The Veil of Memories

Chapter 7

St. Brutus's School for Criminally Incurable Girls and Boys

Dr. David Granger shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he listened to the nun's sickly sweet voice. She continued to go on about judgment and retribution in the manner of a host on a cooking program patiently explaining a recipe for mince pies. David did not need to look across at his wife to imagine that she was thinking much the same as him. Neither of the Drs. Granger were particularly religious: both David and Jane had been raised Anglican. Jane's parents were still quite serious church go-ers, but she herself hadn't attended a service since college. David's father had been a physics professor at Cambridge and a committed atheist. His mother had christened him and taken him to church a few times when he was a young boy but she hadn't been very serious. As soon as his father had cut up rough about the whole thing, it had seemed easier for David's mother to stop taking him than to arouse his father's tetchy temperament. Neither Jane nor David had raised their daughter to attend church and neither she nor they were very accustomed to the kind of lecture they were presently receiving.

"It may have seemed to Hermione a harmless prank, a bit of a fun, a kind of...." The nun's voice lowered to an obnoxious whisper, "experiment. After all, they do experiment at that age, don't they? But life is so fragile. If hers were to end today then, well," the nun widened her eyes in mock thoughtfulness, "Our Lord is merciful indeed but such sins as - "

David cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me, miss, er - "

The nun stopped talking and flashed David an icy smile.

"Oh, dear, I'm afraid miss won't do at all, Dr. Granger," she said, self-consciously adjusting her habit. "I am Sister. But there is no need to apologize. The Catholic Church has endured many centuries of prejudice and misunderstanding on this beautiful island. It falls to us to instruct many students and parents in the forgotten ways of their religious ancestors." The nun looked down at a clipboard she was holding in her hand. "I understand that Hermione was raised Anglican?"

This time, David did look across at his wife, but her face remained stoic. A brief flash of fear in her eyes, however, made it very clear how he should answer the question.

"Yes, er, that's right."

The nun's large eyes seemed to bore down at David as if determined to catch him in a lie. He prayed she would not ask him anything too specific. The words of his long-time colleague and friend, Alan Stevens, echoed in his mind from years ago:

"For God's sake, David, it doesn't matter what you put down for her religion. Just get her into St. Brutus's. She won't survive the alternatives, believe me."

David felt sweat start to slowly form on his forehead and was sure that the nun had noticed. He decided he had better break the silence but before he could speak, the nun was talking again.

"Most of our students are, of course," she said, with a sugary smile. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. All of the sisters at this school try very hard to keep our students mindful that the wages of sin - unrepentant sin, that is - are nothing less than eternal damnation. Not a day goes by where - "

"Yes, that's very interesting, Sister," said Jane frostily. "But we have come a long way and I think my husband and I would like to hear more precisely the charges that have been raised against our daughter. As her parents and legal guardians, we also have to right to see her before she is questioned any further."

The nun drew up, a slightly hurt look on her face. "Are you by chance in the legal profession yourself, Mrs. Granger?"

It was David who replied.

"No," he said, giving the nun his own false smile. "But my brother is."

"I see," said the nun, her expression unchanging. "Then I will make things quite clear to you."

She covered the rosary around her neck with her hand as if to protect it from the horrible slander that was about to issue from her mouth and then continued talking in her sweetest voice:

"At St. Brutus's, we teach our students every day that God so loves them that He will forgive even their most grievous crimes against His creation if only they will repent and return to Him. Yet your daughter has chosen to reject this great gift and worship instead he who was the first to betray God's love, he who dared to tempt our Lord in the desert, he whose name is unspeakable in the walls of this school!"

"What, you mean Satan?" said Jane, matter-of-factly.

"You're accusing our daughter of devil worship?" asked David incredulously.

The nun's eyes had now grown very large indeed. She held her hands out in front of her as though she had been meaning to strangle something that had suddenly vanished into thin air.

"I'm sorry to say that we are," she went on, after a moment's pause during which she had been edging uncomfortably closer to David and Jane. "Moreover, it would have been serious enough if Hermione had merely kept her slothful behavior to herself but she has seen fit to lead a cult of other students, dragging them down into sin with her, and endangering their precious lives and souls when they were so close to being saved!"

"I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to this rubbish!" retorted Jane. "Our daughter is not a devil worshipper!"

The nun smiled again. "It is natural for a parent to want to defend their offspring and see their point of view. But may I remind you how and why your daughter had the fortune to be enrolled in our school in the first place?"

This quietened Jane as David knew that it would. It was easy to succumb the strain of the contradictory emotions that swirled in his head whenever he saw his daughter's empty room, watched his neighbors hurry past their house on walks with their dogs, or hear a knock on the door that forced him to remember the day when an officer of the law had come calling to "ask a few questions" of Hermione. He and Jane had only had each other through these dark days and he was determined for her sake that the nun's mention of Hermione's crimes would not silence him also.

"I wasn't aware that devil worship was a criminal offense," he said brusquely.

"That it is not but I think you will find that here at St. Brutus's, we hold ourselves to very high standards of moral rectitude. If your daughter cannot adhere to those standards, there are many secular institutions that would happy to assist in her... re-education."

It was the first time that the headmaster had spoken and both the content of his words and the manner in which they had been delivered left a cold hole in the pit of David's stomach. His greasy, unkempt hair seemed out of place with the sterile offices and corridors of the school. His pale, waxy skin and dark shifty eyes made David wonder that he wasn't a devil worshipper himself. What was his name - Smith? No, that wasn't right, somehow. David was sure he hadn't been the headmaster when Hermione had first been sent here, though for the life of him, he couldn't remember who that had been.

"That won't be necessary," said Jane, regaining her voice. "But we can hardly be expected to exert any influence over our daughter if we're not allowed to see her."

"We would never wish to keep a parent away from their child," said the nun, smiling again. "If you have no further questions, Headmaster Snape will show you to our room of quiet repose, where your daughter is waiting. I believe we have made our point very nicely this morning."

David shook his head and looked over at Jane to see that she was doing the same. His wife tried to appear cool and unfazed but David could see she was nervous. He hoped that her anxiousness was not as transparent to the others.

If this Snape was put out at receiving orders from the nun - and just what was her position at the school, in any case? - he did not show it. With an almost imperceptible nod, he walked over to Jane and David. He gestured his hand toward the door with a faint smile that barely concealed the kind of self-righteous disgust David had seen looking back at him on too many faces over the past several years.

David got to his feet followed by his wife, whom he noticed was trying to appear none too eager that she was following the nun's orders. She looked back up at Snape as though he was slightly beneath her intelligence. It was a look that had always made David feel slightly uncomfortable, yet he found himself glad for it on this occasion. Snape opened the door and let the Grangers out first then followed them out, closing the door behind him.

If David Granger had stopped to look back into the office after he left, he would certainly have noticed something very strange, the very same sort of thing, in fact, that had challenged his rigidly scientific understanding of the universe many times since his daughter was first born. But David remembered none of those things now and he would not be present to witness this one.

The smile on the nun's face quickly vanished as the door closed. She walked over behind Headmaster Snape's desk and sat down. She quickly removed her habit and ungracefully scratched her head, muttering something about itchy sheep. Seeming to realize that it would look very suspicious indeed were someone to walk into the office that very moment, least of all Snape, she reached into the pocket of her habit and took out what no one in the school but herself would recognize as a wand. She discreetly placed a locking charm on the door to the office that no Muggle key would break. She then tapped her wand to Snape's bottom desk drawer and cast the opposite charm. The drawer opened and she took out a videotape, regarding it with obvious distaste. She went over to a small television and video cassette recorder at the side of Snape's desk. After spending some time adjusting controls with which she was obviously unfamiliar, the nun managed to insert the tape and leaned in to study the small television closely.

The picture on the screen crackled for a few moments but then resolved. It was a black and white image of a small playground ringed by high fences of barbed wire. The playground was empty. A counter at the top of the screen read:

27-10-1996 07.17

The nun watched the image closely, tapping her fingers on the desk impatiently. A moment later, a teenage girl with long straggly brown hair dressed in a blue school uniform walked into the picture. Muttering most un-nun like curses under her breath, the occupant of the headmaster's office adjusted the dials and knobs in front of her in an unsuccessful effort to focus the picture more closely on what the girl was doing.

The girl stood there for a moment, looking around, apparently to make sure that no one was watching her. She then sat down on a bench and seemed to grow very interested in a small cluster of pebbles on the earth nearby. She did not move for what the counter registered as a little more than two minutes. Then, Hermione Jane Granger reached into the pocket of her blouse and took out a long, knarled stick to which a long black feather had been awkwardly attached with a rubber band. She swished the stick through the air and flicked it at the pebbles. At first, nothing happened. But on the second try, one of the pebbles seemed to move. By her fifth and sixth attempts, the pebbles were dancing around each other in circles.

"Idiot girl," hissed the nun.

She had seen enough. Without waiting to see what Hermione would do next, the nun worked out how to remove the tape and placed it on the table. She touched her wand to its surface.

"Incinerate."

***

"My name is Hermione Granger. I have been accused of devil worship. All I know is that I have powers I do not understand."

Hermione looked down at the words on the page in front of her as if expecting that if she didn't do so, they would disappear. She knew that it was dangerous to record her true experiences and feelings - especially now - but it seemed like the only thing keeping her sense of self together. More than that, Hermione felt it was important to keep a record of things, though she was not entirely sure why. Hermione couldn't remember needing to write before, but then things had never been as strange as they had been this term.

Sighing, she put her pen to paper again. She knew that any of the nuns could open the door at any minute, see what she was doing, and take the diary away, but Hermione also knew that she wasn't going to just sit here alone, wringing her sweaty palms while Headmaster Snape and that nun, whoever she was, were in there talking to her parents. She looked across at the small altar in the corner of the room where two lit candles flanked a blue Virgin Mary, whose arms were stretched out wide. She remembered how she had been told the day she first came to St. Brutus's that the statue showed how God loved everyone, even the worst sinners like herself. She knew that many of her fellow students had knelt in front of the statue, praying for mercy in the moments before they were called into the headmaster's office. But Hermione knew she couldn't do that. Even after everything that had happened, Hermione still felt that the only person she could rely on for help was herself.

Hermione started to write:

"I'm not afraid of what they're going to do to me. I don't care if they expel me even. The kids at the other schools will be tough and mean, I'm sure, but I'd do anything to get away from the horrible holier-than-thou attitude of these nuns. They say they're trying to save my soul but I feel like they're pulling it out from the inside so that there's nothing left inside me but guilt."

Hermione stopped writing for a moment and looked up from the page curiously, momentarily surprised and pleased at the poetry of her words. It also seemed that by writing such raw feelings down on the page, she had taken something wretched and poisonous out of herself. Encouraged, she pressed on:

"I don't feel guilty that I wasn't grateful to the nuns or anything. And I don't want to apologize for anything I've done here in the last few weeks. I hate them and I don't care what they think. I don't even feel sorry for those people whose house I burned down. They were mean and nasty, too, though it still doesn't seem like me doing it. It's almost as though I have someone else's memories in my mind. I don't think I can feel as much hate as I remember myself feeling then.

"What I really feel guilty about is Mum and Dad. They shouldn't have to suffer so much because of what I did. And I know they'll worry a lot more if I'm expelled. I can look after myself but I don't know about them."

Hermione felt her face flush as she read her last paragraph over again. She then put pen to paper once more, determined to out her true thoughts before she was let into the headmaster's office and made to feel awful about herself.

"I know I haven't really been doing any devil worship. I don't even believe there is a devil except for the devil in people's hearts. What's more, I don't think they believe it, either. They're afraid of what I can do because they don't understand it. But I think it's a gift. And they don't want me to have a gift, so they want to take it away from me. Only they can't because it's a part of me."

Hermione stopped writing and paused for a moment. She couldn't really think of anything else to say but she was sure she didn't want to spend the next few minutes of freedom just sitting waiting and worrying. She turned back the pages of her diary and read from the beginning just as she had so many times before....

7 September 1996

I've decided to start keeping a diary. I know it sounds odd but now I feel things would have been much different for me if I'd done this all along. I thought of telling Sister Owens; she's the only nun who's ever been really nice to me here, but something made me stop. Maybe I'll tell her later.

I'm been feeling odd and out of sorts all week. I suppose it's the weather; it's been very changeable lately. There were even some strange flashes in the sky last night. Lavender woke me up and showed them to me. I think it must have been Aurora Borealis. Everything seems different to me here, now, even though I've been here for years. How long has it really been now? I've lost track. Anyway, today we had our first P.E. class of the term and we were due to play netball. We went out onto the court and a very odd sort of feeling came over me; I had the funny sense I'd never played there before, a kind déjà vu in reverse, I suppose. But I've always liked playing netball; it's one of the only things around here that can take one out of oneself./i> I must have played on that court hundreds of times. Afterwards, I remembered, of course, and the game sort of came to me when we started; I made five baskets, in fact, which is good for me.

8 September 1996

Something very interesting happened today. We were queuing up for lunch. I noticed something was off from the start because Sister Barnes usually wanders up and down the rows, monitoring anyone who has a stocking out of place or some such nonsense, and sending them off to the room of quiet repose instead of giving them lunch. My friend Catherine reckons they've only got enough lunches to feed a certain number of students and they have to send the rest off every day; I think she's probably right, it's always the same number each time and it's been like this for years.

Sorry, I'm going off at a bit of a tangent. As I was saying, Sister Barnes wasn't there at first but then she turned up a few minutes later and she had a man with her. I think he was the ugliest person I've ever seen: his face is as pale as a ghost's and he has horrible black greasy hair. Sister Barnes introduced him to us as the new headmaster. His name is Snape. He was dressed all in black with a wooden cross around his neck. I think he might be a priest, though he didn't wear a collar. Catherine has started calling him Dr. Frankenstein; perhaps I will, too.

He gave a short speech, then. He wasn't at all full of airs like Headmaster Dunn was. He was all full of doom and gloom, about how we'd done awful things, how we'd better change our ways or we'd spend the rest of our lives in a much worse prison than this. I was expecting the usual fire and brimstone ending, how we'd burn forever in hell after finishing our lives in Dartmoor prison or something, but funnily enough he didn't say anything about that. I think Sister Barnes was pleased with him, though.

The creepiest thing of all was that just as Snape had finished and Sister Barnes was finally about to let us go and eat lunch, he seemed to stop and stare straight at me. I thought he was going to tell me off for something, though I couldn't think what. But he had the oddest look on his face as if he recognized me. I'm sure we've never met, though; I don't think I'd forget a horrible face like his. We stood there for a moment staring at each other, then he let Sister Barnes take him off somewhere else. I don't think anyone noticed. I asked Catherine but she's swears she didn't notice a thing. Very odd.

11 September 1996

I wanted to write in this every day but I suppose that's not going to be possible. It's hard keeping it from the nuns for one thing and we've an awful lot of homework to do this year, not that I mind usually, but this term it seems a bit much. I don't know why, really, it's not as if we have much future, even if we do get out of this place. Lavender told me the other day that whatever it was we did, it will be on our record for life. I don't think any university will want to take someone who burned someone else's house down. I didn't tell Lavender this, though I'm sure she'd love to know. Not that anyone has ever found out what she did to get in here. Speaking of the devil, I'd better stop writing now; she's coming this way and she'll want to look over my shoulder and see what I'm doing.

14 September 1996

Well, I've done it; I'm in the room of quiet repose now. And only the second time since I've been here. Catherine thinks it must be something of a record; she's been in at least half a dozen times, but at least she didn't have to face Dr. Frankenstein.

Of course, it's so easy to get on the wrong end of the stick here. They just expect you'll cause trouble and when you don't, they think it's something they haven't noticed.

What did I do, you might ask? Well, something a bit worse that having my stockings on the wrong way round this time.

One of the younger girls in the playground was getting bullied by some of the boys. She's so short and tiny. I can't believe that anyone so young could have done something to get put in here. I was sure I'd seen her before but she said this was her first term here. I think some of the other boys her age or perhaps a year or two older were trying to get something from her. I suspect her parents had given her money or something and they'd found out about it. Of course, we're not supposed to have money here but some parents bring it in when they come on visits. Mine did for a while until I told them not to. It just causes trouble because then someone will try to steal it from you.

They were just shouting at her at first and I thought to mind my own business, but then one of them shoved her to the ground. I started to get scared. I looked around for a nun but they were all standing near the tree, laughing about something and not taking any notice. The girl wouldn't get up and one of the boys looked like he was going to hit her again. I rushed over and gave him a very hard shove. Of course, he was quite a bit smaller than me, so it wasn't too difficult. They soon cleared off. The girl - her name is Arabella Wycliffe - had a nasty bruise on her arm from where she'd been pushed down to the pavement. I was just about to take her to the nurse when I saw Sister Edwards running over looking like a hunter at the final kill. I tried to tell her what had happened to Arabella but all she was interested in was how I had shoved this poor, innocent, boy to the ground. Then I argued with her, of course, which made her even happier because it gave her another reason to punish me. They've always wanted to catch me out, of course: I'm too well-behaved and I study too hard for them. It makes them think that not all of us are all that awful and, of course, they don't like to think that. It makes them realize they're not so holy and above everyone after all.

So here I am waiting for this Headmaster Snape. A bit odd really, I suppose, that they switched headmasters on the first week of school. I wondered what did happen to old Dunn. I don't blame him if he just wanted to leave this place; I do.

No doubt Frankenstein wants to keep me waiting. I suppose he'll think it will wear me down, that by the time he gets to me, I'll be begging for him not to punish me. But I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me weak. I

15 September 1996

That was awfully close. The door opened just as I was writing. I just managed to get the diary back into my pocket in time. I don't think Frankenstein noticed.

I wasn't wrong about him; he is absolutely terrible. His whole speech was full of how I just seemed the type who thought I was better than everyone else, that it must make me happy to push innocent boys down to the ground. I tried to tell him that the boy wasn't so innocent but he never gave me the chance to say much. He would just shout at me to be silent. He had terrible breath that I could smell right across the desk whenever he opened his mouth so I didn't say anything much after that. He talked for a long time, of course. All about how I had done just the sort of thing that would get me locked up in here for much longer or, since I was almost of age, I would get sent to a real prison. He seemed very pleased about that. Then he went off on the same boring prison riff he had served up at lunch the other day. He did manage to add a few things about hell and judgment this time, though. Now, I think he's definitely a priest.

But something very queer happened just as he was finishing up the bit where I died and went to hell. He seemed to come over all funny, like he was in a trance. His face got a bit of color and he started gritting his teeth as if he was fighting with something. Then he said:

"I know who you are even if you do not know. You must take care because they will be watching - "

And that was it. Then he seemed to snap right out of it and he was on again about how I would get my pitchfork and tail or whatever the hellish equivalent is for a halo and wings. He made me stay in the library after lessons for a week and write down lines from the bible. He said he would give Sister Trent the appropriate passages; no doubt it will be something about sin and damnation. It isn't so bad, I suppose, though; perhaps I can look at some other books while I'm there. He also asked me to say fifty "hail Mary's" which I have no intention of doing.

He did finish up by saying that he would be watching me from now on and he didn't seem to be in a trance when he said it this time. I'll have to be very careful from now on, I suppose. I think if I had to face him another time, he might be quite a bit nastier.

Hermione sighed. She should have read over her diary more often. That was a piece of advice to herself that had certainly gone unheeded. She looked anxiously up at the clock on the wall next to the ugly statue of what she could only assume was St. Brutus. What had that nun been talking to her parents about for so long? Looking down at the palm of her hand, Hermione was bothered to find it glistening with sweat. No, she decided, I'm not going to let them intimidate me like this. I'm going to remind myself what I really did and why before they can make me believe their lies.

Hermione returned to the diary again and turned the pages slowly. At last she found the entry she was looking for. That was the day it had all started.

18 October 1996

Since I haven't said anything about it for a long time, I'd like to write and say that at least one thing seems to have improved: those boys at the playground don't seem to be bothering Arabella very much now. Perhaps they're afraid of me. Though if I got anywhere near them, I'd be the one headed for another meeting with Snape. Maybe they don't realize that. Whatever it is, I've gotten to know Arabella a bit better now and I think she's starting to look up to me. I don't know if I'm the sort of person anyone should look up to, but it doesn't seem that anyone else is going to be there for her. For what it's worth, I haven't told her what I did to get here. But she's not stupid; she must know it was something.

But before I go on any further, something very odd happened today. I almost feel funny writing it down because it couldn't possibly be. I was bored after lunch today; there was nothing to do and the boys had taken over the netball court. Catherine was just watching them; I think she fancies the tall one, what's his name, Justin? Anyway, I was sitting on the bench out near one of the trees and I started playing with a stick on the ground. I don't know why I went to play with it; it was just an old stick. I suppose I must have been really bored. I wish the nuns could let us into the library at lunch but, of course, they'd never let us go off anywhere on our own and they'd only be suspicious of me if I asked.

But I'm getting away from the story again. I picked up the stick and started making funny figure-eights in the air with it, like I was a conductor or something. I still don't know why. It sounds very childish when I write about it. I really must have been well and truly bored. Then I saw a cup on the ground. It was polystyrene, which can't biodegrade, of course and it just would have sat there forever. Of course, none of the nuns care if things look nice around here; it's just a prison school anyway and I doubt if Filch would have paid it the slightest notice. He seems more concerned about policing students and having them sent to Snape. I suppose that will take him a long way here.

So I saw this cup on the ground only I felt too lazy to go over and pick it up. I think being bored makes one a bit lazy. I haven't the faintest idea what made me do it. Anyone reading this must think I've gone mad. I suppose it's all the years being locked up in here that does it to one. Perhaps what happened next wasn't real, either. It doesn't seem that it could be but it's what I saw with my own eyes. I pointed the stick at the cup and it moved a bit. Then I swished the stick around in the air a bit and it moved right toward me and stopped at my feet.

Of course, I thought it was the wind. But then I tried it again from all kinds of positions and the same thing happened each time. And towards the end, I felt a kind of tingling in my hands from the stick, like it had energy somehow. It was all very odd. I thought about keeping the stick but then I realized how daft that would be so I left it laying around outside. I suppose I should stop writing about this now. I'll try to get to sleep and perhaps I will have forgotten all about it in the monotony of the morning.

If only it had been that easy, Hermione thought to herself. She almost wished it had. She quickly glanced over the next two entries, both of them about how mean Sister Jones had been to Catherine when she hadn't finished her homework in on time. Then she arrived at the next entry she was looking for.

24 October 1996

Something most odd happened today; I'm not at all sure what to make of it.

I was trying to work out a trigonometry problem. I never have liked trigonometry, although I do well in every other subject. Since none of the nuns much care how one does, it's hard to excel in a subject unless you have a burning passion for it. I suppose it's good that I do feel that way about most subjects, otherwise I don't think I'd do well in anything. I try to remember what Mum and Dad would think or say if they were here , though, and that keeps be going through the problem sets.

One of the exercises had finished in some ghastly algebra; I'd had to take the solution out to some tremendous number of decimal places. Of course, I knew I'd gotten it wrong then because they always make these so they come out nicely. I was wondering whether I should bother to go back and try and find my mistake when I heard someone calling my name.

I looked up and was very surprised to find that Dean Thomas had sat down across from me. At first, I thought he might have wanted my help with something, as people sometimes do, but that wasn't it at all.

"Hermione, have you got a moment to talk?" he said. He was talking in a very low voice and kept looking around as though he thought someone would be listening in. I was about to ask him to speak up when he went on and said:

"I've been waiting to catch you when there was no one about. I saw what you were doing out in the playground yesterday."

I nearly dropped my fountain pen on my skirt then. I asked him what he meant, though I already knew what he was talking about.

"With the stick." Dean looked about as stupid as I had felt the other day and I couldn't blame him. Here we were, two seventeen-year-old convicts talking about doing magic tricks out in the playground.

"You made that cup move by itself," Dean added. "I was watching you from the football pitch."

I wasn't sure quite what Dean was after, bringing this up. I felt like a complete fool, yet it seemed he was completely serious and even a bit afraid of the whole thing.

"Oh, well, yes, I did, I suppose. I - I expect it must have been the wind, or - "

But Dean was shaking his head. I tried to convince myself that he must be pulling my leg, only Dean's never been one to do that sort of thing.

"You tried it several times. I watched you."

"Well, yes, I'm sure it must have seemed a bit stupid but - "

Dean shook his head. "Hermione, you know, don't you?"

"Know what?" Now, I was becoming curious.

Dean leaned in even closer.

"It's not only you," he said. "I've done it, too. I can do other things also. But I can't tell you here. I don't think they'd like it if they knew. Can you meet me after lunch tomorrow?"

"In the playground?"

"They'd hardly let us go anywhere else, would they?"

"No, I suppose not. But - "

"It interests me very much to know, Miss Granger, how it is you can be helping Mr. Thomas with his trigonometry when he has to read the paper upside down."

Yes, you've spotted it. I looked up and was staring straight into Sister Trent's horrible praying mantis spectacles. She didn't let either of us say anything in our defence, of course. And she thought she knew all about what we were doing.

"You can discuss your arrangements for the dance another time."

I think I must have gone red at this since she broke into a very sadistic smile.

"Don't let me catch the two of you talking in the library again, Miss Granger. You're already in Headmaster Snape's bad books. He wouldn't be pleased to know you've been causing further trouble."

Sister Trent then walked away, obviously satisfied that she'd made her point. After she had left, Dean leaned in closer to me and said:

"Tomorrow, Hermione."

And then he went off, too, accompanied by a lot of silly giggling and tittering from some of the other girls.

Writing this now, though, I realize the whole thing's a bit mad. No one can make cups move with twigs. I suppose Dean must have been trying to chat me up, after all. Maybe he was just shy. I never thought about going to the dance with anyone before (oh, I don't think I mentioned before that they were having this dance; it's some kind of charity group coming in to do it, no doubt to make themselves feel pious. Or perhaps they just want to make sure we pair off with each other instead of endangering the rest of society). I don't suppose he knows anything about talking to girls that way. It's not as if they teach us here or give us any time to be alone together. Perhaps I should be happy. He is quite handsome, after all. Still, I'm not sure I could really think about him that way. It sounds a bit silly but I should think that if I did want to go to the dance, it would be with someone even taller than he is.

25 October 1996

I did get together with Dean today. It seems he wasn't having me on or trying to chat me up, after all. I don't know what I can possibly make of all this. It seems like it must be a dream but I suppose it isn't now.

We met at the playground as he said. Of course, there's nowhere we can go where no one is watching. We just sat close together near the netball court. If we had tried to go far away into a little corner, someone would have gotten suspicious. Most everyone was playing so no one took much notice of us. The nuns were chatting together as usual. I suppose if anyone had been around they would have thought we really were just talking about the dance.

But we weren't. Dean brought a stick with him in his bag. He said he had rubbed it down with a stone, just a little bit each day when he didn't think anyone was noticing him. It felt smooth, not knarled like the twig I was using. Then he placed a few pebbles in front of him, moved the stick on top of them and they all went around in little circles.

Now, I got suspicious at this point, because a lot of things can do that. For all I know the stick had some kind of magnet in it. It would just be thing for Dean to be laughing with his football mates afterwards that I had thought he was doing magic. So I took the stick away from him and tried it myself. I couldn't make the pebbles move as well as he had but they stirred a bit. But I still wasn't convinced and I told him so.

He seemed a bit annoyed then. He's very quiet so he didn't shout or anything and, of course, neither of us wanted to attract too much attention, but I could see he was cross. He told me he was going to prove it to me. So he took the stick and pointed it at the ball the girls were playing with. He did it in a way that I don't think anyone else noticed. He waited until one of the girls was getting ready to shoot. She wasn't very far from the net, but as soon as she threw it up in the air, I could see it was going to miss by miles. But then he moved his wand in the air - I suppose I'd already come to think of it that way by then - and said something under his breath. I couldn't quite make out what it was he said but it was like a gust of wind had taken hold of the ball and steered it to the basket. I thought it was going in at first but then it hit the rim and bounced out. The girls were shouting and giggling for a bit but then they went back to their game. I don't think they really believed what it was they had seen. And no one looked back over at Dean.

I didn't know to say. He just shrugged a little and said:

"I couldn't quite get it to go in the basket. I'm still trying."

I think I just stopped and stared at him. I don't know when it was that I said:

"B - but how, what, when did you learn to do this? W - why did you - I don't - "

"I don't know, really," muttered Dean. "It sort of just came to me. I don't know why or how I thought of doing it."

"How long have you been able to do this?"

"Just this term."

"Same with me. I - "

"Look, Hermione, we can't talk for much longer. People will start to notice us and we don't want the nuns or anyone else here to know, believe me."

"No, I suppose - "

"Just keep practicing, Hermione. You have a gift."

Dean touched me very briefly on the shoulder and got up to leave. I sat there for a long time just staring at the ground, trying to take it all in. I was lucky that no one took much notice of me. Then that awful buzzer went and it was time for us to queue up for lessons.

I don't know what to think about this. I don't know what it could mean or whether it could ever change

26 October 1996

I hate Lavender Brown! She's the most evil, gossipy, awful COCKROACH of a person with whom I've ever had the misfortune of crossing paths. And the worst part is that I'll have to be horribly nice to her now because she knows a lot of things about me I'd rather no one else found out. I'm still going to write nasty things about her in this diary every day though and I hope she reads them, too!

I was just in the middle of a sentence when there was a knock on the door. I was about to get up and answer it when Sister Barnes just opened the door and walked straight in. I just had a moment to stuff the diary under my blanket and didn't have time to put it away properly.

I was very nervous at first. I was sure she must have come to see about what I was doing with Dean on the playground. But it wasn't that at all. She told me that Emily Dibble was sick and couldn't take her turn to clean the latrines on the third floor. She wondered if she might find someone in my room to do it instead and as I was the only one there.... Of course, she made it sound like a request, but I knew that it wasn't. She seemed very pleased to see it was me.

I was bitter for being singled out like this, especially when I know Emily's always been Barnes's little darling, but I knew it wouldn't do to make anything less than the best job of it. It was late and I was very tired. Barnes made sure she checked everything was just so; Lord knows she's nothing better to do on a Friday night. Finally, I could go back to my room.

All I wanted to do when I got back into the room was sleep. But when I got there, what should I find by Lavender sitting on my bed and reading my diary.

She tried to hide it as soon as I walked in, of course, but she's never been very quick with this sort of thing. I was furious, of course. I tore it away from her and started spitting insults in her face. I called her everything and I didn't care who heard. She looked very scared. Of course, it was a very stupid thing for me to do, shout like that. Any of the nuns could have come in any moment and asked what was going on and then they would have surely found out about the diary. I can't think what they would have done if they'd read about what Dean and I had been doing or, worse, the not very nice things I've been saying about all of them. But I didn't care. I think I must have been on the point of hitting her when she did the last thing I expected.

She reached into the back of her skirt and pulled out a wand very much like Dean's. That finally managed to stop me shouting at her and she started to talk.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione," she said, her eyes on the verge of crocodile tears. "I know I should never have read your things but I saw you out there with Dean on the playground and I had to know - "

"- whether I was going to the dance with your secret crush?"

This obviously hit a nerve and I felt pleased. I've known Lavender has a crush on Dean for years. She giggles even more stupidly than normal whenever he's around.

"No, you've got it all wrong," insisted Lavender, her eyes wide in mock innocence. "I - I wanted to know whether it was true, whether you had the powers, too. I - I've watched Dean do it for weeks now. I don't think he knows I was watching him but I - well - so I got my own piece of wood and I rubbed it down the way he did. And then - well - I found that I had the powers, too. I can't do as much as he does, I think, but I can make one or two things move."

I wasn't sure at all what to say then. Of course, I was still furious with her and I still don't trust her. She's just to type to tell everything to the nuns. But at that moment, I felt my curiosity start to overcome my anger, especially when I noticed something different about her wand.

"What is that?" I finally asked.

There was a black feather - it looked like it had been taken from a blackbird or crow - tied around the outside of Lavender's wand with a rubber band.

"It's a feather," said Lavender blankly.

Stupid girl!

"I know it's a feather," I said, very patiently under the circumstances. "What's it doing there?"

"I - I can't say really," said Lavender, "but it makes it easier to, well, move things. Don't ask me why I thought of putting it on there. It just, well, came to me."

I nodded. Any of this would have seemed fantastic to me just a few days ago, but now it seemed like I was hearing the same thing over and over again from different people.

That was all we were able to talk about last night. The lights went out then. I put the diary away quickly as I knew that Sister Lewis would come around checking on us. Lavender put away her wand and we got into our beds.

But I haven't gone to sleep so easily. I don't know how late it is now but it isn't the first time I've read by those horrible bright lights that they shine from the courtyard outside and come in through the bars on our window. Our lives are so planned here that it's the only chance I have to read something just because it interests me.

But tonight I'm writing. And doing a lot of thinking as well. Before we went to sleep, Lavender told me I could use her wand and I think I will. No one will be up on a Saturday morning. They let us out for breakfast and I'll say I have to go and use the girls' room. Then I'll slip out into the playground; they'll never know. It's a bit risky but I'm too excited not to try it. It's only moving around some stones on the ground but somehow it makes me feel like I can really be something besides a failure and a criminal.

I don't think I shall sleep at all tonight but I'm going to stop writing here.

27 October 1996

Well, I did it. And Lavender was right. It seems she must know something after all. I would never have thought it possible.

Her wand worked much better than Dean's. I put five pebbles together in a row. The first time I tried it, nothing happened, but I wasn't going to be stopped that easily so I kept trying again and again. And finally it worked. I could move them around just as easily as Dean had. And I know the pebbles didn't have any magnets or anything.

But what does it all mean? And what else can I do? Dean could move that netball. Maybe if we practiced, we could move something much bigger.

Like a wire fence.

No, I mustn't think like that. It would just make things worse for everyone, especially my parents. But I shall see why I have to be especially careful to keep this away from the nuns - and Snape.

30 October 1996

It's the first time since the morning I tried to move the pebbles with Lavender's wand that I've seen Dean. I saw him practicing out in the playground again. I just sat near him for a few minutes in case anyone got suspicious. I told him about the feather.

"Here, you try it," I said, discreetly handing him the wand.

Dean took the wand from me cautiously.

"I will," he said, "but not here, I - "

He hesitated.

"What is it?" I asked.

"You don't know what happened last night, do you?"

I didn't.

"Dennis Creevey, do you know him?"

I frowned. "The name sounds familiar; I don't think I've met him though. What happened?"

Dean hesitated, clearly wondering if he should go on any further.

"He and this other boy," he finally said, "can't remember his name - same year - Malcolm, I think - anyway, they're always having a go at each other. Dennis is short and a bit shy and the bloke's always seen him as an easy target. At any rate, it was Dennis' turn to scrub the toilets, you know what that's like."

Too right, I thought.

"Anyway, it seems this Malcolm bloke wanted to use the loo and Dennis' bucket was in the way. He told him to shove it, not so nicely as that, mind you, and Dennis just looked up and stared at him. Well, then, Malcolm got angry and just kicked Dennis' bucket aside. All the dirty water went all over the floor and his clothes. But Dennis didn't say anything. He just looked up at him with this horrible look on his poor 'ol face and then - "

Dean stopped talking.

"Yes?"

"Well, I don't know about in the girl's loo but in ours there's a mirror right as you walk in on the left."

"Yes, go on."

"Well," Dean hesitated again. "I wasn't there so I can't say for certain, but one of the other boys on our floor, Gavin, he was there and he told us what he saw. Dennis kept looking at Malcolm, right, he wasn't even looking at the mirror at all but then - but then the mirror smashed into pieces. Gavin said Malcolm was over in front of the loos, must have been a good three yards away. The glass just seemed to fly out and hit him."

I think I must have gasped. "Was he all right?"

"Well, there were little pieces of glass all over his face and his sweater and he was screaming. That was when everyone else came running. I'm pretty fast and so I was one of the first to get there. Most everyone was looking at Malcolm but I was watching the look on Dennis' face. I think most people would have been surprised but he just looked really scared."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't think it was the first time he's done something like that."

"But he wasn't near the mirror, either, then, was he?"

Dean shook his head.

"So then how could he - "

I stopped talking when I saw the look in Dean's eyes.

"Don't tell me you think it was a coincidence, Hermione."

"But he didn't have a wand, did he?" I whispered.

Dean frowned. "I don't think so but all the same."

"Well, what happened then? The nuns must have come, surely?"

"Luckily, it was Sister Owens on duty last night. The nice one. Anyway, she took Malcolm along to the hospital wing."

"And Dennis?"

Dean shrugged. "She was nice to him. Even let him get out of his soaked things and change."

"She didn't punish him?"

"How could she? Would you have believed he could have made that mirror crack all over Malcolm? He'd have to have been on the other side of it and there's nothing there but the wall. She probably thought it was divine retribution for what Malcolm had done to him."

I half-smiled. "Maybe it was."

"Maybe," said Dean, without returning my smile. "But I'd be extra careful if I were you, Hermione. I doubt Sister Owens knew the whole story but it's bound to go around the school and Snape's sure to find out. He wouldn't take kindly to anyone doing magic."

I laughed in spite of myself. "Is that what we're doing here, magic?"

"What else would you call it, Hermione?"

I didn't say anything for a moment. Forcing my doubts down, again, I looked back at Dean and told him about an idea I'd had going around in my mind for a few days.

"Look, maybe we should all get together somehow. You and me, Lavender, Dennis - anyone else who can do," I paused, "magic. Maybe we can teach each other something."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Hermione. Playing with sticks is one thing. Getting a group together. They'd probably think we were practicing witchcraft or something. And when they found we could actually do it - "

"Don't be silly! It's not anything of the sort!"

"You don't know that, Hermione."

"Well, look," I said. "Perhaps we can help each other control our magic so something like what happened to Dennis doesn't happen again."

"I don't know, Hermione."

Hermione closed the diary and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. She had known how dangerous it could be if the school found out about their powers days before Dean had told her about Dennis. It said so right there in her diary. But her excitement and curiosity had gotten the better of her. If only she had listened to Dean.

Hermione sighed and continued to turn the pages of the diary, reviewing the final events that had led to the predicament she found herself in now.

20 November 1996

Well, we've done it. We've had our first meeting. It was difficult to find a time as much as a place. We finally decided to meet on Friday afternoons just after tea. The nuns have a staff meeting then as it's the only night they're not called to monitor us in the library. They usually leave one or two nuns on duty but it's much fewer than usual. Still, I don't think we should meet the week that it's Sister Barnes' turn.

Of course, we're supposed to be doing cleaning in the kitchen and the hall then but there are never enough tasks for everyone to do and everyone's nearly always done beforehand. The nuns just keep us in there until their meeting is over. They lock all the doors to everywhere else in the school just in case but there's a small sort of storage room between the pantry and the boilers where no one goes. It's cramped and dirty but it will have to do. I think we can only spend about fifteen minutes there each meeting but it should be enough to share what we've learned that week and help everyone control their powers.

There are six of us altogether so far: myself, Dean, Lavender, Dennis, his older brother Colin, and - wait for it - Arabella. Yes, I know, it's a bit mad. She kept watching me out in the playground. I don't think I was too obvious but she's always taken an interest in everything I did since the time I helped her on the playground; as I said, I think she looks up to me. She started doing the same things I was doing; she made her own wand and she found she could do some simple spells as well. She was awfully excited about it and part of me can't help but feel pleased. But I'm also very worried: it's bad enough if one of the others of us gets caught but at least we haven't long left in this school. The nuns could make things much more difficult for her for much longer. Perhaps it's my own feelings of guilt that disturb me the most. I feel very responsible for the fact that she's in the group in the first place.

I think there must be others, too: Dean said there was another boy in our year - Justin, the one that Catherine fancies. Dean said that last week, Sister Edwards had told Justin off for getting some of his sums wrong in maths. Later on in the same lesson, a light bulb burst just over her head. Of course, I would have thought it quite silly that Justin had anything to do with that just a couple of weeks ago, but now I'm not so sure.

Everyone had to prove they could do magic to get into the group, in case anyone planned to tell tales on us to the nuns. We met briefly together in the kitchens. We didn't say a word about what we were doing and quietly walked off to the pantries and then the storage room. We didn't do all that much our first time but I found out about some other powers: Colin can make things appear out of thin air! He only managed to conjure up a sort of squishy bit of foam but perhaps if he practices - if we all practice - well, then, there's no telling how far all this might go or where it will take us.

Hermione buried her face in her arms, trying to force back the tears that threatened to spring out from her eyes. They would never know now how far they might have gone. Part of her wanted to stop reading now as though the events of the last two days could be dismissed as a nightmare that had insinuated itself into her blossoming dream, yet Hermione knew that wishful thinking couldn't help her to face what was to come and so she read on.

23 November 1996

Something terrible has happened. They know. They've found out. I don't know how I could ever have been so horribly naïve. Looking back on things, it was only a matter of time.

It was during lunch when Sister Barnes came to find me and told me that Headmaster Snape wanted to see me. I knew it even before I saw her approach. I could see it in Catherine's eyes as she watched her walking up behind my back when we were eating. And then when I turned around and saw her looking so horribly pleased (though she tried to disguise it with a suitably holy frown), I knew exactly what she was going to say.

I think I was just numb with the shock of it all by the time I reached Snape's office. Sister Barnes left me in there by myself. I think that was the first and probably last time in my life I shall ever wish that she had stayed with me anyway.

Snape didn't say anything for what seemed like ages. I think that was the worst part. Then he asked me to come around behind his desk. I wasn't at all sure what he was after until I saw a small television on the table to the right of his desk. He went into his desk and took out a video. I was horrified. There was a picture of me out in the playground talking to Dean. You could see us practicing with the wands. Then, he showed me another picture of the group of us meeting in the kitchens ready to go down for our first meeting. I didn't notice at the time but you could clearly see on the video that Colin already had his wand out in his hand. Then we walked away and out toward the pantry.

How could I have been so stupid? Of course, this is a prison, isn't it, really? They have cameras everywhere even if we can't see them.

Snape was furious, of course. He wanted me to explain. All manner of lies came into my head but, in the end, I just told the truth. It was just like the night when the police had come to ask about the house. Somehow I knew things would be much worse if I lied. I think I must have remembered my father telling me that many years ago.

Of course, Snape didn't believe me and that made him even more furious. He told me there was no such thing as magic. Of course, none of the videos showed any of our successful spells. I shouldn't expect they would have wanted to show us those. I said again that there was. Snape went really crazy then. His cheeks went so red on his horribly pale skin that it was like he was bleeding. He told me I was a worthless, lying, brat of a girl. Then he went off on a long religious speech about how sorcery was always the mark of Satan and that I was trying to do the devil's work for him. I told him it wasn't true but he no longer seemed interested in anything I was saying so finally I just shut up.

After he had finished shouting at me, he seemed to go very weak and pale and I had the feeling he'd overdone it. I certainly wouldn't have felt sorry if he'd gotten a heart attack and died at his desk but unfortunately he seemed to recover a few moments later. Then he went all calm and told me that there was still one way I could save myself: I could tell him who the other students were in the group.

I think I must have looked very blank then. Snape said something about me being as witless as I was insolent. He showed me the video of the group in the kitchen again and that was the first time I noticed: it picked up Colin, Dean, and I very clearly. Lavender and Dennis had their backs turned, however, and Arabella was completely hidden behind one of the large trays they keep the dishes on. Apparently, they don't have a camera in the pantry, let alone the storage room. It was obvious from the picture we were talking to others, though, and Snape didn't know who they were.

First the first time this week, I began to feel hopeful. Perhaps not all of the others would have to pay a price for my stupidity after all.

But now Snape wanted me to tell him. And that was something I was sure I wasn't going to do. And I told him so.

He went really berserk then. He knocked something over on his desk and I think he broke it. He ran over to me and started screaming in my face. I felt sure he was going to hit me and I had prepared myself for it but at the last minute, he backed away and went back behind his desk. Then, a little more calmly again, he told me that I had three days to reconsider his offer. If I didn't come forward with any more names in that time, they would call in my parents.

26 November 1996

It's been the worst three days of my life. Catherine says I'm taking it very well, although she doesn't really understand what's happened. She doesn't even know about the magic. It's best if she doesn't. It could only make things worse for her at the school if I told her anything. I haven't told Lavender about what happened in Snape's office, of course, although she obviously knows that I'm in trouble and she's not.

I've wiped all the names of the other students out of my diary in black marker so that even if they find it and take it off me, they won't know who they are. I'm also keeping it on me at all times. That way if they search my room they won't find it. I know it's really very dangerous to be writing it at all but somehow I feel that if didn't, I'd lose a part of myself, especially now.

Snape hasn't been to see me again but some of the nuns have. Sister Barnes went off on a long riff about how God could never pardon me my sins if I continued to be so recalcitrant. The only chance I had to rescue myself from hell was to turn over the names of my accomplices to Snape. If I didn't do so, she said, I was stopping the school from helping to save their souls from the "poisonous stain of being called by Lucifer to do his work." I still refused to tell her. She kept getting more and more angry and repeated the same speech over and over again. Finally, I lost my patience and told her that if God was so clever, he could figure it out by himself and didn't need the school's help. Sister Barnes went a very light shade of indigo then and told me that bringing my parents here was the first step in having me expelled. She then finished with another very false smile and said that she would pray every night that I might be spared the fate awaiting me in a state-run juvenile prison.

Of course, she hasn't been the only one. Most of the nuns have made little snide comments in their lessons. Sister Trent came up to me in the library and whispered in my ear like a maddening mosquito that I'd better reconsider. The worst of all, I think, was Sister Owens who came to my room one night and sobbed about how I really had a good soul, even though none of the other nuns could see it, but that it would all be lost to Satan if I didn't turn around and confess the names of the other students to Snape.

The three days were up today. No one came to talk to me funnily. Filch gave me a letter at tea. It was from Snape, of course. It told me my parents had already been called and that they would be arriving at the school on Saturday afternoon. He also told me that another nun had been called in from outside, one who dealt with severe cases such as mine, and that she would speak first to Mum and Dad and then to me.

I can't imagine how horrible Mum and Dad must feel. Of course, they won't let them talk to me until they get here and Snape and this other nun, whoever she was, has chatted with them first.

I was supposed to leave the school after this year but, of course, I expect they'll reconsider that now. Worse, there's probably a good chance I'll be expelled. As much as I hate this place, I'm sure Sister Barnes was right about one thing: the alternatives might be much worse. She didn't say it but since I'm seventeen now, they could easily put me in an adult prison.

The truth is that there have been times this week when I've sat back in my bed and thought about how easy it would be just to give in to them. But whenever that happens, their faces come into my mind - Arabella's especially, since I feel so responsible; Dennis, who seems to have never gotten on well here; and even Lavender, even though she got herself into this in the first place, and even though I've never really liked her very much. It doesn't matter what they do to me; I'm not going to turn them in. Not ever.

Hermione closed the cover of the diary and stared mutely at the book. She was not sure how long her mind had been lost in a blank state when she heard footsteps outside the door and saw the handle slowly turning open. She hurriedly returned to her senses and stuffed her diary back into the inside pocket of her sweater.

Snape swept in noiselessly. He was followed by her parents, whose reactions were much more demonstrative.

"Oh, Hermione, dear!"

Her mother reached across the table and grabbed her into a close embrace, her demeanor losing all of the coldness it had shown toward Snape.

Hermione suddenly felt like a small girl again whose mother had finally arrived to make things all better. She had grown up in a very tactile family and the long absence of human touch in her daily life at St. Brutus's was keenly felt now that it was present again. Held tightly in her mother's arms, Hermione sensed the mental defenses she was forced to thrust around herself every day swiftly collapse. Tears flowed swiftly down her cheeks and into her mother's blouse.

"I'm sorry, Mum!" she cried. "I'm so sorry!"

They held each other for a long time. Then Hermione quickly rubbed the tears away from her eyes, only to fall into her father's embrace and begin crying again.

"Don't cry, bright eyes," he whispered very quietly into her ear. "Everything's going to be all right."

But when Hermione moved out of her father's arms and looked at him properly, she could see that his eyes told a very different story. He was deeply worried. Looking across at her mother, she was shocked to see how much older she looked, even though she had only seen her for a short time just that summer. She was about to say something again when she suddenly noticed that Snape was still standing in a corner of the room. Still sobbing, her defenses completely down, Hermione locked eyes for a brief moment with the headmaster. A strange, angry intensity seemed to fill Snape's eyes at that moment, different somehow from the almost planned rage he had inflicted on her in their last confrontation in his office. It was as though Snape's spite had suddenly taken on a human quality it had seemed until now to have been missing.

What exactly Snape was spiteful about Hermione was no nearer to wondering when her mother rounded on the headmaster. Regaining every bit of the diffident tone with which Hermione herself had faced him a few days before, she said:

"I believe we have the right to see our daughter in private."

"As you wish." Snape glided quickly out of the room.

As soon as the door was closed, Hermione turned to her parents again.

"Mum, Dad, I - I wasn't really doing devil worship. I didn't mean to - "

Hermione's voice trailed off in another choked sob. She felt so helpless. How could she even begin to persuade her parents that she had been meeting with a group of students to do magic tricks, much less that she could practice magic herself. The irony was that, as willing as her parents were willing to take her side unconditionally, they were even further away from the world into which she was beginning to enter than the nuns, for whom the supernatural was an everyday affair.

"Listen, Hermione," said her mother, putting a protective arm around her shoulder. "There's nothing you have to explain. Your father and I both know that all of this is absolute nonsense. To think that our tax money goes to a beastly place like this! Next they'll be organizing witch hunts. It's positively medieval."

"Oh, Mum, I can't think of anything more I want than to leave this wretched school!" Hermione cried desperately.

"And you will, darling," said her father, putting a reassuring hand on her other shoulder, but still looking just as worried as ever. "Just a few more months here and then you'll be out and this will all be over."

"But what if they find a way to make me stay longer?"

"They won't," said David Granger, his chin firm. "All of this nonsense will clear itself up, you'll see. And then we'll get you into a good university. We'll finally be able to put this all behind us."

Hermione sincerely doubted that any university would accept someone with her past, but she knew how badly her father wanted it to be true and couldn't bear to question his resolve.

Her parents stayed for a little while longer. At her father's suggestion, they talked about other matters: how their garage needed repairs, how the neighbors down the road had a new dog, and so on. There was a time when Hermione would have been deadly bored with the conversation but now she felt grateful for the normalcy of it. It seemed all too soon when the door opened once again and Snape came back into the room.

"Your allotted legal time with your daughter has now expired," he announced dispassionately. "Sister is ready to see Miss Granger now."

Hermione's father kept his hand on her shoulder. "I've been keeping in touch with your uncle," he said, with one defiant eye on Snape. "If they accuse you of doing anything else, you're not to say a word until you've spoken to us."

Hermione gave as assertive a nod as she could muster. Snape held her father's defensive glance and then smiled cruelly as he led Hermione away from the room of quiet repose and out into the hallway that led to his office. He moved his hand to the office door but paused at the last moment.

"Sister is well trained to deal with your sort of case, Miss Granger," he said icily. "I will leave you two alone. There are some things I need to discuss with your parents about the suspension of civil rights in a correctional institution." He opened the door and gestured for Hermione to enter, then nodded brusquely to her, and walked back the way he had come.

Hermione was still thinking about Snape's words as she entered his office. A diminutive woman sat somewhat incongruously behind his desk. Her face was very pale and she had a horrible fat, wide nose which did nothing to overshadow a pair of over-large brown eyes. Hermione had the distinct impression she was in the presence of a frog that had just seen its supper.

"Hello!" the nun said brightly. "You must be Hermione! I've heard all about you, of course. Please take a seat, dear."

"No, thanks," said Hermione stiffly, hoping the nun wouldn't notice the swollen bags under her eyes from where she had been crying. "I'd rather stand."

"Oh, no, dear," replied the nun, not losing her smile or her sickly honey-sweet voice. "That won't do at all. We've far too much to discuss to do this standing up. Now, sit down." She gestured to the chair in front of her.

The nun's eyes did not blink as Hermione stared back at them. She was determined to show a brave face but for some intangible reason, she had the sudden impression she was in the presence of someone far more evil and wicked than anyone else at the school - even Sister Barnes and Headmaster Snape. Without stopping to think of resistance, Hermione found herself sitting down on the chair, just as she had been told.

"That's much better," the nun said slowly, sitting down herself.

"I'm afraid I don't know your name, Sister," said Hermione, surprised at how weak and timid her voice sounded.

"Oh, there's no need to call me Sister, dear. You and I are going to come to know each other very well indeed. We're going to be good friends, you and I, companions on the long road away from Satan and back into the arms of our Lord."

The nun held out her hand to Hermione which she was surprised to see was covered with several garish rings. Then, in a macabre imitation of a smile, she added:

"My name is Dolores."