A/N: Happy Holidays!
Christmas is coming, the writer is getting fat.
Please put a review in the updating author's hat.
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own Harry Potter.
A week later, Hermione packed Selenius off to Tine Cottage with Remus. He had been locked up in the house with so many sudden unexpected guests for the last several days, and it couldn't last. Sirius needed to remain at Grimmauld Place until they heard back from the Ministry, which was dragging its feet going over the evidence of Sirius's innocence, and Hermione knew Harry wouldn't be surprised by Remus's absence. The werewolf spent so much time underground, anyone would assume he was right back on duty today.
"You'll be back before you know it," she promised Selenius, as soon as he had his things unpacked at Tine Cottage. She pressed a kiss to his head. "Things will settle down. And with any luck, Sirius will be a free man soon."
Dumbledore arrived late that morning to take Harry to the Dursleys'. Hermione did not question this, but she did assuage Harry's fears that he would be made to spend the summer there. Dumbledore was only taking him there long enough to renew the protection that Lily's sacrifice had left for Harry. He would be back in time for dinner, which Hermione knew he wouldn't want to miss for the world—Molly's cooking was always worth staying for.
Hermione spent the morning at the Burrow, helping Tonks and Kingsley set up protections. The Order wasn't planning on keeping Harry at Grimmauld place all summer—he would be staying with the Weasleys, as usual, which required they take steps to ensure that the Burrow was all but impenetrably fortified against unwanted guests. Their mail was already being checked, and they had already received one of the irritatingly useless flyers meant to outline safety steps to take against Death Eaters.
Fudge had been ousted just days ago, and his successor was moving things along very quickly. Scrimgeour had requested a meeting with Harry the day before, which Dumbledore had flatly refused, and was now demanding a meeting with the Headmaster to argue his case. Thus, with the Burrow safely secured, and Harry off dealing with his relatives, Hermione pocketed the letter Scrimgeour had sent to Dumbledore and Flooed to the Ministry.
Scrimgeour eyed her critically when Hermione swept into his office as though she owned it.
"Who are you?" Scrimgeour asked roughly, rising from his seat and crossing the room. Hermione saw his hand twitch toward his wand. He was more alert than Fudge had been, certainly, though not quite as paranoid as Mad-Eye. That was a good sign. Hermione held out her hand, and after a moment, he hesitantly took it. They shook, and then Hermione silently held out the letter to him. He took a moment to scan it, and then his eyes snapped up at her.
"Who gave you this?"
"Dumbledore, of course," Hermione stated bluntly. When Scrimgeour did not seem forthcoming in his response, she clarified, "He had other things to take care of today. He sent me instead."
"So the great Headmaster of Hogwarts is too busy to meet with the Minister," Scrimgeour said, gesturing an armchair that had been relegated to a far corner of the office. Hermione flicked her wand, and it scooted forward several feet, just short of the Minister's desk, and she leaned back in it. "I don't suppose he's reconsidered my request?"
"The Headmaster has more important things to do than sit here and argue with you," Hermione said, crossing her legs and bracing her elbow against the armrest, giving the impression that she was perfectly at ease, perhaps even bored. "As you've probably guessed, his answer has not changed."
"So that's it?" Scrimgeour asked, and Hermione could hear the anger in his words. "I thought this was supposed to be a meeting, not an owl delivery." His eyes narrowed at her, and Hermione could see the gears turning quickly. This was not a stupid man. "And you have still not answered my question. Who are you?"
Hermione gave him a thin smile.
"My name is Hermione." She folded her hands into her lap. "As for this being a discussion—"
"There's only one Hermione that Dumbledore should know about, and Hermione Granger is at least twenty years your junior and currently missing," Scrimgeour interrupted bitingly.
Hermione nodded, still smiling. "That's true. How I came to be here isn't really on today's itinerary, but suffice to say, I've had twenty years to get to where I am. Now," she said, sitting up straighter, "if you want a discussion, I'm more than happy to give it. I doubt you'll change my mind—"
"Your mind?" Scrimgeour challenged.
"Dumbledore's left the final decision up to me," Hermione said with a tiny shrug.
Hermione saw Scrimgeour's attention sharpen and refocus on her. "Why you?"
"Because I'm Harry's godmother," Hermione said calmly. Without giving him a moment to fully absorb this revelation, she added, "So please, do try to convince me. Why should I let you meet with Harry, when everything's the Ministry's done since last year certainly means that he'll want to keep his distance from you?"
Hermione could see that Scrimgeour, sharp-witted and quick as he might be, was still struggling to absorb and pick apart everything she had just said or implied. It was as though she had thrust him into a complex, timed chess game and the clock to make his move was ticking.
"The people need someone to look up to," Scrimgeour said, giving her a stony stare. "We're in the middle of a war. People are afraid, panicked, and confused—and the only thing they know is there is a boy out there who is destined to save us all. They'll want to hear him. They'll want to see him—and they'll trust and work with those he associates himself with."
"That's very touching, Minister, but I'm sure Harry can do his job just fine without you," Hermione said, interlacing her fingers in her lap. "After all, unless you're actually putting the Ministry's resources to good use, why would he even consider endorsing you?"
"I have already promised to make changes—"
"Rubbish," Hermione interjected coldly.
"Pardon me?" Scrimgeour asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"You heard me," Hermione snapped. "What 'changes'? If you think putting up flyers with knut-worth information on protection against Death Eaters and acknowledging that the Dark Lord is back counts, then I have to wonder if you actually plan to win this war at all."
"I was appointed less than a week ago, Madam Granger," Scrimgeour said coolly. Hermione could see that she was trying his patience, and felt vindictive pleasure that he wasn't having an easy time instigating superficial politics. "Change takes time."
"Change has to happen now, Minister," Hermione said tightly. "The Ministry is infested with spies and Dark Lord sympathizers—how do you expect to get something worthwhile done, when anything you do is automatically reported back to You-Know-Who? Furthermore," she added, her tone frosty, "why would you expect me to let Harry come waltzing in and out of the Ministry to keep up appearances, when the place is a trap just waiting to happen?"
"I've offered to assign him his personal contingent of Aurors—"
"No."
"—to give him Ministry resources to help in his fight against You-Know-Who—"
"No."
"Then what, Madam Granger?"
Hermione leaned back in her chair.
"I want you to start investigations, right now, in every department," she stated. She pulled out a second sheet of paper, and slid it across the desk to him. "I've already done your research for you. Albert Runcorn has been brown-nosing his way up the Ministry's ranks with Dolores Umbridge by keeping in contact with members of the Dark Lord's spy network—" the toadying woman had been released from St. Mungo's just under three days ago "—and they're keeping an eye on Pius Thicknesse, whom the Dark Lord has placed under the Imperius Curse."
Scrimgeour stared at her.
"This is just for starters, Scrimgeour," Hermione said, her tone suggesting that she rather thought he had bitten off more than he could chew. "This is what it means to be Minister in a time of warfare. This is what it means to do your duty. Stop doing things for show, stop doing them slowly, and get on with it."
She gave him a moment to let this sink in, as Scrimgeour took the list. His eyes widened at parts, and narrowed at others, as he slowly scanned through the names and notations.
"If you take my advice to heart, get results, and continue to put effort into effectively fighting You-Know-Who and protecting the Wizarding community, then I'll let you ask for endorsement from 'The Chosen One,'" Hermione said, her tone lightly mocking. There was a polite pause, and then she added pleasantly, "You may also want to grant Sirius Black his pardon."
"Done," Scrimgeour said at last, carefully folding the list and slipping it inside an inner breast pocket of his robes. She expected him to look defeated, but he merely looked determined instead. "Very well, Madam Granger." He let out a rough sigh, and got to his feet. "Do you mind at least telling me how you came to this? Last I looked, Aging Potions were temporary."
Hermione gave him a gimlet-eyed look as she considered this.
"No," she said finally. "Not yet. You haven't earned the trust for that."
She nodded at the door.
"Do your job, Minister, and then I'll see whether I think you need to know."
She was almost to the door when Scrimgeour stopped her.
"The only reason I asked," he said gravelly, "is because when I succeeded him, I interrogated Fudge about some of his actions while he was Minister. He admitted to letting Sirius Black go free in exchange for someone's political support. At first, I thought it might have been Dumbledore, but now I'm wondering if it was you."
Hermione slowly, very slowly, turned to look at him.
"Well," she said, placing her hand on the doorknob, "you're smarter than I thought after all."
And then she swept out of the room in a swirl of robes, leaving the Minister staring after her as though he had just seen a ghost.
~o~O~o~
Hermione returned just as Harry and the Headmaster arrived at the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as though to re-orient himself, and then opened them. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling at her from behind his half-moon spectacles, and she knew that, somehow, he already had an idea—or a very good guess—of how her meeting with the Minister had gone.
"I still think I'll prefer brooms, even after I get my Apparition license," Harry muttered.
"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said, smiling. "I've never liked brooms."
Harry grinned. "I'm glad some things haven't changed."
They were about to ascend the steps when the door was thrown open, and Sirius walked out, arms spread wide. He was grinning as though he had just won the Quidditch World Cup, the joy and elation on his face impossible to ignore.
"I'm free!" he declared, openly stepping out into the world for the first time in nearly thirteen years. He was holding a letter emblazoned with the official Ministry seal, waving it for all to see. "Cleared of all charges!" He took in the astonished faces of his best friend and godson. "Completely pardoned!"
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Harry and Hermione's jaws both dropped, but she was the first to recover. She grabbed Sirius and yanked him into a hug, laughing.
"Yes!" she cried. "Oh, Sirius—yes!"
Laughing, Sirius grabbed her and swung her around off her feet, nearly causing them to trip over the stairs, and then set her down. "I'd almost given up hope that I'd ever see the day," he said, now pulling Harry into a hug. "I'm a free man—I scarcely believe it, myself!"
Hermione didn't realize she was crying until her vision blurred, and she wiped at her eyes only to end up streaking her face with salty wetness. What looked like half the Order was following Sirius onto the doorstep now, everyone cheering and celebrating and making sure to congratulate the man who was now being given his life back.
"This is cause for a celebration," Molly declared, and Hermione emphatically agreed.
All too soon, however, she had to disentangle herself to return to the gloom of the house. She strode through the kitchen, ascended the stairs leading to the hall, and then quickly walked down the hall to the room where Severus was staying. She opened the door a crack, and then slipped inside and shut it firmly behind her.
Severus had clearly been sleeping, but the moment he registered Hermione's presence, he cracked one eye open.
"I take it from the ruckus being made downstairs that the mutt's been pardoned?" he muttered.
Hermione grinned. Even Severus's needling at Sirius couldn't put a damper on her elation.
"That's right," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck as he slowly sat up, and placing a kiss on his cheek. "How are you feeling?"
"Better." Hermione pulled away to inspect his back, and he groused, "I'm fine!"
"It's improving," she agreed, gently stroking it. He relaxed under her touch, despite the sensitivity, and she added, "Now that Sirius's been officially pardoned, and I've taken care of the Minister, I've got a plan for Selenius."
Her husband sighed, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "He turns eleven this year, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Hermione said, pressing her cheek against his. "We can't put it off any longer."
"I'll take him to Diagon Alley to get his school things," Severus muttered sleepily. "You're always busy, and I rarely…" he trailed off.
There was a moment of silence, and then his head suddenly jerked up.
"Wait," he said, "what did you just say you did to the Minister?"
~o~O~o~
"This is an odd place to go for a walk," Hermione commented, as both she and the Headmaster strolled down an overgrown lane. "And I'm not sure what this has to do with my employment, Headmaster."
Dumbledore indicated they should turn into the lane leading up to a run-down, dirty shack that was so horribly taken over with weeds and climbing vines, one could hardly imagine anyone ever living in it.
"You want to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts again," he said simply. "If this is the case, then I should like a competent instructor in the subject to accompany me on this errand."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, not at the Headmaster, but at the house as they stopped just a few feet from the door. A dead snake, all bones and broken bits, hung in pieces from where it had been nailed to the door, only held together by bits of vine that had woven into and around it. It looked as though it had been there for a long time.
"One would almost suspect the person who lived here didn't like snakes," she commented.
"Oh, not at all," Dumbledore assured her. "Morfin Gaunt was very fond of snakes. As I recall, he had a certain way with them, given his unusual ability to speak to them."
"Who was Morfin Gaunt?" Hermione asked, as they stepped closer to the door. She had her wand drawn. "A parseltongue, I assume?"
"He was Voldemort's uncle."
Hermione froze. Her head seemed to creak slightly as she slowly turned to look at the wizened old man beside her.
"Where are we?" she asked quietly.
"The House of Gaunt," Dumbledore said. He indicated the old, broken-looking door. "As you can guess, it hasn't been lived in for a number of years. But Marvolo Gaunt and his son and daughter lived here with him, once upon a time, impoverished and holding onto what few family heirlooms they had left."
Hermione carefully did the calculations in her head. "That would mean the Dark Lord's grandfather. And—his mother?" She turned her gaze back to the shack. "Was—was You-Know-Who born here?"
"Oh no, I'm afraid not," Dumbledore admitted. "There's a bit of family history, I'm afraid, but Voldemort has never lived here." He raised his wand, and tapped the door once; it swung open with a reluctant, creaking squeak that threatened to break it right off its hinges, ripping through the vines that had sealed it in place for so long. "If I'm right, however, I do believe he left something rather important behind, on the one occasion that he did pay his uncle a visit."
Hermione lit her wand, peering into the darkness of the shack. "What are we looking for?"
"A ring," Dumbledore said, lighting his wand as well. "A very old ring."
They cautiously stepped inside. The hovel was filthy. What Hermione could see, was covered in layers of dust and dirt and grime. Old, rusted and cracked pots and pans hung from the wall, and a stove that clearly didn't work anymore bent sadly into itself. There was a table and some broken-down chairs, and two separate doorways that led to tiny, dark rooms that Hermione could only assume had once been where the Gaunts slept. It looked as though it had been unremarkable and uncomfortable, even when it had been inhabitable.
Hermione slowly ran her wand along the counter, though she didn't flinch when a pair of beady eyes looked out at her between the cracks of the wood. The place would be crawling in rats and spiders and all sorts of vermin, she knew, and probably quite a bit worse than the time she and Severus had purged Spinner's End. Tiny sparks from her wand leapt onto the cobwebs, burning them up without touching anything else, causing their inhabitants to drop and scuttle away from the wand-wielding humans' intrusion.
If I were Voldemort, where would I leave a ring in this broken-down shack?
Her eyes roved over the room, and finally landed on the table. Dumbledore emerged from one of the tiny rooms to watch as she walked over, and slowly ran her wand across the table. The light ran over several knotholes, but Hermione quickly backtracked over one of them when something glinted back at her.
There, nestled in the soft, rotting knot in the wood, was an ugly-looking old ring. It had a rather oddly-shaped stone set in it, she realized, as she prodded it with her wand, working it out of the knot and turning it over on the table so she could see it better. It had puzzling scratch marks on it, as though someone had tried to carve a symbol into it.
Dumbledore stepped closer, and when he didn't touch the ring, Hermione realized he was waiting for her. She tapped it once, and began murmuring spells with just the barest movement of her lips, trying to unravel its secrets. It practically bled an aura of dark magic, but her spells revealed that it was perfectly benign to hold, though not to use. She looked up at the Headmaster.
"What do you want to do with it?"
For a moment, it seemed that Dumbledore had not heard her. He was gazing at the ring, with something akin to longing and remorse, and then he slowly lifted a hand, as though to scoop it up. The hair on Hermione's spine began to rise as he picked it up in one hand, but when he moved it so that it became apparent that he was about to put it on, her fingers lashed out at him, wrapping around his wrist.
"Don't!"
Dumbledore hesitated, though he did not set down the ring.
"Marvolo Gaunt never understood what he had, for all that he wore this ring for years," he said at last. "The ring is set with a valuable artifact—a legendary stone that is said to wake the dead, so that one may speak with them again."
Hermione's breath caught at the implication of his words, but the next moment, she had snatched the ring out of his hand with nimble fingers, and was holding it out of reach.
"It's dangerous," she said firmly. Her tone brooked no argument—whatever the Headmaster said, she had gotten enough of a reading off the ring to know that she could not allow him to don it. Her conviction was immovable, though some part of her was screaming that she was insane to try and stand up to him. He was Albus Dumbledore—one did not simply order him about. Yet, she stood her ground. "You can't put it on."
She saw the old man waver, and for a moment, felt pity for him—and for herself. She wanted so badly—she desired it so much that it physically hurt her to deny it—to see if he was correct about the stone's properties. But reason won out, and she quashed the yearning brutally. She saw Dumbledore's fingers tremble, as though to reach for the stone, or perhaps pull out his wand, but then it subsided.
"You're right," Dumbledore said, and his voice was very faint, as though he were far away. "Of course… I have been so very foolish…"
Hermione was suddenly very glad she had agreed to come, and pocketed the ring.
"We can look at it better when we get back to Hogwarts," she said, affecting cheery brightness to her tone at the prospect. "Find a way to destroy whatever curse the Dark Lord's laid on it."
She held out her hand, the one with the watch Kingsley had given her for her seventeenth birthday. Dumbledore graciously, pulled out the dial on it, gave it a twist, and then pressed it back in. With a yank, they were transported away, spinning out of the broken-down shack.
~o~O~o~
Crack.
The ring broke open under the force of the Sword of Gryffindor's blade, a horrible kind of smoke unfurling from the fissure with a hiss. It curled in upon itself densely, letting out a howling shriek, and then faded away. Hermione carefully laid the sword down, and after a moment of brushing her fingers lightly over the ring's surface, muttering a few choice spells, she finally stood back.
"You didn't bring me to test me," Hermione said at last, turning to gaze at Dumbledore, who was sitting in one of the chintz armchairs. He had watched her efforts with seemingly benign curiosity, as though she were performing a neat little trick, but Hermione knew him well enough to recognize the curiosity glinting behind the old man's eyes. "You brought me to stop you. From donning the ring."
Dumbledore bent his head in acknowledgement.
"Why?" Hermione finally asked, picking up the now-harmless ring and turning it over in her fingers.
"Because I didn't trust myself," Dumbledore responded softly, and for the first time, Hermione thought he rather looked his years. "As you can see, that was quite justified."
"You didn't trust yourself to resist the temptation?" Hermione asked lightly, attempting to mask her disbelief as humor.
"That's correct," Dumbledore said simply.
Hermione paused, and then slowly slid the ring onto her left index finger. Nothing happened, of course, as she knew it would. But it still felt odd, carrying the once-cursed weight of the stone in her hand. She looked up at the Headmaster.
"The curse I broke is one that I've never come across before," she said, and there was a trace of keen suspicion in her voice. Perhaps even accusation. "There was something in that ring, Albus—something was alive. Perhaps not whole, but that wasn't just a curse."
"Bright as ever," Dumbledore lauded, slowly getting to his feet. "You are correct, of course. The ring was imbued with more than just a curse—though it was a powerful curse, by all appearances, and certainly lethal. Had I put on the ring, of course."
Hermione wasn't certain she was breathing, as she waited for the Headmaster to continue. You could have heard a pin drop in the room, save for the faint click of Dumbledore's high-heeled boots as he crossed the room.
"Hermione," Dumbledore said, and there was an air of joviality in his voice, "you just killed a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul."
Please review!
~Anubis
