Chapter Eight: The Wizened-Gamot.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
OOOO
In her final week with Cordelia, Hermione found that there was a surprising bit of free time. The blonde witch would leave for hours on end allowing her charge a bit of peace and quiet inside the confines of the heavily-warded residence. Only a stack of books and the Daily Prophet to keep her company. Hermione did not really mind being left alone though, for it allowed the twelve year old to come to grips with her explosive, new levels of celebrity. According to every last reporter, excluding an oddly silent Rita Skeeter, she was no longer to be considered a vapid, lucky, little muggleborn. Magazine after magazine, newspaper after newspaper, radio program after radio program, Hermione Jean Granger was proven far more than she ever imagined possible. An icon, as Witches' Weekly so eloquently put it.
Not even the terrifying thought of appealing to a blood purist-filled Wizengamot, or facing the Diggory's could rain on what seemed a summer designed to boost Hermione's confidence. Nicholas Flamel wanted her to be his last apprentice, she was the youngest ever recipient of an Honor of Merlin, and even without the Pyrites' fortune there was already an incredible inheritance waiting for her inside of Gringotts. Despite those oceans of pride pumping through Hermione's blood she found comfort in the fact that not everything was changed. Sitting on the sunny porch with a pitcher of iced tea, curled cozily into a book called The Beginner's Guide to Battle Magic.
Perhaps she should have been reading instead into the topic of Possession, but Hermione truly felt that the Voice was not an immediate threat. If it were then she surely would have found herself an utter failure only several, short weeks earlier. The intelligent child simply decided that, despite the natural urge to be rid of it, this entity was proving rather useful in the short term. So the muggleborn tried to ignore that instinctive uneasiness in favor of focusing on a more immediate issue. A flimsy education compounded by the concerning number of times in which talented wizards, far older than herself, attempted to murder her. Given that Hermione's abilities in all subjects other than Defense Against the Dark Arts were unmatched she supposed it was also well past time to knock Harry off his spot as top dueller.
The worn, little textbook from Knockturn Alley seemed capable enough of guiding her at least halfway towards such a goal. Detailing the initial goals for any burgeoning duellist as fitness, repertoire, mastery, and willpower. Physically, Hermione reckoned that she would soon be in the best shape of her young life thanks to many morning runs. The other three were rather foreign concerns to her head however. Before that summer she only ever contemplated reading something to better herself, and in turn the world. Now the muggleborn was considering a path which would result in the gaining of questionable, forbidden knowledge. No book of spells was too dark, at least according to A Beginner's Guide to Battle Magic, so long as it fulfilled a simple rule. A rule which Hermione Granger found she was already an adept practitioner of.
"Will this pursuit save my life from unavoidable peril?" She asked to the gentle breeze, shutting the post-it covered book while leaning back with closed eyes. A massive bang caused the girl to rocket onto her feet what seemed like only a moment later. It was much darker out, the Granger witch realized, and far colder than before. Wondering how long Cordelia had been gone, Hermione pulled her silk sweater tighter about both shoulders. Of course there were lights all about the neighborhood, but the sweeping trees generally blocked such stimuli from fully approaching the Granger residence. Sleakeazy having worn off an unknown number of hours ago the witch tilted a head of bushy hair to the sidewalk. Noting that the bang must have come from her garbage can falling over.
Slipping forth carefully Hermione hesitantly neared the boundary at which the professionally-installed wards cut off. Her grandmother had warned Hermione sternly against even considering a trip beyond their protective confines. Yet the twelve year old could not help but wonder if that was an overtly paranoid perspective to take. Deciding that the rubbish bin needed righting prior to collection in the morning she pushed forwards with a deep breath. Marching forwards despite the biting cold she bent to tug at the spilled vessel. Already set on washing her hands as soon as she made it back in the house. "I am hardly dead yet, grandmother," The muggleborn hissed somewhat triumphantly under her breath. As soon as the words left her lips Hermione felt it.
Eyes burning like icy knives into her very vulnerable back. Wand sliding from her holster she slipped slowly around in a circle. "The one time I don't listen to Cordelia," Hermione sighed defeatedly, "I end up dying."
A sudden pop from the area about her knees left the muggleborn reeling. The flicking of her wand caused a blast of light to arc downwards into the sidewalk. Massive spider webs cracked outwards in response, though nothing else seemed to have been hit. Stumbling backwards Hermione fell down on the hard ground though not once did she allow the weapon to quaver. From this position she witnessed a surprising, strange, immensely curious sight. A small creature was dragging its fingers across the gravelled surface with pained whimpers. "Dobby hurt Miss Hermione Granger. Dobby deserves the pain." All the pieces were clicking together rapidly. Not going so far as to re-holster her wand Hermione lunged forth to quell the bizarre whimpers.
"Shush," She urged desperately while pulling the House Elf into a headlock, "Please be quiet or you will wake the entire neighborhood." Instantly, obediently, the sniffles were silenced. "Why don't we go inside for a bit of tea?" The girl asked politely, struggling to not look away from his mangled fingers. Distant eyes, one brown and the other green, peered with surprise upwards at the overwhelmed witch. "Erm, Mr. Dobby," Hermione tugged gently at the House Elf's face, "Please let me get you somewhere no muggles can see us."
Dobby simply seemed a mixture of astounded and terrified. "Master says that muggleborns are dangerous, conniving creatures. But Missus Granger treats Dobby with kindness." He stepped back a pace when she tried to grab him into her arms, so they could head back inside. "Dobby only came to warn Missus Hermione Granger. Hogwarts is unsafe, especially for Hermione Granger's kind."
The brunette's forehead wrinkled with uncertainty. "Why would muggleborns be unsafe at Hogwarts, Dobby? Just who is your master?" Doubtlessly Dobby's cruel owner was some bigoted blood purist, yet that could have been any number of members of the Wizengamot.
"Terrible things are going to happen this year," He warned fearfully in response, cutting off more questions. "Missus must promise Dobby that she will not go to Hogwarts this year. Dobby remembers what it was like when You-Know-Who was in power. If Hermione Granger, or Harry Potter dies there will be no hope left for other House Elves like Dobby." The girl wondered absentmindedly if her best friend had received a similar warning.
Biting her tongue, knowing he would react poorly if she suggested otherwise, Hermione nodded in agreement. "I promise," She lied, "Now go fix yourself up, Dobby. We can't have your master knowing you came to consort with muggleborns."
The House Elf simply broke into wracking sobs. "Missus is too kind to Dobby. Dobby is worthless, beneath such kindness, a filthy little beast!" He began to harm himself again prompting Hermione's heart to shatter into a million fragments. Finally, with no little amount of effort, the brutal barrage of self-inflicted blows was brought to an end. Mismatched eyes peered into her chocolate pair, "Dobby wishes Hermione Granger the best luck at her Wizengamot appeal." He glanced about nervously into the darkness. "Now missus must go inside. Dangerous things lurk about in dark nights like these." Feeling a sudden discomfort she did as bidden, only hearing the crack of apparition once beneath the protective wards again. Shivering, the girl swept with only recently-attained grace towards the house.
Unaware of the flashing silver which marked each movement forwards.
OOOO
Her meeting with Dobby the House Elf proved the first nail in the coffin of what had been a relatively pleasant week. Stepping inside the Ministry of Magic the next morning happened to be the second. Yes, she found herself confidently clad in a new piece of wizarding haute couture, but even luxurious gifts from Cordelia could not quell Hermione's nerves. This appeal would be much different from the Honoring Ceremony, far more dangerous. An intellectual sparring match with Albus Dumbledore, who was upholding his prominent Wizengamot position for this very occasion, would undoubtedly prove detrimental for her mental health. Breathing heavily, back unbent, Hermione Granger swept forth with a graceful gait. Close by was Cordelia whose elegant strut bespoke years more experience navigating such spectacled settings as the Ministry of Magic.
Waiting photographers clicked eagerly, snapping dozens of photos at once of the pair. This time, however, Hermione did not skillfully preen for them. She instead retained a resolute demeanor, brown locks flying in silky waves around both elbows, eyes staring forth like daggers. For every photographer it seemed there were at least five reporters bellowing out questions which would be given no answers. Refraining from the urge to blink Hermione slipped onto the lift only for the metal contraption to hurtle upwards. A pale hand simply reached upwards to twine gingerly around a golden handle hanging from the ceiling. 'Level Ten. Department of Mysteries,' A crisp voice announced. A reassuring grip latched onto Hermione's hand. Cordelia. "Remember who you are," She hissed, in an inspiring tone, "Give those old fools a bit of the Granger perseverance."
That almost left the girl with a gobsmacked expression, yet it disappeared instantaneously. For once, when she most needed it, her grandmother delivered a warning to cling onto what she actually knew. Not some tripe about Morrigan blood, or independent confidence unrelated to familial pride. No, Hermione was a Granger, and muggle or not that was a legacy which needed to be proudly lived up to. A swift squeeze back marked their physical separation as they swept inside of courtrooms. Ancient, cavernous rooms which far exceeded most of the rest of the Ministry's structures. Looking upwards Hermione realized just how old the people judging her looked. Old wizards and witches with equally as old perceptions of the world. Could this wizened-gamot really be expected to fairly judge a muggleborn girl seeking the inheritance robbed of both her Squib father and herself?
'That is the point,' The Silky Voice uncoiled, strong as ever, and evidently amused, 'Few mudbloods even make it this far in the process to be denied.' Refusing to be paused by this negative statement she allowed herself to get lost within positive thoughts in response. Thinking of her mum's smile as she gave out pecks on the cheek, or her dad's pepperminty smell as he hugged her. "Hermione Granger," Came a cool, posh, unfamiliar voice which interrupted Hermione's movement towards the chair resting in the middle of the courtroom. Spinning around she came face-to-face with a platinum-haired man whose haughty eyes swirled venomously. The girl peered about only to find Cordelia leagues away, far from anywhere close to helpfulness in this situation. "You have impressed me, as much as a muggleborn possibly could," He paused, expensive cane pressing tightly into the stone floor, "Latching onto Harry Potter only so long as was necessary to vault yourself through societies' ranks."
"You seem quite familiar with my reputation, sir," She rebutted easily, "However, I do not have the same privilege."
At this the aristocrat tossed back his head in a display of uncontrolled laughter, drawing the eyes of many other maroon-clad Wizengamot members. "A privilege? Do you believe that someone like myself is happy to know your Muggle surname?" The rhetorical question was followed with a sharp denouncement, "No, I would much prefer for the Boy-Who-Lived to have halted Quirinus Quirrell in his tracks. Instead we are standing here, as you lay claim to a fortune which might have passed along to my own bloodline."
Eyes sharpening, brow tightening, Hermione honed inwards on the blood purist's features. "That means you are either a Selwyn, Lestrange, Black, or Malfoy. Given that the Lestranges and Blacks are all dead or in prison, and the Selwyn's are noted for their dark hair you must be Lucius Malfoy." More people stopped to stare, awed by this muggleborn's seemingly effortless knowledge of Pureblood Houses. She pressed forward unrelentingly, "Your mother was a mere second cousin of House Pyrites while your wife's claim is little better. Do you truly believe that anyone would vote for a Malfoy claim against that of mine? Rightful granddaughter of Jasper Pyrites and Cordelia Morrigan." Venom did not seep into her tone, only the usual detached factualism.
"A muggleborn," Lucius Malfoy derided with just as much detachment, "Poor old Jasper must be shivering in his grave at this turn of events. Squib spawn, born of that very Squib he denounced as a Morrigan bastard, rearing up to claim his formerly noble House."
"A muggleborn," Hermione Granger corrected sharply, "Who managed not only to best your lackwit son academically, but is also the youngest recipient of an Honor of Merlin, First Class. I am more than worthy of claiming my inheritance." Smiling as haughtily as any pureblood heiress the muggleborn delivered her final blow, "You have made your position clear enough, as have I. For fear of dragging this contentious affair out even further I must politely ask you to take a seat."
He took a single step closer, eyes flashing dangerously at his parting whisper, "You have no idea what awaits you, Hermione Granger. Not a single clue how easily this all will come toppling down around you. Mark my words." A slithery smile spread across his features as he turned to march regally towards the Wizengamot stands. Instead of cowering after that disheartening confrontation the muggleborn focused on recognizable faces. Nearly every member of the Wizengamot she discovered, except the greater majority of blood purists, had attended the Honoring Ceremony. Conversation proved simple, far easier than Hermione would have ever expected. The witch found herself demonstrating a newfound charisma, managing to make people twice her age titter with laughter.
There was little Augusta Longbottom who, entirely unprompted, promised to admonish Neville for not having invited his friend over for the summer holidays. The older woman was eventually replaced by an Abbot, Macmillan, and Fawley, who also rotated away to many more faces. Even Griselda Marchbanks, a staunch supporter of Dumbledore stopped by to admit that she was privy to many reports of Hermione's academic prowess. After a long moment of this the girl found herself squaring off against what seemed to be Lucius Malfoy's polar opposite. Amelia Bones stood in the black robes of a Ministry-appointed member of the Wizengamot. Of course the woman could have just as easily of worn the maroon robes which identified those with inherited seats. Yet there was more pride to be had from working so hard and having managed to earn a seat than simply being born at the right time. Recalling that the DMLE Head held two votes, Hermione hoped that she was capable of winning her over completely.
"Miss Granger," The powerful witch nodded downwards, "I will not deign to fawn over you as so many others seem apt to." Steely eyes glanced across the room of sycophantic politicians, "Instead I will convey my opinion that there is a bright future ahead of you. If you manage to win me over during the course of this appeal today. One of brilliant academic opportunities, limitless knowledge, immense wealth, and enviable celebrity." Then a wry smile tugged Madam Bones' lips as she tipped her head in a knowing fashion. "We do not need to mention how devastating an unfavorable outcome might be for yourself and your grandmother. Just know that I am not a rigid supporter of Dumbledore, or Lucius Malfoy. My stance is independent, malleable to a sensible argument."
Heart fluttering nervously Hermione remained coolly composed. "I never would have expected any differently of you, Madam Bones." They were wrenched from conversation by the ever-flamboyant arrival of Albus Dumbledore. His lemon and gold coloured robes proving quite an eyesore. "I presume that a uniform is rather too much to ask of certain people," She sniffed somewhat indignantly to the stringent witch who now stood beside her.
"Yes, Miss Granger, I would agree that it is," The black-clad woman stepped forth to greet her political superior. "I would suggest you take your seat before the Wizengamot." Trusting that Madam Bones was looking out for her best interests Hermione followed the advice easily. Sweeping to the massive seat which looked as though it were usually reserved for criminals. Enchanted shackles bound to either arm clattered about in a baleful manner. "Chief Warlock," The DMLE Head greeted Dumbledore with stringently measured cordiality, "We are prepared to begin the appeals process."
"Of course, Amelia" He oozed cheery informality, doubtlessly a tactic to throw people like Madam Bones off their game. With that simple dismissal the woman was sent to sit alongside her peers, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts clambered to his spot of principality. Only once seated did those twinkling, blue eyes lock with Hermione's own brown pair. "Will the Scribe of Court note that on this day, time, and year, Hermione Jean Granger steps forth to exert a claim over the frozen estate of House Pyrites. The appeal shall be decided upon by a vote of the assembled Wizengamot members present today." A small gavel was given a flashy little flourish as Dumbledore pounded it down. "Might the claimant stand to address the congregation prior to the questioning." Beneath the weight of his challenging gazes, beneath all of those judgemental eyes, Hermione slunk into a standing position.
Somewhere behind her was Cordelia, and with that reminder came a floodgate of strength. "I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to represent the court of magical Britannia in a legal and proper manner for the duration of my appeal today. Furthermore, I wish to thank those wizards and witches who were so gracious as to provide me with the opportunity to voice these claims." Here there was a pause, with general formalities completed everyone seemed incapable of breathing. What sort of speech would Britain's next up-and-coming prodigy deliver?
Inhaling moderately, as was expected of young ladies, Hermione nodded at the stands full of elitist purebloods. "I come here today with a story, demand, and promise. The story, as some of you are aware, is a tale of tainted reputation and an unjust exile from magical society. My Morrigan great-grandsire was forced to flee south-western Ireland during the Scourge of Blood Feuds in 1941." The theatrical sneer which twisted her features was haughty, aristocratic, and largely improvised. "He and my grandmother, Cordelia Morrigan, found safety only in Wizarding Britain, far from their holdings and ancestral lands. It was here that my grandmother found herself betrothed to Jasper Pyrites, heir to a House widely noted for its outstandingly pristine pure-bloodedness." Sweeping from side-to-side the muggleborn glanced at the floor. "All seemed well until my grandmother birthed my grandfather a squib. Jasper Pyrites denounced her as a harlot, threw her onto the streets, and used his considerable influence to slander the Morrigan name."
"Far from the eye of spectators my grandmother gave birth to my father. While Jasper Pyrites remarried and produced two of the most notorious Death Eaters ever to serve Lord Voldemort." At that last claim there were mutterings, mostly angry ones from Lucius Malfoy's side of the courtroom. "As my grandfather allowed the Pyrites' legacy to be dragged through filth and muck, hung from the walls of Azkaban, Cordelia Morrigan raised her son into a proper human being. Squib or not, she nurtured and nourished the last bit of respectability this House had remaining into a shining ray of hope."
A smile spread across Hermione Granger's face, an expression directed at the compassionate onlookers like Griselda Marchbanks. "My father went on to establish a successful dentistry practice, marry, and bless me with life. The last, magical heir either House Pyrites, or Morrigan might ever see." Now she turned her gaze to the likes of Augusta Longbottom who were more apt to admire restrained displays of power. "For fear of growing breathless with hedonism I shall refrain from reciting my list of accomplishments to you all. Though we are all well aware of how much truth hides behind those words, no matter how deeply some of us wish to deny it." That last bit was a glowing snub intended particularly for Lucius Malfoy.
"Now here I stand before you. A muggleborn, rightful heiress to a mountainous fortune of legacy and significant historicity. Unable to claim what is mine simply because two prisoners of Azkaban are deemed more worthy." At this point a throaty, unladylike chuckle marked the next transition, "Hence, we come to the demand. I request, with the utmost respect, that my rights as a citizen of Wizarding Britain be properly enforced. As a squib my father cannot legally request a Blood Test, but I am most assuredly capable of calling for such a ritual examination." A practiced look of the utmost seriousness flooded into her brown eyes, freezing them cold as stone. "When the blood results convey the truth to these kind witches and wizards in attendance today, I will uphold this ensuing promise. That the magic in my veins, the assets under my ownership, and the influence encompassed within my name shall be used for societal betterment."
Dumbledore cleared his throat immediately, seeming unwilling to allow her speech any time to sink in fully. "The appellant has exerted her right to a legally administered blood test. Let any objections to such a move be known." There were objections, by the dozen. Accordingly, Hermione was expected to fight them all off verbally, one after the other. In wizarding law there were no lawyers, or legal representatives to delegate such matters. Hermione was laying claim to her birthright, and was thusly expected to know her rights thoroughly. Still, the knowledge that the blood test would quell any opposition, any rumors regarding her grandmother's alleged infidelity, pushed Hermione onwards.
A rabbity, old man sitting near Lucius Malfoy croaked out the first question. "I find myself sitting alongside, at the very least, three legitimate candidates for the Lordship of House Pyrites. What good might a blood test do an upstart bastard?" Chuckles followed closely behind that snipe, and then came the disapproving glances of figures like Madam Bones. Dumbledore simply motioned for the girl to respond, a challenging gleam in his scrutinizing gaze.
Hermione analyzed the situation entirely in the very slight, unspoken grace period allotted under such situations. The pureblood faction wanted her to simply dismiss their claims as weaker than water, but that would only play into the wizarding bias against Squibs. If she did not prove that her claim was superior there would always remain a dark stain. "I will have you remember that Jasper Pyrites was wedded to my grandmother when he concieved my father. His name was written on my father's wizarding birth certificate. Even if, and this coming hypothetical is most decidedly not true, my grandmother committed adultery, Lord Jasper was still responsible for the welfare of his legally acknowledged child. Do not dare to insinuate that my father is illegitimate, as he was born within the parameters of a marriage. Should I truly be judged for my grandfather's inability to follow through with his basic commitments?" The rant came to a sharp close, yet Hermione was now too well-practiced in such affairs to betray any breathlessness.
"No, you should not," Came Griselda Marchbanks' gentle voice from the growing chorus of enraged, blood purist whispers. The girl glanced up at one of Dumbledore's staunchest supporters whose eyes only held a surprising amount of compassion. "I must express my confusion, however, at the fact that your grandmother did not press this issue earlier. Why are you only seeking a blood test now when such evidence could have been gathered decades ago?"
Hermione was especially prepared for this question, as Cordelia paranoidly speculated that their motivations would be brutally assaulted. "My grandfather owned a great deal of shares in most of Britain's major newspapers. Not only was my grandmother's once impeccable reputation slandered, but her family disowned her as well. She understandably felt highly unsafe lashing out against a family of Death Eaters." Head twisting theatrically backwards to an approving Cordelia, Hermione finished. "Then I proved myself to both her and the Wizarding World as someone more than capable of standing up to such threats. No matter who threatens our family I will fight for what is mine."
Admiring looks were shared between select members of the Wizengamot. "What is yours?" A refined, Oxfordian accent queried haughtily. She noticed a man with eyes like an ocean staring down at her. He was incredibly handsome and only in his mid-forties. Despite his close proximity to Lucius Malfoy it seemed as though even Madam Bones appreciated his input. "You have displayed what is often derided as a 'modernist, muggle perspective'. Though I shall not stoop so low as to hate you for such misguided views of the Wizarding World, it is worth consideration." She felt an uncontainable shiver run down her spine. This man was undeniably dangerous, it practically rolled off of him in waves. "This 'pride' you speak of having for a legacy millennia older than yourself? I, quite frankly, find myself unconvinced, Miss. Granger. Jasper Pyrites turned your grandmother on the streets, smeared your father as a bastard, and left you not a single penny from his vast empire of luxuries."
"I am proud," She shot back defiantly, though there was still some calculation to it. "Imagine what it is like to be introduced to a new world, feeling completely alone. Then to discover you aren't, that your ancestors helped to build the very institution we stand upon. It is amazing, incredible, and absolutely indescribable."
"I do not question any of what you just said, in fact, I wholeheartedly believe it. But why would I entrust such a massive legacy to someone who will only tear it all down? Who has no understanding of the old ways? Modernity is growth, but tradition is the framework." Those blue eyes were peeling her apart. Layer by layer.
Hermione was silent for a long moment. Thinking on something she never before considered. For once there was no answer ready to slip off her tongue. Certainly no conclusions being drawn up in her head either. "I, likewise, agree with everything you said, sir." She nodded to his, obviously, greater authority. "But what do you expect of me? What can I do to prove my worthiness of House Pyrites?"
A cunning smile twisted his red lips. "Take on that very name, Pyrites. Allow your grandmother to guide you in embracing old traditions. Revitalize the splendid traditions of your forefathers into an exciting, fresh prospect. Promise me those things and you will have my vote." This declaration was certainly strange, even for a council of wizard-politicians.
Hermione felt a slight bit of distaste pour over her tongue at the idea of embracing pureblood culture. Taking on the Pyrites' name like some sort of aspiring, pureblood princess would be embarrassing. Yet she was in no position to refuse votes. "I swear it to you, sir. That all of those objectives will be accomplished in my mission to become a suitable Head of House Pyrites." He inclined his head at her. More questions followed that exchange, each of them failing to pique as much interest as the blue-eyed man's did. Most of the Wizengamot appeared so desperate to ask a question, to fit in the crowd, that they did. No matter how stupid.
Nearly brain dead from this exhaustive process, Hermione found herself facing off against Dumbledore. He smiled a look warmer than the sun at her, misleadingly grandfatherly. "Hermione," The Headmaster of Hogwarts' tone was unforgivably informal, "Would I be wrong in stating that your parents had a great role in shaping the views you have today?"
Hermione, exhausted and uncertain, decided to simply rip the bandaid off. "Of course, Chief Warlock. My parents did raise me after all."
By the tightening of his wrinkled face she knew that that comment played directly into whatever was coming next. "In the muggle world," He corrected easily, "Just as your grandmother has played an undeniably significant role in influencing your views of the Wizarding World. That-."
"You are attempting to insinuate that I am not fit to represent myself?" The outrage was evident in Hermione's tone, though she could do naught to disguise it. "That I am too young to represent my own interests in a court of law?" Some of the less intelligent Wizengamot members slowly gasped at both the implications on his behalf and the impudence on her own end.
"I was simply trying to determine how much of this appeal was on behalf of your own desire to claim House Pyrites, and how much of it was your grandmother's. Should we be listening to the appeal of a twelve year old, my fellow witches and wizards? No matter how intelligent or well-intentioned Hermione Granger might be, she is still an impressionable child. Are we not wrong to consider putting House Pyrites' future into these inexperienced hands, and consequently, beneath Madam Cordelia Morrigan's own undisclosed intentions?" He practically forced his overbearing charisma like a tsunami unto every person present in the courtroom.
"My hands were experienced enough to stop Quirinus Quirrell from snatching the Philosopher's Stone out of Hogwarts. More than can be said for others." She refrained from saying Lord Voldemort, most people were happy to pretend she saved the world. Yet they still were too terrified, too disturbed by the Blood War to actually contemplate that the Dark Lord was still out there. Biding his merry, genocidal time. "Also, Chief Warlock," She widened her stance slightly like a lioness preparing to strike forth with every bit of strength she had left, "It is only fair that I scrutinize your intentions as you so kindly questioned my grandmother's. What business did you have leading the helm of this appeal today? After having spent the past two-and-a-half weeks slandering my reputation and claim. Would you agree that it is only all too possible that I have not been given equitable consideration by the Wizengamot? Thanks to your skewed opinions plastered across every edition of the Daily Prophet?"
"Chief Warlock!" Amelia Bones interrupted before Albus Dumbledore could bite back at the girl. "Is it truly proper to argue with an appellant before the entire assembly? You asked your questions, Miss Granger answered, and it is time to move onwards." Hermione breathed a huge sigh of relief that the DLME Head was there to relegate the old bastard's antics. "I advise that you initiate the vote."
Dumbledore did not turn to smile his sickly sweet grin at Madam Bones, instead staring down at Hermione the entire time. "All against allowing Hermione Granger a Ministry administered blood test," He called out in a booming voice. There were the obvious ones. Lucius Malfoy's coalition of sixteen votes, and Dumbledore's thirteen loyal allies. This was unprecedented: Blood purists aligning with Albus Dumbledore to slaughter a muggleborn's appeals case. She shivered at the overwhelming sense that these thirty-one, influential, powerful wizards all hated her. Some because she was a muggleborn, and others because she was a threat to their immense powers.
"All those in favor," Dumbledore announced, he knew as well as she did that this was cutting close. Of the sixty-five total Wizengamot members thirty-one belonged to him. Hermione could only afford a loss of two votes at most. Accordingly, two abstained from participating. She vowed to always remember the pair as voiceless cowards should the outcome yield her the desired political influence. Marchbanks, Longbottom, and Bones all raised their hands to support her in defiance of Dumbledore's expectant gaze. Hermione was hardly over the thrill of having Amelia Bones' political support when she noticed just how important it was. Many seemed encouraged and raised their own hands after taking notice of the DMLE Head's stance. Slowly they all made up their minds until the blue-eyed wizard, seated in the very middle of Lucius Malfoy's camp, broke the tie. The girl's postured back almost broke with relief at this massive victory, yet there was still a yard's pace further to go. "Hermione Jean Granger will be provided a Ministry standard lineage examination."
The reluctant pounding of that gavel he held marked the arrival of a frumpy, little representative from the Goblin's Liasion Department. It was already known to Hermione that the species had some sort of established loyalty to her Pyrites cousins, so the aggressive administration was unsurprising. With no warning the bald beast pricked both of her index fingers, the most magical as they were the seventh on either side. The streaming wounds were pressed harshly against a piece of ancient parchment emblazoned with House Pyrite's golden coat-of-arms. In an eruption of sparkling lightworks a flood of brilliantly silver jettison arched upwards. Some onlookers gasped at the pure vibrancy and intensity of her aura, but Hermione did not care. She was too fascinated by what the Goblin did next.
Such magic as blood examinations were firmly entrenched in Goblin territory. They alone understood fully how such complex branches of knowledge functioned while wizardkind's brightest could only grasp at abstract straws. That was the way of the world though, Hermione supposed sorrowfully. So much much information she would never gain access to, simply because of racism and centuries of bloodshed. Talons slashed angrily through the silvery mist that spread about like a thick tobacco smoke. With each motion something incredibly strange occured. First there was a crow, clearly the symbol of House Morrigan, which ripped free of the roiling mass with a piercing shriek. Slamming itself so violently onto the parchment that the floor upon which it rested trembled.
Then a small ball resembling a Golden Snidget followed closely behind. Tiny wings flicking furiously towards the parchment as well. Hermione stopped paying attention after that. The Golden Snidget was House Pyrites' sigil, and its appearance proved that she was Jasper Pyrites' granddaughter. Plenty more entities rushed forth, but that was to be expected given how interrelated wizards were. Nonetheless many fascinated gasps ensued at the deep secrets of what must have been Houses Pyrites' and Morrigan's rich lineages. A pressure was released from the entire length of Hermione's spine in that moment. She herself, for all that forced bravado, had worried if it would turn out that Cordelia had indeed fraternized with a muggle.
Slowly the Goblin bent to twist the elaborate certification of ancestry into a tight scroll. "We will be awaiting your visit at Gringotts, Hermione Pyrites." The ominous whisper, accentuated by those beady eyes and the refusal to acknowledge her muggle surname, was rather unsettling. He turned to address the Wizengamot. "Wizards," The word was hissed sneerily, "Under the authority of the Goblin's Liaison I am obliged to acknowledge that the witch standing behind me, is truly the last living, unicararated heir of the Jasper Pyrites." Without waiting for a dismissal from Dumbledore he strutted out of the courtroom.
All eyes immediately swivelled back towards Hermione. "No matter how mature," Amelia Bones broke the tense silence, "I assume we can all agree that it would be reckless to suddenly thrust the Headship of House Pyrites upon a thirteen year old. Would it be presumptuous to ask that Cordelia Morrigan be called to address the assembly, Chief Warlock?" Dumbledore simply nodded with a concerned expression, waving for the Scribe to continue writing. The loud click of Cordelia's sophisticated heels marked her dramatic descent from the stands to a spot beside Hermione.
Much to the girl's bewilderment Cordelia placed a fond, reassuring hand against her shoulder upon arriving. She was proud, the muggleborn realized easily enough, of her granddaughter's triumphant entry into the political landscape. At how effectively they managed to get everything they wanted. "It is customary in such situations," Dumbledore began with a narrow tone, "For the minor's inheritance to be maintained by a wizarding guardian of nearest blood connection. Accordingly, I decree that until Hermione Granger turns a minimum of fifteen years old, Cordelia Morrigan shall oversee House Pyrites' assets, accounts, Wizengamot seat, and general affairs."
The gavel pounded with a mighty clack, officiating what would undoubtedly prove Wizarding Britain's biggest bit of news for the ensuing week. Cordelia Granger was back in the picture for all to hear. Grandmother of the Hermione Granger, regent Head of House Pyrites, and the newest member of the Wizengamot. Dumbledore simply smiled another twinkling look in her direction as he stood for recess. 'You haven't won yet,' The Voice sighed with a soothing drawl, 'The old bugger pitted you against Lucius Malfoy for a reason. He was simply testing your limitations. The worst is yet to come.' Lost in the bleak reminder that Dumbledore was still very much a threat, she was forced to thank her supporters with enthusiastic handshakes. Trying to find some comfort in imagining the Pyrites' fortune awaiting her in Gringotts.
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Okay, I am literally just doing a ton of rocket science this semester. Just math and science all day long. As a result you can expect that my updates will be slow-coming. Like always, however, I can assure you that they will keep rolling out. One at a time. Please review, and tell me what you think. This was a super long chapter, and it probs has a ton of grammatical errors...