Unofficial Portkey Archive

I do own all of the characters mentioned in this chapter. Oh, I seem to be missing a "not" in that sentence…

Hermione deals with the results of the Daily Prophet's articles, but faces her greatest challenge in the face of British magical politics.

Chapter 6 - The Mendacity of Ministers

With a reflection of sad irony, Hermione thought she now knew what Harry must have experienced when most of the occupants of Hogwarts had believed he was the Heir of Slytherin. She had not felt such an outsider since her first few friendless weeks after her initial arrival at Hogwarts. Although she had hoped and expected to cause that sort of reaction with some of her peers, by now she knew she had gravely miscalculated the degree of hostility that her expressed opinions would generate. In attempting to queer the field regarding her unwanted and unwarranted participation in the Triwizard Tournament, she had been just a little too clever by half. Maybe more than just a little, she admitted to herself. Thoughtlessly taking the bait dangled by Rita Skeeter and grasping the offered opening for pushing the ideals behind S.P.E.W. into the glare of publicity had only succeeded in adding more undesired fuel to the fire.

It had been bad enough being regarded as a clever little cheat. The fallout from the Daily Prophet article had increased her pariah's status exponentially. A dash of ridicule and a generous measure of hostility had been added to the pre-existing loathing with which most of the student body and a fair percentage of the staff viewed her. 'Who does she think she is' was on the lips and in the eyes of the vast majority of students Hermione met in the classrooms, corridors and Great Hall.

And now it was not just the Pureblood supremacists from Slytherin. Since publication, Hermione had not heard a kind word from anyone whose background hailed from the magical world. Even the most charitable amongst them dismissed her views as stemming from a lack of knowledge, which stung Hermione's pride, or from insufficient understanding of the way affairs simply were in the magical world. After all, how could someone brought up in the Muggle World possibly comprehend? Ravenclaws saw it as a failing in her education; Hufflepuffs viewed her agenda as misrepresented in the Prophet as an unjustified attack on one of the foundations of the Wizarding World, thus displaying a distressing lack of loyalty in the System.

There were even quite a few sideways glances from inhabitants of the Gryffindor Common Room. One older boy, Cormac McLaggen, had insistently poked fun at her, although Hermione could tell there was not much jesting involved behind the words. She had followed her own oft-stated dictum and ignored the oaf. Only he had not backed off, even when Harry stood up to defend her. While she could ignore McLaggen, it was impossible for her not to notice the surrounding Gryffindors' alignment with his comments, as it was plainly written in the malicious glances they sent her when he jibed at her for the umpteenth consecutive time. McLaggen's ragging had continued until the Twins stepped in and suggested the charm-less boy remove himself post haste from the vicinity if he wished to retain all his bodily parts in what passed for human form. By this time Hermione had eyes itchy with unshed tears.

The Twins had their own views on house-elf liberation, which related particularly to the quality and quantity of food they would be provided. Hermione wondered if this was a generic Weasley trait, but was grateful that for once their joshing of her was a touch more diplomatic than usual. After all, she told them, Molly Weasley coped with a household of nine and had not needed a legion of house-elves to feed and clothe her family. Despite her seeming insouciance, Hermione barely managed to keep check her emotions, which grew more intense and frustrating within her every passing day.

As Fred and George departed to find new victims upon whom to practise their latest fiendish concoctions, Hermione noticed Ron sitting quietly in a corner with Seamus and Dean, a look of quiet satisfaction on his freckled face. She still had a score to settle with him over his contribution to the Daily Prophet's hatchet job on her character, and could feel her face start to burn with the injustice of it all. She began to rise to her feet, only to be brought back by a gentle but insistent tug on her arm.

When Hermione looked around it was Harry, a pained expression on his face. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Hermione," he muttered.

Shrugging off his restraining hand, but resuming her seat nonetheless, Hermione affected an air of injured innocence. "What wouldn't be?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry shifted his eyes from her and directed them across the Common Room towards Ron. "Starting yet another fight," he replied with a hint of exasperation.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You saw what he said about me," she responded waspishly.

Harry let out a sigh redolent of long-suffering resignation. "No," he said slowly and clearly. "I read everything that was said about you; doesn't mean I believe a word of it."

"Well, so you shouldn't" Hermione replied, her voice pitched slightly higher than was customary for her. "I should sue the Prophet for libel. I even checked her notes and all. Everything they printed was twisted or plain made-up," she said bitterly. That was not quite the whole truth. Actually most of the article had emerged much as Hermione had expected it to.

"Exactly." Harry was adopting the tone that Hermione habitually used when trying to explain something blindingly obvious to her two boys. "Every word," he stressed.

"How do you know what Ron said to that woman?"

"Ginny told me," Harry replied quietly. "She was there when that reporter cornered him." This time Hermione found he was staring intently at her, to reinforce his coming message. "He refused to talk to her about you."

"He refused to … oh, what?!" Hermione felt a flush of awkwardness colour her cheeks as her comprehension caught up with and then overtook the confusion. "' Ron refuses to have anything to do with me' instead of 'Ron refuses to talk about me' ," she said slowly, recalling the article. She looked across the room towards Ron, now involved in a desultory conversation with Seamus, and then a thought struck her.

"So why is he looking so pleased with himself?" she demanded.

Harry shrugged. "He's still pretty annoyed with you. Probably got some strange sense of enjoyment out of what happened. Perhaps he sees it as vindication of his own position, or a comeuppance for you." His eyes tightened as he spoke. Hermione was sure of his own opinions on Ron's behaviour.

Hermione nodded slowly. Sadly Harry's reading of the situation was probably true. She and Ron had really sacrificed their friendship in a mere matter of weeks, reducing it to a hostile indifference towards one another. Accepting that made her realise how important keeping Harry's companionship truly was to her. With finality, she turned her head away from Ron and towards Harry. "And what do you think?" she asked softly.

"I think Ron is a right berk who - " Harry started to respond readily, as if he had practiced those words, but found himself cut short by the brunette beside him.

"No," Hermione interrupted him coolly. "What do you think about me?" As the question fell from her lips, she dropped her gaze towards her shoes.

There was the lightest touch of tentative fingertips on her chin, gently raising her face back up until she was once again looking straight at Harry. His arm remained outstretched, as though he was uncertain of what should be done with it now that it had brought her attention back to its owner. Hermione knew that look; she had noted it often enough when Harry was taking the measure of a problem.

"What do I think? Oh - I suppose I see a power-crazed revolutionary seeking to overthrow the government." The twinkle in his eyes and the slightest upturn of lips at the corners of his mouth robbed his words of any offence. Unfortunately though, they provided precious little balm to Hermione's sense of unease.

"That's what most of them think." She shook off his hand with a palpable air of dejection, before lapsing into an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. "And what about the elves? Do you think I'm doing the right thing with S.P.E.W.?"

Now it was Harry's turn to seem uncomfortable. "Ermm.." he started awkwardly. "Well… your heart is in the right place, Hermione." As if sensing that the situation could only deteriorate if they kept up this topic of conversation, he glanced around the Common Room. "Ah, Neville!" he called out rather too heartily.

'My heart?' thought Hermione, but she was for once unwilling to follow up on what Harry thought about the rest of her. 'Where does it lie these days?' The concept flitted annoyingly through her mind. 'Why should I be concerned about that now?'

* * * * *

On the following Monday at breakfast, the first of the letters started to arrive. A veritable parliament of owls of all colours and sizes began a series of uncoordinated dive bombing attacks on the Gryffindor table, amidst some colourful language from the occupants being strafed. To Hermione's unpleasant surprise, she soon realized that she appeared to be the main target.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Harry rather uncharacteristically swore as a departing barn owl nicked two rashers of bacon from his plate before winging its way out of the Great Hall, a flight path that required it to bank with surprising agility to avoid the rest of the incoming air armada. Ginny's goblet had been knocked over, spilling pumpkin juice over the wooden surface. Hermione's own morning repast was buried under a blizzard of nearly twenty envelopes as the owls jostled each other, each trying to gain priority for her personal acceptance of its delivery.

"But I never receive mail by owl," she cried plaintively. "Only the Daily Prophet."

"Well, you're little Miss Popular now," Ginny replied with more than a hint of asperity as she tried to banish her spilt drink with a rather ineffectual flick of her wand. "Or should I say Miss Unpopular?"

"What on Earth…?" Hermione picked up an envelope from the top of the stack, narrowly avoiding having her fingers nipped by the beak of a particularly vindictive-looking eagle owl. Her name was written in block capital letters, and the missive was simply addressed, in a similar font, to 'Hogwarts'. She slipped a finger into the small gap at one top corner and carefully slit it open.

The parchment revealed was covered in comparable lettering but in a vivid green ink. As she started to read, Hermione could feel a sense of injustice and disbelief start to colour her cheeks.

'YOU ARE AN EVIL MUDBLOOD. AZKABAN IS TOO GOOD FOR THE LIKES OF YOU.'

"Oh really!" Hermione's outrage came out as a rather high-pitched squeak.

Harry's hand darted in from her right, coming to rest between Hermione and her collection of what was obviously hate mail.

"What is it?" he enquired, almost angrily, the concern evident in his tone. She weakly brought the letter to where his hand rested, and he took it from her, withdrawing his arm.

"It's ridiculous…" Hermione, a little wary, had started to open a second envelope.

"Bloody Merlin!" The oath came from Ginny, who had come to stand behind Harry and was now reading the first letter over his shoulder.

Still smarting from her sense of furious injustice, not all of it now false, over Rita Skeeter's actions and the slurs on her character, Hermione started to read her second letter.

"You low-born slut. I'd love to -"

Stopping abruptly, she slammed it down on the table, feeling a little sick and betrayed. Harry leaned over the table and gently removed this latest parchment from beneath her trembling fingers. As Hermione glanced up she saw his expression harden, the colour first draining from his face, before it started to flood back, more glowing than before. As his gaze flicked back from the paper to meet her eyes, she asked. "Why?" He shook his head and crumpled the insulting document into a ball, before throwing it to the floor and grinding it under his heel.

Neville had joined the little party. The owls had attracted most of the Hall's attention and now it seemed everybody was straining to discover what was the latest gossip and happenstance involving that foolish girl Granger.

Something snapped inside Hermione. She started to tear at a third envelope, some inner demon driving her to take in all the insults.

'You are nothing but an ill-bred iliterite bitch who should have been hexed at birth…'

"Can't even bloody spell," Hermione sneered derisively, chucking the offending parchment aside, a fevered desperation evident to all. "They can't all be the same!"

Ginny, who was now reading the second discarded missive, having retrieved the crumpled paper ball and flattened it with a useful household spell. She had turned quite pallid. One of the Twins came up behind her and snatched the parchment from between her unresisting fingers.

In her fury, Hermione grasped blindly at another letter, but Harry's restraining hand managed to close over her own. "That's enough, Hermione," he muttered quickly, as Fred - or was it George - ignited the other parchment and let the smoking cinder float to the floor.

"Harry, let go!" Hermione tried to regain control of her hand, but Harry had her wrist in a firm grip.

"No, they're not worth it," he replied insistently.

With her free hand, Hermione reached for another envelope before Harry could stop her. It was a little more bulky than the first three, and there were faint grease marks staining the vellum. There was something Hermione found profoundly unsettling about it.

Then her attention, along with everyone else's, was distracted as one rather over-anxious owl glided in over their heads and deposited a red envelope in front of Hermione. Her eyes, as well as those of Harry, the Weasleys and Neville, were fixed on it as it emitted a small amount of whitish-grey smoke. The owl shot away from the immediate vicinity fast, straining to put distance between itself and its volatile payload.

"Wow, a Howler," one of the Twins observed unnecessarily with what Hermione thought was a tinge of admiration. Idly she wondered how often those two had been on the receiving end of such missives from their formidable mother. She knew Ron had already received at least one since coming to Hogwarts.

"Better answer it, Hermione," Neville, who also had experience of these communications, commented anxiously, as the corners started to burn up. "Before it -"

"Explodes," Hermione finished off Neville's sentence for him. "Yes," she sighed, "I'd better."

As her fingers ran over the crimson envelope, Harry took advantage of her momentary distraction and snatched the other envelope from her left hand.

"No! Harry, no!"

"Don't open that, Harry!" Hermione's warning shout merged with Neville's, his warning made all the more urgent by the unexpected source. He grabbed a hold of the envelope before Harry could either take a firmer grasp or rip it open, then carefully held it under his nose.

"What is going on ..?" McGonagall arrived on the scene, irritated at the disruption to the week's start caused by her own brood. "Miss Granger, Mister Longbottom, explain yourselves!"

Hermione had a damnably good idea of the contents of the suspicious envelope. Neville paled but kept an unyielding hold of the envelope. "It smelled of petrol …" he offered rather lamely.

McGonagall's eyebrows met near her hairline before she recovered her poise. "Addressed to Miss Granger?" she asked.

Ignored and momentarily forgotten, the Howler exploded.

"You Have The Nerve To Call Yourself A Witch..?"

Hermione nodded sadly as there were murmurs of assent from the little coterie around her. "They all are," she muttered, feeling on the verge of tears. After all she'd had to endure so far…

"… Ignorant Little Girl …"

"Put it on the table, Mister Longbottom," McGonagall instructed calmly, then turned to the crowd that was growing around the seated Hermione. "Stand back." As soon as Neville, Hermione and others had done as requested, she drew her wand and made a very tiny but precise movement with its tip. "Diffindo!"

"…Should Be Locked Away …"

A minute slit appeared in the parchment, then almost immediately the envelope split open and a viscous, yellowish-green liquid gushed out over the table top. Those Gryffindors who had been a little tardy jumped away from the foul-smelling fluid. Hermione was fascinated and it took George - or Fred - to drag her away from the fumes. Her eyes were fixed on the glutinous mess that enveloped the rest of her mail. Her mind had immediately identified it as -

"You Can't Just Ignore Me!" The overlooked Howler seemed rather desperate to regain everyone's attention.

"Undiluted Bubotuber pus," McGonagall commented grimly. Then, with a more expansive wave of her wand: "Evanesco!"

Hermione's unwanted 'gift' disappeared, although the rest of what could only be hate-mail remained piled up covering her breakfast plate.

"Oh, Bugger This, You Rude Child!" And with that, the disregarded Howler tore itself into a thousand blood-red fragments, each commenting sadly on how the morals and attention span of today's children were further deteriorating, and that standards in society were definitely slipping.

McGonagall turned her attention to the crowd of students that were now edging back towards the site of the recent disturbance, now joined by the ever-more curious from further up and down the table, as well as the odd member of another House. "Back to your seats, everybody!" the Transfiguration professor's commanding voice rang over the gathering crowd.

Most started to move away but the brave, or foolhardy, still remained, trying to make sense of what little they had seen. "Now, if you please!" The words may have been gentle but the delivery was from a voice used to being obeyed.

Starting to tremble, Hermione barely noticed the Weasley Twin release her before another arm snaked around her shoulders. "You alright?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper in her ear. She nodded, eyes still fixated on the letters spilling over the table. "Thanks. That was a close one."

"Five - no, ten points to Gryffindor, Mister Longbottom." The pride evident in McGonagall's award just appeared to turn Neville an even paler shade. "A smart piece of thinking." The Professor turned her attention back to the intended recipient. "And a further five for your timely warning, Miss Granger." Her discerning eyes also took in Harry's reassuring arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Thank you, Mister Potter," she said quietly but firmly to Harry, as she passed on down the length of the Gryffindor table.

Reluctantly, Harry released his light hold on Hermione's shoulders, but gave one of them a gentle reassuring squeeze with his hand before he stood aside. "It'll be alright …"

'But it isn't alright yet.' Looking up at her Head of House, Hermione could feel her bottom lip start to quiver as her vision went a little filmy through watery eyes, as her close escape from the consequences of coming into contact with undiluted Bubotuber pus suddenly struck her.

"You can leave this with me, Minerva." Dumbledore's quiet tones were as sure and certain as ever. Hermione had not noticed when he had arrived on the scene. With a swish of his wand the paper fragments, cherry-red and still grumbling, were banished. "But this requires a greater degree of study." Wandlessly, Dumbledore summoned the envelope that had delivered the Bubotuber pus to Hogwarts.

"Come with me, Miss Granger," McGonagall, with a nod, instructed Hermione firmly, following up with a hand to Hermione's back that lightly steered her charge away from the shambles that the Gryffindor breakfast had become. Pale faced, Harry also started to rise, but a stern, pointed glance from his Head of House pinned him, however reluctantly, to his seat.

By the time the two Gryffindors, generations apart in age but strikingly similar in character, arrived at the Transfiguration Professor's office, tears were streaming unchecked down Hermione's cheeks. McGonagall gestured to her for-once wayward student to take a seat. Once again, Hermione found herself clutching at a napkin, drying her eyes in front of her favourite teacher.

"Take your time, Miss Granger." McGonagall's voice retained its coolness and efficiency, as if dangerous substances arriving with the morning mail were all part of Hogwarts' daily routine.

Finally Hermione felt her throat clear enough to enunciate one simple question. "Why?"

"I would think that should be obvious." McGonagall's retort was not intended to be unkind, but it was telling nonetheless..

"That article …" Hermione's eyes had dried sufficiently to see McGonagall nod in agreement. "Do people really believe ..?"

"I am afraid that they do."

"But that interview … that Skeeter woman twisted everything I said!" Hermione was no longer having to fake outrage over the fallout of that episode.

"That I can believe. It is Miss Skeeter's stock in-trade." She picked up a copy of Saturday's newspaper. "The Headmaster did try to warn you."

Hermione shook her head, not at McGonagall's comment but at the sheer unfairness of the whole event. She no longer felt exhilarated at putting one over that bloody reporter and the rag she wrote for.

"Miss Granger, wizards are notoriously suspicious of change, as you have surely noted." McGonagall began as if she was teaching a recalcitrant child the first principles of Transfiguration. "Especially when that change is seen as coming from the Muggle World, which they take great pains to avoid., in the over-exaggerated fear of losing their identity.

"Now, this society bases great store on experience - which, of course, is measured most plainly in terms of age. More importantly, however, in terms of lineage; the importance of bloodlines is crucial to society's perception of a witch or a wizard."

"And gender?" Hermione muttered. McGonagall fixed her with a scornful glare.

"Although some of the more… well-connected families may prefer to believe so, in fact there has always been a greater equality between witches and wizards over the centuries than in the Muggle world." Hermione knew that the first witch to become Minister for Magic, Artemisia Lufkin, was appointed at the end of the Eighteenth Century, nearly two centuries before Margaret Thatcher's election as Conservative leader and subsequent emergence as a General Election winner.

"Although …" McGonagall nodded as though conceding a point to her protégé, "… I am led to believe that matters have moved apace over recent decades," she pondered in contemplation. After all, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a witch, as had been several of the Headmaster's predecessors. As was Millicent Bagnold, whom Minister Fudge succeeded, Hermione reflected.

"This explains most of the reactions to your selection to compete in the Triwizard Tournament", McGonagall continued. "For someone without any magical antecedents to be chosen ahead of those considered to be more deserving through accident of birth was considered a grievous insult."

The Deputy Headmistress leaned forward. "But what I do not understand is that, given the fight with the Ministry on that score, why an intelligent young lady such as yourself should choose to offer her opponents another stick with which to beat both herself and the Headmaster?" Her challenging tones spoke to Hermione of the frustration that had been building in her teacher since Saturday's morning edition.

"I wanted to set the record straight," Hermione responded defensively.

"I am not referring to your comments about the Ministry, although Merlin knows making that public can hardly help soften their stance towards your participation or no," McGonagall responded acerbically. Inwardly Hermione smiled at that; after all, that had been the priority result she was seeking - a Ministry desperate enough to allow her to retire relatively gracefully and without penalty. "But you had to raise the issue of house-elves!" She threw up her arms in disappointment.

Hermione bristled inwardly at the open criticism. "They are treated appallingly, and deserve -"

"We are not discussing whether their cause is just," McGonagall interrupted spikily. "To raise such an issue at this time was irrational to the point of being foolhardy!" McGonagall took a series of calming breaths. "Miss Granger," she finally continued. "Those in positions of power are hardly likely to find themselves looking kindly on finding themselves lectured about the running of their own households and businesses." She held up a hand to forestall Hermione's imminent protest. "Regardless of how misquoted you were."

McGonagall took another deep breath. "And to find that the source was an underage, muggleborn witch would only have encouraged an overreaction such as this morning's events."

Hermione was looking down at her shoes. "I thought by bringing this out into the open it would stimulate debate, open people's eyes to the sad maltreatment that house-elves undergo," she replied rather more sulkily than she intended.

McGonagall looked at her contemplatively, obviously weighing up her next words. "Miss Granger, while not wishing to deflect your crusading zeal, may I enquire on what basis you made your judgements?"

"Well, there was Dobby, of course," Hermione responded. "Then there was Winky - Mister Crouch's house-elf. Oh, she was such a sad case …" She trailed off as she noticed McGonagall staring hard back at her.

"Is that it?" McGonagall demanded. Hermione nodded. "Two elves? You based your attack on the Ministry - no, on wizarding society - on a statistical basis of two elves!" This time the Professor's eyebrows lifted high in disbelief. Hermione had seldom felt smaller than she did now.

Apparently speechless at this stage, McGonagall finally regained the power to express herself. "I would have thought that a witch of your obvious intelligence would have been wary of basing a thesis on such a restricted sample size," she stated, leaving Hermione smarting.

* * * * *

The interview with McGonagall had been one of the most embarrassing moments in Hermione's life. To earn the disdain of the teacher she so admired made her feel almost physically sick. McGonagall had had intensely enforced her view that Hermione had enough on her plate so far without adding unnecessary battles to fight. To add to this sudden emotion of inadequacy, McGonagall had instructed the house-elves to screen all Hermione's mail that was delivered by owl. She had brushed aside Hermione's rather tentative position that she should have the right to make decisions about her own mail. McGonagall was not risking anything that might upset Hermione or distract her from the more weighty matters in question.

As far as Hermione was concerned, the whole philosophy and agenda of S.P.E.W. needed to be entirely rethought, although that was not a fact that she wanted revealed, especially not to Harry and Ron. To make matters worse, Hagrid had been, although admittedly far more sympathetic, equally dismissive about Hermione's misrepresented views on house-elves when she turned up for Care of Magical Creatures.

"That'll be all they know, Hermione. Nuthin' else'll make ' em happy," he shrugged.

She did not want to start another argument with someone who remained her friend as well as a teacher, so she let his comments slide. Hagrid was far more alarmed when Harry, who had enquired solicitously about her well-being when she had joined their Herbology class earlier, mentioned the incident with the Bubotuber pus.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Hagrid expostulated. "You ought ter be careful. Can't imagine what people like that be thinkin'"

Despite his sympathetic response, Hagrid betrayed more than a little concern on his countenance, especially when Hermione and Harry had enquired why. He stared at the ground as he shuffled his feet, unwilling to look them in the eyes, and muttered somewhat unintelligibly about secrets and Dumbledore. After that, Hermione could have sworn Hagrid was trying to avoid her.

Following the near-disastrous incident with the Bubotuber pus, Harry had appointed himself as Hermione's bodyguard, especially when the Slytherins were around. Barbed whispered comments were passed that drew fierce glares from Harry, although Hermione kept repeating 'ignore them' to herself. Even in Hagrid's class, when Malfoy was careful not to incur the wrath of the half-giant through open insults, Hermione continued to feel lonely and avoided.

Aside from Arithmancy, Hermione found Harry at her side for the rest of the day. At first she found it just a little irritating, and suggested that surely he must have better or more enjoyable things to do. But Harry had just given her that enigmatic half-smile, told her that there was nothing else he had to do, so he might as well spend time with her. Oh, and could she look over his Herbology homework? Not, he insisted, that this request was pressing nor important.

However, the morning's incident had shaken Hermione, even more so than Draco Malfoy's past assault in the Library. That she could - no, should - have seen coming. To have persons completely unknown to her attempting serious harm was unnerving. And her faith in her own judgment had been severely dented both by having the tables effectively turned on her by Rita Skeeter and by having her eyes opened by McGonagall to the flawed thinking behind S.P.E.W. 'At least,' Hermione thought to herself, 'the Ministry has food for thought.'

So, having Harry sit beside her at lunch and dinner, and keeping her company that evening had been strangely reassuring. The only downside had been when they had both visited the Library. Viktor had already been seated at what had passed from 'her' to 'their' table, and for some reason Hermione could not fathom, Harry had been uneasy in the Bulgarian's presence. Viktor had certainly been even less talkative than usual, and Hermione, unable to concentrate upon her research in such a strained atmosphere, had finally persuaded Harry that she could be left, and would be fine in Viktor's imposing presence.

Reluctantly, Harry had agreed to leave, then he turned to Krum and gestured that the Bulgarian should come with him. The two had stopped only a few yards away. From her vantage point, Hermione watched with a mixture of amusement and bemusement as Harry, with a series of grave gestures and some frantic but muted conversation, tried to make something clear to Viktor, who had finally shook his head. At Harry's affronted befuddlement, that had quickly changed into a nod. She smiled: Viktor had not quite got his head, literally, around the positive and negative gestures away from the Balkans.

At that point Harry had left, although not without casting one last uncertain look in Hermione's direction. Viktor, as usual, had taken his seat opposite her, and then opened Hogwarts: A History without even glancing at her.

With curiosity gnawing away inside, battling with the intention of not appearing over-anxious, it took a new record of all of ninety seconds for Hermione to enquire: "What was all that about?"

Viktor did not look up. Hermione was sure there was a hint of a smile twitching at his lips.

"Toy mnogo te haresva" he said with what Hermione thought could be a soupcon of amusement.

"Pardon?"

Viktor still did not look up. "Excuse me, please. Your… friend? He ask that ve go together at na kraia?" Now he did glance at her, looking uncertain. "End - vos that correct? Ven ve end I take Hermy-own-ninny back to him…"

Hermione's brain processed Viktor's tortuously constructed sentences. "When I have finished here, in the Library, you are to take me back to the Common Room, to Harry?" she interpreted.

"Da." This time he looked pleased. "Is correct. Is good ..?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed with some well-disguised relief. "It's good."

* * * * *

True to his word, Viktor had escorted Hermione back as far as the portrait hole hiding the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room and dormitories. It was something else that would set tongues wagging. There had been one or two frankly disbelieving looks from the few students still prowling the corridors not long before curfew. Still, none had been as incredulous or as malevolent as those from the dwindling group of Krum fanciers who had lasted all night in the Library in the hope of being granted an audience with the sainted one. Romilda Vane looked as though she had swallowed a Flobberworm, so sour was her expression.

And, equally honouring his pledge, Harry had waited up for her. Hermione thought that rather endearing as she observed another awkward little exchange between the two men …

'Harry, a man? When did I start seeing Harry as a man?' Hermione smiled at her little realisation.

She purposefully did not remain long in the Common Room, and after a reasonable night's sleep welcomed the start of a new day, nearly as much as Crookshanks did.

The following morning, Hermione descended to the Common Room, to find it almost completely empty, save for the gaggle of First Years, gathered together at one of the corner tables, and discussing something feverishly. Then, with a fleeting thought, she thought of Harry waiting up for her last night; she thought it a touching gesture, but Harry needed his rest as much as anyone else, as the logical part of her mind pointed out.

She found she had to agree; yet, she also wished Harry would retreat temporarily, and leave her to her own devices for a short time, when her eyes sighted him waiting for her at their usual seats on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall…

By lunchtime endearing and touching were not the adjectives that Hermione would have used. It was as if she had a living shadow, and it was only her desire not to hurt Harry's feelings that prevented her from requesting he drop the devoted bodyguard act.

Harry had even managed to stay awake during History of Magic, defying Professor Binns' soporific drone and refusing to give in to the tiredness that threatened to overcome him. The free period that followed that morning had seen him dog her footsteps into the Library, where his presence was a peripheral distraction as Hermione reviewed her Potions' homework. Viktor, as usual, was nowhere to be seen during the day. She wondered how he filled those daylight hours: if he was training, as she had glimpsed him striding or running across the grounds during the daytime? Or had he retreated back to the magical ship, where she had no idea of what his daily routine would be?

The interaction between Hermione and Harry in the Great Hall showed that he was following her every move. Romilda Vane had watched this second act with fury in her eyes. Ginny certainly picked up on it when Harry failed to pay any attention to the lunchtime happenings on the Ravenclaw table, and the youngest Weasley seemed a tad off with the two of them at lunch.

Hermione looked up at the Head Table. Nothing had been heard from Matrix or Ms. Booth following their visit to Hogwarts, and the most probable means of communication would come through Dumbledore or McGonagall. Yet neither was present. 'Now, that is unusual,' she thought idly.

Neither Hermione nor Harry were particularly looking forward to Potions after lunch. Hermione guessed that Harry was worried this would be the most logical place for any Slytherin-based insults, or worse, to be thrown at her. She was more concerned about Harry's reaction, given the ever-present catalyst that was Professor Snape.

Hermione was about to start her raspberry trifle when McGonagall entered the Great Hall, appearing atypically flustered. Pale faced, she approached the Gryffindor table, unerringly homing in on Hermione and Harry. She stopped in front of the duo.

"Miss Granger, I must ask you to come with me."

Hermione's heart nearly came to a standstill. She had seldom seen her Head of House so ashen, and that was usually on Harry's behalf. For a second all sorts of scenarios raced through her mind. Was it … Merlin, no! It couldn't be her parents?

"Miss Granger." The anxiety in McGonagall's voice was clear. "You must come with me immediately."

Fighting a mounting sense of nausea, Hermione climbed to her feet. "What's this about?" she asked in a voice tinged with fear. Harry was barely a second behind her in rising from the table.

"It is the Minister himself." McGonagall replied in a tone indicating a suspension of belief.

"Fudge? Here?" Harry sounded taken aback.

McGonagall fixed him with another of her 'this is nothing to do with you, so go away now!' stares. "Yes, Mister Potter. The Minister is here and demands to see Miss Granger."

"Oh, bloody Hell!" Harry's oath was uncharacteristically missed by the flustered McGonagall, whose mind immediately rejoined to the task in hand.

"Follow me, Miss Granger."

With one last uncomprehending look at a dumbstruck Harry, Hermione turned and started to trot to catch up with McGonagall, who could move surprisingly sprightly for someone of her advanced years. As she caught up, she fought back an urge to tug at her teacher's robes. "What is it? What does he want?"

McGonagall, still nearly as white as a ghost, and striding onwards, sounded just a little panicked. "He has arrived at Hogwarts with two Aurors. I believe he means to arrest you!"

* * * * *

The Headmaster's office was normally a sanctuary away from the threats that faced the inhabitants of Hogwarts, However, as Hermione stood close behind McGonagall on the spiralling staircase that carried them upwards, she could make out the Minister's highly indignant voice more and more clearly.

"… Just the sort of rubbish I've come to expect from Hogwarts these days!"

Those words came as no surprise to her, and neither was his apparent attitude. She alighted from the stairs with her anxiety level rising steadily, and followed McGonagall into the room. That was just in time to catch Dumbledore's response. "Now, Minister, surely you don't believe everything you read in the newspapers?"

Moving to one side, so she could peer around McGonagall, Hermione took in the scene before her with the marked hovering restlessness of youth.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, seeming as unmoved by events as ever, a look of apparent unconcern on his wise old face. On the opposite side of the Headmaster's desk stood the Minister himself, disdaining the chair behind him, his body rigid with barely-suppressed indignation. Fudge's right hand rested on the desk's wood and leathered surface. His left cradled what to Muggle eyes was the incongruous sight of a bright lime-green bowler hat. With his picture featured so prominently in every edition of The Daily Prophet, he would have been recognisable in any event, even without Dumbledore having just indicated his position.

Standing at the back of the room, positioned so that they could take in everything and everyone without too much effort, were two men. They both wore robes that indicated they were senior members of the Corps of Aurors, but there the similarity ended. One was a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry grey hair, but the rapid movement of his eyes around the room betrayed his own anxieties. The other was a tall, bald man of obvious Afro-Caribbean extraction, but one who radiated calm. He had immediately spotted the arrival of the teacher and pupil and was staring coolly at them, as though evaluating their threat potential. One odd feature that struck Hermione was the single gold hoop that hung from his left earlobe.

Seated on one of Dumbledore's ubiquitous plush chintz armchairs was a squat woman dressed in various garish tones of pink. She Hermione did not recognise. Barty Crouch, pale and gaunt, stiffly occupied another.

The third seated presence made her heart skip a beat. She had seen that fine aquiline profile before, and the perfect coiffeur of silver hair marked him out only too well. With him present, she was in deep trouble. "What's Lucius Malfoy doing here?" Hermione whispered to McGonagall. "I thought he resigned from the Board of Governors?"

"He did," hissed McGonagall. "But he's head of the Hogwarts' Parent Teacher Association."

'Since when did Hogwarts have a P.T.A?' wondered Hermione, almost out loud. Fortunately she caught herself, and then raptly turned her attention back to the action unfolding before her.

"I tell you, Dumbledore!" The red-faced Cornelius Fudge appeared on the point of foaming at the mouth from the rage that emanated from him. "Sedition and treason!"

"I am sure Miss Granger intended nothing of the sort." Dumbledore's reasoned reply was an attempt to pour oil on troubled waters. "As you will see when she arrives." The Headmaster looked up. "And here she is."

All eyes, except McGonagall's and those of the already aware black Auror, suddenly turned onto Hermione. She swallowed hard in a reflex response. The other Auror was visibly fingering his wand. Was he expecting her to launch an assassination attempt on the Minister?

Fudge's ruddy face was not a pleasant sight. "Yes, the young revolutionary herself!" He had not moved from his spot in front of Dumbledore's desk. "You are in a cauldron of trouble, young lady!"

"I really think it would be better if we all took a seat," Dumbledore interjected, and his wand produced a small two-seat chaise longue with red and gold velvet coverings. But his recommendation was ignored by both Minister and young witch.

Hermione moved clear of McGonagall. If she felt intimidated - and she did - she was not going to show it. "Really, Minister?" she replied, sounding rather more composed than rattled.

Fudge moved to face her directly. "Ever since you wangled your name into the Goblet of Fire you have been nothing but needless hassle and bother. I should never have allowed Barty to keep you in the Tournament!" There was a trace of spittle on his lips. Crouch's demeanour remained implacable, as though the Minister's rebuke had not been aired.

"I didn't enter -"

"There you go again, telling lies!" Fudge was almost incandescent with anger, and some of it was rubbing off on Hermione, whose own temper was starting to climb against the bait. "I have had just about enough from you." She could almost sense McGonagall's hackles rise as her own student's reputation was questioned.

"That bloody woman bombarding me with injunctions," Fudge complained as much to himself as the assembled bodies, as he took his seat. Hermione guessed he was referring to Cherie Booth, and she smiled inwardly at the implication that the lawyers had made some inroads on her behalf. "Then I see this slip of a girl telling the world that she's been forced into a 'barbaric' contest by me. And to cap it all she exhorts the house-elves to rise up against their owners!" The memory of that newsprint assault brought him to his feet again, staring at Hermione with an intensity that could well have ignited parchment.

"Minister." Dumbledore had risen to his feet by now but his voice still radiated reasoned calm. "Would it not be better to discuss this in a more civilised manner? Over a cup of tea, perhaps?"

For an overweight man, the Minister could turn remarkably quickly. "Civilised! Civilised?" he spat. "You talk about civilised behaviour when your students proclaim rebellion against our own civilisation?" By now, Fudge had nearly flown into a fit of uncontrollable hysteria, where emotion at last clouded reason.

Steeping forward and interposing herself between Hermione and the Minister, McGonagall was icily correct. "There is no question of Miss Granger doing or saying anything of the sort," she snapped.

Hermione noted that both Aurors had their wands drawn, although whilst one was covering the two Gryffindors, the other strangely seemed to be covering the group from the Ministry.

Fudge could not be mollified. "My patience has run out." He turned to his two Aurors. "Dawlish, Shacklebolt. Arrest her!" He flung out his right arm and pointed straight at Hermione, who let out a shocked squeak of fear and outrage.

The grey-haired Auror took two steps forward before the other interrupted in a calm but deep tone "On what charges, Minister?"

"Treason!" Fudge replied dramatically. "Yes, treason and…ah, sedition. Yes, sedition." Fudge stared wildly at Hermione. "Seeking the overthrow of the legally appointed Ministry."

There could be no question now that Cornelius Fudge was beyond a reasonable state of mind.

Hermione could not fail to notice the hungry looks on the faces of Lucius Malfoy and the unnamed woman, who was obviously a Ministry functionary of some sort.

"I am afraid that you will have trouble proving those charges, Minister." Dumbledore remained an oasis of calm amidst the recriminations being hurled by the Minister.

"What do you mean, Dumbledore?" Lucius Malfoy's silky tones interjected into the dispute. "After all, Granger's words are there for all to see in black and white."

The mysterious woman turned towards Hermione and spoke for the first time. Her face appeared to have been squashed, being considerably wider than it was tall, and her mousy brown hair was tied in place with a black velvet bow. "Yes. It is rather a problem to deny it. I cannot see how the Ministry would have a problem." Hermione noted the slightly high-pitched squeak appeared to be a perfect match for the woman's appearance.

"Yes," The Minister looked relieved. "Thank you, Dolores." He switched his stare from Dumbledore to Hermione, and back again. "What have you got to say to that."

Hermione started to reply, but Dumbledore managed to cut in with his response first. "I think you will find that whilst the words are most definitely published, they are not necessarily those used by Miss Granger."

"Taken out of context?" Whoever 'Dolores' was, her faux sickly-sweet voice was already irritating Hermione's overstretched nerves. "Mis-quoted?" She purposefully split the word, as if she was mocking Dumbledore. "That is a very poor defence, Headmaster, and the attempt to use it hardly speaks well of Hogwarts."

"I did not say it was a defence, even if one were required, which it is not." Dumbledore composure remained unruffled. He looked up at the door through which Hermione had passed through only a few short minutes ago. "Ah, I see we have another guest just arrived."

Fudge looked a little perplexed. "What do you mean, Dumbled -"

Someone knocked on the other side of the door. "Come in, Argus," Dumbledore called lightly, and with a little swish and flick of his wand conjured yet another comfortable-looking armchair into existence.

The door opened and Argus Filch's rather unkempt head appeared. "Your visitor's 'ere, Headmaster."

"Ah, thank you. Please, show her in."

Fudge turned on Dumbledore. "Visitor?" To Hermione's eyes he seemed to be struggling to maintain a tenuous grip on sanity. "This is supposed to be a closed meeting."

"Oh, was it?" Dumbledore dissembled, as though accepting a mild chiding for forgetting to put sugar in the Minister's tea. "I assumed that, given the Ministry's approach to Miss Granger's rather unique situation, this visitor would be able to offer invaluable advice and assistance."

"I hope I've arrived here in time..." The cultured voice with just a twang of a Scouse accent, broke off as the dark-haired woman entered. Her eyes narrowed as she looked coldly at Fudge. "Minister." There was no fawning admiration in this woman's voice.

Fudge looked nonplussed. "I am sorry, you have me at a disadvantage."

That drew a sarcastic "Quite," followed by a dramatic pause, and finally: "I'm Cherie Booth." Hermione saw Fudge's flushed face lose just a little ruddiness. "Queen's Counsel for the Matrix Chambers, representing Miss Hermione Granger." She took in the little group, and gave a small nod of recognition, not friendly as Hermione noted, to 'Dolores.' "Undersecretary Umbridge. Always a pleasure." Her tones indicated it was anything but.

"I take it this meeting has already started?"

"Now see here," Fudge started to bluster. "You have -"

"Yes," interjected McGonagall, almost pushing Hermione to the fore. "And the Minister has demanded Miss Granger be arrested on ridiculous, trumped-up charges."

Ms. Booth took in this information with nary a blink of surprise. "Really," she commented dryly, as though almost bored and slightly annoyed. "On what charges?"

"Would you like to take a seat?" Dumbledore offered mildly.

Fudge was flustered. "Well, um, we were just…"

"Hem, hem!" That strange interjection came from Undersecretary Umbridge. "Well, there were certainly libellous statements made in the reported interview…"

"Even if my client were correctly quoted, which I doubt," Cherie Booth cut in, "or if the statements made were demonstrably false, defamation is not an arrestable offence nor one punishable by a custodial sentence, especially given that Miss Granger is under eighteen."

"Still over the age of legal responsibility though," Lucius Malfoy observed as if half-bored by the conversation already.

"Yes, quite!" Fudge jabbed his finger in Malfoy's direction, emphasizing the point raised on his behalf. He appeared to miss, which Hermione did not, the look of sheer contempt with which Lucius greeted the Minister's gesture. "Old enough to know better." He turned to Hermione. "You cannot gad about accusing your elders and betters of all sort of trumped-up accusations."

Finally, Hermione decided to be present in more than a decorative role. "That's rich," she observed quietly. "Given what you are trying to force on me."

There was an overly dramatic intake of breath from Umbridge's direction, whilst Fudge looked stunned at being on the receiving end of a barb from a fifteen-year old schoolgirl. "I've never … never been so insulted…"

"What would one expect from one with Granger's upbringing?" Malfoy bared his teeth in a rather false smile.

Hermione shrugged off McGonagall's restraining hand. "What exactly are you inferring?" she demanded, in her sudden outburst of rage forgetting she was facing one of the most dangerous wizards in Britain.

"Only that one cannot expect full respect for our great institutions from one with… such a lack of breeding."

There was a moment's silence as Lucius Malfoy's words were taken in. "Mister Malfoy, I have seldom heard such insulting comments…" That was McGonagall.

"Well, these are the problems one expects when the student base is expanded to include the muggleborn." Umbridge's contribution was received in stony silence, although Hermione noted a nod of agreement from the Minister. "I have warned against this in the past, Minister."

Ms. Booth was having a quiet word with McGonagall, The private communication she received from the Scotswoman made her cheeks burn with spots of high colour.

"True, true, Dolores," Fudge muttered. "Well, why don't we take her into custody and sort out the problems later?"

Hermione started to protest her innocence at the same time as McGonagall and Booth. Fudge ignored them and gestured to the two Aurors. Dawlish seemed keen to follow the Minister's instructions, but he was held back by a cautious Shacklebolt. "I'm sorry, Minister, but we cannot do that."

Fudge's eyes bulged, unused to being countermanded by his own Ministry minions. "What do you mean, Auror Shacklebolt? As Minister, I order you to -"

"Without a serious arrestable offence being committed," Shacklebolt intoned calmly in a deep bass, "we cannot detain a minor without either a warrant or explicit instructions from the Head of the M.L.E."

"What?"

"That is correct, Minister." Dumbledore appeared to be the only person present, save Shacklebolt, who had kept his composure. "As far as I can see, no offence has been committed."

Fudge appeared on the point of exploding. "You mean this little …" He took a deep breath. "… girl can make all sorts of wild accusations… well, we'll just have to find some evidence!"

"Evidence of what?" Hermione demanded. She ignored Booth's silent plea to remain quiet.

"Treasonable behaviour… attempts to slander the Ministry," Fudge rambled.

"I'll tell you what I think of the Ministry!" Hermione yelled, surprising all present with the vehemence a slightly-built teenaged girl could bring.

Cherie Booth stood in front of her. "Keep quiet, Hermione, Let me deal with this." A tense Hermione thought of ignoring her legal advisor, but then took a calming breath and nodded her head in acceptance. Booth turned to face Fudge. "Minister, you have no jurisdiction here. You have no evidence of any criminal offence being committed by my client. If you try to incarcerate Miss Granger, I will have a writ of false imprisonment served so fast you wouldn't be able to tell your base from your apex." The Liverpudlian twang was stronger when she was angry.

"I would also remind you that an application to the Scottish Court of Session under The Children (Scotland) Act of 1994 has been made, seeking a supervision order to be served by a sheriff of the relevant magistrates' court as she is under sixteen years of age. I have also written to the Secretary of State for Scotland requesting that he prescribe an order under The Children Act of 1989 as my client's parents have sought an application for an emergency protection order by Oxford County Council for a supervision order under clause 44.1 subsection c."

"If I may…" Umbridge interceded. From her handbag she withdrew a raft of documents. "You will see here that the relevant local authority has ceded responsibility for the care of the underage pupils at Hogwarts to the authorities at Westminster." She handed over one specific document to Ms. Booth, who took it and made sure Hermione could also see what it contained.

"I trust there is no concern over the … veracity of the documentation?" Umbridge enquired.

Hermione looked askance at Cherie Booth, whose professional certainty had been momentarily stripped away to be replaced by a worried frown. She pointed out the signature and its printed brother underneath. 'Rt. Hon. Michael Forsyth, MP.' "The Scottish Secretary," Booth commented.

Hermione swore there and then that she would back Scotland's campaign for self-government.

Cherie Booth handed back the papers. "There is still the pending application under the 1989 Act," she commented acidly, her pride punctured by the early setback.

"Of course," Umbridge intoned in her sugary voice. "This should set matters straight." She passed over another, shorter document that contained far more white space and less print than the previous one.

Hermione saw Cherie's eyes widen momentarily in astonishment. Wordlessly, she passed the paper to Hermione so that her client and McGonagall could read it together.

The Secretary of State for Education of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has accepted the proposal that the terms of The Children Act of 1989 as appertaining to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shall be set aside for the period of the school year (September 1994 to July 1995) under the terms of The International Code of Secrecy, the Accord of 1699, and the Royal Decrees of 1700 and 1946.

Signed

Rt. Hon. John Major, MP - First Lord of the Treasury

Hermione looked back up at her lawyer, eyes wide. "How could he sign this..?" she asked haltingly.

"God knows," Booth responded truthfully. "I may not like the man, but this seems out of character even for Major."

Hermione leaned closer. "Could they have put him under a curse or spell?"

Cherie Booth shook her head. "I don't think anyone would risk that. It would blow apart the agreements between the two worlds. More likely they slipped it to him with other papers during a match at The Oval," she snorted in derision, before handing back the paper to the Undersecretary, who snatched it from her hand.

This time Hermione made an unbreakable personal oath to herself that, once she gained the age of majority, she would never waste her vote for the Tory cause.

"I trust that matters are now crystal clear," Umbridge demanded in tones that dripped with honeyed syrup, but ones which only intensified Hermione's feeling of disgust towards the woman.

All Hermione's hopes had gone up in smoke. It seemed that her lawyers were stymied in their efforts, that the big battalions were lined up on the opposing side.

"Yes, well, there we are." Fudge fiddled with his bowler hat, rotating it in his hands. "An accusation has been made against the integrity of the Ministry itself," he muttered.

A very unladylike snort, which she tried vainly to suppress, from McGonagall showed how much she invested in the integrity of the Ministry.

Lucius Malfoy rose to his feet. "Damn it, Cornelius, this is getting us nowhere. I suggest you concentrate on the matter we discussed earlier."

Hermione suddenly became worried at the sound of that. If a Malfoy was involved, it could only mean trouble.

Looking rather disappointed, as though his favourite childhood toy had been removed from him, the Minister backtracked. "Yes, well, if... well, if there is no question of arrest …" He almost quailed under the combined angry glares of Hermione, McGonagall and Booth. "Well, there's ample proof that would support expulsion."

'Expulsion!' Hermione suddenly paled. That had not been part of her plan!

"What do you mean?" Cherie Booth advanced on the Minister.

"Hem, hem." All eyes turned once again on the toad-like Umbridge. "A student's publicly calling into question the integrity and honesty of the Ministry would certainly be grounds for expulsion."

"Quite," added Malfoy. "Many of the parents have expressed their concern over the comments expressed in The Daily Prophet in particular, and at the approach that the School is taking in general."

"Name them!" demanded Hermione shrilly.

Lucius Malfoy fixed her with a haughty glare, as though she were no better than something unpleasant you picked up on the sole of your shoe on a hot day. "I beg your pardon?" he enquired icily.

"Name them," Hermione repeated, not quite as sure of herself as she had been.

"I do not answer to you, girl." Malfoy brushed her question aside, icily dismissive in his expression.

"Let me guess," Hermione pushed on with conviction. "Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott -" She ticked the names off on her fingers, her voice slightly fraying as she grew angrier with each word.

Lucius Malfoy did not respond, He just stared at her with his cold, grey eyes.

"The names do not matter," Umbridge cut in. "The Ministry has received complaints about the outrageous ideas expressed in Miss Granger's interview, and the failure of the School -" She looked hard at Dumbledore "- to instil discipline."

"Quite, Dolores, quite." Fudge turned his back on Hermione. "Well, Dumbledore. What do you say to that? I do have the authority to demand an expulsion."

Hermione could not understand how Dumbledore was remaining so serene. "Who has the authority to request a student be expelled," he corrected the Minister.

"And in this case," Malfoy added quietly, "the offender will be Obliviated. All knowledge that she possessed, all her memories of ever being a witch, would be removed," he said with cruel relish. "Her magical core would be bound with the strongest spells."

McGonagall gasped in dismay. Hermione felt sick to the pit of her stomach. "You can't do that," she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.

"Oh, but I can," Fudge responded, glad for once to be able to intimidate this irritating child. "In certain circumstances, if I consider her - them - a threat to the wizarding community."

Hermione turned to Cherie Booth. "They can't ... can they?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

"They can try," the barrister responded grimly. "But we will fight them every step of the way, no matter what dirty tricks they attempt."

Hermione turned back to the Minister. "You would inflict on me a punishment you don't even consider for Death Eaters!" she observed. "Those you send to Azkaban."

"Of course," Malfoy remarked. "To rob a Pureblood of their magical ability would be … barbaric."

Hermione looked around. Fudge was nodding his head absent-mindedly, whilst there was a look approaching triumph on Umbridge's squashed features. Dawlish looked ready to do his master's bidding, while Crouch was watching the whole affair with a detached, uncaring air. He seemed to be away in a world of his own.

"I won't let you do that," Hermione replied, her mind full of determination. "I won't let you drive me away from being a witch."

"You can expect an injunction on your desk tomorrow morning, Minister," Booth threatened.

Umbridge gave the silk another of her false smiles. "You may be able to win on appeal," she commented.

Hermione tensely pulled her lawyer to one side. "I can't be expelled," she almost wailed in frustration, fixing her ally with an intent gaze.

"Why? The grounds for reinstatement would be excellent."

"You know how long it takes for the Ministry for Magic to operate?" Hermione's anxiety showed in her tremulous voice. "We're not talking weeks here, more like months."

"True," Booth observed. Then the realisation struck her. "My God! If you're expelled in the next few days, you won't be able to take part in the competition. You would never be accepted back in time."

"Exactly," Hermione said quickly. "And by then I'll have broken my magical oath. My magic will be stripped away from me anyway. There'd be no point in appealing as I wouldn't be a witch anyway!"

"I can get an injunction served tomorrow," Booth thought out loud. "That would prevent an expulsion."

"But what if I'm expelled this afternoon?" Hermione pleaded. "As soon as I'm ruled ineligible to compete, I'll break the binding contract. Tomorrow may be too late!"

Booth considered this information before turning to an ashen-faced McGonagall. "Has the Minister that power? To demand an immediate sending down?"

"He does if there are sufficient grounds," the Deputy Headmistress replied.

"Who would judge those grounds?"

McGonagall glanced towards Dumbledore's desk, where the great wizard was still talking with Fudge. "The Headmaster, with his decision subject to confirmation by the Board of Governors."

Hermione exhaled with relief. "Then that's okay," she muttered.

Booth gave her a sharp look. "Are you sure that he wouldn't?"

"I am sure Albus … the Headmaster would not take any such action," McGonagall opined, although not sounding as sure as Hermione would have preferred.

Something was nagging away at Hermione's mind. "But…" she started, trying hard to make sense of her thoughts. "But if the Governors were to review his decision… they could expel me during the Tournament," she realised. "I'd still be disqualified and suffer the same fate." She looked imploringly at McGonagall.

"Is that possible?" Booth demanded almost immediately.

"More so given the recent article," McGonagall commented. "The Governors are not as conservative as they used to be, but they are not unalloyed liberals either. They may not view Miss Granger's opinions as expressed in a favourable light."

Hermione could see her future ebbing away with this conversation. She looked up and was infuriated to see Dumbledore, relaxed as ever, still sitting in his chair. 'Damn you,' she thought furiously: 'Do something!' her mind screamed…

The Headmaster looked up and gazed deep into Hermione's eyes. She was sure she could see them sparkle. He cleared his throat.

"There is one problem with your request, Minister."

"Oh yes?" Fudge seemed astonished. "And what would that be?"

"That no-one will be expelled from Hogwarts: Today, tomorrow, or anytime for that matter."

Fudge reeled as though struck physically. "I can't believe it!" he yelled. "This is just the sort of behaviour I've come to expect from you, Dumbledore. You seek to obstruct me at every turn."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Minister, you misunderstand me. You see, there are no actionable grounds."

Malfoy's frosty response chilled Hermione. "No grounds, Dumbledore?" he questioned smoothly.

"What are you talking about, man?" Fudge rifled through a discarded briefcase and brought up a copy of The Daily Prophet which he slammed down on Dumbledore's desktop. "It's all there, in sixteen-point print!" His eyes shone with a self-justifying rage, as he looked on angrily at the placid old wizard.

"Oh, I do not deny that Minister. Only that nothing that is printed under that interview could be used to support any move to expel Miss Granger."

Hermione was way ahead of anyone else in the room bar the Headmaster. "Brilliant," she breathed, earning odd looks from the two women with her.

"Noth- nothing that could be … used?" Fudge was floundering. "Have you lost leave of your senses? It's all in there, slanderous attacks on the Ministry, a sob-story denying she cheated her name into the Goblet … And all that rubbish about house-elves!" His countenance darkened further. "Nothing indeed!"

Dumbledore still looked in total control of the situation. "True, that is all there, Minister." He leaned forward, giving an impression of confidentiality. "But I fail to see how the Ministry can take action over an interview that was positively sought and permitted by the Ministry itself." He leaned back, a smile playing on his lips.

"Positively… permitted ..?" Fudge's mouth flapped open like a beached fish. "What… what do you mean, Dumbledore?"

The Headmaster looked towards Hermione. "I believe the phrase used was: 'Officially sanctioned by the Minister himself', was it not, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was shaking, whether from nerves or sheer relief she could not tell. "That's exactly what Miss Skeeter told us," she confirmed, barely able to keep her voice level.

"What…? What..?" Fudge wheeled about. "I don't believe … Dolores, is this true?"

Hermione thought Umbridge looked as though she had swallowed a fly. She remained quiet until the Minister hissed at her. "Err… yes, I'm rather afraid you - I mean, the Ministry - did give full permission for Miss Skeeter's interviews."

Fudge was rummaging through his memories. He evidently despised this new realization. "There's no …" He turned beseechingly to Umbridge. "Did I sign anything, Dolores?"

Umbridge looked as sick as Hermione had been a few minutes ago. "The Editor was rather insistent upon it, Minister. He would only give full-page coverage if he were granted exclusive access to the competitors - all of them."

"Of course," Dumbledore added kindly, as though finding a silver lining in Fudge's dark cloud, "you could always sue Miss Granger for libel …" He winked at Hermione, who grasped the significance and the opening immediately.

"But you would have to sue the Daily Prophet as co-defendant," she breathed. Hermione knew Fudge could never entertain launching a legal action against the only widely distributed wizarding newspaper, and a major supporter of the Ministry line, without consigning his political career to the waste bin. "I'd like to see you try."

Fudge's complexion took on a very pasty aspect. "Im- impossible," he stuttered. He turned to an equally stricken Umbridge.

"Perhaps… perhaps a - yes!" Umbridge was grasping for straws. "A private action… for slander?" She looked doubtful herself at that option.

Cherie Booth had heard quite enough. She marched up to the dumbstruck Minister. "If you make any move to take action against my client, I will have a writ served on you -" She jabbed her finger in Fudge's face. "- And you -" She started to repeat the action in Umbridge's direction, but stopped in mid-point and instead waved off the Undersecretary contemptuously. "- The whole bloody Ministry, The Daily Prophet, Rita Skeeter and anyone else entangled in this sorry episode," she fumed. "I don't care what papers you are in possession of, signed or unsigned. You'll be so tied up in legal actions you wouldn't know where to start, let alone finish. And…" Now her Liverpool roots were showing. "…If we find any evidence that you were conniving amongst yourselves to send an innocent Briton to gaol then I will take this matter up with the proper - Muggle - authorities ! Need I remind you that my husband may well be take up the helm of the country next Spring?"

As Hermione watched, the florid colour drained from Fudge's face. She knew that the opinion polls all pointed to a Labour victory in the next General Election, which could only happen at the latest in early summer of 1997. And if Fudge were still around as Minister for Magic by then, he would be dealing with Cherie's husband as Prime Minister. She smiled at the delicious irony.

"Erm… Yes, quite." Fudge's skin tone was that of a particularly sickly blancmange. Umbridge by now so reminded Hermione very strongly of a toad that she half expected her to croak her next sentence. Malfoy was quietly fuming; she looked away quickly, finding his glare rather disconcerting.

"There is still the question of that girl's participation in the Triwizard Tournament," Fudge growled, increasingly put out at missing two chances to nail Hermione Granger. "Well… It's just that … certain irregularities …" he muttered, then pointed at Hermione. "She's too young for a start."

"At last, some common sense," Hermione rejoined, earning her dirty looks from the Ministry's representatives. Maybe her squeaky wheel strategy would even yet carry the day.

"But you somehow put your name in the Goblet of Fire!" Fudge accused her loudly, trying hard to find someone else to finger as the culprit. "That's how this whole bloody mess started."

Hermione looked weary. "I have told anyone who will listen, and plenty who have not, that I did not enter my name, ask anyone to enter my name, or cast a spell or curse or jinx on the Goblet that made my name appear." She glared at Fudge, then Umbridge. "Is that crystal clear enough for you?" she said, hands on her hips in the intimidating arrangement of a double teapot. Her own boldness in addressing the Ministry officials so indiscriminately gave her wings of confidence.

"You didn't?" Fudge said in wonder. "Then why didn't you say so before?"

"I think, Minister," Dumbledore responded calmly before Hermione exploded in frustration, picking up the newspaper, "that if you look beyond the rather lurid headlines and Rita's rather unique, florid prose, you will find that Miss Granger has said so in a manner most public."

Ms. Booth stepped forward. "My client has no desire to participate in this upcoming competition," she declared.

"And many of us feel that Miss Granger should not be allowed to compete," Lucius Malfoy put in. "You see, we feel that the Triwizard competitors should represent the cream of wizarding youth."

Hermione glared at him. "Not a witch whose parents are both Muggles," she shot back.

"You said it," Malfoy drawled. "Not I." For some strange reason his cold smile reminded her of a brass plate on a coffin lid.

Cherie Booth pressed harder. "If we could come to an agreement over the threat of disqualification from my client, then I am sure she would quietly withdraw. Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"

"Absolutely," Hermione confirmed.

Malfoy looked rather put out. He seemed to have lost his prey. "I still feel that expulsion is the only punishment that fits Granger's misdemeanours but …" He looked straight at - and through - Hermione. "But if she were to pull out…"

Hermione was briefly thrown by Malfoy's response. She had assumed that, if there were any plot behind her name being revealed by the Goblet of Fire, whether aimed at directly at her, or tangentially as a result of unknown parties seeking to harm Harry Potter, then Lucius Malfoy would have to be at the centre of that conspiracy. But, here he was, virtually admitting defeat. It just did not make any sense.

"Well…" Fudge was casting around for any alternatives, but failing. "I don't see how we can manufacture an opportunity for a withdrawal. Barty?"

For the first time Barty Crouch looked up. Hermione was struck by how ill he looked, far worse than he had at the Weighing of the Wands. With a tinge of regret, she thought he did not look long for this world.

"The Goblet of Fire is the final arbiter," he announced in hollow tones, as if repeating a learned phrase emotionlessly from far away and long ago. "It is a Wizard's Oath given by those who enter their names."

"But I did not enter!" Hermione was on the verge of screaming. Desperation was beginning to extinguish any glimpse of hope she harboured secretly.

Crouch turned his cold eyes on her, but his gaze was empty and distant. "It does not matter. Your name being drawn from the Goblet is proof sufficient for the agreement to be binding on your part."

"We'll see," Ms. Booth stated calmly but clearly. "Expect an application for an injunction as soon as the High Court is open tomorrow, Minister."

"You can make whatever moves you care to," Crouch observed neutrally. "There is no means to break a Wizard's Oath without suffering the due penalty."

"Loss of the person's concerned magic, correct?" Cherie Booth asked. Crouch just nodded his head.

"I am afraid that Mister Crouch is correct," Dumbledore confirmed. "If Miss Granger withdraws, even with the tacit agreement of all concerned, then she will be stripped of her magic," he added sadly.

"Probably for the best," Fudge muttered. "Wouldn't look good if one of the competitors dropped out before the show kicked off anyway." He glanced at Dumbledore, as though seeking affirmation, but none was forthcoming from that quarter. "Calling into question the decisions of the Goblet. Undermine the whole ethos of the Tournament. It is an issue of solidarity and courage we're dealing with her, it seems."

"Then I'll seek an injunction to stop the competition," Ms. Booth started, but halted when Umbridge waved a familiar piece of paper in her hand.

"I'm afraid that this would rule out any legal action to halt the Triwizard Tournament," she commented with a dash of victory.

Hermione moved alongside her lawyer. "I don't want to think so, but it seems all the legal avenues are closed down," she muttered sadly.

"I'm afraid so," Cherie Booth replied, equally downcast.

"There is one last alternative," Dumbledore said, for the first time with a hint of urgency. He turned to the Minister. "Cornelius, I implore you, one more time. Please, cancel the Triwizard Tournament?" he pleaded.

Fudge looked at him as though he was mad. "Cancel it? Oh no, no, no!"

"It may be for the best, Minister," Lucius Malfoy advised, again causing doubts to start forming in Hermione's mind. Since when had she and a Malfoy - any Malfoy - been in agreement on any subject?

"I can't cancel," Fudge appeared affronted. "I'd look weak in front of the world."

"Cornelius, put aside your political needs," Dumbledore beseeched him. "Think of the laws of natural justice. Miss Granger is only fifteen years old."

"No, no, quite out of the question." Fudge looked to Umbridge for support. She did not disappoint her master.

"The Triwizard Tournament is just one step the Ministry is taking to reaffirm its leading role in Britain and in Europe. Cancellation would send out entirely the wrong message."

"Sod the message!" Hermione was a little shocked at Cherie Booth's language, rather unbecoming a Queen's Counsel. "We are talking about a young girl's life here!"

Fudge could not look either Hermione or her lawyer in the face. Instead he stared down at his lime-green bowler hat as he twisted it in his hands. "There must always be sacrifices on the road to progress," he murmured.

"Besides," Umbridge added. "Miss Granger does not have to compete. The final decision is hers, and hers alone." She smiled that sickly-sweet smile. "Isn't it, dear?"

Now all eyes were on Hermione.

"Yes," Fudge added. "We need a decision here and now, don't we, Barty?"

"The First Task was due to be held next Tuesday, the twenty-fourth," Barty Crouch replied faintly; he indeed seemed to be very sick. "Due to extenuating circumstances, we can postpone by one week, but no later."

"But that's only a fortnight away!" McGonagall sounded shocked.

"Arrangements have been put in place and cannot be altered," said Crouch without a trace of emotion.

Fudge turned to Dumbledore. "That's true. We've already had to plan to bring in another …" His voice trailed off as he realised who could overhear. "You know …" he finished lamely. Dumbledore just favoured him with the look of a man severely disappointed with the outcome and the person standing before him.

"No allowances can be made, for anyone," Crouch emphasized.

"No chance of a postponement? No? Then we need a decision straight away," Fudge responded, turning back to Hermione. "It's your choice, young lady. Are you going to compete in the Tournament or not?"

Hermione froze. She had replayed this argument over and over again since the meeting with her parents.

"Don't rush, Hermione," Cherie Booth said quietly. "We may still be able to fight it."

As she looked at Dumbledore, appearing doleful for the first time today, then at a saddened McGonagall, Hermione knew that particular dog would not bark. "It seems that I am committed," she said, half to herself. Pulling together all her reputed Gryffindor courage, Hermione nodded her head. "I will not withdraw - not willingly, with the alternatives before me. Therefore, under protest, I accept my entrance into the Triwizard Tournament."

The room remained silent for a few moments. Then Fudge clapped his hands, full of false heartiness. "Good. Excellent. That's all settled. Anything to add, Barty?" he asked Crouch, who just shook his head.

"Wait a minute," Hermione protested. "No-one has told me what the First Task is!"

Barty Crouch rose to his feet slowly. "I should hope not," he said pointedly, a spark of urgency finally evident in his voice.

"But how am I supposed to train for it?" Hermione added plaintively, with murmurs of support from McGonagall.

Crouch looked her straight in the eye. "As a Champion, you are assumed to be ready to face any task," he stated, brooking no argument. "Good day, Miss Granger. We will meet again a week next Tuesday."

As Crouch strode out, Umbridge was glaring triumphantly at Hermione. There was something distinctly odd about that woman, Hermione decided.

"Of course," the Minister's personal toady's tones were rather professional, in contrast to the false sweetness of earlier, "any infringement of the rules will be dealt with severely." The smile was forced and false though. "It is only fair that all the competitors fulfil their obligations in full. There will be no allowances made for anyone." Umbridge emphasized the last word clearly.

"Well, that's that settled then," Fudge said with an inappropriate amount of bonhomie. "Apologies for the… ah, unpleasant business earlier on." He nodded to Dumbledore and McGonagall. "Headmaster, Professor." He halted as he came to Ms. Booth. "Dear lady," he said sarcastically.

"I can't wait until we meet again," the barrister responded in kind, and Hermione was just a little glad to see the Minister fail to suppress a slight shudder.

"Hmm, yes," Fudge responded uncertainly. "Come: Dawlish, Shacklebolt. I want to be back in London before the deadline for the evening edition of the Prophet. At least we have one announcement we can make" He bustled past Hermione, followed by the two Aurors.

Lucius Malfoy was the last of the Minister's party to leave. As he passed Hermione he did not acknowledge her existence at first, but then turned back. "I do not pretend to understand your little game," he hissed malevolently. "But you will not win."

"I do not pretend to understand yours either," she responded truthfully, as she found his motives more inscrutable than ever.

Then Hermione was left with Dumbledore, McGonagall and Booth, all looking defeated to some degree. For the first time, the two witches and one lawyer took the seats that had been standing empty all meeting.

Cherie Booth tried to express her sadness at the outcome, how personally she took the defeat, the perfidy of the Minister and his acolytes, and that she would not cease searching for a loophole that would allow Hermione her wish to exit the competition without leaving her newly-discovered world.

McGonagall tried hard to talk up the parties' spirits, that no cause was yet lost, but her Scottish heart did not seem to be in it.

Dumbledore spoke of how this student had an indefatigable attitude to life's obstacles.

But the words just washed over Hermione.

That was it. Her first battle had been fought and lost.

But that was only the overture.

The question now was not now whether she could escape being committed to taking part in the Triwizard Tournament.

It was whether she could survive the First Task.

* * * * *

My thanks as usual to beta readers Bexis and George. With the amount of work they have put in on this work, they really should be registered as co-authors.

The abysmal Bulgarian from my Chambers Bulgarian Phrasebook has been torn apart and reworked by George, who assures me that: -

Toy mnogo te haresva = "He really likes you."

Na Kraia = At the end.

Of course, he could be setting me up - who can remember the infamous English / Hungarian phrasebook from Monty Python's Flying Circus?

According to the Famous Wizard cards, Artemisia Lufkin was the first witch to become Minister of Magic in 1798. Margaret Thatcher was elected as UK Prime Minister in 1979.

Cherie Blair is of good Liverpudlian stock. Scouse is the regional dialect associated with Liverpool. Her husband, Tony Blair, became Leader of the Labour Party (& Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition) in July 1994 following the untimely death of his successor John Smith. His previous role had been as Shadow Home Secretary (basically the law and order portfolio).

As previously mentioned, The Children (Scotland) Act was actually passed in 1995, but I have backdated it by a year. The Secretary of State for Scotland did have the authority to defer to the Children Act of 1989 which applied to England & Wales - remember this is pre-devolution, and Scots law is different to "English" law. Scots law would take precedence given Hogwarts' Scottish location, but the Secretary of State of Scotland could prescribe an order under the earlier existing English legislation. As Hermione's home is in England, this is a plausible scenario; her parents would apply to their local authority. Details of the Acts as mentioned are genuine, although I may play a little fast & loose with their actual operation.

Clause 44.1 c of The Children Act of 1989 reads as follows: -

An emergency protection order can be put in place in the case of an application made by an authorised person where: -

(i) the applicant has reasonable cause to suspect that a child is suffering, or is likely to suffer, significant harm;

(ii) the applicant is making enquiries with respect to the child's welfare; and:

(iii) those enquiries are being frustrated by access to the child being unreasonably refused to a person authorised to seek access and the applicant has reasonable cause to believe that access to the child is required as a matter of urgency.

The post of Secretary of State for Scotland was abolished, albeit briefly, on the 13 June 2003. The post had been abolished before, back in 1747, after the 1745 Jacobite rebellion, by the Hanoverian Government in London. The Scottish Conservative Member of Parliament the Right Honourable Michael Forsyth had been appointed to the post on the 6 July 1994 in succession to the Right Honourable Ian Lang MP. Note that the prefix "Right Honourable" is applied to all Members of Parliament who are also Privy Councillors.

John Major is a famous fan of cricket and has written books on the sport. He is a keen supporter of Surrey County Cricket Club and spends many hours watching them at their famous home ground, The Oval in Kennington, London, and also at Guildford. The day he resigned as Prime Minister (even though the Tories were crushed in the previous day's General Election, he had to "resign" before Tony Blair could be "invited to form a government" - that's us British for you) he went straight to The Oval to watch a county match. I would not put it past Fudge or his cronies to slip one past the Prime Minister when he is at his most easily distracted. First Lord of the Treasury is the official title now carried by the United Kingdom's Prime Minister.

QCs (Queen's Counsels) are called 'silks' perhaps because their gowns were originally made from silk, not cotton.

To be expelled from University in England is to be "sent down".

Roger Lloyd Pack, who played Barty Crouch Senior in the film version of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire", also played John Lumic, the creator of the Cybermen, in the Doctor Who episodes "Rise of the Cybermen" and "The Age of Steel". So it is no surprise that he reacts rather like an automaton in this chapter!