Posting early because I'm procrastinating preparing for finals! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I love nothing more than reading and responding to what ya'll think. Enjoy the update and feel free to share your thoughts some more :)
To say Rufus Scrimgeour was displeased to be accosted the moment he stepped out of the Ministry floo was an understatement.
The second he saw the Black girl and the supposedly reformed Death Eater, he scowled ferociously. "It's bloody dawn, and you two woke up, left Hogwarts, and came here, just to see me. It would be smart to turn around leave before I get irritated."
"At this point, Mr. Scrimgeour," the girl said sweetly, "I would like nothing more than to irritate you, as my letters haven't seem to have done the trick."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Girl, don't push your luck."
"Astarte Hermione Black has formally requested a meeting with you twenty-eight times," the man, Severus Snape, smoothly interjected. "Once a day, for four weeks. She has not received a single response from either you or your department. It is quite… uncouth, to habitually ignore the heir to both the Black and le Fay houses. I have never taken you for a fool, Rufus."
"You will call me Scrimgeour, Snape," the ex-auror snapped, temper rising. "I won't be casually spoken to like I'm your friend, or even an acquaintance. You were a Death Eater, and that's all you will ever be in my eyes, Albus's word or not. If you are both going to show up here and insist on seeing me, then come on. I will not entertain this farce any longer than I have to."
Hermione could barely contain her fury. How dare he ridicule Professor Snape? She looked up to her professor, admiring his sharp intellect. Listening to the leonine man say Professor Snape was not worthy of his regard heated her blood, stoking the beast Badb had warned her of in her chest. Was this how people treated former Death Eaters, ones such as her professor who had turned themselves around and begun to provide for the society that belittled them? No wonder why Professor Snape was such a sour, embittered man. He spent his free time producing complex potions for St. Mungo's and Madame Pomfrey and successfully educated all of Britain's magical children in potions, despite clearly hating it, only to face people like Scrimgeour the moment he left Hogwarts. She could understand why it had been so hard to convince him to bring her to the Ministry; she had had to barter her free time to prepare ingredients for his classes.
She fumed to herself the entire way to the DMLE level. The elevator ride nearly undid her; the beast clamored and roared so fiercely in such close quarters, she felt sparks zinging off her curls. The way to Scrimgeour's office was so tense, she felt as though any one of them would snap before they reached the door. But they made it. Barely.
Scrimgeour settled himself behind his desk quickly, uncomfortable having a Death Eater and a Black, no matter how young, at his back. "This is about that father of yours, I take it," he began without preamble.
"Oh, so you did read my letters, then. He didn't get a fair trial before the Wizengamot," Hermione responded tartly. She didn't mind skipping the social niceties; she was better at being quick and mean, anyway. "According to 'A Comprehensive History of the Blood Purity War,' when Bartimous Crouch was in charge of this department, he axed the personal rights of the citizens in the interest of winning the war-"
"We won the war. Being 'fair' would have gotten us killed," Scrimgeour growled, interrupting her.
Every moment Hermione spent in the man's presence, she liked him less and less. She found him intolerant and unwilling to change, even when the truth was shoved in his face. If feeling that way made her a hypocrite, she didn't care.
She almost looked to her mentor for help, but he had made it very clear the night before that the most he would do was acquire permission to escort her to the Ministry. "I will have no hand in releasing your… father, from prison," the professor had said, a sneer obvious in every syllable. Hermione didn't know why Professor Snape wouldn't help her release Sirius Black from Azkaban, but she knew better than to ask. The only thing she suspected her professor liked less than first years was personal questions.
"That may be so, Mr. Scrimgeour," Hermione admitted. She couldn't deny that the Ministry's change to more cutthroat tactics had hastened their victory. But, she disagreed with the idea that the Ministry had won because of it. "But we both know the Ministry didn't win the war. A baby did."
The ex-auror screwed up his face in anger, but she interrupted his response quickly. "And, it would have been a simple matter to apprehend suspected Death Eaters for trials after the war ended. If it would have been necessary to imprison them in Azkaban until a trial could occur, so be it. Voldemort was dead by the time you took my father into custody. It would have been easy to give him an honest trial, yet he remains in Azkaban, and I remain uncertain of his guiltiness."
"He was laughing at the scene of the crime," Scrimgeour argued vehemently.
"I've also read reports he was sobbing," Hermione pointed out. "That just goes to show that no one knows the absolute truth, not even you. I'm not asking you to move mountains, Mr. Scrimgeour. Give him a fair trial. You know the channels to obtain permission to use veritaserum. Use it. Learn the absolute, untainted truth. The worst that will happen is that I will be wrong, and the DMLE will look all the stronger for imprisoning him from the get go. On the other hand, if I'm right and he's innocent, the DMLE still looks good, for discovering the truth and freeing an innocent man from Azkaban."
"You underestimate how hard it is to get a man out of Azkaban, even for a trial," Scrimgeour growled. But she knew by the way he had stopped looking at the door longingly that he had committed himself to listening, rather than hoping they would give up and leave.
"You're the head of the DMLE," she complimented. "If anyone can do it, it's you."
He leaned back in his chair and eyed her as if she was a creature he wished could be hunted to extinction. "Flattery won't work on me, girl."
"It's not flattery if it's the truth," she said simply.
Rufus Scrimgeour continued to glare at Hermione Black. Finally, he snapped, "I despise Slytherins. I'll look into it, but I make no guarantees."
"It needs to happen as soon as possible," she argued, emboldened by his agreement. "You could have an innocent man suffering in Azkaban right now, at the mercy of Dementors."
Scrimgeour menacingly braced himself on the edge of his desk, holding her gaze steadily as he thrust his index finger at her. "Do not dare to demand anything of me, Miss Black," he said through gritted teeth. The emphasis on her name made 'Black' sound like the darkest curse.
Professor Snape cut his eyes at her sideways, a clear warning to back off. She plowed ahead, knowing she could gain ground despite Scrimgeour's growing fury. "I wouldn't dare to presume to order the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement around. If you're right and he's guilty, you look good for insisting on keeping a mass murderer in prison, despite his dear, newly-discovered daughter's hopes. I will personally report to the Prophet that you calmly and succinctly told me your honest beliefs that I would only be disappointed by the outcome of a trial. The Prophet and Britain will venerate you for helping a young girl in her quest for the truth. If I'm right, and Sirius Black is innocent, you still look good for demanding an innocent man be given rightful due process. My father will be released and I will be in your debt, which is a much better place for me to be than as your enemy."
The ex-auror screwed his face into a sneer, eyebrows lowering fiercely and mouth twisting. "A twelve-year-old as an enemy? Learn your place, Miss Black."
"I won't always be twelve," promised Hermione quietly.
He stared at her intently, his scowl not lessening a single bit. The silence was oppressive. Finally, he leaned backward and relaxed slightly. "I'll make sure my assistant sends some important owls today."
She knew that would be the best she would get. Hermione prepared herself to cast down her pride and thank him profusely, but he held up a calloused hand with a scowl. The man had perfected the art of angrily scowling. "Not another word, Black. Get out of my office, both of you. And stop sending me letters. I have enough kindling for my bloody fireplace."
Warm with victory, Hermione didn't even acknowledge his admittance of what he had done with all of her polite, well thought-out letters. "I thank you, Mr. Scrimgeour."
"Get out before I change my mind!" he thundered. They complied hastily, which for Professor Snape meant one last, cool glare before he swept from the room after his charge.
"That went well," Hermione said happily. They made it down the lift and into the atrium before her mentor replied.
"You are impulsive and foolhardy," he insulted as they reclaimed their wands.
Hermione frowned as she tucked her wand into her hidden pocket. She had left the Morrigan's wand concealed in her room, as she didn't know how to get it past Ministry security, and she really didn't want the Ministry to find out she had it at all. She didn't know how Narcissa had gotten their wands so deep into the Ministry without turning them over; she suspected there was a charm on her robes.
"I thought I did well," she answered indignantly, prepared to defend herself.
"You did well enough, for a nine-year-old future Gryffindor," Professor Snape sneered. "You pride yourself on your supposed finesse. Managing your dimwitted housemates is quite different from managing educated and experienced adults. No matter how old you act, you are still a child. If you do not learn to control your temper and your hubris, someone will come along who will humiliate you so badly you will never desire to show your face again."
Spots of color burned high on Hermione's cheeks. "I handled all the people who came up to me when Narcissa took me on my errands. She said I did well!"
"Oh?" Professor Snape questioned, raising a single brow sardonically. "You depend on Narcissa Malfoy for approval, now? My apologies, Miss Black."
Furious, Hermione stopped following at his side right before the floo that would whisk them back to the headmaster's office. "I won't be spoken to this way!" she declared, embarrassed. She was so angry he had implied she needed Narcissa's approval, her voice shook. She couldn't remember the last time she had lost control of herself over mere words. She couldn't remember the last time mere words had hurt so badly.
Her mentor, the professor she most admired, looked down on her. She knew the glint in his eyes was disappointment, and it made her both angrier and more upset. "Stupid little girl. You alone, out of your entire house, have the most potential. I will not watch you squander your talent by becoming too prideful to see beneath your nose. If you want to be the consummate politician and powerful witch I have no doubt you desire to be, you must stop considering everyone around you an enemy."
"How can I not?" she lashed out. "Everyone would have let me die before they found out who I really am."
"No amount of violence or threats will change how people used to think of you," he hissed coldly. "You can only control how people see you from this point onward. Shape your housemates as you wish, but stop trying to force them to fear you. It may work on the younger imbeciles, but anyone older and smarter than a fourth year will find your threats ridiculous. One day you may able to carry out the bloodlust you so obviously feel, but today is not that day. It will not be that day for years more yet. You have the singular chance to become the most powerful witch in Britain, socially, politically, and perhaps also magically. Do not waste the talent I rarely see by being too caught up in your own silly pride to make better decisions."
Done with his thorough upbraiding, he turned around and stalked to the floo. She followed behind, meeker than she had ever been in her life. To be chastised in such a way by the professor she respected the most had knocked her down so many pegs, she felt bruised.
They entered the headmaster's office in silence. For once, Dumbledore was not present, which she found surprising; she would have expected him to be waiting for an immediate update on how their ambush of Scrimgeour had gone. She could only be thankful he was somewhere else, pursuing other schemes. She had no desire to speak to anyone, much less to be interrogated by the nosey Headmaster Dumbledore.
The silence persisted as they made their way back to the dungeons. It was another hour until breakfast, so no one was about. Retrospectively, she considered herself lucky that it was much too early for anyone except Scrimgeour and few maintenance workers to be in the Ministry, as well. She would have felt even more humiliated by her professor's lecture had anyone been present to listen.
She entered her common room, still unable to say a word to her mentor. Sitting in her usual spot, she slouched deep into the green cushioning, not bothering to change out of her finery despite the way the silk bunched awkwardly. She had a lot to think about before she saw her housemates for the day.