Chapter 2 Lessons in History and Politics
A man with long, deep burgundy hair, tied at the nape and bright sapphire eyes threw the day's newspaper half-heartedly on the desk before him. He rubbed a spot on his forehead out of habit. He was dressed in robes of royal blue, with a crest of a bronze doe, an elder tree and an olive branch on a powder blue background, emblazoned on the left breast pocket. A pair of first-class dragonhide boots completed his ensemble. He let out a deep sigh. Across him sat a goblin dressed in crimson robes and spectacles. A golden amulet shaped like an ankh hang from his thin neck. He watched the human carefully with a concerned look on his weathered face.
"Is it that bad, my lord?"
The man pinched the bridge of his nose before eying the goblin.
"Just tired of the injustice of it all, Gareth. Just tired of the injustice."
Gareth, the goblin, sighed.
"The wizards have had their free reign for almost two centuries now, my lord."
"Yes, they have."
"Perhaps, it is time to reclaim your seat?"
The man turned to the goblin.
"You tell me, Gareth. I know nothing of politics, truly. The weeks you have spent tutoring me on my heritage left me with little desire for the power of the seat. I have only just succeeded escaping my horrendous fate. Must I throw myself into the fray yet again? My ancestors must have had a valid reason for refusing the office."
"They have," Gareth nodded. "But you also have an equally valid reason to reclaim it."
The man propped his elbows on the desk and placed his head in his hands.
"And that is?"
"The fate of the Wizarding World."
The man managed a small smile at that response.
"Definitely a Gryffindor –if you ever went to Hogwarts, that is." He jested. "A noble thought, Gareth, but I've already walked that line. I've done my part. A Gryffindorish sentiment no longer appeals to me."
It was Gareth's turn to smile.
"The fate then, of an innocent man –a man in debt to your House."
The man's blue eyes clouded in confusion.
"There is something you are not telling me, Gareth. I would wish to be enlightened as to what you speak of."
The goblin smirked as he handed him an ancient-looking scroll.
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"The High Lord of Wizengamot? That is your brilliant plan?" Severus scoffed. "Minerva, the High Lord of Wizengamot is now but a legend! The Seat has not been claimed in about 200 years! Surely, that position overrides the Minister and the Wizengamot, but –we do not even know if there is still an heir left to claim the position! And given that there is, what makes you think that he would get off of hi arse and help me? That is the most preposterous idea I have ever heard!"
Minerva scowled at him.
"Of course you would say that. Ye of little faith, Severus Snape."
"Do you know for certain that the High Lord exists, Minerva?"
"Of course not,"
Severus ran his fingers through his greasy locks.
"Then, I rest my case –"
"Not so fast!" Minerva admonished him. "Contrary to popular belief, Albus is not the only one with connections."
Severus sighed.
"I'm not saying you don't Minerva. And it is not that I do not have confidence in you, but this plan of yours to save me has more holes than a slab of Swiss cheese! It is my bloody hide on the line here, so forgive me, if hunting for a legendary court official –slash- Wizarding royalty, whose existence has the probability of Potter, learning proper wizarding etiquette –fails to reassure me."
Minerva glared.
"And you have another idea that does not include blood, Dementors, or toads?"
"About a hundred. And I would have already gone through half of them if it weren't for you, detaining me with your delusions of grandeur."
"Oh, do shut up, Severus!" Minerva spat out. "Let me write a letter then you could go wallow in your misery if it doesn't work."
"It would not."
"And if it does?" Minerva challenged him. Severus sneered.
"Then I will wear pink robes for the rest of the term."
The Headmistress chuckled.
"Then I do hope that you have enough pink robes to last you for that long, my dear."
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"YOU-HAVE –GOT –TO –BE –KIDDING –ME!"
The blue-eyed man exclaimed after reading the rolled up parchment Gareth handed him. His face was a picture of utter disbelief. He turned to the goblin.
"I am going to say this only once –my ancestor was a bloody –daft, foolhardy –Gryffindor."
Gareth smiled.
"If you trace your lineage far back enough, my lord, you will indeed encounter Godric Gryffindor."
The man glared at him.
"I can say the same for Salazar Slytherin, but that's beside the point." He sighed before banging his head on the desk almost comically. "I'm screwed, Gareth. Why must I get a deranged lunatic for an ancestor?"
"I cannot answer that, I'm afraid, my lord."
"'Course you can't." The man said dejectedly. "Is there really no other way to this? I mean, can I not just save him and leave it at that? The man does not even like me! And I'm pretty sure he is not even aware of this,"
"You would both lose your magic, my lord. The pact is clear on that account," Gareth supplied. "And besides, you do not exactly hate him, do you?"
The man took a deep breath before answering.
"No." He said determinedly. "But that's beside the point again, Gareth –"
"You must claim him then," the goblin stated matter-of-factly. "Protect him and claim him to fulfill the fact made between your ancestors."
"What if he refuses? And I know he will –"
"He cannot. If you think he is unyielding, then you must persevere my lord. The future of Magical Britain is at stake. Just imagine the chaos that would ensue if you lose your magic."
The man threw his hands up.
"I should've just died. Makes it bloody easier than living."
Gareth sighed and massaged his temples.
"I do hope you are jesting, my lord. A lot is at stake."
"Of course I am, Gareth. But one can hope, right?" the man rubbed his forehead again. "Why does everything happen to me? Do I have a 'kick me' sign taped on my back that I do not know of?"
"I cannot answer that, I'm afraid, my lord."
The man leaned back in his seat and eyed the scroll that he had just discarded.
"Bloody daft ancestors… bloody life debts…"
"How do you wish to proceed, my lord?" Gareth asked. The man closed his eyes briefly.
"Full steam ahead, my good goblin."
"And when shall we commence the takeover?"
But before the man could answer back, a large, tawny owl swooped down and landed on his desk. Blue eyes looked at the bird warily.
"No one knows of me, Gareth. That missive should be yours."
True enough, the owl held its leg out towards the goblin. Gareth relieved the owl of its burden and carefully guided towards the nearest window. When it was in flight once more, Gareth began to read the missive.
A few seconds later, the goblin was handing the parchment to the blue-eyed lord, his many sharp teeth showing in a wide grin. The wizard raised an eyebrow as he accepted the letter from the smiling Gareth. A minute later, he sighed rather loudly.
"Great. Just great. Another drop I the bucket I call 'unjust coercion'. As if all the howlers from my friends and family and this stupid pact weren't enough to convince me to return," He threw the missive on the table. "I'll never get a quiet life, won't I?"
"When shall we commence the take over my lord?"
"End of the month. It'll do for a nice celebration, don't you think?" the man muttered resignedly. "The intelligence sources you've recommended to me say that the Crow and the Toad are planning something on that day regarding our concern. What a better way to start my year than to overthrow the Ministry,"
"Excellent decision, my lord." Gareth then gestured towards the table. "What of this missive?"
The man cocked his head onto one side, thoughtfully.
"Send her an affirmative reply. But do not, under any circumstance tell her of my true identity."
"Of course, my lord. Shall I prepare your Court robes as well? I can have a goblin seamstress put on all your Family Crests –"
"No, just the main one would do. We wouldn't want them running away before we could even strike a pose now, would we?"
"A most Slytherin notion, my lord,"
"Thank you, Gareth," the man smiled. "I can't believe I am actually acknowledging that as a compliment, but I am."
The goblin smiled.
"When shall we notify the Court?"
"Hmm… two hours before, I think."
Gareth frowned.
"Not to disagree with you, my lord, but there are still two Lordships we need to reinstate. These have lost their current heads without a successor stipulated in their wills. One, of course, as you know is –"
"The House of Prince." The man breathed. "The other one?"
"The House of Prewitt."
The man furrowed his brows.
"Who is to inherit?"
"The eldest male heir, closest to the inheriting line –William Weasley."
The man's face brightened.
"Contact him exactly 24 hours prior the takeover, no more, no less. He is trusting of your kind, there should be no hassle."
"And the inheritor of the Princes –the Last Prince, what of him, sir?"
The man thought for a moment.
"He will take much more persuasion. We need to enlist the assistance of the Headmistress of Hogwarts –ask her to petrify him if needed be. Twenty-four hours as well, though."
Gareth gave him a wicked grin.
"I will see to it right away, my lord," he said with a bow.
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It was about three in the afternoon when Minerva McGonagall had a most unusual visitor in her office, that is, aside from the dour Potions Master sitting from across her desk, sipping tea. Said Potions master's eyes widened upon seeing the unannounced guest.
"A –falcon?"
Minerva was eying the bird with a small smile on her lips.
"My, that was quick."
Severus looked at her, astonished.
"You –you mean to say –"
"From the House of the High Lord," The Headmistress affirmed, relieving the dignified bird of its burden. "or at least, his representative –judging by the seal on this envelope."
Severus scoffed as he eyed the bird, who seemed to be awaiting a reply.
"Show off."
Minerva let out a small chuckle as she opened the envelope.
"If my history serves me correctly, the House of the High Lord traditionally uses a screech owl. However, sometime in the 1800's a family friend gifted them with their first falcon and they have then become their choice of couriers eve since –ah, here we go –" she scanned the letter quickly. Severus remained looking skeptical.
"So, Headmistress, did you receive a letter of rejection? 'Thank you for your interest in our most esteemed High Lord of Wizengamot, but we regret to inform you that –oh, well, he does not actually exist?'"
"He will be in touch!" Minerva exclaimed. Severus froze in the middle of his rant.
"I beg your pardon?" He snarled. The formidable witch shoved the parchment into the Potions Master's hands.
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall
HSWW, Scotland
July 25, 1998
Dear Headmistress:
Thank you for your inquiry regarding the High lord's welfare. He is as well as he can be. He has personally seen your missive and has seen merit to your request. He also agrees, and I quote that "it is about time that the Wizarding World got their priorities straightened out." He will be personally in touch with you and the Potions Master by not later than July 30th, through his personal falcon, Isolde. Further instructions will be provided then. In the mean time, your full discretion and confidentiality is much appreciated. Please send back a reply to confirm your receipt of this letter.
Sincerely,
Gareth Ironfist
Gringotts Bank, Inc.
Head Liaison to the High Lord of Wizengamot
Severus' eyes were wide like saucers. He turned to Minerva.
"He –he does exist!"
Minerva laughed at the normally stoic Potions Master's incredulous face.
"Shall I owl Madame Malkin for a bulk order on pink robes then, Severus?"
For once in his life, Severus Snape was rendered speechless.
