Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling.
She took the field, like the meanest among them, to assert the cause of public liberty, and to seek revenge for her body seamed with ignominious stripes...
- Tacitus, Annals, Book XIV, Chapter 35 (circa 116 AD)
Chapter 32: The Brightest Witch of Her Age
Confessions are odd things.
You confess crimes. You confess sins. But you also confess love. Why was love lumped in with the others? Like it was hidden and wrong?
But perhaps, for them, it was.
Because Harry knew she did not mean it like all the other times—above her name on letters, in notes attached to Christmas gifts, in hospital rooms with a newborn in his arms.
She meant it like he meant it.
She loved him. She loved him.
How strange that after his weeks of torment, she would be the one to say it first.
And in the heady euphoria of returned love, the knowledge that had once felt like compacted, unexploded ordinance in his chest transformed into something else. Something massive and effervescent and warm, like a sea that spreads in all directions and so far down that one senses the fathoms beneath their feet.
As he drew breath, he felt as though the words had lived in the corners of his lips for years and years, waiting in the darkness.
"I love you."
And her eyes had that brightness, that limitless quality he now knew was just for him. She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips soft and gentle. And he kissed her back, lost to the warm wonder of her. After some time they broke apart, foreheads touching, and listened to the rain. A happiness, a wholeness filled him then that he had never known.
But, at the edges of his mind, like gulls crying out ahead of a storm:
What now? What now?
Harry left in the grey hours of the morning and Mrs. Granger found her daughter sitting up in bed, reading. When Hermione smiled weakly and asked if some files might be brought from her office at the Ministry, Elaine Granger's eyes filled with tears.
She began her exercises the next day and a Healer started coming in the mornings to lead her through range of motion and strengthening circuits. After tea, she'd lean on Ron or Harry or her father or George and take hesitant steps around the library like a newborn foal. She laughed at herself throughout—and they laughed with her—but, in her squinted eyes, Harry was amused to see something of the eleven-year-old girl whose broom wouldn't quite obey her commands.
A few days later, she asked to meet with one of the professionals Healer Holbrooke had recommended. Ron had been surprised, but Harry thought he understood. She still had nightmares and the thoughts still came. One conversation does not heal a person. And no matter how much he loved her, there were things he could not tell her about the dark chemistry of the mind.
If Ron, Mrs. Granger, or the others ever wondered what had brought about the change in Hermione's disposition, they never asked him. They only seemed grateful that it had happened, like a butterfly alighting on their finger that they were afraid of scaring away.
So as Hermione improved, and a damp March transitioned to the frail sunshine of April, Harry and the others focused their considerable attentions on two great projects: the Camerons' treatment and the Callahan trial, which was set to resume in early June after the Auror Chief called in a few favors.
Since Hermione was not yet well enough to return to the Ministry, Lakey and Emi set up camp in Ron and Hermione's home. During his visits, Harry most commonly found the three counselors shouting at one another in the library—Emi from the floor surrounded by scrolls, Lakey at the desk with crumbs in his beard from some treat Mrs. Granger had brought him, and Hermione lurching from chair to ottoman to table as she made slow circuits around the room.
The counselors knew the outcome of the trial was all but certain now. Yet, as Hermione told them crossly one afternoon, they should not rely on the public mood for a conviction. The evidence they assembled against Callahan would set a precedent for blood supremacist trials in the future. As such, there was much to sort through.
As part of the deal arranged between Lakey and the More family's counselor, Yvain agreed to testify against Callahan. While Yvain could speak to Callahan's violent ideology and hatred of Muggles, the young ex-Auror had no direct knowledge of the attack on the Camerons.
"Given Rudge is...dead," Hermione said haltingly, holding onto the back of a chair for balance, "we can only get information on the attack from two sources: Callahan and the Camerons. We have Harry's last interrogation of Callahan, of course, and it's possible that Callahan will want to take the stand now. As for the Camerons, we'll have to see what progress Alex makes over the next few weeks, but we can't count on them being able to testify."
Harry, Lakey, and Emi nodded solemnly. Emi had briefed Lakey on the Muggle doctor's efforts to restore the Camerons' memories. Two days prior, the first shipment of blood samples from Romania had arrived. Alex drove the samples up to Manchester where his former professor was currently analyzing them. They had decided that, if Alex's plan worked, they would tell the public that St. Mungo's treatments had finally borne fruit. Harry was sure Healer Waltham would be all too happy to take the credit.
"Regardless of whether it's Callahan or the Camerons speaking to the attack," said Hermione, "the book is going to become public knowledge since that's the reason he was in the Camerons' home."
Callahan's manifesto, Malleus Maleficarum, sat innocently on the coffee table, its gilded pages gleaming in the sunlight through the windows.
"Kingsley and I met with Judge Fawley yesterday," Harry informed the group, though he'd already told Hermione. "He agreed no part of the manifesto will be released to the media. At the trial, you can speak to the existence of the book and paraphrase its content, but it cannot be quoted verbatim and there can be no mention of the three acts. All transcripts of the trial will be scrubbed for incendiary language before publication. Any journalists who fail to comply will have their privileges revoked."
Lakey and Emi nodded.
They heard the distant ring of a telephone from the kitchen. A moment later, Ron appeared.
"It's Alex," he said urgently. "He's nearly back from Manchester. Wants to drop by."
The doctor arrived half an hour later, exhausted from the drive. Since the library floor was coming to resemble the bottom of a bird cage with its detritus of scrolls, files, and Prophet broadsheets, they moved to the sitting room.
Lakey held out his arm to Hermione, but she gravitated towards Harry.
"Walking or carrying?" he asked.
"Carrying," she said, not quite looking at him. "Bit tired."
He scooped her up and carried her across the foyer. Beneath her loose cardigan, he traced his fingers along her ribcage and tried not focus on the soft flush that washed over her cheeks. He deposited her on the couch next to Emi.
"Good news or bad news first?" Alex asked, settling by the fireplace.
"Good," said Emi.
"My professor says he'll be done analyzing the samples by early next week. Maggie told me the last two shipments should arrive next week too, so we may have all the samples analyzed by mid-April."
"That's great!" said Hermione.
"What's the bad news?" said Ron.
Alex dragged a hand through his thick brown hair. "He can't design the gene therapy. He doesn't have the equipment and, understandably, he feels it would be unethical. He could lose his job. Even my suggesting it is enough for him to report me, but he said he wouldn't."
The wizards stared at one another.
"So, what do we do now?" said Hermione anxiously.
Alex reached into his coat and removed a sheet of paper. "He gave me a list of companies he trusts, ones that might be able to do a rush job. He said there's no getting around the government regulations, though. No company would risk it or take on a project where we can't tell them what the therapy is designed to treat."
The wizards exchanged another round of looks, while Alex passed the paper to Emi on his right. When it reached Harry, he looked at the list of four boutique firms that specialized in gene editing and gene therapeutics.
Resilience Bio-Solutions
Hampstead Gene Technologies
Martin & Stowe Genomics
Puckle Therapeutics
He stared at the last name. A memory rose in his mind like a pillar of steam from a teapot—a shriveled, old woman at an opera...her small, shrewd eyes as she appraised them...informing Harry and Hermione who they had been speaking to...
The couple who just walked off are the Puckles, owners of one of the largest pharmaceutical conglomerates in the world...
My boy, they're one of the richest families in Britain...
Harry released a short breath.
What were the chances?
The Puckles' estate in Devon put even Clymene Court to shame.
The children—including James, Albus, and Rose who were home for the Easter holidays—darted ahead of the adults on the broad, gravel driveway.
"Look at the size of it!" cried James. "It's nearly as big as Hogwarts!"
"Peri lives here?" Rose laughed a little nervously.
Albus said nothing at all, though Harry thought he looked rather flushed.
"Don't run too far ahead!" Ginny called, which forced Hugo and Duncan to slow down. Lily did a spontaneous cartwheel on the finely manicured lawn, which spread over the grounds like a billiard table.
Harry, Ginny, and Alex walked more slowly beside Ron, who was pushing Hermione in a wheelchair the doctor had procured for the visit.
It was Hermione's first time out of doors in nearly three months and she tilted her face towards the overcast sky, the clouds spreading out like the underside of a down quilt. She wore a blue jumper with a blanket tucked around her legs. Only the thin scars on her hands spoke to what had occurred on a distant Scottish hillside.
"Merlin," said Ron, gazing up at the glazed windows and rounded turrets, "they got all this from making Muggle medicine?"
"There's a big market for it," Alex smiled wanly. "Our kind don't have Healers."
While Ron shook his head in amazement, Ginny shifted two large baskets of chocolate eggs in her arms.
"And you're sure they'll help?" she said doubtfully. "You said it's against your laws..."
Once the group agreed to ask for the Puckles' help with the Camerons, Harry saw the necessity of telling Ginny what was going on. The Muggle family's only child, Perdita, was Albus and Rose's closest friend at Hogwarts and they were visiting the estate on the pretext of a playdate for the children. Ginny—who'd already grown suspicious of the frequent meetings her husband and two youngest brothers were taking with the Muggle doctor—hadn't exactly been pleased when Harry told her.
"You've been working on this for six months?" she had said tightly.
She did her best to conceal her indignation. Things were still not right between them, but they were talking now. He could tell she was wary of pushing him too far, lest he shut her out again.
He explained the need for secrecy given the unprecedented nature of the Camerons' situation and the likely opposition of the Healers charged with their care. Like Harry, she immediately understood the implications if Alex's treatment was successful.
"What d'you plan to do if it works?" she asked haltingly. "Does this...doctor want to replicate it for other Muggles?"
It was a very reasonable question.
"I don't think any of us are looking beyond the trial at the moment."
She raised her eyebrows slightly, but said nothing else.
"That's what we'll find out," Alex said now, carrying another basket of chocolate eggs on his hip. "They may consider it too much of a risk, but I don't think we have any other viable options."
A small girl appeared at the top of the stone steps leading to the manor. She jumped up and down excitedly, waving to them in a bright yellow dress.
Harry watched the flush deepen across his youngest son's face.
Thomas and Elena Puckle greeted the wizards and two Muggles warmly. Taking their egg offerings and leading them through several jaw-droppingly gorgeous rooms, they came to a solarium full of flowering plants and vines creeping along the glass windows.
The children immediately disappeared to the upstairs rooms and Harry and the others heard their thunderous footfalls from time to time. As the adults settled down to tea—which was brought to them by a smartly-dressed valet—Harry looked at their hosts.
While their children were the same age, the Puckles were easily ten years older than Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He was, again, reminded that Muggles did not face the same social pressures to marry early. The Muggle couple dressed far more casually than their last encounter at the opera, of course, but there was something about Thomas' khaki trousers and zip-up jumper and Elena's turtle-neck that reminded Harry of the Mores—that sort of unaffected outdoorsy-ness that all these rich country families, whether Muggle or magical, seemed to have. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny studying Elena's outfit closely.
But the Puckles took pains to make their guests feel welcome. Once the valet had poured milk for their tea, Elena excused him from the room.
"Can talk more freely that way," she said conspiratorially. "Statute and all."
All the same, Harry touched his wand and cast a silencing charm. He'd informed the Improper Use of Magic Office not to monitor this section of Devonshire today.
"I have to tell you," Elena went on, pushing her long brown hair off her shoulder, "Perdita loves Hogwarts so much she didn't want to come home for the Easter holidays! Said she needed to stay back and study!"
As one, Harry and Ron turned to grin at Hermione.
"I think she only agreed to come back once she realized Rose and Albus wouldn't be staying. Oh, I'm so happy our children our friends!" she effused. "I think Perdita felt a bit out of place when she arrived, but having those two has really helped. And my, your oldest is so tall!" she said to Harry and Ginny. "Perdita told me he's on the Gryffindor Wid-ditch team?"
While Ginny answered, Elena listened raptly. Harry realized she likely had few opportunities to speak openly about her magical child. Like all parents of Muggle-borns, the Puckles had attended the orientation camp at Hogwarts last summer, which meant they were in close contact with the fifteen to twenty Muggle couples with a first-year at the wizarding school. Harry was even told there were secret online support communities and "group texts" for the parents of Muggle-borns. The parents were allowed to know about magic, of course, but Harry was sure the chat history could be accessible to Muggles with no need to know about magic. It was one of those grey areas of the Statute that the Ministry conveniently ignored. In any case, Harry could tell it was something different for the Puckles to have actual wizards sitting in their home.
They talked about Hogwarts and the kids for another thirty minutes, the childless Alex looking disinterestedly out the windows onto the fine grounds. Harry was about the broach the subject they'd come for when the children exploded into the room, laughing hysterically.
"Mum!" Perdita cried, red-cheeked and eyes huge behind her thick glasses. "Can we take the brooms out, please!"
"Honey, you know Jonas and Tamara are here today," said Mr. Puckle.
"Please!" the only child chirped again. "We really want to!"
Her father softened. Getting heavily to his feet, he went to speak to the staff. Once Jonas and Tamara had departed, the Muggle walked the children down to one of the outbuildings that stored Perdita's brooms.
"She hasn't really taken to flying," Elena admitted as she opened the solarium doors onto the lawn, "but we bought her one of every kind at Diagon Alley. This is the most use they'll get all year!"
They all laughed, though there was something forced in Ron's.
When Mr. Puckle returned and they could see the children careening across the grounds through the windows, Harry cleared his throat.
"I apologize if this is somewhat abrupt," he started, "but I wonder whether we might discuss something sensitive related to your work."
The Muggle couple stared at him.
"Of course," said Thomas, unconsciously taking his wife's hand. "How can we help?"
Between Harry, Hermione, Alex, and Ron they explained. When they had finished, the Puckles' faces were bloodless. For a long moment, the only sound was the children's laughter echoing over the grounds.
"And they..." Thomas said to Hermione, "did this to you because...your parents are like us?"
Hermione hesitated. It was simultaneously far more complicated and just as simple as that. Harry stared into his lap, a wave of shame for his own kind washing over him.
"Yes, among other reasons," Hermione eventually said, unconsciously tugging the sleeves of her jumper over her hands.
Elena was staring out over the lawns.
"And that boy..." she whispered. "That man attacked him...and his family?"
Harry followed her eyes to Duncan, who was sitting on the back of Lily's broom and laughing uproariously as his daughter did a loop in the air.
"Yes," said Alex. "The doctors in their world have tried everything. We're out of options."
The Muggle couple looked at one another.
"And this therapy you're trying to develop," Thomas said slowly, "it'll allow the spells to work but also make the Camerons...magical?"
"That's our assumption," said Alex.
Another long silence followed. Harry and Hermione shared a glance.
"We know it's against your laws," she said quickly, "and, believe me, if we had more time we might've gone about this in a more formal way. Our Ministry has a nascent relationship with your Department of Health and Social Care, for example, but..."
"Given what the Camerons' treatment might mean for our world," Harry continued for her, "you can see why it won't be a fast approval process. The trial starts in six weeks."
Thomas and Elena shared another look, and much seemed to pass silently between them.
"Would you give us a moment to discuss this privately?" Elena asked.
"Of course," said Harry.
The Muggle couple stood and left the room.
Ron released a slow breath and broke off a piece of chocolate egg.
"What d'you reckon?" he asked Alex.
"I don't think they'll agree."
"They will," said Hermione fiercely. "It's about making a better world for their daughter, too."
"And if they don't agree?" said Ginny lowly. "What d'you plan to do? They could report us to their authorities...the Ministry could catch wind."
"They won't do that," said Ron.
"How can you be sure?" Ginny hesitated. "If it comes down to it, I think you've got to..."
Ron looked at his feet. Hermione's eyes hardened.
"What?" said Alex. "Got to what?"
"Obliviation," Ron mumbled. "Make them forget this conversation ever happened."
Alex's mouth was a hard, white line.
"Decide just like that, do you?" he said to them all, but his eyes were on Harry. "Don't like how something's turned out, just wipe the slate clean, is it? Funny how risk-taking actually has consequences in my world."
Ginny opened her mouth, but Hermione spoke first.
"We don't know anything yet. Let's just wait for their answer."
As the minutes stretched on, the group went out to the lawn to watch the children. Continuing her uncanny resemblance to Hermione Granger, Perdita was indeed a shaky flier and stayed lower to the ground than the others. Harry noticed his youngest son kept close to her, though, and the two chatted animatedly, Albus occasionally turning upside down to make her laugh.
"I'm sorry if I was a cross," Alex grunted, coming up beside Harry.
He glanced at the Muggle. "Don't apologize. We all know you're risking more than the rest of us."
Alex said nothing as James demonstrated a Porskoff ploy to an amazed Duncan and Hugo. Ginny walking beside them, Ron pushed Hermione to the other side of the lawn that overlooked the gardens.
Harry hesitated only slightly before he added, "I hope you know this isn't easy for us either, though. If what we're doing gets out in the wrong way, it could set back relations between our worlds for years. It'd play right into the blood supremacists' hands."
The doctor nodded gravely.
"I want to walk," they heard Hermione say across the lawn. "Haven't felt grass under my feet in ages."
Turning, Harry felt something tighten in his chest as he watched Ron kneel and gently remove her shoes. Gripping her husband's arm, Hermione pulled herself to her feet. She wore a mid-length, pleated skirt, the scars on her legs and feet shining like sunlight through fractured glass. Ron led her back towards Harry and Alex, Hermione wincing slightly as her tight muscles worked to maintain her balance. She had nearly reached them when the Puckles emerged from the solarium. They watched Hermione for a long moment before joining them.
"We've talked it over," Elena said quietly, her eyes darting to Hermione's legs. "And...we'd like to help."
Alex and the wizards traded amazed glances.
"This will have to be strictly off the books," Thomas said to Alex. "Thankfully, my PhD's in genetics and Elena's a medical doctor so we can keep things between the three of us."
"Of course," Alex said, relieved.
"We'll have to move quickly," said Thomas. "When did you say the last samples would be analyzed?"
The three Muggles left them and walked slowly around the lawn, Alex briefing them on what they knew so far.
"Nicely done," said Ron, patting Hermione's arm still looped through his.
"Thanks," she mumbled.
Her eyes briefly met Harry's before they both looked away.
On May 2nd, the twentieth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Granger Amendment passed the Wizengamot.
Hermione had wanted to call it the Cameron Amendment, but Emi had looked at her fondly and said: "The train's left the proverbial station, Granger."
Whatever its name, the amendment enacted several changes to the 2008 Muggle Protection Act. Most importantly, it allowed Muggles to testify against wizards in magical courts, delaying their Obliviation until after a verdict was reached. The loved ones of affected Muggles could also attend trial and Muggle expert witnesses could testify (i.e., no more passing off unloaded, antique guns as a threat to life and limb).
The amendment also provided funding to the Auror Department and the Improper Use of Magic Office to study wizard-on-Muggle crimes and propose recommendations to reduce their occurrence. Finally, the amendment closed loopholes related to performing Obliviations on Muggles. Until the amendment, any wizard could obliviate a Muggle if he or she felt there was "just cause." Now they would be required to contact the Ministry to request an Obliviation, which could only be performed by an Auror or an official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Violators would be heavily fined with repeat infractions resulting in time in Azkaban.
On May 3rd, Hermione returned to the Ministry for the first time for the signing ceremony.
Healer Holbrooke had recommended against Apparition and Floo was less desirable for other reasons. So, at eleven that morning, with Lakey and Emi at her side, Hermione Granger descended into the Atrium in a red telephone box.
The moment her feet became visible, the Atrium exploded into deafening cheers, whistles, and applause. The entire Ministry workforce had come out for her return, along with hundreds of members of the public, the press, and scores of elves.
By the time Lakey, beaming from ear to ear, slid back the glass door, Hermione's face was the color of the booth. But, as she'd practiced for weeks, she pushed back her shoulders and walked forward under her own power.
As the flash bulbs burst around her, lighting up the scars on her exposed hands and feet, she looked ahead to the distant fountain, where Minister Shacklebolt, Harry, Ron, her children, and members of the Muggle-born caucus waited at the signing table. Lakey and Emi on her left and right like a royal escort, Hermione smiled weakly to her colleagues and the elves as the thunderous applause continued to the vaulted ceiling, from which gold and white confetti poured down on them like snow.
Drawing closer, she ignored the copies of her book and the Witch Weekly special edition with her on the cover held out for her to sign. Her eyes searched for his and, finding them, she gave a small, embarrassed smile and he grinned back, rolling his eyes slightly. She laughed.
Harry thought many things, then.
He wondered whether, at the end of all this, she'd be more famous than him. In the same moment, he somehow knew she would bear her fame much more gracefully than he ever had his. She would know how to wield it, to bend it to a purpose greater than herself. And, in a rush of warmth, he knew he loved this about her too.
Then, eyes taking in the assembled masses who beamed at her rapturously, he wondered whether it could all possibly last.
It won't, he thought immediately. Just like it didn't before.
Right now, their world was determined to prove to itself that it wasn't blood supremacist. So they deified her. They elevated this exceptional Muggle-born—the Brightest Witch of Her Age—to assuage their collective guilt, to wipe away their sins. It saved them all from the self-reflection, the hard work required to fix the inequities of their world. Yes, a law had passed. But it was one law and he'd seen laws change before...
Yet, as Hermione hugged her husband and her children, Harry wondered whether he was overly cynical.
She's not cynical, he thought. She's not jaded...after all she's been through.
Even in her darkest moment, Hermione Granger had not lost faith in people. She had lost faith in herself. He now knew she was that rare person whom the world had broken, but who did not hate the world in return. Indeed, the horrors visited upon her had only doubled her resolve to make things better, to make the world what she believed it could be...
She was so rare. So exceptionally strong and kind and good-hearted. And he realized he loved her so much it was literally beginning to hurt, as though the feeble scaffolding of his body could not contain what he felt for her.
All too suddenly, she was before him and he bent low to embrace her, praying his face didn't show too much. She kissed his cheek while the cameras clicked madly. Turning away, she was swallowed in Minister Shacklebolt's mammoth arms.
And then Harry could see—like a wavering mirage—a world in which Hermione Granger became Minister of Magic and not him. Would she want that? They had joked about it once, drinking wine in a darkened library. But if the spirit of the reform era had truly returned...if Kingsley wanted to retire...why shouldn't it be possible? Why couldn't she be the second-ever Muggle-born Minister?
But, a shadow passed over that vision. He thought of the room by the garden. If they were found out, none of that would ever happen. It'd be the end for both of them, wouldn't it?
She took her seat next to the Minister. While Kingsley began his prepared remarks, Harry thought of something else she had told him...their legs entwined...her soft breath against his chest...
That's what leadership is, I think. It's helping people be good. Because they are good...when they feel it's safe to be...when the world lets them...
She had been talking about him, but he thought the description fit her better. If there was any leader who could draw out the goodness in their broken world, it would be her. And war-weary and battle-scarred though he was, the Boy Who Lived knew he would follow her, do whatever she commanded.
She was, after all, much cleverer than him.