A/N: Right, this was a difficult chapter to write for some reason – especially as I've somewhat run out of steam, and I apologise for the time taken. Although, in my defence, I had no idea this would get so popular, I think this has had at least a hundred followers or something now.
Still, after continual stopping, starting, and rewriting, here's a new chapter, sorry it's a bit short. No promises for when the next one will be out.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.
Chapter Five
"Please, for me," Jasmine insisted, holding one of several books out to the bushy haired girl. "I know you were good when we duelled, you were inventive, but I'm still worried about you."
"You sound like my mum," Hermione said drily, but still took the proffered manual on self-defence.
"Well, I'm getting half the advice from my mum," that triggered a frown from the bookworm, so Jasmine pulled the slim black tome from within her robes. "My mother's journal. Lots of notes, inventions, advice. It's how I've been learning wandless and wordless magic. Snape gave it to me."
"I still say you cheated," Hermione said cheekily.
"Well, wandless magic is useful. At bare minimum you should know how to summon your wand back to you, because in a real fight…"
"Yeah, I know," the brunette stated, "and thank-you, I'm almost touched. One might believe Ravenclaw's recluse had an actual heart." The playful bat Jasmine gave her arm wrought a laugh from her friend, which was quickly echoed.
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"You!" spat the woman as she opened the door. Jasmine simply gave an angelic smile.
"Hello Aunt Petunia, may I come in?" The smile didn't reach her eyes, they were as cold and sharp as the emeralds they imitated.
"No! Never again, I don't care about that old fool and his warnings. Go!" she said angrily.
"I was rather hoping you'd say something like that, Imperio," Jasmine replied calmly, her unregistered ebony wand pointing at the horse-faced woman who swayed on her feet with a daze expression. "Walk back inside and sit down at the table in the kitchen." Petunia immediately spun and walked off to the other side of the house. Jasmine followed, surreptitiously closing the door behind her. When she entered the kitchen, she ignored her seated relative and put the kettle on the boil while gathering components.
"Useful thing, magic. And what I know about the Imperius curse is that you can still see and hear everything, even if it's a little bit disembodied. You are still conscious. Because, you see, I've been saving this," she poured out the water into a teapot, adding the tea bag and bringing two cups as she moved over to the table, sitting across from her aunt. "It's my birthday today, did you know that? I'm not sure, considering you all treated it as if it were any other day of the year. Then again, I don't think you ever cared. You did so hate your sister, after all." She poured out two cups of tea calmly, adding milk to her aunt's just as the woman liked it-she still remembered of course, from the time she spent as a slave to their family. Her own had a plentiful heaping of sugar, and she smiled as she brought it to her lips, savouring the taste. "But she was still your sister, your flesh and blood. As am I. You see, that's why I only ordered your husband killed-oh, yes, I paid to have Vernon murdered by the way-you require a more personal touch. He, while he may have been the author of much of my misery-the beatings, the abuse and… did he ever tell you that he tried to rape me once?"
"Yes," Petunia replied instantly.
"I did always wonder, anyhow," she continued, sipping her tea again, "accidental magic saved me from that one, which someone else tried as well fairly recently you might like to know. He's currently dying, slowly, painfully and all that, but I digress." She set her cup down. "You are a real blood relative, unlike the walrus; you actually had an obligation to your dead sister, and to me, to take care of me. You did not; you made me your slave, your son's punching bag, and your husband's rage outlet. Well, congratulations; you're the one who made me who I am today." She reached over, and opened her faux-emerald ring above the other cup of tea, allowing the powder to fall from within into the liquid before closing the jewellery up and stirring it in carefully. "Maybe things would have been different, if you hadn't chosen this path, maybe I would be different. Maybe I wouldn't be a sociopath who just poured arsenic into your tea." The woman's blank stare didn't change visibly, but she could swear the woman was slightly tense. "Drink it," she ordered, and Petunia immediately picked up the cup and brought it to her lips. "This is the first time, you know, that someone will have died by my direct hand. My first murder. Hah, I suppose if you don't count Voldemort." She stood from her chair, watching the woman drink the poisoned liquid. "Enjoy your ruin, Petunia Dursley, you've earned it. Oh, and just before I go, I may as well let you know. Dudley. He's still alive, for now. I'm not going to kill him today, no, I'm going to wait, wait until he thinks he's safe, and maybe has gotten over his parents' deaths. And then I'll kill him. And there's nothing you can do about it. Goodbye, dear aunt. We shall not meet again." And without a second glance, she walked from the room.
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"Mister Hound," she said into the phone, smirking at the sound of something being dropped onto the floor.
"Y-yes, Miss Adler?" came the reply.
"I believe Ford is currently having some financial difficulties; contact them and set up a meeting between them and myself to discuss the purchase of Aston Martin and Jaguar-Land Rover."
"M-Miss Adler, even with the Apple shares, we d-do not have the capital for such an endeavour," he replied hesitantly.
"I do, Mr Hound," she stated evenly. She also had magic with which to confound the owners into a lower price, not to mention a stone which literally made gold. Though she would have to avoid using that too much, so as to stay away from upsetting the financial markets rather than controlling them. "Set up the meeting."
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"Ford announced today the sale of both Aston Martin, and Jaguar-Land Rover to a company recently formed named Britannia Incorporated. The sale was for an undisclosed amount, but some rumours exceed one-point-five billion pounds. This sale is expected to increase jobs available…"
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"The offices do look good," Jasmine stated as she leaned over a balcony above the main work area, just by the chief's office, throwing a shadow by the morning light. "And you have your first assignment for the paper to roll out tomorrow. Tomorrow is the 31st of August, the last day before Hogwarts students return. I've got you an interview with Jasmine Potter at three this afternoon."
"How did you manage that? Dumbledore's kept any information about her under wraps for more than a decade," Skeeter exclaimed.
"Never underestimate our employer, Miss Skeeter," she replied with a smile.
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"I didn't think you much of a media hound," stated an amused voice, making Jasmine look over the top of her copy of the Financial Times to gaze at Hermione, "not that you gave too much away."
"I'm saving that for a rainy day," she replied, getting the obvious reference to the article that ran in a new newspaper.
"Why did you give an interview though? Bit out of character for you," Hermione said as she sat down opposite her.
"I'm one of the investors in the paper," she grinned as Hermione gave a noise of understanding, "nothing like a bit of a catchy headline to help it sell on its first day. Worked pretty well apparently."
"Why invest in a paper?" Jasmine turned at the new voice to see the Longbottom girl blushing at being given attention from where she stood by the doorway, "I-I mean, the Prophet's been going for decades, everyone gets that one every day. Bit difficult to compete."
"I felt," Jasmine began, formulating a response based on who she was with, "that the nation could do without one paper having a monopoly on the news, especially one in the ministry's pocket." That should be a decent enough response.
"F-fair enough," Nadia replied, "my gran's always saying the Prophet's biased. Er, do you mind if I…?" she gestured at the empty seat next to Hermione.
"Go ahead, Nadia, you don't need to ask for permission you know," the bushy haired girl said fondly. The short-haired brunette blushed, but stowed her luggage up in the overhead compartment. Jasmine took the opportunity to properly study the girl that Hermione was so often seen in the company of. Short stature, slightly chubby, shy, clear fear of her grandmother, desperate to prove herself to said woman, rich background, uncomfortable in the dress she was wearing. A flick of her hand confirmed what she already knew personality wise; queen of wands. The gentle country lady, almost abominably honourable and good, virtuous, etcetera. "You and your cards," Hermione stated derisively from across the compartment, to which Jasmine merely smiled, tucking the tarot card back up her sleeve.
"They're useful," she replied ambivalently.
"They're a load of claptrap is what they are. You don't need them anyway," the bushy haired girl replied knowingly, and Jasmine relented that was true. Both of them could deduce facts easily enough already.
"I wouldn't dismiss divination out of hand, my dear Hermione," she said slowly, drawing her pack of cards out with a flourish, performing a Sybil cut through minor boredom. "Shall we play a game?"
"What, are you going to predict my future?" Hermione chortled.
"No, I was going to suggest getting the muggle pack of cards out of my trunk and playing poker to pass the time. I'd quite like to see how well you can bluff," Jasmine flashed a grin back at her.
"Try me."
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"Now, I know you all are dying to fill your stomachs after a long train ride," Dumbledore stated from his podium, "but I must introduce the latest addition to the staff. Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, our new professor of Defence against the Dark Arts; Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt." The tall, bald, African man in his blue robes stood and gave a pained smile to the student population. Likely he didn't want to be there, probably due to the fact no defence professor had lasted more than a year for the last half century. "Now that we all know who we are, tuck in!"
Grateful noises of appreciation were made throughout the hall as food appeared on various platters in front of them all. Jasmine merely methodically set her plate with a generally balanced diet-not caring overly about the actual individual components; Hogwarts' food was made by Elves, which while good, was bland and unimaginative, as well as fairly repetitive after a while.
"So that's the new defence teacher," one of her fellow 'Claws remarked out loud.
"Hopefully he's better than the last few we've had," another girl said drily.
"He's a senior auror, with two decades of law enforcement experience, originally born in Tanzania," Jasmine remarked off-handedly, gaining some interested looks at the rare occasion of her deigning to speak with her housemates-not that most of Ravenclaw minded; they respected scholarly recluses if nothing else. "He should know what he's talking about."
"Do you actually know that, or is this more of your spooky mind reading?" the girl questioned-Morag her mind supplied from a list of various persons within the school.
"The former and I'm not a legilimancer as I've attempted to state numerous times. I merely use a process of induction, abduction and deduction to reason and create theories to suit facts I can discern," she replied tersely, despairing at even the house of the 'wise' being incapable of understanding what even a teenage muggle mathematician could comprehend somewhat. How Granger could stand prolonged contact with their 'peers' was beyond her.
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"Take your hands off me! You filthy little mudblood!" the harsh declaration was spat from the blond Slytherin's lips, and the bushy-haired girl visibly recoiled at the slur.
"How dare you!" declared Nadia, snarling with a similar sentiment to the ravenette on the other side of the courtyard, watching the events with a careful eye.
"As if you're any better, you dirty blood-traitor," Malfoy sneered, "you're an insult to all the ideals of an Ancient and Noble House." The Brunette seethed with anger, and it was only Hermione physically restraining her-much to the gathered Slytherins' laughter-that stopped curses being flung. The group of snakes, however, knew not to push their luck, and quickly moved to go back inside. Jasmine, moved to intercept them.
"Malfoy," she stated neutrally as they passed, making the arrogant brat spin to look at her. "A word, if you please." Frowning, he dismissed his fellows, and followed her to a corner where she affixed hard emeralds upon him.
"Potter," he stated grudgingly in greeting-they weren't exactly on friendly terms, but they had some mutual respect. She hadn't felt like cultivating much more since she already had his father in her grasp.
"One warning, Malfoy," she growled at him, "that is what I'm giving you, as a courtesy. You do not touch Granger. Do you understand? Go after any mudblood you care about, hell; kill, rape and pillage across the muggle world for all I care, but you do not touch her. You start something with her, I will end you. Capiche?"
"Is that a threat?" the boy drew himself up haughtily.
"It's a promise," she returned, knowing the cliché should at least have some effect. "Spread it around Slytherin. She. Is. Off. Limits."
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"Look at that one, how can he not see that she is cheating on him with her?" Granger stated from her position next to Jasmine on a window-ledge overlooking the courtyard. Said ravenette swept her imperious gaze up from her book to look across at said couple.
"He does; they're both secret homosexuals going out with each other to keep appearances up-most likely since they're both pureblood and such things are heavily discouraged in magical society," she stated with an edge of boredom colouring her tone.
"Oh yes, his cuffs I'm guessing?"
"And his arms. All that muggle gay pornography he pays to have smuggled in, he doesn't have the money or time at present to buy proper shaving paraphernalia as he prefers."
"You two are ridiculous, has anyone ever mentioned that?" spoke up the mainly silent third member of their contingent-the brunette mostly having hung back to read a Herbology textbook as her friend indulged in people watching. "I still don't see how you can take the smallest of details and just…guess so much about them."
"It's not guesswork, Nadia, that's doing it a major injustice," Hermione pouted, "it's…never mind." Jasmine sent her a knowing look, and the Gryffindor grimaced, harking back to an old conversation about those not like themselves.
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"It's such a silly and commercialised holiday," Hermione stated as three sets of footsteps sounded along the corridor heading away from the Great Hall and to the library.
"It does hold cultural significance in the magical world, mostly among older pureblood families with ancient rites and rituals," Nadia commented.
"Yes, but the carved pumpkins and other such nonsense are muggle in origin," Jasmine returned drily, "enough children rot their teeth on this night of the year to keep Hermione's parents well in business."
"They do tend to do well after Halloween," the bushy-haired bibliophile relented. "But-," anything she was going to say petered out on her lips as they turned a corner and came face-to-face with a strange scene.
The floor was coated in water, reflecting the flickering torchlight upon the crimson letters glittering on the wall, and the statue-like cat hanging from a bracket.
"I-is that?" Nadia hesitantly asked.
"Blood? Yes, by the consistency and the colour, it couldn't be anything else," Jasmine answered automatically, scanning the wall with interest.
"Recent by the dripping, and the size and stroke, by hand?" Hermione ventured.
"Two fingers by the smearing, definitely not a brush," the ravenette confirmed. The pair were so caught up in examining the writing, that neither really noticed the hustle and bustle of approaching students, and it was only as shocked gasps and mutterings filled the corridor that they realised they were not alone. "Well this isn't looking good," Jasmine muttered, turning back to the bloody words daubed on the stone.
'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.'
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The library did not offer anywhere near as much information as Jasmine would have liked on the Chamber, only speculation not dissimilar to the rumours going around the school. And what she had heard of those did not fill her with confidence.
The Chamber of Secrets was an old legend, one barely documented, but well known to those who had been a part of Slytherin house apparently. The story went that Salazar had left the school after protesting as to muggleborns joining the school as students, and supposedly, before he left he created a secret room in the castle within which to store a monster. Said monster could only be let out and controlled by his true heir, and would 'cleanse' the castle of those not of pure blood.
For the most part, Jasmine had little care for blood purity, except that a majority of her clients were pure of blood, since they had a lot of money and darker leaning tendencies. She herself was a half-blood, though being the 'Girl-Who-Lived' made up for that somewhat politically it seemed.
Her fear, though, was Hermione. She was born amongst the muggles, and routinely pissed off the purebloods by having far higher grades than most of them, and flaunting the idea that blood purity affected how good a wizard or witch could be. She was directly the most hated thing in the pureblood supremacist mind-set.
And so, here she was, in Pince's territory once more. And she was no closer to her goal of finding and eliminating whatever threat was posed to her Hermione. She realised just how possessive she had been of late-Lockhart's recent demise being sad as she could no longer extract her satisfaction from him had echoed that point-but Hermione was just something so…different, she couldn't bare life without her now that she had experienced it. It would all be so mind-numbingly dull and boring again, and after experiencing the alternative she could not return to that.
"Priorities," she muttered, closing the heavy tome with a blast of dust, "find and eliminate threat, most likely in the form of this 'heir.' Deal with monster if necessary. Stay out of the goat fucker's clutches. Simple." It was of course, anything but.
Still, no problem could withstand her formidable mind, of that she was certain.
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"I needled McGonagall a bit for information on the Chamber, and a little else here and there," Hermione stated conspiratorially as they sat on the back row in the Charms classroom.
"What did you get?" Jasmine replied, her eyes not moving from Flitwick's short, animated frame.
"Legends of the chamber do date back to the Founder's times, and every head of school since has looked for it without finding anything. It was last opened in 1943, and a student was expelled after a girl died-muggleborn of course-but the monster supposedly escaped," the Gryffindor explained.
"Half of that's from Malfoy though, so don't get your hopes up," Nadia commented from beside Hermione.
"He believed what he was saying," Hermione argued.
"He believes a lot of things," the brunette said drily, "doesn't make them true."
"It's still information, regardless of its source," Jasmine relented.
"Thank-you, at least I have some support. Have you found anything?" Hermione inquired curiously.
"I spent some time going through records looking for the Slytherin family bloodlines," the ravenette replied, "the purebloods make such a big deal of their being pure that they keep very precise genealogy records."
"Of course, even my grandmother made me memorise the last four generations of my family," Nadia stated excitedly, "what did you find?"
"Nothing really useful," Jasmine said with annoyance, "the Slytherin line lasted a long while, but the last members – from a minor house named Gaunt – went extinct decades ago, with the last member dying in Azkaban in the seventies. I've been down a few other lines; a branch of the Black family that died out in the seventeenth century, and some others. There's only one possibility, and I find it doubtful."
"What is it?" the bushy haired Gryffindor asked immediately, "any possible information is useful."
"Well," the girl frowned, "there are two members unaccounted for of the bloodline. Arcturus Black the fourth, who was chucked out of the family after courting a muggle and decided to flee to the New World in 1790, where after there's no more information about him. The other is Anabelle Rosier-daughter of Marcelle Rosier nee Gaunt-who was discovered to be a squib at eleven and thrown into the muggle world or killed off in 1847, one of the two."
"They just turned the child away?" Hermione said incredulously.
"It does happen in some rare cases," Nadia said hesitantly, "among the nastier ones who don't want to admit to having a squib. Even then, quite a few people send the children away to muggle boarding schools, and a lot of squibs don't stay in the magical world."
"That's awful," the girl replied, horrified at the callousness of the world.
"That's the real world; things are rarely nice, and people rarely charitable," Jasmine stated off-handedly. "Anyway, my point was, although both of those lines could still survive-and I am going to check-I don't find them likely candidates as the heir."
"Why not?" Nadia queried.
"Well, any descendants will be impure of blood, or more likely, born amongst muggles. They're hardly the kind to champion blood purity and the extermination of muggleborns," she answered, "speaking of which, I've actually been forming a theory…"
"Oh?" Hermione turned eager eyes on her, always interested in new information.
"I was wondering if there's no such thing as muggleborns," she said simply, "at a guess, magic is usable through a certain recessive gene, or a specific allele, which is why its handed down in generations. If that's true, the number of muggleborns every year is too high to be evolution alone."
"You think they're descendants of squibs and those who left the magical world," the Gryffindor completed.
"I think it's definitely a possibility," she mused. "I was thinking of testing myself to find out with the type of magic Gringotts uses to certify your identity, since my mother was muggleborn."
"Isn't that blood magic?" Nadia stated, a slightly scared edge to her voice.
"Yes, but it's one of the few legal types. The old purebloods have got to be able to prove exactly how pure they are after all," the ravenette replied. "But that's getting off topic, and there's one other thing I found that is more important. Slytherin was a parselmouth, an ability passed down in bloodlines, specifically, his bloodline, much the same way metamorphagi are part of the Black heritage, and seers and so on." She paused to allow the information to sink in for a moment. "If there is a beast or animal in the chamber, it would make sense if it was one he could control – and the legend says only his true heir will be able to."
"Of course, if it was some kind of serpent, then he could give it commands – and so could his descendants," Hermione continued, easily catching on to the string of logic. "Well, that should help narrow it down."
"Not by as much as you'd think – there are numerous reptiles among the annals of mythology and magizoology; the hydra being the first that sprung to my mind, especially considering I found out cerburus' were real last year, but there's also dragons to consider, and there are dozens of breeds of those," Jasmine replied, frustration colouring her tone.
"Aren't parselmouths only supposed to be able to talk to snakes?" Nadia queried.
"It's not a well-documented subject," the ravenette remarked, "there hasn't been a recorded parselmouth for two centuries – most likely due to public links with dark magic and general secrecy – and with how similar snakes are with some of their reptilian cousins, I think it best not to rule anything out."
"Right, me and Nadia can head to the library after lunch to check out books on creatures if you want to continue your work with genealogy. Even you probably can't do both with how busy you apparently are," Hermione offered.
"Quiet in the back please, ladies, and pay attention, this will be tested at the end of this week," Flitwick called admonishingly from the front, finally noticing their little discussion.
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One of the advantages of being one of Gringotts' biggest clients – outclassed only by the long-standing pureblood families like the Malfoys, of whom a great deal of their wealth was in artefacts and property rather than straight up gold – was that when she desired something, the goblins went out of their way to provide her with what she might need.
And so, here she sat in her London office, with a sheet of vellum and a thin vial of purple potion sitting before her. With swift movements, she decided to end the suspense and flicked her Celtic knife from her voluminous sleeve, and pricked her finger. She held the digit over the open potion vial, and squeezed it to ply scarlet drops into the magical mixture. As soon as the first drop splashed in, the liquid turned a viridian green, but she did not stop until twelve drops had fully been entered into it. With a quick spell to heal the cut, she picked up the potion – swirling it around a little for good measure – before upending its small contents over the yellowed sheet.
It pooled a little, but did not splash, and was quickly absorbed into the enchanted vellum without a trace. After a few seconds, green lines began to appear, starting with a single name at the top of the page, flitting downwards with name after name for twelve full generations of her past, though in incredibly tiny text nearing the bottom.
With an analysing eye, she pulled a magnifying glass from a drawer of her desk, and set about the right hand side; the family on her mother's side. Down and down she went, searching for a recognisable name of some description.
When finally she did hit gold, her hand trembled and she dropped the magnifying glass. Jasmine leaned back in her seat, her eyes wide and mind reeling at the implications, even as a memory surfaced from her eidetic recollections:
Of a day, Dudley's birthday specifically, a number of years ago, where they had paid a visit to the zoo. As she had stared into the eyes of a huge snake, the boy had pushed her away and to the floor – somewhat painfully falling onto the concrete – and she had felt anger at him then. Suddenly, the glass of the cage had disappeared, and the fat child had stumbled backwards to fall upon his arse in fear as the thick, brown scaled snake slithered from its enclosure, turning those reptilian eyes on the ravenette.
"If you're looking for food, my cousin will taste a lot better than I will. And there's more of him," she had said, without really thinking. The snake had almost seemed to smile, before it slithered over to Dudley and began to wrap itself around him, doing exactly as its name suggested: constricting.
Of course, his screeching parents and various staff members managed to pull the reptile off of the rotund boy before he could suffocate, sadly, and she really got given hell for the event later from Vernon.
However, her mind couldn't help but return to the event as she picked up the magnifying glass and checked again the name, but a few seconds reminiscing hadn't changed the letters; Annabelle Smith, nee Rosier.
A/N: Not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but then I never am really. Anyway, until the next time.
