Chapter Five: Appeals and Bones.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling or her publishing company.
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"Wake up," A familiar voice snapped in Hermione Granger's sleeping, "Get up beaver. You had better be running by the time I stand up straight…" The threat hung so heavily in the air that even the deepest of sleeps could have been crushed by its sheer enormity. Slowly the bushy-haired muggleborn sat up to stare at her unforgivingly cruel grandmother. Both of her brown eyes peered at the alarm clock to find that it was four-thirty in the morning. Cordelia simply sneered at her granddaughter's befuddlement, "I told you that we would be changing your lifestyle, did I not? That includes a healthy, physical regimen."
With no signs of showing any mercy the woman then ushered Hermione from the house into the still, dark streets. Realizing that there was nothing to be done but give in the almost thirteen year old girl decided to do as she was bid. By the time it was over the muggleborn was hopelessly sore, and entirely embarrassed by her abysmal lack of talent at athleticism. Without wasting another moment in self pity she quickly showered, and changed into a pair of Gryffindor-crimson robes before applying the Sleakeazy to the atomic bomb she called a head of hair. Then with a leaden weight to her step she marched her way to the kitchen where Cordelia was waiting.
"Sit," The woman ordered from behind a copy of the Daily Prophet. Hermione sighed wearily while slipping into her normal spot at the kitchen table. It was then that she noticed the dishes and pots zooming through the air on the other side of the room. Kipper, Irish soda bread, eggs, bacon, sausage, crumpets, butter, and hash browns were all cooked before settling down in front of her. Realizing that her forced exercise that morning had left no appetite the girl simply sipped at a cup of tea. As the pair sat in silence her eyes began to scan across the front of Cordelia's copy of the Daily Prophet.
None other than Albus Dumbledore stared out at her with his twinkling, blue eyes. The Headmaster of Hogwarts stood in a very glitzy sort of atrium while photographers and reporters surrounded him on all sides. After her brown eyes had scanned the moving photograph several times over Cordelia spoke. "He is our enemy now, girl," The woman said somewhat omnisciently without lowering her magical newspaper, "Like so many others before us we must now face that atomic entity known as Albus Dumbledore." Finally those familiarly stringent eyes peered shrewdly at Hermione as though the girl were a piece of meat. Cordelia tossed the paper to the side before taking a sip of her steaming coffee.
" B-But he has been the greatest proponent of muggleborn rights since Merlin!" Hermione spluttered sharply, "How could you depict such a great man as a…. As nothing more than a conniving tactician?" Her throat was still dry from that bloody run, but still the girl protested for she was unable to allow Cordelia to drag her greatest idol through mud. Albus Dumbledore was the reason she had refused to allow the hat to put her in any house other than Gryffindor. Following in his footsteps was the ultimate path to brilliancy, success, and an archive of knowledge greater than any Ravenclaw could hope to discover.
"I can understand why you do not believe me, not after the Wizarding World has programmed you to idolize him as some deity," Cordelia acknowledged. "Though you are far too intelligent to have not noticed the tiniest of flaws in his deceptive, grandfatherly demeanor." In the quiet which followed Hermione tried to prevent her traitorous brain from searching for the very flaws Cordelia had mentioned. Though the temptation proved too great as she thought back on all of the abnormalities which had bothered her throughout her first year at Hogwarts.
One of the more prominent issues the muggleborn had with Dumbledore centered around the Sorcerer's Stone. What sort of fool allowed a six-hundred-something year old friend to hide a highly coveted object within Hogwarts? Utilizing such deadly defenses as a Cerberus, Devil's Snare, and poison with only a shoddy lock preventing unaware students from stumbling towards their deaths. Hermione recalled having been cornered in a restroom when the Troll escaped. Dumbledore had not sent the stone far away even after one of his students was nearly turned to muggleborn jam. That went well beyond foolish. Only an individual guided by wicked ambitions could so ruthlessly expose children to such an incredible amount of danger.
With the thought of children being exposed to dangerous situations she started to contemplate something even more sinister. Harry Potter was not a typical child. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, and Hermione found it very suspicious that Ronald Weasley could deduce that their malnourished friend was abused, yet Albus Dumbledore somehow could not. "That slimy bastard," She hissed quietly, much to Cordelia's pleasure. Now that the girl had established that the headmaster of Hogwarts was indeed a conniving tactician her intelligent brain worked towards another revelation. What did Dumbledore have to gain from keeping Harry beaten down? A malleable, wizarding savior with a celebrity status that Hermione was only just starting to get a small taste of.
She realized something in that moment. Her decision to trade places with her friend had interfered with not only Voldemort's plans, but Dumbledore's as well. Thanks to Rita Skeeter's, embellished, stories Hermione was close to becoming a household name in wizarding Britain. Another savior who had somehow defeated the Dark Lord with lots of mysterious luck. Unlike Harry, however, the girl had not been raised in an abusive environment. In fact, Hermione had been taught from day one to think with her head, and likewise, to never fall prey to manipulative attacks from cunning headmasters. The exact opposite of what was desired in political pawns. "What will it take?" She finally asked, no more hesitance tinging her tone, "How do we successfully fight him off?"
Her grandmother flicked her wand causing the newspaper to levitate into the air for their appraising eyes. "Albus Dumbledore has already begun to smear your name to the press," She remarked dryly. "You have been labelled a foolish girl who miraculously managed to survive a brutal routing by one Quirinius Quirrell," Cordelia sniffed indignantly. Much to Hermione's surprise the magical newspaper exploded spontaneously into ashes, sending her a foot in the air. "This means, my dear girl, that you must be perfect from here-on-forth," Her brown eyes connected with Hermione's sternly, "To beat that plotting fart every order I give you must be followed."
Too put off after her disturbing series of revelations Hermione did not bother to respond to the woman's slew of insults. "In his one-hundred-nine years of life Albus Dumbledore has achieved an enviable quantity of wealth, fame, connections, and influence," Cordelia explained. "You must attain those four things to even contemplate striking back against him." With that the woman stood to her feet somehow prompting the dishes to begin cleaning themselves. Then per usual Cordelia reached across the table, grabbed Hermione in the most awkward way possible with a vice-like grip, before apparating away to an unknown destination.
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They appeared with an earsplitting crack inside of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Hermione observed the Goblins scratching away at their scrolls of parchment amidst stacks of galleons, sickles, and knuts. Hermione remembered having felt uncomfortable during her first visit to the bank only a year prior. Now, after having learned about the Goblin Rebellions in History of Magic she felt thoroughly unsettled. Wizards had admittedly spent little effort trying to improve their frosty relations with the Goblins, and she did not have any difficulty acknowledging such a fact. Yet the terrorist organization known as the 'Brotherhood of Goblins' had committed atrocities of such great scale that Hermione could not blame wizarding Britain for its savage responses.
She recalled how almost ninety years earlier a wizarding orphanage, the last and only one in Britain, had been attacked by Goblin mages. Every last child was slaughtered in the most torturous of ways prior to being hacked into tiny pieces. Black magic was then used to make every last bit of flesh, blood, and bone rain from the skies above wizarding London. Hermione glanced around, wondering if the Goblin mindset towards wizards had changed at all. Whether the cunning bank tellers would slaughter her where she stood simply for the thrill of it. The girl was, thankfully, tugged from such morbid thoughts only a split-second later. Cordelia had come to a halt, staring at the Head Clerk with both arms elegantly folded over each other.
The Goblin continued to scratch his quill across a roll of parchment, studiously ignoring their presence. "Excuse me," Cordelia snapped frostily, "I have an appointment with the Pyrite accountant."
"There is no such meeting on the record," Tsked the Head Clerk, still refusing to look up, "If you intend to see Accountant Ulnot I recommend following this bank's established protocol." Finally he glanced down at a visibly infuriated Cordelia Granger. "Now, would you like to clarify a time and date before leaving on your own, or shall I have our guards escort you out?" He tipped his balding head in the direction of two Goblin guards clad in crimson armor standing nearby.
Hermione watched her grandmother step closer to the desk. "I believe," The witch purred dangerously, "That you can pass on a message for me to Accountant Ulnot. Please let him know that we will be bypassing this bank's corrupted system in favor of a Wizengamot hearing." Her smile curved into a shape that could only have been described as wicked. "After my granddaughter is granted access to her vaults we will then proceed to transfer all of her assets to a more… Trustworthy location. One where I no longer have to deal with such dratted creatures as Goblins!" She spun around without another word, silently prompting Hermione stumble along behind her. Upon exiting the bank Hermione found herself being dragged by the arm straight out of Diagon Alley and into a small courtyard built off of Diagon Alley.
Her brown eyes skimmed across a sign posted on the corner which read Markitt Market. "What just happened," Hermione was sick of being told nothing, "Either give me some bloody answers or I will call mum and dad. I have had it up to here you old bat!" Perhaps the last bit was not well thought out, for Cordelia sent a bone chilling glare down at her granddaughter before looking away. Then her hand shot out to grab the girl's arm without warning for the thousandth time, yet Hermione skipped back defiantly. "We won't be going anywhere, Cordelia," She spat nastily, "I refuse to be dragged about like a puppet any longer!" The few passerby in the market stopped to observe the loud dispute seeming to have begun recognizing Hermione as that muggleborn from the newspapers.
The girl realized in that moment that her grandmother had anticipated such an outburst which was why they were not standing in the crowded Diagon Alley. Cordelia looked ready to hex Hermione within an inch of her life, but with each passing second some semblance of rationality returned to the woman's eyes. With a deep breath she opened her mouth, "I just initiated the most tedious legal process on the planet so you could claim your rightful inheritance." Before Hermione could ask in her baffled state of confusion what inheritance she could possibly have claim to Cordelia managed to grasp at her clothing tightly. They appeared in a flash of green light within a building that the girl did not recognize. The peacock blue walls were covered in swirling ruins while a dark, wooden flooring spread from the tunnel-like entry hall into a cavernous atrium.
Built into either side of the entry hall were gilded fireplaces that would every so often erupt with green flame as a new visitor arrived. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, beaver," Her grandmother sneered around at the governmental building as though repulsed, "This entire place is more corrupt than an Italian judge in a brothel." Without any further words the woman strode forwards with an enviable elegance. Her cloak dancing through the air with every sweeping step of her feet. Hermione simply focused on trying to keep up with the tall woman, and likewise did not look near as graceful. She tried her best to ignore the eyes that were already picking out her presence from the rest of the crowd.
'Hermione Granger,' They would whisper to each other, 'Killed a wizard twice her age,' They tittered, 'Some say He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was living inside of that Quirrell fellow!" She never felt more relieved to have stepped into a lift in her entire life. "Floor three," Cordelia barked at the attendant who instantly set the magical elevator flying upwards at a rocketing speed. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as all the gazes that had been boring into her disappeared. At least she did, until the lift was brought to a jerking halt sending the unsuspecting girl flying back into the wall. "Get up," Her grandmother commanded unsympathetically, "And if I catch you slouching I might be tempted to hex your back straight!"
They glared at one another for a very long moment before Cordelia made her way out of the lift into a bustling office space. Thankful that the lift operator had had the common sense to avert his gaze she followed her grandmother once more. The woman stood in front of a secretary with crossed arms, "I have made an appointment to meet with Amelia Bones." At that Hermione's brown eyes widened significantly. She remembered reading about Amelia Bones at Hogwarts before all of that nasty business with the Sorcerer's Stone started. The woman's entire family had been slaughtered by Voldemort during what historians liked to call the 'Blood War'. A few short months later the woman graduated Hogwarts, and went on a rogue mission to hunt the Dark Lord down herself.
While she, thankfully, never managed to find Voldemort, or vice-versa, Amelia Bones made headlines for singlehandedly assassinating nearly thirteen fugitive Death Eaters. Now the powerful witch was the Head of the DMLE, or Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as well as a potential candidate for the next Minister of Magic. "Madame Granger was it?" The doe eyed secretary asked her grandmother as Hermione approached the desk. The girl noted with surprise that the Ministry employee did not seem to be as severely affected by Cordelia's glare as others usually were.
"My maiden name is Morrigan," Cordelia tipped her head up with a haughty pride, "I scheduled the appointment earlier this week."
"Do you happen to have the confirmatory letter that would have been sent in response?" The secretary asked in a tone that was firmer than a one-hundred year old oak.
"That will not be necessary, Hilda," A stern faced woman appeared from within the depths of the DMLE offices. "Please go assist Henry in the breakroom, someone spelled the toilet seats with another Permanent Sticking Charm." Hermione winced upon contemplating how painful and humiliating the removal of a toilet seat from one's rear end would be. Hilda did not seem to want to discover the answer to that question, yet she left the desk as bidden. When the secretary had disappeared from sight they were addressed by the imperious, new arrival. "Would you like to step into my office for this conversation, Madame Morrigan?"
"Of course Madame Bones," Her grandmother responded in an equally stringent sort of way. They both followed the woman towards a simple room built into the ancient, wooden walls. Gilded into a placard centered on the door was 'Departmental Head of Magical Law Enforcement'. Soon enough Hermione found herself sitting in a rather plain chair in the sparsely furnished, modestly sized. Amelia was engaged in polite small talk with Cordelia which in and of itself was shocking. Not once could the girl recall the old crone having treated another human being with half as much respect. Her grandmother enquired interestedly after news on the few Bones who were left which Amelia gave with pursed lips.
"-Susan informed me of your granddaughter," Amelia brought Hermione into the conversation rather abruptly. "She told me all about that Philosopher's Stone of course," The woman's sharp eyes practically drilled into the twelve year old's form, "And about Miss Granger's record breaking scores on the end of year examinations as well."
"Hermione is quite an intelligent child," Cordelia spoke before the young witch could respond. "I find myself thinking every night before I fall asleep that she deserves so much more. That I am an utter failure for failing to provide my own grandchild with what is her's by blood. " At that moment the muggleborn found herself realizing that the two seemed to be engaged in a conversation which happened to be less pleasant than it was political. Both parties seemed to be beating around an invisible bush towards the true topic of interest. Finally Cordelia voiced aloud the reason why they were sitting at Amelia Bones's desk. "My former husband destroyed any chances for an inheritance when he divorced me all of those years ago," Her voice was resolute. "Yet his other offspring are now in Azkaban where they belong, and Hermione has proven her worth to the entire, Wizarding World."
Amelia set down the pen she had been tapping against her square jaw only a moment prior. There was an intense look in her face that Hermione could not decipher for all the Galleons in the universe. Much of the context of this situation, in fact, was lost on her, but she somehow knew deep within her bones that something important would soon be revealed. "What are you doing here, then, Cordelia," Madam Bones responded curiously, "If your granddaughter has such a strong claim?"
Tossing some of the straight, blonde hair off of her shoulder, Cordelia Granger leaned forwards towards the Head of the DMLE. Hermione watched as the woman carefully retrieved a heavy pile of parchment paper from her purse only to toss it across the tabletop with a loud smack. Fully straightened once more she smiled at Amelia Bones cockily, "I am here to formally submit to the Wizengamot my appeal for Hermione Granger's full inheritance. Since Gringotts refuses to allow us a blood test, the Ministry can officiate one just as well."
Madam Bones's professional composure was replaced with a gobsmacked expression.
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*This chapter has been revised.