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So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Harry and Hermione obtained information from Hogwarts during the summer holidays to help with their plans. Now read on...
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Chapter 25
The Official Inquiry
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Busy Times
The months that followed the visit to Hogwarts by Hermione and Harry were extremely busy for the poor girl. Much of the time was devoted to discussions with the Cathesis League. A fund had been set up into which each member contributed in accordance with their means, Mike Worthing being the main benefactor. Hermione had been initially excluded and she'd had to argue her case at length before the others would accept donations from a ten-year-old child.
Although a great many initiatives had to be agreed upon, including when and where Hermione might commence work on her genetic therapy research, some of the startup cash was to finance Paul Ingleton's case.
Jop had shortlisted three aggrieved who'd felt cheated of the Sickles and Knuts they'd put into the Christmas Party cash account. He'd found them willing to help press action against Paul. In addition, Barty Crouch acted as the most officious complainant who was to pressure the inquiry to bring formal charges while trusting that they wouldn't. The amounts embezzled were trivial but the inquest set to take place in November had attracted a lot of interest in the press because of Paul's previous high office at the Ministry.
"I think you're walking a fine line," Hermione said. "Paul might come out of this worse off."
Crouch explained, "We have to sling as much mud as possible to give the impression we are strongly against Paul. When we steer the case to deliberately fail, I doubt anyone will believe the prosecution was carefully arranged to clear the main suspect. The truth is, by my actions so far, many suppose that I personally was the one who first accused Paul, and that I must know something concrete. They'll all be expecting me to provide substantial evidence. When I and the other prosecution witnesses fail to produce any link whatsoever, then the entire case will collapse as an idiotic farce and Paul will walk away squeaky clean."
"But won't your own reputation be stained?" Hermione frowned at Barty across the round table. Papers rustled nervously in the ensuing pause before he replied.
Finally, Crouch shook his head – though he did shift a little in his seat. "I won't have done anything wrong except report my suspicions based on the limited number of people who had access to the funds. I shall certainly throw emphasis on those others, including Umbridge. Even without evidence, they are the ones who will then become suspect, such is the nature of rumour and scandal. The public will believe Paul to have been proven innocent when in fact his position will be no different. I will be seen to have done my duty; it may well help my status because I am already known as a rigorous enforcer of the law."
Meanwhile, Hermione had to fit in extra hours giving instruction to her friends, including an introduction to first-year Potions which would soften the impact when facing Snape's usual scorn. This in turn linked to some of the principles of Herbology insofar as they related to ingredients. And, of course, the dark arts defensive practice continued.
"What about Luna's mum?" whispered Harry for the tenth time in as many weeks. His simple potion stood simmering in its cauldron, and Hermione could not help but think that Harry was occasionally seething too.
"It's not easy to get to Albania. I can't Apparate because it's too far and I've never been there. Muggle transport would eat up time I cannot spare. Don't worry, I might have found a way, Harry."
So it was, at the next meeting of the Cathesis League, she took aside Barty Crouch.
"As part of a covert operation I need a return Portkey to Peshkopi. Would it be possible for you to procure one for me somehow? I'd rather not do it through official channels if you know what I mean."
Crouch frowned and shook his head. "Portkeys are highly regulat–"
"–I know! That's why I'm asking."
Crouch shook his head. "Each year there are a few Portkeys returned unused, but they're mostly for popular locations. I've known Ministry staff to sneak one out for a holiday. Where'd you say?"
"Peshkopi. It's in Albania."
"Are you serious, Miss Brown? Try Paris or Rome and you might get lucky."
"It has to be Peshkopi."
"No possibility whatsoever. The Albanian Magical Alliance is no more than a general agreement between small, loosely-related magical communities – not a united country in the same sense as the Muggles who live there. Very few wizards ever visit the dangerous magical wilderness that is Albania."
"Would you at least try?"
Crouch grumbled for a while but eventually agreed to look every chance he had over the next few months, and Hermione could only leave it at that and cross her fingers.
A few days before the hearing into the accusations against Ingleton, a quarterly report was handed to Hermione by Mike Worthing. "It's the shop in Knockturn Alley. Those names on the list mean anything? They're the handful of customers who've visited the place and they've all either been turned away or found it locked. My men had them followed but, well, you can see from the list they're no one special; two are not even Pure-bloods."
Hermione shook her head. "None of these are known to me. We'll keep it on file though."
"Want me to instruct my men to continue? They're starting to get restless."
"Yes. A shop without any trade for all this time? Must be suspicious."
"They may be legitimately trading by Floo. The shop could be simply to provide them with a respectable owl address."
"Respectable? In Knockturn Alley?"
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The Painted Lady
For a young girl without adult supervision, penetrating the inner levels of the Ministry had not been easy, but Hermione was determined to watch over the legal proceedings concerning Ingleton. Knowing such inquests could not be held in private, she'd planned to sit invisibly in a far corner of the visitors' area but for some reason the smallest court had been selected for this case. Barely six guest wizards had squeezed into the small space allotted, and Hermione could see why: bare floorboards showed where seating had been removed and two large cabinets placed awkwardly, which wasted what room there was. Other members of the public were crowding the open doorway but there was barely standing room for two inside, so a considerable amount of agitated jostling was occurring behind.
"Shove up, long-shanks, I can't see!" muttered a wizard with his ribs pushed painfully across the edge of the doorframe.
"Who's fault's that, short-arse?"
"But if I stand in front of you then you can see over my shoulder and everyone's happy."
"I'm already happy."
Hermione had considered adding to Harry's experience by bringing him along, but in the end decided the youngster would quickly become bored. Instead, she'd invited Luna who had previously shown interest in Paul's fate, and was eager to write up the meeting for The Quibbler.
That gave Hermione another idea for their covert placement. They'd found a lone corner up in the press gallery where she could rest from immateriality but keep both of them invisible for an extended period without detection.
She was in for a few surprises. While, as expected, Rita Skeeter was present – being the only other journalist and several seats further along to their left – the outrageous scandaliser had also smuggled in something else. A writing surface extended along the top of the balcony rail and there was also waist-high partitioned shelving below for reporter's bags and equipment. A curious little box had been placed in Rita's cubbyhole, and the witch appeared to be adjusting it in a rather furtive way.
"She's shrunk a camera," whispered Luna. "Photographs are against court rules." The young girl patted the sketchpad she herself had brought along, wedged out of sight deeply into her own niche, as if to indicate that she at least was more honourable. "Miss Skeeter is very naughty."
Hermione didn't remind her that they themselves were being far 'naughtier' – she was more concerned about how Rita might play the story in the Evening Prophet. Perhaps there'd be a damning question mark over a photo of Paul's worried face. On the other hand, if the unscrupulous reporter sniffed more drama in Paul being the victim of injustice, then perhaps it might work in his favour. All would depend on how information unfolded at this inquest.
Hermione eased her invisible nose forward over the rail and looked down. The glistening faces of the few squeezed in at the back of the public area were animated, but the wizards in the only available seats in front of them looked bored. Why then had they bothered to come? Were they passive lackeys hired to arrive early and take up all the limited public space? Way to the left of them were complainants who might be called upon to testify, among them, Paul and a well-robed witch paid for by the League to advise him on the law, as well as Bartemius Crouch. The central space between public and witnesses was taken up by court administrators: the Tipstaff, his clerk, bailiff, scribe with two speed-quills, and a junior Auror to help keep order if needed.
Hermione reached down and opened her own pencil box, and began to make notes, with Luna watching the pen apparently writing on its own as Hermione's invisible hand moved back and forth.
"Oh, may I try one of those funny quills?" breathed Luna.
Hermione murmured softly, "They're ball-points. Help yourself, but keep everything well inside the niche so Rita can't see – and hurry, look, someone's coming in."
A murmur arose as the door behind the judges' bench opened and a dumpy old wizard boasting a large moustache ambled in so slowly that those behind him were being held back out of sight. He had narrow, uncaring eyes and Hermione didn't like the look of him one bit. His appearance prompted the bailiff to hustle out the standing public and close the door on them.
"Only seated members of the public allowed!" he shouted in response to the cries of annoyance that were to be heard as he turned the lock.
When Hermione looked up again, she winced in disappointment. Coming in behind the dumpy man was Dolores Umbridge. As the man ahead of her dropped himself onto the farthest of four seats, she tried to drag the next chair back to a more central position. She was obstructed in this by another plum-robed witch coming up behind who Hermione recognised as Madam Marchbanks. Following her was Madam Bones. The result was uneven spacing. The old wizard was slightly isolated on one side with the other three witches rather bunched up together on the podium.
"Objection!" cried Barty Crouch. "You can't–"
"ORDER! ORDER!" bellowed the Tipstaff, rising to his feet.
"I see that Mister... Crotch..." simpered Madam Umbridge with a delicate little smile, "is under the impression he is counsel at a criminal trial. Might I suggest he study law before shouting out?"
"But you can't possibly–"
At a signal from Umbridge, the Tipstaff had thrust the tip of his rod of authority into Barty's mouth and silenced him with a spell.
"That's better," continued Umbridge. "This meeting is called to enquire as to whether Paul Ingleton should be charged with stealing Ministry funds. Evidence will be presented and then this committee shall decide on the matter. In the case of a tied vote, my decision as Supreme Arbitratrix of the tribunal shall be final."
"Objection!" cried Madam Bones.
"Have I not already made myself quite clear, Amelia?" Umbridge's smile had tightened. "There will be no–"
"Quite clear, thank you, Dolores. However, although a complainant may not lodge an objection, as a duly-appointed member of this panel, I certainly CAN!" Amelia wasn't smiling at all. "Evidence will suggest there is more than one suspect and no suspect can–"
"Hem!" Umbridge had raise a finger and the rod-flourishing Tipstaff had stepped to the bench awaiting her orders. Madam Bones paused to glare at both of them.
"We cannot act on evidence not yet heard, now can we?" said Umbridge sweetly, as if explaining to a little child.
Madam Bones' lips compressed angrily. "Very well. As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it is my duty to call the first–"
"Thank you, Amelia, but as a matter of protocol, as Supreme Arbitratrix, it is my duty to get proceedings under way, is it not?"
Madam Bones was beginning to squirm with annoyance but she managed to suppress an unwise caustic reply by the distraction of having to wipe steam off her monocle.
Umbridge rose to her feet and tilted her face upward as if to address the plaster cherubs decorating the ceiling rather than the gathering below. "I call upon Madam Bones to begin questioning the parties concerned." She sat down again, face forward and sporting a self-satisfied smile.
Madam Bones mustered what self-possession she could. "Mr Hewitt, take the stand, please."
The man had barely reached the rail before she hurried on, "Mr Hewitt, you are employed as Office Manager in the Administration Section of the Ministry, are you not?" – "I am." – "Have you a list of all personnel who had access to the Christmas Party funds last year?" – Hewitt held out a piece of parchment and was about to say yes when Amelia leaned forward and took it from him. "Thank you, Mr Hewitt, that is all." Holding the list close to her chest, she quickly scrutinised it then opened her mouth to read it out.
"Hem, hem." Umbridge dabbed at her nose with a lacy pink handkerchief.
Madam Bones sighed and gestured for Umbridge to continue.
"Have we any proof that this list is authentic?" frowned Umbridge. "May I see?"
"Is it not proof enough that the entire court has just witnessed the Office Manager handing this to me?"
Amelia held up the sheet and Umbridge snatched it. "We saw the witness hand you something, Amelia." With barely a glance at the note, she declared, "Inadmissible," and scorched it to a cinder with one flick of her wand.
Several pens had been scratching away furiously all this time, not least that of Skeeter, but, Hermione noted, the journalist's palm was covertly placed over the little camera which now rested atop the gallery railing.
"Mr Hewitt, would you please return to the stand?" said Madam Bones.
"Hem, hem."
Hewitt was halfway to stepping up and paused mid-stride.
"As a matter of protocol, you said you'd finished questioning this witness, Madam Bones," said Umbridge rather icily.
"No, I didn't. I said–"
"Scribe! Madam Bones cannot remember her last statement. Would you please read out the official record."
Caught out and rather flustered, the scribe stumbled to his feet. "Uuh... 'No, I didn't. I said–' "
"Not her very last statement, you half–!" Umbridge rapidly reduced her acidic tone back to its usual sugary-sweetness. "The last statement relevant to what we were saying, namely her dismissal of the witness."
A flurry of parchment scrolls later, the scribe read out, " 'Thank you, Mr Hewitt, that is all.' "
" 'That is all.' I think the instruction is clear enough. Call your next witness, Madam Bones."
"But..."
"Have you no more witnesses? Very well then–"
"Yes! Yes! Of course there are more! Mr Crouch, would you please take the stand?"
Barty, still red-faced but recovering from the silencing rod, stepped up.
"Mr Crouch..." Amelia hesitated for a moment, then a grim smile appeared on her face. "Mr Crouch, did Mr Hewitt inform you of all those with access to the funds, and if so, please inform the court of their names."
"Certainly he did. They are–"
"OBJECTION!" cried Umbridge. "Do you admit to conferring with another witness, Mr Crotch?"
Luna whispered, "She knows! She knows what we're doing! And she's trying to humiliate poor Mr Crouch because she thinks he's trying to further his career so she sees him as a competitor that–"
"Sssh!" Hermione hissed softly.
"Madam Umbridge," Barty raised himself up to his full height.
"Hem, hem."
Barty frowned his puzzlement.
"As a matter of very long-standing protocol, court entities must address the Supreme Arbitratrix as 'My Gracious One'."
"WHAT!" cried Barty. "That form of salutation has not been heard in over a century!"
"A sad oversight which will be corrected in MY court! Continue..."
Crouch's face was back to the same ruddiness it had shown when the Tipstaff's baton had been choking him but Ingleton's counsel was nodding his reluctant agreement at Barty.
"Very well," blustered Barty, his face reddening even more deeply, "My... Gracious One, the term 'admit' is suggestive of a mistake or misdemeanour and there–"
"Hem, hem."
Barty froze, white knuckles gripping the top of the complainants partition.
"Without a denial it sounds almost as if you are confessing," she simpered girlishly. "Did you confer with a witness or not?"
Barty spluttered, "Well, of course I bloody well–!"
"–Yes or no, Mr Crutch, and I insist on protocol if you wish to continue giving evidence!"
"Uuh, I..." With a supreme effort, Barty fought and mastered a powerful temptation to leap up and strangle his tormentor. "I ... did – that – is, My – Gracious – One," – he was pulling out the painful words one by one like broken teeth at the dentist – "consult – Mr – Hew–"
"Thank you. You're dismissed!"
"But..."
"Have you any more witnesses, Amelia? I'd like to wrap this up quickly," said Umbridge.
"I would like to call Mr Hewitt again," said Madam Marchbanks, who had been sitting quietly all this time observing the to and fro.
"Sadly, Mr Hewitt has already been dismissed, Griselda," said Umbridge, casually brushing a sleeve of her robe with the back of one hand.
"Not by me, he hasn't," said Marchbanks, "and as a matter of protocol, Dolores, because I am a Wizengamot Elder and Governor of the Examinations Authority, you will in future kindly address me as Madam Professor Marchbanks."
"But–"
"Step up again, Mr Hewitt," said Marchbanks very firmly.
He did so.
"Please tell us the names of all those who had access to the Christmas funds last year."
"Certainly. There was myself, Messrs Ingleton, Lawson, Bower, the Minister for Magic, of course, but only through me, and Madam Umbridge."
"I MUST protest!" cried Umbridge.
"Thank you, Mr Hewitt, please sit down," said Marchbanks. "I move that Madam Umbridge's involvement as a possible suspect in this case compromises her role as Supreme Arbitratrix, that she be declared persona non grata and cannot preside over this meeting."
Umbridge jumped to her feet, squinting blind with fury. "I ABSOLUTELY MUST..." Her eyes opened. For a moment, Hermione wondered if she'd had a stroke, but then a thin smirk crept across Umbridge's lips and she continued, "I absolutely must... AGREE. Yes, agree. In the circumstances, because of the erm... peculiar... coincidence... and because no less than four judges must attend, the matter is unresolvable. Case dismissed."
She rose as if to leave but was unable to reach the door beyond the other two witches who were now conferring together. "We move that the meeting be reconvened at a later date."
"Agreed." Umbridge's response was so rapid that it was clear she had anticipated it.
Luna's eyes popped wide and white, her jaw gaped, and the shocked girl's pen slipped from her fingers onto the notebook she was tightly gripping. "As Undersecretary, she can put it off indefinitely," she whispered. "Poor Mr Ingleton might never be heard."
The chamber had been reduced to a frozen vacuum of silence while Bones and Marchbanks continued their private discussion, and everyone strained to hear. The members of the court held their breath. Luna's ballpoint rolled off her notepad and into a corner of her niche with a little tippitty-tap-click. Skeeter's face whipped around in her direction. She didn't know it but she was looking straight through both Luna and Hermione who were clutching each other's arm to steady themselves.
"be reconvened, or..." said Marchbanks, as if there had been no interruption in her flow, "or be reassembled."
" 'reassembled'?" croaked Umbridge.
"Yes, there is precedent, of course – it was in 1840, I believe, the same year incidentally," Marchbanks said with much point, "that the phrase 'My Gracious One' was declared both archaic and foolish."
"Very well," said Umbridge, "we shall vote on it. All those in favour of replacing the Supreme Arbitratrix please raise your hand."
While the arms of Bones and Marchbanks moved stiffly upwards, Umbridge scowled over her shoulder at the dumpy wizard whose head was drooping. An underhand stinging hex quickly brought him to full alert and his hand began to climb dozily. Umbridge glared at him and mouthed frantically, at which his hand bent crookedly to smooth his voluminous moustache.
"Oh, it's a tied vote!" cried Umbridge. "Well then, I–"
"Sadly, no," said Marchbanks. "No vote can be cast where there may be conflict of interest. Your vote does not count, Dolores. You may, however, remain as a member of the committee but only to comment and observe. That leaves two in favour, one against, and one invalid. Motion carried."
Amelia said, "I move that Madam Marchbanks be sworn in as Supreme Arbitratrix." Her hand lifted high, as did Griselda's. "Two votes to one. Motion carried."
Entranced, Hermione stared delightedly at the change of fortune, but a dig in the ribs from Luna alerted her to a new danger. In the excitement, she'd forgotten about Skeeter. Indeed, Rita herself had been sidetracked. However, as a reporter she was used to multi-tasking and in the last minute or so had stealthily removed her wand and was pointing it towards...
"Pingush!"
All eyes stared up towards the press gallery where Rita Skeeter stood triumphantly pointing her wand towards the seats to her right. Thick, bright yellow paint was now coating those chairs as well as the wall beyond, and the sticky goo was not only dribbling over the handrail onto the six wizards seated in the public area below, but the force of her spell had sputtered it back over the scurrilous reporter's face and robes. Rita's expression faded rapidly as her nose dripped hi-gloss lemon onto the tiny camera lens...
"Miss Skeeter!" cried Madam Marchbanks. "Explain yourself!"
"There's someone – there was someone there, I'm sure of it!"
"Auror – if you please," said Marchbanks, gesturing up to the balcony. "Better take the bailiff with you too."
She turned to Madam Bones. "Amelia, would you please recall Mr Crouch and let us try to salvage something from this day..."
In the loft space above the inquest chamber, the two girls lay in the dust, Luna snicking and sneezing hopelessly. "Buggle – snick! – bens – tsh! – roll!" said the youngster. "Tha's why they're –snsh! – called ball bens?"
What now? thought Hermione. While Luna had another bout of coughing and sneezing, Hermione made herself invisible again, dematerialised, and dipped her face down through the joists. Madam Bones was questioning Barty Crouch. The Auror was frowning at Rita and shaking his head. She looked torn between explaining why she'd cast paint onto empty seats, while simultaneously concealing her ruined camera and paying attention to the court drama unfolding below. Hermione held on as long as was comfortable then resurfaced.
"Wha's habbening!" cried a flush-faced Luna in a croaky, wheezy voice.
Speaking hurriedly while cleansing the joists, themselves, Luna's hair, and even the air of dust, Hermione said, "Madam Bones is asking Mr Crouch what, if anything links Paul to the missing funds, and he's saying nothing directly but there were lots of rumours going around and she's asking from where and he's saying he can't remember who first told him and looking very puzzled and she's saying sounds like Confundus might have been used to spread ill-will and..." Hermione paused to take a breath. "I have an idea..."
Delving into her beaded bag, she withdrew a couple of wireless Hearsays she'd derived from Fred and George's Extendable Ears idea, and passed one to Luna. After showing her how to stuff the Sayer in her ear, she grasped the Hearers, made herself insubstantial for a few moments, and plunged them down to the ceiling below. The Sayers grumbled a little before settling down to repeat what the Hearers were listening to. Luna rolled up the sleeves of her robe and took out her favourite, most feathery quill and soon both girls were scribbling and scratching away, with Luna putting the finishing touches to her sketch of Paul Ingleton in the lulls.
"Luna, I don't think the halo is a good idea," murmured Hermione.
"No? Mmm... oh well, perhaps I should tone it down just a little. How about a nice war medal glinting in its subtle radiance – as a kind of distraction, I mean?"
"Sssh... they're about to vote!"
"...that no evidence whatsoever has ever been discovered linking Mr Ingleton to–"
"Or anyone at all," Umbridge trilled grumpily.
Madam Marchbanks bowed her head slightly in acquiescence. "Or anyone at all, to the missing Christmas funds. All those in agreement, raise your right hand."
Lying side by side, Luna and Hermione looked at each other as they held their breath...
"Motion carried!" declared Marchbanks. "And Miss Skeeter, your wand is suspended for ten days and you're fined twenty Galleons for vandalising this court. Our bailiff will let you out as soon as it's paid and you've cleaned up every last drop of the mess you caused."
"How am I supposed to remove paint without a wand?"
"Bailiff! Can you please provide Miss Skeeter with a cloth and bucket?"
Hermione and Luna rolled and squee'ed together in delight. It was at moments like these that Hermione really loved being a young girl again. The thought of Rita Skeeter on her hands and knees scrubbing paint was hilarious. They would not have been so amused if they'd have seen Rita examining with great interest... a paint-soaked ball-point pen.
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
Skye mentioned that even though she has her earlier experience, Hermione ought to act her (young) age more. Good point. It's a fine balance. I think I've been considering three things: how she behaves in serious situations and with adults, how she behaves in 'girly' situations with friends, and also that she's just reached ten now and she presented herself in the original book (just about twelve) as rather serious by nature. She didn't lighten up for a while. But I thought I was making her a bit more fun-loving earlier in life (in non-serious situations,) as well as making mistakes that might be regarded as childish. Note the end of the current chapter with Luna (I think I wrote that before reading the review.) Anyway, I will keep that in mind, to try to make her 'sound' young, if I can. thanks, Skye.
Jhotenko wondered how the Weasley twins would turn out without the map and after having been forced to face how they were treating Ron more seriously. I still see them as jokers – but more considerate, sort of... thoughtful jokers! :D I'd considered that Harry might lend them the map anyway if an idea leads that way.
Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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