CHAPTER 97: NIHIL SUPERNUM, PT 4

It was almost noon when Hermione was led out of the cell in the DMLE where she had been kept the last night. The Aurors had told her what was going to happen, and what he had done, so Hermione was not surprised to see Harry, being led out of a different cell. Three Aurors closed in behind them, with two Patronuses, to guard the last Dementor in Britain. She would have been surprised that they would dare put the creature so close to the two people in the country who could destroy it, but Auror Li had – carefully and somewhat guiltily – explained what they might need it for, too.

And now they walked the hallways together, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Girl-Who-Escaped, drawing strength from each other's company. She didn't want him here, but she was glad not to be alone all the same.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, rushing out the words in case the Aurors would tell her to be quiet. "I never meant to get you into trouble."

"Don't apologize for doing the right thing," he answered calmly. The Aurors made no objection – apparently they were allowed to talk (although, she suspected, anything they said would probably be used against them). "I wish I could say that I would have done the same thing in your place. But I've had that chance, and I threw it away." He glanced at the phoenix that was flying along with her. Powerful spells had been put on the bird to render it harmless, but with that done, she had been allowed to keep Xare close.

"Besides," he added lightly. "Now at least you won't have to worry about being seen as my lab assistant anymore."

She couldn't help it, she had to grin. Trust Harry to try and pretend nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

"At the moment, Mr. Potter," she returned, falling into the same casual tone, "I think we both have slightly larger things to worry about."

He smiled slightly. "Just be yourself. I estimate a greater than fifty percent probability that we'll both go free."

It seemed so normal for how they usually spoke, that she could almost forget about the last two weeks and the Aurors and the Dementor behind them and the stone hallways, and imagine the two of them to be back at Hogwarts, walking to the library for a studying session. Almost.

"Nevertheless," she replied, "if you had asked me, I would have told you not to sacrifice yourself for me."

"That would be almost selfish, you know," he said matter-of-factly. "There are only about fourteen people in the entire world with a phoenix, and they tend to do a lot of good. Face it, you're worth more than you value yourself."

They had descended the last stairs. Only one corridor separated them from the Wizengamot courtroom.

"Be silent now," one of the Aurors ordered. "And wait until we are called in."

It was Sunday, April 19th, of 1992, and Professor Michael Verres-Evans sat uncomfortably next to his wife on the stone benches, overlooking the courtroom where his eleven-year-old son would stand trial for his life.

It was the famous war hero, politician and headmaster himself who had informed the couple. Harry had described the headmaster of his school as a sort of benevolent madman, who set chickens on fire to mess with students' minds. Yet, there didn't seem to be any insanity in the eyes of this ancient man, with his long billowing white hairs and his dark purple robes. The Deputy Headmistress they had spoken to so far was a sensible, formal woman, who just so happened to be a witch. But this ancient wizard – looking much like Merlin was always depicted but more real – visibly radiated power, even to untrained Muggle eyes.

He had told them, in what was undoubtedly a highly simplified version of events, what was happening to their son.

There had been arguments.

The wizard had been reluctant, to say the least, to allow the Muggle parents of the "Boy-Who-Lived" to witness his trial. He had tried with every measure, except force or magic, to dissuade them. But Michael Verres-Evans could be stubborn too.

"There is nothing of good you can do there, and plenty of evil," he had spoken. "If you speak up or otherwise draw attention to yourself, you may cause great difficulty for your son."

"And yet we must be there, if only to support Harry in silence," Michael had responded.

"The boy must defend himself, young though he is, for there are no lawyers in our world. He might do worse for your presence, if there are things he would keep from you."

"Our son has always been quite happy to ignore us when it didn't suit him to pay us attention."

"You will be frustrated with the proceedings," the old wizard had said. "For notions of childhood, fairness and justice are far removed from these courts. You will be tempted to interfere, and that would lead to disaster. Most of the Wizengamot look kindly upon the Boy-Who-Lived, as in their eyes he is the hero who ended the last war. However, many of them do not feel generous towards Muggles, and would not appreciate the idea of Muggle morals being imposed on their politics."

"I assure you, we understand that. We will remain silent."

The ancient man had given him a piercing look.

"Your son said the same, before the last trial. And yet he failed to abide by his promise."

"And was this not what almost saved the girl from prison?"

"Partly. Unfortunately, he said more than one thing, and some of the statements he made have done significant damage to his reputation, a harm which will undoubtedly make tomorrow's trial vastly more difficult."

"The point is moot. We are both adults, unlike Harry, and we understand that we don't know enough of the court proceedings in the madness of this magical world to have any hope of success."

The argument had gone on some more, until the wizard had finally pressed: "If this turns out for the worst – I hope that it will not, but it might – then both children may be executed there and then. Would you have that happen in front of your eyes?"

Petunia had recoiled in horror. But Michael stood firm.

"If it happens regardless, then it will be no worse for my witnessing it."

The wizard had sighed at that. "You are much like your son."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"Very well then. If you insist, I will bring you," the powerful wizard had wearily spoken. "I shall give you robes to wear, so as not to draw attention to your birth. And if there is anything you absolutely wish to be said, inform Professor McGonagall, who will sit by you. She has ways of contacting me silently."

"She will guard us, you mean," Michael had snapped. "But fine. As long as we are there."

The visitor benches were packed, all with adults. The Deputy Headmistress had explained that their son was a symbol of hope to many people. She had also said that the destruction of more than a hundred Dementors, the darkest creatures known to man, would have sparked wonder in the hearts of young and old alike. Whether the politicians who would be doing the judging felt the same, as they filed in in their purple robes, remained to be seen.

The courtroom was an immense place built of dark rock; smooth, elegant and grand. Not a bad place for a conference, although perhaps a little intimidating. Michael might have been intrigued by the fact that this place had existed, hidden beneath London for some fifteen hundred years, but he was a bit too nervous to really appreciate the history and implications of this building, where no Muggle had set foot in over thirty years.

There was a small, sharp rap, and suddenly the room fell silent. All eyes turned to the great wizard, the Headmaster and Chief Warlock, who stood behind a podium on the topmost level.

"The twenty-first session of the two-hundred-and-eighth Wizengamot is convened at the request of Harry James Potter," the ancient man spoke. Apparently Harry's change of surname had not been formally acknowledged in the Wizarding world. That, or the wizard simply didn't want to draw attention to his Muggle connections. "Who is currently in custody for jailbreak and treason, along with Hermione Jean Granger, and has asked for the case to be judged by this body. Madam Bones, as Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I ask you to present the case."

A gray-haired, stern-looking witch sitting close to Albus Dumbledore, stood up.

"On Friday, 17 April, at quarter past four," she spoke, her crisp voice somehow loud enough to be clearly heard everywhere in the hall, "the Aurors guarding Azkaban were surprised by a bright light. When it passed, all Dementors had disappeared. The apparent culprit was inmate Hermione Jean Granger, sentenced there for attempted murder, who had acquired a wand and, with the help of a phoenix, broken out and used a hitherto unknown spell to destroy Dementors."

There was excited muttering in the benches, but it was silenced with a rap from the Chief Warlock's rod.

"Questioned by Albus Dumbledore, who had been alerted to the escape, Harry James Potter has freely confessed that he has previously broken into Azkaban and given Miss Granger the means to escape, as well as teaching her the spell to destroy Dementors."

She looked at the Chief Warlock, who nodded, and spoke in a great, booming voice: "Let Hermione the first Granger, and Harry, scion and heir of the Noble House of Potter, be brought forth."

The doors opened then, and the two children walked in, followed by three men in crimson robes, two shining silver animals (a lynx and a rabbit), and ...

Michael stared at the tattered cloak floating a little above the ground. He couldn't see the creature itself, but he thought he could feel it. It seemed to radiate some kind of darkness. Emptiness. Anger filled him at the thought of that being anywhere near his son.

The two children were led towards the metal chairs in the center of the room, and sat down. Beside him, Petunia let out a choked gasp as dark metal chains snaked out from the chairs and bound their arms and legs. One chain in each chair even twirled itself around the children's necks. Michael balled his fists. He might have shouted out, but the Deputy Headmistress on his other side shot him a warning look, and he remembered his promise. Whatever he did, he should not make it harder for Harry to get out of this. And Harry's face didn't look desperate. He didn't even have that angry, cold look which Michael had come to recognize and fear ever since the Incident with the Science Project. Instead, he just looked calm, like he was entirely in control of the situation. Michael couldn't see Harry's little friend Hermione very well, but her movements, too, did not bespeak the terror he imagined he would have felt in their place.

"If it pleases my Lords," the gray-haired, stern-looking witch continued, rolling open a piece of parchment. "I will now read the testimony of Miss Granger, delivered under one drop of Veritaserum. As her statements make clear, it would have been dangerous to give her more than one."

She spoke. Surprisingly, Michael even understood most of it. The Headmaster had explained the meaning of such words as "Dementor", "Patronus" and "phoenix", and told them of the peculiar spell Harry had invented. What he had not expected was the obvious shock and surprise from the assembly. The Headmaster had said that the spell which the girl had used, and which Harry had invented, was new and had been considered impossible, but to him, it was all just magic. To the wizards and witches, a fundamental rule of their world view had been shattered.

Figures, he thought. Harry never did care much about rules. I thought breaking the rules of physics was bad, but apparently he just doesn't know where to stop.

Voices rose up when the woman lowered the scroll, but she held up a hand, and another two sharp raps enforced silence. "Before we begin the deliberations," she said, "I would like to read you Mr. Potter's statements. As he is a registered Occlumens, it is unlikely that the Veritaserum he was given had any effect. I would ask you all to take that into account." She rolled open another piece of parchment.

"It is obvious to me, and to anyone who thinks about it for more than half a minute, that Hermione Granger is innocent of the crime she was convicted for. Twelve-year-old girls generally do not commit cold-blooded murder, and Hermione Granger is one of the kindest students in our year. You have seen as much during her trial, and now she has a phoenix upon her shoulder. What do you think is more likely: that she would suddenly go crazy and try to kill a fellow student in a manner the Hogwarts administration has overlooked for eight hundred years? Or that she was used as a pawn in someone else's plot?

"So yes, I broke into Azkaban afterwards and went to her, the first moment it was safe. The plan was mine, and I supplied the books given to her, but as you surmise, I did have adult help. No, I will not give you any names – that would just cause another good person to be subjected to the whims of this mockery of a justice system. They did what they believed was right to help an innocent, and I said I would take responsibility. Let that be enough.

"My intention was to keep her shielded from harm until such time as I could prove her innocence, and secure her release. I did not intend for her to break out, and in fact told her not to. Of course, I should have realized that a girl like Hermione Granger could not live long amid other people suffering without trying to do something about it."

Michael was entirely speechless. This was not the kind of statement that he had expected.

The woman rolled up the parchment again. "Mr. Potter has also supplied a list of the books in Miss Granger's neck-bag. The list was accurate, which gives a strong indication that he was indeed involved, as he said. Otherwise, he has declined to make any statements."

Michael almost stood up and shouted at his idiot son to tell them everything, to not be so foolish as to let it come to an execution rather than revealing the adults who helped him. But he found that he couldn't move, and that his voice stuck in his throat.

"I apologize, Dr. Verres," the Deputy Headmistress whispered. "But you must not interfere. If I release you, will you remain silent?"

He nodded, slowly, as it was the only movement he could make. His body unfroze, then.

The woman – Madam Bones – waited for the mutterings to die down, and then added: "We have confirmed that the pouch is a powerful device, which would be far beyond Mr. Potter's current magical strength to make. I should add that the cloak, which Miss Granger claims to have left in her cell, had disappeared when my Aurors searched for it. On his arrest, my Aurors did confiscate an invisibility cloak from Mr. Potter, which is powerful, but it does not resemble the device Miss Granger described, and does not shield people from the Dementors' drain. We have searched his possessions and did not find the other cloak, nor any other noteworthy magical items. Mr. Ollivander of Diagon Alley has identified the wand as belonging to the late John Beckett. And Professor McGonagall has confirmed that the method Miss Granger used to break through the wall employed a new form of Transfiguration, discovered by Mr. Potter, which she would prefer not to speak of further as doing so might lead someone to attempt it without proper instruction."

She sat down, then.

"That is all?" a long-haired, white-blond man in the upper rows asked incredulously.

"The boy has refused to say anything about his accomplices, explain where the wand came from, make any statements about the current location of the cloak, and even to confirm his name," the woman answered. "Beyond his initial statement and the list of books, he has not answered any question."

"Why didn't you torture him?" the man asked.

Beside him, Petunia gripped the chair in front of her. Michael felt much the same. He didn't know what was worse: the words, or the calm demeanor of the man as he spoke them.

"Merlin's Mandate states that this must only be used as a last resort in cases of national security, Lord Malfoy," the woman replied, "And that we must accept any answer given under torture, unless it is an obvious falsehood. Since, in this case, I did not think we could distinguish falsehood from truth – indeed, the children's abilities defy all belief – and as it is not clear whether national security is at stake until we decide what must be done with Azkaban, I concluded that it would be better not to do so. Besides, Mr. Potter is both underage and noble."

"Who was John Beckett?" A woman's voice from somewhere in the half-circles asked. "Did the girl know him?"

"As he has been dead for almost fifty years," Madam Bones answered, "That seems unlikely. He died in Grindelwald's attack on the Ministry in 1943."

"But then how could she use the wand?" the same woman asked. "For what I know of wandlore, it must have been willingly given to her to be at all effective."

"Perhaps I can shed some light on this," Albus Dumbledore said. "I learned of the wand yesterday, and I believe I have found the answer. As some of you who lived in those years may remember, John had a sister, Elizabeth Beckett." There were nods among some of the gray- and white-haired of the politicians. "Both siblings fought in that battle, side by side; John died, and Elizabeth was heavily wounded. She then disappeared from the public eye.

"It was almost two years later when I first saw her again. She was one of those urging me most sincerely to stand up to Grindelwald – indeed, she offered me her life if I could use it to stop Grindelwald's anti-Muggle policies. In the few months we worked together, she spoke little of what had happened to her in those past two years, except for one name: Edward Cayden, a Muggle with whom she had had, as she called it, a 'fling'. Although, given the nature of her sudden protectiveness of Muggles, I estimated that the relation might have been rather deeper than she confessed to.

"In the end, she did give her life. I later heard that she had asked Armando Dippet, the Headmaster of Hogwarts at the time, to view the Hogwarts book of magical children born in Britain and Ireland. As my recent inquiries into Miss Granger's family revealed that her mother's maiden name was Roberta Cayden, I suspect that Miss Granger is Elizabeth Beckett's granddaughter, and John's grandniece. Perhaps a relative or friend of the family has preserved John's wand as a memory; as you might know, a wand does usually give its allegiance to a blood-relative who inherits it."

"But I thought the girl was Muggleborn!" another woman exclaimed. There were mutters of agreement in the stands.

"She is," Albus Dumbledore answered. "Neither of her parents has magic."

"But this sounds more like the magic simply skipped a generation."

"Does it matter?"

"No... No, of course not."

Michael wasn't sure – it was hard to gauge the expressions of the many strangers on those benches – but he got the distinct feeling that the whispers buzzing around the hall, and the way the judges looked at the two children, suddenly seemed a lot more approving.

"They despise us," Petunia whispered, next to him. She had sensed it too. "Muggles – and Muggleborns by extension. If just having a single magical grandparent makes everything better..."

"It's not just that," Professor McGonagall whispered. She must have sharp hearing, to have overheard Petunia, or be very used to catching whispering children in the furthest benches of a classroom. "Hermione Granger was always extraordinarily powerful, and has now done something amazing that will go into the history books far beyond Britain. Her very existence is a danger to the policies of blood purists, and even to the beliefs of those who think they're tolerant. If they can argue themselves into believing that she's actually of wizard descent, she's far more harmless to them."

"How about her father?" a man was saying. "Could he be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"I do not know," the Chief Warlock answered. "Although considering the uncommon name, I suppose there might be a connection."

"I remember Elizabeth Beckett," another man said. "A brilliant scholar as ever I've met, and extremely brave. She was Gryffindor Prefect and Head Girl, in my Hogwarts years."

There were approving nods around the ancient hall.

"For once I agree with the Chief Warlock," the long-haired man spoke in an ice-cold voice. "The girl's ancestry is not the point. She is still a murderess."

"She is not," came a voice from the center of the hall. All eyes turned towards the boy, chained onto his chair, who had nevertheless turned his head to look defiantly at the speaker.

"Ah," the man drawled. "You finally wish to speak, Mr. Potter?"

"Only to say what should be obvious, Lord Malfoy." Harry's voice was as cold as it had been in some of his worst moments. "Obviously Hermione and your son were both Memory-Charmed. Obviously, you are so blinded by your thirst for revenge that you do not care whether it is enacted on the right person."

"And who would you say did this, then? Do you have an answer this time?" The voice could have cut through steel.

"Why yes, it was Professor Quirrell," Harry answered matter-of-factly. "As a teacher, he could have modified student memories without setting off the wards. Unfortunately I have little evidence, though, so I do not expect you to believe that."

Lord Malfoy snorted dismissively. "What motive would he have?"

"What motive would she have?" Harry asked, nodding at Hermione. "The trap was for me. You see, I have made it abundantly clear that I am prepared to go quite far to keep Hermione Granger from harm. He intended to press me into co-operating in an illegal endeavor, which would have me saving your life and thereby creating a substantial debt. I do not know his exact motives, but if I had agreed, then it would certainly have given him significant power of blackmail over me."

There was silence, for several moments. And then there was laughter. It was nervous laughter, but it spread all the same, along with quite a few dismissive snorts.

"It seems," Lord Malfoy sneered, "that Mr. Potter has watched a few too many plays."

"Lord Malfoy, if I may?" A woman in the middle of the stands had stood up.

"Lady Greengrass?"

"The boy might have a bit too much imagination," the Lady Greengrass spoke, "but as my daughter – who is in the year as your son – has pointed out to me, there are some possibilities we have overlooked. She listed five different groups of suspects who all have a greater motive than the girl, and who would have had the opportunity."

"Five?" the powerful Lord responded incredulously. "And who would that be?"

"Those who seek to destabilize you, for instance. Or those who do not approve of your heir. The other possibilities, I fear, might offend if spoken aloud."

"What are you suggesting?" Danger dripped from the voice.

"Ahem," the ancient wizard at the topmost podium spoke. "Let us not get into needless arguments. In fact, I have been asked to call for another witness, should this line of questioning come up. Would you permit me?"

The Lady Greengrass nodded gracefully. The Lord Malfoy seemed less eager, but waved a hand in acceptance all the same.

"Professor Minerva McGonagall, you may speak."

The woman next to Michael stood up.

"I call upon Draco, scion and heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy."

"What?"

The doors were already opening, and in strolled a young boy, accompanied by a tiny man. A boy with sleek, white-blond hair, wearing the standard Hogwarts robes with a green trim. He turned towards the man with the silver cane, who was staring at the boy with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, father. I don't want to go against you. But I want the person who actually attacked me to be punished. I want them to suffer for it hard. Not get away because some innocent was sentenced in their place."

The noble Lord opened and shut his mouth, then shook his head and just sat down. The boy turned to the crimson-robed men standing a bit back from the chairs.

"I will take some Veritaserum now, please. One drop will do."

The boy was silently given a drop of liquid by the surprised Auror, and then turned to face the assembly.

"After carefully examining my memories," he declared, in a commanding tone that befit a young prince (which, Michael supposed, he sort of was), "I have determined that they are most likely false. I no longer believe that Hermione Granger has attacked me."

The fragments of Amelia Bones' shattered world view tried picking themselves up desperately as she stared at the young Malfoy heir, speaking up to the Wizengamot and going against his own father. There were gasps of shock around her. Draco Malfoy declaring under Veritaserum that he had been trying to help a Muggleborn witch was one thing. Deliberately coming to the same girl's aid again, after what had happened... it defied belief.

The scion of Malfoy waited until the murmurs had died down before continuing: "As Professor McGonagall has rightly pointed out to me, a weakness of Memory-Charms is that it is very hard – or indeed even impossible – to create thoughts that would seem natural to the target. At least without Legilimency, for which I might have been tested. Yet I know exactly what I was thinking when challenging Miss Granger to a duel. That, I am quite certain, really happened. I do not recall thinking anything during the duel itself. Indeed, I do not see why I would walk away from the duel without instantly telling her of the duel we would fight the next day – at least I ought to have thought about it. I wounded her, yet for what I hear she showed no sign of it the next day. All this leads me to suspect that the duel we both remember never took place. Hermione Granger and I have a mutual enemy, who struck before we ever fought."

"An enemy who strikes at two school children?" Lord Nott exclaimed. "To what purpose?"

"My father has many political enemies, Lord Nott. Some of these might have been willing to take a convenient opportunity to distract him, right before the most important meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards in ten years."

At this he glanced, ever so briefly, at the Chief Warlock. It was subtle, but others might have seen it too. The boy might never have dared to make the accusation openly, but...

Was it possible that Albus Dumbledore had been behind this? No, surely not. He might have profited from the death of his greatest enemy's son, but this was not Albus's way of doing things, and he obviously did care for the girl. The explanation of Lord Voldemort returning and striking at his prophesied enemy was a better one, little though she wanted to believe it, and little though she was prepared to stop thinking of David Monroe as a hero. But Draco Malfoy could not know that, and most in the assembly gave little credence to the stories of the rogue Defense Professor.

His testimony having been given, Draco Malfoy bowed politely, and left the room again with Professor Flitwick. Debate flared up.

And yes, more people now seemed willing to consider the possibility that Hermione Granger never committed the crime she was sentenced for. Even Lucius Malfoy no longer attacked her. Dumbledore was speaking of the many letters, sent to great houses across the political spectrum, asking to do something about Granger after the documented fight in the Hogwarts hallways. But to those who now believed him to be behind the attack, it would just seem like he was looking for a scapegoat. No one spoke any direct accusations, but it was clear what many of the politicians were thinking.

Did McGonagall realize what she'd done? In bringing the boy here, she had helped the scion of Malfoy gain political capital and undermine Albus Dumbledore. The action had restored Granger's reputation, and in doing so might well have saved both children's lives, but at what price? With Voldemort returned, every potential ally lost to Dumbledore was another blow to the country's chance of survival. How would this affect the coming war?

She stood up, signaling that she intended to speak, and waited for some moments to be given the opportunity.

"I would like to remind my Lords that the question under consideration is not the girl's innocence. Although relevant to the proceedings, perhaps we should take a step back and return to the other, more weighty accusations, of jailbreak and treason?"

"Thank you Madam Bones," Marten McWillen spoke, a wealthy and conservative tradesman who usually sided with the Malfoy camp, "I do not see how there can be any doubt as to what should happen. The girl has confessed that she has willingly removed the Dementors from Azkaban, thereby risking an outbreak from some of the worst criminals our country has seen in centuries!"

"I daresay the possibility of their escape never crossed her mind, Mr. McWillen," the Lady Greengrass spoke up. "She only tried to stop other people from suffering. Can you blame her for that?"

"Since the suffering was supposed to be part of their punishment, I most certainly can! And just because she did not think about the possibility of their escape is hardly an excuse for accommodating it."

There were murmurs of agreement in the benches.

"But nobody did escape," Theodorus Deas said. He was one of those who had voted against Hermione Granger's imprisonment, she remembered. "International ambassadors and trade leaders have often indicated that they consider our treatment of prisoners to be inhumane. We suffered greatly in our international esteem for imprisoning a child; would you have us lose yet more for executing her, when she did only what for instance Madam Laquelle has often pressed us to do?"

"And will Madam Laquelle build us a prison with as great a deterrence effect as Azkaban?"

"The crime rates in France are not significantly higher than ours, Lord Usto."

"The recidivism rate is!"

Arguments went to and from. The debate was not as one-sided as it had been two weeks ago – not by far. Many of the Lords and Ladies on Dumbledore's side of the room were willing to speak up, this time. Some of the neutral parties, like Lady Greengrass, seemed also willing to support the girl with the phoenix and the Boy-Who-Lived. Even Malfoy's faction was not a unified block – several normally outspoken speakers were remarkably silent. The Lord Malfoy himself had not spoken a word since his son had left. But despite all this, it still wasn't looking that well, because more and more it became clear that there wasn't any way that the girl – and by extension Harry Potter – could be vindicated without denouncing Azkaban.

And that, it seemed, the Wizengamot would not do. Those in favor of release, or lowering the sentence, argued on the lines that either or both children had been well-intentioned, or that they were young and did what they thought was right. Even as the question was felt on the edges of the discussion, as people like Theodorus Deas and Elphias Doge touched on the subject, no one asked whether it could be that the girl's action had been right, rather than just seemed to be so to a child. To suggest that indeed the presence of Dementors in Azkaban was wrong, rather than just politically inexpedient, was to acknowledge that they themselves, and all the colleagues in the room with them, had done evil in sending people there. She knew that some of the Wizengamot were thinking it, and not even just people on Albus's side of the room, but saying it out loud would be political suicide. She herself wasn't even sure how she felt about it, for she did take a certain pleasure in knowing that people like Rastaban Lestrange were suffering for the rest of their miserable lives. But the girl's conviction had touched her, and made her feel guilty even more than the cries from Dumbledore's phoenix ever had.

Albus Dumbledore, too, was holding back. He, of all people, might have attempted to speak out against Azkaban, but there would not be enough support to lead the conversation anywhere productive. Once he did so, the inevitable backlash against the move would certainly condemn the children. As it was, it didn't seem like a vote to clear the two was any option, but the outcome might be steered towards imprisonment instead of the Kiss. Hermione Granger hadn't really escaped; life in Azkaban was a reasonable outcome. Harry Potter had stated that he had not intended for her to break out, so he might get away with just a few years of Dementor-free detention, and even retain his noble title. And then, with both children still alive, who knew what changes the coming war might bring?

It was not a great solution. With Voldemort returned, they couldn't afford to have the Boy-Who-Lived locked up and then, when the need arose, have the bureaucrats arguing endlessly over whether he should be released to fight his enemy. They couldn't afford to interfere with his training, or to stall his genius or alienate him too far. Even without any prophecies (which she was rather wary to read too much into), a wizard who had managed to create two new and amazing forms of magic in just his first year was an exceedingly valuable resource. Another phoenix owner fighting on their side would be a priceless asset as well. But there was only so much she could do for the children without stepping completely out of line.

And then the boy in the chair in the middle of the room spoke up again.

"I find it very peculiar," he said, in strong, confident tones that silenced the room, "that no one has yet suggested the obvious. Dementors are the darkest creatures in existence. They ought to be destroyed."

"They are useful," snapped Dolores Umbridge. "And quite loyal to the Ministry!"

"I asked some of my fellow students," the boy continued, ignoring the interruption. "They are under the impression that the only reason Dementors were posted around Azkaban is that there is little else we can do with them. That they would target us, or innocent Muggles, if we didn't willingly give them victims. And that obviously if there was a way to get rid of them instead, we would do so. Yet here we are. Hermione Granger and I would be happy to destroy the last Dementor in Britain for you. We would be happy to extend the same courtesy to other countries. You can build a more humane prison, and everyone would be better off for it! Why have you not yet asked us to do so?"

Several of the people in the audience were nodding along, Amelia saw. They had come because they favored the defendants. But the members of the Wizengamot were not so easily swayed.

"And wait for other countries to send their Dementors as a weapon against us, when we cannot retaliate anymore?" Lord Jugson spat.

"Don't you have Patronuses? Besides, we would be happy to destroy any invading Dementor armies for you too."

"And rely on two criminals for our protection?"

Harry Potter shrugged, a movement complicated by the chains still binding his arms.

"I don't see that you have much of a choice. Rely on Patronuses or on us, but your Dementors are gone. And good too, for what would you do with them? Put them around Azkaban again, where they will drain the magic and make decent wards unmaintainable? Are you sure that you want to continue to put your worst criminals into a prison whose security is so laughable that an eleven-year old could walk them right out?"

There was silence, at that.

"How would you do that?," Madam Umbridge asked with one of her infuriating false giggles, "I suppose with some ancient device which you will not speak of?"

"In a much simpler way, Madam. Those who understand my version of the Patronus Charm – and I assure you that there are more people than just Hermione Granger and myself who do so now – can hide completely from the sight of, and exercise a certain control over, Dementors."

The room regarded the the boy, long seconds ticking away in silence. Then, Bartemius Crouch spoke calmly. "You bluff."

"I do not bluff lightly, sir. I –"

"No," the man cut in. He looked up to address the room. "Not two weeks ago, the boy thought he could awe this body with insane threats to our lives. Now he threatens to free our most dangerous prisoners, or have others do it for him. Are we to let a delusional child get away with such a mockery? I will grant him one thing: we will not be able to restore our prison and have peace and safety in the country while these two live. So let us execute these traitors! The penalty for the crime is clear, why are we even arguing about it?"

"You would execute the Boy-Who-Lived?" someone shouted from the visitor benches.

Barty Crouch regarded them with fire in his eyes. "I would execute any unrepentant criminal intent on throwing the country into chaos, no matter what they might have done as a baby. Anything less than Obliviating him of his discoveries would be nothing short of madness! Have you forgotten what sorts of people are sent to Azkaban?" He turned to face the Wizengamot. "Sirius Black. Augustus Rookwood. Marianna Smynth. Would you have them escape, because their guardians were killed? Would you let two people loose who are willing to risk everything we've built up, to destroy these so-called 'evil' creatures, even though they are stout defenders of our country's values? I say we get rid of the threat here and now!"

"But what if he is right," Madam Tarissen asked, "and there others who know this spell?"

"Then we deal with that threat separately! What others would be daft enough to attack Azkaban after we show today that we will always uphold its most sacred rule, that any who escape or help to escape receive the Kiss? But I, for one, don't believe one word of that claim." He gestured at Hermione Granger. "The girl's testimony made it very clear that Potter never even told his best friend about this spell, leaving her to learn it only when she desperately needed it. Why would he have told others?" He turned to regard the prisoners, a gleam in his eyes. "I'm calling your bluff, boy. Are you prepared to prove your point?"

From the corner of her eye, Amelia saw Albus glance at his watch, an almost imperceptible movement, but one which she had grown to recognize. A frustrated look passed over Harry Potter's face, before he resumed his calm demeanor, and stated: "I am not about to throw anyone else at the mercy of –"

He cut off as a blazing silver woman appeared in the courtroom. to multiple gasps. The woman – the human Patronus – said nothing, but simply regarded the two children.

After some brief moments of silence, Harry Potter quietly said "thank you", and the shining woman disappeared into nothingness.

With a wry smile, the Boy-Who-Lived turned his head as far as the chains would let him, allowing him to see the Dementor behind him from a corner of his eyes. Amelia couldn't see his face, couldn't guess what he was doing, but he didn't say a word, and then the Dementor backed away.

In the shocked silence in the room, the Boy-Who-Lived turned back at the Wizengamot, his eyebrows raised, a slight smile on his face.

(Amelia gave a brief, inner smirk at the shocked expressions on the people's faces, even as she had to suppress a moment of utter confusion too. Mad-Eye had casually asked her whether she was going to be so mind-numbingly stupid as to put their last Dementor anywhere near the two children, and she had formally responded that it was protocol, and she couldn't imagine what could possibly go wrong with that.)

"And so you have proven your point," she heard Hector Fortescue saying. "You can indeed manipulate Dementors. And you do not bluff lightly. Was this how you intended to kill us all, two weeks ago?"

He paused at the gasps from the audience. The tale of the boy's antics had not spread far beyond the Wizengamot, so many people there wouldn't know. "When you threatened to cancel the Aurors' Patronuses, and send the Dementor after everyone who would not bend to your will?"

Briefly, a frown passed over the face of the Boy-Who-Lived. "I merely said I do not bluff lightly, sir," he confirmed. "I was certainly capable of carrying out that threat. But you overlook a simple possibility." A bitter smile twisted over his face. "Recall that I only needed to persuade one person that I was serious, a person who knew perfectly well that I had invented a certain new spell."

Eyes turned to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, who slowly nodded. "I knew of the spell," he agreed. "Although not quite what it was capable of. Harry surmised correctly that I would not have risked letting him go through with it."

"And you did not warn the Ministry about a spell that could be used to break out of prison?" Lord Nott shouted indignantly.

"My dear Lord Nott, if I had said that it was possible, would anyone have believed me?"

"And what if he had called your bluff?" Hector Fortescue snapped, addressing the prisoner.

"In that case," Harry Potter shrugged, "note that it was a two-stage claim. After demonstrating that I could turn off Patronuses, I daresay the second part would not have been needed. But I do realize that even threatening to do so was inexcusable." He bowed his head. "I was caught up in my emotions. Hermione was right to stop me, and I apologize sincerely for my actions that day."

The apology was a calculated gesture to avoid further pressuring on the subject, she was sure. He could be a decent politician some day.

"How could controlling Dementors cancel the Patronus Charm anyway?" Lord Usto asked, more curiously than accusing.

"By pointing out that Dementors represent Death," a dry voice somewhere in the highest of the half-circles spoke, "and the Patronus Charm simply works by thinking of other things instead."

There was a blurring movement in the air, and then a man turned visible as he dropped down right next to the large stone door. In that instant, she recognized the face of "Professor Quirrell", the man who had been the Defense Professor of Hogwarts this year. But before the fear and shock even registered, he had already slipped through the door and rammed it shut.

Scrimgeour's rabbit Patronus disappeared. She snapped her head to look at Shacklebolt, whose eyes were widening as he looked at the Dementor in sudden understanding, and then his lynx, too, vanished in thin air.

The Dementor, still standing in the far back of the room, rose up, its unmitigated fear spreading out from it. They all saw beneath the cloak now, the sucking hole. It was coming for them.

Amelia tried to summon her happy thought, but even as she did so, she felt that she couldn't ignore what was in front of her. But she could still think.

"Obliviate! Shacklebolt, cast your Patronus now!"

The Auror made the right movements, but his voice faltered; he couldn't do it anymore. And the Dementor flew right towards the benches, where the people couldn't run, and Dumbledore was chanting a mighty incantation and rammed his rod to the podium, and then he threw his wand down, and she instinctively pointed her own wand to guide it, right to the children whose chains had just withdrawn. And Harry Potter jumped up, snatched the wand from the air, and yelled "Expecto Patronum!"

The light burst out. It was Patronus light but more, its power washing over her. She recognized the human shape, like the strange woman which had appeared in the courtroom earlier, before it became too bright to see, and the light touched her and filled her with a strange feeling of hope, although she didn't even know what for.

And then it was suddenly gone. Harry Potter had lowered the wand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the boy said, not sounding sorry at all. "I should probably not have destroyed it. I realize you might still have had a purpose for it."

The boy with the scar on his forehead held up his hand, palm up, the wand on top of it. With a flick of Madam Longbottom's wand, it returned to the Chief Warlock.

Harry carefully sat back down in his seat. Dumbledore sent him an apologetic glance, and then chains snaked back across his arms, legs and neck, binding him to the chair once more. Next to him, the same was happening to Hermione.

He kept any shock off his face. Forced himself to remain perfectly calm, even as Hermione looked sick, as people were sobbing with the after-effects of ten seconds of sheer terror in the spectator benches and the Wizengamot circles alike. He had shown the controlled, confident face of the Boy-Who-Lived throughout the trial, and he wasn't going to change that now. Because if he showed anything like fear, he suspected, they would be all over him like a swarm of vultures.

Still, he was feeling mildly wobbly to say the least. What had Quirrell been trying to do?

Kill Harry? No, surely not. Quirrell had probably seen him make the Dementor back away after Padma's Patronus had shown itself. (This experiment – what would happen if he threw the thoughts fueling his Patronus at the Dementor even without a wand – had worked surprisingly well, and had a pretty neat show-off effect, he thought.) He would have concluded that Harry could keep the Dementor away from himself.

Had Quirrell meant to kill everyone else here? Without a wand, Harry didn't think he could have stopped that. But Dumbledore had acted quickly enough to salvage the situation. Quirrell – Voldemort – had fought him before, he must have known, or at least suspected, that that would happen.

Which left the alternative possibility. He was trying to help me. And it might well work, too. The entire Wizengamot now owed him a life debt. Graciously releasing them might count for some goodwill (although he wasn't going to do that if he could avoid it, it was far too convenient for future favors). Plus, they might be slightly more inclined to see the value of destroying Dementors now.

And then there was the other thing... The strange, powerful feeling when he had cast the True Patronus Charm with Dumbledore's wand. That hadn't been like normal. That had been... the feeling did not fit any words, except that he had the certain knowledge that there was something special about that wand.

The initial shock was subsiding; people were returning to their seats, and chocolate was being passed around. Dumbledore was saying something about how nobody should leave without getting Obliviated, and there were some very mild arguments about that, but it didn't really seem like everyone's mind was on the proceedings for the moment.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, although she still looked somewhat white. Like him, she had kept her face calm and controlled during the trial, even when things seemed to go in the wrong direction. He didn't know whether it was an act, the phoenix's calm, or whether she had really got over being afraid of what might happen to her. He admired it all the same. He had a mysterious dark side which helped him maintain a certain personality; Hermione didn't have that. Besides, she had no control over her fate at all. As the noble scion who had called this meeting, Harry was allowed to speak in his own defense, but Hermione wasn't; she was formally just a commoner caught up in the same case, and not permitted to speak unless spoken to.

"Miss Granger," Amelia Bones spoke from the upper circle where she stood close to Dumbledore. Her voice cracked a little, but she took command all the same. "I suppose that this was the secret that you did not want to tell us about?"

"Yes," Hermione said quietly, although her voice was magnified for the whole room to hear anyway.

"Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt," Madam Bones continued, addressing one of the Aurors who was looking rather confused. "I do apologize – I had no time for subtlety so I simply removed the last five minutes of your memory. Would you please try casting the Patronus Charm again?"

He tried. But Harry could see it, see the little moment where he failed, couldn't ignore what he was trying to do. It was just like Professor McGonagall had told him in Diagon Alley: memory charms might remove your memory of an event, but not its effects. On a subconscious level, Kingsley Shacklebolt would always know what he was trying to do, now. Harry felt a stab of regret at the bright and beautiful lynx that would never again be called into being.

"I... can't explain it, Madam. It feels wrong."

Madam Bones nodded. "Thank you, Shacklebolt."

"Mr. Potter." Professor Dumbledore spoke up, "Miss Granger. If this was the only reason why the spell must not be spoken of, would you be willing to share the explanation of how it is performed? It seems that none of us will be able to defend ourselves from Dementors again in the normal way. But perhaps we may learn yours?"

Hermione looked at Harry, who rapidly considered. He strongly doubted that any of the people here could do it. The kind of person who took a seat in the Wizengamot didn't seem like the kind of person who would value life over everything. Even Dumbledore didn't do that anymore; perhaps he had when he was younger, but he had lost that spark. Then again, it also wouldn't hurt to tell them. If just one person in the room could do it, that would be worth it.

"The spell is called the True Patronus Charm," he said, addressing the Wizengamot and everyone in the audience, willing them to have the spell. And as for how it is performed –" He caught Hermione's eye. If he told them, it would sound weird and mysterious and powerful, but otherwise only cast him in the same light he'd been building since the start of the school year. But if Hermione gave this particular explanation, it would strengthen her reputation as a beacon of good in the world. And that might be a lot more useful right now, and in the future too. "Hermione, could you explain it? You have cast the spell more often than I have, these last two weeks."

She nodded, and turned to face the assembly.

"It is done by rejecting death," she explained. "Or actually it's more than that. I've cast it a lot in the last week, and the thing is, it's mostly about the will to protect others. The absolute belief, to the core of your being, that everyone should and can be saved. Whether it's from death or from Dementors or from ignorance or torture... That you can make things better – no, that we can make things better, as mankind, that even if you fail there will be others to carry on. Ultimately, you have to believe that there is no evil too great to overcome."

"In short," Lucius Malfoy concluded in a weary tone. "You have to be a child. And a naive one at that."

Nevertheless, there were some murmurs of Expecto Patronum. However, much like Harry had expected, none of the assembled witches and wizards could do it. He mainly looked at the spectator benches, but there, too, nobody succeeded.

(He had seen his parents there earlier, of course. But he was going to ignore that for now. He could deal with the fallout of them seeing him without his child-mask later.)

"Miss Granger, thank you for that explanation," Professor Dumbledore was saying. He was gazing intently at her. "Do you think you will need some chocolate now?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," she said, a little surprised at the sudden question. Harry, remembering a similar question many months ago, had a pretty good idea of what had just happened.

"Who was that man?" the Lady Greengrass asked, addressing Harry. "Did you tell him this dangerous secret?"

"I did not," he answered. "But that was Professor Quirrell, or the man calling himself so. I mentioned him before."

"I have spoken of this man to the Ministry," Dumbledore declared. "It is likely that he is behind the recent attacks, although his reasons are unknown to me. It seems that he has simply found out the secret by using Legilimency on Miss Granger, who, unlike Mr. Potter, is not an Occlumens." He sighed. "And as today's meeting is open to the general public, no detection charms have been performed."

"Can he also control Dementors?" Hector Fortescue asked, alarmed. Eyes turned to look at Harry again.

"No," he answered. "I don't think so. I don't think he has quite the right frame of mind for that."

"But basically," Theodorus Deas summarized, "We have a dangerous individual on our hands, who, if we are to believe Mr. Dumbledore, is quite willing to kill strangers and who can permanently cancel Patronus Charms on a whim. It is entirely likely that none of us may ever cast a Patronus again, as even Obliviation doesn't work. Might I suggest not killing the only two people we know who can destroy Dementors?"

There were nodding heads, and whispers of agreement. Perhaps given more time, some of the members of the Wizengamot would have felt differently. They could have argued at least for jailtime for Harry who had, in fact, confessed to breaking into Azkaban. But at the moment, most of them were not quite over the shock yet, and perhaps others feared Harry too much to suggest it.

"If nobody else wishes to speak," the Chief Warlock spoke, looking around and pausing to wait for objections, "then I hereby close the deliberations. Madam Bones?"

The gray-haired woman stood up. "By a show of hand, those in favor of clearing Mr. Potter and Miss Granger of all charges?"

There were hands. It was almost unanimous. Lucius Malfoy did not raise his hand, Harry saw, as did some others. But he didn't know whether they were merely refraining from the vote, or would have voted against them; there would be no alternative vote with the majority already being decided.

"The vote carries, in favor," intoned the secretary, when all the tallying was done.

"Very well," Madam Bones spoke. "Mr. Potter is free to return to Hogwarts, and Miss Granger will be returned to Azkaban to serve the rest of her sentence."

... aw crap.

"Unless," she added, "Lord Malfoy would be willing to reconsider his claim on the girl?"

Lucius Malfoy stood silently, deadly, before his podium, seemingly at war with himself. But then his face relaxed.

"I suppose there is little point in sending her back to Azkaban, and wait for the next session to declare her debt moot. As my son and heir believes the girl is innocent, and does not desire her to be punished further, I shall respect his wishes. I hereby release Miss Granger from the blood debt. She is free to go."

Madam Bones turned to look at the Chief Warlock, who nodded.

"Then, in accordance with the last decision of the survivors of the eighty-eighth Wizengamot, I hereby adjourn this session."

The chains drew back.

Harry stood up, and extended a hand to Hermione.

She took it, and also stood up, Xare fluttering to her shoulder. She might have been more scared, during this trial, if not for the phoenix's comforting weight on her lap. As it was, she just massaged her leg, which had gone to sleep. "Let's not do this often," she suggested to the Boy-Who-Lived. It was a silly thing to say at this time, but other topics didn't seem much better. Then she blinked. "Wait, are those your parents?"

Two people in formal black wizards' robes were barreling down the visitors' stairs towards the two of them. Beyond them, others were approaching, although more slowly, but Hermione couldn't see her parents. She looked closely to see whether she recognized anyone, and then she was already being swept up into a tight embrace.

"Hello Professor McGonagall," she said, when she had the chance to breathe again.

"Oh Hermione, I am so glad that you're safe. I was so worried, but –" She didn't finish the sentence but just pulled Hermione extra close again.

"Professor," Hermione squeaked. "Do my parents know?"

"No." Professor McGonagall shook her head, releasing Hermione. "We told them you had Spattergroit. We'll just tell them you've recovered, and you can see them again in the summer holidays. Well, except..." She looked troubled.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. "Something with Professor Quirrell?" She had been cut off from the news for two weeks, and hadn't quite known what was meant with "the recent attacks" and "the rogue Defense Professor". "Professor, what's wrong?"

"Let's not talk about that here. Today, let's just be happy for your release," Professor McGonagall said, forcing a smile. "And I believe I must stop monopolizing your time now, because I think some other people may want to talk to you."

"Huh?"

Her hand was grabbed and shaken up and down by a tiny, excitable-looking wizard wearing a purple top hat.

"So delighted, Miss Granger, so honored! Oh, to hear the news... It gave me hope in my old age, Miss. Children really are the future. Oh, how marvelous to meet you!"

"Who..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Diggle is the name, Dedalus Diggle. When Emmeline told me about the Dementors... No, no, it was too wonderful. Thank you, Miss, thank you!"

"You're welcome," she muttered, not really knowing what else to say, and Dedalus Diggle looked over his shoulder and let go off her hand and turned away, sending her a last delighted smile. Instantly her hand was grabbed again, by a woman with tears in her eyes. "Oh Miss Granger, I am so glad they let you go, you deserved to be free, bless you, oh God bless you. My sister is in Azkaban..."

"Dad," Harry said, when Michael let go of his hug, "You look weird in robes."

"Yes, well..." Michael shrugged. "Your Headmaster said it would be for the best."

"He's probably right," Harry nodded. "Mum, I'm sorry you had to see that. I would have preferred for you not to have to worry like that..."

"I wanted to come... But that creature..." Petunia shuddered, and Michael put his arm around her comfortingly. He felt much the same, even if he tried to hide it. When those silver animals had disappeared, the fear and despair that had washed over him... And the things he had remembered... It was a horrible idea that they had put prisoners – even a twelve-year-old child! – next to a whole nest of those things. If Amnesty ever discovered about this one, they would have a field day.

"I'll be okay, Harry," Petunia assured her son, smiling weakly. "Although I think I'll probably have some nightmares tonight."

"We have a potion for that." The Deputy Headmistress had joined them. "Dr. and Mrs. Verres, I am sorry to steal you away from your son for now, but I think there are a few other people who may want some of his time. You will have time to talk later."

She gently drew them aside, as witches and wizards from the spectator benches flocked towards Harry.

"Who are all those people?" Michael asked.

"Admirers," the witch said softly. "Just people who want to shake his hands, bless him, or thank him. Maybe they just want to tell their grandchildren they once met him. Your son has invented a spell that does something considered impossible since the dawn of recorded history – and he has executed it in front of all our eyes. You have not lived in our world, so you may not understand it, but what he has done, and what Hermione has done, will go down into the history books around the world."

Ah.

Michael watched Harry, shaking the hand of a witch in faded brown robes, while the boy looked slightly awkward. He didn't look like that too-adult person anymore, the young man who had spoken in calm, commanding tones despite being chained to his chair and guarded at wandpoint like a dangerous prisoner. Now, he seemed like a child again, if a mature one. But Michael had seen, and he'd heard Harry's words just a few days ago: "I'm not really a child anymore."

And he wasn't. Michael wasn't sure what Harry was anymore, but children did not defend themselves and their friends in court, they did not invent spells that went into history books, and they didn't feel responsible for fighting dark wizards. Somehow or other, Harry had grown up without even going through puberty, and it was going to be up to his parents to catch up.

"Excuse me, sir, madam?" A crimson-robed man with a mane of tawny hair and bushy eyebrows had approached them. "I would like to Obliviate you now."

Michael blinked. "What exactly does that mean?"

The man quirked his eyebrows. "To remove your memories of the secret. No one may leave this place without that precaution."

"Ah, sir, I am not sure that is necessary..." Michael began. "I mean, I would like to remember what happened today..."

"Don't worry, sir, you will," the man reassured him. "I will only remove the knowledge of the secret itself, and lock away the explanation of the spell. If you should ever learn the former, the latter will be unlocked."

Without waiting for permission, the man pointed his wand. "Obliviate." Michael experienced a brief moment of disorientation.

"Thank you sir. Madam, if I may?"

"Daphne told me a lot about you. I am sure you will go on to do great things," Lady Greengrass was saying. She had come over after most of the other hand-shakers had left (Dedalus Diggle had come back three more times), and had sincerely apologized for voting against Hermione that last time. "Even greater than you did Friday, perhaps."

"Thank you, my Lady." She had fallen into a little routine of phrases like that.

"That is a beautiful phoenix." The Lady extended a hand to Xare, who just looked at it curiously. "What's his name?"

"Her," she corrected. "She's Xare."

"Does it mean anything?"

"No," she shrugged. "I just liked the sound."

"And I think," came a booming voice from behind, "that it is time that we free Xare from the restrictive charms on her." Professor Dumbledore was walking up to them, pointing his wand at the phoenix. Fawkes was looking at Xare curiously.

"Caw," Xare said happily.

"Until we meet again, Miss Granger." Lady Greengrass bowed gracefully, and departed.

"You don't look so well," Hermione observed to the Headmaster, who did seem rather tired.

"I am worried, Miss Granger," he sighed. "That is all. I am certainly glad that you are free, but I fear the consequence of today's events."

"Professor..." she pressed. "What is going on?"

He shook his head. "Not here. Come to my office after you have had lunch." Then, louder, "Dedalus, I am sure the boy needs some rest."

Dedalus Diggle, who was now shaking hands with Harry, bopped one last time and then, reluctantly, left towards the door. Now only Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, the two parents and Harry and herself were left.

"Miss Granger," the headmaster said, still looking tired, but smiling a little now. "I do believe I ought to teach you some nice tricks on how to use a phoenix. Mr. and Mrs. Verres, would you hold hands, please? And with Harry and Professor McGonagall, too?"

They all did as they were bid, looking slightly confused in the case of the two Muggles.

"Now, Miss Granger, phoenixes can carry incredible weights. In fact, anything they carry gets lighter. You can transport up to fifty people at once, as long as they all hold each other tightly."

She grabbed Harry's hand. She was a bit nervous about this one. She'd never traveled by phoenix before, and it would be Xare's first time, too. "And then?"

"Just picture the place where you want to go in your head, and ask your phoenix to take you. They accept mental commands. You must hold her too."

She envisioned the Great Hall, took Xare's claw in her hand, and thought: Can you take me there, Xare? For a brief moment, she felt herself turn almost weightless. And then she caught on fire.