The Mudblood's Logic

by Cervantes Diderot

Hermione Granger was a a plain mudblood. At least until one rash action leads to her battling Voldemort first year and miraculously surviving. Stuck in a whirlwind of political ploys, fame, wealth and power along with assassination attempts Hermione has a rather difficult path. But what is that saying, "The ends justify the means," and she will do whatever it takes...

7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Intriguing Opportunities.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company.

OOOO

Cordelia was nothing short of pleased by the glowing article which ran in the Daily Prophet only a day later. Barnabus Cuffe, Hermione supposed, must have stood over Skeeter's shoulder while she clacked at a typewriter. The image of those garishly painted talons operating such ancient machinery caused a nightmarish shiver to roll over the girl's spine. Nothing proved more unsettling than the public support which came hand-in-hand with that article. Hundreds of owls bearing supportive letters arrived at the Granger Residence surprising many muggle neighbors. Not only did this remind Cordelia that they were now far too famous to live without wards, but it also reminded Hermione that anonymity was completely finished.

Her grandmother left soon after this postal barrage started to seek out the assistance of wizarding contractors who specialized in defensive magic. Leaving the muggleborn completely alone with tons of owls and mounds of parchment. That was when what seemed like the thousandth tap to strike against her parent's windows echoed from a room over. Standing swiftly Hermione marched into the living room towards what was, probably not, the last owl that would visit. What greeted her was a very strange bird indeed. A black-green Augurey stared forlornly into her brown eyes. Wondering what sort of wizard would employ such a notoriously bad omen as their familiar she ushered the peculiar avifauna inside. Hardly able to contain her interest Hermione practically ripped the newest scroll of parchment open in haste.

'Miss Hermione Granger-

I have met many celebrities, academics, politicians, and athletes over the course of my very long life. Read hundreds, of thousands of articles. For a very long time it seemed that I would never again experience that pleasant surprise which is most often wrought by intriguing interviews. This very morning, however, upon waking up to read what is, undoubtedly Rita Skeeter's only tolerable piece, that wondrous sensation returned to my heart. You have captured the hearts of many in only a year spent amongst wizarding kind, but not without merit. They are intrigued, quite like myself, by this muggleborn who demonstrated nothing short of extraordinary bravery, intelligence, and pure talent in protecting Hogwarts.

Each of your professors were quite eager to heap piles of praise upon my doorstep mere hours after receiving owls full of questions. Dedicated in the pursuit of knowledge almost all of them agreed. An attribute which I greatly admire. A tool which, when paired with hope, allows humanity to crawl from darkness towards prosperous enlightenment. Many other individuals of reputations both lesser and greater than mine own have come to the same conclusion. Accordingly, all of them will have taken notice of your prodigious potential now that this interview is spreading like a wildfire throughout Britain. Most will hope to curry favour with the youngest witch ever to be given an Honor of Merlin, First Class. Others shall hope to gain prestige by latching themselves onto you like parasites. No matter the intentions all of these parties shall use similar tools. Advantageous internships are generally only granted to children reared in absolute opulence. Glorious apprenticeships long barred to those with a single drop of muggle blood.

For the sake of honesty my intentions while writing this letter were not entirely birthed of generosity. No, I hoped to snatch you into my greedy beak before any of those charlatans could do the same. Many great wizards have learned many great things from beneath my tutelage. Spend this upcoming year at Hogwarts by proving why you are more than a political figurehead to be toted around. Continue to intrigue me, Hermione Granger, and I will gift you with more knowledge than any professor ever could.

Nicolas Flamel

For a long time she stood there with the paper rattling about in her very white fist. After several minutes had passed there was a familiar swoosh from the fireplace marking Cordelia's return. This was a personal matter indeed, one which Hermione held no intentions whatsoever of sharing with her grandmother. The woman would no doubt be overjoyed by the idea of her descendant accepting a summer apprenticeship with Nicolas Flamel. She, however, intended to make such an important decision without any interference. Tucking the letter into a pocket of her silvery skirt Hermione was quick to cuckold the Augurey back outside. Rushing back to the kitchen she greeted Cordelia's standard, unemotional gaze. "You have been working on your acceptance speech for tomorrow, yes?" That sharp tone grated on the muggleborn's nerves.

"Of cour-," Her voice attempted to respond until being soundly cut off.

"I trust that you are capable of stringing something sufficient together," Cordelia continued mercilessly. "Of course, sufficiency is hardly the sort of bar that we are trying to set. The things that we must accomplish require exemplary speeches. Something that can make even Albus Dumbledore go weak in the knees as he is violently slandered before the public." Whenever her grandmother flew into a rant Hermione always found herself, strangely, enraptured. "Reaffirm to the public that you are in fact the same person Rita Skeeter wrote about. Unforgivingly audacious, unafraid of angering the wrong people, charmingly intelligent."

"I don't feel like I am any of those things at all," Hermione admitted, thinking of how the voice was the only reason that interview did not result in absolute disaster. Honestly the girl did not know why she was confiding her deepest fear to Cordelia of all people. No sympathy would ever come from that corner.

A designer handbag was tossed angrily down onto the tabletop in response. "Shut this moronic, self-degradation down," The older woman snapped, "Your professors call you the brightest student of your year. You destroyed Lord Voldemort's very talented, much older vessel. If you are incapable of demonstrating your worthiness to the wizarding world in a simple speech then perhaps I misplaced my trust." Her grandmother pulled out the chair prior to flipping a dismissive wrist in her direction. "Write that blasted speech already, and stay out of my sight."

Hermione was only too happy to do as she was bidden. Stepping shakily from the kitchen while a pair of brown eyes followed her back the whole way out.

OOOO

She found herself staring into the mirror the next morning with a feeling of immense dread. Ink-stained fingertips skillfully wove globules of sleakeazy into bushy curtains of hair while brown eyes flicked backwards towards a tornado of crumpled papers. It was one thing to have imagined going to receive an Honor of Merlin, First Class, a matter of days ago. Back when such a prospect seemed so unattainable, so very far away from actually happening. Now Hermione Granger was suddenly faced with a debilitating realization that she would be meeting Dumbledore, Fudge, the entire Wizarding World, and the press in a single day. Wanting nothing more than to whimper beneath her bed the almost-thirteen year old instead stood straight as a reed. Pulling her loose waves of now-silky hair into an elaborate braid she turned to face the messy bedroom.

The muggleborn was well aware that she could use magic to set the clutter straight, so long as Cordelia was close enough nearby. Though it grated horribly on her nerves that children from magical families were given such a massive bending of the rules. Accordingly Hermione moved to pick up all of the debris like a muggle would, by hand. She was just done with this task when Cordelia entered into the room without so much as a knock. Wordlessly the woman set a bag on recently-made bed with the greatest care. "I collected these heirlooms from the Morrigan vaults," Her crisp voice articulated emotionlessly, "Only wear them if you intend on doing our bloodline proud today." Then she marched back out of the bedroom with her heels clicking loudly across the hardwood floor.

Suddenly alone again Hermione creeped ever closer to the massive, medicine bag until it was just within reach. Pulling at the latch her uncertain fingers reached within only to pull out a very strange gown. Part Goblin-forged metal, part silk with what looked like thousands of jewels glittering across its surface. The girl looked between her, now, seemingly unextraordinary set of robes and the undeniably magical piece of clothing sitting on the bed. Her choice was a hardly a difficult one. When the strange costume was finally clasped in place Hermione felt it begin to shift. Reshaping and resizing so it could become the perfect size for her small frame.

When this process finally finished there was a loud snap as two, strange-looking clasps snapped into place on her wrists of their own volition. Both shoulders were revealed by what was the most striking piece of fashion she could ever recall having seen. The skirt was a heavily jewel-encrusted swathe of Flobberworm silk that flowed down to both ankles. Entire strips of metal then combined with the silk portion from her hips upward. Then two bands of silver circled off tightly into thickly wound strings of chiming ornaments which were a disconnected jumble down to both wrists. Looking inside the mirror Hermione felt like a grownup. She felt like a force to be reckoned with. Gaze flitting to where Nicholas Flamel's letter lay on her nightstand.

A swift series of movements later the piece of paper was tucked neatly inside of her right shoe. The perfect reminder that she was special, and more than deserving of a prestigious award. Twisting back towards the bag the witch pulled one, final object out for inspection. Without pause Hermione fastened the wand holster tight across her left shin. Making sure to stand as tall as possible she marched determinedly from the bedroom, trying to leave all of the uncertainties beneath the bed. Still partly unable to deduce how House Morrigan could have ever afforded something as priceless as the odd outfit she now wore her feet came to a stop in the kitchen. Cordelia was now clad into a gorgeous evening gown. Light-black, vintage, backless, revealing a shockingly curvaceous figure. Hermione felt like she would die from the mere mortification of seeing her, surprisingly youthful, grandmother dressed in such a manner.

"I wore that to my coming of age ball," The grey-blonde witch stepped forwards hesitantly, "And so did every Morrigan woman of our bloodline before us. To this day I can remember your great-grandfather handing that bundle to me. He claimed it was the armor left behind by the Crow goddess after she began our line." A steady hand reached upwards to curl gently around Hermione's cheek. "It was a burden to have the blood of the Crow running through our veins, he told me. I was fifteen when he told me this, and it was as great a responsibility then as it is now." That hand fell away as a steely look entered Cordelia Granger's eyes, "But we are the last witches of our bloodline. Today both of us have destinies we must face, and I have faith that you will hold up your end."

A firm nod jerked Hermione out of her stunned disbelief. Perhaps Cordelia was manipulating her with that little tale, or maybe she meant every word. The simple reminder that this was a game for survival, however, reaffirmed that there was no room for any mistakes. "Let's go to the Ministry then," The girl affirmed, "To claim our destinies, grandmother." A grim sort of smile twisted across the older woman's features as she grabbed at Hermione's hand. They twisted away into nothingness only a short moment later.

OOOO

"Wands please," Came the monotonous voice of a bored security wizard. He seemed incapable of looking up. Cordelia went first, allowing her wand to be evaluated. "Dragon heartstring, 11 ½ inches. Sycamore. Registered to a Cordelia Granger." At that last name he looked up to gaze with a gaping mouth at them both. "Oh! I was given specific instructions for the two of you!"

"I am well aware. Why are we being left so rudely unaccommodated while you sit on your indolent behind then?" Hermione wondered how her father ever managed to stomach such sharp reprimands as a child. They were brutal. No response came from the security wizard's bitter face as he scrambled to both feet. The massive, warded gate leading into the Ministry was locked behind them causing an increasingly large line to groan in frustration. Both of the witches followed him towards what appeared to be a blocked off section reserved for the ceremony. "There are last minute decorations which need to be overseen," Cordelia informed her granddaughter with a whisper, "Then we will begin greeting guests until late this afternoon."

Hermione found herself given explicit instructions to become acquainted with the stage before people began to arrive. So she marched along the empty reception hall while occasionally pausing to spin beneath the enchanted chandeliers dangling overhead. Every step caused the girl's gown to release an almost ludicrous amount of glimmering light. Instead of stewing in self-degradation over the fact Hermione decided to embrace it all. The muggleborn planted both feet firmly on the stage with her shoulders pulled back in a prideful manner. Haughty relish flowed throughout her very muddy blood while she allowed the words of her speech to pool across a suddenly confident throat.

She never managed to recite a word though, for Cordelia suddenly interrupted by entering the massive chamber. What followed was a dizzying process of greeting the well-to-do guest list. Punctual purebloods sniffed down at her, only to happy to voice their surprise at a muggleborn managing to accomplish something so great. Weak politicians hoping for a chance at even the slightest sliver of influence arrived extra early to catch the cameras. Hermione was forced to greet them all at the doors to the reception hall with a gracious smile plastered across her increasingly-sore face. With every passing second she found herself growing more appreciative of Cordelia's hard-learned lessons of etiquette and wizarding decorum. These snooty aristocrats would never have respected an 'undignified little mudblood', but they at least couldn't deny that she could hardly be considered classless.

An obscure member of the Wizengamot was in the process of shaking her hand for what seemed the fifth time when he arrived. The boy from the train who had prevented his large group of friends from pestering her for an autograph. Standing next to an old crone who could pass for his grandmother he looked rather dashing in an expensive pair of robes. Of course Cordelia chose to stop in right as Hermione found herself with a particularly bad case of flushed skin. "I applaud your taste in suitors," She hissed pointedly after politely directing the Wizengamot member elsewhere, "But hide this loopy expression. No Diggory will ever be hooked by an insipid fangirl!" Immediately after that bit of advice was spewed Hermione watched this Diggory approach with a sinking stomach.

The girl could hardly help who she developed romantic infatuations with, and Cordelia's sudden interest in the matter was horrifying. "Vulpina Diggory," She greeted the woman as though they were old friends, yet Hermione could sense a wary undertone. "I haven't seen you for ages." They embraced stiffly prior to stepping back into their respective positions.

"Likewise," This Diggory crone simpered saccharinely, although there was nothing remotely sweet about the affirmation. "You had me worried for a spell, Cordelia," She smiled tightly, as though that were far from the truth, "Everyone thought that you would never be seen in society again after...The scandal. Though here we stand, prepared to watch your granddaughter receive an Honor of Merlin."

"Yes, sometimes our past decisions prove not to have quite so powerful a hold as we would like to imagine," Hermione's grandmother did not reveal any venom through her even tone. Though that pointed comment seemed to bespeak of something nasty barreling towards this contemptuous conversation. "For instance, I remember reading the social section of the Daily Prophet so many years ago. Learning that you managed to nab a Diggory despite all of that time you spent with Abraxas Malfoy. Back in the Slytherin common room, remember those days, Vulpina?" Hermione felt her mouth drop at what was insinuated, noticing how the boy standing next to Vulpina Diggory seemed to suffer a similar reaction.

Swelling upwards with what little of her dignity remained the Diggory witch smiled frostily at Cordelia. "It would be my greatest pleasure to invite you both to our annual, summer gala." Turning to Hermione she sniffed, "Feel free to bring your father. The squib." Without another word she spun to socialize with the other guests.

"My name is Cedric," The boy announced capturing both of their gazes. He was visibly more than a little sheepish at having to clean up the mess left behind by his grandmother, "I apologize. She can be a little bit… Much sometimes." With a reassuring smile he fled to no doubt perform damage control in the wake of Vulpina Diggory's destructive path.

"What just happened?" Hermione asked her grandmother while trying to get over disastrous first meeting with Cedric Diggory.

"No doubt Vulpina noticed a muggleborn with bushy hair staring at her grandson at King's Cross this summer," Cordelia held tightly onto her hand. "Then the old Hag probably realized that that very same muggleborn was the famous Hermione Granger. Claimant to the vast fortunes of House Pyrites, House Morrigan, a dental practice, and whatever else I have managed to keep hidden in Gringotts." Grip tightening, "The dots clicked together easily. A wealthy muggleborn who is besotted by young Mr. Diggory's dashing looks. More than capable of lifting House Diggory from their recent spot of financial trouble for an opportunity to rise in status."

"What is this?" Hermione snapped, losing composure momentarily, "The eighteenth century? Do I look like some sort of American Dollar Princess? I am only thirteen years old."

"This is the destiny that you must come to terms with," Cordelia ground out, "There is no choice under these circumstances. We will go to that gala, and you will begin the game of ensnaring Cedric Diggory within your web. Pureblood society is a ladder and any opportunity must be snatched up without reservation. Now go wait by the stage for the ceremony to begin. I can greet these buffoons." The muggleborn allowed herself to slip into the bursting crowd of scholars, politicians, athletes, models, and Ministry employees. Was this the consequence of having finally embraced life as a wizarding heiress?

'Your grandmother is hiding something,' The silky voice suddenly erupted into existence causing her to stumble into a walrus-like man. Never had the voice ever sounded quite so powerful or commanding as it did now. Plenty of time must have passed with her simply trying to remember how one went about breathing. Contemplating whether the entity was trying to tell her the truth or instill a sense of paranoia. "Looking a bit flustered, Granger," A refined voice remarked from behind her. Spinning around Hermione found herself staring at Daphne Greengrass. If Pansy Parkinson thought herself the princess of Slytherin, then the Greengrass girl was most certainly the queen. Hermione could remember occasions during the previous year when the other girl managed to create massive conflicts with a few well-placed words.

Drawing to full height Hermione Granger steeled her spirit for an encounter she was nowhere near prepared to handle. Cordelia always claimed that purebloods were practically born for political positions. Greengrasses especially, from what Hermione had read that summer, proved powerful adversaries when ruffled the wrong way. "This crowd is just so large," She countered blithely, "I found myself getting a tad warm. All of these amazing wizards and witches here to celebrate my accomplishments." The comment was pointed like a knife. What had Daphne Greengrass managed to achieve that she was any position to critique the youngest recipient for an Honor of Merlin?

"I have always thought of them as vultures," Daphne stepped closer, her gown was nowhere near as impressive as Hermione's, but they were luxurious all the same. "Waiting for people to go on that stage. Hoping that they fall apart so whatever is left intact can be gobbled up." At this point the girl noticed that Daphne was sipping out of a champagne flute which seemed strange given that she was only twelve. "We both know that none of them are here to celebrate your accomplishments, however. All of these hacks are here to chortle amazedly at how far the bushy-haired muggleborn has come. To sneer at the sheer gall she has displayed in claiming House Pyrite's fortunes."

"I will venture a guess that you grew tired of sneering alongside those hacks. Couldn't deny yourself the chance to put me back in my rightful place." Hermione spoke in her matter-of-fact tone. She wanted Daphne Greengrass to make her point known, then scramble back to mummy and daddy's proud embraces.

"No, you silly girl," Daphne finished her alcoholic beverage in one last go. The muggleborn noticed that her classmate was elegant beyond their age. A pureblood aristocrat through and through. "I wished to extend an olive branch," Her green eyes flashed with veiled ambitions, swirled with unhidden cunning. "Even if you do not become the Pyrite heiress your new reputation is nothing to mock. Times are different from when our grandparents went to Hogwarts." A graceful movement pulled Hermione into a semi-embrace, "I have always been watching. Waiting for a moment when it would prove advantageous to befriend the brightest witch of our age."

Somewhere a camera flashed forcing the muggleborn to preen next to an incredibly photogenic Greengrass. "My suspicions have proven themselves nothing short of well-founded. You are a friend worth making." Something told the almost thirteen year old witch that Daphne's understanding of the word 'friend' was very different from Harry Potter's. "Now I bid you farewell. Consider my offer, and find me on the train if you intend to accept," In a flash of golden hair the Slytherin spun away, "Ta-ta darling."

Hermione found herself feeling so disoriented that the room started to spin. Hands pressed into her shoulders as Ministry attendants dragged her towards a side room from which she was to enter the stage. Cedric Diggory, Cordelia's motivations, Daphne Greengrass, the silky voice, and her upcoming speech all whirled together into a nauseating combination. "You will step onto the stage," A woman instructed the girl, even though her eyes must have been incredibly unfocused. "You shall give your speech, and then Minister Fudge shall honor you." A parting good luck did nothing to quease Hermione's nerves as she found herself standing alone. Anger suddenly flooded throughout her stomach like a tidal wave. She was expected to address a pureblood audience like some stringed marionette. Singing pretty words of appreciation for their gracious decision to deign to award an Honor of Merlin.

Nicholas Flamel's letter crinkled inside of her shoe. Daphne Greengrass was right, and so was Cordelia. Times were changing, but Hermione also had a responsibility to uphold her House's reputation. Taking the door opening as a cue she slipped out of the sparsely furnished side room. Where before the stage was an exciting new frontier it now felt like a prison. As though Hermione were trapped in a exhibit whilst a crowd peered curiously through the glass. She then proceeded to sweep forwards until standing next to Minister Fudge on the podium.

Cameras flashed and she instantly moved into the position her grandmother had taught her to hold when a wizarding photo was being taken. Pushing her hands on her waist Hermione twisted gently back and forth, smiling brightly, her dress swirling around her photographers seemed to work themselves into a frenzy, snapping photos rapidly. The flashing lights exploded bombastically leaving her momentarily blinded. Then it all stopped when the cameras stopped. The only area still illuminated with light was the podium.

Minister Fudge began to give a speech. Hermione suspected that the stage was charmed since his voice was magically amplified yet he held no wand to his throat. He recounted the terror of the war against Lord Voldemort, how many lives and prestigious families were room was grim in silence, then he told the story that she knew all too well, how she had defeated the Dark Lord, in her first year at Hogwarts no less. Everyone erupted into applause and several daring photographers snapped some more images of her. "NOW I SHALL AWARD MISS GRANGER WITH HER HONOR OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS."

Cordelia had warned her that when the moment came it would be difficult to even move, but Hermione pushed herself to smile even more brightly. Despite the aching cold which was spreading throughout her facial muscles. Fudge gripped her hand, leading her to the middle of the podium with him where a large pedestal sat. On top of it was a crown made of solid gold and silver with beautiful gems adorning the surface. Hermione glanced at her own dress and decided she was rather sick of gemstones. Fudge stood before her and asked, "DO YOU, HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER, ACCEPT THIS GREAT HONOR AND VOW TO REPRESENT THIS COUNTRY AS A PILLAR OF HONOR AND EXCELLENCE?"

The long anticipated moment had finally arrived. "Merlin created this prestigious organization for the betterment of mugglekind," She began in an almost whispery voice, drawing a nice contrast to Fudge's bellowing tenor. Despite the drop in volume it was apparent that the crowd could hear her words with perfect clarity. "In recent centuries we have allowed a mighty institution, initiated by the greatest wizard in recorded history, to blacken with corruption," She kept any accusatory language from coloring the words. These were facts which needed to be stated. No emotion could be allowed to pass through or the reporters would dismiss her as some uppity muggleborn. "No longer is this award about making the world a more harmonious place, for its intentions have been mutated by greed. Deny these words as foundless claims." Both brown eyes glimmered with defiance, "But remember those few Death Eaters now rotting in Azkaban. Recipients of Honors of Merlin only because of their considerable fortunes, as well as the pureness of their blood."

Not a voice could be heard now. Hermione Granger held the entire Wizarding World within the palm of her hand. Circling in front of Minister Fudge she continued to stare into the darkness, "I only accept this defiled Honor because there are no other muggleborns who could do so. No one else of my blood status who our government would deign to recognize." Sweeping into a controlled pace the witch smiled cynically, "I accept this award because I am unafraid to fight the injustice of purism which has permeated this society so deeply. No matter what stands in my way I will do what is right, and hopefully set a precedent for others to do the same. Whether it is protecting the Philosophers Stone, which Albus Dumbledore chose to hide in a school of all places, or destroying Lord Voldemort's bodily vessel."

Dropping gracefully into a kneel she tilted her head serenely towards the very high ceiling of the Reception Hall. "I accept my Honor of Merlin, Minister Fudge," A thoughtful pause, "I do indeed swear that I shall represent this country as a pillar of honor and excellence."

"Then-," Fudge fumbled verbally after her passionate speech, "I HEREBY GRANT HERMIONE GRANGER A HONOR OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS." With another flick of his wand the glittering crown was levitated upon the girl's beautifully braided hair. Some in the audience did not clap as she stood. Others set the entire hall thumping with roaring applause. Cameras flashed again, Hermione preened absentmindedly while shaking Cornelius Fudge's hand. She was far from caught up in being among the few muggleborns to receive such an award, or imagining what the prize would do to lift her bank balance at Gringotts.

No, Hermione Jean Granger was wondering fearfully if she alone could do Merlin proud by upholding his legacy.

OOOO

Next Chapter: The Wizened-Gamot.