Dumbledore sat heavily behind his desk, his mind turning over the unexpected obstacle of Astarte Hermione Black, escorted from his office just now to meet the world. He had many plots twisting in his brain, and the discovery of an heir to the Black's nearly extinct house put everything else on hold.
This new discovery presented a number of immediate problems. He could not afford to let such a potentially powerful pawn fall into the hands of dark families, such as the Malfoys. Should the Malfoys sink their claws into the vulnerable young girl, they would have access to all manner of riches and dark artifacts, not to mention the sheer political power that came with holding two, no, three seats on the Wizengamot, between themselves and the girl's. Due to the girl's la Fey and Black lines, she held unimaginable political power, and an unprecedented amount of raw magical talent. He knew the Malfoys and other families had also realized this.
Unfortunately, the girl's closest non-imprisoned and non-disowned relative was Narcissa Malfoy. Dumbledore needed a way to get the girl away from the influence of dark houses, as a guardian like Narcissa would undoubtedly draw her to the dark side.
He steepled his fingers and inspected the whirring instruments scattered around his office. They clicked and spun in silvery delight, unaware of his troubled thoughts. How could he remove the girl from the influence of her only relatives? The only person who could have a greater hold on her was—
Dumbledore's thoughts froze. Quickly, he conjured a sheet of parchment and a quill, neatly penning a letter. He had to move very fast to set things in motion if his idea was to come to fruition. He could accomplish several things at once should his hunch prove true. While the fallout from the man himself could be a potential problem, it was necessary to shift that pawn to keep the girl from the grasp of the Malfoys.
Once again, families and factions were coming into play, shifting the gears of a new war. In order to ensure the right side would win, Dumbledore would do anything, just as he had during the first war.
Even condemn an innocent man to Azkaban.
Draco Malfoy flinched when Hermione drew her wand, tucking his body in tighter to the man at his side. The tall wizard, his long, platinum hair pulled over his shoulders, stifled a sneer and tapped his cane against the cobblestones. "We will not have a barbaric altercation on her first public outing, Narcissa."
Hermione, blinded by her rage, had been too busy rifling through her mental repertoire of spells that produced large amounts of blood to note Narcissa's pale hand moving. When the vine-wood wand was plucked out of her grasp and slid neatly into one of Narcissa's pockets, Hermione's gold eyes widened and then snapped into narrow slits.
"Give it back," she hissed, whirling on the woman beside her.
"Absolutely not," the wizard scoffed. "Let's take this inside Gringotts proper before even more people stop to watch," he said, eyeing a blonde witch dressed in horrid shades of clashing pink robes.
Before Hermione could argue, and turn a slight disturbance into a true altercation, Narcissa placed a hand on her back and dug in her nails, deceptively guiding Hermione gently through the floo room and into the familiar, cavernous room of Gringotts.
"Wouldn't it be more important for me to become established at the Ministry, first?" Hermione hotly questioned, digging in her heels to halt the haughty procession. She hated coming across like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but seeing Malfoy had thrown her off balance.
"If you were anyone else, yes," the older wizard replied. His hair was fashionably long, as mature wizards seemed to prefer. Exquisite robes, clearly tailored for his exact measurements, enhanced his long, slender figure. The black robes highlighted the smooth alabaster of his skin and the piercing silver eyes that watched her every movement. "However, titles are just papers, which are mostly useless unless backed by galleons. You will command more respect from Ministry officials once your vaults are in order."
"Also," Narcissa added, "it is more prudent to begin with the most difficult task." Her eyes shifted from side to side, flickering over the goblins seated around the hall and the people going about their tasks. So far, no one was looking their way, but Hermione caught the clear warning and settled her tensed muscles. There was no reason to draw attention; she was sure she would deal with plenty of that later.
"The Ministry will be a simple affair," the tall wizard said. He smirked slightly, reminding Hermione far too much of his son, who was standing partially behind his parents and avoiding her gaze. "We should not tarry here, else we risk people catching sight of Astarte and descending on her like animals."
Hermione struggled to ignore his use of her name as the wizard strode commandingly to the front of the bank, requesting immediate assistance. The goblins acquiesced, as happily as Hermione supposed goblins could accept orders, to the Malfoys obtaining a private audience with a goblin banking executive.
The room they entered was nearly claustrophobic, filled with smaller versions of normal chairs, bookshelves, and a desk. Hermione took it as a sign that the goblins did not care to cater to wizarding comforts. The close confines caused her to be nauseatingly close to Draco, whose shoes scuffed on the stone floor as he failed at subtly shifting away from the bristling witch.
Just like on the train, Hermione had multiple options on how to handle Draco Malfoy. However, now she had clear, obtainable goals, and much more power. She could accept Narcissa and the tall wizard's, who she assumed was Lucius Malfoy, guidance, use their obvious influence over Gringotts to develop her own connections to the goblin executive on his way to advise her, and thereby achieve one of the objectives she had penned on the note within her robe pocket. However, that would require for her to politely accept Draco's presence without causing serious harm to his person. Hermione could also use the opportunity before her to attack Draco, as his parents would soon be distracted by the arrival of the executive and would be unable to stop her from getting in at least one good hex. Unfortunately, Narcissa had her wand; Hermione believed she may be able to snatch it from Narcissa's pocket quickly enough, but was unsure.
She scowled to herself, chin sharpening in frustration. For now, she would accept Draco's presence, even as her blood boiled every time she saw his slick blonde hair and pointy face. It was simply the more favorable option. She had much more to gain by ignoring him for half a day. Perhaps, she could even lull him into a sense of security by gritting her teeth and acting forgiving; then, she would have ample time to plan revenge for a later, unexpected date. It would be all the sweeter for betraying what trust she could garner from him.
So Hermione brushed her curling black hair back from her face, curls that had begun to crackle with electric menace, and smiled. "Apologies for acting so rashly and pointing my wand at you," she politely said to Draco, who stared at her incredulously, as if she was an unpredictable creature encountered in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. "My emotions overcame me. I would much prefer to be friends, don't you think? Especially since your parents are being so helpful."
Lucius looked suspicious, but Narcissa smiled. "I find that to be an excellent idea, my dear. What do you say, Draco?"
He looked back and forth between his parents, searching for more clues as to their thoughts. None were forthcoming. His grey eyes nervously looked at Hermione; her face was placid, neutrally smiling. Her eyes were liked two coins: cold and gold, unfeeling. Uncaring.
"I suppose that would be alright," he ventured. When his father narrowed his eyes, Draco quickly added, "Of course I would want to be friends with another Slytherin!" He was greatly unnerved by how quickly Hermione had switched from threatening to welcoming, recognizing the drastic change from his own mother's repertoire of manipulations.
Luckily for Draco's nerves, the goblin executive entered the room, huffing his displeasure at being summoned by wizards. Hermione turned her eyes from Draco, and he wondered if the reason the Blacks named children of their line after constellations was because the night sky was just as dark and cold as themselves.
The goblin shuffled behind a slightly small, oak desk. The Malfoys and Hermione approached the desk and the goblin glared balefully at them, black eyes roving over each wizard and witch in obvious distaste. "What brings the Malfoys and a girl to Gringotts?"
Narcissa, stoically ignoring the goblin's lack of manners, smiled and placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders. "This girl is Astarte Hermione Black, the newly found heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, and the last remaining magical heir to the great sorceress Morgan le Fay."
The goblin's scowl lessened, sensing the gold within a new contract. The Black and le Fay vaults had remained untouched for years, centuries in le Fay's case. The interest collected on the galleons within had been magnificent, but with regular use of the vaults, contracts required change.
It was standard practice at Gringotts' to enforce a sort of stasis over vaults that remained untouched for five years or more. This ensured that the goblins would get a say in who began to use the vaults again, as the witch or wizard was required to come to the bank in person to reopen the vault. In the meantime, the goblins would continue to collect lucrative interest on the vaults as the worth of wizarding currency fluctuated. This allowed for the goblins to tax a vault that increased in value at a greater rate, as it had been closed due to disuse, and no one would notice a difference in taxation.
The goblin executive, Grifvindurk, grinned toothily. In a lesser known clause of updating a contract, Gringotts collected a portion of whatever vault was being reopened as payment for maintaining a closed vault. For the goblins, opening the vault of the le Fay's, which had been closed for centuries, would result in a nice sum indeed.
"I see," he growled lowly, claw-tipped hands reaching within the oak desk to withdraw a packet of papers. "Is she of age?"
"Obviously not," Lucius Malfoy drawled, sneering at the goblin.
Grifvindurk scowled deeply, the deep grooves in his face making him look like an imposing cliff-face. "I never know with wizards," he snarled. "All ugly."
Draco snorted, but Hermione and Narcissa stepped forward simultaneously to take control of the situation. The younger witch barely withheld an annoyed sigh, but she stood still. She could gain more from carefully watching the older witch in moments such as this; Hermione had not been trained in pureblood social decorum. As much as it galled Hermione to admit it to herself, the best example available to her to learn from was Narcissa Malfoy and her pretentious, patriarchal, platinum family. However logical it was to sit back and observe, one of Hermione's more obvious flaws was her struggle to release control. Even as she remained silent and watched Narcissa attempt to charm the gruff goblin, her agitation at being forced to relinquish control began to rise.
She knew her agitation had another, deeper root than simple lack of control. The moment Narcissa had taken her wand, her chest had been itching heatedly. Separation from her wand had led to her torture. Her wand was her inviable connection to her identity as a witch, and she was quite sick of people taking her wand and threatening that identity with vile slurs and threats. She was wandless and in the presence of Malfoy once again, her magic trapped inside without its ordained focus.
Bloodlust, like she had felt in the common room, seeped at the sides of her mind. The red waves lapped almost gently at her focus, drawing her away from the present room and tugging her back into the animalistic, seething heart of herself, discovered in her moments of terror. She can't help but think of this part of herself as something Other, a side of her that her normal, calculating self would disparage. This part of her, drenched in red, wanted nothing more than blood and violence. The Beast looked out through gold eyes and wanted to destroy the other wizards and the witch in the room. She knew Draco acted out of prejudice that he learned from the adults before her; that inheritance has done nothing but condemn the parents, as well as the son.
It kills her, particularly the pacing animal inside her, shifting scales and snarling teeth, to acquiesce to their guidance, no matter how useful. She forced the beast, taming whatever form it takes, as she does not recognize the creature, back into its fitful rest. Even as it clawed in denial at her cool demeanor, she placated it by promising it and herself that she will ascend to her rightful place despite the Malfoys, and the Flints, and whoever else tries to stand in her way.
Hermione refuses to take either side. She will not be the pawn of the ancient old man who sought to ignore her until she was suddenly important. She will not be the pawn of the old pureblood families that would look down on her for being a halfblood while trying to leech off her newfound influence. No, she decides. I alone, I alone am a side!
Her silent declaration goes unheard by any but herself and the lurking creature inside her, but she can feel the reverberations. Her magic shivers, another tiny piece of her unlocking; she wonders if her le Fay heritage was also hidden, until the very moment she decided to create her own battlefield and arrange herself as the only piece, not a queen, but an empress. As her mind's eye sees the dark chessboard, manned already on two sides by a phoenix and a peacock, suddenly a third front emerges, populated only by a single, magnificent piece: a dragon.
It is the second blow against the identity of Hermione Granger, a chip in the stone that will reveal Astarte Black. She can feel her old self slowly dying, but the creature inside her roars in triumph.
Golden eyes gleam as Hermione steps up to the desk beside Narcissa, intent on listening to every syllable. Her short mental detachment went unnoticed, except by perhaps Draco, who had been eyeing her suspiciously and fearfully the entire time they had been in Diagon Alley, wand held tight.
"…Yes, of course," Narcissa brightly told the goblin, ignoring his grumbling. "Since you will for now on be personally managing her case, Ast- Hermione will need a way to reach you, Sir….?"
"The girl may write to me as Executive Grifvindurk," he huffed. "Any correspondence from you, guardian or not, will be ignored."
Narcissa's smile stretched. "Unacceptable. I am the girl's legal—"
"Would you mind spelling that for me, Executive Grifvindurk?" Hermione sweetly interrupted. Her pride had reached the end of its rope; she had to take control of the situation before The Beast tore her to shreds from the inside out.
The goblin grinned toothily before enunciating each letter of his name. Then, he shoved a sheaf of papers at her. "Sign these and then someone will take you to your vaults."
Hermione perched herself in an empty, but cramped, velvet armchair. She quickly read the parts she had not deeply researched during her infirmary rest. Gold eyes skimmed over passages about bloodline rights and magical signatures, but stuck and slowly read passages on taxation and understood cuts that Gringotts reserved the rights to claim. "These terms are outdated," she decided, much to the outrage of the executive.
"There is no such thing as outdated," he snarled viciously, "when goblins and dratted wizards can live well into their hundreds and sometimes further!"
"What if I made a counter proposition?" Hermione asked politely.
Executive Grifvindurk growled, "There is no bargaining with thieving wizards!"
"That is exactly what my proposition would have entailed, Executive Grifvindurk," Hermione explained. "It came to my attention in my History of Magic courses that wizards have been stealing goblin artefacts for centuries, without any sort of regulation or recompense. This is simply an awful reach of wizarding law!"
Executive Grifvindurk bared his teeth, unable to keep himself from agreeing. "Wizards have claimed goblin-made works for much longer than centuries!"
"My proposition," she continued, placidly ignoring the astounded look on Lucius Malfoy's face as she argued with the Gringotts' executive banker, "is that you, personally, may accompany me into the Black vaults to reclaim three goblin crafted pieces of your choice.'
Executive Grifvindurk descended into thought, curling his claws into the wooden desk. Any item of goblin make was extremely valuable to the Goblin Nation. Opportunities like what the young witch offered were exceedingly rare, if not totally unprecedented. He owed it to his people to see just how far he could push the witch, since wizards never gave up goblin made objects for something so simple as avoiding a fee. The value of three pieces could well exceed the amount of the fee. "What about the rest of the stolen artefacts?" he angrily queried. "There are more than three in your vaults, I am sure."
"Those can be decided upon later, to foster good relations between my accounts and the goblins of Gringotts Bank," the Black witch offered. "Consider these first three pieces an introduction to many decades of happy service."
The goblin growled, but accepted her terms. The lure of retrieving thieved items was too strong to resist, which Hermione had banked on when developing an argument for using those items as a bargaining tool.
Narcissa placed a manicured hand on her shoulder. Hermione could feel the heat of the unwanted gesture through her clothing. "Excellent work," the older witch whispered as they all followed the executive from his office. "You will make a beautiful politician."
Compliments from a Malfoy meant nothing to her, but Hermione smiled anyway and forced herself to cooperate. She needed them for just these errands, and then she could plan her revenge on their son.
Executive Grifvindurk led the group deep into the bowels of Gringotts and onto a rickety, and frankly unsafe looking, metal cart. The cart was manned by a different goblin, which sneered at them and babbled to Grifvindurk in Gobbledygook. Grifvindurk grinned and then sat up front beside the other goblin, allowing Hermione and the Malfoys to fill the hard benches behind them.
The cart jerked to life with a shudder and then careened wildly on the track, stealing the wizards and witches into the depths of Gringotts' wet tunnels. Narcissa and Lucius looked mostly annoyed at the crazy ride, having grown used to the goblins' hostile form of diplomacy. Draco was clutching the metal railing, trying his best to cling for dear life while also avoiding touching Hermione. While the steep drop stole her breath, Hermione still ardently wished for her wand; it would have been a perfect time to sneakily shock the Malfoy heir.
The trip lasted well into an hour. The cart passed vaults, at first small and unassuming, but as the journey progressed they steadily grew larger, with more ornate doors. Finally, the cart came to the end of its track at the very bottom of Gringotts. The vaults there had massive doors, embossed with the seals and effigies of esteemed wizarding families.
"That one is ours," Draco told her proudly, momentarily forgetting his fear. Hermione squinted through the gloom, which steadily lessened as magic torches burned into life around them. Draco was pointing at large, bronze doors, so old they were tarnished to a deep grey-brown, inlaid with a silver crest picked out in black and forest green. The giant, silver M had two dragons edging it, and twining snakes garlanding the family motto: Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.
"Purity will always conquer," Lucius said proudly, pale hair gleaming in the low light.
Hermione couldn't help the way disgust twisted her face. Was that really all her new society cared about? Blood purity? It was such a stupid thing to focus on when a witch could instead spend her lifetime becoming more powerful and furthering her magical gifts. She made a mental note to develop an experiment to test if there was actually a difference in the purity of a wizard's blood.
"That's your family vault," her cousin grabbed her attention. "The Black motto is Toujours Pur, which means-"
"Always pure," Hermione interrupted, disappointed but unsurprised. Everything was about blood; it was an unsettling obsession.
The Black crest featured curling ivy around an angled shield, trisected into three fields. The largest field pictured three birds, ravens she assumed, while the second field was blank, and the third, top shield showed a hand holding a wand. The top point of the shield was concealed by an ivy-wreathed skull. Charming, Hermione thought.
Executive Grifvindurk approached the vault's door and fit a large, ornate key into a previously concealed keyhole. The door swung open on large, creaking hinges; Hermione doubted the goblins cared to keep the vaults under their supervision well-oiled. She had also noted the grime clinging to the Black and Malfoy crests. She would be more surprised if the goblins took precious time out of loathing wizards to spend a single second making sure a pureblood crest sparkled.
"I will go in first," the executive stated. "No meddling until I have picked the agreed upon artefacts."
"Go ahead," Hermione gestured to the vault, the door barely cracked open to conceal the inside. "We will wait for you to finish out here."
Executive Grifvindurk had ignored her polite agreement and gone inside the vault as soon as he finished talking, but Hermione didn't take offense. Wooing the goblins of Gringotts would no doubt be an extremely difficult task; this was merely the first step. Any witch the goblins showed a favorable bias to would hold immense sway over pretty much anything, since the goblins didn't like anyone who wasn't a goblin. She honestly couldn't even guess how far having Gringotts as an ally would go, since there wasn't a precedent. The only other people who had the wealth to try to influence Gringotts were too snooty to consort with what most people saw as a hideous, yet useful, lower life form.
Despite the unknown advantages of such an alliance, she was nearly positive there would be very few, if any, drawbacks. After all, no witch or wizard would wish to alienate someone who potentially held power over their vault. It was a weakness of magical society to only have one major bank; it granted the potential to give any person with the ear of Gringotts unlimited power.
She could see the wheels turning in Narcissa's and Lucius's heads. They were impressed by how she managed the executive, but didn't see how her counter offer was better than the original fee. It didn't occur to them that she was being truthful before; she honestly wanted to foster good relations with the Goblin Nation. The Malfoys would never lower themselves to seek the favor of a lesser being. And that was one of the reasons why Hermione had decided to be her own side of the chess board: only she would be willing to ignore traditional pureblood snobbery to achieve her aims.
"This is a great time to discuss our next stop after Gringotts," Narcissa brightly interjected, the positivity of her words catching everyone's attention. "Establishing your official titles and having your family properties returned to you should be simple. The rather, well, unorthodox way you discovered your true heritage caused you to become official in the books and on family tapestries, but the Ministry will still insist on the blood test they perform on all heirs who have come of age or unexpectedly inherited the role of Head of House."
"What does this blood test do, exactly?" Hermione asked warily.
"It's not something to be concerned over," Lucius assured. "Your finger on your dominant hand will be pricked with an enchanted, ceremonial dagger. The drop of blood will be smeared on a potion-treated parchment and then a spell will test for a degree of similarity between your blood and the blood of your last Head of House, Walburga Black, your grandmother."
"Doesn't sound too difficult," Hermione admitted. She was still disconcerted at the thought of being submitted to a blood test, but it really wasn't any different from muggle paternity tests. She was just lingering over her distaste for the blood obsession.
"Once the test proves what we already know for fact, the Ministry is going to go over any documents a Head of House would need. These documents will include one instating you as the official Head of the Black family, granting you control over all Black affairs. Other documents will officially grant you the Black properties that were not assumed into other families upon your father's sentence, access to your seat on the Wizengamot, and any other legal matters the Black family was once involved in, such as ownership of any businesses," Lucius said.
Hermione was reluctantly impressed with the knowledge of Ministry workings he so casually described in succinct phrases. Lucius provided valuable insight that mere research could not compare to. Lucius, as Head of the Malfoy House and the Malfoy seat on the Wizengamot, had a lot of experience manipulating wizarding bureaucracy. Even as she reaffirmed herself again and again that she was independent of their political schemes, she couldn't deny that until she got her bearings, the Malfoys were her best source on learning how to assimilate herself into the wizarding hierarchy.
She had to consistently remind herself that she had nothing but time to figure everything out. Even as events seemed to race onto her tight schedule, she had many years ahead of her to plan. She was only a first year, despite how impatient she was to advance herself in her studies and her newfound political power. It would take years before she become a true political threat, discounting her automatic influence due to her blood. She had the talent and cunning; what she lacked was experience, which she could learn from Lucius and Narcissa.
"I assume establishing your position as Morgan le Fay's successor will be the same. If you are truly her direct descendent, as the portrait claims, the blood test will prove it. Following that, Narcissa has reserved lunch at Bardella's Bistro in Diagon Alley, after which I will take my leave, and you three have plans to complete other tasks."
"Acceptable," Hermione nodded.
Executive Grifvindurk reemerged from the vault, carrying an ornate pair of gauntlets inlaid with gemstones, a curved dagger, and a gleaming collar made from strips of precious metals. He was grinning widely, revealing sharp teeth. He handed his glittering haul to his associate, who also grinned and began to caress the items subtly as he stashed them in the cart.
Then, the executive turned to Hermione and the Malfoys and grinned even wider, before shutting the vault door and locking it.
Lucius sneered, "What is the meaning of this? You received your due!"
"I won't let any wizards into the vault until I see official papers declaring the girl as the Black heir," the crafty goblin informed the group. "Gringotts doesn't let anyone claiming to be a Malfoy into your vault, do they? There are protocols-"
"You tricked us!" Lucius fumed. "You let us think you were going to let us in so you could retrieve your bloody baubles, knowing you wouldn't let us in anyway!"
The goblin's grin had yet to be diminished. "Return with proper identification, and someone will let you in. Until then, my time here is over." Executive Grifvindurk ambled to the cart and reclaimed his seat, chatting happily in Gobbledygook to his companion. Unable to force any other outcome, the witches and wizards unhappily climbed into the cart, which immediately began the perilous trek out from the deepest bowels of Gringotts.
On the ride, while Narcissa's anger was betrayed by the tight pinch of her mouth and Lucius looked a heartbeat away from an outburst, Hermione reflected that she had a lot to learn before could compete in politics, seeing as her first political foray in attempting to make allies had been not only been used against her, but firmly rebuffed.
However, she was not going to give up yet. She was nothing if not stubborn.
