Chapter Two: Justus, or a Lack Thereof.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
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Life on the streets of West London was hard.
There was no way to sugarcoat what Hermione was thrust headfirst into when she had raced from her burning home covered in blood. For days she simply wandered about in a daze. Avoiding the attacks of predators and thieves, liars and other scum of the earth. Then, finally, she slaked her thirst at the dirty river, bathed herself of her mother's blood, and tugged herself up by the bootstraps. Nine years old, no money, no wand, only a year, at best, of magical training from Cirrus. Hermione supposed it could have been worse considering that she was at least well-read, capable of advanced mathematics, and free of the Trace. The workhouse was not her destiny, nor did she have to worry about Aurors appearing at random and tossing her in a labor camp.
Unsurprisingly, she became a street urchin. Scrabbling through the filth for whatever could be found. Food in garbage, knuts forgotten on the streets, and the best, most defensible areas in the alleys to sleep in. These were all the best perks of life a muggleborn orphan could ever hope to attain. Unfortunately, there was plenty of competition. She spent many nights cold and hungry, wary of the children who wielded knives with more skill than a wizard would his wand. One evening, tucked in a corner beneath a scrounged blanket the filthy girl attempted to rest.
He was a dark figure, large and imposing. With a massive black beard. A muggle man who often stalked the children when they strayed too far from the pack. "Yer awful alone girlie," He ground out, beady eyes dark as coals. Slitted piggishly, underlining the reptilian intelligence that rested in his thick skull. Big fingers tucked eagerly into her hair as he lifted her into the air. She screamed and railed though it was quite useless. Hands clawing at his meaty hand Hermione was unprepared when a pair of fingers pried her mouth open. "Pretty thing," He grunted, jaw working, and swiftly she realized what he planned to do.
The anger settled on her dirty skin. Filled her hollow bones with more heat than she had felt since that night. Since the fire. He dropped her back into her nest. Gagging as pure agony wracked visibly along his massive form. So intense was the manifestation of her vitriol that he could not even release a cry for help. Repressed rage roiled her ratty locks into a frenzy as they curled tightly in response to her flaring aura. "Stand up," She hissed out in a cold tone. He did just that with more obedience than a loyal dog. "Break your own nose." Hundreds of tiny whispers and echoes supported her fragile voice. The words rushed towards him through the air, fading in and out. He sobbed like a baby as his fist sunk away from the gaping wound he called a nose.
For the first time in her entire life Hermione felt power. True power. "Go home. Hang yourself from the rafters. Now." He would never hurt another child so long as she had anything to do with it.
From that moment on, Hermione ate the best scraps, slept in the nicest corners, and collected all of the knuts in the streets. She had found herself in possession of the sharpest knife in the whole neighborhood after all. The other children slept close to her at night from then on. Feeling quite safe in the presence of such a protector. Something about the dynamic managed to save her sanity. Though she dreamt every evening of oaths sworn in blood, ash, and shattering glass caused by a piercing scream, protecting the other urchins kept her sharp. During the day she brushed off the haunting memories and focused only on one name.
Sylvia Granger.
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"Bastard choked me around after I sucked 'im," Ruby spat angrily in the direction of a passing fellow. Hermione took note as they both observed the greasy Auror who often patrolled their street. "Told me I was lucky 't all to service a wizard." The younger girl patted her much older friend on the arm sympathetically. They both knew there was little Hermione could do in this case. Utilizing her, uncommonly controlled, mudblood magic on an Auror was different from using it on the usual street ruffians of West London. This was yet another injustice that the novice prostitutes would have to suffer with dignity.
Perhaps it was unsurprising that the mudblooded witch had returned to the arms of the same culture that birthed and weaned her. Sex workers were her people. Masters and mistresses of matters pertaining to the flesh were her kith and kin. Her mother had been a whore, her grandmother a whore, and who even knew how many more whores lined Hermione's ancestral tree before the wars began. Though there was nothing wrong with the trade it was not in Hermione's path. She knew, deep in her gut, that there was something better waiting. From a young age Hermione had decided that she would be the one to break the cycle.
Instead of working like the other orphans did, the girl performed vital administrative tasks. Protection was obviously an important aspect of her involvement. When men not too above reproach roughed up the boys and girls badly enough, Hermione visited them in a mask and made them pay for it tenfold. The same went for collection of dismissed fees though the repercussions were a bit less severe in nature. While she walked about with a cruel persona on the streets, in the cheap apartments they all rented together she allowed her compassionate, idealistic side to shine. Lessons in reading and writing had allowed many of the impoverished orphans who resided in the brothel to begin factory work, or other more socially acceptable lines of work. An older, more experienced mudblood hiding down the way had been shockingly easy to haggle with. The fellow would provide medical assistance and basic Potion's ingredients for an agreeable fee as a favour to her, all while obscuring his identity of course.
Perhaps that was why Hermione's blood boiled so viciously as she walked back home with Ruby that particular day. The older girl chattering away around a cigarette as though having long forgotten about the bruises ringing her pretty neck. This innocent, naive girl was only fighting to live her life the best she could with absolutely no help from the world. Hermione had taught the eighteen-year-old to read and write. In turn Ruby had patiently, almost lovingly, helped the younger girl when she woke up in a puddle of blood at a surprisingly early age. They were close in a way Hermione could not quite describe. Besides, after her encounter with that monster Yaxley, the child was wary of wizards coming after those she cared about.
The prostitute orphans pooled their resources together to pay for a large, if not drafty, apartment in the slummy North End of Kensington, right outside the warded territory of what was called 'Salazar's Sector.' Drafty and cramped, though none of them needed to worry about predatory attacks on the streets at night. What Hermione most enjoyed was the food. Stale and expired sometimes, yes, but never from a dumpster. In a way they were the most prideful pack of orphans in the muggle ghettos. Hard workers who could have died on their own, yet instead they hunkered down and banded together.
While Ruby slipped into the mattress they shared immediately Hermione sat in a rickety chair, peering out the window. Up above was the Shield. Nuclear bombs and magical blows rocking against it every so often, hoping it would fall again like it had only two years prior. Despite having been reestablished at a lower height, the magical construct still held firmly. For the moment, she thought to herself grimly, and when it fell next only death would come for those who still remained. A purring from the left caused the girl to turn her head momentarily. Crookshanks, a young, vicious-looking Kneazle who had obviously been as much an orphan as she, curled about her legs. The others had been unhappy with her for bringing a pet into the fold, but try as she might the flaming red feline had stuck firmly by her side. Everyone else who lived in the apartment had assented only after the rodents stopped paying their usual visits.
"Hello Crooksie," She sighed tiredly, "I missed you all day." The ensuing purr of contentment indicated that he was just as happy to be reunited with his owner. Leaning back against the chair once more, silky locks spilling over the chipped wood, the witch closed her eyes. Only, the faces of her troubled past pulsed beneath her eyelids. Yaxley. Monroe. Cirrus and his unknown fate. Her mother and her definite fate. Sylvia, lost out on the Isles somewhere, stolen by Cirrus' own aunt. Now, for whatever reason, the memory of the Auror who had hurt Ruby left her skull pounding.
She was on her feet in an instant. Crookshanks hissing in protest as he lumbered over to the mattress to rest atop Ruby's exposed feet. The ten-year-old wasted no time tugging her coat back on before slipping back out into the cold night of early December. Urchins up to no good on the streets scuttled out of her way. Wary of her already unsettling reputation. Her worn shoes clicked and popped annoyingly with every step though it was much better than going barefoot. Fingers clenching into fists, then unclenching, she swooped towards the street often patrolled by the person of interest. There he stood, her eyes observed swiftly after a sneaky glance around the corner. Alone with a cigarette in hand, leant against the brick wall rather than out and about preventing crime.
For a slight moment Hermione Granger wondered if she should do this. It was one of those moments in which a forking path needed to be considered. How the girl knew this she was not quite sure, but murdering an Auror was obviously a very big step in one's life. Not because she was unsure of her ability to do it. No, Hermione had murdered forty-nine muggle men since that first time. She could kill the species that had birthed her into this world. This was a different prey, however, and a suitable web needed to be constructed. Breathing deeply, standing straight with a ramrod back, the muggleborn witch strode firmly down the street, shoes predictably popping and clicking with each step.
His dark eyes honed in on her small frame as she neared ever closer. "Oi," He barked, "What are you doing out this late at night you stupid little muggle? Your kind aren't supposed to be this close to Salazar's Sector past curfew!" She ignored him and simply continued walking forth. When she was an arm's length away, the Auror grabbed her by the back of the cloak. 'Other Purebloods aren't as forgiving as me,' Cirrus, the only father she ever knew, had said that. What would he think of her actions at that moment, she wondered to herself? Of all the men she killed? Of how she survived? "I know you!" The man was handsome. Clearly recipient to a luxurious upbringing most muggles couldn't even dream of. "You're that pretty little chit who's always hanging around that whore. Ruby innit?"
She felt her throat convulse as the twenty-something Auror called her 'pretty.' Lips tightening, she simply glared up at him. Vitriol filled her bones as always right before she released the magical tempest that stormed about her person at all times of the day. He let go in surprise as a stream of blood gushed from his nose. "Ach!" The Auror hissed, trying to cover his uniform by placing a hand beneath the bleeding nostrils and bending awkwardly. Hermione shivered nervously at the realization that wizards were harder to subjugate than muggles. Fighting the sudden fear, she instead focused harder on what was needed of her magic. The anger burning hotter than it had in a long while. Blood began to trickle from his ears too. Clearly giving up on staunching the flow he stood straight again, staring at her. "You." He was cleverer than she would have given him credit for, "A mudblood dares attack a wizard?"
The knife was rammed into his heart just as he withdrew his wand. With all of her might Hermione utilized the crumpling strength of his large body to push him back into an alcove. He sprawled there blinking up at her, obviously going through all the criteria of shock as he bled out before her. The wand clattered to the sidewalk, and nervously, with immense trepidation, she bent down to snatch the dark wood into her palm. "You could have been decent," She spat down at him even as warmth coursed the length of her right arm. "You could have protected us and nurtured us." Her thoughts turned to Cirrus. "Given us at least some reason to love your kind." Heart palpitating, mind focusing on the last time Cirrus, her mother, Sylvia, and she had all been in one place together. The walls and sidewalk cracked around her with every word. "Instead you had to take what little we had left to give and you were bitten."
She did not wait to watch as the life drained out of him entirely. Hermione had killed enough people, too many people for comfort. Too many times she had observed silently as eyes went totally dark.
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Hermione and Ruby fell back into their comfortable existence after the Auror was murdered, though the rest of West Britain did not. The few underground mudbloods she knew hid, kept attention from themselves, and they hardly ever dared to murder Aurors in 'cold blood.' It simply stirred the flames for the propagandists in Tom Riddle's Serpentine Palace. From atop the highest hill of Salazar's Sector he revealed himself to reporters. The pictures of the newspapers were always the same. A handsome, cold man garbed in simple black robes. Though he was in black-and-white Hermione had heard the rumors well enough. His eyes were as red as blood, and his nails bluer than the sky.
'Magic in excess quantities crushed several of Auror Blishwick's internal organs. His father, the esteemed General Blishwick, responsible for securing the Isle of Wight seven times against the Americans in the sixties, called for justice. "High Sorcerer Riddle has failed time and again in his responsibilities. The population of the muggles in West Britain is still uncontrollable. We are outnumbered ten to one by our enemies, our persecutors. His promises to exterminate and control rampant breeding of muddy vermin have gone unfulfilled." This impassioned excerpt from the General's Thursday speech has created quite a furor. Many have been left to wonder if the death of Blishwick's second-to-last viable son at the hands of a vigilante mudblood means that no one is safe?
Thankfully, his Highness, Lord Riddle, had incredibly reassuring words.
"General Blishwick is a hero. A true visionary who has contributed immeasurably to the tranquility and prosperity we all benefit from underneath the Shield. He is grieving, we all are grieving. As the General recovers from his brief bout of madness in the Irish countryside, my cooler head shall see that justice is done in his name." A moment of applause shook the auditorium of the Serpentine Palace as the goodly magicians of West Britain roared their ardent approval for Lord Riddle's firm declaration. "It has been confirmed by my CWO's under the leadership of Evan Rosier that a renegade society of domestic terrorists, the so-called Brotherhood of Barristers, headed by notorious traitor to the BWD, Justus Pilliwickle, is responsible for the attack." The High Sorcerer's eyes sparkle with sorrowful determination, his jawline set firmly as he-.
Hermione tossed the paper in the rubbish bin with a deep sigh. "Unhappy with the news are ya 'Mione?" Ruby asked absentmindedly, focused more on stitching her silk stocking back together. "You should know our kind will never be happy with that rabble Skeeter insists on writing." She kept her voice quiet. The others had gone to sleep long before, and hardly tolerated the candlelight as it was. "It is different this time. Isn't it? They can handle when one of the rebels or Barristers kills 'em. They can't stomach a mudblood, right under their nose, murdering an Auror." Suddenly the girl's pretty, silvery eyes sharpened, she tossed her perfect blonde hair over the shoulder. Without any hesitation she bent at the waist and pinched Hermione's chin, "Never do something so stupid for me again, Hermione Granger. I want you with me. Safe and protected. Happy and free from their clutches."
Hermione felt guilt stab her in the gut as Ruby stood upwards, a stray tear running down the sex worker's pretty face. Soon enough, they were hugging one another. "Whatever comes for us, it doesn't matter. We can come home to one another at night. You are my sister." Ruby whispered in the younger girl's ear, causing Hermione to cry for the first time since her mother died.
The moment was too good to be true. Their world came crashing down around them as the front door exploded inwards with a bang down the hall. Ruby and Hermione were used to making quick escapes, though not necessarily from Aurors. The wand stolen from Auror Blishwick, always kept hidden in a pocket, was out in an instant. She only possessed the roughest equivalent of a First Year's education in magic though. Within seconds the wand was ripped violently from her grasp, and the first wizard to burst into the room hit her with a blast of red light.
Darkness followed.
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-ione?!" Ruby's desperate, pleading voice could be heard begging as Hermione woke. Her head pounded violently, yet she was quite happy to be alive. Cracking her eyes open the muggleborn was quite relieved to have woken in darkness. Any sunlight might have melted her delirious brain.
"Wure er ee?" Hermione slurred out messily.
"We were taken," The older girl helped her friend sit up straight. "You were struck by two Stunners at the same time. I refused to leave with them without you, but they weren't willing to give you any medical assistance. 'No time to rescue an upjumped mudblood,' they told me."
Even in her delirious state, Hermione Granger could scarcely believe her own ears. They, whoever they were, had been after Ruby. Not the untrained, powerful witch who Cirrus had always believed Riddle would give his wand arm to capture and control. Of course, this was not much of a comfort, for Ruby was her sister in all but blood, and this meant that the Aurors had nefarious, unknown plans for the older girl. "Hew minny Are-Are's?" Hermione gasped frantically.
"They aren't Aurors Hermione!" Though they could not see one another's face, they could hear voices still. Ruby's voice was a rattling, terrified mess. "We've been captured by the Order of Barristers!"
Suddenly light flooded the small, dark space. Hermione shrieked as her head boomed and pulsated with pain. Every single thought hurt, and boy did she had a lot of those. "Get up and out!" A hard, angry voice commanded, "Mr. Pilliwickle wishes to speak with you lot." Ruby helped Hermione up and carefully they picked their way through what appeared to be a castle. The four guards, all wizards, that surrounded them, and her weakened state meant that neither girl dared make any attempt at escape. For ages they walked, up stairs, around long halls, and finally they were pushed into what looked to be a study.
"Welcome. We've been expecting you." A man stood before the window, ancient as only an unnaturally aged wizard could be. Hermione shivered in disgust. Remembering how the filthy bastards could live longer the more powerful they were. Then, she remembered that she herself was a witch, and wondered how long she would live, if survival were in her cards at least. Hermione's brain flinched painfully away from the uncomfortable turn of events. Sitting in a chair at the desk was a woman with sharp blue eyes, a distinctive, fuzzy hairstyle, and cherubic cheeks. The woman sat with great propriety and possessed an undeniable strength of presence. "At least," He amended whilst turning around, "We were expecting you." This was directed at Ruby. "We hardly expected that a muggleborn, with the wand of the slain Auror Blishwick, would come into our clutches too."
"Who are you to judge?" Hermione finally retained her gift of sharp articulation, still, her tongue felt quite fuzzy. She ignored it. Meeting his withered eyes full on. "Justus Pilliwickle. Leader of the single most destructive, violent, and deadly resistance organization in the BWD. Blishwick had it coming. Unlike all of the muggles that have been casualties in your terror attacks."
"My, my," The woman spoke up, a deep smile stretching across her lips, "You are the one who assassinated him. Without a wand, and only a knife. An eleven-year-old muggleborn."
"I am ten, cunt," Hermione hissed, "And I don't assassinate. I give bad people the justice that they deserve. That no one else in this world is willing to delive-." Suddenly she could no longer speak. Though her lips moved, the witch soon realized that Pilliwickle had his wand pointed at her. A Silencing Charm the child realized with a burst of anger.
"Now that that has been clarified," The man ground out in his dusty old voice, "We must proceed to a more meaningful matter." He turned to Ruby. "You have lived your entire life under the presumption that you were a mere muggle. An orphan. Alone. That could not be farther from the truth. You are Lady Amaryllis Windsor. The only child of Prince Michael of Kent. Born in 1974. Hidden in an orphanage when the Fidelius Charm protecting the Prince was penetrated, and he was executed by CWO's. The last, remaining direct claimant to the throne of England."
Ruby had gone stock still, forcing Hermione to woozily try and support her friend's weight. This was no surprise, as the muggleborn herself had almost collapsed. The entire royal family had been spirited away into hiding in 1951 by the more rebellious elements of the former British Ministry of Magic when the country was finally split into two by Dumbledore and Riddle. That had been about six years after the Shield was erected. Riddle had personally roved around the western half of the country with his CWO's. Systematically slaughtering any muggles of royal descent he could find. The few hidden in the east were targeted with very swift assassinations before anyone was the wiser. To know that Prince Michael had lived in hiding for so many years, and that his daughter stood next to her, left Hermione with lots of feelings.
Anger, resentment, sadness, shock, and most incredibly, hope.
The woman must have seen it on Hermione's face. "Yes, child," She nodded her head, "This is our best chance at returning Britain to how it was. When the Princess Amaryllis has been crowned Queen, we will be able to legitimately reform our government. The people will have a figurehead to rally behind once more. The wizards of our enclave have held their own against Riddle for years. With legions of muggles supporting us in her name, Riddle will not be able to stop us. We outnumber him, at least, five to one."
"I'm not what you need!" Ruby suddenly protested, "I am Ruby. I'm an orphan. I grew up in the shit end of London. I've sold my body to every man willing to pay for a good time. I'm a prostitute for fuck's sake. And you lot want to make me the bloody prancin' Queen of England?"
"We all have been drenched in filth, touched by war, girl," Pilliwickle answered her wisely, "Even the heir apparent to the throne cannot be faulted for less-than-glamorous circumstances. You are a survivor, Amaryllis, and it has made you into a strong spirit. A fighter, not a genteel Princess. That is what England needs." There was a pause, "I have failed to introduce you, it seems, to Madam Margaret Thatcher. She is responsible for rallying an army of muggles to our side, along with a strong network of spies. I will leave her with the task of taking you to your proper accommodations, Princess." Here his jaw tightened, "I must speak with your friend."
"If you do anything to Hermione I will throw myself from the highest turret in this castle!" Ruby snapped, standing straight once more.
"Not to worry," Thatcher smiled soothingly, "Hermione will soon meet us in your chambers as well." With that, the pair slipped out of the office, and left the muggleborn standing opposite Pilliwickle.
He flicked his wand, sharp and sudden, allowing Hermione's vocal chords to regain full range. Still, she did not talk. "Our illustrious Order of Barristers was blamed for the death of Auror Blishwick. Hence, you will find it unsurprising that I had my spies in the Serpentine Palace report back the findings from his autopsy. They say every single one of the bones protecting his internal organs were cracked. That sinew dissolved from muscle. His brain suffered rapid, advanced degeneration from an unknown Curse. You did this without a wand. A ten year old." He paused with pursed lips, "I have heard the stories. When the Shield first fell several years ago now, an unidentified magical single handedly drove back the attack on the BWD before Riddle could even respond to it. The surge was so mighty every magical radar in the United Kingdom shattered."
"I was eight when that happened, Mr. Pilliwickle," Hermione answered shrewdly, evasively, "Do you really, truly believe that a muggleborn child is capable of such feats? Magics that could rival either of the Head Sorcerers?" Before she could even blink his wand slashed outwards in a semicircle. Underneath a great rush of power she was thrown into the air, so rapidly that a scream could not even break free of her throat. Another few flicks of his wand and she was bound from head to toe in tight ropes.
"No one could have expected upon the reintroduction of magic to the world at large that there would be such a deep permeation." Slowly, the old man slipped around his desk, cane clicking with every odd step. "Indeed, magical species populations have grown uncontrolled in much of the country. Magic is stronger now that it wraps around the globe virtually uninterrupted. The number of muggleborns in our country on either side of the border have surged to heights never before seen. If my own magic has grown stronger since 1946, then it is hard to deny that a muggleborn like yourself, born in such a magical world, could experience a similar boost."
Now, hardly a foot away, he tossed his back and sucked in a deep breath. "Your magic smells of ink and honey. Noble, ancient connotations for both. An aura as pure as solid gold. The second you stepped in this study I knew what I was in the presence of." Here he smiled almost pleasantly, "A goddess. Someone with the potential to rival Dumbledore and Riddle one day. Blishwick did not see it, none of the Aurors you came across in your entire existence saw it. But a wizard of my age and caliber, oh there was no hiding it."
"So, will you murder me?" She asked in a small voice. Part of her secretly wanted it. To see her mother and Cirrus again. Another part of her wanted to find and rescue Sylvie, to be there for Ruby. Though she was so, so, so very tired of it all.
"Heavens no girl! We are natural allies. With Princess Amaryllis, and you under our protection, we can finally reclaim Ireland!" His enthusiasm was a far departure from his earlier countenance. Hermione realized easily what his game was; He wanted to convert her, win her. She could correct him like an idiot. Spit in his face and tell him that what he offered was servitude, that he would never control her. Instead, Hermione reasoned swiftly, she needed to handle it the Machiavellian way. A love of peace was needed to wage war.
"Will we be safe? You would teach me magic?" She asked carefully.
"Yes, to the first. With regards to the second, I would teach you conditionally. A probationary status if you will. Madam Thatcher and myself must be assured of your loyalty to the cause before we allow you to grow more skilled." Came his smug response.
"How do I prove my loyalty to your cause?" She retorted smartly, the words coming to her swift and sharply. Now he flicked his wand again, and once more the muggleborn stood before him. Unrestrained, yet very aware of the birdcage that was being crafted so swiftly around her.
"Perhaps, we can begin with mutual favours," He pushed his spectacles further up his nose, "It is essential that the Princess take her duties seriously. Guide her along, give her the support she needs to fulfill her destiny."
"Of course," Hermione smiled saccharinely, "Anything for our glorious country, yes Mr. Pilliwickle?"
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