.

So far... The reborn Hermione launched the Cathesis League to fight Dark corruption, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she and her friends are now in their third year. Bole added a powerful lust potion to Harry's Figmental but his astonishment on seeing Hermione alive and well at lunch in the Great Hall gave him away. This points to both Bole and Bletchley being guilty of Gemma Farley's murder too. Now read on...

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Chapter 86

Prevention Not Punishment

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The Interrogation

Lucian Bole screamed. It was a very long scream, made coarse and rasping with much repetition. "– told – you ... – know ... noth – aaaghhhhh –nothing!"

"Then you've nothing to hide!" spat Hermione. Her face was taut, anguished – that of a hardened surgeon compelled to amputate without anaesthetic. She had no need of a verbal Legilimens incantation, but sliced directly into the prisoner's deepest memories and personal selfhood once more...

"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!"

Sickened by the details of Gemma Farley's brutal violation and murder, Hermione paused, withdrew, and looked sideways at Miles Bletchley who was watching with terror carved across his features. The Room of Requirement was now a medieval dungeon and, Like Bole, he was clamped to an iron chair with his head recoiled backwards, the jaw agape revealing the roof of his mouth and the tongue he'd bitten in an earlier hysteria. Both were stripped to their underwear, enhancing a powerful sense of vulnerability within them, and their bare feet were wettened by a half-inch of water across the stone floor. Smoky fumes from the wall torches filled their nostrils and stung their eyes – all designed to keep them off balance and distracted.

She winced at the genuine look of innocence in Bletchley's eyes. "You were as foul as Bole was cruel! How can you not remember anything at all!" She knew the reason of course, but knowing he'd been Obliviated did not ease her frustration.

Bletchley's face and hair were soaked with sweat that dripped and sprayed as he jerked his head from side to side. "Wasn't there! Didn't know Lucian had– I swear I wasn't there!"

"But–" Her eyes widened in realisation. "–but you're wishing you could remember, aren't you! I don't need Legilimency to see the greed and envy in your eyes. Did Gemma previously reject your advances? Insult you? Harm you in any way? NO! Both of you committed these atrocious acts simply because the Black Arc ordered you to eliminate her as penalty for her daring to leave them! ARE YOU EVEN HUMAN!" Water sploshed as she stamped her foot.

"You'll have to release us eventually, Mudblood!" Bole seemed to have recovered a little of his natural spite. "And then–"

"–You think so...? A couple of my friends, looking exactly like you two, were seen leaving the castle this afternoon. The runaways were overheard in the Three Broomsticks discussing how they'd committed your crime, and their Portkey's destination. The Headmaster has informed your parents that you have absconded but I regret you will never be found and my friends are safely back eating dinner as we speak!" The power of Hermione's wicked smile matched that of Bole's shocked expression.

As Bole's face sagged into resignation, she continued quickly, "How does the Black Arc find Harry without a tracking spell and why? They're not Death Eaters so I doubt it's in revenge for Voldemort's death that they want to destroy the boy who lived. You tried to incriminate him for–"

"–Wha...?"

Hermione frowned as the puzzlement on Bole's face twisted into a broad grin followed by convulsive laughter.

"You cannot deny it!"

Bole's body shook with merriment against his fetters. "He's... Harr–" Bole's eyes winced tight in sudden discomfort, and he shook his head.

"What is it you're not saying?" snapped Hermione. "Tell me or–"

–She did not wait but penetrated his thoughts once more. Bole did not scream this time, but allowed her to find what she wanted.

Now it was Hermione's turn to show surprise and puzzlement. "Your mind is bewitched by a protective spell concerning Harry, isn't it? What do you know of their plans to kill him?"

There was no reply, and nothing Hermione did could penetrate to ought but jubilant mockery of her failure.

She sighed and decided on another approach. "What other sins are you guilty of? Let's go again, shall w–"

"–NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!"

Hermione stopped after only a minute, a puzzled look in her face. "So, it was no accident that Zabini's notebook disappeared this morning. You intoxicated him with a hex then stole it! Where is it? And don't say your travel chest because we've already..."

A gleam of hope shone in Hermione's eyes. Was this the breakthrough they'd been hoping for? "All Black Arc's orders – they have to be Obliviated after, don't they! So there's no link back through the chain of command! You kept the memories of them in Zabini's book?"

"NO! I SWEAR! They'd kill me if–"

"–Don't make me come in there again, Bole!"

"Please, please... I swear on my life! I only took it a few days ago – how could I have!"

"Why then? Tell me or I'll rake it out of your soiled mind – rocks, roots, and all. And I do mean hard, ROUGH scraping! And remember, if you keep doing this the hard way then you're doing it to yourself. All you need do is let me have complete access and you won't suffer at all, so why not yield!"

The onlooker, Bletchley, was crying with fear. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but Bole, though badly scared, was still resisting vigorously despite the mental agony. What information was he still keeping that was so repulsive he–

"–Oh dear God! You sick bastard!"

A twisted leer possessed Bole at that moment. "You're just filth from filth. You can't imagine the pleasure I'll have when I get you at my mercy!"

Hermione stared. "That's why you went against the Black Arc's orders isn't it? You ignored the order to Obliviate yourself so you could continue to gloat over Gemma's cries of torment in your head. But even that wasn't enough was it? You've stored the entire evening in Zabini's memory notebook haven't you? So you can actually live every second again and again!"

Pure evil contorted Bole's features as he sneered, "The book's where you can never get it!"

The ground shook as the most powerful woman alive screamed her rage:

"OBSTRUXERIUM MAXIMA!"

Hermione winced and shook her head in shame as she lowered her wand. The deed was done and could never be undone.

"NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!" shrieked Bole. "You can't... can't..." His sniffles joined those of Bletchley. "Tell me you've not..."

"What's she done?" croaked Bletchley. "She's not...? Couldn't have!"

"Not what you think ... worse," muttered Hermione, "much worse." She braced herself once more, took charge. "Bole, you have sated your depraved appetite enough to last a lifetime, now you will instead spend that life dwelling on your loss."

"YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS, MUDBLOOD!" shrieked Bole "I'll–"

"–You will reveal to me the whereabouts of Zabini's notebook NOW, or I will rip it out of you!"

"You cannot ever reach it even if you knew!" Bole's eyes lit with a measure of revenge, spite, and fear in mixed portions. "The book's right here!"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Here in the Room of Requirement?"

The gloating expression returned. "My need was for a place no one but I could ever enter. It is impossible for you. And if you ask me to retrieve it for you then I shall make it known to the Room that I am in need of another exit and–"

"–CRUCIO!" Hermione's wand hand did not waver. She was already with sin.

When Bole finished screaming he snarled, "Torturing me will not give you access, filth-born! You arrogant, high-minded Gryffindor, you're no different than the worst of–"

"–The difference is, Bole, that you blood-freaks inflict suffering on the innocent while I only punish the guilty! When you are persuaded enough you will desperately need to re-enter with me into the room containing Zabini's property. I'm hungry for my dinner so I suggest you decide yes sooner rather than – CRUCIO!"

"YES! YES! YES!" shrieked Bole, his bare heels kicking madly within the limited confines of his leg clamps, water splashing up his legs.

Bletchley soiled himself. His eyes were rolling wildly in terror, twisting left and right hoping to see a way out that simply wasn't there.

"Very well, let's get this over with. I'm sick of the sight of both of you!"

Hermione hovered the two confining seats, together with her captives, out into Room 4J. From far away in the Great Hall, roars of laughter could be heard – a diversion prank care of the Weasley twins was working well to obscure Hermione's absence from dinner. "Get ready, Bole. I'll float you back and forth three times in front of the wall – but be warned, I'll examine your thoughts before we go in, and punish any trickery!"

Bole sagged against his restraints; clearly he'd intended one last trap. The forlorn youth was hovered about, a new door appeared, and they all entered – together with one other person concealed by magic...

Hermione stared in horror as she descended stone steps into an awful pit. She'd seen Bole's memories but the reality shook her badly. And then...

Strong she was, powerful too, but Hermione sank to her knees in anguish, her hands spread out over the dark-stained mattress on the floor, breathing, "Oh, Gemma... oh, Gemma..." How I wish I could have been here for you...

She gazed around at the pitiless spiked walls, the great rusted iron rings and chains, and the red torch flames. And while the walls slid and slithered with ancient green slime, and the stone-vaulted ceiling groaned lower and lower with its bursting weight – none of this counted ought in terms of despair compared to the desolation curse that sapped one's soul and heart like a festering Dementor eating from within.

Hermione shook her head. "And all this was your requirement to the Room? Your lost soul needs to feed on this misery?"

"Mark my words I'll have you squealing and begging for me too, Foul-blood, Sick-blood, rat-filth!" snarled Bole. He was slathering now, his eyes corrupted with some inner vision.

His friend Bletchley's expression was frozen, unreadable; the youth appeared to be at the end of his reason.

"Who's the woman?" said Hermione, wiping her eyes. "The body in the corner?"

"Huh? How should I know? Just a Muggle I used for a while."

Hermione went over and cast her own robe over the naked corpse before she examined the tormented features. "Her name?"

"Name?" Bole's laughter was harsh. "Why name cattle? One day we might give them numbers I suppose. The Arc has extensive plans, and not all breeds will be exterminated."

"I promise you that it's the Black Arc families that will be terminated."

Hermione closed the eyes of the dead woman and conjured water with which to wipe her face. "Room! I am in need of a camera." One appeared immediately.

"What by Merlin are you–"

"–I am capturing her likeness in order to search for a family."

"But what on earth for?"

"Where did you find her?"

"Does it matter?"

"Where!" Hermione raised her wand.

"Falmouth – on the east side somewhere. That's all I remember, I swear."

"Did she speak with the local accent?" Hermione examined the woman's left hand.

"We didn't do much talk–" Bole's grin hurt him and he winced. "–YES! YES! She was a local," he added hurriedly in response to Hermione's glare.

"She wears a wedding ring. Did it never occur to you she has loved ones waiting for–"

"–I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK! Are you quite mad? Filth of filth – as are all her kind. I enjoyed the bitch like snacks in a kitchen, that's all that matters."

"I'll mention that to the Trolls who'll be sharing your cell," scowled Hermione. "Their appetite is legendary, especially when confined with a juicy youth such as yourself."

Bole's features turned pale with horror. "You can't mean that...?"

"You can give it out but you can't take it, eh? Well, now you'll have a lifetime to learn."

Eyes shut tight, Bletchley was straining to keep motionless and silent in the hope he'd wake from this nightmare before the monster noticed him. In contrast to Bole's ashen expression, Bletchley's face was flushed and puffy – as if afraid to breathe.

"And Zabini's book...?" Hermione went over to a rack of whips and other unpleasant implements and found the notebook held down by a thumbscrew. She drew her wand and murmured, "Well then, your ordeal can begin..."

"WHA...!" shrieked Bole, his head swerving around to see what his captor was about to inflict.

"You can reveal yourself now, Imogene." Hermione cast a gentle, more natural light that smothered the red torch glow.

"Mother of Merlin!" gasped Bole.

"This is Zabini's mate. I caution you that she is above humanhood."

Bletchley's eyes flickered wide briefly before he finally fainted, but Bole's jaw dropped in astonishment.

"Beautiful isn't she, Bole? Probably the most desirable woman there has ever been. I see you are responding..."

"Merlin..." breathed Bole. There was drool seeping down his chin. "Veela?"

Hermione shook her head. "Much more. Imogene is an angel nymph. Come closer please, Imogene."

Imogene smiled and approached Bole whose eyes widened, and so did his gaping mouth as her wings unfurled, and her flesh quivered...

"Infigo..." murmured Hermione. "Her living image is now affixed in your mind for life, but although your urges are as strong as ever, all pleasure is obstructed. You can desire to get, but never experience any relief until you learn to give! As for your other wicked obsessions – Obliviate!"

Bole squealed curses at Hermione as a substantial part of his choicest memories began fading just out of reach – like a favourite idea or word on the tip of his tongue yet not-quite-tangible. But one tantalising image continued to reoccur: the unattainable Imogene. It was a blessing when Hermione forced Living Death down his throat, ready to despatch him and Bletchley to Devil's Deep for a formal interrogation trial and internment. Would his suffering unquenchable frustration bring him at last to remorse? She doubted it – and didn't care.

Hermione Obliviated Bole's memories from Zabini's notebook too. "Thank you, Imogene. Here, return this to Blaise."

"You are a good friend to us, Hermione," smiled Imogene. "Blaise will be so thrilled to get this back! And I have a message for you from Mother – that is, Madam Zabini. She wishes you a wonderful Christmas, as do I, and confirms she will support your recommendation to put removal of the Azkaban Dementors to the Wizengamot vote on the thirty-first."

"Excellent! I hope it's not too late..."

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The Party Starter

Despite an inclination for a hot shower after her sensibilities had become so tainted by the depravity of Bole and Bletchley, Hermione had barely time for a cleansing spell as she hurried on – drawn by the raucous sounds of merriment coming from the Great Hall. The main doors were open. She halted quite abruptly in the shadows outside to watch. Fairy lights on the Christmas tree were fluttering their wings joyfully in time to the music. Excited students were dancing wildly; the candles and decorative streamers were more animated than usual; and a full party atmosphere was affecting everyone thanks to Fred and George. Only Snape looked glum as he struggled in vain to remove the enchanted red-and-yellow-striped cone hat atop his long greasy locks.

"I'm sure the charm will have faded by the morning, Severus," chuckled Dumbledore.

With so much action going on, Hermione had no need of magic to slip quietly into her place beside Harry. "How have they done this, Ron?"

"George produced a party-starter to commence activities with a real bang!"

Neville said, "Gemino-cursed ice crystal potion rainbow explosions! They multiplied so fast in every direction that even the teachers couldn't shield themselves all round in time!"

"Oh, I think the Headmaster might have," said Luna, "but I saw him put his wand back in his pocket. He was smiling even before he took in a single breath of laughing gas."

"Ah, so that's why everyone's been giggling so loudly," said Hermione. "I could hear everyone right the way up in Room 4J."

Luna frowned. "No, that was the gas itself you heard laughing; we were all far too merry to even speak until the rock band began playing – see how all those rocks have banded together?" She attempted her squinty wink which was almost as bad as Harry's.

Hermione stared at the blonde girl. "Did you just make a joke? I mean intentionally?"

"Just one of the many side effects of our Jokeree Jinx," grinned Fred, who was stumbling around picking up little coloured spheres from the floor before they faded away.

"Fred, what are you doing?" said Hermione.

"Recycling, little Hermikins, recycling. Some of these ingredients were quite expensive."

"Waste not whatnots," added George, who was also staggering. Blurry-eyed, he gazed at his fingers. "The Firewhisky really penetrates, you know."

"You've got everyone drunk?"

"Mostly, not all – but me and... sorry, which one are you, again? Fred? Okay, so I'm...? Right. Got it. Gred–I mean my brother and I felt it our duty to fully test our product in a real situation."

Hermione gazed thoughtfully at the twins for a few moments, remembering how Harry had invested in their career talent in her former life. "Come and see me on the train home tomorrow, boys; I might have a business proposition for you as well as a hangover cure..."

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Voting the Vote

Vera Gair rose to her feet at the end-of-year Cathesis gathering, and tapped the round table sharply. "I call this meeting to order."

The chatter died away; Harry and several others straightened themselves up in their chairs, ready to pay attention.

"First, I'd like to confirm that Barty, Hermione, and myself unanimously found Bole and Bletchley guilty of Gemma Farley's brutal violation and murder, and they have both been given life sentences in Devil's Deep."

Sounds of approval murmured around parts of the gathering. Others, like Alice and Frank, wore frowns yet reluctantly nodded. Harry growled, "Good riddance."

"However," continued Mrs Gair, "though their crimes were unthinkably evil, in the context of eliminating the Black Arc, they were small fry. At our last–"

"–Small fry now maybe!" snapped Crouch, "but by imprisoning them we've prevented an unknown number of atrocities at their hands as adults in the future!"

"Hear, hear!" cried Madam Longbottom.

"Mother!" cried Frank. "None of this is legal!"

"Legal? We're at war, son – remember the last one? At least those two received a fair trial and are confined humanely – more humanely than Azkaban at any rate."

"Humane? Hermione's curse is–"

"–Bole needs only to care about others instead of himself and he will find relief," cut in Hermione.

"About as likely as–"

–Vera Gair tapped the table again. "If I may continue... At our last meeting we intended to discuss the probable Arc leader but there was not enough time due to the debate about Muggle networking. ... Hermione? If you would, please?"

Hermione pulled three vials from her bag as she stood up, and poured the first into Mike's Pensieve that stood in the centre of the table. "Here's part of Neville Longbottom's memory from Azkaban. The other bottles are Luna Lovegood's and my own; they confirm Neville's but add nothing substantial. You might also compare it with the image we shared from the Black Tapestry." She raised her wand and carefully prodded the silvery surface within the basin...

A figure robed in black velvet raised itself partly out of the shining liquid, and though only a smaller-than-life representation of a hooded witch, everyone now straightened up, not only to observe better, but to instinctively inch back slightly in their seats. The woman slowly lowered her cowl. Sharp breaths were drawn as silvery, snake-like tresses writhed into view. As the figure gradually turned, Vera observed that everyone grimaced as the witch faced them, and when at last it was her turn, she understood why. Eyes cold, hard, and sharp as white diamonds stared into her own, freezing her with fear.

Hermione cut into Vera's trance. "This is Lucretia Black. If she were truly here rather than this memory, then you'd all be dead. Her eyes are cursed and can slice and reduce a person to ash in a moment. No incantation ... no spell that can be dodged ... light speed is near instantaneous. In my former life she was not so lethal, and was killed in 1992 under interrogation by Steffilde Daggard."

"Dear Aunt Lucretia," spat Sirius. "She's changed since I last hid from her as a kid – and for the worse."

Crouch nodded. "A dreadful witch not seen in public for years. So... she is the Arc's leader?"

"I believe so," said Hermione.

"And how do we defeat her?" said Hestia.

"Only by surprise. Otherwise there'd be casualties I feel sure. Unless you get a chance of a safe shot in the back of her head then probably best to leave her to me – else wait for her to die of old age, of course."

"That'd be a long wait," growled Crouch. "She's barely middle-aged."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, not quite seventy I think, so there's a lot left in the tank."

"Tank?" frowned Madam Zabini.

Vera smiled. "Hermione means Lucretia has many years of life still to live."

"Not if we can end it sooner," snarled Crouch. "To promote her dark career she had her own husband Ignatius torn apart by–"

"–I'm betting you can't," said Mike, who, like everyone else, was still staring at the revolving figure, but leaning much more closely.

"Can't what?" said Hermione.

"Surprise her from behind. She's a self-cursed Gorgon now. See that squirming hair? Those serpents have eyes!"

"Like Medusa..." murmured Harry thoughtfully.

Hermione nodded. "Then you cannot beat her with direct spells. Examine the totally black garment she wears. I suspect it might be Voldemort's battle robe. If so, both cloak and hood absorb most spells depending on power. To what extent we don't know, but assume the worst. So aim for the face if forced to confront her or hurl anything at hand – the heavier the better. Ideally, don't fight her at all – cast up a temporary blocker and Apparate before she turns her gaze on you!"

"Ten of us could–"

"–could be sliced toast with one tilt of her head!"

In the brief silence that followed, Vera shuffled parchment and paper about to draw attention. "Are we all agreed that... that is, do we accept Hermione's judgement that Lucretia Black is very likely the leader of the Black Arc?"

Informal nods, positive murmurs, and even a few definite 'Aye's were the response.

"Then let us move on to Ministry news. Jop?"

Jop Gair stood up and waited while Mike dismissed the Pensieve back to its cabinet near the window. His lips firmed briefly then he began, "Although the general balance of the Wizengamot is now slightly in our favour, everything depends on attendance. Just because Pure-blood supremists have not historically needed to be too concerned about numbers, does not mean they are fools. If we can pass our proposed bill and take them by surprise then they can do likewise. Care must be taken when we pass the word that everyone is ready. However, there is something more troubling than the efficiency of our alliance whip..."

Gair paused to take a sip from his goblet. Hermione smelt the tang of pineapple, sensed a slight tension in the air, saw a few frowns.

After putting down his drink, Jop continued, "There are faint rumours – mere hints and anxieties I emphasise – that the Black Arc might strike the Ministry during the coming new year." – gasps were heard around the table – "So a successful Wizengamot vote by our supporters could have the downside of making that more likely."

"You're sure about this?" said Madam Zabini.

Crouch answered her. "Nothing is certain but there's definitely a sense of threat in the Ministry corridors of power: an odd tone of voice in a passing conversation, a breaking off at an unexpected point in a debate, and so on. I feel a powder keg is smouldering as a result of our actions in recent years. We all need to be very cautious."

"We cannot shirk from our duty," huffed Madam Longbottom with a shake of her shoulders.

Jop said, "No one is saying we–"

"–No question about it, and should not even be discussed" snapped Bartemius. "Vera, could we move on to which proposal we should submit to the Wizengamot in order to weaken Fudge further?"

"Certainly, Barty." Vera stood up again as Jop sat down, and lifted a Muggle-printed sheet of paper from which she read:

"Priority One: Enforced quality control of the press. This will apply to all publications including the Daily Prophet, Witch's Week–"

"–The Quibbler already adheres to the highest quality!" declared Mr Lovegood.

"Then it has nothing to fear from this proposal," smiled Mike insincerely. "However, you might be required to supply proof to an independent panel of your most positive assertions. However, we are more concerned about the press misleading the public regarding important political and personal issues and the like."

"And who would be on this panel? Who decides what is true?" said Hestia.

"That is yet to be discussed and decided," said Mrs Gair. "But somehow we must have balanced authenticity with freedom of speech."

"We already have a free press!" muttered Barty.

"No we do not!" cried Hermione leaping to her feet. "The press is in slavery to profit. How then can it ever be free unless we make honesty, truth, and quality more profitable for them than lies, deception, and over-dramatisation?"

Madam Zabini, whose name had been besmirched more times than most, nodded her head in agreement. "I agree in principle but we need to research the method further before submitting it to the Wizengamot."

"Any other comments?" said Vera. "No? Very well. Priority Two: A direct vote of no confidence in the Minister by denouncing his obscuration of the Black Arc threat. Bring this discussion to the table and air it. Whichever way the vote goes, a lengthy debate in the Wizengamot concerning society's greatest enemy must be for the good."

Murmurs of assent passed around the table but nobody stood to comment.

"Priority Three: That Dementors be removed from Azkaban. Justice should be more about prevention than punishment, crime-suspension rather than suffering. We hold it as self-evident that inflicting those soul-sucking monsters on anyone is inhumane, and often more cruelly evil than the crimes of some of the inmates–"

"–Especially children," said Hermione. "We still need to alleviate Theo Nott's misery despite his other crime."

"Yes, especially children," echoed Vera before continuing, "Furthermore, they are not reliable and might be enticed away to serve the Black Arc just as much as they serve us. Dementors cannot be killed but they are physical creatures and can be contained elsewhere until they die off from lack of nourishment."

Alice frowned. "They breed like–"

"–only when they can feast on human misery. Deprive them of human contact."

"Hear, hear!" said Madam Zabini.

Xeno said, "They originally generated spontaneously in situations of despair and may do so again and again throughout human history."

"Then we must do our best to wipe out suffering!" cried Hermione slapping the tabletop hard with her hand. "Let us begin with Azkaban!"

Her boyfriend led the brief burst of applause – rather over-enthusiastically. Harry sat down slightly embarrassed amidst the smiles.

Vera waited for the laughter to subside. "Very well, and finally, Priority Four: Propose an amendment to the Statute of Secrecy whereby the exceptions are increased to include certain approved magical trade."

"Hear, hear!" cried Mike. "The sooner that part of our operations no longer needs to be covert, the better!"

"That's far too ambitious till the Wizengamot is reformed," grumbled Crouch with a shake of his head.

Jop Gair agreed. "Bit soon to get that passed. Must be patient."

His wife smiled and looked around at the gathering. "It has been agreed we should focus on a single proposal until we are more established and influential. Can we then have a show of hands for which proposal we should submit? First, Priority One: improving the quality of the press?"

All four proposals were briefly restated but three of them were declared unready and imprecise. Only the removal of Dementors was clearcut, unambiguous, and supported by all.

"It's agreed unanimously, then." Vera rapped the table with enthusiasm.

.

—oOo—

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Author's Notes

It's hard work managing this colossus but I'm still determined to finish. Shorter stories like Groundhogwarts are more fun to write so I've also started yet another one: a sidequel to Walk Away called Walk Away Further: Neverstop where Harry is guided and supported by Mercy Fuller much earlier so he's better prepared for Hogwarts. And he'll NEVER STOP asking for help!

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

– Hippothestrowl

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