An anti-corruption Statute, the new project from the Golden Princess. By Bret McMillan
Anti-corruption laws and measures are seen as the panacea to our wizarding societies' problems by those naive enough who have not been born in our society. Outsiders may come with good intentions, but strict laws like the one Miss Hermione Granger is trying to pass next in the Wizengamot will have grave consequences on everyone's purse and wellbeing, yours and mine included.
These consequences are generally unforeseen by those promoting new reforms, consequences like the growth of illegal markets.
Consider that in Wizarding France, the grey market of the Mellow Cheese made by a local fungus species, the Lepista Voluptas, increased by 15% after their Anti-Corruption Law was passed. The Sainte Marie Hôpital reported an increase of Mellow Cheese overdose of 30%, 10% of the cases were children who had accidentally eaten it… (cont. pg.3)
"Codswallop. I will not waste my time reading more silliness, thank you," Luna said, taking the Quibbler instead. "Are you sure you're fine with the articles? It's been twice this week."
"I am. It is just rubbish, as usual," Hermione responded.
Walking towards the mirror, she took a look at herself.
"Did you know that with that new robe you look intimidating but captivating?" Luna said from the bed, passing a page from the upside-down Quibbler.
"Do you think it's not appropriate enough?" Hermione said scrutinising her robes.
"Oh, no! It's perfect! Cormac will love it."
Hermione chose to ignore both Luna and her leaping heart, examining again her reflection. The pine green formal robe hugged her figure with an austere cut, for the sake of Tiberius Ogden, while a delicate golden lace trim complemented her neck and wrists.
Much like his nephew, Tiberius Ogden was not a pure-blood supremacist, but Hermione had learned he still had an admirable influence on the Wizengamot and the decisions taken in that body. Being against playing the pure-blood rules all her wizarding life, life had recently taught her she needed to build her connections and play the game, meeting herself with all parties; she could not rely on her bright mind and the trust in her inner circle. So, that morning, a proper robe that probably Narcissa Malfoy would wear was on the list.
"I must say the green enhances the tone of your hair, which reminds me, have you double-checked your new hair comb from hair-loss jinxes? Nesting canaries? Strangling lianas? Your Quibbler horoscope for today states Jupiter in alignment with Saturn will bring you a most unexpected revelation." Luna's big eyes were as wide as ever, an ominous tone in her voice, "It might be the comb!"
"Luna, it's muggle," Hermione explained, scrunching her nose at the thought of believing anything the Quibbler predicted, "bought it this morning in London."
"Oh? Then no lianas or nesting canaries. Good thinking! It's lovely by the way."
And it was. It had been expensive, but worth it: a mistletoe comb from the 1900s with small pearls, enamel, gold, and bronze.
"I'm sure Cormac will love it as well," Luna said.
Incapable to stop it, Hermione sensed her cheeks warm. Their hug almost always came to mind whenever someone mentioned him. She had felt warm and secure between his arms. Not that she had needed it but God, to be embraced by a man... No, not any man. By him.
And then, there was the passing of their amendment and how different Cormac and Adrian were. Cormac had always assumed she would attend the appointments, from the outset. There were no secrets, no sly behaviour nor private information that she had no privilege to know because she wasn't a pure-blood. Things were much simpler working with him. Close to succumbing to his charms outside the Wizengamot, Hermione had thankfully regained control before making a fool of herself.
Hermione was better off without romance in her life, focusing on her research and side projects.
"We've established Cormac and I are co-workers, our thread an amicable one. And his uncle will be there tonight. This is not a date, Luna."
"If you say so." Luna shrugged, "But, are you sure, Hermione? The connection strength is remarkable. And! He beat Pucey in his first year, did you know? in retaliation for hurting his friend. Cormac flew the highest."
"Luna, I will not let my professional association with Cormac turn into another failed relationship," Hermione explained though it was amusing to listen to the points Luna made. Flew the highest?
Luna shook her head and muttered, "…more wracksprouts to appear around your head."
An owl then knocked on her window before impatiently pushing it open and flying into her room, causing a couple of shrieks from the friends.
"Merlin! Please owl, don't do that again!" Luna reprimanded the owl while it perched itself on the bed, "Bad manners! Bad manners!"
The owl intensely hooted back at Luna as Hermione approached it. She knew from whom it was.
"Well! Who is your master? I will write to him about teaching you correctly your job!" Luna admonished the owl who picked up its flight after Hermione released him from its parcel.
She carefully opened it.
A book titled Loi magique dans la France du 21ème siècle rested inside a beautifully wrapped box. As she opened the book, she read that day's date and a message neatly scribbled on the back cover: Thinking of you. I may not agree but I support you. - A
A nearly growl escaped her before heading towards her side table where her glasses lay, wondering if it was enough for their thread to start changing. Would she go back to him?
"Oh! That owl is his?" Luna asked, "now everything makes sense."
Expectantly, Hermione scanned her thread with Adrian, and almost let a breath out when the ghostly thread remained there. Hermione understood the message.
It would take a lot of effort to bring it back. Time. And maybe, it wasn't meant to be. The certainty of the ending, however, brought her peace and felt she could finally have closure. Adrian would have to remain in her past.
" First the owl, now most of your wracksprouts are gone. Your horoscope was right. I'm gonna tell daddy his new divination wizard is a success!"
Taking another sip of the magnificent Bordeaux wine Mr Ogden had brought, Hermione listened to an old muggle record.
… sweet music will drive your cares away… and when I depart, I hope maybe to live in your heart…
Lifting her eyes from her glass, Hermione settled on the charismatic wizard that sat in front of her, at Tiberius Ogden's left side, their thread happily shimmering between them over the table. Since her arrival at Logan House a couple of hours before, conversation flowed like in no other place except her parents. Yes, she had missed it with all her heart. The stories, the knowledge… to be herself.
Tiberius Ogden, with a strong thread connecting him to his nephew and another thinner one connecting him to her, was narrating another story of what seemed his favourite topic: ancient Greece and Rome. Hermione was inevitably reminded of that one time when a seventeen-year-old wizard could not stop talking about himself and Quidditch.
From across her, Cormac amusedly raised his eyebrows towards her, as if sharing an entertaining secret. In turn, the corner of her lips upturned before her attention was back to his uncle.
"... and so, my dear, Heracles, or Hercules as he is also known, was born in Thebes. A half-blood, not demi-god as the muggles claim," his uncle said.
"I didn't know that!" Hermione exclaimed, "But please, do keep telling me about Thebes, the inbred city. Is it still a wizarding town?"
"Well, my dear girl, after being destroyed by Alexander The Great, who was a muggle raised by wizards and a Centaur…"
"What!? Oh my God!" Hermione chuckled and her eyes searched for Cormac.
"Told you, Uncle Beri has the greatest stories," he grinned with her.
"Did you know all this?" She asked Cormac.
"Of course. It wasn't a day that I wasn't subjected to Greek and Roman stories by dear Uncle Beri."
His uncle's gleeful eyes on them went unnoticed by the young adults.
Hermione then observed Cormac start eating his pudding from his spoon and wondered if he had been raised like her, with knowledge valued rather than despised. If he had been, no wonder the strong connection they shared.
"As I was saying," Mr Ogden started after clearing his throat and grabbing her attention, "Thebes survived and was partially reconstructed by Cassander. The wizarding part, however, hid as the years passed, with no wizard as close to the political leaders and wealthy families as before. But to answer your question, yes, my dear, it is one of the finest, oldest wizarding areas that still exist in Europe."
"Cormac, have you been there? I must confess this is all uncharted territory for me."
" Yes, I have visited Thebes. When you told me you weren't knowledgeable about Roman and Greek history, I couldn't believe you. Your name has Greek origins, you do know that?" He cheekily asked.
"Of course, I know that, my parents made sure of it. Comes from Hermes, actually…" she replied, "quick and clever god."
"Just as yourself, my dear." Tiberius Ogden said, visibly amused even as he took a bite of his Eton Mess.
"And what does Cormac mean?" She playfully raised an eyebrow towards Cormac, "Do you know what it means?"
Cormac chuckled and the corners of his eyes crinkled quite lovely; Hermione found herself waiting for his response.
"Sure. Any smart wizard with some curiosity, like me, would have researched the origins of his name! Mine comes from old Gaelic, and it means son of the raven. You know, that smart and knowledgeable bird. The wise and valiant King Cormac Mac Airt was the first to famously bore it," Cormac proudly smirked at her while Hermione amusedly scoffed, not in the least feeling annoyed by his display of cockiness.
"Well, it seems I'm surrounded by wise wizards and witches. Pray, what my name means?"
"Near the Tiber River," both Cormac and Hermione said, sharing a knowing grin.
"That was easy Mr Ogden," Hermione said to the old wizard before shuffling as if ready for the next round of questions and answers.
"As smart and intelligent as I am, I will not go against the brightest witch of my acquaintance, so I beg you, dear Uncle Beri, do not give her a chance to humiliate me," Cormac said and, for a moment, those smart hazel eyes looked like they reflected their own thread's glimmer.
She then heard Uncle Tiberius give a light cough and start talking to her, "My dear, do please call me by my given name. After this pleasant evening, if Cormac doesn't give you an invitation himself for next time, I'll do it again as I did yesterday."
"Very well, Tiberius. Thank you," She said.
"No, thank you, my dear. It has been a wonderful evening and I do hope you join us again, allow this old wizard to babble about old and boring stories."
"Boring stories!? Truly, Tiberius, I have not had such fun since I last visited my parents!"
"You sound as if your parents are far away," Cormac said from across her.
At the personal inquiry, Hermione straightened her back and for a moment hesitated to answer.
"I'm sure my dear nephew doesn't mean to pry. Right, Cory?" His uncle gave him a serious glance, though Cormac did not back down and kept his eyes on her, even leaning towards her.
"No. It is fine," she said. "It's just that, well, after the war I became a private person."
"Understandable," his uncle crossed his arms and the silver trims of his robe gleamed under the floating candle lights. Hermione saw a few of the curious portrait characters that surrounded them nodding as well.
"And yes, my parents live in Australia. Melbourne, to be precise," Hermione answered Cormac as she played with her glass, "We visit each other whenever we can, but it isn't enough, of course. Wish to have them closer."
"Do you have any family left in Britain?" Cormac asked her then.
Hermione remained silent before answering, "I'm afraid not. Friends have become like family over time, but it's never quite the same."
"Well, my dear," his Uncle nodded, "you will always be welcomed to this house…"
"Which isn't yours," Cormac replied to his uncle with a cheeky smile.
"... and have dinner with us. Merlin knows my dear boy doesn't have the skill to invite such brilliant witches as yourself…"
"Ok, this is a personal attack…" Cormac added, his index towards his uncle.
"... and that is why I must intervene, for my own sake, of course. Cormac already knows all my stories."
"That is true," Cormac nodded towards Hermione causing her to smile.
His uncle then carefully raised from the head of the table and took his cane which had been magically standing beside him. "Now, if you two young people would excuse me, I'm old and way over my bedtime."
As they strolled back to the entrance through a well-lighted, blue hall surrounded by old paintings, Mr Ogden continued:
"Back in my days, my mother would reprimand me for leaving you two alone without a proper chaperone," the old man said.
Hermione blushed at his implication, immediately faking interest in a blond woman's waving portrait.
"...But, I'll take my chance," his uncle said, now stopping by the entrance hearth. "I am too tired. I am pardoned, I suppose?"
"Of course you are uncle. Rest well. Don't forget to send me an owl to confirm our weekly lunch."
"I won't, my boy. It's the highlight of my boring week," Tiberius' old hand gave a tight squeeze to Cormac's arm which his nephew reciprocated with a tight hug. Their strong and vibrant thread, which only Hermione could see, a reflection of the deep love these two men shared. "Show Miss Granger the rest of the house. It is not yet an inappropriate hour," Uncle Tiberius then winked at him and turned to Hermione, "And our dinners, my dear, will become my favourite treat if we continue them. Thank you for a lovely time."
The smiling old man shook her hand with both his, leaving the cane to stand by itself.
"Thank you for your invitation and kind company Tiberius. Of course, we have to repeat it." Hermione replied, causing a bigger grin on Tiberius's face if that was possible.
Uncle Tiberius then took his cane and grabbed a handful of floo powder from a ceramic bowl beside the hearth, leaving them a second after.
"Thank you, for coming." Cormac said beside her, moving closer, "I have not seen my uncle this happy since Móraí, my grandmother was alive."
Cormac didn't waste any time however to follow his uncle's advice. With an audacious smile on his handsome face, he offered her his arm.
"Would you like to visit the rest of the house? I promise you, the library, albeit small, is fantastic, though we have to make a quick visit to another part of the house before."
Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was her curiosity, but she gladly accepted the invitation and took his arm.
He led her through a wood-panelled corridor where she suddenly stopped beside one of the enchanted paintings where a family, the parents and one boy and a girl, dressed in 1700s attire, played with a couple of puppies. She then carefully observed her surroundings while Cormac waited patiently by her side, a slight crease on his forehead.
"How old is your house?" she asked.
The crease disappeared to be substituted by a proud grin, "Logan House has been here for at least five hundred years."
"Five hundred!" She exclaimed as they resumed their pace, " How many times has it been renovated?"
"Every owner has added or renovated a part of it. You'll see that it has a blend of styles in its architecture and design. That stone spiral staircase at the end of this corridor is what remains of the original one from the 1500s."
Cormac pointed towards the stair that indeed could be seen at the end of the panelled corridor.
"I reckon it is the advantage of magic. Logan House is in prime condition and beautiful. And it looks like you take good care of it."
Cormac pressed the hand on his arm, "Móraí certainly would have been proud to hear you say that after so many hours destined to teach me how to maintain it."
A heavy double oak door opened as they stepped closer; she gave him a questioning look.
"Wandless and non-verbal?"
Cormac shook his head, a curious glance around his house before he answered, "No, it wasn't me. It seems the house is taking the opportunity to show off after your previous comment."
"Is it sentient?"
"It's magical. Logan House isn't a rich family's house, not even close. But, it has history and, above all, it had magic seeped through every stone for hundreds of years."
"Like Hogwarts," she nodded.
"It's far from being like Hogwarts, there are no ghosts nor moving stairs, but yeah, something like that," Cormac said as they arrived at another stone spiral stair through a beautiful carved wooden-oak arc. He pressed her hand before releasing it and descended the steps, followed by her.
What she saw when she arrived at the semi-basement floor made her gasp. A spacious and luminous kitchen received her:wood cabinets and walls in sage green, a stone mantle over a black iron stove, cloths enchanted to clean white marble worktops, plates that flew from the sink to the wood scullery, and a wood-working table in the middle of it.
Glancing around, she located a small separate room that looked like a pantry area and another one that looked like a still room with hanging herbs and bubbling cauldrons. There were a couple of still-life paintings, a handful of windows, and an opened door that led to some stone steps. Beyond them, she could see a beautiful English garden that probably supplied Logan House with ingredients.
And in the middle of it all, a shy house-elf with small, clean clothes connected to Cormac. Ah! The link between a human and a house elf was extraordinary, the braiding unique, like the bark of a tree. The lack of connection between herself and the little creature made her hypothesise the free elf would only have one with whom it owed its allegiance. She made a mental note to mention it to Luna.
"Efty," Cormac walked towards his elf and kneeled in front of it. To her surprise, Cormac smiled, "Everything was superb. Thank you."
Efty looked at her with big shiny eyes, then back to Cormac. "Cormac, sir," he started, his ears moving as if trying to hear beyond the walls, "yous have brought a witch to the kitchen." When his bulgy eyes saw her, Efty started bouncing on his heels.
"This is Hermione Granger. I thought she would like to tell you what she thought of your dinner." He turned to her, Hermione saw a pair of expectant eyes.
"Um, yes, of course," Hermione walked towards the elf and kneeled as well, "Efty, it was delicious. I enjoyed the Eton Mess as I love strawberries the most. So, thank you."
Efty's ears went to the back of his head, and the little elf bashfully smiled before gasping and directing his eyes towards Cormac, "Sir, is this the Hermione Granger?..."
Hermione was about to chuckle, imagining that maybe this elf had heard of her S.P.E.W. movement, when the elf continued, "... the one that slap yous because yous were not a gentleman?"
She turned to Cormac only to see him blush.
"Er… yeah, Efty, the very one,"
"How?" Hermione started but a voice interrupted from one of the walls.
"One of my grandson's best friends talked too much during holidays… I assure you, dear Miss Granger, I had a much-needed conversation with my Cory here that I thought I wouldn't have to give: how to respectfully treat a lady or unwanted pregnancies," an old lady dressed in an orange muggle dress said from behind some painted fruits and flowers.
"Móraí, please!" moaned Cormac before covering his face with his hands.
"Oh! Efty should have given yous Miss more strawberries for pudding. Maybe Miss would fancy Cormac sir," Efty moaned after Cormac's apparent discomfort.
"Efty," Cormac insisted, "no need to worry, you've done well. Now, maybe Miss Granger will want some herbal tea before she leaves?" Hermione could see Cormac wanting to ask her if she fancied tea, but the little elf took it as an order.
"Yes," the creature squealed, lightly bouncing towards one of the oak cupboards where he selected some homemade tea blends, "Efty will have different blends and biscuits ready, sir!"
And with that, that loving elf was happy again, summoning the china which then waited on the table. At the sight, neither Cormac nor Hermione had the heart to stop the elf.
Cormac sighed and presented her with his arm again, "Come on, I promised to show you the library," he smiled.
Once up in the previous wooden panelled hall, Cormac started explaining, "Our elves are free, my grandmother freed them when she married my grandfather."
"She did? That is not very common,"
"That's right," he proudly said, "Anyway, since my grandmother, our elves have never punished themselves nor were they punished. But the McLaggen elves are notorious for their sentimentality instead. If I don't reassure him, Efty would probably be crying all night thinking he messed up."
Hermione thought of the special thread between Cormac and Efty, and what it needed to survive.
"Is that why you wanted me to praise his cooking?"
"Yeah. But after your spew movement in Hogwarts…"
"S.P.E.W.!" she scoffed,
He rolled his eyes and smirked,
"...I thought both of you would enjoy meeting each other."
They walked a couple of steps before she realized something, "You remembered…"
"What?"
"My movement…"
"How could I not? I still have my badge"
Hermione stopped and looked at him, "you were a member?"
"Yeah…" he stared down at the floor before glancing back at her.
"I don't remember you giving me the money," she replied, frowning.
"Er... I gave the money to John who paid for Patrick, himself and myself, though we kinda regretted it when they stopped cleaning the Tower," Cormac resumed the walking, "John and Pat did it so you would stop shaking your donation box under our noses…"
John Baker and Patrick Hamet. She remembered them. Typical attention seekers the three of them.
"And you?" Hermione asked.
"After growing up with free house elves I thought what you were doing was noble," at the end, he pressed her hand.
Hermione blushed and leaned towards him, his musky scent enveloping her while she clasped tighter his arm, "Why couldn't you've been this nice back in Hogwarts? Maybe we could have been friends back then."
"Yeah, well," Cormac shrugged, "we all have some growing up to do. And I accept I was a total prat focused on having fun with my friends, convincing everyone I'm a great bloke and showing the rest of the world I'm the best keeper. And you were busy studying, being right and quite vicious at defending your opinions," he winked at her, "and don't deny it."
Hermione pursed her lips.
"I wasn't going to," she said, "I know I am —"
"No, I said, you were. We've changed Hermione. For better or worse. Do you think I'm still like my seventeen-year-old self?"
"No, I suppose not."
She peeked at their thread. Would it have strengthened if they had not matured? Or had it because they had matured and experienced things that would bring them together?
"Ok, Miss Granger," he said as they approached a double door, "as promised, this is the drawing room and library."
With golden light from the sunset entering through three tall windows, Hermione was shown the Logan drawing room/library. Cosy, with matching green, gold and brick pink chairs, sofas and tables, a piano in one of the corners, and ceiling-to-floor bookcases, the room reminded her of Gryffindor's common room.
"This is by far my favourite room," he said, inviting her to enter with his hand on her lower back, "As a kid, I would draw at that table while Móraí played the piano."
"Cormac," she whispered, "this room is beautiful."
Hermione felt enchanted, already walking towards the large windows. The sun was about to set and the view of the river and the gardens that greeted her was so breathtaking she lowly gasped.
When she turned to him, Hermione found Cormac standing in the middle of the room, his gaze only on her.
"Cormac?"
He visibly gulped only to immediately shake his head, a lopsided smile on a face she still did not know how to read. He leaned on the edge of her window and crossed his arms. With a thrumming heart, Hermione was petrified, afraid to even look at their thread, terrified it would further change, so her eyes focused on the beautiful sunset.
"Oh! What a shame!" exclaimed a female voice behind them once the sun disappeared behind the trees, "Now it will be too late to show her the gardens!"
The voice came from a portrait that regally stood over the mantle chimney and, to Hermione's surprise, the same young blond woman who had waved at her before in one of the hall paintings.
"Hermione, let me introduce you to my mother, Edith McLaggen. Mum, this is Miss Hermione Granger."
"Hello dear!" the blond woman from the portrait said. Edith's hazel eyes skimmed for her son, "Darling, next time, you must show her the gardens."
"Hermione, dear," the young Edith continued, " I carefully designed many of the exquisite views in Logan House. You will find them as stunning as this one, I'm sure. Next time, you should start with the peonies garden where you will find lovely specimens such as the Big Ben and Choral Charm, which I must add, I bought in a muggle shop. Then, you can head to the rose garden…"
Hermione thought she now knew from which part of the family the chitty-chatty behaviour came.
"Edith, dear, don't pressure the poor girl," Cormac's grandmother appeared in the same portrait, the orange muggle attire and Edith's violet robe curiously matching in the painting.
"And this beautiful lady is Hilda McLaggen, my grandmother," Cormac said, "Móreí, Miss Hermione Granger."
"How do you do," Hermione responded.
They're portraits! Hermione thought, obliging her arms not to fold, Pull yourself together!
Even though Hilda McLaggen stood regally in the portrait with her muggle two-piece attire that reminded Hermione of the Queen, her kind face put Hermione at ease. With white hair, a thin face, and brown eyes, Hilda looked from her grandson to her, and one of the corners of her thin lips turned up.
"For God's sake Cory! Be the gentleman I raised and formally invite her for a weekly dinner. God knows poor Tiberius needs happy company during his last years."
"I can't believe even after her death, she's still ordering me around," shaking his head he walked towards her. He continued softly though his eyes flickered with eagerness, "But her portrait is right. Would you please give me the honour of having you here, at Logan House, every Friday evening? I… My Uncle Tiberius and I would be delighted with your company."
Cormac then moved his hands towards hers but, involuntarily, she crossed her arms and took a step back. He grounded his jaw, his hands clenched into a tight fist beside him.
Panic rushed, their intricate thread in her view. Did he want something more than a mere friendship? She didn't, she wasn't prepared.
Honestly, not interested in anything else, pet, no offence.
Right. This flirting was only a phase. It will die down soon, she thought. Her thread could mean anything.
"Thank you. Yes," she tightly replied.
Wanting to break from his inquisitive glare and musky smell, her eyes roamed the nearby bookshelf and read the names of Shakespeare, Eliot, Dickens, Austen, … for Merlin's sake, that was Churchill's biography she had wanted to read for a … Hermione's hand flew over her mouth, now purposely inspecting every title, every object on the bookshelf. She found then a stack of old magazines, and when she took one, the smiling image of Queen Elizabeth's mother, greeted her, stiffly. Looking for confirmation, Hermione searched now the small desk by her side. A pen, no, a handful of pens rested in a simple wood pen holder on the desk. She took one of them.
"It was obvious, really," Hermione said with a furrowed brow.
"What was?" Cormac said from behind her.
"Your grandmother was muggle-born."
A/N: well, there you go. Had you guessed Hilda was muggle born? I had a blast writing Tiberius, with vast amounts of information that would have fit the storyline, but Thebes won. The lyrics are from the song "You Belong to Me" which in 1953 hit number one in the UK. Any review (what you liked most and what you didn't) would be greatly appreciated, fair readers. Also, this story is finished, so if you want to know how it ends do not forget to subscribe. Thank you! :)
-Aniara 27