The drive was more or less silent, apart from Minerva's periodic directions to Hermione as her second hand car swam through the morning fog. Minerva couldn't help but notice the newfound awkwardness between the two young wizards. As the Headmistress of an educative institution – whose students routinely lived to be seventeen – she had an inkling as to what it meant, not that it was any of her business... Minerva didn't feel at ease in cars. It wasn't the first time she was sitting inside a lump of metal made to be hurdled amongst others, hoping against hope that no collisions would occur, but she couldn't really get used to the idea... Rationally, she knew it was for the best: she didn't want to scare them off too soon with side-along Apparition or Floo, and they objectively weren't going that fast. Also, since they were basically metal cages, cars should be safer than brooms... So why were there so many fatal accidents involving them?
They parked safely in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and she guided them through the back into Diagon Alley.
That was her favourite part: looking at her charges as they discovered everything with stars in their eyes. They looked like tourists, marvelling at every little thing. Especially Harry who's attention was caught by another magical contraption literally every two steps. He probably wouldn't have acted very differently at eleven. The usual questions acquired a different flavour when voiced by grown up theoretical physicists, though. Dr. Granger was scribbling furious notes in a lump of haphazardly folded papers she had extracted from her handbag.
"How come normal peop–... How come muggles don't realise that they have to circumvent enormous chunks of the city?"
"Well... There are repellent wards: we magically influence them to stay away from around here. They always conjure good reasons for their detours."
"Planes?"
"They don't fly around here for the same reason."
"Okay... but what if someone lived in a tall apartment building with the right orientation? Couldn't they just see this place from their window?"
"They would see a series of boring buildings and think nothing of it. They wouldn't want to verify the buildings' existence because of the aforementioned repellent effect."
"And how do you keep all that hidden from satellites?"
"There are complex untraceability wards which can also prohibit things from appearing on muggle photographs and optical instruments"
"But... What you're saying is just 'it's magic'." Dr. Granger interrupted her note-taking, seeming somewhat frustrated.
"Yes... What else would you have used?"
"But how do the wards actually work? I guess I'm okay with influencing the human brain and its perceptions in some way or another, but how can you trick a photograph? It just dumbly reacts to light... Does our light not reach the camera? If so why doesn't it show up as a dark spot? You'd have to distort space itself if you wanted light from the surrounding city to cover for us and fill the hole in the image..." She paled a bit, trailed off and began writing with renewed furiousness. Minerva realised they weren't actually notes but calculations.
"I am told that the wards do distort the trajectories of light in a way that makes the city seems continuous from above."
"But... That's... How..." Her panicked gaze oscillated between the professor and her scribbled lines of intricate symbols. "So you just have naked singularities hanging around around above us? What do you do when some flying object crosses those 'wards' and gets shredded by the infinite gravity?"
"Oh! I don't think they use something quite as complicated as that, dear. I believe they just bend light without the use of gravity."
Hermione didn't know whether to be relieved that those maniacs weren't shredding the surrounding space-time to pieces just so they could remain hidden from view, or to be horrified that magic could just bend light more steeply than black holes as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She had to admit that – disproving her previous claim to Harry – she sometimes got discombobulated. She didn't really have time to digest that weirdness either: they had arrived at the bank
While Prof. McGonagall was waiting in the lobby, and Harry had gone to visit his inherited vault – apparently the little disgruntled creatures in charge of the bank never stopped looking for a next of kin for any deceased client, which was probably a heavy socioeconomic burden to carry –, Hermione was in the process of opening an account of her own and changing some of her hard-earned scientist money into loosely defined wizard money. To buy magic stuff. It didn't seem like a sound thing to do, but filling forms soothed her a bit; she wasn't feeling at ease, light-bending notwithstanding.
Her tension had come back full force in the morning: she had fallen asleep without the use of music after the first day off in her adult life, but she now had to deal with the consequences. That and the memories of her altered state of mind which put a sort of dissonance in her every thought. Or maybe it wasn't the drugs. Maybe it was just the overall lack of realism. Not to mention the uncharacteristically casual s–... you know what? I changed my mind: I won't mention it at all. The half-evoked memory gave her a sudden, ill-defined sensation which induced an incomprehensible quiver; it was both pleasant and uncomfortable.
What I will mention is the fact that she couldn't stop asking questions.The unpleasant little Goblin – rather unfortunate name for a species – wasn't hiding his displeasure at her inane interrogations about their financial laws and economy. She didn't even really care about the answers, really: she just couldn't help trying to overload herself with information.
When she came back to the lobby she found Harry sitting in a chair, looking dazed, confused, and a bit queasy, while Prof. McGonagall was obviously trying to think of what to say to him. Hermione approached them in the hope that somebody would explain before she had to manage her stress levels and ask him. Fortunately, Harry really wanted to talk to someone.
"So... Apparently I'm filthy rich."
"Does that mean you'll quit your job as a 'cook'?" She had air-quoted. She never air-quoted. Also, it was a sincere question: she liked buying her dinner from him every evening and would be sad to see him go; and the more she thought about it, the stupider it sounded in this particular context... Intoxicated coitus had definitely not helped with her inability to interact properly. Or maybe it was just because she hadn't worked in such a long time. Fortunately, this mess of a social interaction could be construed as a joke.
"A more appropriate question would be 'will I buy the whole British fast-food industry?' This is not a hyperbole."
"Oh... Oh!"
"The Potter family was..." Minerva started "Well, is a noble family of sorts..."
"Yeah, 'cause also they have 'nobles of sorts', here... I don't know what to do, though... I've never been rich." Harry looked pretty pale indeed. Being hurled from right above the poverty line to buy-your-own-country rich in less than a second could do that, she guessed. So now, Hermione had to conjure a piece of advice.
"Just... Do what you usually do... Live like you're used to, try your best to use it only for your needs and not for you wants... Eventually, you'll get used to the idea and you'll have a better notion of what to do with it."
"Yeah... I guess that makes sense... Thanks." He still seemed a bit out of it, but the idea of simply 'not overhauling his whole life right the fuck now' seemed to appease him a little. Hermione thought that humour would probably bring him back to the realm of the living.
"So... What's the protocol? Do I have to call you 'lord' or something? How meekly should I curtsy?" It worked:
"It should be 'Most Noble and Potent Prince Potter, son of Potter, defender of the throne of Magical England and also Sheik of Araby' but I'll allow a simple 'lord' depending on how meekly you can curtsy."
"Sheik of Araby?"
"Yes. Your love belongs to me, by the way."
"Does it, now?"
"It does; at night when you're asleep, into your tent I'll creep."
"This song is way more disturbing without the music."
"Is it? Even if the stars that shine above will light our way to love, and you'll rule this world with me, the Sheik of Araby? I genuinely thought the Lennon-style glasses would pull me through this."
"They really didn't."
"Okay, then. You may call me 'lord' and I wont creep etc., as long as you give me one curtsy."
Well, she had made her figurative bed.
"I'll give you some 'lord' if you give me some 'doctor'."
"Then you've got yourself a deal, Doctor Granger."
She curtsied as meekly as she could: "Lord Potter; shall we get on with our shopping?"
"Let's."
The news that the boy-who-lived-and-then-didn't lived again had not yet exploded on the public place: The Quibbler had apparently gotten some information, but even Lovegood's article was written in the conditional tense, and few would take it seriously; the Daily Prophet hadn't given any credit to whatever whispers it had heard. Yet.
Some heads had turned around them when they had walked to the bank, but it could still have been attributed to the rarity that was an adult in full muggle attire, looking like they had never encountered anything magical whatsoever. Minerva had offered to give Harry a disguise, but he had eventually opted to "rip the band-aid off", as he put it: if the public opinion knocking at the door was unavoidable – and she was pretty certain it was – then he thought it better to just give them what they wanted and let them move on to something else sooner rather than later.
22 years was a long time, and not everyone would recognize a baby who had been hailed as messiah for all of 24 hours... Which is why she hadn't expected to run into a mob as soon as they exited Gringotts. Her surprise didn't assuage when she saw Mr. Malfoy, of all people, leading it. As a politician in the making, Draco was sometimes sent to do his father's bidding which often involved riling people up using shady rhetoric. Their anti-muggle political movement had some power in the Ministry but didn't enjoy a lot of popular support, which had a way of undermining their policymaking abilities.
So Draco, being perfectly capable of appearing charismatic when speaking to a crowd, had made a habit of setting up political meetings... This time, he had opted for a commando tactic: rallying a few supporters and tipping off journalists before coming in person to publicly antagonise the two moderately high profile muggle-borns who had eluded detection, and been found in such a spectacular fashion... Minerva cursed herself mentally for not even considering that it was a possibility.
"So!" Draco began his indictment with a booming, probably magically amplified voice. "These are the culprits, then! Why am I not surprised to see that their wrists are cuff-free?"
A few obnoxious laughs coursed through the small crowd. Hermione started to form a confused interrogation, but Minerva stopped her from voicing it. She whispered in their ear that anything they could say would probably make matters worse. It was going to be painful, but there was no other alternative than to keep one's head held high and respectfully silent in the face of grandiloquent racism.
"This! This is who our Ministry is spending our money on, when what it ought to fight for is Justice, and the protection of the people! Protection from those who endanger our way of life! Justice against those who, unencumbered by the weight of our history, act so brazenly that we have to pay, use our public funds, to repair their damage! Protection from those whose allegiance isn't determined, who don't understand that secrecy is not just a quaint tradition, but a defence against barbarity! A wall between us and the hordes of illiberal muggles who, given the first chance, would eradicate the whole magical society!"
He wouldn't have believed that mere muggles could do that of course, but he wanted the audience to. And said audience was currently cheering.
"And that is the problem with muggle-borns, isn't it? Who's to say where they stand in the everlasting conflict between those who know magic and those who can't understand it – those who destroy all that they can't understand? Because make no mistake: it is a conflict! We are not hiding from the muggles because we like it!
"Who's to say that those two muggle-borns wouldn't side with their parents and family if the muggles started to hunt wizards again? When we are paying for their shelter, food, and the best education in the ways of magic, aren't we buying them the very weapons that they'll turn against our culture at the first opportunity?"
The crowd shouted its angry approval. Hermione looked like she was going to be sick.
"And these two already have proven their indifference for the very foundations of our culture, and their disinclination to integrate in wizarding society: the very first thing they have done upon learning about magic was to conjure a very visible fire tornado in the heart of London! In broad daylight! It is a crime! They are adults! But our lenient Wizengamot won't even try them for it! 'They didn't know', they said... Of course they didn't, but as their own frontispiece says, it's no excuse! On the contrary, it's a grave danger!
"These two are prime examples as to why it is so important that we see the muggle-borns for what they are: a privileged class who can ignore the law, a danger to our culture, and thus a danger to our very lives! What do you have to say for yourselves, criminals?"
Hermione visibly fought very hard not to respond. There was a white glow in her eyes and the curls in her hair were inflated with fury, but she knew that she lacked both information and preparation to fight this battle. Harry was focused on discreetly hiding his most obvious attributes, turning his scar-free profile to the cameras. He had also closed his eyes and was breathing slowly and deeply, probably trying to contain his shock and anger before it materialised in any way. Good.
Minerva spoke in as much of a matter-of-fact tone as she could muster, addressing the crowd and the journalists with a slightly stronger amplification, speaking quickly to prevent Draco from interrupting:
"The Statute of Secrecy shelters from indictment those whose ignorance of the law stems from the law itself; a trial against these wizards would constitute wrongful prosecution, and Mr. Malfoy's own ignorance of our legal system is probably the most worrying fact he has demonstrated today. There will be no further comment."
She took the other two by the hand and they disappeared, putting an abrupt end to the sound of the audience's shouts and to Mr. Malfoy's smug smile.
