The Golden Age
Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing but my own thoughts. Harry Potter and his world are the property of J.K.Rowling.
9. Blood: Harry and the WizengamotWith a modicum of tweaking, the mobile phone that Hermione had persuaded Harry to buy worked perfectly well, even in the magic-heavy confines of Grimmauld Place.
Kreacher—the reformed Kreacher—had organized a party of his fellow elves to complete a massive restoration of the London townhouse. Thinking it over, Harry had decided he did not want to let go of this link to Sirius. The pain of losing his godfather was still present, but mixed with it were precious memories. Sirius may not have been happy here, but the fact that he had been here at all, and that he and Harry had shared some good times under this roof, made the decision fairly easy.
It was a big house, after all: the rooms that he disliked could be shut up, until their turn came to be metamorphosed into something bright and welcoming. Sirius' room would not be touched. Hermione might roll her eyes discreetly at its status as a shrine, but she said nothing about it to Harry. Sirius remained one the household gods of Harry's life: the third member, along with James and Lily, of Harry's personal Trinity.
While Harry stayed at Hermione's place, his bedroom was completely redecorated: painted, cleaned, fumigated, reconstituted, and reinvented. The kitchen was next, and by the time Harry had time to see how the work was progressing, it was pleasantly unrecognizable.
He called Hermione, asking her to come and see it right away. "Yes—I know you're busy, but you've got to see this! You've got to have dinner anyway, Hermione, so why not have it here?"
In fact, Hermione came soon, flooing on through as soon as she set down the receiver. The telephone had proved a wonderful idea. It constituted an entirely private and nearly instantaneous way to speak to Harry. Owls were all very well, but they did not travel as fast as the speed of sound.
"Harry!" she cried, giving him a kiss on the cheek and a warm embrace. "Oh, hullo, Kreacher! Oh, Harry! How wonderful it all looks! It's bright and airy, but you've still kept some of the feel of the old townhouse.'
"So you approve?"
"Very much!"
"Good. Kreacher said he'd do the drawing room next. Let's eat!"
Kreacher's cuisine was not as advanced as his interior decorating. The food was good, but very old-fashioned: mutton chops with bread sauce, Brussels sprouts (but very good ones), a coffee-flavored "shape—"
("—I didn't know anyone still made blancmange!" whispered Hermione. "It's so nineteen-hundred!")
--and, at the last, Camembert cheese and biscuits, served with a dusty bottle of excellent sherry that had lain undisturbed for decades in the cellar. Harry had recently discovered a taste for cheese. He had grown up on hunks of dried-up Cheddar, but he had found the soft texture and delicate tang of Camembert and Brie very exotic and satisfying. Vernon had always hated "filthy foreign food." Harry, as a natural reaction, was beginning to branch out a bit.
They had so much to talk over. Harry's training was going well—his instructors were brilliant—he had made the best decision of his life in not going back to Hogwarts. He had succeeded in earning N.E.W.T.s in Defense, Charms, and Muggle Studies, and that was enough. Hermione said nothing, not wanting to boast that she had earned those, and additional ones in Herbology, Runes, Arithmancy, and Transfiguration. There had been a time when nothing would have stopped her trumpeting her own accomplishments, but she had grown up a little, and remembered how much Professor Snape had hated the sight of her hand up and waving.
Hermione had news of her own, and finished another bit of lovely cheese before making her announcement. "I've decided to petition the Wizengamot for the Crouch estate."
Harry blinked owlishly behind his glasses. "I thought you didn't want it to be public knowledge. I thought you didn't want any part of Crouch or anything of his."
"Well, I thought again," she answered fiercely. "Why shouldn't I have it? There are no relatives closer than third cousin, and if no one of nearer blood puts in a claim, the Ministry will seize the lot after seven years have passed. Why not me? The more I think about it, the more outrageous it seems. There's a big country house in Sussex and a vault at Gringott's. Who knows what the family owned? Maybe I could do some good with more resources. I have some ideas—"
"Hermione," Harry objected, "if you need money, you could always—"
"But don't you see?" she interrupted, becoming a bit strident. "It's mine. I was his daughter. I ought to get something!"
"Sure. Right." He said, trying to soothe her. "It's all right, Hermione. If that's what you want, I'm all for it."
"I'm glad you feel that way. You can help me."
Harry wondered what he had got himself into.
It was quite simple. Harry would attend the hearing. He would sit there, lending her visible support. At this moment, Harry could command a great deal of influence, and many members of the Wizengamot would not wish to stand in his way.
"It's all in a good cause, Harry," Hermione declared. "It sets an important precedent. I got my hands on a copy of Mr. Crouch's will. He doesn't mention me, true: but on the other hand, he doesn't explicitly cut me off. I have proof through the Unintended Consequences documents that he was indeed my father. The other heirs are dead: Mrs. Crouch in Azkaban, and Barty Junior a year after he was Kissed. I think I've got them!"
"Okay. What will you do with the money, and the house, and all the what-have-you?"
"Whatever I like!"
She was in a wonderful mood, and quite willing to be shown the remarkable improvements Kreacher had made to his bedroom. She was not done talking, however, and went on and on about her plans to the kindly darkness, long after Harry was fast asleep.
-----
"MUGGLEBORN SUES TO INHERIT CROUCH ESTATE!!!!!"
Harry tossed the latest issue of the Daily Prophet into the dustbin. He had known that there would be a tremendous scandal. He hated scandals himself, but for Hermione's sake, he would set his face to the storm and ride it out.
The Wizengamot delayed proceedings for two weeks, until public excitement forced its hand. There were lurid speculations about the events leading to Hermione's conception: the vilest rumors were circulated concerning her mother's morals, appearance, intelligence, and choice of career. Since the editors of the Daily Prophet were not clear as to what a 'dentist' might be, they ignored it, and suggested something quite different—a profession rather older than dentistry. The wizarding world, unfortunately, had no libel laws at all. Hermione bit her lip, and added that to her growing list of Changes to Be Made in Due Course.
Letters to the Editor appeared in the pages, deploring Hermione's greed-- her lack of simple decency. If she were the child of a wizard, conceived out of wedlock, she should have remained forever silent, hiding her shame from the world. It all showed she hadn't had a proper upbringing. When something of the sort was said to Harry one day, he retorted sharply that it was hardly her fault if her father had failed to provide her with a magical upbringing. If wizards fathered children, they should take care of them. He had no sympathy for parents who deserted their children, and he said so, loudly and often.
Others felt that Hermione was pandering to blood prejudice--that she was ashamed of being a Muggleborn, and was trying to make herself more socially acceptable in certain circles. "Is Hermione a Halfblood?" was the question repeated everyday on the front page of the Prophet.
Harry's involvement in the case stirred up the manky old rumors about an affair during the Hero's Wanderings, as his horrible camping trip was now being called in the papers. Hermione kissed him, and told him not to mind, and held her head high.
"Let them say whatever they like, the hypocrites!"
The Auror Office gave him leave on the morning of the hearing. Most of the Aurors were going, too, eager to hear the juicy bits. Shacklebolt himself was to be the Interrogator. Harry found a seat in the midst of some loyal friends. The Weasleys came, of course, except for Ron, who was just too busy at the shop. It was probably just as well. Ginny sat by him, gave him a wink, and took his hand, determined to keep up romantic pretenses for her parents' sake. Luna floated in, escorted by Neville, who stared at some people near Harry until they moved away, muttering. People he knew, and people he did not know poured into the chamber.
One young woman caught his eye: a tall, pale girl, very good-looking, whose long platinum hair reminded him irresistibly of someone. She came in, and paused in the doorway, looking about. Harry hoped for a moment that she was looking for him, but she was not. Her eyes, ice-blue and glittering, were fixed on a spot behind him, and she sneered. Harry started and exchanged a quick look with Ginny.
"Do you think---?" she asked.
"She must be! I'd know that sneer anywhere! Don't you remember her? She was Head Girl my third year."
"I remember her now. Percy hated her. She looks different. Didn't she wear her hair in one long plait down her back?"
"Yeah. I didn't see the resemblance then. Perdita Robinson. She was a Ravenclaw." Not feeling he owed the Malfoys anything, he turned his head, and saw them sitting very still, perfectly devoid of expression. Harry smirked.
Shacklebolt entered, tall and imposing, and the spectators settled down into an expectant silence.
The hearing was miserably protracted. Proof was provided from the appropriate department that Bartemius Crouch, his wife, and his legitimate son were all dead. Hermione had seen to this ahead of time, since she knew that there would be some trouble over it. The transfigured body of Crouch Senior had never been found. The body of his wife, who had died in Azkaban, had been summarily disposed of: cremated, as all deceased inmates were, and the ashes scattered into the icy black waters of the sea. The proof of their deaths was taken from Crouch Junior's statement under Veritaserum, which had been administered by Severus Snape, and preserved in the pensieve of Albus Dumbledore. Additional memories of the event had been provided by Harry, who had seen and heard details that Dumbledore had come upon the scene too late to witness.
The names of two deceased Headmasters of Hogwarts gave an air of respectability to what Hermione admitted to herself was very shaky evidence. She suspected that without Harry's support, and in any other circumstances, her case would have been thrown out, or at least delayed until a full seven years had passed. If she wanted to do things in the ordinary way, she supposed she ought to wait.
But she did not want to wait. She knew the Crouches were dead, and she felt this was her moment to make a statement about the corruption of pureblood wizarding customs.
The evidence was admitted. It was next established that no other close relative had come forward to claim the estate.
Next, there was the matter of her birth.
"Let us hear from Eustacius Smith, Head of the Department of Unintended Consequences."
That gentleman had obviously never expected to appear in something so sordid as a lawsuit involving his own department. He appeared, grimacing in his discomfort, and settled uneasily into the witness box.
"Identify yourself."
"Eustacius Smith, Head of the Department of Unintended Consequences."
"Does your department have records which pertain to the birth of one Hermione Jane Granger?"
"Well—yes, we do, but—"
"Can you produce said record for our examination?"
"Yes, but our records are private, you see—"
"As Miss Granger has waived anonymity, and as the wizard in question is deceased, the record can be presented. Deceased wizards and witches have no right to privacy."
There was a slight delay, as Mr. Smith had not encumbered himself by actually carrying a physical document on his person. His clerk, Photius Fingal, however, was prepared for this exigency, and with an apologetic nod to the Wizengamot, crossed the daunting open space to his Head, and handed him the file.
"Well—'This is the statement of Bartemius Crouch, Senior, relevant Interested Party re the birth of Hermione Jane Granger, born of the muggle female Lesley Anne Brockley Granger. Said infant shall be referred to henceforth as the Subject.' This document has all the usual stipulations—"
"For the benefit of the worthy members present, please describe this stipulations."
"Very well. That this is not a public acknowledgement of paternity, nor an attempt to admit the Subject to the rights and privileges of a legitimate heir of the family in question. It merely recognizes the participation of the Interested Party in the conception of the Subject, and requires us to intervene in case any inappropriate attachment is reported between the Subject and any member of the Interested Party's family related in a closer degree than second cousin."
"If such an—attachment—had been reported, what would be your procedure?"
"We would notify the Interested Party immediately. If the Interested Party were to be deceased, we would notify the head of the family, or the father of the Innocent Party. If absolutely necessary, we would discreetly approach the Innocent Party directly."
"The Innocent Party not being the Subject, I take it?"
"No, certainly not!"
Another member called for the document to be read in its entirety. It was.
Hermione forced herself to sit still and not squirm while Smith droned on. She felt the eyes of the entire wizarding world on her. She knew where Harry was, and all her friends were, and tried to take strength from that. Smith finished reading, and a low murmur rustled through the Chamber.
Discussion was called for, but no one wished to speak. Shacklebolt called for a vote on the question, and by a sufficient majority, Hermione Jane Granger was declared to be the child of Bartemius Crouch by right of blood, and was subsequently to be known to the wizarding world as Hermione Jane Crouch.
Hermione started up at that, ready to object, but Shacklebolt looked at her grimly, and told her that it was part and parcel with finding her the blood heir. Hermione had known as much, but had hoped to evade it.
"I must use the Crouch name, I understand that--but I would prefer to be known as Hermione Crouch-Granger."
This was considered in very bad taste, but was permitted.
The hearing was far from over, however. Crouch's will was read, and after sufficient study, it was clear that Hermione Jane Crouch had not been specifically mentioned as someone who could not inherit. The will was an old one, leaving everything to his wife, and in the event of her death, to his son, Bartemius Junior.
Then a relation of Mrs Crouch's brought up the point that the Crouch Estate might contain her possessions, and that this young person might be considered the heir of Bartemius Senior, but not of his wife.
And thus there was a wait, while Mrs. Crouch's own will was retrieved. This document left everything to her husband.
Shacklebolt said, "The sequence of events demonstrates that Mrs. Crouch predeceased her husband. There is thus no separate property issue. Bartemius Crouch, Junior is also deceased. Miss Gr—Crouch, has entered documents pertaining to their deaths."
One elderly witch observed, "Then the question before us, it seems, is: 'can Miss Crouch be considered the heir of her brother?'"
There followed so much portentous nodding and rubbing of chins that Hermione thought she would scream.
Then another member, who Hermione thought only spoke up to make trouble, demanded a public viewing of the pensieve memory, as he was not at all convinced that Bartemius Senior was dead.
This was the most awful part of the hearing for Hermione. Dumbledore had made a point of preserving this memory, as it had been at the time one of the best pieces of evidence that Voldemort had returned. It made a tremendous impact on the hearing. Barty Junior's mad laughter, the horror of the scene, Harry Potter in mortal peril, the commanding voice of Dumbledore, the quick and resourceful assistance of Snape: all of it provided the assembled with thrills of suspense, and righteous satisfaction at seeing a villain come to judgment.
It was established that Bartemius Crouch, Junior had died intestate. Thus, under wizarding law, his relations up to and including the second degree were eligible to inherit. Within short order, Hermione Jane Crouch found herself the sole possessor of the substantial Crouch Estate.
There were hugs and congratulations: there were also hostile stares and mutterings. Harry pushed his way through the crowd to Hermione and put an arm around her. She felt and looked triumphant and tired. Various functionaries needed to speak to her, to arrange her access to the Gringott's vault and to Croughthwichicombe Hall. At least it was spelled "Croughthwichicombe." It was pronounced "Crushem."
"Croughthwich was the old spelling," she was informed by a tottering, ancient wizard. "The family simplified it in the twenties."
"So before the nineteen twenties--"
"--the eighteen twenties, my dear Miss Crouch!"
Harry retreated to a quiet corner, letting the others gossip about what it all might mean for the future. He was not the only person seeking to get out of public view. He felt another's presence, and looked up to find Lucius Malfoy, looking equally surprised, standing next to him.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry only nodded. He was willing to work with the Malfoys on public projects, but not willing to chat like friends. Lucius, however, had something to say.
"Very generous of you, using your influence to assist your friend. Miss Crouch has become a very wealthy young witch, if my estimate of the Crouch fortune is accurate."
"Miss Crouch-Granger."
The older man managed a small, tight smile. He glanced over Harry's head, and Harry could imagine at whom he was gazing.
"A wizard, however powerful, Mr. Potter," Lucius remarked quietly, "has only a finite amount of influence. It must be used carefully, and replenished whenever possible. You have expended a great deal of influence in helping Miss Crouch---Granger. When you attempt to use your influence in other causes in the future, you will find that people may feel they have already paid their debt to you. I hope you find the sacrifice worthwhile."
"I do. Parents should take care of their children," Harry answered coldly. "There's no excuse for deserting them. If they do, they should pay."
Lucius regarded Harry as he would an curious object on exhibit. He refrained, out of reasonable caution, from observing how interesting it was that Harry was obviously still so angry at his own parents. "Oh, parents always pay, one way or another. I hope, that when you become a parent, you remember your words and your righteous indignation. Perhaps you will find being a father more complicated than you imagine. If you will excuse me, I must go speak to someone."
-----
CROUCH COUNTRY HOUSE TO BE NEW SCHOOL!!!!!
Harry set down the Daily Prophet, and finished his tea.
"Are you sure about this, Hermione?"
"Absolutely. It will make a wonderful school. That stupid name will be forgotten, and it will become the Albus Dumbledore Primary School to the end of time, I hope. Oh, Harry! Look at this picture of you and Lucius Malfoy talking! You should have stopped the photographer. It looks like he's advising you. He is such a snake. Pictures like this are very powerful, Harry. You should be more careful. You could lose a lot of influence in the Ministry, if people think you're listening to him. Oh--I meant to ask you--whatever happened to Draco? You said he was in the States?"
"Yeah, he's at some place called Miskatonic University--"
"Miskatonic!" Hermione screamed, forcing Harry to cover his ears. "Draco Malfoy is at Miskatonic University? That is so unfair! They have the original Necronomicon!"
"Then it sounds just like Malfoy's thing!" Harry muttered.
"H.P. Lovecraft went to Miskatonic University!" Hermione stormed, slamming down her toast with reckless abandon. "There isn't anything like it in England. The Lower School--the College-- is only for boys still--the girls go to Salem Witches' Institute--but the University is co-ed now, and there aren't any wizarding universities left in Europe!"
"Another item for the To-Do List?" Harry teased.
"Someday. Yes. Draco Malfoy! Miskatonic!"
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Next: Adulthood: Harry Potter and the Posh Dinner Party
