent stuff too, like the Aurors. She found out about Harry trying to be an Animagus before it happened, that was accessed the day after the night we talked about it."

"Professor," said Snape, "how many times were Mr. Weasley's memories accessed?"

"Six times, I think. Six or seven."

"It is fortunate that we have discovered this," said Snape, "though they will know that we know, when Mr. Weasley stops appearing at the place in question."

Neville's eyebrows went up. "Would it be worth having him go next Monday, and trying to catch the woman when she tries again?"

"Not impossible, but risky," said Snape. "By threatening Professor Granger with those memories, our enemy has all but informed us that one of us has been compromised. Perhaps they expected us to check at some point anyway. She might not come, or Mr. Weasley might walk into a trap. I do not think it would be worth the risk."

Pansy was still staring straight ahead; she hadn't looked at Ron since she'd learned what had happened. Ron looked at her nervously. "Pansy, could we go into Professor Snape's office and--"

She turned in his direction, but still didn't meet his eyes. "Not now. Later." Her voice contained frustration and emotional stress, but it wasn't cold; it allowed for the possibility that things might get better. Ron nodded and looked away again.

"You will need to inform Mr. Shacklebolt of this, of course," said Snape, in a tone that, while not far from his usual one, seemed to recognize Ron's emotional state.

"I know. That'll be fun."

"That reminds me, I still need to get checked," said Neville. "Not that I really want to, at this point. Professor Snape, if you would..."

Snape couldn't help raising his eyebrows, but they went down quickly. Neville's reasoning was obvious: if what happened to Ron had happened to him, he didn't want Hermione to see it so directly. Snape cast Legilimens, and soon put his wand down. "Nothing," he said.

Neville exhaled in relief, then nudged Ron. "We should get back."

Ron nodded unenthusiastically. Flora appeared above them; Ron took a last look at Pansy, and they were gone. Pansy went back with Red; Hermione offered to have Flora take Ginny, but she decided to walk to the gate and Apparate. Soon, Hermione and Snape were alone again.

She shook her head sadly. "I don't know which one to feel sorrier for."

Snape had no comment; Hermione knew that he wouldn't tend to comment on emotional matters. "What do you plan to do about the threat?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'll see how it goes. It's good that they have no proof, at least. The worst they can do is give my public image a beating, and right now I'm not all that sure that I care."

"They may be setting you up for something else, however," suggested Snape. He was about to continue speaking when an owl flew into the dungeon and dropped a letter onto the desk in front of Hermione. With a little trepidation, she opened it, and read it quickly. She snorted in disgust.

"The governors," she said angrily. "They want me to meet them at five o'clock today. To explain myself, obviously, but it doesn't use those exact words. They say, 'to discuss and ensure the future security of Hogwarts.' I assume it means that I should tell them why I should be the Hogwarts headmistress. Do you think it's just because of the article this morning, or did they get some note too?"

"It could be either," said Snape. "It is highly likely that they will suggest that you voluntarily turn over the position to a more senior professor, such as Professor Sprout."

"That may not be such a bad idea."

Snape shook his head dismissively. "Such pressure must be resisted. As I said before, the security of Hogwarts is not the true issue; this is simply politics. If you give in easily, abandon your position for no good reason, you reward them for poor behavior and encourage it in the future. Imagine what Harry would have you do."

"It's easy not to think about him, since he's not here. But yes, he wouldn't want me to do that either. It just doesn't help that I didn't expect to have to do this job, and now I have to go and defend my right to do it."

"Fate often directs us in ways we do not expect," mused Snape. "By the way, you must also be prepared for the possibility that they will suggest that Umbridge be put into the position, or that they will demand your removal instead of merely suggesting it."

She nodded. "I'll talk to Archibald before I go, he can give me good political advice. But if they try to put Dolores Umbridge in here, it's time to open that vault."

"No doubt the other professors would heartily agree," said Snape. They left the Potions dungeon for a long-delayed lunch.

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, my fellow Americans.

"Today, for the second time in just over one year, America was attacked. And again it was New York, that great city which symbolizes American freedom, diversity, and entrepreneurial spirit. Six glass vials of sarin gas, one of the deadliest gases known to man, were opened almost simultaneously at six points in Grand Central Station at the busiest time of the morning rush hour. Many innocent people were killed; many more were severely injured. Emergency medical personnel bravely made their way to the scene and rendered life-saving assistance, disregarding their own personal safety. We salute them, and pledge to assist them in any way possible.

"This random and indiscriminate slaughter of peaceful American citizens shows in no uncertain terms the depths of the depravity of our enemies. This act was committed by enemies of peace, enemies of freedom. It is too soon to know yet whether an individual, a group, or a nation was responsible. But today I make you a solemn promise: we will find those responsible, and we will retaliate against them and any who assisted them, as we did after September of last year. We will not negotiate, we will not attempt to address grievances. We will defend ourselves with all the power and might that a great nation can bring to bear. I hope and expect that the world community will join the United States in not only condemning this senseless atrocity, but in exacting retribution against its perpetrators. Again, we will truly find out who our friends are.

"I would ask you, the American people, to extend your prayers to the families of those who lost their lives today, to those severely injured. I would ask you to honor their sacrifice, and the heroism of those who came to assist. I would ask you to do all you can to support them. But I need not, because I know you will do so whether I ask it or not, as you did last September. Again we have been challenged, and again we must rise to that challenge, to show the world what kind of people we are. I am blessed to lead a country which I can count on to do just that. Thank you.

"May God bless you, and God bless America."

"Dick!" barked the President as the Secretary of Defense walked into the Oval Office soon after the speech; Evans and Rogers were already there. "Who the hell can I bomb?"

Adams didn't miss a beat. "Whoever you want, Mr. President."

The President couldn't bring himself to laugh, though he grunted. "Thank God for black humor. All right, let's talk. Bob. Did Iran do this?"

Rogers fidgeted. "Well, Mr. President, I don't know much more right now than--"

"Don't dance, Bob," interjected the President. "You know what I mean. Does it make any damn sense for Iran to have done this? Do they get anything out of it?"

As soon as he'd heard about the message written in blood, Rogers was sure that the perpetrator was, or was connected to, the man who'd threatened him and his family. This was why he'd insisted Rogers take a hard line towards Iran. Rogers had to assume this man would hear every word of this conversation, and make good on his threats if disappointed. Rogers did feel that he could give accurate answers on factual matters, at least. "It makes no sense to me, Mr. President, but you have to remember that this is a nation that supports terrorists. It could make sense to them in a way that it doesn't make sense to me. But from where I sit, it only makes sense if they think they can get away with it. They may think that we won't attack them if we can't prove it to the world's satisfaction. If that's the case, then they send us a message--'don't mess with us'--and thumb their nose at the Great Satan again. That's the only thing I can think of."

"Dick?"

Adams paused. "I see what Bob means. If you start from the premise that Iran did it, I can't think of anything else that makes sense. But sir, I'm far from convinced that this was Iran. That guy in the shirt, that was just way too obvious. You don't do that and then deny you did it, which they are. What was the point of the shirt, then?"

"Terror," interjected the Chief of Staff. "That's the point of terrorism, isn't it? Get people constantly looking over their shoulders, especially in New York. If this happens enough times, political support for Middle East activity might dry up. The isolationists pick up ground, and the Arab terrorists get us out of there."

"Do they really think they can get away with it?" asked Adams incredulously. "That guy was a big red flag that said, 'Hey, over here! We did it! Come bomb us!' I find it easy to believe that the people who did this are Arab terrorists who want us to attack Iran to splinter us from the rest of the world politically. I find it less easy to believe that the Iranian government is willing to risk getting invaded to accomplish that."

"The Taliban was willing to risk it," pointed out Rogers. "Why not Iran?"

"Because the Taliban didn't think we'd invade!" argued Adams. "We did them, and then Iraq! How many of those countries do we have to invade before they get the message that we're serious?"

"However many it takes," said the President quietly.

There was a knock on one of the Oval Office doors, and the National Security Advisor walked in, holding a file which he handed to the President. "The man in the shirt, Mr. President."

The President glanced through the file, then looked at the front page. "Courtesy of Mossad?"

"Yes, sir," said Richardson.

"Thank David for me later," said the President. Looking grim, he addressed the others. "Iranian intelligence. Ten-year man."

Adams shook his head. "They had to know we'd find out who he was. It's too easy. I could buy it if it wasn't for the message in blood."

"You think he did this himself?" asked a surprised Rogers. "A rogue operation? And where did he get the sarin?" The President and Evans, the only two people in the room who knew about the theft of sarin from U.S. chemical stocks, said nothing.

"I'm not saying I can explain it," protested Adams. "I'm just saying it doesn't make sense."

"A lot of things in this world don't make sense, Dick," mused the President. His features were hard; Rogers could tell he'd made up his mind about something. "Okay, this is where I am right now: Iran is guilty until proven innocent. They'd better bust their asses to persuade me, and the American public, that this wasn't what it looked like. The first test of their sincerity is this guy. I expect them to come clean about who he is, and how he got to America, what he was doing. All their information. I'll see a lack of cooperation on their part as evidence of their complicity. I'm going to say it publicly, but Bob, make sure they get the message in private as well. Grudging, limited cooperation isn't good enough. If they don't aggressively cooperate, they'll regret it. The United States of America is pissed off."

God help us all, thought Rogers.

* * * * *

"That was the first statement from the President since the sarin gas attack on Grand Central Station. As you heard, he made no reference to the Arab-looking man with 'Death To America' written in blood on his shirt found at the scene, or to widespread speculation that Iran is behind the attack. Jim, first of all, I'd like to get your reaction to the President's speech. He seemed--"

Dudley pushed the mute button. "I guess that was about what we expected." He, Colin, Arthur, and Luna were gathered around the office's--and the Ministry's--only television. "You think Iran did do it?" he asked Colin.

Colin looked uncertain. "It's certainly been made to look that way. It's hard to know. It's not only Iranians who say 'Death To America.'"

"I really don't like the smell of this," said Arthur. "Considering what's going on in the wizarding world, that this would happen now seems like an amazing coincidence. Now, coincidences do happen. It just... like I said, smells bad. And the American wizards aren't going to investigate, now that they're losing a few people a day as well. Is there any indication that it's more likely than not that this was done by wizards?"

"Not really, not yet," said Colin. "They know that it was more than just this guy; there were six glasses, dropped at different places. The other ones must have got away. I don't know how they got the gas, but I'm not exactly an expert. It's way too early to guess."

"Keep an eye on it," instructed Arthur.

Dudley grunted. "It'll be hard not to, it'll be the only news story for days."

* * * * *

Pansy lay on the beach of the Hawaiian island that she and the others had visited two weeks ago. After finding out what she had in Snape's dungeon, she'd asked for and received the rest of the day off, for personal reasons. It wasn't yet sunrise in Hawaii, but there was a nearly full moon, and more than enough light. It was beautiful in the darkness, just beautiful in a different way. At the same time, the darkness suited her, because she felt dark.

She thought and thought, trying to sort it all out. It was the biggest threat to their relationship yet, even bigger than the separation itself. What made it worse was the ambiguity of the situation; she wasn't totally sure that Ron had even done anything wrong. Not only was he under substantial outside influence, but they were separated at the time, the status of their relationship uncertain. If there were ever circumstances that could justify or excuse what Ron had done, it was these.

But she knew that a Suggestion charm was not the same as coercion; it had to be something the person might have done anyway, or at least be inclined to do. If the woman had been unattractive or old, Ron wouldn't have done it, she was sure. Was Ron at that point even capable of considering Pansy in the equation, or was his mind too confused and jumbled? A small part of him, at least, had made the choice. Had it been an unconscious desire to punish her for their fight? An indication of a tendency to want to stray that might come out in the future, when she was thirty years older and much less attractive? Or just the effect that a low-cut dress and a nice body were bound to have on any male, especially a drunk one? She knew she would never know, and she knew that probably even Ron didn't know.

Though part of her was angry with Ron, another part felt sorry for him. He may not quite have had sex against his will, but it was the closest thing to it for a man. She was fairly sure--she wanted to be completely sure, but she couldn't--that he wouldn't have done it if he'd been under no outside influences. Given all the facts, she knew rationally that it wasn't fair to blame him, especially considering that he was probably feeling guilty about it right then. She hadn't wanted to talk to him, because she hadn't been ready for it, and she knew what he would say. She was sure it would be truthful. But she couldn't help feeling betrayed, and she didn't think that would go away. She would always wonder if he would stray, and it would torment her at times. It was a wound inflicted on their relationship, one that neither deserved. She imagined losing her temper in a future argument and yelling, 'Why don't you go find another slut to take up with?' He would come back with, 'Maybe you wish Draco was still around, like the good old days.' They'd had fights, and he'd so far managed to avoid throwing her past friendship with Malfoy at her in anger. Could she do the same, with this? She hated to think of what might happen.

She thought for a while longer, and a solution came to her mind. She wanted a future with Ron, and she didn't want this to be an obstacle. She didn't know if what she wanted was fair to him or not, but she felt that she was more wronged in the situation and therefore should get what she wanted. If he couldn't live with it, well, they would have to deal with it some other way.

She had Red ask Flora if Hermione was busy; he reported back that her last class had just finished and she was in the Transfigurations classroom. In a minute, Pansy was there.

Pansy could see the sorrow in Hermione's eyes. "How are you doing?"

"Not very well. I'm sorry to bother you, I know it isn't the best day for you either."

Hermione shook her head. "I'd rather have my problems than yours. I was thinking about it earlier, and I remembered a Muggle phrase I once heard: 'There but for the grace of God go I."

"You mean, you don't know that Neville wouldn't have done the same thing."

"I really hope not. It's just the kind of thing we can't know unless it happens."

"I feel like he wouldn't have done it. He seems like the extremely faithful type," said Pansy. "And thoughts like that just make me feel worse, because of the comparison to Ron. I don't want to keep having those thoughts all my life, and I'm afraid I will. So, this is what I want to do.

"I want you to do a Memory Charm on me, not to cover this up exactly, but to modify it. I want you to make it so that what I remember is exactly the same thing that happened, except that the woman did the Imperius Curse on him instead of a Suggestion charm. I know that he didn't really consent to what happened, in any way that matters; it's just hard for me to accept it emotionally. Doing this will just bring my emotional reaction into line with what I really think is the case."

Hermione was silent, thinking. "You don't want to do it?" asked Pansy, surprised.

"It's not that... I just feel like I should always hesitate before doing a Memory Charm, it's a big thing. I have this reaction, like suppressing the truth isn't the best way to deal with a problem; it could make it worse in the future. But believe me, the last thing I want to do is judge you, or judge how you deal with this. I know it's terrible."

"I can understand why you'd hesitate," conceded Pansy. "But I've thought about it, and I really want you to do this."

"Okay," agreed Hermione. "But there's another problem. Covering a memory is one thing, but adjusting it in a certain way is really another. I've never tried to do that, and I'm not sure I'd be successful. Doing it wrong could hurt or even destroy your relationship. If you really want to do it, it would be better for you to ask Professor Snape."

Pansy nodded. "Okay, I will." She headed out, then stopped and turned. "One more thing, though. I need you to talk to Ron, and the others; they need to know how I remember this, so they don't give it away. Talk to Ron first, it's very important. In some ways it's not fair to him. He may feel guilty, and want my forgiveness. After doing this, I won't be able to give it to him. When you tell him this, tell him I want to forgive him, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to. If he doesn't feel guilty about this--"

"He does," Hermione interrupted her. "You weren't looking at him before, but I was. It was all over his face."

"Well, anyway... if he does feel guilty about it, this is how he can make it up to me: by letting me remember it in the way it's least painful for me, and dealing with whatever guilt he has himself. Or you can help him, if he wants it. I don't think this is too much to ask."

"Okay," said Hermione quietly. "I'll do that."

"Thanks," said Pansy.

* * * * *

Hermione told Ron what Pansy had decided, and had just enough time to return and teach her four o'clock fifth-year class. She then had to quickly prepare for her meeting with the governors. Snape had offered to come along; she appreciated the offer, but she felt she had to do it by herself. Snape had then said, "I think there may be another way I can help," but she hadn't heard from him since then, so she assumed that whatever he was thinking of hadn't worked out.

The time it would take to walk to the Hogwarts gate, Apparate to the Ministry Atrium, then take the elevator to the meeting room wouldn't allow her to be on time, so she decided to take Flora to the meeting. It occurred to her that it wouldn't hurt to remind the governors that she was a phoenix companion, which none of them were, and should be taken more seriously than they might be inclined to.

At five o'clock exactly, Flora teleported into the room; Hermione let go of her tail and mentally thanked her. "Good afternoon," she said to the ten men sitting around the long table, five to a side. "I had a four o'clock class, so I had to use Flora."

"It's no problem, of course," said Danus Tobler, the senior governor and the one who, according to McGonagall, tended to do most of the talking in the governors' meetings. "I trust you know everyone here, as we've met at the yearly social functions. Please have a seat."

Hermione mildly resented the offer; it wasn't as if she were their guest. She was on the lookout for indications that they didn't take her seriously. She didn't wait for one of them to start the conversation. "Your owl mentioned the security of Hogwarts," she observed as she sat. "I have to imagine that you know that Hogwarts is every bit as secure as it was when Professor McGonagall was the headmistress."

"We do not doubt that, of course," said Tobler smoothly. "But we have concerns... first of all, let me apologize for the two of us who are absent; they were tied up and could not attend. They wished it known, however, that the other ten of us speak for them as well.

"As I was saying, we have concerns based on the events of the past few days, allegations that have been made against you. We are not offering an opinion or judgment regarding the truth or falsity of those allegations; that is well beyond our knowledge. But the possibility of a Hogwarts headmistress who may be compromised is of great concern to us all. I am sure you can understand that."

She wanted to appear reasonable, so she nodded. "Yes, I can. But I can also assure you that there is simply nothing for anyone to compromise me with, so you needn't worry about it." She felt that she was treading a fine line with semantics; there were things she could be compromised with, just nothing that could be proved. She felt that should be enough for their purposes.

She felt Flora send her a mental query: Harry was asking Flora to relay Hermione's emotional state to him, and Flora was asking if Hermione minded. Somewhat surprised, she sent that she didn't mind.

"I see," said Tobler, who didn't look entirely convinced. "Well, there is also the matter of your age. Not meaning to offend, but you are only twenty-two, a very young age indeed for a headmistress. Granted, Professor Potter was also--"

"Is," Hermione interrupted sternly.

"Of course, I apologize. We all hope for Professor Potter's prompt return. As I was saying, he is clearly a special case, I think we would all agree. We wondered if you had thought, in such a time of crisis as this, of temporarily turning over the reins to someone more... experienced."

Hermione focused on keeping her composure. "I've been through crises before, Governor," she reminded him. "I have confidence that I can steer Hogwarts through this one."

"Yes, of course," said Tobler. "No one forgets your role in the defeat of Voldemort. But surely you would agree that even the appearance of impropriety could lead to pressure being placed upon you that might affect your judgment--"

"Pressure?" Hermione gaped, and tried to calm herself. "Forgive my bluntness, Governor, but I've been under more pressure in my short life than the ten of you combined. I know what pressure is, and I can handle it."

Tobler paused as the others exchanged glances. "There are other forms of pressure than the one to which you refer. Some truly heroic people might nevertheless behave poorly to protect their reputations. I also suggest that you consider that you are teaching a full schedule of classes, adding to the pressure on you. It has been suggested that someone come in from the outside on a temporary basis, someone with experience. I talked today to Undersecretary Umbridge, and she would be willing to put aside her grievances with you to work together to bring stability to Hogwarts."

Hermione decided to play the card of defiance as a last resort. "Are you aware, Governor, that she attempted to kill Harry seven years ago? She was the one who sent the dementors to attack him at his former Muggle home. That was never made public, because there was no proof. But it's the truth."

"I can see that you believe that," admitted Tobler. "But you must understand our position. You say this, she says that, and so forth. She is an Undersecretary, in a very responsible position; her word must be taken as seriously as yours. You cannot know such a thing firsthand, and your information may be mistaken. You have risked your life in the past; surely you can bring yourself to make peace with someone with whom you have admittedly profound differences. You will remain deputy headmistress, and you can focus on making sure Hogwarts is safe."

Okay, thought Hermione, time to play the vault card. "Governor, I don't think--"

She stopped speaking as, to her shock, Professor Sprout suddenly appeared, carried by a phoenix... which Hermione saw, to her further shock, was not the phoenix Sprout companioned, but Harry. Harry fluttered down and landed on the center of the table. He looked at Hermione; she suppressed a smile.

"Excuse me for intruding, gentlemen," said Sprout. "Professor Potter," she gestured to the center of the table, "had a few things that he felt it was important to say, and he is relaying them through the phoenix I companion.

"He wants to be sure that you understand that while he happens to be in phoenix form now, he has every expectation of returning. He would like to say that he wouldn't have chosen Professor Granger as the deputy headmistress unless he had confidence that she could handle any situation that came up, and feels that it's wrong for you to compound the public slander she's suffered by questioning her judgment when she's done nothing to warrant it. He also says... I'm sorry, he's communicating in feelings, and they can be difficult to translate. The best I can do is, 'What you do to her, you do to me.' I think that gets it across fairly well."

There was a silence, then Tobler spoke, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "Yes, I believe it does."

"May I also add personally, while I am here, that Professor Granger has the confidence of the entire teaching staff," said Sprout, surveying the governors as if they were first-year Herbology students who had misbehaved. Harry took off from the table and hovered over Sprout's head; she took hold of his tail feathers, and they disappeared. He returned in a few seconds, flew to the seat at the far end of the table, and perched on the back of the chair.

A few governors cast nervous glances at Harry, then looked back to Tobler. He took a breath before speaking. "No offense was intended, Professor Granger, or to you by implication, Professor Potter," he added, with a glance at Harry. "We simply wish to act in what we feel is in the best interests of Hogwarts, as is our job. In any case... in view of Professor Potter's strong feelings about this matter, and the testimony of Professor Sprout, we will forego any action for now. But we suggest, Professor Granger, that you take a proactive stand in dealing with such threats to your reputation as occurred today in the Prophet. You are young, so you may not understand that appearance can be as important as reality."

"I talk to Professor Dentus every day," said Hermione calmly. "I understand that very well. I do plan to deal with this, just perhaps not in the way you would have me do." She stood. "Well, we seem to be finished, so I'll be going. Harry, would you give me a lift?" Harry flew over and carried her away.

* * * * *

"I was really trying not to laugh or smile," chuckled Hermione to Neville as they sat down to dinner an hour later; she had told him most of the story while they waited for the house-elves to bring the food. "They were just floored. They couldn't believe that Harry was threatening them like that."

"It sounds great," agreed Neville. "But what was the threat, exactly? What could he do to them, even if he gets back to human form?"

"He could publicly embarrass them, maybe even get them removed," explained Hermione. "By saying what he said, he was telling them to think of the consequences of doing to him what they were doing to me, and there would be a public outcry. He was more or less threatening them with that. Harry sent to me later that he could sense their reactions, and they were all pretty intimidated. I can see why. Harry almost never uses his political muscle like that, and they know that. They know they'll really get him angry if they go after me again."

"Bet it's the first time anyone's ever been threatened by a phoenix," joked Neville. "So, what made him get involved, anyway? He hasn't been around much lately, even as a phoenix. I guess I assumed he was doing what phoenixes do, which is not get involved in human affairs unless their bondmate asks them to, and he doesn't have one, as a phoenix."

"It was Snape's idea," she said, and smiled at his raised eyebrows. "I was surprised too, he didn't tell me he was going to do that. Apparently he called Harry, you know, with his wand, and explained the situation to him, asking him a few yes-or-no questions to make sure he would do it. Gave Harry a little lecture, telling him he should spend more time around his human friends when they're having problems. He had been spending time around humans, but mainly just Ginny and James."

"That reminds me, is he going to bond with Ginny?" asked Neville. "You know I've spent some time with her, and she won't say it, but I can tell she really wants him to. I think she's hurt that he hasn't."

"He wants to," she said sadly. "He really does. But the phoenix intuition is telling him not to, at least not yet. It kind of annoys him, though apparently when you're a phoenix, it's hard to get really annoyed. Most phoenixes just accept and act on their intuition without even thinking about it; they don't have desires to act opposite what their intuition tells them. Harry does, so he's kind of a unique case among phoenixes. All he knows is that if he bonds with her now, he'll wish he hadn't. He's very sure of that. It's hard for him, because most phoenixes don't have a specific connection to, or empathy for, any human but the one they're bonded to. Since he does, it's hard for him not to do what he knows she'd want him to do. He knows she's suffering; from that, from his absence, and the fear that he might not make it back as a human."

"And Snape was telling him to get more involved with all of us?"

"Basically to keep an eye on what's going on, and figure out what if anything he can do to help. To not get so absorbed in being a phoenix that he forgets about what he can do for us, even as a phoenix. Harry wasn't following events as such, though he would have responded to any requests we made of him. And Snape was right, in this case. Without Harry, I'd have had to just defy the governors to keep Umbridge out, and that would have been really bad."

"Can you defy them?" wondered Neville. "Wouldn't they just cut off the money?"

"I'm sorry, Neville... but there are things I can't tell you."

His eyebrows went high. "Wow... I bet they're pretty interesting."

"Yes, they are. It's a headmasters-only thing. Anyway, it could be done, but it would have been messy. It's best to avoid it, especially the way things are these days." She paused to take a bite of her food, then continued. "Speaking of things it's best to avoid, I assume Ron told you about Pansy's decision."

Neville winced slightly. "Oh, Hermione, it just killed him. I don't mean her decision exactly, just the whole thing. When you and Snape called us at lunch, Kingsley gave us an hour. After we left, we went out of Diagon Alley and went to one of those Muggle fast-food restaurants. Ron's kind of taken a liking to one of them. The food isn't healthy, but it's fast and it tastes all right. I think he likes it better than I do. Anyway, today especially, he didn't want to be around anyone who might recognize him."

"Did he talk about it?"

"A little, but not much," said Neville. "I mean, what could he say? He said at one point that he felt as though it was someone else that did it, and I can see what he means. I think he just feels... powerless. Maybe you could even use the word 'violated.' I mean, it's different for men--obviously on some level he consented--but he never made any kind of willful decision to do it. They say men think with their you-know-what's; clearly if you take away their ability to think with their heads, it's definitely true. I felt so bad for him."

"Me too," she agreed. "For both of them, but I know you meant that too. Pansy said that she thought you wouldn't have done it."

He smiled a little. "That was nice of her. Honestly, I don't know. I really hope not. Did you get a sense of how... willful it was, in the memory?"

She paused. "Yes, I did. And I really shouldn't tell you, because of how private a thing it is--"

"I wasn't going to ask you to," he clarified. "Just a yes or a no. If he asks me if you told me, I want to be able to say 'no' and have it be the truth."

"That's very good of you," she said, pleased that he was like that. "I was relieved that Pansy didn't ask me that question. I think I would've lied and said I didn't get a sense of it. For something like that, I wouldn't want to tell her flat-out that it was private and I wouldn't answer her question. I will say, and I didn't say this at the time because it seemed inappropriate, that this woman was pretty busty, with a low-cut dress, and did this thing where she bent over a little a couple of times. It was pretty shameless."

"I guess that was the point," agreed Neville. "There's something about being a man, you just can't not look at that. It'd be a real effort to tear your eyes away."

"Even you?" she teased.

He smiled. "I would do my very best not to look."

She smiled too, but only for a few seconds. "How did he seem after I told him about Pansy's decision? With me, there was almost no reaction, just nodding. I don't know if he thought it was a good thing or a bad thing."

"He didn't talk about that much either, though by that time we were working, not talking so much. I felt like he himself wasn't sure, at least not then. I think he was focusing on the fact that he had to go home tonight and pretend that it was the Imperius Curse. Let me ask you, in her position, would you have done what she did? Had your memory changed to how you wanted it to be?"

"I thought about that, and no, I wouldn't. I don't blame her; I can see why she did that. But I trust you so thoroughly that if that happened, I would be sure it wasn't willful on your part. I just know, I'm certain, that you would never do that. That's not the kind of person you are. Not that it wouldn't be painful, but I think I could accept as fact that it wasn't willful. I felt kind of sad for her, because it means that she can't find it within herself to be that confident about Ron."

"Do you think it'll mess up their plans to get married?" asked Neville.

"I don't think so," said Hermione. "It may actually wind up being better for their relationship to do it this way. If this would cause their relationship any danger, it would have been from Pansy not trusting Ron; now, that's not an issue. Now, the only issue is if Ron resents Pansy for making him deal with this alone. I don't think that's going to break them up." She took another bite of food, and remembered something she'd forgotten earlier: Hedrick and Helen had, in the middle of her very busy day, come to her and asked Harry to take a phoenix-look at their Slytherin classmates, who were apparently acting strangely. She said she would ask him, but with how hectic the day had been, it had slipped her mind. Probably just some argument they're having, she thought. The issue left her mind again as Neville brought up a new subject.

* * * * *

After singing goodnight to Ginny, Harry was back in the phoenix gathering place. He would soon sleep, though he had discovered that phoenixes didn't need much sleep, about half of what humans needed. He exchanged greetings with the First, who flew over near him.

You seem weary, sent the First.

I spent a lot of time today following human events, Harry sent back. It's tiring, as a phoenix, to try to think like a human.

You do this because of your friends? Why now?

One of them reminded me of my obligation to them. I don't mind doing it, it's just difficult.

You may not be able to do it for long. Our minds are different as phoenixes. You don't believe you should let the human community take care of itself? It manages, without our active intervention.

I'm part of the human community, Harry sent back. I'm not going to tell my friends, sorry, I'm a phoenix now, I can't be bothered. You don't consider yourself part of the human community?

I was, and I still take human form from time to time. But the lifestyle of a phoenix feels more natural.

Harry couldn't argue with that, but he knew that this other human/phoenix had left the human community deliberately; Harry had not. Harry felt that if he managed to outlive everyone he cared about, he would consider choosing to become a full-time phoenix. But he wanted to have a full human life first. He'd just been caught up in being a phoenix for a while.