Song Suggestion: Delta Rae- "Bottom of the River" This song and video couldn't be more perfect.
A/N: Hermione's character arc is not finished. Perseverance isn't karate-chopping bravado, but it's still strength… though she might start karate chopping people soon too.
A/N 2: I've been getting malicious reviews for about 5 weeks that are not constructive, sometimes aimed at me. I'm starting to suspect it's one person because there is a similar style to it. Always anonymous. Just a warning to the troll: if you give a non-constructive negative review without signing in, I'm deleting it (I've been deleting the worst as they are posted). This isn't my job, so I'm not required to deal with Karens. And no, I won't stop writing, as you suggested, because fuck you.
Just wanted to say how much I appreciate all my readers/ reviewers! The encouraging reviews have gotten me through this odd bullying.
Natural Right to Magic
Draco
Draco walked into his father's study after breaking the wards. He hadn't been in the room since right before the wedding, when his father threatened to take away his son. Five years later, and nothing much had changed, not in the study's décor, and not in his father's motives.
Except this time, Draco was determined. He was no longer a boy, with limited experience outside of his father's protection.
He walked to the desk and made a cut to his palm with his wand. After, he placed his hand to the top drawer. It slid open on contact. Another tap of his wand, and his wound stitched back up. He wasted no time, taking the contents—stacks of notes and official documents. It took only a few minutes to copy them.
Draco needed blackmail, and he needed to find it fast. His father kept all his important plans in his desk, which is why he had strong blood wards. It's too bad for him the only person capable of getting past the wards, intended to steal it all.
Just when he stood to walk out, Draco felt several snapping stings of magic. It took a moment for his brain to register what it was.
He simmered in fury, making sure he shrunk the documents and placed them in his pocket. Then he waited for his father to come up the stairs. It only took a few minutes for him to arrive.
Draco walked over to meet him at the doorway. His father once seemed larger than life to him, but right now Draco looked him in the eye.
"Take it down."
His father invoked the old spells of the manor—the wards around the house made to keep the heirs safe. At a moment's notice, it could wrap around any room and keep the family member from harm. Except in his case, it turned into a prison. Lucius locked him in here, so he couldn't attempt to interrupt the trial.
His father had the audacity to look a little sad. They stared at each other.
"It's been five years."
"That's on you," Draco said. "To me, it was five years of freedom."
"All freedom must come to an end. It's time you assumed your position as heir and return to the manor. If that means making your son legitimate, then so be it."
"Oh, is that it? Or do you want Scorpius because his magic is so impressive."
"The answer can be both. I think we've found a solution to both our problems. I won't even make you marry again. Granger and you can be together with my blessing."
"As my wife?"
"You know the answer to that." He sneered. "I'll allow a half-blood grandchild. It helps to inject the blood with something new every now and again. We can arrange a marriage between him and another Pureblood, maybe that Rosier girl. Within a few generations, the muggle blood won't matter. But Granger will not be a Malfoy wife. Take the concession, Draco."
"Me take the concession? She'll never accept being dragged back to that house against her will."
Lucius' mouth twitched.
Draco should have never come back to the manor. Only bad things happened under this roof.
"We'll see. She's stubborn, I admit. But even the strongest crack under sufficient pressure. It's amazing what people will give up when faced with extreme duress."
Draco put one fist up and slammed it against the barrier. The ward wobbled, but it didn't break. He knew even magical means would be useless. He let out a low scream of frustration.
"Let me out!" He stared his father down. "If you go through with this, I swear I will destroy you."
Lucius considered him a moment.
"Don't hurt yourself, Draco. You'll need to be at your best, because I'm sure Mrs. Granger will be upset after the trial, and she'll need comfort."
His father turned and walked away, giving him one last look of pity. Draco cast curse after curse, but nothing worked to free him.
He kept the documents close, knowing one day he'd gladly use them against him.
Hermione
The familiar cold greeted Hermione as she entered the court room in the ministry dungeons.
The Wizengamot in their purple robes sat in proud rows, faces blank of emotion. When she caught Dolores Umbridge's eye, she swore she saw a tiny smile filled with demented pleasure.
Hermione looked at the audience in the back, surprised to see many of her friends there, including most of the Weasleys and Theo, all wearing either worried or angry expressions. Blaise and Goyle sat on the other side, and when her eyes met with the Italian wizard, he gave a slight nod she found difficult to interpret. She thought it might be support. Callum Mason wore dark auror robes and a grave expression, sitting in a back row, as Hermione was led to the chair in the center of the room.
The rest of the court was packed with an assortment of people she didn't recognize, including reporters, though they were denied their cameras.
Marcus Flint was nowhere to be seen, despite promising to help her. She didn't know why she put so much blind trust in a Slytherin in the first place.
No Draco either, she realized. An ill feeling washed over her, like looking into a dark open pit, knowing just a small breeze could tip her into the abyss. She shook her head, pulling her mind back from spiraling just in time. She couldn't afford despair, not when she needed to keep her cool, not when there was so much at stake.
With an auror on each side of her, and obsidian shackles on her wrist, she walked with her head held high, unwilling to show any fear. The cold chair had been made to be uncomfortable, and when she sat, Hermione resisted the desire to shift around. Her back stayed straight out of pure spite.
Walter Filibus entered the courtroom in a whirlwind of purple robes. When his eyes landed on her, he froze and frowned. She'd always thought he hated her, but the way he looked at her just then, full of outrage, maybe she'd read him wrong.
"What is she doing in shackles?" Walter demanded. "Though Azkaban is at stake, she is not a wanted criminal. Take them off now."
The young auror next to stood straight.
"I've been instructed—"
"Unless it was the Minister of Magic himself, then whoever instructed you is under my position of power. Take off the shackles now! I will not allow my courtroom to be turned into a practical joke." He shook his head, looking angrier. "A custody case with a full court! A waste of ministry time. Unfortunately, the decision to let it continue wasn't up to me."
Walter looked over at Lucius and glared, showing his disdain.
This time the auror obeyed, fumbling with her obsidian shackles until they clicked. Hermione rubbed her red wrists as she glanced at Walter in surprise. Bigot though he may be, Walter wanted to be fair under the rule of law when he could, even against Lucius.
Walter didn't meet her grateful gaze. With a small mutter of exclamation under his breath, he made his way to his Wizengamot seat. As the head judge, he didn't participate in the verdict, only presided over the case to make sure the court followed laws and contributed to the sentencing.
She may have found an ally in him, but she still had enemies in the votes that mattered.
She briefly went over the familiar faces before her, noticing more of them than not sneered back at her, especially the men and women she blackmailed. Some, like Dolores, looked gleeful about the potential revenge.
The cold of the room increased as she waited for the trial to begin. When it did, Walter's gavel banged hard enough it made her jump.
Hermione found it hard to concentrate with her heart beating so fast, panic setting in her bones. She dug her fingers into the side of the metal chair until it hurt enough, and her panic turned into pain. By the time she pulled herself out of her fear, Walter was speaking directly to her.
"The first charge levied against Hermione Granger is of being in possession of a pureblood wand, once owned by the late Bellatrix Lestrange. Since the Muggleborn Surveillance Act passed last June, this is an illegal action with a punishment of up to five years in Azkaban and fifteen thousand galleons." Walter glanced up from the scroll he read off. "How do you plead?"
"Not guilty."
Walter shook his head, reached down, and pulled out the wand in question—12 ¾ long, walnut, with a dragon heartsting core. Pleading guilty would result in a lesser sentence, but she'd rather die than admit guilt to possessing a wand, as if she wasn't gifted by nature the right to use one.
"Very well." Walter sighed and looked back down at his scroll. "Then let's start the proceedings. The prosecution can make their case first. William Bithby is one of the authors of the Muggleborn Surveillance Act, making sure all wands are accounted for and obtained legally, especially ones with pureblood origins."
Hermione knew the true author of the act was Lucius, and this man just a puppet, probably created especially for Hermione, since it was no secret she carried Bellatrix's wand.
William stood up and walked over. He wore outdated robes he constantly adjusted, tugging at his collar, and sporting some of the bushiest eyebrows she'd ever seen, looking like live caterpillars.
Hermione sneered through his whole speech, barely listening. It was nothing but pseudo-science, studies manipulated years ago to prove pureblood bias. It hadn't even been peer-reviewed, just accepted as fact because they couldn't admit fault. Whatever he said meant nothing to her. She let it fall out of her like a river of rushing water, not letting it stay long enough to touch her soul. At one point in time, it would have wounded and frustrated her. Today it only made a steady rage rise in her. She imagined a thermometer in her heart gauging the heat of righteous anger boiling, the steady spiking, getting closer to exploding.
Without her shackles, she sensed the veins of magic running through the courtroom: some of it old, some of it stable, some of it connected to the people within. Despite the source, she could call it forth if she wished and absorb it into herself, manipulate it like clay until it did exactly what she demanded.
If they pushed her much further, Hermione would show them she was dangerous, more lethal than anyone in the room.
She waited until the irrelevant wizard finished his bigoted speech filled with intellectual fallacies.
"Do you wish to speak for yourself, Hermione Granger? Or do you have any evidence to refute his claims?"
Evidence? She wished to break down each of the arguments, but it would be throwing water at a brick wall. Logic didn't matter in this situation. No one would listen. If they only respected power, then she'd give them a show.
"Take the wand," Hermione said eventually, waiting until the silence lingered. "I don't need it."
She heard a few scoffs around the room, but Walter eyes lit up with something. Out of everyone, he knew what she could do when provoked.
"It's the reason they wanted the shackles on my wrist, correct?" She held up both hands, palms inward. It was a threatening move, if anyone knew her abilities. "Because I'm hazardous, even defanged."
"Not in here. As you should remember, the walls of this courtroom are made to subdue magic," Walter reminded. "And as to your defense, are you agreeing to the charge?"
"A muggleborn owning a wand is not a crime."
"It can be now under certain circumstances. Stealing a pureblood wand is one of them."
Hermione paused, knowing her anger began to rise in the wrong way. She took a breath to regain control. She lowered her hands.
"The prosecution has no valid claim. I never stole that wand. I earned it, fighting a witch who made the rest of you tremble and cry for your mums. I endured torture for this wand. Whether by a God or by nature, I've been gifted the ability to use magic. If I wasn't meant to hold the damnable wand, it wouldn't work for me at all."
"We are not here to debate law or nature. We are here to ascertain whether or not you have Bellatrix Lestrange's wand, which is illegal."
Hermione's smile curled her lips into something hard.
"Do you know why I kept her wand?" Magic sparked under her hands as she let them rest on the edge of her chair. "Because I enjoy forcing it into subservience. It gives me pleasure knowing I will always be stronger than her magic. In the end, even in death, she bows to me. The wand never wants to obey me. It fights, rages, with each use, but I give it no choice but to submit." Hermione grinned. "Allow me to demonstrate my natural right to magic." She lifted both hands and closed her palms into fists. Every flame in the courtroom sucked into complete darkness. Hermione connected to the veins in the ground, giving a flick of her wrist, and the whole courtroom trembled, shaking like a small earthquake.
Screams erupted from the crowd, and she heard pandemonium in both the Wizengamot seats and the awaiting crowd. Before anyone got hurt, she opened her palms. The lights flickered on again, and the shaking stopped.
The wizards and witches around her were contorted into various versions of shock and horror, stealing glances at each other, as if processing what happened. They believed it to be impossible, but wandless magic worked separate from wands. The dungeons in the ministry had the same magic-dampening walls as the cells, but unlike the cells, magic ran as an undercurrent on the ground, close to the earth. She wondered if they felt it like her. Did they even know they sat on an unmined mountain of old magic? There was a reason the ministry was planted where it was, right over an old druid Stonehenge. The veil in the Department of Mysteries was one of the last remaining remnants of the original pagan structure. The whole ministry had been built around it to keep the power contained.
The aurors moved as if to come shackle her again, but they hesitated when she turned with a quiet snarl. Walter gave a motion to tell them not to.
"Is that all, Hermione Granger?" He asked.
"For now."
He narrowed his eyes. She did nothing to help her case, but she found herself unable to care anymore. She used to believe in the wizarding world. She used to believe in the hope of equality, but that was a naïve take on a society afraid of change, stuck in old patriarchal structures, intent on keeping men like Lucius in power. She wouldn't bow to it anymore. They'd need to break her.
Hermione wished to scare them now. Let them rest on the bed of needles, knowing at any time she could overpower them.
They didn't convene for deliberation like they did for Lucius, not giving her the curtesy of the illusion of time. Instead, Walter turned to the Wizengamot, perched on the end of their seats in purple robes.
"Have we reached individual decisions?"
The Wizengamot nodded their heads in affirmation.
"And do we swear to the old gods and the new, to the magic following in our veins, that the verdict that is reached was done so in a fair manner, dedicated to truth and justice?"
Again, the Wizengamot answered.
"Who believes Hermione Granger guilty of possessing a pureblood wand?"
A sea of hands rose in the air, though a fair amount stayed down. She took quick note on how each member voted. Still, it was not in her favor.
"Is that the final count?"
The silence was oppressive.
"To the charge of obtaining and using a pureblood wand, The High Wizarding Courts of Great Britain find Hermione Granger… guilty."
Walter banged his gavel to show the verdict was sealed, and she felt the crack around her.
"Go ahead," she said to the silence. "Snap it in two. We all know it's ineffective."
"Quiet, Miss Granger," Walter warned. "Or you will be held in contempt of court."
Hermione wished for muggle law. It wasn't perfect, but it functioned with much more justice than a wizarding one.
"The next charge levied against Hermione Granger is much more serious," he said, now wearing a frown. "She is accused of stealing a pureblood heir and trying to secret him away into the muggle world, raised without even magic."
Gasps echoed around the courtroom. The hair along her body stood up, knowing Lucius smirked at her. No one would believe he wanted her to run to the muggle world with said heir. In this, she looked the villain, and unlike the wand, she could not lose her son.
"The crimes, if convicted, can come with a sentence of ten years in Azkaban, depending on the input of the victim's family."
She resisted the desire to lunge across the courtroom and strangle Lucius until he dropped his sickening smirk.
"How do you plead?"
This time Hermione hesitated, not knowing the consequences of either choice. Which would she regret the least? Her logic and heart warred with each other. If she plead guilty, Lucius would have input in her case, and he'd already made clear what he wanted. She'd live a sequestered life, unable to make any decisions for her future, forever under the thumb of Lucius.
"Not guilty."
It might be the bravest thing she'd ever do, because she would now go to Azkaban and most likely lose her son in the meantime. That is… if she complied. There weren't two choices, like Lucius suggested, there were three. Without her shackles, she planned to show the courtroom the limits to her power.
Lucius dropped his smirk, showing his disdain for her choice. Walter gave an audible sigh, unhappy with her decision as well. He looked a little defeated.
"The head of the Malfoy household can make his case."
Hermione began to lure the magic to her in preparation. Pulling the strings, until it flowed up the chair in an invisible river. It buzzed around her, smelling of burnt things. She'd rather die than be caged. If it was a war they wanted, she'd give them one to remember. Lucius would be the first she killed, followed by Umbridge. She made a list in her mind, from the worst to harmless. Hermione prepared herself for battle, fashioning her rage into a sharp sword, wondering if the Weasleys would help her.
Lucius Malfoy stood up, robes fluttering around him, looking very much like royalty.
"Hermione Granger stole my—"
"Stop!" A voice bellowed and then a body burst through the doors of the courtroom.
Marcus Flint made it halfway across the room, shoving past people, before two aurors grabbed him in a hard hold. He didn't fight it, merely waited for the crowd to calm down. Walter banged his gavel five times before the whispers stopped and pointed it at Flint.
"You better have a good reason for causing chaos in my courtroom, young Flint."
Flint looked around, blushing a little. He looked uncomfortable in the middle of the crowd, the eyes making his shoulders hunch forward.
"I promise I do."
Flint shoved one shoulder and the Auror, suddenly unsure, let him go. He dug into his outer cloak, extracting a scroll with an official seal, holding it aloft.
"Hermione's son cannot be made a Malfoy heir."
The crowd once again dissolved into agitation, and Lucius shot to his feet with a thunderous expression, until Walter's banging gavel stopped them, looking annoyed.
"If the audience doesn't cease the noise, I will dismiss all of you, except for who is essential to the trial." He looked at Marcus. "Come up here, Mr. Flint, and let me see the parchment you're holding."
When Marcus made his way to the front, the courtroom went so silent, she heard the individual footsteps echoing. As he passed her chair, she tried to catch his stare, but he stoically kept his eyes on the Wizengamot. After reaching Walter, Marcus placed the parchment in the head judge's hand. The paper crinkled, and Hermione held her breath, counting her heartbeats. Her whole chest hurt with anxiety.
Walter put on his bifocals and perused the scroll. Halfway through he paused, eyes widening, and his eyes went back to the top as if re-reading. When finished, he set it down, took off his bifocals, folded them, and then looked at Hermione.
"Marcus Flint is correct."
Lucius pulled his wand from his robe and pointed at Flint, who was standing off to the side as if trying not to be the center of attention.
"He dares to keep me from my grandson. What evidence does he have?"
"Sit down, Lucius," Walter said. "Or you can spend the night in your old cell."
Lucius openly snarled, but he flicked his robes back and sat down, keeping his wand clutched in his hand.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, venerated wizards and witches," Walter began. "Hermione Granger cannot have her wand taken from her, despite the court ruling. And neither can she lose custody of her child, because Hermione Granger is not a Granger at all."
Gasps sputtered around her. Blaise and Charlie were standing now as well. Callum too.
Hermione Granger. It was her name, her identity, and now someone ventured to tell her she'd been wrong all along.
"That's just absurd. If I'm not me, then who am I?" Hermione asked.
Walter kept her stare, and she couldn't read the expression. Respect and relief, as if glad he no longer had to prosecute her.
"Your birth name is Clarice Flint, an illegitimate daughter of Maurice Flint and a muggle named Jean Bennington."
Hermione's stomach swooped and everything inside her began to unravel, as if someone found a loose string and pulled.
She gasped just as the crowd went wild. People jumped out of their seats. She heard Blaise cursing in surprise. The Weasleys, especially Charlie, could be heard giving exclamations. It became background noise to Hermione, a dull buzzing, and she turned sharply to look at Marcus Flint.
He met her stare, grimaced, and then looked away.
"My brother," she whispered for no one, because no one could hear her over the raucous noise. Again, Walter pounded with his gavel for order, and this time it took several minutes to calm back down.
The revelation surprised her, even though it's not as if she hadn't considered it before. After he took her blood and asked about her birthmark, she had wondered if he was a relation but dismissed it based on her ancestry. She never expected that her father wasn't biologically hers. Her parents never gave her any reason to doubt it. They even had baby photos with all of them included… which must have been magically altered at some point. Her world tilted off balance in confusion.
"So what does this mean?" She asked.
"It means you are free to go."
She stood up on wobbly legs, looking around the room with uncertainty. Everything she knew was a lie, and she somehow had to process that in front of an audience.
"Wait," Lucius bellowed. He looked as unhinged as he did after getting out of Azkaban. "If she's an illegitimate daughter, she's not in the line for succession. Which means the child is unclaimed and therefore able to be considered a Malfoy. I intend to challenge for this right"
"She's no longer illegitimate." Flint sneered. "I've made sure of that while you were focused on placing her in a cell. I used the old binding spells—the irrevocable ones with both her blood and the child's. She's a true Flint, Lucius, and so is her son, verified by the ministry moments ago. If you don't sit back down, I'll consider you a threat to my family." He turned to Walter. "Is that all you need, Mr. Filibus? Because Hermione is exhausted and needs to return home."
Hermione almost spasmed at the word home, as if something belonged to her. She'd been shuffled along for so long, without roots, nothing felt like home anymore.
"She can leave as long as she signs the parchment. Until her signature dries, she's not anything."
"Me?" Hermione asked, still feeling stunned, mind sluggish with shock. Finally, she had a choice in something.
Walter nodded, and Hermione made her way forward on shivering legs. Any moment she might collapse from the surges of adrenaline still rolling through her.
When she reached the front, Walter handed her a quill and the parchment, along with her wand. Marcus's signature, thin and almost unreadable, sat beside an empty line.
"Right here." He pointed to the empty space.
"What happens if I sign this?" Hermione asked.
"You're an adult, so he can't make legal decisions over your life without your consent, but he can cut you from funds. Most importantly, your son will no longer be under your guardianship, but his."
She didn't care about money, but she did care about her son. Hermione sucked in a breath. If she signed this, then she handed Flint a terrible power over her. But if she didn't, then that power transferred to Lucius.
Hermione looked at Flint first. His face was hard like a Slytherin, but she'd been around them long enough to notice signs of distress: clenched jaw, hands pressed into fists. He met her stare this time, and she wasn't sure what she saw except maybe an apology. She rifled through her few memories of him, trying to determine his intentions. In all their interactions, he never came off as threatening.
His family, he had said.
Her heart clenched at the thought, unsure what she felt, and her stare went to Lucius.
He stood like a wraith, hand gripping his wand by his side. Dark energy swirled around him, as he unconsciously picked up a few veins of old magic in his intense anger. His stare promised her his vengeance if she signed the parchment.
She let her lips curl into her own smirk, keeping his stare.
Go ahead, her eyes told him right back. Bring me your war. I'm no longer yours to threaten and control.
Hermione placed the quill on the empty line, letting her first name furl out in large letters. Still holding Lucius' glare, she smiled and wrote her new surname. The letters of Flint felt wrong under her fingers, but she pressed hard and on purpose, showing she meant it.
Freedom, the word rushed through, attaching to her veins and her bones. She almost jumped with the overwhelming relief.
Upon conclusion, Walter banged his gavel and dismissed the courtroom.
In the chaos of the final verdict, people moving and talking, Lucius got out of his seat and walked toward her. She kept still, ready for the confrontation, wanting the confrontation. Marcus stayed beside her, but she didn't look to see his expression.
Soon Lucius loomed over her, his mouth pulled up in a familiar snarl about to threaten or intimidate her. She gave him no time to do either.
Hermione acted on her rage, flicking her hand up in a way no one could see it, using the magic she pulled from the ground.
Erue Cor, she thought, and an invisible hand wrapped around his heart in squeeze, making sure it hurt. Lucius froze, shock and pain flashing in his eyes
It was a hard spell to control. By its nature, it wanted to complete its blood lust.
"One wrong move, and your heart will burst." She learned the spell from her grimoire, an ancient one, used in battle to crush the hearts of the enemy. From her research, it didn't exist in any other spell books. She controlled the magic through great effort, just holding it as a threat. It would be easier to kill him.
"You'll regret this." Lucius trembled in his attempt to keep still.
"I won't regret this." Hermione walked closer, deadly calm. "But you will." She put Bellatrix's wand in her pocket, letting Lucius see it. "You've forgotten I'm a formidable adversary, so let me remind you." She twisted a little, enjoying his small gasp of pain. "After today, I intend to take everything from you. I'll strip you of your power, just as I stripped you of your reputation. You'll be nothing in the end. And when the day comes that you ask me for mercy, I'll be sure to give you the same amount you gave me." She paused, copying one of his arrogant smirks. "Now…beg me to release you."
Lucius clenched his teeth, as if to refuse, and Hermione tightened her hold just a little more. He understood she was only a flinch away from his death.
"Please," he drawled in a low voice full of rage.
"Threaten to take my son away again, and I'll give you the death you deserve."
She resisted the temptation to squeeze, reminding herself she couldn't go to Azkaban. Eventually, she let the spell go, allowing the magic she pulled to return to its source. Lucius gasped in a breath, placing a hand on his chest, giving her a wary stare as if she was a creature he'd never seen before.
"Let's go," Marcus whispered beside her. He grinned at Lucius, as if amused by her violence. "We need to get ahead of the reporters."
Hermione gave Lucius one last dark glare—a challenge, a promise—and turned, following Marcus out.