Disclaimer: I, vanilfrappe, do not own or confess to owning any of the Harry Potter tale or the
characters. Any and all ideas laid out in this story fan-fiction are a curiosity, and a hats off to
J.K. Rowling, who is a genius!
This is a crazy idea I had during one of our marching band practices at the school. A vision of
what would our band look like with magic in our horns? I'm just writing it down!
Hogwarts, School of Magical Arts
Hermione Granger punched on the gas of her car so she could make the turn through the forbidden forest. Her Hummer roared to life under her hands, giving her that rush whenever she went around corners. The thrill of being reckless, something she didn't often do, made her grin.
One might ask what Hermione was doing driving through the forbidden forest in a Hummer. Ten years ago, she would never have dreamed she'd be here. Ten years ago, she had fought next to Harry and her friends for their lives, and the side of right.
Now, they lived in the right. Harry had defeated Voldermort, bringing many of the death eaters to their side. Some, of coarse, hadn't. Most had been killed by Aurors by now. During the war, the Ministry of Magic had nearly been destroyed. Harry had united the wizading community from falling into ultimate confusion by stepping up and leading, as he was born to do.
It was a new golden era for the wizarding world. The previous one, during Harry's childhood, was nothing compared to the world they lived in now. Over the first three years, slowly, the communities and shops reopened. Homes were rebuilt, and lives returned to normal.
One major, and noticeable change was the way the Ministry now worked. It was clearly shown to be more honest and trustworthy. Harry, having had years of experience fighting dark arts and solving mysteries on little information, had given the ministry offices a clean sweep, so to speak. Jobs were not arranged in caste systems, depending on the richest and pureblood families.
In fact, the muggle-related departments were now classified as the highest job. Harry, with encouragement from Hermione, realized that the resentment of muggles had to be liquefied. The wizarding world, if it wanted to come up peacefully, had to let go of their prejudice. So, Arthur Weasley now had one of the highest positions in the Ministry.
Second, were the Aurors Department. As most the death eaters were now either dead, the Aurors jobs had changed slightly. Instead of assassins, they were now the equivalent of policemen, solving crimes, capturing the riff-raff bad guys and such. For the more talented and experienced Aurors, special top secret jobs were given, to scout our remaining death eaters on the run, and to put a stop to dark cults trying to rise up. Harry had also arranged, by the muggle leaders request, to allow volunteer Aurors in training to help solve muggle crimes. So far, the wizarding world was appearing to be well controlled and protected.
There was also the matter of the evil creatures still out and running, without care. Hermione had especially besought Harry not to just allow them to be destroyed. Harry may not have appreciated trolls much to an extent, or some foul spiders, but he remembered Buck Beak, Hagrid, the ursuls, even dragons. He'd made sure to update the Control of Magical Creatures to the department for Maintaining Magical Creatures. Bill, Ron's brother, had been assigned as the head. He'd put a team together that was now searching for ways to let the creatures now be free and equal in rights.
Programs were now set up to try and teach the giants in the mountains manners, and land was set aside for them to grow and build on. For the ones that wanted, the young giants were enrolled in school, started by Hagrid and his partner Madame Maxime. Goblins were given back Gringotts, after they had been forced to leave by the previous Ministry when they were in a panic. Dragons were being bred not just in Romania, but in several parts in each country in Europe. They were being collared and set free, with wizards or witches that monitored their movements. Muggles still had to be protected.
The Department of Mysteries had been thoroughly checked by Harry as well. After Harry's last adventure there, it was of the highest importance. So far, the workers there were continuing their top secret work, as they knew best. The department of Mysteries was still the hush-hush of the Ministry building. It was rumored, and even Hermione wasn't positive, that Harry had ordered a few of the rooms to be destroyed or locked forever. She personally didn't know how she felt about this; it was a pity for anything to be destroyed. Yet, dangerous information, like the knowledge of horcruxes, sometimes were better off dead for the safety of all.
One of the biggest improvements was the entrance to the Ministry. Once you were out of the telephone box, you entered the lobby. To once there was a fountain proclaiming a lie of equality in the wizarding community.
Now, there resided a memorial statue in honor of Albus Dumbledore. Luna Lovegood, the most celebrated witch artist, had used the shards from the previous fountain to scale a likeness of Dumbledore, sitting in his chair. Everyone entering the lobby now days would stop in front to take a moment and study the wizard who had fought so hard against evil. For annual Ministry workers, the reaction was to sigh, and nod their heads together, not speaking in sadness. Visitors were known to cry as they held the shoulder of the person closest to them. Everyone took their hats off, and silence drowned out all violent thought.
Yet, even in the grief of memory, as people turned away to go about their business, they always remarked to their friends how it seemed as if Dumbledore's eyes had looked at you, and twinkled with an understanding of life.
Perhaps that is why Luna titled her work THE TWINKLE IN HIS EYE.
Hermione made a mental note to herself, as she flipped to her music station (they always played Andrea Bacelli at this time of night), to notify Luna if her business went well tonight.
With that thought, the Hummer burst from the trees onto the road that ran along the lake. It's black surface wrinkled with waves caused by the slight breeze. The moons glow rested near the horizon, illuminating the great squid as it played in the deep night. Hermione smiled, resting her head on her left arm as her right arm steered. Such memories, her first being entering the boats, that magically steered them to Hogwarts. That first glimpse, from the lake looking up onto the glowing fortress, would always be the most special.
Her eyes, of their own accord, hesitated, before glancing across the lake once again to the castle on high. Even now it caused her breath to catch. It had been so long, she thought, following the curve of the road. So long since she had visited. The last time she had been here was the day Harry had defeated Voldermort.
The battle had taken place on the grounds. Voldermort, now having lost all his horcruxes to Harry's hand, had gathered all his minions and death eaters for one last stand. Thanks to spies inside his group, Harry, the Order of the Phoenix, and wizards and witches alike, were waiting.
The students, even the Slytherins, many of them, had come out of the castle and stood with Harry. They would not be persuaded other wise. Hogwarts, and the world, was at its climax, and all were standing up together, in inter-house and wizard unity.
In the end, many had died. But Hogwarts had not been taken.
Tom, in the end, had not won his most valued prize of all. What he could never understand was that Hogwarts was never just his, but a home to all magical students.
When it was over, Harry had remarked to Hermione that the battle with Voldermort had nearly killed him. It was only through knowing that Hogwarts, his friends, and Dumbledore's faith were fighting along with him, that had saved him.
Hermione knew, without him even needing to say, that Love had ultimately given him the power against Tom Riddle. Love was a powerful thing.
And as Dumbledore had said, he would never be truly gone from the school, so long as those still there were loyal to him.
They had been loyal, and his words had proved true.
Hermione sighed, chasing away the memories. Hogwarts hadn't been the same after. True, it had been won intact. But no one could feel the need to continue. It was as if no one could bare to change the old ways.
It was Dumbledore who had changed it, and everyone knew. Past Headmasters had come and gone, some better than others. But everyone had been able to look forward to new leadership with zeal. Albus Dumbldore had been different from most headmasters before him. Even the memories in the pictures of old headmasters and mistresses, they looked to him with a different authority. It was as if Hogwarts was made for him to lead, and him only or there was no point. It had been waiting for him. Or for this critical point in age.
Now that that age had come and gone, everyone preferred to leave things as they were. Hogwarts had been closed that year, to many tears and regrets.
Hermione cried now, finding the music, the memories, and the sight of her beloved school, most of it dark, except for the few lights on in the great hall, mingling deeply in her female heart. Buckets, she'd be a sobering mess by the time she got there! She scolded herself, switching off the music. She wiped her sleeve over her eyes to dry them, then turned on her blinker to enter the front grounds of Hogwarts.
A sign staked to the lawn near the front entrance read…
Public Wizarding Auction
August 21
9:00 P.M.
Property on Block:
(Separately)
Furniture, Magical Items, Art,
& Castle ( including Grounds).
Auction Benefited by Gringotts Bank
Hermione read the sign quickly and efficiently, before taking the keys from her Hummer's ignition. She opened the door and stepped out on her high heeled leather boots. She tied a silk Chardonnay scarf around her neck, shut the door, and began to walk towards the door propped open. Before entering, she clicked the button on her key ring, and smiled as her Hummer made a cute popping sound as it locked.
"That won't do you much good, Ms. Granger," said a slurred voice near her right.
Hermione turned her head to see who the voice belonged to. She raised an eyebrow at the smartly dressed gentlemen-wizard leaning against the castle wall, a cigar in hand. He blew in, and the red flares at the end illuminated his sly smile.
"A simple alorhomora would unlock that muggle contraption in a second. Given our location, I would say that's a worry," he said evenly.
Hermione smiled. "Mr. Malfoy, what wizard do you know of who would have need of a Red Hummer? If you can apparate faster and cheaper by magic, it would seem pointless to steal it."
Malfoy took a deep drag before depositing it in the grass, and walking over to her. His smile was still evidently in place. "Always had the logical answer, didn't you, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose at the smoldering cigar on the ground, but answered congenially. "Always the formal friends, now, aren't we, Draco? But oh dear, I just answered your question with another question! How will this conversation get started?"
Draco grinned almost maniactly. It was the smile, along with his looks that caused most witches in England to drool over their morning politic columns. Hermione supposed he was rather good looking, but she couldn't get passed the memories of him being a complete bully. They both knew he hadn't entirely given up on his mudblood prejudice. But as he had gone to their side in the end, both had found it best to…tolerate the other.
"Why, Hermione, I swear your antagonizing me personally. On the subject of breaking into locked muggle cars, a good wire would do the trick well of coarse. But who would want to, that thing of yours…an American vehicle…"
Hermione noticed rather amusedly he nearly spit that part out…
"…It must guzzle gas!"
"By the pound, I assure," Hermione said, "And really, Draco, I had no idea you were so equipped in the knowledge of the mechanics of these muggle contraptions."
"Yes, well.." he grinned slyly, "We weren't allowed to use magic outside of school for several years now, weren't we? Alorhomora was out of the question, I'm afraid. What's a teenage delinquent supposed to do in his free time?"
Hermione groaned and raised her eyebrow high. "So, we are in agreement about you being a delinquent? I thought the day would never come."
Malfoy silently regarded her, choosing not to acknowledge this statement, wisely.
"What are you doing here, Ms. Granger? Planning to bid on a painting or artifact you missed? Or just here for the show?" His tone was slightly offensive, his tone nearly slipping into a sneer.
Ah, the rich count puts the peasant in her place, Hermnione mused.
Hermione quietly held the peace in her of knowing some characters never changed as they grew up. Not Malfoy, and certainly not herself.
And she had always been full of a few surprises.
"I came for the memories, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps I shall leave with a slightly less heavy one."
Malfoy smiled and offered his gentlemanly arm to her. "Perhaps we both shall."
Hermione smiled, and linked her arm with his. Together, they entered the doors. Malfoy greeted afew other couples mingling in the lobby, and silently they climbed the grand staircase, and entered the Great Hall.
Hermione looked around the room where she had once sat and ate, everyday for three meals, holidays, and sorting hat demonstrations. The room Dumbledore had given his speeches. She looked up at the enchanted ceiling, and remembered how much she had prided that ceiling. It had always been special to her. Even before she had seen it at 11 years old, she had read about it under her covers with a flashlight. The enchanted ceiling had stuck out as a detail about Hogwarts she had treasured even before coming.
Older, more rich higher class wizards and witches mingled in the room. The house tables were set up for people to seat themselves at. Drinks and small trays of cheeses and fruit were around for people to mingle over. Malfoy gently pulled her to the Slytherin table, sending her a wide grin when she shot him a suspicious look.
"Come on, Ms. Granger, house rivalry dissaparated long ago."
Look in the mirror sometime, Malfoy, she thought darkly, but went along.
One other wizard and one witch sat talking together near the front of the table. They quit speaking together as they neared, and the two motioned with Slytherin grins for them to sit. Draco sat by the witch, putting his arm around her and kissing her cheek. Hermione decided it would be more appropriate of her to sit on the opposite side of the three Slytherins.
"Pansy Parkinson, you witch, how have you been, love?" Draco greeted, dropping his arm. She smiled at him in that sly way of hers, flashing her lashes coyly.
"Quite well, Draco, and don't you be 'lovin' me now. Jacque will have to go hexing you if you make it a habit."
The blond man, sitting in front of her on the right, cleared his throat, and offered his hand to Draco. "I believe you've met my wife before?"
Pansy put a hand on his shoulder, grinning, as Draco and her husband sized each other up. "Of coarse, darling, Draco and I were in the Slytherin house together, same year."
Draco flashed his smile meant for charming businessmen. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He took the extended hand and shook it richly.
Jacque shook it twice, as was custom, then lifted a cigar he had been hiding under the table to his mouth. "De Jacque. Baron de Jacque of France."
Baron de Jacque, Hermione said to herself. Inherited his title from his father, along a family line of wizards dating back centuries in France. Their ancestor was a bastard made by King Aubinierre and a witch he'd encountered and fell in love with. Love potion, it was rumored was responsible. He'd given his son a comfortable living. Although a bastard, the boy grew to be a genius general, and so doing rose in title. The family had been doing well ever sense. This Baron, Hermione read, had dealings with muggle rulers, and a rather tidy Swiss bank account. He and his wife, Pansy obviously, lived in a castle in the middle of his very own vineyard. Responsible for every pint of firewhiskey, finest quality, in the wizarding world.
Malfoy raised his eyebrows at the title, and settled more comfortably into the conversation. Hermione smiled tolerantly, realizing she was being easily shut out of the table conversation. Even better.
Malfoy's too, one of the richest and well off wizard families, were not so easily impressed. The cigar was what did it, Hermione was sure. A rich man's security seemed invested in the image of himself with a cigar.
"I see Pansy's aimed as high as ever. A Baroness? Quite an accomplishment. For the Baron as well," Malfoy said, waving his wand at his goblet. It filled with a reddish wine, which he brought to his mouth.
Pansy met her husbands eyes and winked. "Yes, Malfoy. If you remember, I always look for the best of the best, and not a drop of blood less."
Jacque smiled, and linked his hand with Pansy. "Pansy and I are a perfect match. Our union has worked out well for all."
"Never trusted the French," said another mans voice from the other side of the table.
Malfoy lowered his goblet, and everyone seemed to regard the dark looking man sitting with them.
Hermione turned her head and blinked at the person now sitting directly next to her. She could have sworn she was by herself a moment ago. But as she looked, it became apparent that he had, whoever he was, just come in. His dark cloak draped around him, the hood drawn up to leave the face shadowed. He had just come from a cold place, as his body was radiating heat still.
Pansy leaned forward, one eyebrow drawn up. "And, you would be?"
From the shadow of his face, a smile could be seen spreading. "Why, Pansy, I'm wounded you don't remember. Nor you, Draco?"
He reached up with both hands, taking the ends of the hood in his grasp. Hermione noticed the artistic bone structure of the hands. Long and attractively powerful looking. A Pianists hands, if he wanted to use them as such. He let the hood slip away, and sat up to his full height, breathing in.
His face was as artistic and handsome as his hands. Italian bone structure, Hermione realized. Aristocrat Italian gentry breed. Some royalty blood perhaps. The throat was tall and stoic, holding up the power his face presented. Moisture still dampened the dark curls that ran slightly wavy on his head. They dipped over his forehead and slightly down his neck. He'd be in need of a trim soon, but until then, the passionate artist look would do him no harm.
He was, Hermione had to confess, the most attractive man she had seen in a while.
Pansy and Draco blinked, then leaned forward in surprise. "Why, Blaise Zambini! Should have known you'd be in for your dramatic entrance at some point."
The man called Blaise grinned and leaned in on one arm, as if compatibly. "I don't recall having many dramatic entrances in Hogwarts, Draco."
Indeed, Hermione didn't even recall him. The man sitting before her seemed the type, though, you'd never forget.
Pansy scoffed, turning to her husband. "Don't believe that humble face for a minute! The mans an actor."
Draco inclined his head. "Indeed. Blaise was a champion actor. Outside the Slytherin dorms he was the epitome of invisible, quiet geek. He probably could go into a girls shower room, sit in the middle of the room, and no one would notice he was there."
"But," Pansy added, "In the dorms, he was everyone's favorite crowd member. Brilliant, too," she added almost dreamily.
Blaise grinned at Jacque's speculative glance. "I assure you none of the stories are true."
With a Slytherin involved, I just bet they are, Hermione thought. She smiled conspiratorially.
As if her smile had been spoken, Blaise turned to stare at her. Hermione met it easily, at first, and confidently. Her Gryfindor courage shined in her gold flecked eyes.
But, when she met his eyes, she found her stare nearly breaking. His were a deep blue that held a power. The type of power many weak people longed for. They regarded her, noticing and knowing the effect they had, and seeing how far you could fight it. Hermione was slightly annoyed to feel a slight tightening in her stomach, and hardened her glare.
Well, Hermione knew she wasn't weak. Even Voldermort's stare hadn't undid her. She held it, with her pride making a rather strong wall.
Blaise's eyes flashed at her resistance and leaned forward.
silk"Hermione Granger," he began smoothly, "I do believe your at the wrong table."
Hermione broke the game of wars to stab a glance at Malfoy. "My escort encouraged my choice of seating, and I find it to my liking, Mr. Zambini."
She turned back to his speculative stare and smiled congenially. "But your free to move if sitting with a Gryfindor makes you uncomfortable."
He flashed a lightning smile. "On the contrary, matching wits with the previous Head Girl might prove to be fascinating." Blaise motioned with his wand and the plate of cheeses flew to him. He caught it easily and set it in front of him. He selected a swiss cheese piece and popped it into his mouth.
He swallowed, and grinned as if a rather disturbing thought had entered his mind. "Ms. Granger, you mentioned your escort, was Draco? Well, the opposites finally attract! Never thought you two enemies would get it going."
Hermione and Draco both practically pushed as far away from the table and each other as they could. Blaise laughed out loud at the deadly looks they now were shooting at each other. Those looks turned to him.
Draco practically growled, but managed to suppress it in front of the Baron. "Zambini, don't you ever utter such a sick comment in front of me again, or I'll be forced to drag you out into the woods to finish that sentence."
"We're in agreement on that then?" Hermione muttered, undoing her silk scarf with a snap, and wrapping it around her wrist in rapid succession.
Blaise chuckled. "Come on there, gents, that pureblood vs. mudblood feud is ordered a dead affair. Your own famous Harry Potter is having it signed in law."
"Potter can sign all the bloody laws he wants," Draco snapped, "The Malfoy pureblood line will never mix itself with dirty blood. Potter can't stop us from marrying who we will."
Blaise cocked his head to Hemrione, speculatively. "That comment effect you any, Mudblood?"
Hermione's grip tightened on the end of her scarf at the name the Slytherins had classified her as for years. It had once riled her ire. Now, it barely scarred the numb surface. She'd accepted long ago she lived in a generation plagued with blood prejudice. She hoped she could help change that for future generations of muggle born wizards and purebloods.
"Have you heard of Pepsi and Coke, Mr. Zambini?" she asked archly, completely off topic.
It threw everyone of, as she had meant too. While Draco, Pansy, and Jacque looked at each other confused, Blaise frowned expectantly.
"Aye, I have heard of and tasted the muggle beverage."
Hermione nodded her head, and traced the line in the table as she began her lecture point.
"Among muggles, there is a feud. The Pepsi lovers against the Coke activists. Both drinks are dark, heavy liquids, full of bubbles, caffeine, and acid-y taste."
Hermione settled her unblinking stare on Draco. "Pepsi lovers argue their drink is better, because it is sweeter, and more positive substance to the taste, making it better."
Hermione looked down to her own hand. She lifted it and turned it about, as if studying herself. "They say Coke is a dry, un-tasteful drink to the mouth, with negative substance to the tastebuds.
"But Coke activists will argue that it is what makes it better. Because of less sugar substance, one can drink more quantity at once, and are therefore able to drink more, without losing the kick of the taste. Pepsi generally does loose its flavor after the first few sips."
Hermione lowered her hand to the table, flicking her gaze back to the four magical purebloods waiting for her point. "It is proven scientifically that there are more Coke products sold than Pepsi because Coke has proven more popular."
Hermione grinned mischievously at them. "I'm going to be blunt. I compare purebloods to Pepsi."
As she assumed, all four had their ways of reacting to this. Draco scowled, at having been compared to the less popular, and also to a muggle drink. Pansy chose to grind her lacquered nails into the tables wood. Jacque lowered his cigar, glaring.
Blaise continued to frown, although his eyes blazed with her challenge.
"Mudbloods, ultimately Coke, are better than Pepsi despite their less sugary taste, because their blood lines last longer scientifically because they are a combination of negatives and positives. Your breed are bound to become genetically mutated if you keep up this cousin marrying thing."
Hermione sniffed, waving her hand, "Us Cokes have greater numbers then you Pepsi, and a better link to the outside world. In the end, it is all in your tastebud preference. Sugary and small, or substance and quantity. Just feel free to take your pick, as one won't last on the market forever."
Hermione got to her feet, but stood for a moment looking down at Zambini, who was forced to look up to her. He didn't seem to like the disadvantage, and let her know through his stare. Hermione grinned, feeling that all too unavailable recklessness fill her to the soul. The tightening she had felt earlier mixed with it so she felt unhstoppable.
"Like you Pepsi's, I, the Mudblood, have a totally different definition of dirty blood…
…Pureblood."
She let the name slide off her tongue like poison, enjoying the scowl settle over Zambini's face.
Hermione lifted her legs and stepped out of the bench to leave. She didn't notice Zambini's gaze slide over their shape as she did.
"Good luck during the auction, Slytherins."
The three indignant Slytherins, and the French Baron, glared at the Gryfindor as she walked triumphantly to the Gryfindor table, occupied by several old friends who were there.
A rather gorgeous hot-head, Blaise had to admit. A definite change from his memory of her.
In the classes they had together, he'd watched her be the teachers pet, the bushy haired, book reading know-it-all, mudblood, and Potter's left hand. It was always speculated they were lovers, but Blaise had never really considered the rumors true. The body chemistry wasn't right. And if it was one thing the Italian side of Blaise knew, it was the amore.
The Granger now had definitely grown up in society. Or defiantly.
Tall enough to hold her own amongst a room of men, her face was rich with cream colored skin and a rosy blush. The lips were full, with the lower lip quite capable of a pout if needed. She had the body that turned men's heads, and she wouldn't even notice. All long legs and hips, she dressed it nicely, in the latest fashions.
Her hair was her showcase now, he agreed. It was definitely not the granger mane it was.
She had it tied up in an intricate knot clipped with an ivory comb. But the candles floating above them in ceiling brought out the red and gold and brown highlights that came naturally. It was a head of fire, and if he remembered her eyes correctly from their previous lock of eyes, brought out the red flicks in her gold orbs perfectly. Blaise began to wonder what all that hair would look like down and free.
Curly and lustrous, a voice in his head said. Falling in greedy handfuls down her arched back and shoulders…
Careful, Zambini, he warned his mind. She's not the type you need to start fantasizing over.
"Still the raving, in-sufferable know-it-all", Pansy muttered, folding her arms. Jealousy was quite evident in her eyes, though.
"It would seem the Gryfindor once again got the better of us, Draco." Blaise popped another cheese into his mouth, rolling it around to disguise the smirk on his face.
"Comparing me, a Malfoy, to a muggle bubbly pop!" Draco fumed.
Blaise aimed a look back to the Gryfindor table. "Just what is the mudblood doing here, Draco? She doesn't seem the type to go to auction's with rich beaurcrats involved."
Draco scowled, and rubbed a hand through his sleeked back white-blond hair. "I don't know. I asked her when we walked in what she was doing here. She said to 'acquire new memories'."
Blaise made a noise in his throat as he swallowed the cheese. "That sounds cryptic and mischievously like her. She's here for a reason, my friends, believe me."
Pansy snorted, waving a hand. "The mudblood is poor as poor can get compared to everyone in this room! She'll never hold up to the bids made by these rich wizards. She'll not even be able to afford a book once this gets going."
"Perhaps she's here for a book," Blaise offered, "After-all, she was a book worm."
"She has an interest in expensive, cost-heavy muggle cars," Draco said quietly. All three turned to look at him.
"She's not particularly rich, but she's no longer poor, Pansy. I've made it my business to know certain things about the politics in the Ministry. Hermione Granger has done quite well, for herself. She has one of the larger vaults under her name, so a…friend who works in Gringotts told me."
Blaise frowned. "She works in the Ministry, yes? With Harry Potter running it, you'd think he'd get her a good position."
Draco chuckled, and shook his head. "She refused a position in the Ministry. In fact, she's been busy in the muggle world on something. She visits the Ministry to offer her opinion in cases and on issues. She started that SPEW project of hers, who'd have thought! She's quite the political backing for Potter. But she always disappears. She's not seen much in the wizarding world, and only family and friends see her regularly. I haven't been able to discover anything among my associates. And I don't mess into muggle affairs, nor do I want to!"
Blaise regarded the Gryfindor across the room with fresh eyes. Quite the mysterious witch. And up to something.
What are planning tonight, Hermione Granger? And what secret weapons do you hide to accomplish it?
His thoughts were interrupted by a bell that rang out from the platform in the front of the great hall. The room went silent, the murmurs dying.
A small, ugly Goblin, dressed in the Gringott's uniform, climbed the stairs that brought him to the top of the podium. He curled his sharp nails over the edges of the wood, and looked down his nose as the waiting wizards and witches.
"Good evening," his scratchy, squally voice rang out, "The Gringotts Bank Auction on the Property of former Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will now begin."
He lifted the hammer of office and banged on the podium in pomp and circumstance.
"I am Gringott's employee, Ericksmen. I will be your proprietor and auctioneer tonight. Each of you will be given a number. If you wish to bid, raise the number high, and it shall be called on."
There was a whoosh of air that flickered the candles in the air, and numbered cards with handles appeared in front of each person or couple.
Blaise lifted his number up and grinned at the number on it. 11. A very good year, and appropriate for his last night at Hogwarts.
"Shall we move on with the proceedings?" Ericksmen asked the room to no one in particular. He banged on the block once.
Two other goblins came from the side door, bearing in between them a clothed canvas.
"Lot One for tonight's auction, a painting in the likeness of the four founders. Some water damage to the corners, and a scratched mustache on the Ravenclaw founders face.
Shall we start the bidding at 10 thousand pounds?"
Blaise thought about it, then decided he didn't really care about the four founders. So, he got comfortable, and decided to watch the show.
The bidding was always slow at first, people not really ready to empty their pockets.
"10 thousand to #34…Do I hear 15 thousand?…Witch, number #66…20 thousand? Yes, #34…#66 to 25 thousand…30 thousand, #34?…No?…
Bids at 25 thousand pounds, going once, going twice…
Sold, to the witch on the right, number #66. Thank you, Miss."
The Goblins marked the painting with a sticker with a number, covered it up, and took it away. Ericksmen made a mark in his book ledger, before continuing.
"Next, Lot 2, a set of four beds from bedroom of Gryfindor dormitories, one shown. Fine cherry wood with red and gold drapes, mattresses should probably be replaced.
Shall be start the bidding at 60 thousand pounds?"
Pansy leaned forward and demanded their attention in a whisper. "That was Granger! 66 was Granger!"
"Really?" Blaise asked, surprised. His view had been blocked when the brown haired wizard had moved in front of her.
"25 thousand pounds? And not an eyelash blinked…" Pansy remarked.
Blaise decided, and made it a point to monitor Granger's expenses from this point on. He watched through the proceedings, as Granger remained inactive, for the most part. She bid on some things, most of them connected to the schools past. Mostly, she relaxed, and watched things go. She didn't collect any of the Gryfindor stuff, as Blaise assumed she would. She seemed to be retaining to neutral, history related objects.
"Lot 55, then. The great hall Gryfindor house dining table. The table on the very left occupied by yourselves for your comfort. Fine, intricate wood, includes the benches. Food spills for several centuries, scratches, and Berthie-Bots chewing gum under the tables. Nevertheless, these tables are important artifacts to the school.
Shall we start the bid at 90 thousand pounds?"
Instantly, 50 numbers went up. Ericksmen's eyes bulged as he began writing the numbers in his ledger.
"90 pounds to #'s 34,56,82,90,21,1,4,2,8,97,32,23,85,45….." the rest the numbers became a blur in Blaise's mind until he heard a specific "…#66, and 105!"
Ericksmen took a breath. "Do I hear…lets hurry this up a bit…2 million pounds?"
About forty numbers shot down in a jiff.
Blaise chuckled, as Ericksmen visibly relaxed.
"2 million pounds, to 34,21,85, 66,23,82,1,97,105, and 4. Do I hear 2.5 million pounds?"
6 numbers shot down. "2.5 million, #'s 34,66,97, & 105. Do I hear 3 million?"
2 shot down. "3 million, #34 and 66. 3.7 million?…Yes, to 344444444…and 66!…3.8 million? 34, and 66….3.9?…4 million?…4.5? Come now 34, 4.5? …66 at 4.5 million?"
Blaise held his breath, watching the numbers held high. 34's hand shook with indecision, while Grangers 66 was held high and steady. With a nod, 34 dropped his card.
"SOLD! To #66. Thank you again, Miss."
There was a slight applause, as Granger grinned and wiped a hand lovingly over the table she occupied. Everyone loved a good auction show of tooth and neck biting.
"Well, done, miss millionaire, Granger…" Blaise said quietly.
The next two lots, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were just as vigorous. But, to everyone's surprise, number 66 took them as well. At 6.9 million, and 10 million pounds.
"What is she playing at?" Pansy snarled. "She can't have that much money!"
"Granger was never a liar when it wasn't necessary…" Blaise said thoughtfully, "It least, not generally."
"Lot 58, the Slytherin table. Shall we start at 10 million pounds?"
"No hell no way I'm letting Granger take the Slytherin Common Table…" Draco growled, raising his 12 high.
"Jacque, don't let her take it!" Pansy begged, grabbing her husbands hand. He nodded to his wife and raised his number.
"At 10 mil, we have, once again, #66, and 12, 6, and a 13…11 million? #66, 12 and 72…12 mil? Again same…14?…16?…18?…Oh bloody, lets make it 25!…HAH! #12 and 66! 27 million? 12 and 66…35 million pounds!"
"OH, Bloody!" Malfoy cursed, his number shaking. The room watched him, as 66 was obviously steady.
"Malfoy! Do not give in! It's for Slytherin!" Pansy begged. He glared at the calm Granger across the room.
"35 million pounds for a bloody table, Pansy! No…no…" he said quietly, and lowered his number.
There was a quiet murmuring as everyone watched the slytherin cover his face with his hands. Other fellow slytherins moved near to put a hand on his shoulder. Granger lowered her number, a sympathetic look on her face. Blaise tried to hate her for it, but he'd always admired good winners.
For nearly the rest of the auction, number 66 remained inactive. Ericksmen always checked to see if her number was up, as she had so far made the auction interesting.
It came up only for the books. Hermione's eyes had been hard and set when the books were brought out. Blaise could see them blaze with her determination. Not one book that had been in that library went to another bidder. The entire library, some of the best and oldest works, were now the possession of Hermione Granger, #66, a Mudblood. Including the restricted section.
"WE were right about one thing…" Blaise joked, "She definitely came for her books, eh?"
The others just glared, as did many book collectors in the audience. For the rest of the auction, number 66 remained down. Blaise sighed as the auctioneer Ericksmen announced that was the end of the separate possessions part of the auction. The night had been infinately entertaining and amusing thanks to Granger.
Now, Hogwarts would be sold off to the highest bidder, for good. There was a slight regret tightening in his chest. Blaise had left with a few things himself, but he did not come tonight with the intention of buying his childhood home. Hogwarts had always been his home. He would let others decide his past's fate. But he'd needed to come, and see who would take it.
Ericksmen wiped his brow. His voice was hoarser as he spoke.
"Lot 909, ladies and gentlemen. The castle Hog warts, built by the founders centuries ago. Innumerable rooms, large kitchens, secret passageways, bathrooms and fireplaces. Castle is on sound foundation. Spells keep dissaparation and apparition off the premises. Muggle cloaking spells protect the school. Close proximity to the village Hogsmeade. Includes several hundred acres, all grounds, fields, Quiddich fields, huts, greenhouses, and parts of forbidden forest. Plumbing system in good condition. Some roof damage."
Ericksmen took a breath.
"Shall we start the bidding at 300 million?"
Rather high, Blaise mused. But not high enough, as several numbers at each table went up. Blaise looked to Granger, and stiffened.
#66 was held high, and steady.
Blaise did not remove his eyes as the bidding began. Why? Why, Granger? He wondered, watching her resigned and stubborn hand hold up her number as the million went up, and up...
…Then, it was down to two.
"450 million pounds, #'s 66 and 125?…125 out? Sure sir? Hogwarts is property unlike any other in the world! Full of history and mystery and magic! You going to give it up to 66?…Yes?
Ladies and Gentlemen! Last Lot, number 909, the Hogwarts castle and grounds is going at 450 million in the history of the wizarding world, to the young witch, number #66!
Going once, Going twice…No takers? Last chance!
SOLD! To Number 66!"
Everyone in the room, minus some sore losers, got to their feet, turned to Ms. Granger, and erupted in applause!
Ericksmen banged on his block to get attention. "Gringotts Bank thanks all the bidders for showing up tonight and taking part in this exciting endeavor. If you would all now please leave the premises. Those who purchased, would you stay behind to settle your bills and collect your purchases?"
Goblins imediently began to go down the rows, rolls of bills marked down in their books.
"Stupid, bloody Mudblood!" Draco muttered over and over, signing his bill the rather annoyed looking Goblin handed him. He signed it with his wand, and about 2 million pounds worth of galleons and wizard bills and coins appeared in the air and showered into the open bag the Goblin held open.
The Goblin shut the bag when the stream ended, bowed, and moved on to Blaise.
Blaise smiled, and signed his own bill. "Granger wins the World Cup tonight, Draco, I'm afraid."
His money appeared in the air and streamed into the bag. The goblin moved on, hurrying to settle business. Blaise grinned charmingly at Pansy, who was huffing against her husbands shoulder.
"If you think about it, Baroness, your, at this moment, a guest in Hermione Grangers home."
"Shut it, Zambini," she snapped. Her husband, Jacque, looked slightly alarmed, as her magic wand vibrated and sparked. Her eyes looked behind Blaise, and held.
"Not yet, we aren't," she said quietly.
Everyone turned to look, as the Goblin approached Hermione Granger. Hermione smiled seriously, nodded as the Goblin extended her bill to her. Some 706,425,000 million pounds.
"That's 1 billion, 412 million, 850 thousand dollars in American money," he heard a witch inform her partner.
"She lies! She can't have a billion!" Pansy practically hissed.
"We'll see," Blaise said quietly.
Hermione bent with her wand, and wrote her signature. Everyone held their breath, dead silent, as the Goblin opened his bag.
There was a moments quiet, then, a deep rumbling vibrated under their feet. The candles on the wall shook as everyone's breath caught. Hermione sat serenely, eyes sparkling with mischief.
A great black hole opened up in the ceiling above their heads. A great gold stream erupted in a cascading waterfall and fell into the bag. The Goblin was nearly knocked off his feet, but he braced himself, holding the bag as far away form him as he could.
The stream fell on and on, a river of gold. Hermione just watched it disappear in the bag, unblinking at 1 billion and some was lost from her. How had she earned that sum? It had to have been well won, as people didn't just come by a billion dollars on the street. Did she feel the investment in Hogwarts was worth it? Just what was she planning to do with it?
Blaise decided to make it his business to find out. Or would it be something more than that?
At last, the stream slowed to a trickle, before winking out of existence. Everyone let out a breath, but the Goblin continued to hold the bag open. Hermione regarded him silently a moment, then sighed, lifting her wand. She pointed it at the dark hole and gave it a twist. The dark hole made a sputtering sound, and a single galleon fell, spinning in the air, and into the bag.
The Goblin closed the bag with a sniff, and bowed.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Witch #66." He rasped, then went to his full 2 ft of height, and walked through the doors.
Wizards and Witches got to their feet, filing for the exit. Many of them surrounded Hermione on the way out, congratulating and inquiring of her intentions and fortune.
"Can we hold up, Jacque?" Pansy asked stiffly. "I need to inquire on Ms. Granger myself."
Draco voiced his agreement. "I want some questions answered, and she's going to answer them!" He ground this out with his teeth.
Blaise held his hands behind his back, thinking. "Perhaps some blood to spill as well, Draco?"
They moved out into the hall, watching as it slowly emptied of everyone but them. And Granger, who stood serenely near the top of the stairs, gazing at nothing in particular, a smile stretched in place. She looked strangely at peace, as if her battle had hardly begun, yet was already winning.
Hermione breathed in the dark air deeply, remembering the smells of the holidays and the cooking coming from the kitchens. There would be those smells again, and she was bursting with energy to make it.
She'd been frightened, mortally, of losing in the auction tonight. She hadn't realized it until it was actually over, but her heart had been on panic mode. As if, these were the final OWL's again, and her future resided on that test. Well, her future had, but she had won it.
And now where to begin? Her ideas for this place were bursting out of her head, and yet she felt content to just stand in this one place forever and dream. Well, she would start tomorrow. Now, she needed to go home, and celebrate with a bottle of…she laughed out loud in humor…Pepsi. Her favorite Pop. But no one need know, after her little lecture on pureblood stupidity.
Hermione turned to walk down the stairs…her stairs…but realized her way was blocked by 4 rather tiffed looking Slytherins. And here were 4 Pepsi's now, she mused. She stopped on the balls of her feet, blowing out a breath.
"I'm sorry, did you need something?" she asked, folding her arms.
Draco had reverted to his bully look, sneering and rolling the spit around in his mouth while making fists.
"You've got some explaining to do, Mudblood."
Hermione stared at him a moment, before sighing. "Honestly Draco, must we get back into this lecture? It will only end on a loopy-loop, sending us right back where this argument started. All right, I'll be honest…"
Hermione folded her arms, leaning on one foot, as she prepared to stand there a while.
"I've been on a little endeavor, a profitable endeavor, in the muggle world. I invested that endeavor in stocks in muggle businesses who's companies were shown by a seer friend of mine to shoot up in the future and now. My endeavor continues, recently I used my lucky numbers to win a rather large lottery account, and my family was killed, as you know Draco, in the war, leaving me a dentistry, equipment, and a separate business, as well as property investments from houses and farms. Real estate can be fascinating with magic involved."
Hermione yawned magnificently at the confused faces of her old school associates as the night hours waned on her.
"You of all should know, Malfoy, that I also have friends in high places in the Ministry, so I therefore have a hold on all leadership personnel in the world. That is my business, and I don't feel you need to know.
Plus, I couldn't resist after your little comment earlier, upon my arrival. What was it? Something along the lines of, what are you doing here, poor mudblood? Come to buy a book?"
Blaise winced, thinking of his comment earlier.
Hermione shrugged, her eyes blazing in triumph. "You still thought yourself better then me, didn't you? But, Malfoy, I'm afraid I didn't buy Hogwarts to give you one last kick in the butt. Trust me, with the plans I have for this place, the Ministry and yourself are going to be kicking my butt for 2 years. But, we'll get into that this week, at the hearing, won't we?"
"What hearing?" Draco demanded, his eyebrows creasing. Hermione ignored him.
"Why, Granger?" Pansy hissed. "Why did you do it?"
Hermione studied them all, meeting each in the eye, before stopping on Zambini's. She held them, reveling in the power she saw there. And she'd missed that look all through Hogwarts? It was too bad he was a sore Slytherin.
"Any of you, when you came in, did you feel like there was something missing? In the atmosphere, it lacked the essence that made it home for all of us over the years.
You know what it was?"
Draco and Pansy glanced at each other, unsure. Blaise continued to hold her gaze, waiting. He'd felt something, too, was missing upon his arrival. It was the feeling that emptiness was where life had once been, that the auction was only breaking it down, and spreading it away so it was less notable.
"It was Albus Dumbledore's presence", Hermione said, in an awful whisper. "When he died, the school died with him."
Hermione laid a hand on the worn pillar, done that way by age and constant use. Her eyes almost filled with tears, but she held them, as she felt so elated.
"Do you feel it now? I can." She lifted her gaze, and absolute joy was on her face, "He's back already, because one who was loyal to him has returned. I aim to bring this place awake again.
And no one, no Slytherin, pureblood maniac, or Ministry official, now is going to stop me in that path!"
With a nod, Hermione pushed through them, walking swiftly down the old steps and out the door. No one moved after her, as all recognized the unspoken agreement that Granger had once again gotten the final word on them. She did deliver the best speeches.
There was a clicking sound, and the sound of her muggle car baring into action, then driving away.
Draco made a huffing sound in his throat, pulling at his tie and cloak. "What was she going all bloody bonkers about?" He muttered.
Pansy shook her head, sadly. "I don't know. I don't think I understand anything anymore when it comes to this place. Things have changed, they have definitely changed a lot."
Blaise stood still, intently absorbed in the pillar, and the words Hermione Granger had said. She'd said them with passion and fire, as if the school wasn't over yet. Hogwarts wasn't over yet. Strangely, the thought lifted that tightness in his stomach, and he felt at peace in some odd way.
Slowly, Blaise reached out and ran a finger down the wood surface. Was that warmth he felt vibrating under his skin? Was it home? Thinking out loud, Blaise answered with what he was sure was prophetic truth.
"I doubt things have changed nearly as much as they will, my dear Pansy, Draco."
He let a chuckle escape his mouth, as his hand slipped to his side. Blaise turned and marched swiftly down the staircase. The other three regarded him like he was indeed going bonkers.
"No, Ms. Grangers barely begun to change things. It is only the beginning."
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I am sorry if my math skills on adding up the pounds and dollars was incorrect. On some issues of my writing, I like to research to get my facts right, and sometimes I'm just impatient and ignorant. If my total amound of 1 billion and some was incorrect, I apologize, but I don't really care. I hurriedly added my writing up on a napkin and left it at that. I only wish I had a billion dollars!
I'll write the next chapter as soon as possible.