November 1. It's night. Hogwarts Hogwarts Headmaster Cabinet.
*
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore took steps in his office to figure out a way to get out of the shit he was into. The perfect plan wasn't as perfect as it seemed in the first place. He sent "number two chosen" to save the girl. Neville had to see her die and then "defeat" the troll. Neville will be influenced by the smell of blood and bitterness from the death of an innocent person "through his fault". Nobody cares about the death of a filthy mudblood girl. Except the filthy mudblood didn't want to die. She was evacuating an emergency escape portkey. But a troll from this contradiction had a program failure. Its mental settings ordered it to sneak into the toilet, kill the baby there, and completely ignore the babies who would come running later. Neville was completely safe! But there was nothing to suggest the first baby was missing. So the troll followed the orders as best it could. He did kill the baby after all. But unfortunately for Albus, this baby was the key object of his plan, the Reserve Chosen Neville Longbottom. And the death of the only heir to the family Longbottom couldn't be jammed with two Obliviate as he planned with mud. B Now he has to think about how to save the school's Headmaster's place.
Rita Skeeter in the form of a beetle flew out the window under the Big Hall ceiling. She spiked onto the nearest ornamental balcony and turned to a man. Rita pulled a broom out of the oversized bag. Because of owls and bats, it was safer to get to the border of the anti-apparation barrier in your form. She'll post her memories to The Pensieve. She'll find the perfect angle on Longbottom's corpse and turn the memory into a photo! This photo will go to the front page. She has been with the teachers who have been trapping the troll, she has recorded in her brain a conversation between the teachers and Headmaster about how they will memorize the incident in front of the press. It's naive. She was particularly pleased with the Headmaster phrase, "We'll be eaten with shit." Eaten, darling, eaten! Well, you are shit.
She didn't know she'd have a letter at home offering an interview from a participant in the incident. But already Rita was ready to surrender for sex to Harry Potter in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic in the middle of the working day for such a gift. If Potter had agreed.
*
Meanwhile, on Grimmo 12.
*
When Hermione finally got into her arms, Joan didn't ask anything. Her daughter would tell her everything, but later. Today let her daughter calm down. Hermione's left hand is trapped in a tire, her hair is a mess. She's so cute. We almost lost her!
*
Hermione woke up three hours before dawn. Someone licked her cheek and pushed her gently into her chest. The room was poorly lit by a magic light, it was a black night outside the window. And in front of Hermione's face, there was a fluffy, bared miracle.
"Meow," said Crookshanks, putting his paws on her chest and his head on them.
"Who are you, handsome?" Hermione asked, stroking the cat on the back and scratching behind the ear. "Whose are you?"
"Meow Meowm," answered Crookshanks, bringing his head closer and licked it in her nose.
"You're so cool, but please let me stand up. I have to go to the bathroom. Will you show me where it is?"
"Meow Mr-r-m," agreed to Crookshanks.
When Hermione was doing her business in the bathroom, the tire on her arm reminded her of yesterday's events. But her memories were no longer terrifying. The ginger cat gave her a necessary charge of kindness. When she went to bed to sleep, Crookshanks lay down beside her to guard her sleep. Today, he had already driven away from her nightmare. And the boy did not lie and fulfilled the contract!
"Meow!" satisfied the Crookshanks by falling asleep. At last, he has a mistress!
Hermione's right hand gave the Crookshanks a gentle hug and a smile frozen on her face.
*
Grimmo 12
Around half-past 10 a.m. on November 1, 1991.
*
I got home when the November sunrise lighted the streets. Wearing the darkest sunglasses I had, I went to the kitchen, where George and Andrew spent time. I listened to a report about no incidents, and I called Kreacher.
"Kreacher! Set up breakfast for eight people. Deliver two portions to Calhoun and Ocean to the outpost. Wake up the senior Grangers, tell them to wake up their daughter, and come here."
Half an hour later, everyone gathered in the dining room. Even the Crookshanks sat on Hermione's lap. Seeing this, I strained Kreacher for another serving, for the cat.
Breakfast was held in silence. After breakfast, I took the Grangers into the living room for a conversation. First, I asked Hermione to tell me what had happened. Joan was sitting to her right, Daniel to her left. Crookshanks was humming in the girl's lap. With such support, she told everything quickly and clearly.
In class, Finnigan hurt her, so she went to an abandoned toilet on the third floor to cry. I sighed. A little bit and Moaning Myrtle would have had a partner. She broke her arm when she was running away from the troll badly. When the troll was ready to hit her with a club, an automatic emergency portkey went off and Kreacher took it. She certainly didn't remember that the portkey could be triggered with a code phrase at that moment. Joan had to calm the girl down this time.
"It's Dumbledore, there's no one else. The rest of the figures are dead," I answered Granger's questioning eye.
"So what do we do now?"
"To save his reputation, he's got to close the case and bring Hermione back to this madhouse. You'll just get your memory wiped out. Of course we won't let him do that. I'll use my connections and try to get Hermione into the Beauxbatons and you'll have to move to France. In England, you will not be left in peace now. But you must help me. I'll arrange a meeting with a journalist today. She'll cover Dumbledore's dirt, and it'll give you public support. You don't want British officials chasing you with their wands, do you?"
"But why would the school headmaster kill my daughter?" Joan couldn't stand it.
"Hermione's a muggle-born wizard from poor parents. In the British Racist Magic Society, her death wouldn't excite anyone. You'd forget she existed in an instant. Dumbledore needed a victim for his political games. And he, like a true bastard, used the child again, of course, "for the triumph of Light."
Mr. Granger's look made me feel sick. But then the forced pause was theatrically interrupted by Kreacher.
"Sir, newspaper, important message!"
"Thank you, Kreacher."
On the front page of the newspaper, the close-up was the corpse of a boy surrounded by teachers and a Headmaster. A screaming headline in the style of Skeeter. "The death of the only heir to the Longbottom family." Below, in smaller font, "Headmaster and teachers discuss how to cover up the death of a student without being shy about words."
This was followed by a description of the troll incident. From Argus Filch's appearance screaming, "Troll in the dungeons!" to Dumbledore's monologue giving out roles, who will say what to Aurors and journalists.
"Kreacher! Well done, important newspaper, thank you. Tell everyone. Calhoun, Ocean, and Creighton calm down, rest until tomorrow. Daniel and Joan tell your daughter who I am, or she's still afraid to say the word. Hermione, this is your cat. You were supposed to meet him in the summer of '93. But I expedited your meeting. It hurt me to see him bored at the pet store. You'd better admit it than if he was in a cage for two more years. I promised him "No cages." So never put him in a cage.