DISCLAIMER: the only thing I own are the plot and the original characters of this story, everything else you may recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. My only profit is my personal entertainment and hopefully yours.
WARNINGS: pureblood!Hermione, OOC, rated M for coarse language, mentions of violence and sexual encounters; modern.
This fanfiction comes with dedicated website: godisawitchfic dot tumblr dot com.
25.
FETISH
.
( Diagon Alley: The Time Warp,
Fashion for all Occasions – London, England
September 25th, 2003, around 11:00 a.m. )
Buying a gown for an event wasn't normally a big deal for Hermione, who in her life had chosen, tried on, purchased and wore thousands of them.
Today, however, Pansy's advice always went against her personal preference, and even the addition of Narcissa's serene presence was doing nothing to mitigate her nerves.
She'd been working on launching MagiTech in England for over six months now, and the clock was mercilessly ticking: everything needed to be perfect, herself included, and so did the dress (well, dresses) she was going to wear: she already knew which one she was going to appear inside of at the after party, but so far she had no clue as to when she was going to find the appropriate outfit for the main portion of the event, which included the red carpet and the official presentation, and the witch was slowly but surely losing her patience.
That morning Hermione had already tried many gowns on, and she was pretty sure the retailer lady, Summer, was growing tired with searching for new propositions: the black one was too revealing and the red one was too bold, while the platinum silver one made her look like she was trying too hard (or the cheap version of a bride).
"Why can't you just make me a dress like you always do?", she asked Pansy for the umpteenth time.
"I'm not doing this again", the brunette scoffed, placing two more beautiful garments on her arm and gesturing towards the changing room. "My brand launches before yours, Hermione. Right now I have to focus on Obsidian Couture and at the moment I can't possibly make you something that's wow enough for the occasion. This once you're going to have to suck it up and wear something that wasn't designed by me".
"I didn't feel wow in any of those", Hermione countered from behind the separé, sending a menacing look at the clothes scattered all over the small space.
If Summer didn't already hate her for the attitude, she definitely was going to hate her for the mess she'd caused in the fitting room.
Fighting fiercely with the zipper, the witch managed to secure the black, form-fitting velvet to her body. "Too short, I think?"
"Your legs look amazing in that", her best friend said when she came to her view. "But yeah, it's too short. That's why you're wearing it for OC's party".
Narcissa smiled politely in her direction. "You do look really beautiful with that dress, though it's definitely on the provocative side", she commented, and Hermione valued the woman's opinion enough to give it a second look. The boutique was one the blonde witch had personally recommended and an old-time favourite of hers, after all.
Placing herself in front of the mirror, Hermione took a deep breath before critically assessing her appearance.
The off-the-shoulders neckline hugged her chest really nicely and the fabric was very light on the skin, but not sheer; the deep black of the material was embellished with tiny silver glitters that shined following the way she moved under the artificial lights of the shop. "I like this one", she offered to Summer with a tentative smile.
"And we are so glad about that", the girl replied, curving the corners of her lips in a very unnatural smile. She was clearly doing her best to make her client happy, but two hours after they'd entered the shop she'd only decided on one dress, and it wasn't even the one the trio had come into the boutique for.
Having one of your creations on a red carpet was a big achievement for a designer and there was no doubt her superiors were going to put a lot of pressure into her, one way or another: she could either seal the deal and be praised or let them walk away without a gown, lose the important job for The Time Warp and possibly get fired in the process.
Hermione felt sorry for the girl: it didn't look like she had a precise idea of who she or Pansy were when they'd first entered the boutique, and it was clear she'd been trying to fill the gaps on her own over the last two hours, and with very little success.
Summer wasn't much younger than her, but she was sure she'd never seen her in Hogwarts, so she could be the case of an extreme make-over, or simply someone who'd been educated in another wizarding institute.
She was fairly acquainted with Narcissa, though, which was a bit odd.
"Summer, dear", Mrs. Malfoy called. "Why don't you take me to the back of the store and let me see what you've been working on recently? Meanwhile Ms. Granger could try on the pink dress, perhaps?"
Hermione snorted, but she returned to the fitting room without any remark with Pansy following closely behind her.
"Go easy on the poor kid. She's doing her best", the Slytherin suggested as soon as they were out of ear-reach. "What's up with you today, anyway? You've never been so impossible to style for even when we had a two-hundred dollars budget and you walked the carpet with needles keeping your dress together".
Gently zipping up the salmon pink garment that was left for her to try, it took only one look for her to know that it was most definitely not what she was going to wear for her big night: the colour wasn't particularly flattering on her skin-tone, and the shape weirdly resembled that of a meringue.
Pansy seemed to agree, because she added: "That dress is hideous on you".
"Trust me, I can see that for myself", Hermione replied, eyeing the evil dress in the mirror. She was usually rather confident about the way she looked, but right now she resembled a four-year-old pretending to be a princess, and it was taking a temporary hit on her self-esteem.
Definitely not the best conditions for shopping.
Luckily the door to the back of the store opened, and Narcissa stepped out of it, triumphally holding a sketch in her hand. "Excuse me if I'm over-stepping, but I believe I found what you're looking for".
What a fairy godmother.
With the unrealistic shade of blonde of her hair, it was legit to assume she had Veela blood running in her veins, after all.
The older witch smiled encouragingly, handing the sheet of paper to Hermione. "No witch has been seen wearing this colour in a formal event since 1977, if the information in my possession is correct".
At this point her expectations were almost as high as her hopes of being done with her shopping very soon. Grabbing the sketch, the woman lowered her eyes on it and found a pleasant surprise: it really was a beautiful garment, elaborate enough to make a statement, but somehow still sober, tasteful.
It was an ice blue taffeta dream: the dress was off-the-shoulders just like the other one she'd decided to purchase, minus the long sleeves; from the drawing it looked like it was very structured on the waist, a shape of gown she personally enjoyed wearing, and the skirt was built so that it cascaded on the sides while still looking pretty voluminous, with a single slit that stopped just a couple inches beneath the crotch area.
It was the perfect mixture of daring and innocent, and she had no doubt that if realized as portrayed in the sketch, it was going to take many breaths away (Malfoy included, hopefully).
"It's... perfect", she admitted after what felt like a century, and she followed with her eyes as all the muscles in Summer's body simultaneously relaxed before an expression of incertitude took over her face.
"I'm not exactly authorized to present my designs to clients…", the blonde started. "I can sew you the dress, but it won't be labelled as if you bought it here at the boutique".
"Surely your boss won't be mad you managed to sell one of your dresses?", Narcissa inquired, from where she sat on one of the armchairs with timeless grace. The way the older woman moved really was mesmerizing, as if dictated by the most precise puppeteer in the world. "There has never been a problem with it in the past. You sewed half my purchases over the past couple of years".
"I know, Aunt Cissa, but those were exceptions", the other countered, biting her lower lip. "From what I've understood, Miss Granger is going to wear her dress for a big event, with a lot of press, and from what you've told me two minutes ago she's very famous here in England".
"People will want to copy whatever she wears", Pansy chimed in, keeping her eyes on the phone as she typed furiously on the touch-screen. "At some point someone is going to start asking who made her dress".
"Precisely my point", Summer nodded. "I'd really love to see my dress on a magazine, but I can't lose my job. You know it's the only reason the Minister allows me to stay. Technically, I'm an American witch", she added, addressing Narcissa once again.
"I know that, dear, I'm the one who got you that job", Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Maybe if I spoke to Marcela again?"
"I'm afraid Ms. Warp will never go for it", the girl peeped, looking as if she was on the edge of tears. "As soon as she hears Hermione Granger was in her boutique she'll be pissed if she didn't walk out with one of her designs".
Narcissa curled her nose at the choice of words but spoke no further.
"Then sew me this gown and I'll offer you a better job", Hermione proposed, willing to solve the situation as fast as possible and finally leave the shop and go get some lunch. "You can do with a potentially talented designer, right?", she asked Pansy, who just now stopped looking at her phone, sending an inquisitive look in Summer's direction.
"If your dress comes out the way she drawn it, I could definitely put her to good use at my atelier", the Slytherin confirmed.
"What do you say, Summer?", she asked with her best convincing smile.
"I- I don't know what- Are you saying I could actually design?"
"Yup", Pansy nodded affirmatively. "Do we have a deal?"
"Yes, ma'am. I can let you have the first fitting by the end of next week", the blonde accepted, excitedly. "Can you leave me an address or would you rather have me sort through this with Aunt Cissa?"
It was pretty clear the girl would have preferred the second option over the first one, but Hermione wasn't feeling too merciful that day. "I'll leave you my phone number. You said you're American, so I'm sure that if you don't already have one, you surely know how to find one".
Returning to the fitting room, the witch retrieved her purse and the pink dress she most definitely wasn't going to buy. "Here are my number and Pansy's, she has all my measurements and she usually styles all my looks, so she knows everything you may want to know", she said, picking up two small business cards and handing them over to the younger girl.
"I'll keep both of you informed on my progress", Summer replied, a little dumbstruck. "If there's anything else I could…?", she trailed off.
"I'd like to pay for the dress that we put aside earlier", Hermione prompted. "I don't know about you, ladies, but I'm famished", she added, talking to Pansy and Narcissa.
From there the quartet of women proceeded to where the cash register was located, and four minutes and three-hundred-fifty-seven Galleons later the witch could finally walk out of the store and breath in some fresh air.
Usually she didn't mind spending some of her time shopping (she still preferred libraries to clothing stores, though), but an entire morning was simply too much to handle for her nerves.
It was incredibly selfish, but there were times she missed the days Pansy's job was to take care of her wardrobe.
Every day, she missed the times she and Pansy were always side by side.
( Ministry of Magic, the Minister's office – London, England
September 25th, 2003, around 11:30 a.m. )
After more than one year into his second term, Kingsley Shacklebolt finally understood why his mother had started to cry the first time he'd announced he was to be the next Minister of Magic, and why she'd shook her head in disapproval when he'd told the family that he'd been re-elected.
Trouble always came in threes, and even if it was just eleven o'clock in the morning, the man had already prevented an international scandal involving the daughter of a foreign Minister and a member of the Wizengamot, and that after listening to another High Warlock who'd come to his office to denounce the fact and demand the wizard was removed from his position.
He'd managed to convince Mr. Stilinski to be more reasonable and just admonish the alleged sinner, but now an even bigger problem had just walked through the door.
"Good morning, Minister", greeted Auror Mina Jennings with a little bow of her head.
The witch was wearing particularly gracious clothes, more lady-like than she usually sported, and from that he figured she was probably in the middle of an under-cover type of situation.
The woman in front of him was one of the top members of a team of highly specialized Aurors that Kingsley had created as soon as he'd been given the power and authority to do so.
It was a section of the Ministry that still needed expanding: all recruits were chosen during the normal try-outs, but nobody inside the DMLE knew exactly what their job was about.
They were all fresh minds with no ties or connections to other people in the Ministry (and often inside the English wizarding society as a whole), and their office had been modelled over the muggle concept of Internal Affairs.
They responded only to him and watched relentlessly over every single corner of the building: every department, personal office or resting room wasn't safe if they were investigating something or someone in particular.
Since the end of the war there had been turmoil more than once, and so far his idea had proven to be a successful one: keeping the peace among the wizards and witches of the UK after the embarrassing failure of the previous two Ministers, Cornelius Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour, was not an easy task, and Kingsley was extremely aware of the fact he sat on a very fragile throne.
"Good morning, Miss Jennings. What brings you to my office this morning?"
"I have finished my preliminary report for the attack at Malfoy Manor, Minister", she replied. "Like I originally suspected, Miss Granger is related to the incident".
Nervously pinching the bridge of the nose, Kingsley removed his reading glasses and placed them over the document he'd been reading before the Auror had come into his office. "Mina…", he sighed, somehow warningly.
"I know, sir. You mentored the girl and you know she's not the one who cast the Fiendfyre", the witch professed, raising both her hands in defeat.
"Then how is she related to the incident?", Kingsley asked, repeating her words.
"Whoever did it, it was meant to be an attack towards Miss Granger, too", Mina explained. "There is no way I can say this that would make it sound less gross or revolting, so I'll just say it and be done with it. When Hermione Granger was a student at Hogwarts, she bought herself a familiar, a male half-kneazle cat to be precise. The attackers somehow managed to get their hands on him and they… Well, they casted the Fiendfyre on the poor thing before they threw him in Malfoy Manor's gardens".
The Minister had no words to express his disgust and consternation in front of the action, and reality hit him hard: whoever was after the Malfoys, he or she was much crazier than he'd thought until now.
This was the point where his job became frustrating: by accepting his current position, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been forced to put his past as an Auror behind his back, but that didn't mean he didn't miss the action.
Being Minister of Magic was more about diplomacy and half-victories rather than the delivery of justice, as he'd firstly, and very naively, believed.
"It's imperative we find out who these people are", he ordered. "I give you permission to set up a task-force to deal with this case. I want them in handcuffs as soon as possible. We cannot allow such terrorism to be left unpunished".
"I was thinking that perhaps we could offer the Malfoys the Ministry's protection. It would show the citizens that this office stands by its people", the witch prompted, and if only she wasn't so completely unaware of the political standing of that particular family, her reasoning would have worked magnificently.
Kingsley was going to introduce Lucius to the offer, but he doubted his old dorm-mate was ever going to accept: if he was still the same man he'd went to school with, then there was no way his pride wouldn't get in the middle of things. "I'll speak personally with Mr. Malfoy about it", he conceded without voicing his personal thoughts. "Though I'm afraid that when I tell him that we don't have the shred of a suspect, he'll probably won't even let me come through his floo".
"You must be joking, sir. Everyone would be honoured to have the Minister of Magic in their home", his subordinate replied.
Sometimes he forgot that Ms. Jennings – that was the name she'd chosen for herself after passing the try-outs and being offered a spot in the secret team – wasn't English and didn't know much about the first or the second wizarding war.
She'd been a toddler in South Africa when Tom Riddle had taken over Britain the first time, and she'd moved to the UK when they were already re-building.
She was obviously informed about the main facts that had occurred, and she definitely knew who Harry Potter was, but it wasn't a surprise that she couldn't recall Lucius Malfoy's or his son's name from the articles she'd read on papers or the tales that had been told to her.
Many other members of Mina's team were actually people who had been born and raised in foreign countries, and Kingsley thought of this line action as of another successful idea: they were less biased than the rest of the Ministry's employees, and for the very fragile role they occupied it was a nice change.
"Mr. Malfoy and I went to Hogwarts together, back in the day, but after we graduated we took very different paths. I joined the DMLE, while he took over his family's business and jumped into politics. It's a disgrace he ended up aligning himself with Tom Riddle", the Minister shared, but he was left bitter by his walk on memory lane. "I'm not sure he's going to appreciate our offer".
"From the little information I found out about him, he's trying to move on after his release from Azkaban", Mina countered, and the wizard realized she had been knowing more about the situation than she'd let him believe. "He hasn't stepped out of line once, and apparently he's dedicating himself completely to his family. I'm sure he'll be willing to cooperate if it means keeping said family safe".
"You do have a very strong point, Mina", Kingsley nodded. "I'll make sure I bring it up when I talk to him. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
The witch hesitated. "Well, there would be one thing, sir".
Raising an eyebrow at the Auror (how come no one ever understood when his questions were rhetorical?), he invited her to speak with a sharp gesture of his hand. "And that would be?"
"I'd appreciate your permission to further my investigation on Miss Granger, Minister", Jennings asked, politely yet firmly.
"Is there any particular reason you're going after her?", Kingsley felt the need to ask.
The Auror seemed oddly fixated with Hermione, and he wondered why that was.
"That's not what's happening here, sir. I have no personal feelings towards the matter, or towards Miss Granger. However, I do believe she will prove crucial to the solution of this case", the Auror argued her reasons. "I'd go as far as to say the key. Isn't it a bit odd that Malfoy Manor gets attacked after the family becomes associated with her? And again, it was her cat who was killed in the process".
"I don't know where you took your information from, Mina, but it's partially incorrect", said the Minister. "The only association there ever was between Hermione and the Malfoys is that she's been tortured in their home by Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa's Malfoy sister, during the second wizarding war. Then she fled to Australia almost immediately, and she didn't return until last June".
"When she discovered she had a brother, Mr. Nott, if my research was up to my usual standards", the other replied. It was a winning tactic: daring him to question her unexceptionable actions up until then to force him to trust the badge he'd given her. "Theodore Nott is Draco Malfoy's best friend, isn't he? And wasn't he dating Daphne Greengrass, the poor girl that was attacked during the Summer Festival?"
"I see where you're going with this", Kingsley was compelled to admit. All pieces seemed to be strangely fitting the way she'd just placed them. "Fine, Mina. Have your investigation. But you'll have to be extremely discreet, and you should abstain from contacting Hermione directly".
"That won't be a problem, Minister- Sir. Thank you", she thanked him, enthusiastically, and as she smiled and thanked him again her feet were already working her way to the door.
"There's one more thing, Jennings", the wizard called her back to order. "You'll have to deal with this on your own. We don't want people to know we're looking into the private life of a war-hero, even if I'm only giving you my consent because I want to be sure she's safe from harm. We wouldn't recover from this kind of scandal", he stated, and his tone conveyed perfectly how serious he was about the whole deal.
"Of course, Minister", she nodded, taking one more step towards the door.
Auror Mina Jennings was clearly bursting with anticipation, and as with any personal case he'd assigned her, it seemed like she couldn't wait to start.
"I know you care about the girl. All I want to do is finding out who wants to hurt her".
"That doesn't mean you won't be learning about everything else", he sighed, somewhat solemnly. "I'll send a note to your desk if I get a positive reply from Lucius Malfoy about setting up Ministry protection, but I'll have the Aurors take care of it. If that doesn't prove to be the case, we'll keep in touch through the post over the next few days. I have a diplomatic trip I can't postpone any longer", Kingsley said, and then he bowed his head, just once, to let her know she was dismissed.
"I'll wait for your instructions, sir", she complied, swiftly working with the door's handle behind her back. "If that's anything…"
"Just remember you're allowed to speak of your investigation only with myself, and that for no reason Hermione Granger should come to suspect you are following her, not on your behalf and most definitely not on the Ministry's", Kingsley warned her.
"How do you- How do you know I was following her? It was a hole in the water, anyway. She was trying dresses in a shop in Diagon Alley, and from the look on her face she was enjoying it just as much as I was enjoying looking at it. But guess who was there? Mrs. Malfoy!", Mina shared when she recovered from the surprise of getting busted.
He'd known she'd been under-cover from the moment she'd stepped into his office.
"You may leave now".
Whatever was going on, Minister Shacklebolt hoped he could fix it before it was too late, or someone got hurt.
( Malfoy Manor – Wiltshire, England
September 25th, 2003, around 14:00 p.m. )
The first thing Narcissa Black in Malfoy did when she returned home after lunch was to go straight to the master bedroom and change out of the outfit she'd picked out that morning.
As much as she liked the chiffon overlay purple dress, the garment was very uncomfortable to wear, and she sighed in content and relief when she slipped inside her cashmere peignoir.
Sitting at her vanity table, the woman proceeded in removing her make-up and spent the following thirty minutes by carrying out her skincare regime.
By the time her hair was perfectly braided and it sat on her right shoulder, however, the blonde was starting to get slightly worried.
It wasn't like Lucius not to come and greet her when she returned home, and especially ever since he'd been released from Azkaban.
In the end, Narcissa decided to simply go downstairs and check up on her husband's whereabouts.
Confident in her steps, the witch set out on the path to the man's personal studio, knocking very softly on the mahogany door when she finally reached it.
It shot open before she could lower her arm, and her eyes met the pristine figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Narcissa", the Minister greeted. "Lovely to meet you, like always".
"Minister Shacklebolt", she replied. "Kingsley. What brings you to our home? Has everything happened?", the woman asked, and she could already feel her heart galloping madly in her chest. "Draco?"
"Everything's fine, dear", came from the door, from where Lucius extended an arm to get a hold of her hand. "Nothing has happened. Our son's perfectly safe. He and Adhara are spending the afternoon somewhere in Muggle London", her husband explained, and she didn't miss the frown that crossed his face for a second while mentioning Draco's location.
"Anyway, I was on my way out", Kingsley inserted himself back in the conversation, eager to pay his respects and return to the Ministry. "I'm sure you have many things you may want to talk about with your wife, Lucius".
"That I do, Minister", Lucius conceded, releasing her hand to offer it to the other wizard. He shook it. "I'll be waiting for your owl".
"I'll try to finalize my dispositions before the end of the workday", Kingsley promised as he started to approach the hallway that lead to the parlour.
From there he was going to take advantage of the floo connection the Ministry shared with Malfoy Manor.
Its purpose was to make it easier for the DMLE to do their periodic checks on the former Azkaban prisoner, but the Minister chose to be polite and refrained from mentioning it.
As soon as Shacklebolt disappeared from her sight, Narcissa turned her head to attach her eyes to her husband's. "What was he talking about?"
Lucius didn't reply straight away, inviting Narcissa to join him inside of his study, where he poured a glass of FireWhisky for both of them. "The Ministry officially offered its protection after last week's attack", Lucius told her, grimace hidden behind his drink. "There will be a couple of Aurors around the perimeter of the house, while another will check on the inside and will be available to escort us if we need to go out. Shacklebolt suggested we keep a low profile until they can't identify the aggressors".
"Draco won't like this", was Narcissa's first concern. "I don't like this", was the second. "We've just started getting our life back, Lucius, I won't let these crazy people ruin what may be our last chance at happiness".
"I hope you understand I wasn't in the position to refuse", the wizard replied. For an external observer it would have been impossible to find a noticeable sign of his embarrassment, but his wife knew him too well: it was clear he felt ashamed of himself as of right now. "Hopefully they'll consent to be discreet and follow us from afar when we're out of the Manor, though I don't think many Aurors will be open to the idea of doing a favour to a Malfoy. Perhaps it would be better if we tone down our social life a little".
All of a sudden, Narcissa felt enraged.
She'd persisted for five years in the hope that at some point she was going to get at least a little of her old life back. She wasn't going to bow her head and give up now.
Maybe Lucius wasn't as combative as he'd been during the first years of their marriage, and really for all of their life together until the second rise of the Dark Lord, but that didn't mean she wasn't willing to fight.
Of one thing she was sure, she was going to get her son's support on the matter: there was no way Draco was going to let the Ministry limit his freedom, not again – he'd paid his debt to society, after all, and never crossed the line once ever since.
There was that, but also her very blond son always appreciated an occasion to go against Lucius, a fact that under normal circumstances she was starting to find deeply concerning. "Things will progress just as they've been going for the past few months. I'll give our conditions to the Aurors", she decided. "If they won't listen, I'll see if Harry Potter can do something about it, Lucius".
"I can't believe my wife's connection inside the Ministry is Harry Potter", Lucius mumbled, though he didn't oppose to the idea. "So be it, Narcissa. We'll do things your way", he said.
"You won't be regretting this", the witch reassured him, stepping on her tippy toes to lay a kiss on his cheek, her wrath seemingly forgotten, already.
"I hope so", he confessed, finishing his glass in a long sip. "But I have a condition of my own".
"What is it?", Narcissa asked, slightly tilting her head on the side as she tried to figure out what it could be.
"I want one of the Aurors to constantly watch over Adhara".
( The White Wyvern, room n. 7 – Knockturn Alley, London, England
September 27th, 2003, around 18:00 p.m. )
The furniture of the room consisted of very few pieces: an old double-bed that was missing a leg, half-eaten by moths, on top of which sat an equally old mattress and a worn blanket that at some point in its life was white, but now was tainted, yellow-ish because of the smoke and Circe knew what else; on the opposite side was the wardrobe, placed so closely to the bed that it was difficult for her to open it and get ready for work in the morning; on the wall on the right hung a portrait whose nudity and artistic value were dubious, but someone had probably put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it, because all of her attempts at taking it down had failed spectacularly.
As for the bathroom, Idabelle Greengrass had to share it with the rest of the rooms located on the same floor as hers.
What a disgrace – she said to herself every morning as she looked into the mirror and hoped to wake up from the nightmare she was living.
Euriphides wanted to divorce from her, but she still struggled to wrap her mind around the idea: it was a foreign concept for the generation of Purebloods she belonged to – and especially for the very conservatory Selwyn family who had given her birth.
It was something bound to taint your reputation and exclude you from the upper social circle, and the thought had been hunting her since the day she moved out of Greengrass Manor.
All of that because of her… niece.
Idabelle had never been a fan – she'd been a huge supporter of Lord Voldemort, after all – and even more so after she'd finally got to meet her face to face.
Eloise was capricious, whimsical even, she did what she wanted when she wanted it and she didn't know the very first thing about being a Pureblood heiress.
She'd almost appreciated her intromission when her daughter had called off her engagement with her good-for-nothing cousin, because at that point her back-up plan was going to take over, but then she'd had the gall to challenge her directly.
The blonde didn't knew what sort of spell the other witch had used to turn her entire family against her, but it had worked, and now she was forced to scrape the bottom and, Hecate forbid it, work for a living.
Like she was a sodding Mudblood.
She didn't want to know what her ancestors thought about her, because she was sure it wasn't good.
Checking the watch on her wrist, one of the few pieces of jewellery she hadn't sold to the pawn shop (yet) to pay for the rent of her lousy room, Idabelle realized that the guest she was waiting for was running late, and set out to tidy up the abysmal space once again.
Five minutes later she was done and sat on her bed, needle and thread in her hands, humming an old motive while she attempted to mend the newest hole in her work outfit.
She supposed things couldn't get any worse for her at this point, never in his life had she felt so hopelessly alone and poor, and it was the reason she'd invited Astoria's biological father to visit her.
Idabelle hadn't managed to get a hold on neither her soon-to-be ex-husband nor her utterly useless daughters, and now she was ready to play the only card that was still in her possession.
If she could turn back time, the woman obviously would have never chosen to reveal the truth a second time: what she had believed to be her upper hand had turned out to be her utmost defeat.
She'd spoken out of rage (for the people in her house not following her commands) and pain (that bitch had dared to physically harm her), but she'd regretted revealing her secret the moment she'd completed her sentence.
Once again, it was all Eloise's fault.
She only had this one chance to get back at the insufferable witch, and she was going to make sure it didn't go to waste.
At this point someone knocked on the door, and she exhaled a breath of relief, hiding her uniform underneath the shabby pillow.
Feeling confident in her persuasion skills thanks to the fine garment she was wearing (being married to the owner of a fashion house for over thirty years had its perks, even in times of social disgraces), Idabelle finally reached for the door and opened it.
Her eyes were met with a vision that wasn't exactly the one she'd pictured: twenty years after their last encounter, Xavier Selwyn was still the same handsome and refined man she remembered.
The wizard was a cousin of hers who'd moved out of England shortly after she'd discovered her second pregnancy, a decision she'd urged him to take in order to prevent her husband finding out their affair.
He was her late father's brother youngest son out of his four male heirs.
His facial features hadn't changed a bit, and neither did his ocean eyes, but there was a certain degree of wisdom now chiselled in the light wrinkles of his forehead; he was approaching his fifties but he didn't somehow show more than forty-something.
Xavier was still the eye-candy she'd treasured in her memories, but something in his attitude didn't add up to them.
"Hello, Idabelle", he said, surprising her once more with the change from the accent she so clearly remembered. "I don't have much time, so you better be quick. Like I told you ten days ago when you invited me to your ludicrous party, I'm not interested in reconnecting with the Selwyn side of my family. To me, you all died the day my father exhaled his last breath".
There was nothing left in the way he talked that sounded even remotely British, like twenty-five years of his life had been erased with the casual flick of a wand, but it was also pretty clear he'd spent his time away in a different hemisphere.
"Xavier", the woman called, modulating her voice so that it came out low and seductive, though it seemed to have no effect on the man. "I'm glad you accepted my invitation", she added.
"You said it was about our daughter", he drawled.
The blonde didn't miss the rancour (and was it pain?) in his voice, and smiled inwardly. She could exploit that. "I haven't heard a word from her since the day I've been kicked out of my home".
She remembered him for being a very compassionate person, and made sure to put a mask on her face which, in her humble opinion, would have solicited pity even from the Dark Lord himself. "She refuses to speak with me", she said, and her performance was the quintessence of grief. "With my other daughter I have hope, she was always a lot more subdued, but Astoria… Astoria is a raging fire, Xavier. She may never talk to me again".
"That might be because you lied to her about the way she was conceived and, from what I've gathered, because you tried to force her sister into a marriage", the wizard mocked her. "I'm not sure what you expected to obtain by going through me of all people, but I think you'll end up disappointed, Idabelle. I'm standing here right now only because I need you to give me her address. Once I get what I want, I'm out of that door and out of your life. Hopefully, this time it's for good".
"Well, but of course!", she screeched, theatrically. It was disturbingly clear that there were only a couple arrows left in her bow, but she meant to use them all before admitting her defeat. "One gets betrayed by her husband and left to die, and suddenly her friendship is not welcome anymore!"
"Oh, poor Idabelle", Xavier whispered, walking closer to the door and raising a hand so that he could grab her chin and force her to look him in the eyes. "I don't recall a single instant you and I were friends, cousin. It took me years with a psychologist…", he admitted, and even though she didn't know what a psychologist was, she stored the information for later use. It was a habit. "...But eventually I figured it out. What we had was a sick, disgusting relationship that happened only because I wasn't strong enough to oppose it, and the same goes with my decision to leave England and never return so that you could keep on your gruesome façade".
The coldness of his body language suggested he'd rehearsed the words, but didn't really believe them, while the way his tongue spit each and every of them out made it look like he really meant them.
Not sure what to think, Idabelle started to realize she could say goodbye to her best chance to get her life back, and immediately lost all interest for her interlocutor. "Astoria lives at Greengrass Manor with Euriphides", she told him, now eager to see him leave her current residence. "And she works with him, too. I'm afraid you'll have to necessarily go through my husband if you want to get a hold of her", she implied, revelling in the unease that crossed his face. "Good luck with that".
"Ex-husband", he countered with a sadistic smile. "Farewell, Idabelle. I suggest you consider your life and the choices that brought you to this point", he added, slightly less harshly, on his way out, but the witch was too busy cursing Eloise in her mind to pay any attention. "People refusing your friendship has very little to do with the fact you're about to be divorced. We're in the twenty-first century, in case you didn't get the memo. Perhaps it's because the world has finally understood that you're rotten to the core".
And after that he left, to go where she couldn't tell, and Idabelle was alone once again, left there to socially starve as she contemplated the scraped walls of the abominable room number seven at the White Wyvern, courtesy of Knockturn Alley.
( Ministry of Magic, DMLE Office, Aurors' locker room,
Whitehall, London, England,
September 28th, 2003, around 10:20 p.m. )
After twelve hours with no pause of Auror patrol, nothing felt better than the hot, steamy shower jet crushing on the tensed muscles of his shoulders.
Over the years Harry Potter had come to resent the desk activities that seemed so fundamental in his job, but after a biennium of anything even remotely criminal taking place in wizarding Britain, his jurisdiction, he was no longer trained for such long shifts.
"I can't wait to collapse into my bed", called Ron from the shower cubicle on his left. "And it's only the first day", he added, and approving noises came from Anthony and Dean, who were already done washing themselves and were tending to their beards in front of the mirror.
"We couldn't let other detectives deal with this and you know it", he said, repeating himself for what felt like the one-hundredth time. "I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but when it comes to the Malfoys you're one of the less biased Aurors this Ministry has".
"Old Lucius should work better on his public relations", Ron grimaced. "I'm doing it only because I promised Malfoy this department would never let any harm come to his child, and I do stand by those words. She has no part in whatever hate her family is facing".
"That gives you honour, mate", Harry smiled. "Anyway, I thought it would be best to work with our teams combined not only because we're already acquainted with each other. It'll make the surveillance go a lot smoother, but I also need your direct contribute with something else I'm working on".
"What is it, Harry?", asked Dean.
"You can count on me, Potter", said Goldstein without stopping trimming his beard. "I got along pretty well with Draco at school, and he could be very smart when he wasn't busy showing off his bloody pedigree. Even though our paths took different directions at some point, I don't wish for his family to be hurt, not to mention a four-years-old that has no responsibility for what went down during the war".
The-Boy-Who-Lived closed the water and got out of the shower, covering and gingerly dabbing his wet body with his bathrobe before making sure there were only the four of them in the room before he spoke.
Caution could never be too much with what he was about to share.
"I think the DMLE has been compromised. Or at least part of it", he explained, prompting Ron to throw himself out of the shower and slipping on the wet floor, collapsing with Dean, who accidentally cut half his moustache because of the hit.
"You bastard!", Thomas growled, sending a horrified glance to his reflection in the mirror. "I have a date this weekend, git!"
"Go ahead, Harry", said Anthony, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder to suggest him to shut up and listen to the more serious business at hand.
"Sorry, mate", piped Ron, who then walked to his locker to retrieve his everyday clothes. "What do you mean with compromised?"
Harry sighed. "Why the fuck would the Internal Affairs interrogate Hermione, otherwise?"
"Potter's got a point", Dean replied. "Her name wasn't in any of the papers when we were told to summon her for questioning".
"She probably hates me", contributed Ron. "But the order came from an authority level higher than mine…", he trailed off. "Why the fuck did the Internal affairs interrogate Hermione?"
"Precisely", Harry nodded. "They've never mingled with one of our cases before. Something tells me they don't trust us completely as of right now. There's nothing wrong with a little investigation of our own to find out why".
"I don't see why not", Anthony was the first to agree. "It's not like we don't have an awful lot of time to spare while we patrol for the Malfoys. I hope not all of their days are as dull as today".
"I'm sure Mrs. Malfoy will allow us to set up a little workstation, and we'll schedule rounds so that the four us always coincide. If you're ok with it, I wouldn't mention anything to the other members of our teams for now", he requested, looking particularly at Ron, who just like him had been appointed Captain and had to respond for the actions of an entire team.
"That's fine by me", the ginger consented. "I hate those little brats", he added before starting on one of his famous rants about how much he despised the wizards and witches under his command.
"Only Harry Potter gets to start by leading a senior team, Ronald", said Dean. "You still got more than Anthony or I did, man", he then added, gesturing between himself and Goldstein, who were still stuck in a lower grade. "As far as I'm concerned, we have a deal, Harry. We won't share our suspects and keep an eye on the Department. Hopefully we'll catch the lunatics behind the attack sooner rather than later".
The other three men agreed with to the same condition, and silence fell over the room as they all tried to get dressed and ready to leave as soon as possible.
Despite their only active case being the surveillance of Malfoy Manor and the protection of its inhabitants, they still had to come to report to the Ministry every day after their shift.
It was only their first day and they were extremely annoyed by the situation already.
Dean was on his way to the door and the room he was renting in Diagon Alley when Ron bent towards the floor and grabbed something that was stuck between the wall and one of the benches. "Did you guys ever hear of something called The Scarlett Order?"
"What the hell is The Scarlett Order now?", asked Harry.
"Allegedly, the only reliable source to oppose the great evils of contemporary wizarding society", Ron quoted, reading from the magazine in his hands.
The editing of the entire thing could have used some help, but the paper was exceptionally heavy for wizarding standards: The Prophet had seventeen, The Quibbler twenty-one, while The Scarlett Post, that the title written in bold characters on top of the description Ron had just read, had at least fifty or sixty pages.
"What those evils would be? I'm curious now", Anthony chimed in.
"You should ask it to the people who write this stuff, but it looks like the articles are all anonymous", Weasley replied, browsing through the pages of the magazine as he spoke. "There's even a ten-thousand words dossier on Hermione and Nott".
"I don't think I've ever heard of this paper before now", Harry said.
"Me neither", added Dean. "From the looks of it, there's not a legitimate publishing house behind it".
"Anthony, Dean, take the first few hours of tomorrow's shift to do some research about it. We'll have one of the other Aurors fill in for the garden's patrols", Harry started to give his orders. "I'll take it home with me and read through it before I go to bed, hopefully by lunch we'll know if we're supposed to take these people seriously or if they're just the magical version of conspiracy theorists".
"We have conspiracy theorists, thank you very much", Ron snickered. "Sometimes you act like Muggles invented fucking everything".
"No, Ron, I just act like the two worlds aren't two entirely different realities whose paths never cross, because they aren't", the other countered before approaching his oldest friend and extending a hand, asking for the magazine.
The ginger passed it to him without protest but stiffened as their hands touched and quickly retrieved to the opposite side of the room.
Under normal circumstances he would have tried to ease the tension before finally calling it a day, but today Harry was tired, and had no patience for Ronald's antics.
"I'll see you tomorrow at 9 at the Manor's gates", he told him. "Join us when you're done looking through the records for anything with the word scarlett in it. Have a good night", Harry said to other two before leaving the locker room.
( Asmodeus' Pub, the basement – Knockturn Alley, London, England
September 30th, 2003, around 00:00 a.m )
When the witching hour came, the thirtieth of September, Magnus Loughty was comfortably sitting on a chair, surrounded by approximately fifty other like-minded people and many bottles of good wine.
It was too cheap not to come from the black market, but for tonight he wasn't there as an Auror: he was there as a man who'd been deeply and profoundly repulsed by the society he lived in, one who wanted to know the brilliant minds behind The Scarlett Post, and finally have a conversation with someone with ideas akin to his own.
Everywhere else he had to be very careful to expose his political view of present society, but protected by the walls of a Knockturn Alley pub he could, with a bit of luck, speak without any filters.
The unusual sensation of freedom was the thing Magnus was enjoying the most, or at least until another wizard took the seat next to his and broke the peaceful silence of his table. "Grinder Smith", he introduced himself, offering his hand for him to shake.
Magnus grabbed it, albeit reluctantly, but regretted his decision the very moment he made it, as the other started talking and never stopped, not even when the organizers of the meeting, who were rumoured to be the founding members of the Post themselves, finally entered the improvised stage and started the conference.
Half-way through the narration of his autobiography, the other man finally begun paying attention to the man whose voice echoed in every corner of the room with the aid of a Sonorus charm, and his chit-chat lowered in volume until it completely extinguished himself.
"I'd personally like to start our meeting by thanking each and every one of you for being here today. We're all here because we can't and we won't submit to the intellectual, political and moral tyranny of the Ministry of Magic", said one of the three.
The man who'd just spoken was around thirty, thirty-five years of age, the youngest of the triumvirate of illuminate minds on the stage. Magnus felt particularly inspired by the confidence he seemed to radiate.
"We're all at risk, my friends", intervened a second wizard, this time the older in the group. His face was covered in thin lines and his hair was grey, and he was approximately sixty years old. "Your presence here could put your reputations and your jobs in danger, yet you all took the brave, selfless decision to stand up for the bettering of the wizarding world", he preached, swiftly approaching the middle of the stage so that more people could look at him. "To protect the group from the madness of individuals, I'm going to ask those of you who wish to join The Scarlett Order to take a collective Unbreakable Vow and sign their names in the parchment that will be passed around. Everyone else can leave now, and forget we ever met".
Conjuring it with a simple flick of his wand, the man gestured for the man who'd talked first to bring it to the public as a couple of people raised from their seats and silently left the room.
Most of them had their faces covered by hoods and cloaks – probably wizards and wizards who were already chased by justice –, but Magnus recognized a couple of them from unsolved cases.
Unsurprisingly, he didn't feel the need to leave and chase after them, therefore bringing those criminals to justice: when he'd decided to come to the meeting, the Auror already knew there were going to be times where he would have been forced to cross his ethical and professional boundaries.
Right now, what mattered the most to him was the social justice that from within the system he'd lost any hope of ever achieving.
"Once we're done with formalities, I'd like to invite you all to enjoy the small refreshment that will be served and get acquainted with each other. The mission we have ahead of us is not a simple one, and I'm sure unbreakable bonds will be forged between you and your comrades", intervened the third wizard, the only one whose name Loughty was already familiar with.
Blake Gastrell was a High Warlock of the Wizengamot, the only institution that wasn't corrupted (yet?), and a personal hero of Magnus.
He'd been the man behind many laws that had been promulgated in the past years. They were the only punishment Purebloods had got for their Death-Eater ways, and even though it was less than what they deserved, it was the only consolation price that good people like him could rely on: people like Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's right-hand, were already out of Azkaban.
Worst of all, joke was on him.
He was part of the task force assembled by Harry Potter to protect the Pureblood family after the attack they'd suffered recently, and the past two work days he'd strolled down the gardens of the ancient Manor without doing much else.
Frustrating couldn't even begin to describe how it was.
"Hey, mate", called the wizard sitting behind him, handing him the parchment and a Self-Inking quill. He'd voluntarily avoided to share his name with the obnoxious stranger, but he supposed he had, once again, the need to choose the lesser evil. "Are you going to sign it?"
A quick look at the paper told Magnus that Grinder Smith was indeed joining The Scarlett Order, and made a mental note to sit as far away as possible from him in the following meetings.
Grabbing the quill and parchment, the wizard scribbled down his name without thinking about it twice, then a fit of laughter erupted from the back of his throat, as he felt like he'd finally found his purpose in life.
This was were he belonged.
It didn't take long for the paper to return in the hands of the older wizard, who then moved on to introduce himself and his partners. "Now that that's out of the way", he said, vanquishing the parchment with a gesture of his wand very similar to the one he'd used to summon it, only in the opposite direction. "My name is Maxwell Edevane and I have a successful business that deals with potion supplies, but I wouldn't call myself a public figure. Most of you probably already know Blake, though", he said, gesturing to the Warlock. "Mr. Gastrell is a decorated member of the Wizengamot. Lastly, this is Christian Culpepper, an American wizard who moved here a couple years ago. He's a journalist and the hand behind the last editorial of The Post".
"The man's a genius. I've never considered that perspective before, but the way this man put things is brilliant", Grinder commented from his right side. "I'm sick of the Ministry letting war-heroes getting away with things…"
Magnus agreed, but that didn't mean he found his company pleasant. "It is what it is", he replied, half-heartedly. "They got our world rid of Voldemort, so we can't get ride of them now".
"Especially that Granger girl", the other wizard continued, giving no sign of listening to his answer. "She punched me once".
Under normal circumstances Loughty would have cursed society and the pedestal that was placed underneath some people's feet, but as of right now he couldn't help but share the feeling.
Smith kept distracting him from the only reason he was still tolerating his presence, so it was safe to say he'd have liked to hit him square in the face, too.
"How dare she", he exclaimed, unimpressed, then rolled his eyes when the wizard still didn't got his clue and opened his mouth to speak again. "I'm not here to make friends, mate. Shut the fuck up once and for all, I'm trying to listen to what they're saying on stage".
The aggression seemed to work, because Grinder Smith widened his eyes in stupor, but closed his lips and finally became silent, allowing Magnus to listen to the announcement Mr. Edevane was making while merely sending him nasty looks.
"…That's why we've concluded that words won't suffice anymore. We have to make something before it's too late, and that's why must act, and act quickly. The Scarlett Order will attack the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the thirty-first of October, the night of Halloween".
Author's notes.
Va-va-voom. A new chapter's here and, like usual, I hope you guys enjoyed it.
I was basically falling asleep on my keyboard as I edited what you just read, but I hope I didn't miss anything major in regards to errors and/or typos (if I did, please let me through review/PM).
I'd love to write my usual 500 words of notes but like I said, the only reason I'm still awake was that I wanted to update my story like I promised on tumblr (for any day-to-day update or if you simply want to have a chat, you can find me there under the username of godisawitchfic).
For the same reason, I'll be answering the reviews left to the previous chapter tomorrow. ^^
Let me know what you think and have an amazing week!
Until next time,
xoxo
p.s. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH! 3