Chapter Ten: Ladies Wear Pants to Fly.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
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A shaking wrist tugged the cap from the bottle of fire whiskey open. Hermione did not drink the liquid however much she reckoned it could have calmed her nerves. No, instead the girl poured it into the claw foot bathtub. Brown eyes wide with terror a matchbox replaced the empty bottle as soon as the glugging noises faded. Forcing herself to breathe evenly she pointed her wand at the combustible object, "Incendio." The Fire-Making Charm was late second year material and had required much research to even consider attempting. Still, it had worked, though the ultimate purpose did not. For a single instant Hermione Granger believed that the Vilis Maleficus would explode into ashes. Though it did not.
Instead, fire exploded upwards across the wainscotting in a retaliatory jettison. Knocked backwards into the wall she cried out, "Finite incantatem!" Everything faded down leaving scorch marks upon the wall. Unsurprisingly, the book merely seemed to glitter more brilliantly in response to these desperate attempts at its demise. 'Did you learn nothing from trying to dissolve it in the Hag's Blood Tincture?' Asked the voice annoyedly, 'This book is bound to your bloodline. It will not be destroyed.' A more honeyed, persuasive tone entered his next words, 'Focus instead on trying to open it. What made this book so worthwhile that Jezebelle Godelot hid it in Gringrotts only days before dying? Imagine the power you could gain from it.'
That hungry addendum was what sealed the wicked tome's fate. "Shut up," Hermione hissed furiously, bushy hair writhing violently like Medusa's snakes, "I will never read something so dark. So foul." Even trying to do the barest research on the book with a stop at Flourish and Blott's had already led her in several dangerous directions. One supplementary book describing the 'fabled' Villis Malificus postulated that it contained long lost curses such as one that forcibly terminated adulterous pregnancies. Poisons which mandated infant's blood as ingredients. Magic which had no place in civilized society. Hissing furiously she picked the smoldering tome from the bathtub even though it burnt her fingers slightly to do so. Feeling a bit in need of a humorous relief Hermione dropped it in the toilet before shutting the lid tightly. "Wonky," That name tasted wretched on her lips.
A House Elf popped into existence shortly after. "How may Wonky be serving the mistress Granger-Pyrites?"
"Could you please help me?" That was code for perform an act of slavery. "I must repair this wall though I cannot use so much magic without being detected." A pause, "My ability is probably nowhere near close enough to do something so intricate anyways." Flattery seemed to send Wonky into a disturbingly frenzied high as she set quickly to work. Fighting repulsion Hermione stepped into her room, or 'chambers' as they were called in Pyrites Townhouse. Scattered about were piles of things that needed sorting for a year at Hogwarts. Wasting no time, gathering that she would soon be late otherwise, the girl undressed. Reaching into the wardrobe of expensive clothing she decided on a pair of turquoise, silk crepe pants, and a white Oxford blouse.
Slathering Sleakeazy into her hair the girl swept down the stairs after barely remembering to grab her wand. "Sorry it took me so long to change! I'm all ready thou-!" She hobbled into the kitchens while strapping her last heel onto her right foot only to find something unexpected. Cordelia sat at the table with Hermione's mother, trademark glass of red pinched as steadily as ever. "Hullo," The girl righted herself with an awkward smile.
"Your mother told me that Witch Weekly was planning to give you more modelling opportunities. I sincerely hope that this ditzy little facade will never be displayed on a magazine again." Indeed, Hermione's first cover shoot had reflected how deeply uncomfortable she was with it all. Mrs. Misselthorpe had insisted that it would only serve to make her more likeable, and relatable to the readers who were her age. Fashion critics in the following days chittered excitedly that the 'Muggleborn Heroine' was the next big thing.
"Grandmother!" The, almost teenaged, girl swept over to Cordelia while firmly brushing aside the woman's stinginess. With her, at this point well-practiced, gracefulness she pressed two quick kisses to both the woman's cheeks. "I feared you would not be present today. Lady Shafiq was rather displeased at your absence during our last meeting. My words were barely enough to convince her that you indeed were still wholeheartedly invested in the prospects offered by such a prestigious organiza-."
"Drop your silly little act, Hermione," Her grandmother shot the manipulative tripe down like a balloon. "I was preoccupied with matters of great importance to our bloodline. If you were incapable of handling an impetuous wasp like Asphodel Shafiq I would have attended the meeting." A flick of the woman's empty handed wrist caused the seat at the other end of the table to wrench outwards of its own volition. Hermione struggled to hide her shock at the display of nonverbal and wandless magic, both markings of a very competent witch. "Sit down so we can talk. While your mother goes to change into the robes I bought for her."
At that, Bryony Granger who had been watching the undeniably strange interaction between grandmother and granddaughter turned red. Snatching at a bag of designer wizarding robes which rested nearby she stormed huffily from the cavernous kitchens of Pyrites' Townhouse. "It is one thing to bring a muggle to a wizarding party so she can be gawked at. But to have her arrive dressed as a muggle? Everyone would treat the poor woman like an animal in a zoo!"
Hermione slipped with a disbelieving expression into her seat. Of course, she instantly recalled how Asphodel Shafiq had treated her mother during their meeting. Unable to argue with the old bat the muggleborn remained silent. "You lot have done a good job of cleaning this place out," Cordelia nodded somewhat to herself.
"Everything dangerous was moved to the basement." Hermione spoke in an emotionless tone. "We left it for you to neutralize given that I cannot use magic outside of school."
"I am fairly certain we both know that is not quite true," Cordelia intoned with a knowing grin. The muggleborn could not help the wicked smirk which flashed across her own face in turn. "Now," The older witch set the glass of wine down prior to scrutinizing her granddaughter, "I must inform you that more hangs in the balance than just a potentially beneficial betrothal. At this point I am assuming you have prepared yourself to ensnare Mr. Diggory?" Hermione pursed her lips at the reminder of having to 'ensnare' a pureblood heir that was two years older to boot. Cordelia waved her hand dismissively, "You will learn as you go along. However, you must be flawless in your courting of a potentially prestigious apprenticeship this summer. Rubens Winikus, celebrated potioneers and owner of Britain's largest Potions production company will be at the gal-."
Hermione slammed her purse down on the table while already knowing how angry her grandmother would be. Scrambling through the contents she reluctantly slid a creased piece of parchment over to the woman. Cordelia unfurled it carefully prior to reading, an increasingly frosty expression rolling across her haughty features. "Are you hiding anything else from me, girl," The middle-aged beauty almost hissed, "For an offer of apprenticeship from Nicholas Flamel is rather significant."
'Define anything,' The Silky Voice chuckled in Hermione's mind, clearly enjoying the hot water she was suddenly drowning within. "No," The girl lied only to shriek as a blast of matter ruptured the air before them. Slamming down onto the kitchen table with a smack was the Vilis Malificus. Completely dry despite having having been left in the toilet for so long. Broiling brown eyes met a meek pair of the same shade. "Except that the Goblins told me I am the descendant of Jezebelle Godelot's squib." She stared fearfully at the tome of wicked knowledge, "And I have been trying to destroy the Villis Malificus for the past two days…"
Cordelia ignored her half-full glass in favour of taking swig straight from the bottle before her. "A word of advice, sweetling," She set it back down with a heavy thunk, "Never lie. You're awful at keeping secrets."
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The gala was in full blast when they all arrived via floo powder. A House Elf brushed them politely through a massive, stately manor, and out onto an undeniably lovely garden. Spanning no less than several acres the Diggory lawn was nothing short of magical. Fountains which moved spewed brilliant streams of waterworks displays high into the air. Green grass stretched where no trees or flower beds grew leading to large tents which hosted the food. "You find Cedric Diggory," Her grandmother barked temperamentally, much to Bryony's confusion, "I will make the necessary introductions with your mother." With no more words spoken the woman sashayed her way towards the pavillion with Hermione's mother pulled unbreakably close.
Feeling nervous the girl slipped away from the tent. She could not go to find the Diggory scion with such sweaty palms. No, instead she slipped many feet away from the lavish tents and into the gated rose garden. Columns, trellises, and bushels of the pretty variations left her feeling secluded from the world. Breathing deeply Hermione slipped forth whilst feeling the freest she had in a very long while. Eventually she stumbled upon a stone fountain which depicted a magnificent Unicorn. Giggling, the muggleborn reached out a hand causing the animated structure to nuzzle gently against her extended limb. "I liked your hair the way it was before. Back at Hogwarts." A voice spoke behind her.
Gasping Hermione whirled backwards so that her waist pressed against the fountain. One moment, it seemed, she had been fancying herself on a trip to the Queen of Hearts' garden from Alice in Wonderland. Now the childish moment had been exchanged for one that was entirely too adult-like for her taste. A situation thrust upon her by Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, and Cordelia. "That girl might be gone, forever," Hermione spoke over the cacophony of butterflies in her stomach. Her blood was rushing and she felt her head shake violently at the effort of maintaining eye contact with his pretty grey eyes. 'The Godelot heiress flirting with a Diggory,' The Silky Voice hissed scathingly, 'Confound what your grandmother said. She will surely raise the bar now that she knows…'
"Why did you come here?" The handsome fourth year asked suddenly, leaving Hermione feeling uncertain. She always knew the answers, so why was he making her question everything. "To avoid going to the party? To avoid having to talk to all of the drearily important guests?" Her continued silence seemed to be enough of an answer for him, as he stood. Hermione suddenly noticed that he wore a pair of silken Quidditch robes, proudly clad in Hufflepuff colours of course. In hand was a well-polished Nimbus. "You wouldn't have ambled your way through our rose gardens if there weren't the slightest bit of 'that girl' left." His sculpted jawline was not capable of speaking any mistruths, Hermione breathlessly decided. Lies could not come from the mouth of such a handsome, kind wizard.
"Look," Cedric Diggory stared at her with sudden sternness, " We both know what is happening here. Your grandmother wants our political influence, and mine wants your inheritance. I am not ready for a betrothal though." There was a sudden vulnerability.
"Thank Merlin!" Hermione breathed out relievedly, a bit too eagerly. They both burst into laughter. Him chuckling nervously while she giggled abashedly. "Perhaps, we could ignore our grandmothers for now," The muggleborn smiled, "And just focus on trying to become friends."
There were two important things Hermione learned that summer afternoon with Cedric Diggory. First was that he could talk her into anything no matter how terrifying, even flying on a broom with him. The second was that any respectable heiress should always wear pants whenever she visited the Diggory Residence.
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"Goodnight mum," Hermione pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek when they arrived back at Pyrites' Townhouse. The gala had gone well into the evening, and her mother was understandably exhausted after having been gawked at by hordes of wizards. The woman squeezed her into a hug prior to bidding Cordelia a very cordial farewell and fleeing for her bed.
"You bewitched the Diggory heir," Cordelia huffed into an ancient sofa of the parlour room, "I expected it would take more time than that."
"We are friends. Nobody is bewitched, grandmother," Hermione corrected sternly, "And his name is Cedric. He is more than a bag of meat for us to haggle over." She made to sit across from the witch though Cordelia Granger made a sharp motion.
"Sit next to me, girl," Just with those words she managed to leave Hermione feeling out of control again. With hesitant grace she slipped in a jitterish manner beside her grandmother. Fingers reached over to grip at the girl's chin though not in an indelicate manner. "You are a pretty girl, who will turn into a beautiful woman sooner rather than later. You are more intelligent than any other child I have ever encountered, enough so to become a rival to Dumbledore's power one day with hard work. You are brave enough to stand against the Dark Lord. You are as elegant as any heiress ought to be." An empowering gleam seemed to arc straight from Cordelia's brown eyes to Hermione's heart. "Now you are the last of the Godelot bloodline. Certainly you have researched that House? Learnt what the victors of history have written about them?"
"Yes," Hermione answered morosely, worrying over the Silky Voice's words.
"Know now that your prospects are no longer limited to 'blood traitors', wealthy muggleborns, and middling Purebloods like the Diggory's. Many would murder to not only be able to say the blood of House Godelot runs through their veins, but that they have read the Villis Malificus as well." She kicked her heels off to rub tenderly at the red flesh beneath. "I am not cruel enough to tell you to steer clear of Cedric Diggory, not when you are clearly so fond of him. Just know that you are in charge of a powerful legacy. It is what you make of it, not what others wish it to be." Fingers reached up to the girl's mildly frizzing locks, sleakeazy only worked so long after all. "If anything ever happens to me," A sad expression sunk heavily on her face, making Cordelia look twelve years older than she truly was, "Know this at least. Your prospects are no longer limited. Between the apprenticeship with Nicholas Flamel, and the birthright revealed to me this evening, you are in a strong position. Settle for nothing less than the world Hermione."
"Why would you not be there?" The girl blurted suddenly with a feeling of dread settling in her belly.
"I told you that we are playing a dangerous game. One you will be fully exposed to soon enough. Too soon in the near future." She reached into her purse, enchanted with an Undetectable-Extension Charm, of course. Withdrawing two objects. One was the Villis Malificus while the other was completely foreign to Hermione. A cracked medicine bag with a golden clasp shaped in the form of a crow. Clearly something pertaining to House Morrigan. "You must be prepared to care for your own wellbeing, as I will not live forever." With that the vile tome was thrusted into Hermione's palms. "If that means reading a book filled with forgotten, ancient Black Magic then you must. The Villis Malificus must contain knowledge even Dumbledore does not know. Having an arsenal of unknown spells can be all that stands in the way of death." The gilded letters glittered daringly up at her, "Neither of us can afford to be snooty in our methods of survival."
"This," Red fingernails pushed the bag towards Hermione, "Is an important heirloom. It only opens for those of our bloodline with a strong connection to the Crow." She sat back to watch as her granddaughter tried to open the bag only for nothing to happen. "Pity. My father tried the same test with me when I turned seventeen. He was disappointed to say the least. Harped about how I lacked the eye of the Morrigan. Then I had to watch as it passed instead to my cousin Anne." A wicked, mirthful smile flashed over her haunted eyes, "Though that eye of the Morrigan helped her little when the blood feud began. I survived. Now one of our descendants will claim this bag as their own."
The door to the parlour opened as Hugo Granger halted to stare at them. He had gone down to a local pub to watch some big soccer tournament or other. Hermione for the life of her could hardly understand Quidditch let alone the boring muggle sports without brooms. Tucking the book beneath her arm, leaving the bag and its disappointment for Cordelia to keep, she swept over to her father. He hugged her with one arm before she pecked a kiss to his cheek. "Please forgive her dad," The girl whispered, "Have a little chat before she leaves."
"Off to bed, you pest," He whispered back. The last thing Hermione saw as she slipped upstairs was her father sitting on the couch with her grandmother. Both of them locked in a tight embrace that spoke of forgiven betrayals. Of love.
She felt quite prepared to return to Hogwarts after seeing such an inspiring thing.
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Remember that nothing is as it seems.
Next Chapter: Not by Blood or Bone, but Secrets.