False Fate

By MD1016

Part II: Trial of the Century

Chapter 8 – The Shocking Truth

It wasn't long after they escaped the Cave of Regret that Ron sat in a bed at St. Mungo's. The burn on Ron's chest had been worse than he originally thought; the real pain hadn't kicked in until they peeled his clothes off him, but the doctors had been able to heal the wound, even if he'd sport a fist-sized scar in the center of his chest for the rest of his life. Ron knew he was lucky. Harry had been hit not once, but dozens of times. Ron's mother told him that Harry was still very uncomfortable.

Hermione was a different story. The healers had knit the broken bones in her hand and nose, and righted the concussion she'd suffered. The rest of her injuries would heal with time. It was the non-physical damage that worried Ron. His mum admitted that they had to give Hermione a strong sedative potion to allow her to rest without the threat of nightmares, and even then she didn't rest easy.

Hermione hadn't even been given a full day to recover before one Chancellor Bombridge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (a tall, bony man with over-developed ears and chin) loomed at the foot of her bed like a vulture and read the charges the Ministry had slapped on her: use of an Unforgivable Curse, intention to inflict bodily harm with an Unforgivable Curse, and most insulting of all, failure to report the use of an Unforgivable Curse by another - as if Hermione had been in any position to report that Malfoy was torturing her! Ron nearly jumped out of his hospital bed when Lupin had recounted the story to him, but he was assured by both Lupin and his father that Hermione would have her day in court. Surely two of the charges would be dropped, if not all three. Ron didn't find this comforting. If even one charge remained Hermione would be sentenced to Azkaban Prison. That was, after all, the only punishment for an Unforgivable.

"Mind if I join you?" It was his mother. He hadn't heard her come in. Her face was compassionate and open, as always, and she kissed her son on the forehead. "Your father said you'll still be here another night."

"Dad? Where is he?" He'd disappeared with Chancellor Bombridge hours before.

"He's with Hermione's parents. He'll bring them ‘round later, I suppose. When she's up to visitors."

No one had been able to see her after Bombridge had gone. She'd been so upset that the healers had her visitation restricted. Lupin had been quick to assure Ron that it was temporary, and that Hermione would need her friends soon enough. Lupin didn't understand Hermione. She always needed her best mates.

Moody was in the hall. Ron caught glimpses of him as he patrolled in front of their rooms. Ron felt secure that if Draco was out for revenge, while they were at St. Mungo's at least, the three of them were safe enough.

Ron absently nodded, glancing at his wand on the table by his bed. Still there. "She's hurting, Mum. I need to see her. I need to help her."

"Perhaps you're not meant to. Some hurts have to heal on their own, dear. But Hermione's a strong girl, and I'm sure she'll find her way clear of this."

"Hmm."

"Do you want me to sit with you a while?" she asked.

"If you want. But you don't have to."

"I know I don't. But I think I will, all the same," she said. And after that they didn't have to talk for a great long while.

***

After much discussion and drama, it was finally decided that Hermione would go back to the Burrow, at least until her convalescence was over, where she would be chaperoned by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ron was certain that this was allowed only because everyone (save the three of them) still believed Hermione to be Fated to Harry. Her parents - being Muggles and not understanding anything except that their daughter was in hospital again, and worse for ware - wanted her home. They couldn't understand why she would choose to stay in the magical world after all that had happened, why she adamantly refused to go home. Lupin was quick to assured everyone that new security measures had been extended to the Burrow; new guarding spells, and wards against the Dark Arts. And besides, he explained to her parents, no one expected to hear from Malfoy again for a very, very long time. Ron, though, wasn't so sure. He didn't put it past Draco to seek out revenge at his earliest opportunity.

Two days later Hermione was deemed fit enough to leave hospital. Her bones had mended nicely and much of the facial swelling had receded. She still didn't look quite herself, but Ron thought that had a lot more to do with how quiet and removed she was from everything around her. The usually opinionated, vocal Hermione now sat quietly and often stared at nothing, as if she was somewhere else entirely.

That first night, however, instead of going straight to the Burrow they went to the manse. There was another Order meeting, and a large cake was produced to welcome their lost member home. She smiled and thanked people, but it was clear, at least to Ron, that she wasn't up to this kind of social interaction yet. Too many people, asking too many how-are-you-doing-dear's and giving her sad, understanding looks.

Harry was there, too, of course, and she cried when she saw him. He pulled her away from the on-lookers, and motioned to Ron to follow. The three of them went into the parlor and Harry closed the heavy sliding doors behind them with his wand.

"You all right?" he asked as he helped her to the couch. "Water? Zombini's Ale? Pumpkin juice?"

"I'm fine," she said. "It just hit me all of a sudden that I don't…I don't…feel for you…" She couldn't seem to get the words out.

"I know," Harry said, quietly. He sat next to her, and fidgeted with his hands. "I don't anymore, either."

They sat there for a moment, just smiling watery smiles at each other, and Ron felt odd man out; but where he'd gotten used to feeling jealous when the two of them were together, now he just felt out of place. "Maybe I should…" He motioned back to the kitchen.

"Actually, I'd like to…I think that we…that is, the three of us…we need to air some things out," Harry said, stumbling over his words. "Because the fact is that even though I don't…anymore…I still remember. And it's hard to…I don't know…separate the two, I guess. How I felt then, and what's happening now-"

Hermione gasped, and her eyes went wide. "Cripes! You've seen me naked!" She covered her blush with a hand.

"Uh…yeah." Harry looked away and played with his own shirt. "I know. It's weird. But I'm not sorry it happened, I mean, yeah, I'm sorry about all the pain and hurt and what you had to go through, Hermione, but I'm not sorry I got the chance to Love you. Even if it was just for a couple of weeks. I can't be sorry about that."

A couple of weeks? It had felt like a lifetime to Ron. "But you don't anymore," Ron said, wanting that bit of reassurance.

Harry gave him a lopsided grin. "No. I mean, I do love Hermione." He turned to her. "I do love you. But it's more of a best mate thing. Like before."

"Right," she said, and she cracked the first smile Ron had seen on her face in a very long time. "I feel exactly the same."

"Right." Harry looked expectantly between Hermione and Ron, then, but when nothing else was said, he changed the subject. "What are we going to do about Hermione's court date?"

"Nothing," she said.

"But you have to know we're not going to let you go to Azkaban," Harry said.

"It's none of your business," she told him. "I don't want you or Ron putting your necks out over something that I did."

"So…you're not going to do anything?" Ron asked. "You're just going to give up? Let them punish you for something he deserved?"

"Ron, I cast an Unforgivable. I have to deal with the consequences."

"But…Azkaban," Ron said.

She sighed and rolled her head against the back of the couch. "Honestly, you make me very tired, Ron."

She wasn't taking this seriously, she couldn't be. He watched her for a moment, tried to assess her mood. Her injuries, as far as her face went, were healing well. Bruises had gone from black to blue to a sickly greenish-yellow, and her mouth and cheek were the correct shape once again. There were still healing cuts, across her left eye and her lower lip for example, that were a dark brown against her paler-than-usual complexion. But what really struck him was the sunken look around her eyes. Were the sleeping potions not helping her rest after all? She did seem unusually exhausted. She should've stayed longer at St. Mungo's.

"Do you want to cut this party short? I mean, there's going to be an Order meeting, but I'm sure it'd be all right if you–"

"I'm fine. It's only seven o'clock," she said pragmatically.

Harry exchanged a worried glance with Ron. So, he saw it, too. And that moment of silent corroboration between the two of them felt better than the hot bubble bath he had in hospital.

They decided if they were going to stay, they might as well rejoin the party downstairs. Hermione excused herself to go to the loo. Harry watched her go, and raised a reflexive hand to clutch at his chest.

"Er…Ron. Before, in the cave," he said, "that emptiness I felt…that was you, wasn't it?"

"The hole. Yeah. That's what was left when Hermione was gone."

"It was horrible."

"Yeah. It's a great incentive to stay Fated."

"I just…just know, Ron, that I don't have that. That hole. I feel like I did before."

"That's good." It was something of a relief to know that Harry wouldn't have to live the way he had. "I'm glad."

Harry nodded. "We're going to be all right."

"I see that now."

***

Ron watched the clouds that night from his bedroom window as they drifted slowly across the stars and moon. He felt full and content, not just from the supper he didn't have to cook, but because everyone he loved was safe, and Hermione was upstairs asleep, and she was his.

It was late, and he was tired, and still sleep was illusive. His mind was full of what would come next. The shop would have to doused with protective spells much like the Burrow. Their training with the Order would most certainly be stepped up now that Harry and Ron had proven themselves a battle-worthy team. A new search for Draco would need to begin (though this last one would more than likely fall to just Harry and him, and maybe Hermione) because Ron didn't trust him not to pop up at the worst possible moment. You-Know-Who still had Draco under his thumb, which meant that he potentially knew everything Draco knew, and Hermione might still be targeted to get to Harry.

Ron frowned. She wasn't up to being a target yet. The party and the meeting had worn her so completely out that Ron's mother had had to help her up the stairs and in to bed once they got home. Ron had begun to follow, but his mother had waved him away.

"A moment," his father had said as Ron watched Hermione and his mother disappear up the stairs. "Son, I'm not going to pretend to know what you're going through, none of us can really know, I suppose. Your mother and I, though, we want you to know–"

"It's all right, Dad."

"It is?"

Ron had seen the concern in his father's expressive face. He was a loving man and an authority figure. All Ron's life his father had been a provider, a nurturer, a disciplinarian and a playmate. He was the kind of father Ron would want to be, if he was unlucky enough to ever have children.

"It is."

That exchange had been hours ago, and something about it bothered Ron still. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't told his father about him and Hermione being Fated again because it was none of his business, that it was personal, but that didn't seem quite right. Did he like the secret too much to tell? Or that he worried that they'd not let her stay so close if they knew?

A blood curdling scream shook him from that last thought, and instantly Ron was bounding down the stairs two at a time, wand in hand, heart pounding. He slammed Ginny's door open and tore into the room ready to confront whatever evil villain he might find. But the room was still and empty, and Hermione was in the corner between the foot of the bed and the wall huddled in a ball, screaming. Not the high-pitched girly scream one might expect, but a gut-wrenching cry of terror that stopped Ron's heart in his chest.

"Ronald WEASLEY!" yelled the tattler above the door. "Get out of this room at once!"

He crossed the room in two steps and knelt in front of Hermione, afraid to touch her. "Hermione," he cooed to her. "It's me. You're safe."

She shrank back from him, curled tighter.

"You're not supposed to be here, Ronald Weasley! Get out, get out at once!" the tattler rattled on.

Ron reached out and gently put a few fingers on her arm. "Hermione. It's all right. Wake up."

"Don't you touch – NOOOO! TOUCHING!" yelled the tattler. "TOUCHING! HELP, HELP! TOUCHING!"

"Help!" Hermione echoed, panic rising in her voice. "Help! Ron!"

"HELP! RONALD WEASLEY IS TOUCHING!"

"Help!" screamed Hermione. "Ron!"

Ron turned around, wand extended, and blew the tattler - and much of the wall it was attached to - apart. Then he pulled Hermione by the shoulders against himself. She was trembling, cold. "Wake up, love" he said quietly, calmly. "It's all right. I'm here. You can wake up now."

Her arms went around him, and small sobs bubbled out of her.

In the doorway his parents arrived wide-eyed and out of breath. They both saw the smoking remains above the door, but seemed more concerned about Hermione. Ron's dad, taking stock of the room and Ron holding a weeping Hermione, relaxed a bit. He put his wand away.

Ron placed a reassuring kiss on the top of her head, and rocked Hermione gently, smoothed her hair, all the things his mother had done for him when he was little to soothe his nightmares. In the corner Crookshanks watched with wide, mistrustful eyes.

"Ron?" Hermione said in a wet, hiccup-y voice.

"Hmm?"

"I need a wand. I've no way to protect myself."

"After the hearing," he promised. "We'll get you another wand."

She burrowed into his t-shirt and cried for a while longer.

He didn't notice them leave, but when Hermione finally cried herself out his parents were no longer waiting outside on the landing. Ron helped Hermione back into bed. He pulled the covers up, and gave her a reassuring smile. Then he tucked his wand inside her fist.

"Until you get your new one," he whispered. Then to his wand he said, "Protect her." A purple hue of magic netted itself over her hand. He left her to go back down to his room, but laid awake all night listening for more screams that he was thankful never came.

***

They breakfasted the next morning on muffins and coffee, and then Ron headed out to work. Hermione waved sadly to him as he left, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. She was Burrow-bound until her hearing, and as Ron's parents had personally vouched for her, she couldn't risk sneaking out. The only time she was allowed to leave the Weasley home was in the direct company of either Mr. or Mrs. Weasley, and then it had to be official Order business. Of course, the Order wasn't official, so technically she wasn't permitted out at all, but there was a wink and an understanding that allowed her the dispensation.

On his way out she asked: "Mind if I borrow Pigwidgeon?"

He shook his head. "Just give him a treat before you send him out," he reminded.

***

In Hogsmeade, the store's sign saw Ron coming from half way up the road, and began berating him on his failure to open the past four days. He ignored it, unlocked the shop, and opened the windows to let in some of the cool, early autumn air. The weather promised to be lovely all week; just blue sky with small fluffy clouds, and fresh breeze that played in his hair. Hogsmeade was a busy place in autumn with the visits from the newest classes from nearby Hogwarts.

Business was slow that first day back, which suited Ron just fine. Mostly he sat around and played with the new Flaming Fart drops (since the windows were already open). He did take five minutes, though, to destroy their entire stock of Ties That Bind. That novelty line could burn for all he cared. When he saw his brothers next he'd speak to them about those "safe guards" they swore were in place.

The remainder of the day crawled by.

***

That night, with an escort from Mr. Weasley, the they met at the manse for an evening of lessons. Lupin took Hermione down to the kitchen to see how her magic had faired her ordeal.

"Which means," Moody said from the parlor entry to Harry and Ron, "the three of us are going to be waist deep in learning how to follow the rules." There was a devilish grin on his face that left both Ron and Harry pale. "You think it's good sport to run off on your own back to the Cave of Regret, after specifically being told to stay put! The two of you want to play hero when young Hermione's life stands in the balance, eh?"

Moody was in a foul spirit, and he made them duel with him several times through out the evening, yelling, "Constant vigilance!" when they least expected it. Ron lost track of the number of times Moody flattened him against the ceiling, where he was then instructed to dust until the paint shined.

"What do you think would've happened if you'd gone to the Cave with a back up of ten Order members?" Moody demanded of Harry. "You think we would've allowed Hermione to be in the position she's in now? Forced to appear before the Ministry? Hmm? Do you? Do you think we would've allowed that little albino scum to escape the Azkaban sentence that's awaiting him?"

Ron had to admit Moody had a point there.

When the session was finally ended, Ron limped home. He ignored the dinner that was waiting for him on the table, and hobbled up to his bed to pass out.

***

Hermione had another nightmare that night, and Ron was there to help her through it. It was difficult to wake her, but he managed, and she ended up collapsed against him, solid and shaking. He held her close while she cried herself out.

At some point in the night, after she calmed down, the two of them whispered in the dark. She sat on the floor between his legs, one of her own draped over his right thigh with the other below it, and lying against him with her cheek against his chest. It was a position Ron would marvel at for weeks to come.

"I think I should find someplace else to live," she said quietly. Her arms were loose around his middle, sagging, really, she was so relaxed, and her fingers played lazily with the hem of his t-shirt. His body hummed with awareness of her. "Someplace where my dreams won't bother anyone else. I feel terrible that I woke you and your family."

His hands, clasped together, rested on her hip. He loved holding her like this; loved the feel of her weight against him, her voice low and soft. "I'm not bothered." That special place at the base of her back pressed warmly into the inside of his bent left leg. "At the moment I'd go so far as to say I'm the opposite of bothered. What would that be?"

She made a small, amused sound. "Comforted?"

"Content?" he asked.

"Are you, then? Or are you asking me?" One of her fingers found skin, and he jumped a little. Her hand was cold on his back. It made his lap twitch, and he panicked a little.

"Uh…uh…anyway, you can't leave," he reminded her. "At least not until your hearing."

She pushed away from him then. He tried to pull her back. "Stay," he whispered. He wanted the moment before back.

"Ron," she said, not at all in a whisper. "Am I here because you want me to be, or because it's the Ministry's decision that your parents take me in and vouch for me? Because I could just as easily have gone back to Kent and lived in my parents' house-"

"That's insane. Why would you go back to the Muggle world if you didn't have to?"

She pulled away completely and stood up. "I'm tired now," she said, in a voice that didn't sound in the least bit sleepy.

"Er…all right." Ron got up, and she climbed into bed. "I'll just…" He indicated out the door with his thumb.

She snapped, "Yes, you do that."

He backed out the door, and put a hand to the jamb, hoping that he would think of something new to say.

When she didn't respond he whispered a defeated "Good night," and went back down to his cold, lumpy bed where he lay awake for another hour or so trying to decipher what had gone wrong. She was touchy, he decided. He hoped she'd feel better in the morning.

But the week that followed was more of the same. Ron got up, went to work, went to lessons, and then collapsed into bed. Hermione continued to have nightmares, but as the time wore on she got better and better about waking herself up. She no longer allowed soothing when she surfaced into consciousness. Ron's role as protector and comforter was reduced to him standing outside the door and asking if she was all right. Invariably, she said she was.

***

On a Friday in late October, Lupin and Moody arrived at the breakfast hour looking somber. For a moment Ron thought they were there for eggs on toast and orange marmalade, but then he noticed that Hermione wore new robes over a frock shirt, and the almost green cast to her face. She hadn't touched her food. It could mean only one thing.

"Are you ready to go, Hermione?" Lupin asked sympathetically.

She stood up without speaking and smoothed out her fluffy hair.

How had Ron not known that today was her hearing? Why hadn't someone said something to him? Or had they? Surely he would've remembered something this important.

"We're going to Apparate there," Lupin told her. "We'll all be there with you the whole time, so there's nothing to worry about. Just tell the truth."

"But mention how that albino slug tortured the bloody hell out of you!" Moody insisted.

Lupin put up a hand to calm the larger man. "Her advocate is well-versed in the circumstances," he assured.

"Wait," Ron said, and then hurried up the stairs. Where had he put it? He pulled out the contents of his sock drawer, his small trunk, and peered into the crammed contents of his closet. Then he remembered and pulled out the small engraved wooden box from under his bed. He took the stairs three at a time. "Here."

She looked at the box, and then up into his eyes. Hers were so round and brown and sad. Did she recognized the box from before?

"Take it," he urged, and she did.

She opened the box and pulled out the luck charm he'd tried to give her for her birthday. It was about the size of her thumbnail, and she played with it for a moment. "It's lovely," she told him. "Thank you."

"Let me help you with that, dear," Ron's mum said, hopping up from the table. Hermione handed her the necklace and swept her hair aside. A lump formed in Ron's throat at the sight of her slim, smooth neck. His mother made approving sounds, and everyone gave small comments about how nice the charm looked. Except for Moody, of course, whose magical eye zeroed in on Ron as if to see through to his intentions.

"For luck," Ron said once Hermione had turned back to him.

She gave him a faint smile, kissed his cheek, and then turned to Lupin. Then she, Lupin and Moody left out the door. A moment later there were three separate cracks as they Disapparated away.

"You're never going in that, are you?" Ron's mother snapped. "Get yourself upstairs this instant and put on something respectable!"

She was looking expectantly at Ron but he couldn't see what she was yelling about. He wore jeans and a collared t-shirt, none of which had holes or stains. But rather than argue, he went back up and changed into a buttoned shirt and a pair of slacks meant to have been worn at Hogwarts the year before, and as a result were a little on the short side.

"And comb your hair!" she called up the stairs. "Why he has to be told is beyond me. He wasn't raised in a zoo…" Her grumbles trailed off as she moved about the downstairs, working off some of her fright for Hermione. Ron liked that his family was so attached to her; that his parents considered her one of their own, even when they didn't know how very close to the truth that was.

He turned and was about to leave when his eye caught sight of something that wasn't supposed to be there. His wand lay on his pillow.

***

They arrived at the Ministry of Magic ten minutes before the start of the hearing. It was held in judge's chambers on the sixth level down, which turned out to be a fairly large oval room ringed with tiered benches. A tall table and heavy wood chair were raised on one wall, and in the center of the room was a dais, presumably where Hermione would sit. The room made Ron a little nervous. The walls were a bright yellow color, probably meant to be cheery, but managed to be a little more manic than was comfortable. Harry was there when Ron and his parents arrived, and Ron made a bee-line for his friend.

"How was she?" Harry asked before he even sat down. "She didn't look at all good last night."

Ron shrugged. "A little green. I think she's scared."

"Understandable."

There were a number of people in the room. Ron recognized Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet, and she gave Harry a wink and a finger flutter. He just looked away. Several people near her were whispering and pointing at Harry, but Ron didn't think he even noticed that anymore. Hagrid sat at the far end, and he waved energetically when Ron caught his eye. Professor McGonagall sat beside him, prime and stoic. It was good to see them both again. Ron waved back. The aisles filled quickly, so there was no way to get over to them before the hearing.

Narcissa Malfoy was there, decked out in her darkest and finest. Draco was, of course, absent. Ron wondered if she was hiding him to keep him from answering charges. A hand touched his shoulder, and Ron turned to find Tonks had taken a seat beside him. She was wearing all black, and her hair was the softest pale blue and wavy - much like Hermione's but without the fluff.

She smiled sadly at him. "How are you doing?"

"Me?" It seemed an odd thing to ask. "I'm fine," he lied. He was anxious and nervous and angry and frustrated, and terrified and a little bit puckish, if truth be known. But his anxiety couldn't be anything compared to Hermione's. She must be beside herself. She'd spent the better part of the last week pushing him away; bottling up. Which made sense now, he realized. Whenever Hermione was under an unusual amount of stress she tended to push her friends away and close herself off from everyone. Now he wished he hadn't let her.

The judge came in, a Lord Phillean Rosmarus, III. He looked no more than forty to Ron, even in his black robes and grey powered wig. He wore a bushy mustache, and tiny, green spectacles. An older model Amplifitizmo lowered to less than a meter above his head, as he spoke in a clear Welsh accent his voice boomed through the space.

"Let it be known on this day we are Hearing the case of Hermione Granger v. The Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Chancellor Xavier Bombridge for the Prosecution. The Defendant has answered the charges and has appeared willingly in this chamber."

There was a tremendous puff of orange smoke and Hermione appeared on the central raised platform, directly under a white spotlight. She seemed surprised at how many people were in the room to witness, though with the light on her that way Ron wasn't sure that she could make out anything more than figures in the dark.

"Miss Hermione Jane Granger, you are hereby charged with the following crimes: use of an Unforgivable Curse, intention to inflict bodily harm with an Unforgivable Curse, and failure to report the use of an Unforgivable Curse by another. Do you wish to enter a plea at this time?"

"No."

A few surprised gasps from the crowd made her look up and out. A chair materialized behind her in a puff of acrid smoke, and she was ordered to sit. She did.

"Chancellor Bombridge for the Prosecution," said a new voice, and Ron saw the same tall, odd-looking man who had visited when they were still in hospital. "Miss Granger," he began in a pompous, elitist tone, "do you recall where you were in the early morning hours of 21 September of last month?"

"I do," she said. "I was being held captive in the Cave of Regret."

"Oh, I see. You were being held captive."

"Yes. I was. Very much so."

"Then why is it, at precisely 3:17 that morning our Unforgivable Curse Enforcer alerted us to an infraction, and spit your name out?"

She shrugged. To her the answer seemed obvious. "Probably because I cast an Unforgivable."

Bombridge seemed taken aback. "You admit your guilt?"

"I do not," she said quite firmly, and Ron felt a swell of pride in his chest. There was his girl.

"But…but you just said that you cast an Unforgivable. These good people all heard you, Miss Granger. Do you now wish to take it back?"

"I do not. I cast an Unforgivable. Just as an Unforgivable was repeatedly cast at me. I'm sure your Curse Enforcer spit out another name endlessly that night and all throughout the previous day, and that previous night as well–"

"We are not here to discuss other people, or other cases!" Bombridge objected.

"Order!" Judge Rosmarus called. "Miss Granger. You will answer questions put to you. Period. We are not here to audience theatrics."

"Yes, your lordship," she said.

Placated, the judge turned back to Bombridge. "You may continue, Chancellor."

"Thank you, your lordship." Bombridge raised his fleshy chin in triumph and turned to the crowd. "Now, Miss Granger, please tell the Court what happened on the evening of 19 September, last."

"Er…" she hesitated.

"Speak up, Miss Granger."

"That was my birthday," she said. "Two days before. It's not relevant."

"Relevance is not for you to decide. Surely your council has explained that you would have to answer a wide variety of questions, not the least of which would determine both your state of mind and fragile emotional state on the morning in question."

"But–"

"Miss Granger, answer the question. What happened on 19 September that had you so very upset, so upset in fact that two nights later you'd mercilessly attack someone with The Cruciatus Curse." The audience gasped, and Ron watched as Narcissus Malfoy narrowed her pale eyes as Hermione.

Hermione's brows rose. "Nothing that happened on my birthday had anything to do with that–"

"As I said," yelled Bombridge, "that is not for you to decide!"

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, and for a moment she stewed in her frustration.

Where was her advocate? Why wasn't he speaking up? Ron searched the room, but Lupin hadn't returned. Ron's dad sat sitting two rows up, leaning forward with a drawn, serious look on his usually jovial face.

"The night of my birthday…nothing special happened." The moment she finished the sentence the chair she sat in began to glow faintly red, gave a little squeal, and then there, in front of everyone, the chair shocked the bloody hell out of her. She jumped and screamed a now all-too-familiar scream, and Ron's heart jumped with her. The jolt only lasted a second or two, but it was enough to put real fear in her eyes. From where he was sitting, Ron could see her hands shake. She pressed them against her knees.

"Need I remind you, Miss Granger," Bombridge said in a mildly bored tone, "that you are under oath? The chair knows when you know you're lying."

Her eyes watered, and she stared at the floor past her feet. Somebody had to help her. Ron turned to Harry, who looked as angry as Ron felt. "We have to do something."

"Who's her advocate? Do we know?"

Ron turned to Tonks on his other side. "Her advocate," he said. "Where is he? Why isn't he helping?"

Tonks shook her head. "Hasn't arrived yet," she told him quietly. "Remus has gone looking for him, but we're worried…"

"Worried?" Now Ron was worried, too.

"The Malfoy family is very powerful, as you can appreciate, and they claim they can't find their son. They think Hermione killed him."

"But she didn't."

Tonks looked at him. "We just found out about all this this morning when her advocate didn't arrive. The judge refused to postpone the hearing."

Ron glared at the judge. Was he a Malfoy lacky?

Bombridge cleared his throat, signaling to the room that he was prepared to continue with his examination. "Now, shall we try this again, Miss Granger? Kindly tell us what happened the evening of 19 September, last."

She clasped her hands together and pressed them into her lap. She cleared her throat. "There was a surprise party waiting for me when I got home. I was…surprised, I guess. I'd thought everyone forgot. I mean, a lot had happened recently so it would've been understandable. But they didn't."

"Were you happy, then, that your friends remembered your birthday? Your 18^th, wasn't it?"

She closed her eyes. "I cried."

"Tears of joy, perhaps?"

"No."

"So, you were upset that your friends threw you a birthday party?"

"Yes…no…I don't know. No," she finally decided. "I was feeling so much at that point that it's difficult to know exactly."

"A mass of emotion, a tangle, if you will," Bombridge supplied for her.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Ah, to be a teenager again," mused Bombridge, and he smiled knowingly at the spectators. "So, your friends threw you a surprised birthday party and you, a twisted mass of teenage emotional angst, burst into tears. Then what?"

"I…er…then what, what?"

"Then what happened," Bombridge said with an edge to his voice. "Don't play coy, Miss Granger."

She looked back down at her hands. "I went into the kitchen, and when I came out Ron and Harry were fighting."

"Fighting?" he feigned surprise. "Whatever for?"

She raised her shoulders to her ears. "I don't remember them saying."

"Uh, huh," said Bombridge skeptically. "And then?"

"And then I went upstairs." The chair turned red and shocked her again. Ron nearly leapt out of his skin; Harry's hand on his arm was the only thing that kept him in his seat. The jolt left her panting with pain.

"Once again," Bombridge said, monotone.

Her voice hitched a little, and Ron shook his head. This was wrong. He'd never been to a hearing before, but he was certain this wasn't how they were supposed to go.

Hermione took a minute or two to collect herself. Then she raised her head and said in a firm voice, "After the boys argued, Harry's ex-girlfriend came in."

"Harry's ex-girlfriend? You mean to say Harry Potter had a girlfriend? Name, please."

"None of your business. She has nothing to do with any of this, and I will not betray her identity to–"

"Ginevra Weasley," Bombridge announced. "Daughter of Mr. Arthur and Molly Weasley of Ottery St Catchpole, Devon."

In the darkness above Hermione a huge three dimensional image of Ginny posing for her Hogwarts fifth year class picture appeared. Her bright, sweet face looked out at the audience, smiled, and then took on a serious pose before a flash, and then the image looped, and she looked out over the audience again. There was an intrigued murmur from the on-lookers, and the Chancellor turned back to Hermione with a satisfied smirk.

"Did you really think I'd come unprepared?"

Hermione winced and shook her head. "If you know the answer, then why ask?"

"Is it really necessary to remind you once again, Miss Granger, that you are here to give testimony? Do your surroundings not serve as enough reminder?"

"None of this has anything to do with why I'm here. You're grandstanding."

"And you're not giving us the whole truth. What happened when young Miss Ginny Weasley arrived? And I'll remind you again, Miss Granger, of the chair on which you sit."

Her face went stony blank, and she slumped against the straight wooden back. Her eyes turned haunted as she began to recount those few crucial moments in their lives when everything changed. "Ginny came in. It was good to see her. We'd become closer…Ginny and I. Good friends. And then she went to Harry. He and Ron had just been fighting and, well, Harry got the worst of it, I'm afraid, and so Ginny went to him straight away. She kissed him."

"And?" Bombridge prompted.

"I thought I was going to die."

Bombridge turned to the audience. "We're back to the teenage tangle, aren't we?" A general titter floated through the room. "So, Harry Potter kissed his girlfriend, and you had thoughts of mortality. Care to tell us why, Miss Granger?"

"Ex-girlfriend."

Bombridge cleared his throat. "Tell us why, Miss Granger," he said sternly.

"Because we were cursed. Fated together. Because I Loved him, and she kissed him, and I knew it was wrong. Because she loved him, too. And I think…I think he loves her." The murmur that grew through the crowd bloomed in to shock and outrage.

Bombridge put a long, slender finger against his long, fleshy nose. "Uh-huh. You were Fated. To Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. You. A Muggle born."

Hermione hung her head, shook it. "The chair believes me. I don't care if you do."

Ron looked at the people watching, they whispered and shook their heads, many of them in shock, and he knew what was running through their heads: the Harry Potter, and Love Fated as well. Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes quill was scribbling like mad.

"And yet, he has a girlfriend? You must've been livid to see him kiss someone else!"

"Ex-girlfriend. Honestly, what does this have to do with anything? Your lordship," she addressed Judge Rosmarus, who was looking at her with a mix of strained shock and contempt. "If I enter a statement of guilt now, can we just skip to the sentencing phase of the hearing?"

"What's she doing?" Harry asked under his breath. "Is she insane?"

"She's trying to protect us," Ron whispered back. "We can't let her do it. She doesn't deserve to go to Azkaban."

The judge leaned forward over his table and glared down at her. "You were given that particular opportunity. You chose to decline. This hearing will play out. Now, answer the Chancellor's question."

Her brows furrowed. "Um…what was the question?"

Bombridge threw his hands up in exaggerated frustration and looked out over the people. "Replay!" he commanded, and a whirring sound filled the space, immediately followed by Bombridge's amplified voice.

"'So, Harry Potter kissed his girlfriend, and you had thoughts of mortality. Care to tell us why, Miss Granger?'"

"'Ex-girlfriend..'"

The sound of Bombridge clearing his throat. "'Tell us why, Miss Granger.'"

"'Because we were cursed. Fated together. Because I Loved him, and she kissed him, and I knew it was wrong.'"

"You knew it was wrong," Bombridge now said, slowly and deliberately. "That's a very interesting admission. You knew it was wrong."

"Uh…" Hermione seemed at a loss. "I don't see a question in your statement."

"My question, Miss Granger, is this: you saw Harry and his girlfriend kiss, and you 'knew it was wrong.' To what, precisely, are you referring? The two of them?" He watched her face, the guilt and anxiety playing out in her expressive eyes. "No. They were right, weren't they? Even though he was your Love. Even though you Loved him. You 'knew it was wrong.' What had you done, Miss Granger, that was so wrong? Because you Loved him, and were so very close to her… We're you Lovers?"

Hermione's face crumbled, and he knew that he had her. "Lovers? Bejezzuz! You and Ginny Weasley?"

The uproar in the room was topped by Hermione's own shriek. "Are you mad? It was Harry, not Ginny! Harry and I, you stupid, stupid man!"

The fury in her eyes left Bombridge self-satisfied. "So you and Harry Potter are Lovers. Teenage Lovers," he drawled out. "How…quaint."

"Quaint," grumbled Harry under his breath.

Ron shifted, uneasy in his chair.

"There was nothing quaint about it," Hermione snapped. "Ginny is someone we both care about."

"And you betrayed her."

"We did."

"And so, that night, on your birthday, when you saw her kissing your Lover, you…" He lifted his wand hand as if dueling. "A little Crucio?"

Hermione looked at him blankly. "Do you even know why we're here? I didn't cast The Cruciatus Curse on my birthday, and I certainly didn't use it on Ginny Weasley."

"But you wanted to!" he said, pointing a finger at her. "You wanted to!"

"I want to use it right now, as well," she bit out, and Bombridge gave her a slow, contented grin.

He raised a hand at the smiling Ginny image, and it blinked off. Then he turned to the on-lookers. "Now, Miss Granger, please tell the Court what happened once you witnessed Miss Ginevra Weasley kissing her boyfriend and your Lover, Mr. Harry Potter."

"Ron told us that we – that is, Harry and I – were cursed by a Fatum Spell by Draco Malfoy."

"Mr. Weasley told you this? You didn't know?"

"Um…no."

"You had no idea you had been cursed."

"Well, no, but–"

"Interesting. So, it's on Mr. Weasley's authority that you claim Draco Malfoy cursed you, and not, say, Mr. Weasley, himself?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Or, perhaps, a more likely candidate, Mr. Harry Potter?"

"Harry? You're insane."

"Am I? It seems to me to be every young man's teen sexual fantasy, two lovely women at once–"

"Not at once! Ginny was his ex-girlfriend, and anyway, she was at school, and when she came in, and everything was explained-"

"Oh, I see. He had to let her go. Turned her down, as they say."

"Something like that."

"Something? Please speak up, Miss Granger. We want his lordship to hear your testimony very clearly. You said, 'Something like that.' What was it exactly like?"

She pursed her lips and gave a huff of resigned frustration. "Ginny left. And then he…let me go…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that. He let you go, you say?"

"He told me to get out," she said quietly. "He told me to leave."

"Get out? But you're his True Love. Fated, according to Mr. Weasley. Why ever would Mr. Potter throw you out like a sack of rubbish?" It was clear he knew the answer. He leaned his elbows back against the rail separating the raised platform from the rest of the room and brought his fingertips together in front of himself.

Tears filled her eyes as she realized what she was about to say, was compelled to say. Ron watched in agony as she looked up to the ceiling to prevent even a drop from landing on her flush cheeks. Her brows rose, and Ron could still make out the pink scar that crossed the left one. "He saw us. I…kissed…Ron."

"Ronald Weasley."

"Yes."

"The same Mr. Weasley who told you that Draco Malfoy cursed you."

"Yes."

"You kissed him."

"Yes."

"Even though you're Fated to the Harry Potter."

"Yes."

"Is this yet another instance where you knew it was wrong, but you did it anyway?"

A tear escaped. "Yes."

"Tell us, Miss Granger, are you and Ronald Weasley lovers, too?"

The room seemed to hold its breath in unison.

"No," she said.

"Is it a lovers' triangle, perhaps," Bombridge pressed on.

"I said no," she snapped.

"Perhaps you're Fated to both boys! Did Mr. Weasley tell you that?"

"No."

"Was this an accident?"

"No – what?"

"Did you trip, or bump into his lips or something?" The room burst into laughter.

"No."

"Then why, Miss Granger, did you willfully and purposely do something you knew to be wrong?"

"I don't know." The chair jolted her again, and the people watching – including Ron – all jumped with her.

"Try again!" commanded Bombridge.

"Because," she gasped out.

"Not good enough!"

"Because even without the Fates I love him!" she yelled and leapt up from the chair, and in that instant she disappeared into a plume of orange smoke. The lights in the room shot up, as did the angry cries of the audience.

"Order!" yelled the judge. "Order!"

"What happened?" Harry demanded. "Where did she go?"

"Back to the holding cell," Ron told him. Harry had an odd look on his face, and he didn't meet Ron's eyes. "She got up from the chair. It's a failsafe. She's here for an Unforgivable, after all. She must be dangerous." When next she sat in the chair, she would undoubtedly be in chains.

"I will have order!" Judge Rosmarus yelled. The room quieted a little. "I've enough to think about for now. This hearing will continue tomorrow, 9am. He stood and left the chamber.

Slowly, amid the din of excited talk, the room began to empty. Two men in Press robes ran over and flashed Ron's picture before he had a chance to stop them, and then they scurried away.

"They'll never make her stay here over night? Will they?" Ron asked, the reality of what was happening finally sinking in.

"Until the hearing is over," Tonks said. "She'll be needing some things. I'll talk to your mum about it." She got up and went over to the door where Ron's parents waited.

"We have to do something," Ron said again, to no one in particular. The panic inside him was bubbling just below the surface.

"We need Dumbledore," Harry said, pulling his shoulder. "We need the Order."

End of chapter 8