Chapter Nine: Vilis Malificus.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
OOOOO
Hermione swept up broken glass while listening to her mother sob from the living room. "I CAN'T BELIEVE ALL OF THE THINGS YOU HID FROM US," Her father bellowed with a red face full of rage, "THE BATTLES WITH DEMONS-."
"Dark Lords," Hermione interjected in what she supposed was a helpful manner, if not daringly cheeky at the same time. "Demons are infinitely easier to overcome with an effective application of elementary Char-." Much of her idealistic obedience and anal retentive rule-following had been tested deeply during the events of that summer. Her father seemed quite enraged at the resulting change.
"-WHAT FUCKING EVER HERMIONE!" He snapped ballistically in a continued expression of vitriolic rage, "YOU SHOULD HAVE CALLED US THE MINUTE YOUR TOAD OF A GRANDMOTHER TOLD YOU WHAT SHE REALLY WAS." Hermione was used to her parents swearing whenever she rarely managed to tip the family dynamic out of order. She was less accustomed to the vicious argument which had taken place little more than an hour earlier. It was inevitable that Cordelia would be forced to admit every single detail to the Granger Dr.'s. Especially with Hermione having become an incredibly high-profile, wealthy heiress during their absence. Somewhere between the tale of Lord Voldemort and the addition of protective enchantments to the house, both of her parents combusted. Hugo Granger was mostly in a shock that much of his life was a lie, as well as the fact that Hermione would have to become some sort of 'socialite-heiress,' as he put it.
Now the former British army sergeant was releasing a slew of threats at his daughter which ranged from burning every book in the house, to the more concerning notion of being removed from Hogwarts. "Dad!" She protested furiously, "I can't just leave Hogwarts! The Wizengamot would strip me of everything I have worked for. Albus Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy would probably use their influence to have me murdered in my sleep!" Hermione knew that her pureblood enemies would pounce upon such weakness, so long as it meant that they could claim the Pyrites' fortune for themselves.
"She is right Hugo," Bryony Granger, who had sat catatonically at the table for a long while in response to these developments, finally spoke up. "If we took the magic out of this situation you know that we would have done everything Hermione and Cordelia d-. No don't interrupt me!" The pale-faced woman snapped at him, "Our daughter claimed a fortune that is rightfully hers, that should have gone to you years ago! She faced this Voldemort-bastard like a hero, even if it was idiotic to risk her own life like that." Here Hermione was forced to flinch sadly at the disappointment which poured across her mother's stricken tone. "I will not allow you to punish our daughter simply because your mother made a series of unforgivable decisions. Hermione will be going back to Hogwarts, and we will simply need to accommodate the changes which come with her new… Lifestyle."
It was clear from looking into her father's cornflower-blue gaze that he saw the wisdom in his wife's words. Yet instead of responding he stormed from the house like thunderstorm. In the aftermath of the front door slamming shut Hermione peered nervously at her mother. "Leave the glass," The dentist snapped when her daughter moved to continue cleaning it, "We should talk while your father calms down." Peering sadly at the broken bits of crystal, an uncommon bit of accidental magic on Hermione's part, she swept over to sit next to her mother. The woman wasted no time prior to tugging the muggleborn into a tight hug. "Oh my baby," She whispered sadly, "No child should have to endure what you have." They remained together like that for a long while. "How are we even supposed to live here anymore?" Bryony asked while stroking Hermione's recently-sleekened hair.
"There are my earnings from the Honor of Merlin, and Cordelia is going to set up a generous trust vault at Gringotts," The girl pulled back while wiping both eyes of any stray tears. "I suppose maybe we can move into the Pyrites' London residence. That house should have a century worth of protective enchantments at the very least…"
"Your grandmother can worry about footing the cost of living in a fancy, wizard-estate," She responded indifferently. The attentive hands of a talented dentist reached upwards to prod at Hermione's magically-improved pair of teeth. "You were so beautiful before this all," A sob choked the dentist's throat, "I want you to know that. Beneath all of this silky hair, and that expensive outfit is a good heart. A great heart." Elegant fingers lovingly swept downwards to the curvature of the girl's elbows. "No matter what comes next I have the utmost faith that you can handle it. I also reckon that you will at least try to keep me in the loop." Here those brown eyes, so much like Hermione's, narrowed sternly in her direction.
"I promise mum," The girl professed earnestly despite knowing that such honesty could never truly be attained. Her wizardry was a genetic burden that only she could truly bear. While Hermione's mother could doubtlessly handle the barest bits of transparency she would never be able to handle everything. It was no longer either of the Granger's responsibility to protect her from the world. Now Hermione would need to become as powerful as possible so that they could be defended instead. Be it from Dumbledore, Voldemort, or even the Malfoys. As the only witness to this silent promise, apart from the voice in her head of course, Hermione swore it would never be broken.
"Now, I am going to put some tea on the kettle while you tell me everything about the past two weeks," Bryony Granger grinned with watery eyes.
"Define everything?" Hermione snarked back surreptitiously.
OOOO
Two Weeks Later:
Diagon Alley was bustling with students shopping for last minute school supplies. Everywhere Hermione Granger looked a classmate she had never even spoken to would wave with sudden familiarity. An improper amount of it, Cordelia would have sniffed sneerily. Sadness coursed through the girl's blood at the recollection that her grandmother was not around to make such snide remarks. Of course, she was merely appreciative to be strolling in Diagon Alley at all. "Are we almost there, darling?" Bryony Granger asked somewhat nervously, eyeing the throngs of her daughter's onlookers with suspicion.
"Nearly, I think," Hermione answered back easily enough, "I recall it being next to the Apothecary." Not a moment after the words poured from her mouth did she find herself standing in front of the headquarters of Witch Weekly. Both hands screwed tightly into fists until the muggleborn recalled the gilded invitation which was nestled securely in her left palm. The sleek building was hardly what she had expected. Instead of loads of girlish pink and frilly curtains there were dignified columns and elegant windows. Brown eyes gazed admiringly at the soft caramel hues which decorated the refined architecture. Well, at least before Hermione recalled why exactly she was admiring it at all.
The dentist reached out reassuringly to tug her daughter up the steps. "We have come this far," She declared firmly, "No matter how uncomfortable we are with it all there is no going back now." Hermione was mostly more fearful of what Cordelia would say if she wimped out on such an important, rare opportunity. They slipped inside the oddly large, most likely magically augmented, building. All about were important people in stylish robes moving with incredibly purposefulness. Some stopped to gape at her, but they mostly seemed to be the interns. When they finally approached the receptionist's desk Hermione was too intimidated to say a single thing. Everything from the Romanesque architecture to the beautiful gaggles of models standing nearby were tying her tongue in knots.
"My daughter has an appointment with the editor, a Mrs. Misselthorpe," In the end it came down to Hermione's mother saving her from utter humiliation.
"Of course. We have been expecting you," The receptionist spoke tactfully. She rummaged elegantly about the desk for a pile of papers prior to standing. With a flick of her wand the 'out for lunch sign' switched outwards. "If you would follow me I can escort you to meet with the editor," The receptionist stepped from behind the desk to lead them along. They followed along quickly after the woman with Hermione's mother making polite small talk. Hermione, however, was still too nervous to speak, and focused sternly on snapping out of her discomfort.
Unsurprisingly, given the Wizarding World's regressed state of technology, they ventured into an ancient lift which Hermione suspected required a great deal of training to operate. "You must forgive our evident disarray today," That glamorous face apologized to them as they all slipped from the elevator. "We have been attempting to work the photoshoot scheduling for our fashion editorial around the new covergirl."
"That is so exciting," Hermione's mother trilled eagerly, a true lover of fashion magazines, "Who is it?"
Here those dazzlingly cerulean eyes crinkled as the receptionist's lips crinkled sourly. "Lucretia Fleming," Hermione understood instantly, yet her mother seemed quite lost unsurprisingly. Clearly their escort recalled that she was speaking to a muggle. "A popular singer in Wizarding Britain as of now. She is actually quite full of herself. We have had to reschedule her twice due to excessively late arrivals." The venomous tone used to describe Fleming left Hermione hoping she never meant the singer. "Now," A smile replaced the hateful frown that had dominated her face as she stopped to knock on a door, "I will leave you in the devices of our editor. Good luck, Miss Granger."
"You may come in," A calm voice called from behind the well-polished door. They both stepped in as bidden to encounter the most disastrously disorganized scene ever. Sitting at a desk stacked heavily with haphazard scrolls of parchment was the editor of Witch Weekly. Pleione Misslethorpe looked nothing like the ruthless heiress Cordelia had warned her of via owl. Explosive strands of curly, silver hair dangled uncontrolled about her bony frame. From behind a pair of spectacles she eyed their approach with a nervous sort of curiosity. "Miss Granger," She stood to shake Hermione's hand feebly, "I have followed you quite closely this summer. I expected Cordelia would be escorting you today, but it still a pleasure to meet your mother."
The pair shook hands as well before another woman standing by the window turned around to scrutinize Hermione with narrowed eyes. "Might I introduce you both to Lady Asphodel Shafiq, president of the Witch's League," The editor gesticulated robotically towards her guest.
While age had sucked any youth away from Lady Shafiq, it seemed that there was still a hint of remarkable beauty on the Middle Eastern crone's face. "Charmed," The witch spoke dryly, and in an unimpressed manner, as she reached reluctantly out to greet Hermione's mother. She already had a poor opinion of the Witch's League's president on that display of Blood Elitism alone. Yet that did not mean the whole institution was completely worthy of immediate dismissal. Traditionally only the purest of Pureblood debutantes, or the wealthiest of half-blood heiresses were allowed inside. The League had started by demonstrating against ritualism, then during the twenties their ire was directed to the flappers, in World War Two they protested heavily against Minister Hector Fawley who underestimated Grindelwald, and later went on to advocate for the institution of Wizarding orphanages.
Cordelia, and Cordelia's mother, had both been devoted members until her social excommunication. It was unsurprising that Cordelia had been invited back while Hermione received a glittery invitation of her own. In a world where power was generally consolidated in the hands of a small minority, they had proven an unstoppable duo. Of course there were not many people willing to ardently support such an unorthodox dynamic. That was where the League came into play. Both Hermione and Cordelia would able to network for powerful allies, and the League would receive a rising celebrity amongst their ranks in exchange. "I wished to start by asking you both what would be expected of me to become a member of the Witch's League?" She smiled a charismatic flash of white with only recently straightened teeth.
"We require all of our members to contribute a specific number of volunteering hours each year. Additionally, for our teenaged members there is the expectation that you will maintain above average grades, participate enthusiastically in your school's extracurricular opportunities, and that you will adhere to traditional customs." Mrs. Misselthorpe mentioned the last bit as though it were common knowledge. Thankfully though she noticed that Hermione's mother seemed somewhat confused by the last bit. "Erm, by traditional customs I meant it is expected that Miss Granger-Pyrites will show respect to her ancestral wizarding heritage. A societal debut will need to be hosted by your family when she turns fourteen. Following that is a coming-of-age ball for her seventeenth birthday as well." Hermione winced at the reminder that she was, in the Wizarding World, now known as Granger-Pyrites. Hopefully the surprise in her mother's brown eyes would not turn into a tongue lashing later that afternoon.
"I signed the invitational contract," At this point the almost thirteen year old handed the glitzy letter to the Treasurer of the Witch's League. She also made sure to place her left hand reassuringly against her mother's arm. "My grandmother and I are looking forward to joining your prestigious organization," The muggleborn smiled earnestly at them both, especially the skeptical Lady Shafiq.
"We can discuss the details of your involvement with the organization at Vulpina Diggory's Summer Gala. Both you and your grandmother given that she could not be bothered to arrive today. Despite this alleged abundance of excitement you claim she holds for the League." Those dark eyes swivelled disapprovingly towards Hermione's mother again.
"My grandmother was rather busy with a Wizengamot matter today," Hermione half-lied easily enough, "A very large vote is taking place today after all. She has also proven her worth as an accomplished, independent witch, and it would be a shame for her to not contribute her wisdom to Wizarding Britain's political system. Would it not?" The glare Lady Shafiq sent her way prompted Hermione to chuckle innocently, and throw in a barb. "If you do not believe that my grandmother has not been engaged with the Wizengamot all day, I am certain Lord Shafiq shall assuage your concerns when he tells you about it this evening." Not only was it common knowledge, according to Cordelia, that the Shafiq's no longer lived together, but there was also the insinuation that Lady Shafiq was not an independent woman. The parallel Hermione had drawn between her grandmother and this racist, old hag was nearly tangible in the air.
Any cruel rebuttal the miserable toad was preparing to toss at her was interrupted by a storm of furious heels outside the door. The door slammed open as a new secretary with wild eyes and tufts of wild hair exploding from a messy bun burst inside the office. "Madam Editor," She snapped urgently, "There has been an incident with her again. Worse than all the other times combined!" This could only have been regarding the infamous Lucretia Fleming.
"I am sorry for this interruption. Please wait a moment." Mrs. Misselthorpe apologized with exhausted eyes. She followed her frazzled employee outside where whispered mutterings could be heard. Finally, she returned with an angrily set mandible. "I apologize ladies. Lucretia Fleming has apparently a Blast Curse at a group of my photographers. The shoot will be cancelled, and I we will have to spe-." Her face seemed to brighten a split-second later after landing upon Hermione. "Have you ever modelled before, Ms. Granger-Pyrites?" She asked with an ambitious gleam in her face.
OOOO
The practically thirteen year old girl was nearly dead walking by the time she arrived to Gringotts Bank. That day would have been admittedly less taxing had her mother not, in a surprising twist, practically tossed her into the hungry claws of Mrs. Misselthorpe. Not only had Hermione spent half the day preening for photographers, but now she needed to contend with the notion that she would be a cover model. Before having even turned thirteen. What was even more frightening was the greedy editor's ominous promise that similar opportunities would soon appear. "Quidditch is quite an intriguing sport," Her almost equally tired mother hummed appreciatively, as though oblivious to her daughter's mental struggle. A secretary had given the dentist a pile of old editions of Witch Weekly while she waited for the tedious shoot to end.
"The size of the player's thighs do not figure into the scoring whatsoever," Hermione chastised firmly, a bit sharply as well.
"They do in my book," Bryony Granger retorted easily enough, though she could tell what was wrong. "Darling. You shouldn't feel uncomfortable by being on that magazine cover."
"Why should I be on it though? Why should I go through with any of those other 'opportunities' Misselthorpe kept pushing in our faces? Do they think I am pretty, or is it because I am famous?" Her voice broke to a whisper as they continued to eye Gringotts warily. "Everyone in Wizarding Britain has a motive. They all want to make me a pawn. Whether it is Mrs. Misselthorpe needing to sell a few more magazines, or Lady Shafiq wanting to attract less radicalized members for her little cult."
"You got on that cover because you are uncommonly pretty Hermione. Perhaps I disapprove of your grandmother's method of magical alteration, but your father and I would have forced you into braces sooner or later. Already it is obvious that you are shaping up into an absolute knockout." Her mother sounded harsher than Hermione could recall her ever having sounded before. "Also, I am sure the girls reading these magazines deserve a better inspiration than that wretched Lucretia Fleming. Honestly, you need to work on this habit of yours to overthink." It was nice, Hermione realized as the woman started walking up the steps, to be able to talk to her mother again. To have someone who could take all of the underlying issues and dismiss them with a righteous scoff.
She struggled up the steps soon after that, though not without difficulty. They had shopped immediately prior to arriving at Gringotts. Hermione had found a trunk more suitable the heiress of House Pyrites. Intricately wrought iron, with powerful, expensive, enchantments to boot. When one opened the vessel they could encounter any of nine compartments. Included was a Featherweight Charm along with professional-grade locking mechanisms. The purchase had been excessively costly, yet the almost unlimited, secure space she now had for her 'extracurricular' projects and research was worth it. Finally the pair found themselves eyeing the Goblins of Gringotts. Bryony Granger with no small amount of nervousness while Hermione favored a wary glare.
The girl remembered all too well being treated like no more than an illegitimate bastard only two weeks earlier. Now the spiteful establishment was all too happy to be assistance given her sizeable inheritance. "Let your superiors know that Hermione Granger has arrived for her appointment," She snapped sharply up at the Head Clerk, "And deposit into my trust account while you are at it." Reaching into her pocket she withdrew the sizeable Witch Weekly check Misselthorpe had issued her as payment for the modelling.
With a sneer he sent for two of his minions to deal with the double requests. One to transfer the large sum of money, and the other to lead them away. Deep inside the bowels of Gringotts. Luxurious marble floors, opulent furnishings, and a slanted floor carried them further beneath the earth. Feeling a sudden chill Hermione crossed her arms about her summer clothing instinctively. They came to a stop before one of many doors, though she noted that this one was far larger than the others. With a tentative knock their Goblin rapped upon the polished wood. "Enter," Came a low, growling tone.
Already displeased with how the banker was speaking to a customer she waited not a moment later. Marching so quickly into the office that the door banged violently against the stone wall inside. A Goblin, according to the placard on the door his name was Ulknot, sneered at her somewhat surprisedly. "Please leave that door open, mother," She spoke over her shoulder, "I hardly trust Accountant Bloodguzzler to refrain from murdering us as soon as it closes." Slipping into a chair and waiting for her mother, Hermione prepared the speech she had thought out the night prior. Bryony Granger seemed somewhat shocked at her daughter's sudden defiance. Unfortunately, such dramatics were very necessary if her relationship with Gringotts were ever to go smoothly in the future.
"Miss Granger-Pyrites," Ulknot Bloodguzzler's tone was more than a little sarcastic, "We have much to di-."
"Before you open your mouth again I will make one thing clear, Accountant Bloodguzzler," She snapped over his voice. "As the heiress of House Pyrites I demand the utmost loyalty. Surely my grandmother made that clear to you when she visited last week?"
"Something along those lines," He barred his vicious set of teeth balefully.
"Delightful. Then I will take it that you are aware of just how much leverage I now have as not only the heiress to a sacred House, but as a future member of the Wizengamot as well? No?" She loved the natural snideness that practically emanated from rhetorical questions.
"Painfully so," His taunting smile had turned completely into a sullen glare.
"Excellent. Then I daresay that the awful customer service I have been shown today will never happen again. I do not care if you must reprimand every single one of your subordinates, but the next time I visit this establishment they had all better have smiles on their faces." The muggleborn did not allow herself to feel any superiority. Her point had been made, and now it was necessary to build a bridge. "You served my…Relatives for nearly five decades, Accountant Bloodguzzler. I appreciate such a tremendous display of loyalty, no matter how misguided. Show me the same professionalism and efficiency that was given to the other Pyrites, and Gringotts will continue to benefit most advantageously from its relationship with my House."
"I will certainly do my best to rectify the situation," He beamed the most genuine smile she had ever seen from a Goblin in that moment. Hiding a shiver Hermione nodded quickly prior to glancing at her stunned mother. Cordelia had warned her via owl the previous evening that an impression needed to be made to deal effectively with Goblins. Apparently the girl's rant had done just the trick. "Now, your grandmother scheduled this meeting so that I could educate you regarding the state of your inheritance? Yes?"
His clinical demeanor was an immense shock compared to the previous attitude. "Yes, Accountant Bloodguzzler," She tipped her head of silky hair in agreement, "My grandmother also wished for me to examine the Pyrites' vault, as she lacks the time to do so herself."
With another unsettlingly bright smile he withdrew a large stack of parchments from his desk. The sizable pile was pushed over to her. "These documents cover in further depth everything that we shall discuss this afternoon. They are for your later inspection." He paused momentarily to stare levelly at her, "House Pyrites has, unsurprisingly I imagine, been one of my most successful accounts. Prior to the sentencing of the former heirs to Azkaban, the estate in it entirety was worth a bit under eight million Galleons."
"WHAT?!" Hermione's mother nearly screamed herself hoarse in surprise.
"After you took over?" She hoped her mother would not die of a heart attack. Her own heart was pulsating in rapid patterns that could not have meant anything good. It was an odd sensation to discover that you were a Wizarding millionaire. A moment passed in the girl's mind as she briefly considered exchange rates and just how much that some was worth in the muggle world.
"With total, uninhibited oversight of the entire estate I managed to increase that value to just under fourteen million Galleons," He seemed to hope that the dentist would die in her spot, though she disappointed him.
"Whenever we convert Hermione's school allowance to Galleons it is almost five Pounds Sterling for a single Galleon." Thankfully she was asking the question, for Hermione was in quite a state of shock.
"Yes," Bloodguzzler answered shortly, "That figure converts to seventy million Pounds Sterling."
It was a horrifying, yet not entirely unwelcome notion that one's many great's grandchildren would never have to work a day in their lives. Hermione decided firmly in that moment that she would still continue to work as hard as ever. Bryony Granger reached out to her daughter's side of the desk, squeezing tightly as though comprehending just how difficult this was to accept.
"Investments wise, however, much has not gone quite so well. When there is no Head of House to attend shareholder meetings it becomes necessary to sell off wherever possible." Here the Goblin's voice sounded somewhat mournful, "Your grandfather's former majority share in the Daily Prophet has fallen from forty percent to ten. The Nimbus Co. shares from twenty to eight, and only four percent remains for Gladrags."
Compared to her massive fortune such bad news hardly even came close to denting her day. "There are also three estates, I am sure you can examine the documents regarding them in greater detail on your own. Furthermore, you should discuss the matter of the House Elves that remain alive with your grandmother."
"Pardon," Hermione asked curiously.
"House Elves are magically bound to serve their respective Wizarding families. Generally only the wealthier ones," The accountant answered with an impatient tone.
"That is absolutely barbaric," Hermione's face grew scandalized, "Wizards can really own slaves?" He simply stared stonily at her as though incapable of acknowledging what was wrong with that notion. Seething furiously she simply decided to discuss the matter with Cordelia over owl.
"Now," He pushed two keys over to her from across the desk, "There was an odd development in the examination of your lineage test. Apparently your mother is the descendant of a squib, and you stand to gain from it. This sort of occurrence is incredibly rare, so much so that I have never witnessed it before." Those shrewd eyes stared at them both, "Your mother's great grandmother was a witch named Jezebelle Godelot. Do you know anything of the Godelots?" She did not, but in that moment the foreign presence in her mind made itself known. Admittedly, it could always be felt on the precipices, yet now there was a definite uncoiling.
"Your maternal ancestors were lucky to have born squibs. Abandoned well before the family curse could stick." The Goblin continued on, oblivious to Hermione's silent struggle. "None of the Godelots turned out very well. Each of them were notorious, and they all suffered...Disturbing, premature deaths." An uncomfortable silence fell over the office at that revelation. "Shortly before Jezebelle wound up brutally murdered, her brother became totally disgraced. He was sentenced to death, their properties seized and dismantled, whatever legacy remained in that name slandered to shreds by the press." That unsettling bit of news left Hermione feeling more than a slight pinch uncomfortable. "I have taken the liberty of retrieving the Godelot vault key, for you Miss Granger-Pyrites. Along with asking for our top Curse Breaker to visit that very vault with you."
"Curses?" Her mother interjected concernedly, "What about that is in the least bit safe?"
"Nothing, actually," Here Bloodguzzler dropped any pretense of professionalism, "The Godelots hated muggles. I imagine you should not follow your daughter into that vault." Hermione wondered if this would be what would finally push her mother to move them to America, or some obscure country.
OOOO
"I will enter first," The Curse Breaker stared into the recently opened chamber, "Then you may follow if I give the go ahead." Hermione Granger-Pyrites nodded carefully to show that she understood. Bryony was much less composed. She practically clung to one of the dusty columns with a green-tinged face. Not only had the ride taken a lot from the woman, but the Accountant's cruel taunts had clearly left her unsettled. Palms sweating with anticipation the muggleborn witch watched carefully for anything out of the ordinary. The curse breaker could be heard muttering incredibly long strings of Latin mixed with other less identifiable languages as well.
What happened next was sudden. So sudden that even the Goblin escorting them jumped. A series of violent lights exploded with loud BOOMS as Hermione went temporarily blind. Faintly she could hear her mother screaming over the cacophony of deafening, magical pyrotechnics. Then as rapidly as it started the volatile enchantments disappeared. Steam smoked profusely from the dark vault. "Now," The curse breaker gasped with a tired facial expression, "You can come in."
Ignoring her mother's unintelligible protests the girl stumbled into the vault. Brown eyes roved around expecting to see all manner of dark objects lying about. Instead they were met with the sight of many empty walls. Surprisedly she slipped forth to where her escort stood staring at the floor. "I can't even imagine what might happen if I tried to touch it," They watched the single item contained in the entire vault rested, "There are blood wards all over this thing."
'Pick it up,' The voice hissed as abruptly as ever, prompting an icy feeling to go across her spine, 'Prove your muggle mother is descended from the Godelots. I dare you to, mudblood.'
With an extreme amount of hesitance Hermione bent into a graceful crouch towards the pile of rotted leather. The curse breaker protested of course that the risk was too great. She simply hoped that her heritage test had not been inaccurate, or it was possible for limb loss to result from her Gryffindor recklessness. All ten fingers wrapped around the object as the muggleborn stood back up to full height. "Blimey, Hermione Granger," The wizard whistled, "Should I have even been surprised that you are so ballsy? With all of those headlines I've been reading?"
She simply gripped the medium sized bag with white knuckles, desperate to look up who exactly the Godelots were. 'I suppose you may be more worthwhile than I ever anticipated, filthy scum,' The silky voice sounded intrigued for the first time. This was not a case of it reluctantly saving her from death, or social ruin. No, Hermione was a Godelot, and for some reason that was important to the voice.
OOOO
The suitcase rolled along easily across the ritzy sidewalks of Westminster as Hermione and her mother walked in silence. Both of them contemplating the recent developments in their lives. Perhaps less predominant was the fact that they now could say that they lived in Westminster. With a prime view of the Thames river, and Westminster Abbey to boot. A larger matter on their minds was the Pyrites' vault which they had both just visited. Packed to the brim with Galleons, priceless jewels, flasks of potions, enchanted objects, expensive furniture, and plenty of other treasures to boot. Unfortunately for Hermione, however, she also had to worry over what it meant to be the last witch descended from the Godelots. As well as precisely what made the voice so interested in such a fact.
Trying to ignore these stray thoughts she smiled tentatively as they arrived at the townhouse. On the one hand it was quite nice to imagine resting after a day of modelling and shopping, but on the other this would their first time in the Pyrites' London residence. The favored home of ancestors who would have hated her simply for existing. Simply because her parents had had the audacity to be born squibs. Nonetheless the two Granger women slipped beneath the wards together which surrounded them like a deafening cocoon. So many enchantments from the past three and a half centuries were layered about the townhouse that it was not even necessary to lock, or even close the door. This meant that they immediately caught sight of her father struggling with his task of moving boxes into their new home.
"Hello dad," She set her trunk aside long enough to hug the tall man. He returned the favour prior to accepting a peck on his sweaty cheek from her mother.
"How did your day go, you two?" Hugo asked while leaning against the panelled walls which were made of a rich bocote.
"Well enough. Hermione made it into her little Witch's League, and is angry that I made her model for a magazine." Her mother loved stirring the pot, and the way his eyes popped out at the modelling comment seemed to have been the desired result. The girl could hardly fathom what her father's reaction would be when his wife mentioned that they were millionaires. Leaving them to chat she began dragging her suitcase up the many steps, for there were matters that needed researching.
Aristocrats in moving painting tittered haughtily at her from their golden frames. She simply tossed her silky hair dismissively at them, or flipped the bird at the particularly rude ones. There were four sprawling floors, not including the attic, in the townhouse. Three parlor rooms, seven bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a library, and a massive kitchen. Much of it was unexplored, uncleaned, and quite unsettling. Hermione already knew that Cordelia would have to help them finish sorting the townhouse to rights. No matter how deeply her father resented the witch.
Now on the second floor she made it into her bedroom. The bed was no longer a dusty wreck, yet the same could not be said for the rest of the cavernous room. Boxes littered every inch of the Flobberworm Silk carpet. Both doors to the balcony were completely covered in cobwebs and Doxy nests. Sighing at all of the work to be done before Hogwarts started again she tried not to consider how much she missed their old home. This townhouse was where her father rightfully deserved to have grown up, and she would do her utmost to appreciate its magical grandeur. Additionally, her parents seemed genuinely pleased at the reduced commute time to their dental practice.
Pushing these thoughts away the girl set the suitcase down prior to rifling through her boxes. It only took a few tries before she found the books. Mind scrambling desperately to recall any mention of the Godelots yielded no hints. The muggleborn was ready to give up when the voice made its rare presence known. Whispering almost disinterestedly, 'History of Magic, Volume Three.' Scrambling eagerly she flipped for on of the few books in her ownership that she had not found the opportunity to read. Mostly because of the lengthy, legal power struggles that had dominated her summer.
Brown eyes scanning the pages of fresh parchment she searched desperately for any mention of the Godelots. Inevitably she found exactly what was needed from Bathilda Bagshot's factual words. 'Leofric Godelot (1568-?) was the last prominent pupil of the Anti-Merlinatic movement founded by Morgana Le Fay. Slightly less notorious than he were his forefathers who headed the Hogwarts boycott due to the enrollment of muggleborns. From the Godelot line descended a number of great innovators in a wide variety of fields. Born into a wealthy family, with an abundance of knowledge at his fingertips, Godelot was rapidly corrupted.
'During the course of his adulthood he managed to utilize his familial connections effectively. Becoming one of the youngest members to have ever sit upon the, soon-to-be-disbanded, Wizard's Council. From this position of influence Godelot managed to practice terribly noticeable, black magic with very little scrutiny. Upon reviewal of memories from those closest to him, Leofric Godelot's descent into madness had many warning signs. Eventually his many studies into the Dark Arts, which so many of his colleagues ignored, were revealed. With half of the Wizard's Council firmly persuaded to his side they pooled their vast resources together. Initiating an event which would later be referred to as the 'Seven Year War.
'A foul, wizarding civil war erupted which, while vastly less costly than that of the one waged between Morgana Le Fay and Merlin, still managed to pull Britain to its knees. Godelot proved a capable commander. Unleashing his secret army of muggle Inferi upon the British Isles. Consequentially, the Goblin population revolted a second time due to the sudden division displayed by their Wizarding foes. During his brief period of triumph in the early years of the war, Godelot published much of his knowledge regarding the Dark Arts. Several of these formerly popular tomes were later burnt into extinction, including his legendary personal library. His infamous grimoire referred to as the Vilis Malificus, a book which had been owned by Morgana Le Fay herself, presumably shared this same fate.
'In the end, it was not Godelot's enemies that came to finish him off, but his children. Hereward and Jezebelle Godelot stole their father's wand, and allowed his enemies to brutally murder. Despite their choice to end the war in favour of Godelot's opposing side the siblings were punished just as harshly as though they had not. Their ancestral inheritance was seized, sprawling libraries plundered, and titles revoked. Hereward perpetuated his father's legacy as a result of this decision. For one day and one night a new rebellion flared up in Scotland until he was caught. Many feared that his powerful sister would again take up the mantle of their House. According, after her brother's sentencing to Azkaban Jezebelle was savagely executed by her father's many enemies.
The secrets of the Godelots dying a premature death with her.'
Hermione stared with a slightly opened mouth at that excerpt from the massive book. She was having trouble breathing at the realization that both lines of her family had sprung from darkness. The Pyrites had blindly served Lord Voldemort, while the Leofric Godelot had been a Dark Lord in his own right. Entire body shaking she stood to rifle through her trunk for the leather bag. Despite being unopened she already had a very good guess regarding what was inside. Unwinding the drawstring which nearly disintegrated to dust she stared at what was revealed to the light. The muggleborn's brown eyes flashed with terror to where her favorite mirror lay unhung. She stared at her horrified face before finding the strength to glance down at it. Glittering venomously in her fingers was a large, black book with a golden lock along the side.
The Vilis Malificus.
OOOO
Cathalain started with a large jerk. His cup of tea falling to the table shortly after. Ears straining the older wizard stood slowly until a wand tip was pressed balefully into the nape of his silver head. "I knew you would come to visit me," He sneered, "The balances have shifted too greatly for you to hide like a rat any longer."
"I want what was stolen from my family," She spoke in a calm tone, frosty and emotionless. The wizard realized in that moment that in her view he was nothing more than ant to be stepped upon. "You will tell me where it is hidden, and the rest will surely follow."
"Stupid bitch," He cackled daringly, "You were always a right bit spotty in the mind. Aye, you'll get everything back, and my family will come with it all. They'll kill you, and then your mudbloo-."
"My granddaughter and I are going to deal with your family easily enough, Cathalain," Cordelia Morrigan whispered in his ear, "They are mere stepping stones. Now tell me where it is or I will make your exiting of this world immensely more difficult."
"Stepping stones? Aah, yes," He grinned, "You Morrigans have gained a fair number more enemies since we last met." The wand was pressed further, but his smile only grew more taunting, "Look beneath the stairs. I'll be seeing you and your salmon-scented snatch in hel-."
"Avada Kedavra," Cordelia intoned purposefully. With another whip of her wand he was transfigured to a button before he even fell to the floor.
OOOO
This was a bit long. Hopefully you all enjoyed it...
Next Chapter: Learning Quidditch.