Black Luminary

by YakAge

The war against the Dark Lord was the last straw. The oppressed, fed up with oligarchy, corruption, and injustice, sharpened their knives, rallying behind those who promised change. They won. Today, Magical Britain is a changed country – for the better. Hail and praise to our saviours! Finally, all is well. But listen! Can't you hear the grindstone turning still ...?

19. HD: Inaugurations part II and III

This chapter is dedicated to Haley and Daze for putting up with my dubious schedule. Without their efforts, I'd never be able to get this done. The both of you are awesome!

Inaugurations part II and III

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'I get it already, Draco. I get it!' Hermione snarled indignantly, clenching her fists. 'There's no need to talk to me like I'm a five-year-old.'

The Malfoy merely sneered at her condescendingly. 'What there's no need of,' he said with forced calm, 'is to place higher expectations on you, it seems.'

Both of them stared menacingly at each other before they closed their eyes at exactly the same moment to compose themselves, resulting in a moment of uneasy silence between the Muggle-born and the pure-blood.

Hermione broke first under the pressure. 'Why did you do that to my Christmas card, Draco?' she asked, her voice more hurt than angry now.

The boy, she observed, ran his hand through his hair in annoyance. 'Look, Granger. I presume you probably meant well, but have either Harry or Tracey responded or mentioned your Christmas card?'

'Ehm...no?' That had indeed been a matter of some worry to her. She had, at the very least, expected Tracey to respond.

'And that is mostly because it was much more of a slap than a friendly gesture of goodwill. If Harry didn't, for whatever inexplicable reason that so far eludes me, like you at all, he probably would have sent you a hex per return owl. And probably a really nasty one at that. I would sincerely advise you to not anger the Blacks in such a careless manner,' he said, stressing the last point as if talking to a loveable but slightly dim-witted toddler. 'Just so you stay safe, you know.'

Hermione squinted her eyes. That didn't seem like Harry at all. 'You're exaggerating, aren't you? Harry isn't as mean-spirited as you! It took me hours to clean up the tar, and that's not even including the grilling I had to endure from my parents,' she mumbled. 'That was tar, right? Please tell me it was just tar!'

Draco's usual smirk flickered for a fleeting moment across his face. 'Let's just go with tar and leave it at that,' he said in a maddening tone of superiority. Then, quite suddenly, his expression changed back to a deep frown. 'I assure you he would. Man, it's so wrong that I'll have to be the one to spell it out for you...' He seemed to ponder something for a little while before coming to some sort of conclusion. He sighed. 'Alright, sit, Granger, and pay attention!'

Hermione did not take kindly to Draco's allusions of megalomania, but she chose to heed his order in this instance. Maybe this would shed some light on the diffuse and incomprehensible social rules of the pure-bloods.

'There is a reason why there exist few friendships between traditionally minded pure-bloods and Mudbl...Muggle-borns these days. The Ministry has, contrary to what you might intuitively guess or perceive through experience, passed a great many laws and educational reforms to make the lives of students without magical background far easier than they have ever been before.'

'Which is a good thing!' Hermione insisted hotly.

'I presume it was done with good intentions, granted, but that is the most positive statement you will hear me say about it. As always with big political decisions, long-term consequences are hard to calculate, often hanging in the balance for a while until one or another finally prevails. Exactly like with this one. For nearly twenty years it looked like everything would work out-let's say-reasonably well. More Muggle-borns than ever attended Hogwarts and seemed to get along amiably enough with the rest. After the war, many ministerial or commercial positions were severely understaffed, and there was a general need for able wizards and witches, no matter their background. Thus, a lot of...non-pure-bloods rose quickly through the ranks, occupying very respectable and responsible positions like the head of the Goblin Liaison Office.'

'Which is also a good thing!' Hermione snapped at his tone that clearly expressed his disdain.

Malfoy gritted his teeth angrily. 'Shut your trap! If you interrupt me every time something arouses your approval, I'll hex your lips together!' No hint of his usual swagger and rompishness remained by now in his expression. Cold, hard fury took its place. 'And regarding your uneducated and preconceived views, the first Muggle-born head of said office nearly started a war between the British Ministry of Magic and the Goblin Nation!'

Hermione sat on her chair and stared at him slack-jawed. 'How?' she asked quietly.

'Because he was prematurely promoted, which, in all fairness, was an oversight a pure-blood made in the first place.' Again, he ran his hands through his white-blond mane that magically held its billowy barnet in stylish shape. 'Look, I'm not trying to insult you this time, but Muggle-borns are different than those raised within traditional pure-blood culture.'

Hermione tried her best to keep her feelings to herself and asked in a quiet voice, 'Why do you insist on saying something mean like that, Draco?'

He looked, she noted with a small feeling of placation, just a touch troubled by her expression. Or maybe with what he had to say. 'It's because you were raised in a different society that values different attributes in a person of standing, tells an altogether different-meaning wrong-history, has other customs, manners, morals, goals in education... The list goes on forever! The person I spoke of nearly endangered a very fragile peace at the time because he misjudged his own actions, and, unwittingly I'm sure, offended the Goblins with his non-existing knowledge regarding our postal formalities. A joke, right? He nearly killed thousands because he couldn't write a formal letter...'

Hermione sank a bit in her chair, and Draco, shifting from one foot to another for a while, sat down and looked her straight in the eye that just barely managed to stay tear-free. 'I mean, I'm not saying that Muggle-borns are an inferior race or anything. A pure-blood raised by Muggles is no different to me than you and vice-versa, though I'll be honest with you that I still believe that people from a certain background make better wizards or witches.' He paused again for a while, frown firmly etched on his face before he lightened up. 'Look, if you moved to another country, say China, you could probably learn most essential customs within the span of a few months, provided you could speak Mandarin, of course. You agree?'

Hermione nodded dejectedly, seeing where this was going. 'But your background knowledge is still never quite the same, is it? Even if you get by for ten years without being outed as a foreigner, socially at least, you still could, at any time of the day really, make a blunder because you didn't know a particular children's story, or an old politician, or a very specific custom that fell out of practice.'

Draco looked thankful that she had gotten the point so quickly. He shifted his pose to sit up straight and coughed in a curiously academic fashion that reminded Hermione instantly of Harry. 'Very good, Granger! Trivial yet socially relevant knowledge is, in general, not easily acquired through secondary means, as our good Harry might say.' He smiled crookedly. 'Sadly, the cultural span between Muggle China and Britain is considerably easier to bridge than the one between Muggle Britain and pure-blood, traditional magical Britain. The country was already split way before the Statue of Secrecy was actually enforced, and 350 years of isolation contributed the rest. Imagine what Iceland would look like if they built a steel dome around the island and refused to let anyone enter for more than half a millennium.'

Hermione couldn't help herself and looked droopily at her feet. In all honesty, she just wanted to leave and cry herself to sleep. Never before had she felt so much an outcast than right at this moment. Even the thought of forsaking the magical world completely crossed her mind briefly, and she had to admit that it didn't appear half as appalling as she would have considered it to be a few moments ago. 'So it'll never be exactly the same for me?' she asked in a hushed voice, turning her head away from Draco to hide her stinging eyes.

'No,' he said without mercy or pause.

Her body quivered a few times as she suppressed the violent urge to break into tears. I will not cry! At least not right here, right now, she admonished herself over and over inside her head. In the end, though, her will succumbed to the horrible feeling of disconnection that distorted everything she had previously so ignorantly and innocently thought delightfully different. Maybe I really just don't belong here...

She sat on her chair for a long while, silently spilling bitter tears of disillusionment. Eventually, Draco, whom she had completely forgotten by this point, awkwardly cleared his throat. 'Damn Tracey! I'm so going to get you for this,' he muttered more to himself than to her. She looked up at him and saw that he was offering her a silken green handkerchief with small animated snakes embroidered on it. The snakes winked at her cutely.

She couldn't help herself and let out a puny little laugh that got caught up with another sob along the way as she gingerly dabbed at her eyes. Eventually, she calmed herself a bit. 'Thank you,' she said shakily, trying her best to ignore her slightly hot cheeks. 'T-that is kind of cute, you know. I never figured you to be the kind of person to have something like this.' She indicated the hanky he had given her.

'My...my mother gave it to me,' he chuntered reluctantly.

She turned her gaze from the twee and merry little snakes to Draco, who looked intently back at her. To Hermione's surprise, she still saw the slight discomfort in the cool armour of his demeanour. 'So?' she croaked, intent on getting everything out in the open this time. 'What's the deal with the Christmas cards?'

Draco sighed, seemingly readopting his previous displeasure at her ignorance, which she found perplexingly reassuring. 'We don't celebrate Christmas, Granger. Traditionally, in magical Britain and most of Europe at least, we have Yule.' Seeing her look, he hastily added, 'Which is something like winter-solstice if you aren't familiar with the term.'

Hermione scoffed at that, suppressing a hiccup. 'But why the strong reaction just because you celebrate a different holiday? It seems to be around December too, so what's the big problem?'

'The problem,' he suspired for what she estimated to be the twelfth time this day, 'is not Christmas. Do you believe us so hypocritical and bigoted that we would shun you for your own beliefs and upbringing and expect you to unquestioningly accept ours?'

Hermione bit her lips and looked through red eyes at her feet again, not daring to affirm his suspicions.

Draco, however, didn't seem to need her confirmation. 'Look, the situation isn't as easy as that. Don't you think it's strange that Harry and I know all about Christmas but you've probably never heard of Yule before?'

'Yes, that is strange. I thought it was tradition! Shouldn't Hogwarts refer to it at least on some rudimentary level?'

Draco grimaced. 'It should. I hadn't finished my little explanation before we steered off topic, but prove to me that you're the smart little girl Tracey says you are and figure it out yourself.'

Hermione thought back to the ill-advised promotion with its nearly catastrophic outcome and to the situation that had led to it. 'You said there were lots of open posts and not enough pure-bloods, or as you said, people of the right background?'

Draco nodded slowly, urging her on.

'Which, I take it, led to an influx of Muggle culture to a previously sheltered little society?'

Her interlocutor repeated himself before adding, 'There were other factors too, of course. For example, in the past, many Muggle-borns refused to enter magical Britain and were obliviated, their magic forcefully bound. Inconveniently, the prejudices against what the public perceived as strange talents weakened a bit, leading to many more Muggle-borns actually attending Hogwarts.'

'And that wave, of course, smashed against the witches and wizards who were already weakened after the war.' She nodded to herself, still rather mopey.

'More or less,' Draco said reluctantly. 'But it only gets more complicated from there. Several popular pure-blood clans tried to forestall the inevitable surge of power the Muggle-borns would eventually receive and brought about massive and radical change.'

'The Pillars,' Hermione whispered.

Draco did actually smile this time. 'Good to see you keeping up. They prematurely appeased something that would, given enough time, probably have turned into a radical and volatile part of society. The only problem is, the resulting situation does not sit well with pretty much anyone. The Muggle-borns realise that, though many things have on the surface changed in their favour, the old ways don't die out quite as easily as they had hoped, and let me put it this way: we are not only talking about festivities and manners. Not to mention that the Pillars are, of course, pure-blood clans and still herald most of the really important decisions.

'Now, the Pillars themselves stand between two fires, as the traditionalists and the Muggle-borns both vie for more power and influence, both with popular support, I might add. Not to mention that they had to sell part of their identity to stay in control and power. So far only their shiny reputation as war heroes has managed to keep them firmly settled in their seats.

'The traditionalists, as you might imagine, despise the Pillars for several reasons, most notably for selling out our identity under the pretext of peace while they conveniently secured themselves something which is slowly turning into a dynasty, not that anyone would be daring enough to use the word in public. At the same time, they regard the Muggle-born movement with hardly concealed contempt, because they were, as some put it, coerced to give up traditions they held dear for more than a thousand years because some upstarts made a grab for power.

'Truthfully, it's all still a lot more complicated. All the factions are further splintered down, often championed by particularly famous or powerful families with varying degrees of radicalness. Only the Pillars have, so far at least, managed to present a united front, led by the Prewetts. Though, in recent years, some of those families that have strong ties with the Ministry have distanced themselves from the Pillars and formed their own little circle around Crouch, who, as you might have gathered yesterday evening, is our current Minister for Magic.'

Spotting her completely overwhelmed expression, he smirked. 'Got all that, Granger?'

Hermione shut her eyes and leant back in her seat. 'Yes,' she said in a tired voice before she braved a very feeble smile. 'In short, it's a mess.'

'Couldn't have put it better myself!' Draco returned solemnly.

Hermione absent-mindedly chewed on her lips a bit, before she threw Draco a calculating look. 'You said that I should never expect to completely bridge the gap created by our different upbringings.'

Draco nodded curtly. 'It's better you face the truth of it now than be disappointed later on, Granger.'

'Yes, well, but now that I think a bit more clearly about the whole thing, how can a few years make so much of a difference?' she asked challengingly to make up for her rather embarrassing outburst earlier.

'It's not so much the years but the opportunity.' He waved his hands to indicate his helplessness in the matter. 'Where do you expect to get the information you need?'

'A book?' she said automatically, feeling slightly foolish for suggesting something so easy.

Draco shook his head. 'It's not that simple. By tradition and once upon a time for need of security, most magical societies pass on their knowledge verbally. That is why books that are older than two or three hundred years are extremely rare and expensive. I heard that Flourish and Blotts recently sold a magical monograph about some long forgotten but revered wizards and witches for more than 800,000 Galleons.'

Hermione gasped, slightly unbelieving about the exorbitant sum. On the other hand, she mused, it did make a certain amount of sense. In a world where knowledge was tangible power, tomes like that would be coveted by all who had the resources to buy and the wit to understand them. Still, that's a rather frightening amount of gold.

'Who could afford that, though?' Hermione asked, honestly in awe of who had that much money to burn through.

'Who indeed,' Draco returned, smiling as if enjoying a private joke. 'What I'm saying, Granger, is that you'd have to hire a tutor who spends at least a few hours a day for several years to give you a thorough insight into our world, not that that service is even something anyone offers, as far as I know. Even then, you'd need time to adjust. Learning something and living it naturally and without thought are just not the same. Most people wouldn't ever be able to pull it off convincingly.'

'So you're saying I couldn't manage?' Hermione demanded, her voice rising a bit.

Draco looked thoughtful for a second, cocking his head back and forth. 'I'm not sure you can,' he said honestly. 'I know you're quite smart and you definitely read a lot, but this is about more than just books, you know.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'I don't see how that's a problem! Even if I mess up every once and again, as long as I get the gist of it, I should at least be able to passably move in your circles without offending people left and right, shouldn't I?'

'I don't know,' Draco said, clearly amused while looking at her sceptically. 'Could you?'

'Yes, I definitely could, you conceited jerk!' Hermione shouted in his face defiantly, her performance, she had to admit, probably slightly ruined by her puffy eyes and somewhat frequent sniffing.

Draco stared at her unflinchingly, clearly gauging her reaction. After several painful seconds, he grinned and reached behind him. Hermione, completely nonplussed by yet another incomprehensible reaction, saw that he was reaching into the bag that held his school supplies, from which he seemed to procure three books, two of which looked old and battered. Carefully, he laid them on the table before her. Hermione just stared at him as he seated himself opposite her again, a big smirk on his face. Then she took in the titles of the books: Distinguished Families of Great Britain; Manners or Malevolence? A Study of Muggle Sociology; Political Events of the 20th Century and their Impact on European Magical Societies.

Again, she looked from the books towards Draco, whose smirk seemed to gain power with each passing second of her obvious befuddlement. Eventually, she found her voice again. 'You...you scheming schizophrenic! You did it again! I can't believe I fell for it another time, you stupid Maltese,' she shouted, completely scandalised. 'Can't you for once just ask me if I want to pull through with something? Really, are all pure-bloods such psychos?'

Draco watched her with great amusement, just barely, and quite obviously, holding in the urge to laugh at her.

Flaring her nostrils angrily, Hermione turned away from the infuriating little ponce to have a second look at the books. Then she blinked and had a third look that was reserved for the second title. Wordlessly opening it, she quickly found out that it was a sociological dissertation from the year 1782. 'Where did you get that?' she demanded, still fuming. 'It somehow doesn't seem to be up your alley, and didn't you tell me that old books are valuable?'

'Don't ask, it's not mine! It belongs to…a friend who has a passing and morbid interest in Muggle society. And yes, while that book is only a transcribed copy, as the original is in either Russian or German or something, I kind of forgot. What you hold in your hands is still probably worth at least 3,000 Galleons,' he explained casually. 'If you found someone barmy enough to buy that stuff,' he added in a slightly lower voice. 'The book is, as per usual, charmed to not take unnecessary blemish or damage when worked with, and you won't be able to copy the contents directly or indirectly out of it.'

'How does that work,' Hermione asked curiously. 'Can I write down my thoughts on what I learn from them or take notes?'

'Don't ask me how; it's a seriously complicated piece of enchantment. Most private libraries are secured like that to prevent espionage or theft of knowledge.'

'Does this have something to do with why you are all so...guarded with information about your families?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'Yes and no,' Draco returned while rolling his eyes. 'Third book, chapter seventeen. Make sure to pay special attention to chapters three, sixteen, and forty-two as well.'

'I thought you said that there were no books to help with this problem,' she said scathingly.

'Nope,' he said in an intentionally infuriatingly Muggle way of speaking that she only now understood to be quite ironic. 'I said it wouldn't be easy. Still, be happy you have those books. There are probably only three people in our year that could get their hands on something like the first or second one. The history book is, on the other hand, a standard introduction for the children of traditionally minded families.'

With that, he got up from his seat and stretched his back. 'Well, I'm off. We'll postpone our meetings until you can greet me without mortally offending me or my family. Bye bye, little Granger.' He waved his hand lazily as he strutted towards the exit.

Hermione's glare followed him until he was out through the door. Why can't that arrogant prat just tell me anything straight up? Why does it always have to be so circumventive? One of these days I'll pay him back! And Harry too for his little stunt with the Sorting.

Grinning eagerly at the thought of one-upping those blasted schemers, she collected the three books Draco had lent her and put them away rather gingerly, seeing as her parents could buy a small car for the price of just one of them. Just when she turned to leave, her eyes darted to the small dress handkerchief with the diminutive snakes that batted their eyelids so adorably at her. She picked it up. Fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, she stuffed it into her robes and went off towards the Slytherin common room.

Maybe it's not all that bad.

~BLHD~

'Water, please,' Harry called out, his voice raw and unsteady, a slight feeling of déjà-vu that he could not quite understand further confusing his already clouded mind.

He heard hasty footsteps. 'Mr Black! My word, just a second...' The matron swept off, ripping open at least a dozen cupboards and drawers all over the room and quite clearly paying absolutely no mind to closing them again.

'How are you, Harry?' Harry tried with all his might to turn his neck to look the other way, but it hurt so much that he nearly cried out in pain.

'Don't be ridiculous, Harry,' said Arcturus soothingly as he settled himself on the other side of his bed.

'Grandfather,' Harry called out calmer than he had felt before. 'I-I don't feel too good... How late is it?' He was surprised how thin and weak his voice sounded.

Arcturus offered him his wand, and Harry just managed to close his fingers around it in a weak grip. 'It has been nearly eleven days since your fight. Your injuries were quite severe, I'm afraid.'

'Eleven days?' Harry shouted out, immediately regretting the impulse as his throat started burning while his brain seemed to dissolve into painful and liquid mush. He closed his eyes again as his vision blurred.

'Don't overexert yourself, Harry,' Arcturus said as he gently pushed him down again. 'I do believe that you will have to spend a few more days in Poppy's care. I will not allow you to overtax your body.'

Harry simply grunted his agreement, not daring to open his mouth at the moment, when he sank back into the bed and tried to relax.

'I wish you were here more often, Lord Black.' Pomfrey approached them with a tray full of potions, tonics and salves. 'I've never seen him so compliant in my care.'

Harry winced involuntarily, even as a new streak of pain shot up his head.

'Oh, pray tell, Poppy. For some reason or another, this matter has yet to be brought to my attention. Curious.' His grandfather spoke in a scolding, if still rather affectionate, tone.

'Lord Black, I mean no offence, of course,' Pomfrey said in a voice that seemed to relish in her inevitable victory over Harry's reluctance. Harry opened his eyes and shot her a huffy look. 'But your grandson tends to hide his wounds from me if he thinks he can get away with it.'

'Really now?' Arcturus asked, eyebrow raised, holding Harry in a steely gaze. 'In that case, I think I'll lend Hogwarts one of our house-elves. You may call upon Minnie should Harry prove uncooperative in the future. She will know what to do. If you'll excuse me, Poppy, I have to clear some matters with the headmaster.'

'Grandfather,' Harry croaked once again.

'Rest up, Harry,' Arcturus overrode him. 'We shall speak again soon.'

'What about, you know...' His voice died away before he had finished the sentence, the shame of what had happened slowly creeping into his face.

'Worry not. The matter has been dealt with.' He leant closer and placed his body between Pomfrey and Harry. 'Now all you and the others need to do is flush them out. That shall remain your task, my son,' he whispered.

The old man squeezed his shoulders in a reassuring way before he straightened his posture.

'What did you do?' Harry asked with wonder in his eyes.

'Oh, nothing much,' Arcturus said with the innocence of a demon. 'I just informed all the Wizengamot families that I will, most regrettably, be forced to declare blood-feud against the perpetrators, their families, their political allies, their connivers and any and all who try to aid them from this point forth.'

Harry gaped in awe at the figure of his grandfather, not even registering the shocked outcry of the matron who had seemingly dropped a few jars in alarm.

'But I am not an unreasonable man,' Arcturus continued in his voice of apparent civility. 'Should they accept life-long exile, I shall content myself with sparing those underage at the time of their misdeeds. There still is so much to do. We will speak soon, Harry.' He presented Harry with one last sincere and clearly relieved smile before he turned to leave. 'And do remember my offer, Poppy.'

Harry looked up at the ceiling, listening with all his might to every footstep the retreating figure left behind.

'I think he was here with you the entire time, you know, Harry,' the matron said eventually, her voice slightly wispy.

Harry looked at her. 'How very forward of you, Madame Pomfrey.' They stared at each other for a few seconds before Harry cracked a friendly grin. 'Thanks for patching me up again.'

'Well, it is my job, so don't worry about it.' She gave a small laugh. 'But now that you're awake you'll have to pay close attention to what I do.'

'Ugh,' he complained. 'Is it just me or is it a bit morbid to study Healing with your own battered and broken body?'

'Keep your witty Slytherin remarks to a minimum at this point in time.' Smiling warmly, she added, 'Now, drink this, and then we'll change your bandages.'

~BLHD~

Hermione had her nose nearly pressed against her book, as she lay on her bed in the dormitories. The book with the strange red cover, Distinguished Families of Great Britain, had turned out to be a rather boring if informative compilation. Hermione had, at this point, more or less skipped through it, only reading the parts that interested her the most. She had read about the Malfoys, the Greengrasses, Prewetts, about the Minister's family, and even about some of her classmates like the Bones and Abbotts. The biggest surprise had been the Longbottoms, though. Who would have thought that the soft-spoken and likeable if somewhat unremarkable Gryffindor was part of a very important clan of pure-bloods that were nearly on equal grounds in prestige with the Prewetts? Their political pull might, in fact, be even greater. The book speculated about political connections that were way over her head, about ancestry, foreign connections and a lot more. The Blacks, she thought, had the most frustrating yet insightful entry of them all.

'Of the Black family that has been heralded throughout Britain and Europe, we shall not say too much. From believable rumours, we are fairly certain in stating that this particularly influential, semi-patrilineal clan of magicians has been prominent for at least 800 years and originally hailed from eastern France. Stories of their vast fortunes are at least as prominent as those of their legendary vengeance if it is ever called upon. Due to recent political events, all records, notes, paintings, family trees and letters are lost to us.'

Hermione carefully read the last sentence yet another time. What do they mean, the records are lost? How can all records suddenly cease to exist? It was a mystery, and Hermione loved solving mysteries. Due to recent political events, she repeated in her head again. Hesitantly, she reached for one of her other new treasures. She would have preferred to read Political Events of the 20th Century and their Impact on European Magical Societies last, so that she could not only recognise the big names but also understand the underlying strife and conflicts due to her study of Manners or Malevolence?, but, apparently, it was not to be.

She was just about to have a look at around 1946, the date when the almanac on pure-blood families had been written, in her new history book when the door to the dormitories slammed open with a bang. Jumping a bit, Hermione looked up from her books. Daphne was thundering into the room, Tracey being dragged along in her wake.

'What's going on?' Hermione asked curiously.

Daphne whirled around, looking at her. Then she ascertained whether any of the other girls was present as well. When she finally was sure they were alone, her face broke into childish delight, and she nearly screamed in excitement, 'Harry's awake! We're going down to see him right now!' Her face was so positively glowing with giddiness, that Hermione had to fight down a laugh.

'Really?' she asked eagerly. 'Can I go see him, too?'

Daphne's smile collapsed like a building that suddenly missed its first few floors. 'I...don't want that. Not tonight.'

Hermione looked down in disappointment. 'Why not? I want to see Harry as well...' she said earnestly.

'It's just...I don't...But...' Daphne stammered, her eyes flickering from Hermione to Tracey until the shorter girl came forth and gently took hold of Hermione's hand.

'You can come with us tomorrow, alright, Honey? Daphne and Harry are really, really close. I don't think he'll be able to talk very much tonight anyway to be honest, but tell that to the overzealous little child behind me.'

'I'm not a child!' Daphne stomped her foot petulantly. 'And I'm not overzealous!' She quivered for a second. 'Come on, Tracey. Let's go already, we're wasting time!'

Tracey snickered and rolled her eyes. 'See what I mean?' she whispered to Hermione, chuckling brightly.

Hermione nodded reluctantly, giving the diminutive witch in front of her a small smile. 'Okay, but you promise you'll take me along tomorrow?'

'You bet,' Tracey said, her eyes dancing merrily. She looked down at Hermione's bed and raised an eyebrow before crouching down to pick up the work on British families Draco had given her. Tracey softly shook her head. 'Honey, you really should want to hide illegal intelligence reports better than dropping them on your bed.'

Hermione wagged her head like a child trying to get water out of its ears. Surely she hadn't caught that right. 'Ehm, you're kidding, right, Tracey?'

Tracey grinned at her obvious cluelessness. 'I'm totally, deadly serious right now, Honey. If you get caught with that, it's expulsion and, at the very least, permanent surveillance for life for you,' the girl with the golden eyes informed her happily, ignoring the blabbering sounds Hermione tried to articulate into coherent words. She also had a look at the other books. 'Ooh, I know that one,' she said, pointing at the sociological study. 'That's a good one, good on you to have been given that.'

That broke her out of her reverie. 'You know whom it originally belongs to?'

Tracey's amusement grew, if possible, even further. 'You're saying you don't?'

'Traaacey!' Daphne's whiny voice floated in from beyond the door. 'Hurry, hurry, hurry!'

Tracey tittered again. 'Look, I've got to go. Daphne won't calm down until we see Harry. Do take care of those books, Honey. Oh, and go for chapter seventeen in the political introduction. See you later!'

With that, the bubbly witch shot off towards the infirmary. Hermione blinked a few times. She was joking, wasn't she? Carefully, and with no small amount of fear, she opened the last page of the genealogy.

There, in proud letters with many a flourish and a very important looking coat of arms, stood:

'This confidential report is the sole property of the Department of Mysteries, British Ministry of Magic. Unauthorised review or disclosure may lead to judicial seizure of property and person in accordance with Wizengamot enactment 12a1592.'

Oh for the love of... That psychotic jerk is just doing whatever he wants with me! I swear I'll get him for this one of these days even if it's the last thing I'll ever do!

~BLHD~

Harry was still lying in his bed, mulling things over in his head, at least when he was awake. He couldn't exactly fathom how it had come to this, but he felt disconcertingly drained and weak. Maybe he was expecting too much too soon, but he couldn't help but worry slightly about how he periodically fell asleep due to fatigue. By now, it was night, and Harry, having been awake for nearly an hour now (which-sadly-was a record), tried to analyse the events that had led to his injuries as best as he could. He had followed...Tracey. A wounded Tracey. That much he remembered. Then a fight had ensued, during which Tracey was only noticeable by her absence. An imposter, then.

Merlin, it's good they unwittingly picked Tracey as their target. If it had been Draco or even Hermione, I'd probably have had to consider unpleasant alternatives...

Harry heard the door of the infirmary open. Oh, please no! Give me a break already! Gripping his wand under the sheet as tightly as he could, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Two pairs of footsteps approached with what he considered careless levels of noise. Harry sighed inaudibly.

'Harry!' Daphne called excitedly. 'Harry, we've just heard that you've woken up. I've been worried sick, you kn...' The colouring of her voice changed so abruptly from enthusiasm to disappointment that Harry had to fight down a laugh. 'Aw, he's asleep again.'

He felt one of them coming even closer, probably examining him. 'Are you sure, Daphy?' Tracey eventually said, and Harry could just imagine her grinning. Damn, Tracey!

'What you...you think he's pretending?' Harry rather had the impression that Daphne considered feigning sleep a highly sinister crime worth unspeakable punishment.

'Well,' Tracey said with a chuckle, 'if he's really not awake, he won't mind us...checking, will he?'

'Oh! I like your thinking, Tracey!' Daphne returned eagerly. Before Harry knew what was happening, Daphne had climbed onto the bed, straddling him. 'He totally won't mind a little good-night kiss, don't you think?'

'Nah, just go for it, Sweetie!' Tracey egged her on, laughing friskily.

Harry snapped his eyes open as fast as he could. 'I'm awake!' he proclaimed as loudly as he dared, sitting up a bit.

Daphne looked equal parts happy to see him and playfully disappointed that she'd been robbed of the opportunity. Nervously, Harry realised that his cousin didn't bother to move from her rather precarious position. 'You know, Harry,' she said, grinning mischievously, 'I think I'll have to punish you either way for trying to weasel your way out of this.'

'Y-you wouldn't,' he protested, aghast.

Daphne steadily closed the distance between their faces, her smile slowly receding. 'Oh, I think I will. What are you going to do about it?' she asked matter-of-factly.

'I...b-but!' Before Harry could finish his weak protests, Daphne flung herself onto him, trapping him in a fierce embrace that really hurt his washed-up body, burying her face in the nape of his neck.

'I was so worried!' she cried out, her voice slightly muffled as she refused to let go of him. 'You pull some kind of crap again, land yourself here, seriously injured... T-they didn't even tell us if you'd be okay! And y-you not speaking to us either...' Harry felt something hot sprinkling his neck. 'I w-was so worried.' Daphne stammered on, holding him even closer as if to make sure he wouldn't suddenly disappear.

Harry relaxed a bit despite the embarrassment and pain in his ribs. Patting her back a bit, he mumbled soothingly, 'I'm okay, Daphne.'

But she didn't respond, shaking her head in denial, shedding tears without abashment. Harry cast an imploring look over Daphne's shoulder towards Tracey, who looked back at him, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.

'It's good you're okay, Harry,' she said, smiling softly as her gaze alternated between Harry and her best friend. 'We've been down here to check on you nearly every day, you know? You really don't know how rude it is to make the ladies wait for you like that.'

Daphne nodded without easing her grip, causing Harry to grin sheepishly. 'It was not exactly my choice to stand you up. But it sure is good to be back...'

'What happened, Harry?' Tracey asked, her voice serious now. 'They won't tell us.'

Harry exhaled deeply. 'Someone...ambushed me. They lured me into an abandoned corridor. From what I remember, I think there were about half a dozen of them, probably third years and upwards.'

'How did they get you there?' Tracey's gaze tore into his eyes. 'Surely you're not stupid enough to just walk into a trap like that.'

'They...' he paused again. 'I'm sorry, Tracey. I believe they used Polyjuice.'

The little witch's eyes widened in understanding. 'You mean...?'

Harry nodded, still rubbing Daphne's back to help her calm down.

Tracey frowned. 'Well, that just confirms our theory about a Slytherin being in on this. It wouldn't have been difficult to nick a few hairs from my bed or something.'

'Probably,' Harry agreed.

'So, what happened, then? Did you fight them off?' Tracey asked, businesslike.

'No,' he admitted. 'They were too numerous, I barely held steady with my shield. When I thought I saw an opening, I did...some charm or something, I don't really remember. It must have really hurt in the dark corridor, though, because I incapacitated them all, I think. But I still got caught by a Blasting Curse in the process.'

Tracey winced a bit, and Daphne tightened her hold on him painfully. 'Ow, Daphne that hurts.' Harry tried to gently wiggle himself free. She shook her head again, loosening her grip a bit, but refusing to let go altogether.

'How'd you get out of there?' Tracey asked, smirking at their silent struggle.

'I...did not. I sent a message to Aenor,' he confessed. 'That's the last thing I hazily remember.'

Tracey, raising an eyebrow, spoke up at the same time as Daphne. 'Why her?' 'Aenor?'

Harry, blushing subtly, cleared his throat nervously. 'I, er, don't know. She was the first teacher I thought of.'

Tracey threw him a dirty look as if to make sure that he realised that she didn't approve one bit of his choice in help. 'I don't trust her, Harry.'

Harry sighed weakly. 'This is not the time for that conversation,' he mumbled half-heartedly.

'Oh, I think it is!' she returned vehemently. Harry felt Daphne nodding in agreement again.

'I know she's got an agenda, Tracey, but don't concern yourself with her.'

The girl narrowed her eyes. 'What do you mean?'

He rubbed his eyes with one hand, feeling the fatigue creeping up on him again. 'She's on a leash.'

Tracey looked at him for a while, struggling to understand before her eyes widened quite comically. 'She's got caught doing something stupid, then?'

Harry shook his head, chuckling a bit. 'More like was apprehended doing something unnecessary that my grandfather passively encouraged her to do.'

Daphne laughed gleefully. 'Uncle Arcturus is the best!'

'Of course, he is,' Harry admitted unblinkingly. 'Hey, wait a moment, you're not crying anymore!'

'Well, this is really cosy,' Daphne shot back unabashed, snuggling even closer to him for emphasis.

Tracey broke out in laughter, while Harry struggled for a few moments to disentangle himself from Daphne's hug. Eventually, she relented and sat back on her heels, still trapping his feet.

He glared at her half-heartedly.

'Aww, come on, Harry,' she pouted kittenishly, still rather beautiful, Harry had to admit, despite her red eyes. 'I know you didn't mind it all that much! Is it because of Tracey? I'm sure she'd give us a little space if that would make you feel more comfortable...'

Harry chose not to answer that question, mostly because he didn't really know how to respond. He wearily sank back into the pillow. 'I'm tired,' he mumbled.

'We'll let you get some sleep,' answered Tracey, swiftly moving her hand over Daphne's mouth to forestall the inevitable objection. 'Do you mind if we bring Hermione with us tomorrow?'

'I do not think,' he murmured sleepily, 'that matters very much at this point...'

~BLHD~

Hermione stared eagerly at the page below her. She had barely left the dormitory since yesterday, completely swept up in her new reading.

'Chapter 17: Britain Going Dark

In the direct aftermath of the hard-won battle against the tides of evil that befell Europe in the form of the Dark Lord and his followers, the British Ministry turned its remaining power and focus inwards, reacting to the persistent rumours and accusations of corruption in the highest of echelons. For about a year, more than a dozen agents worked to gather evidence until, bolstered by the support of the recently and partially empowered Muggle-borns and half-bloods, a few popular pure-blood clans took it upon themselves to privately investigate several British departments, prominent political figures, and all those that had refused to join the cause against the aggressor alike, against the explicit wishes of the Chief Warlock Arcturus Black and more than half of the honourable members of the Wizengamot due to the inadmissibility of illegally acquired evidence in court.

But where the official investigators failed, the private research, not restrained by the slow turning wheels of bureaucracy, soon unearthed a baffling network of treasonous organisations and individuals that not only sought to profit from the war that laid waste to more than half of Europe, but actively sabotaged the allied countermeasures to prolong their window of opportunity or obfuscate the trail or their misdeeds.

In the following days, Minister Gerold Prewett, father of the prominent, young Head-Auror, acting in concert with the investigations, called for a highly controversial emergency meeting of the Wizengamot and proceeded to expose all those the investigators had, with a reasonable amount of proof, found guilty of high treason.

Amongst the cries of outrage from the Wizengamot against the highly irregular proceedings some understandably labelled a 'witch-hunt', the name Sirius Black II¹ rang loudest. In the ensuing ruckus that temporarily culminated in a scuffle in the ancient halls of the Wizengamot, many fervently called out for the heads of the families that had cost the country nearly fifteen years of war and victims beyond number amongst both the magicals and those these brave defenders so desperately tried to protect.

In an apparent response to the drastically effervescing minds all around, Arcturus Black III, in his last act as Chief Warlock, invoked the ancient law of recondebamus familias, an obscure and thitherto long forgotten magical act last invoked more than a thousand years ago, that effectively declared most knowledge of the ancient families associated with the British Wizengamot, the most pertinent being all external records of their family trees, forbidden, essentially depriving the frothing mob of any base from which to accuse further families.

It has often been speculated whether this was done to protect Arcturus Black's family from the backlash of Sirius Black's notional guilt, but the truth is that as soon as the enactment came into force, all public knowledge regarding possible family ties between the two Blacks became void. Arcturus Black fled from the Ministry long before the masses had even taken note of his deed, vanishing with the rest of those called Black for about twenty-five years from the face of the earth. Arcturus Black was, despite his laudable and immaculate administration until that day, deposed from his office within the hour, marking him as one of the most controversial figures in modern British history.

In the following years, many families unilaterally revoked the recondebamus familias, making their family background once again a matter of public record. Some, however, chose to embrace the anonymity offered to them, and to this day continue to shroud their familial ties, to the deep suspicion of the public, who, incited by those that felt offended by the special privileges offered to the old families, coined the term 'Darker' in reference to the Muggle proverb 'to go dark'. The Blacks, by now believed to indeed form a single main branch, remain special even among those that refused to reopen their files: through powerful magic unknown, this clan of pure-bloods has managed to hide not only their family ties and members, but also their whereabouts and history, ultimately obscuring most knowledge of their family line. In fact, only the knowledge of Sirius and Arcturus Black, as well as the general understanding of their relative importance remains behind now, and even the most celebrated Occlumens of our age prove to be susceptible to this phenomenon. According to specialists of the Department of Mysteries and famous Sorcerers all around the world who have extensively studied the magic that was called upon, only newly acquired information seems exempt from these frustrating locks on our memories.

For more information, see also pages 229, 395, 402 and 742.'

Hermione looked up, shivering involuntarily, an echo of the warning Tracey had spoken to her in late fall spooking unbidden through her mind: 'The Blacks have a nasty past, Hermione. If there ever was a family deserving the stigma placed upon them, it would be that one. They still have power and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey...'

~BLHD~

Later that evening, Hermione stood uneasily between her two housemates. She hadn't been sure if she wanted to come at all, but in light of her determination to bridge the gap between their upbringings and her decision to apologise to Harry, she had convinced herself to not duck out.

Tracey eyed her, grinning slightly. 'You read chapter seventeen, I take it, Honey?'

Hermione was careful to avoid both girls' gazes, nodding guardedly. She didn't want them to think her weak-willed or mousy, but, on the other hand, she really couldn't deny that the article had left a very strong impression on her. It's really hard to gauge the age of old wizards and witches. I would never have guessed Dumbledore's real age if I hadn't read about it in a book. If the wizard who took down Professor Prewett really was Lord Black, then it is not completely unthinkable that Arcturus Black III, Lord Black, and Harry's grandfather of whom he told me are one and the same person. Hermione shivered again. 'It really is quite chilly in the corridors, don't you think?' she asked conversationally, her voice rather shrill.

Daphne smirked viciously at her. 'Having second thoughts, Granger?'

Tracey looked at her with an unreadable expression. 'Well, it's good to have a healthy dose of respect, Hermione, but it still is Harry we're visiting. Just Harry.'

Hermione unclenched her fist and nodded again, smiling ruefully at the both of them. 'It's just a bit much to take in, I guess.'

Daphne shrugged, but Tracey smiled back. 'Of course it is, Honey. And don't get me wrong; I'm not saying we withhold information because of reasons like this, but what do you think you'd have done if I had told you everything you so far know about Harry on your first night at Hogwarts?'

Hermione jerked to a halt. 'I,' she admitted in a small voice, 'I don't think I would have been able to try to get close to him thereafter.' It was a shameful thing to say, but she couldn't deny the truth of it.

'I bet,' Daphne commented dryly. 'Well, try your best, Granger. Harry really doesn't need another gawker, fan, enemy or anyone who fears him for who he is. If you want to do yourself and him a favour, just try to act the same way towards him like you did on your first day at Hogwarts.'

Hermione nodded, more determined than before.

Tracey beamed at Daphne. 'Daphy, it's so nice of you to give Hermione such good advice!'

'What?' Daphne shot back, eyes wide open.

'You've just buried the hatchet, and now you're giving her such cool, mature advice. I'm so proud of you, Sweetie!'

Daphne looked away from Hermione. 'I'm just doing this for Harry, just so we're clear. Got it, Granger?'

'Ehm, yes. I think so, Greengrass,' Hermione responded, not sure that she really did.

'Good,' the girl returned, more forcefully this time. 'Now, can we hurry along?'

Not too long after their little interlude, the girls entered the infirmary. But, contrary to what they had anticipated, they weren't the only visitors.

'You!' Tracey snapped, pointing her finger rudely. 'What are you doing here?!'

Daphne immediately stood shoulder to shoulder with her best friend, arms crossed. 'Is it really proper for teachers to visit their students alone?' she asked angrily. 'Some people are prone to gossip, you know.'

Professor Rose smiled sweetly in return. 'So good of you to join us, Miss Davis, Miss Greengrass. Though I did enjoy the hours I spent in private with Harry, a bit of comic relief is very much appreciated now and then.' She peered behind the wall of angry girls. 'Oh, Miss Granger! You're very welcome here, by the way.'

'What do you mean, private hours?!' Daphne demanded hotly, nearly running towards Harry, taking a demonstrative stand on the other side of his bed. 'And did you mean to infer that we're not welcome here?'

'Oh, dear me,' Rose returned in apparent horror. 'I'm simply startled how you reached such a conclusion, Miss Greengrass. But you really needn't worry: I won't overtax the half-empty brains of hormone-driven, snotty-nosed brats with innuendos if I can help it. After all, why waste my breath?'

Harry coughed loudly, but Tracey's shrill voice easily drowned him out. 'Oh? Big words! But here you are: embarrassingly desperate to hide your own age by trying to get the attention of someone you should by law, custom and profession, be responsible for!'

Harry coughed again but found it as futile as the first time.

'The way I see it,' Daphne nearly shouted at their smirking Defence professor, 'you're just jealous. Did you know that I was here yesterday night? Harry was very affectionate, and afterwards, he cuddled up with me!'

'That's not how I remember it at all!' Harry shouted out hotly, his entire face red by now. 'And Tracey was here, too!' Yet once again, Aenor and the two girls chose to ignore him.

'Ehm, hello, Harry,' Hermione finally called out in a low voice.

He slowly turned towards her, clearly reluctant to discontinue protesting his innocence. 'Oh hello, Hermione. Are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' she said, avoiding his eyes. 'I'm glad that you're awake again. You don't look so bad.'

He shrugged dispassionately, though she still saw him cast a worried look towards the girls and their teacher every once in awhile. 'I'm mostly very sleepy, and my ribs are still quite tender. Other than that, I feel fine, I guess.'

'That's good to hear,' she said earnestly, nodding over the increasingly hostile noise in the background. 'I...I want to apologise, Harry.'

He looked at her, blinking twice.

'I know I overstepped my bounds that one time after class, and I'm really sorry I hurt you. I know it's not much of an excuse, but I just didn't know any better. I'm also really sorry it's taken me so long to apologise...'

Harry looked at her, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. 'Yeah, well, please let's just forget all that. I'm not too eager to talk about it.'

'You don't need to!' she said hastily. 'I just...I just wanted to ask you if we could...move on...as if that Charms lesson never happened.' Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. Hermione thought that he did look very tired. She couldn't believe that she'd indeed been a bit afraid of him. It must be quite hard for him to actually make friends with anyone. With pure-bloods, he might always be wondering if they're just friendly because of the Blacks. 'Please?' She looked him in the eye. 'I really just want to be...friends.' He still seemed to be struggling, but she just stood next to his bed, awaiting his decision and, like him, completely tuning out the angry tohu-bohu behind her. Was that the sound of a spell being cast? Can't be...

Finally, Harry nodded slowly. 'Well, alright, I guess. Let's just start over. But please don't do...that...ever again, Hermione.'

'I promise, Harry,' she vowed earnestly.

He nodded. After a while, he seemed to shake something off and levelled a much friendlier smile her way. 'So? I gather you've been receiving some rudimentary lessons? Who's teaching you? Tracey? I somehow don't think it's Daphne...'

'It's Draco, actually,' she returned, grimacing slightly.

Harry laughed loudly, and she was glad that it seemed genuine. 'I bet he's being a sneaky bastard about it.'

Hermione didn't hold in the groan that rose within her. 'You have NO idea. He's already had me fear for my life and crying all over him. At least he had the decency to console me a bit afterwards.'

Harry looked rather taken aback. 'He did?'

'Yes, he did. Why?' she asked, unable to decipher his expression.

'Oh, nothing. Well, if you can put up with him, I suppose he would make a fine teacher. He is rather knowledgeable about such things.'

'Yes, I figured as much.' Hermione nodded in thought. 'But so are you, aren't you?'

He smirked a bit. 'I suppose so, but I still think I should lay low until this whole mess is resolved. Stick to Draco for the time being. If he gives you trouble, just try asking him questions that subtly massage his ego. You'll see what I mean.'

Hermione looked up, eager to file this bit of information away. 'Oh, I'll be sure to test it out!'

'What in Merlin's name is going on here?' Hermione looked around to see the matron entering with Professor Snape in tow. Following her gaze, she spotted Greengrass and Tracey lying on the ground, rubbing their behinds, wands at their feet. Professor Rose, arms crossed and a small, smug grin on her lips, stood above them.

'How dare you throw spells in the infirmary!' The matron protested more in shock than anger.

'We need to have a word with Mr Black now that he's on his way to recovery. I suggest you all clear out, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis, Miss Granger. Aenor, this is a matter of House Slytherin. Your presence is not required.'

Aenor's eyes twitched for a second. Snape looked in calculating scrutiny at his colleague, clearly weighing the unusual reaction of the otherwise aloof Defence professor. 'As you wish, Severus.' She shot one last look towards the younger Black, and he smiled at her. Harry couldn't be quite sure, because she turned around exactly that moment, but he rather had the impression she had winked at him.

'We need to talk, Mr Black.' Harry blinked, having difficulties to return to the present from his thoughts. Surprisingly, it was the matron who had addressed him. Even more surprising was her tone: it was icy, disappointed and very strained.

'What about?' Harry asked, complete baffled, looking from one serious face to another.

'About this!' Pomfrey hissed irately, pulling up his left sleeve and forcefully turning his arm around.

'Oh,' Harry said weakly. 'That.'

'Oh? That's all you have to say? If I didn't know you so well, I'd have called the Aurors straight away! Now don't play games with me, and make me reconsider!' Pomfrey shouted at him.

Harry just blinked again. Well, as often as I've been here, it's a wonder it took her so long to find it. He looked towards the long, purple scar that disfigured his arm. A certain amount of honesty may be needed here...'What do you wish to know?'

Snape stepped forward. 'You are aware that the use of blood magic is strictly forbidden and justiciable for no fewer than five years in Azkaban?' His voice was cold as usual, but his eyes bore into Harry's with a ferocity that made him turn his head away.

'Yes,' he said demurely.

'Harry,' Pomfrey said gravely. Harry noted the renewed use of his first name. 'We have so far refrained from informing the headmaster, but if you don't cooperate with us and tell us about it, we will have little choice.'

Harry turned his head around, glaring fiercely and defiantly at her. So, they wanted to hear a story? Well, that shouldn't be any problem!

'It's no use. It is obvious that he will tell us no truths,' said Snape peevishly.

'Couldn't you...?' Pomfrey seemed hesitant about whatever she hinted, but the Potions Master only shook his head.

'No. Whatever his other deficiencies, I can clearly see that we will have no luck with that approach unless I use extreme amounts of force.'

'No, out of the question.' Pomfrey shook her head.

'We might,' Snape said silkily, 'have another option.' He reached within his robes. One second later, his fingers held an adorned green little phial with a very clear liquid.

'Merlin, no! Do you realise that you're committing a crime just threatening me with that?' Harry cried out in shock, reeling back.

'Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.' Snape sneered. 'What choice do you leave us? We will not leave the matter as it is, I assure you.'

Harry spun his head towards the matron and felt his heart sink. Even though her trepidation was easy to spot, it was clear that she was beginning to look rather determined.

'I want a guarantor,' he hissed angrily, 'who ensures that you ask no questions that are of no consequence to this!' In this situation, it was probably better to salvage whatever he could.

Snape nodded.

'Cranky!' Harry commanded. The ancient creature apparated directly on his bed, miraculously without disturbing his wounded body.

'Master Harry called?' the old creature asked with a sense of urgency.

'I will submit myself to Veritaserum, Cranky.'

The elf's eyes bulged in alarm. 'NO!' he shouted in a croaky voice. 'Cranky cannot allow Master Harry to do that! This is pure folly!' The old elf look extremely spirited all of a sudden, the docile severity shed like a skin.

Harry looked up at the elf who towered over him, his arms crossed like a miniature avatar of defiance. 'Cranky...' Harry mumbled softly.

'No! Cranky will not allow Master Harry to take such a risk, no matter the circumstance!' The elf's glare was quite fierce for one of their kind.

'Do you really think I'd do anything to endanger the family like that?' Harry hissed menacingly. 'And mind your tongue in present company!'

The elf didn't even turn around, as if the Potions Master and matron were clearly beneath him. But he still held Harry in a fiery glare.

'If Professor Snape asks any question about the Blacks, my personal history, or those of our affiliates, kill him!' Harry commanded the old creature.

'Harry!' the matron cried out.

At the same time, the elf's expression turned into a nasty grin, and he stood above Harry, his fingers outstretched and pointing at Snape. 'With pleasure, Master Harry.'

'I'm sorry, Madame Pomfrey, but there is absolutely no middle ground for this. If you can't agree to my conditions, then I'll take my chances with the Wizengamot and charge you for threatening the heir of a noble house with magical enslavement.'

Pomfrey looked in clear betrayal at her student, while his Potions professor examined him in cool composure. 'It seems we have reached an impasse.' His voice was still smooth, no hint of concern detectable at all.

I have to admit his control is somewhat unnerving. Or does he think Cranky isn't able to harm him? Every wizard worth his salt should know that any normal house-elf is dangerous enough when ordered to harm. Without a wand, he's basically already a pile of gore on the floor. And Cranky is not exactly normal by any standard. This is anything but ideal, but the threat of Azkaban is at least as real for him as it is for me. Even with Dumbledore's protection, should he have it, the case is by no means a forgone conclusion. Maybe I should push a bit more...

'I will also not stand any question regarding the specific time, place or even the nature of the magic involved in the incident.'

'This is no game, Mr Black!' Snape spat, and Harry was glad to see that he had broken through his facade.

'I agree. But this is no investigation either, Professor. You just wish to make sure that your poor student hasn't strayed from the path of the true and just, don't you?' He smirked confidently.

To his overwhelming surprise, his Head of House slowly broke into a mean grin himself. 'I see that your grandfather has not only been teaching you magic. Maybe you are indeed more of a Black than I gave you credit for, but still you have severely underestimated me, Mr Black. I consent to the terms of your proposal.'

Harry nearly jumped in shock, eyes widening. But there was nothing for it now. He had bluffed and Snape had called. Merlin, I hope he knows what he's doing. If he asks the wrong questions, Arcturus will have his head, and I don't think I'd be able to return to Hogwarts...

Harry squirmed a bit, but in the end, allowed Pomfrey to dose him with three drops of the tasteless potion. How I wish I was an Occlumency prodigy right now.

'I think it would be best if you didn't speak for the next few minutes, Poppy. In the interest of your own security.' The woman paled but nodded nevertheless.

Snape fixed him with his small coal-like eyes, one arm supporting the other while he scratched his chin. Then, he smirked. 'Have you used forbidden or restricted magic during your stay at Hogwarts.'

'Yes,' Harry answered through gritted teeth.

'Did you harm anyone with your attempt?'

'...Only myself.' Harry tried with all his might to resist the effect of the potion, but it was like swimming up a waterfall. He could-maybe-prolong the inevitable for a time, but the pressure just kept building up.

'Did you intend anyone harm? Besides yourself, I mean.' Snape narrowed his eyes.

'No,' was the answer that forced itself through Harry's unwilling lips.

'Is there any residue of the spellwork left that could potentially pose harm to anyone who unwarily stumbles upon the place where you performed your magic?'

'No, do you think I'm stupid?' Harry blinked. That...was a pleasant surprise. It seems as if his inhibitions were partly removed by the potions. 'Sorry, sir,' he added with a grin. 'Wouldn't have said that if it weren't for the highly restricted and illegal potion you made me consume, I assure you.'

Snape scowled at him, though Harry had the distinct impression that Pomfrey's mouth quivered for a second.

'Do you intend to bring about, plan, or foresee a situation where you will resort to...whatever forbidden magic you used?'

Harry grinned roguishly before he let loose. 'Sweet Morgana's tits, no! That one time hurt like shit already.' He refrained from laughing at their faces, but it really was quite humorous in his humble opinion. As long as he was speaking true, he could phrase it however he wanted.

But the next question stifled his good mood as effectively as a pillow to the face in the dead of the night. 'Did Aenor Rose teach you that magic?' Snape asked shrewdly.

'No,' Harry answered darkly, thunderclouds for all who cared to look easy to see in his expression. 'But if you go further down that road, I think I may have to rethink the terms of our arrangement,' he growled.

Snape looked as unimpressed as ever, but Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder.

'Harry,' Pomfrey spoke up, shocking not only him but Snape as well. 'Have you ever injured a student at Hogwarts in anything but self-defence?'

'NO!' he shouted furiously. Then he turned his head away from them and spoke in a lower voice. 'I wish all those people would just leave me alone.'

Harry didn't turn back towards them again. After a while, he heard Pomfrey break the silence again. 'That's enough, Severus. It's clear enough that he didn't mean harm with whatever's been done. I won't condone any more questions.'

After a few seconds, Snape silently administered the antidote to Harry, who eyed him with an expression of pronounced disgust.

'It might have hurt your pride a bit, Mr Black,' he said as he nodded to Pomfrey and turned away, 'but I feel like a bit of credibility will make your stay at Hogwarts a good deal easier for the foreseeable future. Especially with the headmaster and Prewett.' He shot one last and swift look towards him, gazing straight into his eyes as if devouring them. But then the moment passed, and just as abruptly, he turned away and stormed out of the infirmary. 'I'll be watching, Mr Black.'

Pomfrey fussed a bit and gave him several potions to drink. But he didn't respond to her ministrations. While he felt touched by the amount of faith she had in him, it was a very foolish question to ask him.

When the matron had vanished to her study again, he finally turned to Cranky, who had taken a seat at the end of his bed and stared soulfully at him. His eyes burned with a question he seemed to be unwilling to ask.

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. 'You may tell Grandfather, Cranky. But be sure to tell him that I'd rather like to let the matter rest for now. It is true that Snape has just gotten his hands on compelling evidence to support my case should the need ever arise.' He thought for a bit, before sheepishly adding, 'Arise anew, I should probably say. And seeing as the evidence is completely useless in court, it shouldn't prove to be too much of a problem later on.'

Cranky nodded. 'Cranky will do as Master Harry commands. But what about the Potions Master? He's a sneaky one.'

'Yes,' Harry agreed. 'I suppose he is. I appreciate that you didn't react when he mentioned Aenor, Cranky. I think he actually wanted to find out how close of a connection she has with us.' The elf nodded emphatically. 'Maybe we should dig something up, just in case. But then, I didn't have the impression that grandfather was all too concerned with him. I think he'll know how to handle him.'

'Master Harry should rest now,' the elf said with a force that brokered no argument. 'Minnie has been instructed to provide aid for you from within the castle for the time being.'

'I know,' Harry mumbled drowsily as he let his head fall back towards the cushion.

'Thank you for your hard work, Master Harry.' He vaguely saw the elf bow, and a small poof later, the young Black was alone.

~BLHD~

Days passed without anything particularly dramatic happening to Hermione, which, she thought, was a good thing. She had secretly visited Harry a few more times and was very glad that he was just about to be released by Madam Pomfrey. Their little talks had also gone a long way in reassuring her that her current course of action wasn't absolutely hopeless, though Harry still made a point of telling her that Draco had indeed not lied about the difficulties even dedicated Muggle-borns faced in traditional pure-blood circles.

Still, the books Draco had lent her were truly captivating, though she had to admit that the discovery that one of them could potentially land her in prison had made her rather jumpy for a few days. But all the same, it felt like diving into a strange new world all over again, yet this time she could peer at the root of it; she simply couldn't resist the temptation. Even though the books were uniquely helpful for her, she still could soon see the limitations in their use. While she could, for example, glimpse what wizards and witches perceived as especially irksome about Muggle society and therefore deduce the differences in their mannerisms, there were no positive examples given: While she knew by now that magicals had a very specific way of greeting one another, there was no picture or...tutorial on how to do so.

She sighed. It was probably true that she was at the mercy of Draco and Tracey. Maybe Harry would give her a few hints as well. He had promised to help when the general situation improved for him, after all.

Hermione shut the book with a snap. This was ridiculous. She would just have to go for it and learn what she could as she went by. Maybe Harry had a few books at home she could read. There really had to be some perks to coming from a vilified family of notoriously powerful witches and wizards. Hogwart's library, she was disappointed to find out, had nothing on the topic. After Draco's angry rant, she couldn't help but suspect that those books had been removed at someone's behest to appease the Muggle-borns.

The whole discussion had not been easy for her. At first, she thought it was so simple: Muggle-borns were new, eager and generally meant well, how could that pose a problem? She had only slowly come to understand that the wizarding world was a living and rather slow moving construct to which the Muggle-borns were...an outside influence. Not malicious certainly, but still volatile. And now that she thought about it, it was easy to see what angered the pure-bloods. For many Muggle-borns, the robes, the owls, the parchment; that was all nothing more than a commodity, a costume at most. They did it because they mimicked it, because it was expected, but they never truly believed in that style of living, in the philosophies taught to them.

It was, she mused, for the most part just an act.

A Muggle-born felt as comfortable in robes as an oyster in the Sahara. As soon as classes were over, most of them tossed their robes away and started talking about some TV-show or something that alienated the pure-bloods and only served to divide them further. It was easy to blame both parties, Hermione thought, but by now she could at least comprehend how those that embraced pure-blood society felt offended when Muggle-borns refused to integrate. From their perspective, Muggle-borns were immigrants.

~BLHD~

It was curfew by now. Hermione hurried through the cold corridors, shivering slightly as a particularly icy draught swept through the ancient castle. I'd better get to the dungeons soon. A Gryffindor or Hufflepuff Prefect would just love to get Slytherin's pet-Muggle-born for something like this. Hermione coloured a bit at the thought that she had simply forgotten the time in the library until Madam Pince had informed her that curfew was five minutes off.

Hermione walked speedily around the corner. Just one more corridor and I can get down into the dungeons.

'Gotcha, little firsty!'

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, one foot in the process of taking another step. Slowly and very regretfully, she turned around to have a look at who had caught her.

In the frame of a window that stood gaping wide open sat a female prefect that seemed rather familiar, even in the dark gloom that veiled her presence. No wonder it's so cold if people sit in the open windows in the middle of the night! Who does that?!

'Miss Fawley?' she called out, cursing the slight quiver in her voice.

The figure cocked her head. 'Oh, Hermione!' the fifth year prefect called out, much friendlier. 'Didn't recognise you there for a second. What are you doing here? It's surely past curfew by now.'

'I kind of forgot the time in the library, to be honest.' She smiled guiltily. 'Madam Pince just kicked me out.'

Fawley chuckled good-naturedly. 'That old boot, yeah, she does that.' The older girl returned to staring out of the window. If Hermione hadn't known better, she would have guessed that she was trying to soak the night right up. Fawley seemed to be in a rather melancholic mood.

'What are you doing here?' Hermione asked curiously. Then, she remembered their positions. 'I...I mean, if you don't mind me asking. Aren't you cold? I'm freezing!'

Fawley smiled gently and swished her wand in Hermione's direction, who felt her robes begin to warm up from within. 'Wow!' Hermione sighed, purring contentedly. 'That feels nice with the breeze from the window.'

'Doesn't it?' the prefect asked, nodding chummily. 'And to answer your question, I love the night.'

Hermione didn't quite know if she was supposed to ask or not, so she settled for looking questioningly while keeping her mouth shut.

'Haha, I see you've gotten a bit better with your conduct.' The prefect winked at her, smirking at the faint blush that crept up into Hermione's face. 'Don't sweat it so much. Sometimes you have to let loose.' The blond with her curly hair turned towards the open window again, her mane fluttering gently in the winter breeze. For a time, they enjoyed the companionable silence. Hermione was especially fond of the warming charm the older girl had so effortlessly demonstrated and vowed to look it up in the library the very next day.

'You know, I always thought the night was the most interesting time of the day. Most people are asleep, the air is fresh and cool and everything is a bit quieter. No noise, no tedious tasks, no boring people. Everything you do at night is simply a bit more special.'

Hermione squirmed a bit under the cheeky yet friendly compliment the other girl had given her. But Fawley laughed again. 'Oh, come on, Hermione. You're the first Muggle-born in Slytherin in an eternity, and you're not doing too shabby for yourself right now. I'd gladly have more of you if that meant fewer Yaxleys.' She grinned rascally. 'You don't happen to have any brothers or sisters, do you?'

'Ehm, no, sorry,' she said meekly, completely swept up in the friendly, if strange, girl by the window.

'Aw, I guess you can't have everything.'

'Do...do you have siblings, Miss Fawley?' Hermione asked quietly.

'Yeah, a little brother. He's such a sweetie.' Her gaze returned towards the night. 'I think I'd do anything to protect him...' After a while, she spoke again, even though her mind seemed far away. 'That's what matters, in the end. Sure, there are politics and whatnot, but if you really think about it, most pure-blood families just look out for their own. If you protect those you love, it's not so difficult to think in terms of "them" and "us"...'

Suddenly, she jumped down from the windowsill. 'Come on, I'll escort you back to the common room. If you wander into a teacher, he might think you snuck off to meet with a boy.'

'What?' Hermione exclaimed loudly. 'I've never...I wouldn't...' she stammered.

The girl nudged her in the ribs conspiratorially. 'You sure? Are you really suuure? I think Black will turn out pretty hot in a year or two...' She giggled. 'It wouldn't hurt to stake your claim early, don't you think?'

Hermione was deep red by now. 'It's not like that! We're just friends, honestly!'

The other girl broke out in exuberant laughter, putting an arm around her shoulder. 'First years are so fun to tease! Man, I'll never get tired of this! It's good we met tonight, Hermione.'

'W-why?' Hermione asked, still fighting her embarrassment.

'Why not, I say!' She gently squeezed Hermione's shoulder as they walked down towards the dungeons. When they were nearly at the entrance, the other girl smiled down at her. 'You never know when you get the next chance. That's my motto! Make every night special for as long as you can.' She gave Hermione a friendly little shove. 'You better get inside, Hermione. I'll have to complete my rounds, or Snape will chew my ear off again.'

'You call hanging out on the windowsill "completing rounds"?' Hermione asked, grinning back.

'Aw, come on, give a girl a break or two.' Still chuckling, the prefect waved at her and turned around, her measured and confident stride taking her into the depths of the louring night.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she turned towards the entrance of the common room. I wanted to tell Draco that we should do his little test, but now I really don't want to ruin my mood. Let's just pretend everything is fine and do it tomorrow. Once in awhile, it really can't hurt, can it?

~BLHD~

Hermione knocked twice on the door, feeling quite nervous.

'Enter!'

She entered and surveyed their usual meeting place. The seventh corridor was one of those that was completely devoid of regularly used class or clubrooms. Draco had once told her that more than half of the castle wasn't actually used, and as far as he knew, it had always been a bit like that.

Hermione bit her lip as she saw Draco, who was seated in what had once been the teacher's chair. He sat by the windows and stared at her. He gave no sign or reaction at all, except for his...somewhat creepy gaze.

Hermione bowed like she had seen others do at times. Then, she remained silent, observing him in turn. Every fibre of her body urged her to break the silence, but she forced herself to remain quiet.

Eventually, Draco spoke up. 'Good evening.'

'Good evening, Mr Malfoy,' she said timidly.

'Ugh, your posture is bad. You need to keep your back straight when you bow. Also, as long as you are socially beneath the one you bow to, lower your eyes. Never raise your chin to look into someone's eyes, except if you want to insult someone, or if you feel superior. Your bow should also, at least in Europe, reflect your relative social standing, meaning accentuating the bow deeper if you consider yourself beneath the other. You need to keep your feet together and your arms straight but relaxed. Try to make them parallel, in front and behind your body respectively. It does not need to look overly strained, try to make it graceful and slow instead. Also, don't bite your lip. It's a sure sign of your insecurity, and you do it all the time. At least refrain from doing so on official occasions. Now, I'm glad you had the sense to wait for me to speak, but, and I am quite serious here, never ever call me Mr Malfoy!' He shivered as if something cold or slimy had touched him. 'It sounds wrong on so many levels...'

She looked at him questioningly, forcing him to sigh again. 'Well, to be honest, you failed abysmally in about twenty seconds, but I'm not sure you'll do better on your own even if I give you the time. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I won't mince my words, you know.'

Hermione snorted. Oh, really?! That's completely news to me! 'Yes, I want to go through with it!'

He fixed her in a cold and measuring stare.

'Don't pull that crap with me again!' she mumbled angrily. 'Use your stupid psycho tricks on somebody else!'

He smiled proudly at her. 'Okay.'

'Wait, that's it?' she asked the infuriating jerk, surprised by his switch in attitude to what seemed like genuine comradeship.

'Of course, Hermione. I'd never do anything you wouldn't want me to,' he said in an honest voice that made her take a step back to look if she was still talking to Draco.

Then she blinked. 'Argh! Stop it!' she shouted, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

He laughed rambunctiously and got up from his seat. 'You're too easy, Granger! We'll start tomorrow night. We'll have a look at the background of a few people at Hogwarts and try to figure out who could have a motive or shoddy connection to Harry. Meanwhile, we'll also look at who's been acting particularly suspicious and try to find out if those people could have the motive to involve themselves with the Blacks, no matter the risks.'

'And how are we going to do that?' she asked suspiciously.

'Oh, I've been gathering a few notes on some people. Nothing excessive. I told you we'd be doing some paperwork.'

'Just...paperwork, right?' she asked, her eyes narrowing.

'Of course, Granger. Just a bit of paperwork,' he said, his grey eyes shining with mirth.

This can't be good, Hermione thought with a remarkable sense of foreshadowing.

~BLHD~

Again, Hermione found herself standing in front of a specific door on the seventh corridor in the middle of the night. She knocked and entered when he called for her. Everything seemed peaceful. Malfoy sat in his chair, serenely drinking a cup of steaming tea. His wand lay before him on the huge, dark desk. The cool air of the Scottish winter brushed against her face, and a peaceful moon shone down at them. Oh yes, and let's not forget the truly impressive formation of mountains. Papery mountains, that is. Wait a second!

'You're kidding me, right?! This is "just a bit of paperwork"? Do you seriously expect me to work through that?' Hermione asked, justifiably outraged as she took in the hundreds and hundreds of different pieces of parchment that lay in front of the calm, tea sipping ponce.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Good evening,' he said in maddening serenity. 'No, Granger. I expect us to work through those.'

'This is what you meant with "minor non-school-related paperwork"? You can't be serious! What are those?!' Hermione shakily indicated a heap of parchment that towered nearly four feet high, swaying gently in the breeze.

'Oh, that?' Draco waved his hand dismissively. 'Those are my collected dossiers on all students at Hogwarts with suspected connections to the old families. I've had my father send them to me and collected a few on those that he had no information on, which were few, let me tell you. Except for fourth, and sixth years, of course.'

'Why not include them?' Hermione asked, trying her best to ignore the humongous stack of private and probably illegally gathered information. She had to admit that she admired Draco's thoroughness, even if his methods were scaring her slightly.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Think, Granger! Do you think someone would be daft enough to get roped into a petty political plot during their most important years of study? I think not.' He hesitated for a second before continuing matter-of-factly. 'Well, I guess there may be a few blithering idiots stupid enough for that... I have those files in my trunk, but for now, I think we should concentrate on these.'

Hermione looked towards the spire of documents and idly wondered how Malfoy had gotten the parchment to stick together. She sighed. Somehow it should have been clear to her that it would turn out to be something ridiculous like this. Rubbing her temple, she decided to play along for now. Hermione took a seat in front of Draco (not that she could see much of him through the heaps of documents) and put her quill, ink and a few loose sheets of parchment on the desk. Chewing on her quill, she remembered his explanation and blinked suddenly. 'Ahm, is there a difference between "family members" and "students suspected of connections to old families"?'

Draco clicked his tongue patronisingly. 'Of course there is, Granger. If you were to become engaged to Harry, for example...'

'Engaged?' Hermione echoed in shock.

'Yes, engaged, Granger. I take it you're familiar with the term?' He rolled his eyes again. 'Hypothetically, if you were to become engaged to Harry, you would have a certain influence with the House of Black without actually being a member of the household, at least for the time being, right? The same could be said about childhood friends, subsidiary houses, branch families, treaties of friendship and so forth... You shouldn't rule out that anyone can have friends in high places, just because he doesn't have the right family name, or even the right background, as appalling as it is.'

'Why do the old families share their power then?' Hermione asked, honestly confused. She hadn't gotten the impression that the old houses were into charity...at all.

'Naturally, because they stand to profit.' Malfoy sniffed at her query. 'By collecting valuable associates to their name, the ancient families gain prestige and pull for themselves by magnifying their power base. Simply put, publicly linking talented individuals to their names is as much acquiring resources as it is showing-off. The other party, in turn, gets the benefit of political sway and protection they could not have afforded otherwise.'

Hermione blinked again. 'So...no Muggle-borns?'

'No Muggle-borns,' Draco repeated coolly. 'Only particularly distinguished individuals are scouted while still at school. I have a list of those, too, though I find the thought rather unlikely.'

He produced a small stack of about twenty records and put them down beside the wobbling tower of parchment that reminded Hermione of Babel. 'While we are on the subject,' he continued, 'make me a list of all the people you've spoken to, either on the train ride or during your stay at school!'

'What? But...but you can't be serious? Isn't that totally excessive?' Hermione stammered in shock, aghast at the breach of privacy.

'I am completely serious, so stuff your pathetic preconceptions about ethics where I can't see them, and make me that list. I've already checked Tracey's, Daphne's and Harry's contacts. Oh, and mine, obviously,' Malfoy answered in a collected fashion, still engrossed in the paper before him.

'Your own friends? You spied on your own friends?' Hermione asked, agape.

Malfoy only shrugged.

'But...that's so wrong! Why?' Hermione asked meekly.

Sighing, Malfoy looked up. 'Start using that overly big brain of yours, Granger! Anyone who messes with a Black has to have backup plans, contingencies and ways to assess the situation, meaning contacts. You're a Mud...Muggle-born in Slytherin. Whoever approaches you does have either an agenda, a death-wish or some severe cerebral dysfunction. Or is a Gryffindor, now that I think about it, but it's particularly hard to ascertain lack of mental faculties in that house. Happily, you have no contacts in either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor; I've already checked, so we can rule that bit out.'

Hermione just looked at him for several moments, time flying by unnoticed by her. 'I just now realise that you're a lot smarter than I thought for the first few months,' she admitted grumpily in the end.

'Please, Granger.' Though he tried to suppress any reaction, Hermione gleefully took notice of his complacent look. Thanks, Harry! 'Not all of us like to flaunt our wits or are insufferable teacher's pets, you know? Look at Tracey, for instance...'

Tracey? Hermione thought, taken aback. Well, she is annoyingly good with Transfiguration, granted. I think she's in the top five in Charms, too... Wait, now that I think about it, isn't she in the top ten of pretty much all the classes, except Potions...?

Struggling to cope with the realisation that she had drastically underestimated her little informant, a small 'Oh...' escaped her lips.

Quickly recovering from her surprise, Hermione immediately decided to ask another question, but as soon as she opened her mouth again, Draco's snarling voice interrupted her. 'Last question, Granger! We really have better things to do than to rectify your deplorable state of ignorance concerning the time-honoured traditions of the wizarding world, for now at least.' He sighed again and rubbed his eyes in annoyance. 'I'll allow you three questions each evening we work on this, I don't think I'll live through our sessions otherwise.'

Hermione shot him a scalding look and huffed indignantly. 'Oh, fine!' Thinking about it some more, she decided that the offer wasn't so bad, really. Most questions she had regarding traditions and such were not exactly featured in books, even those she had recently acquired, but taught to the young witches and wizards by their parents. Therefore, Malfoy's proposal would help her avoiding further shame; dropping a clanger in Slytherin was as much embarrassment as it was a risk of bodily harm for her, after all.

'You mentioned branch families. What are those? Is it simply a split family tree? Like if I had a great-great-great-grandfather who had a younger brother whose descendants flourished, and I had a lot of fifth cousins who share my name but are really far down the, er, line of succession?'

Draco looked at her curiously. To Hermione's great confusion, his expression became stone-hard soon after, and he answered as if selecting each word with great care. 'Mostly, it is exactly that...'

'Mostly?' Hermione asked shrewdly, determined to dig deeper.

Draco set down his own quill, looked deeply into her eyes and nodded. 'Mostly, yes. You have to understand that the head of a family has nearly unlimited power over any member of his household. It's been like that since ancient times. He can do almost anything: Arrange marriages or disown someone for going against his orders, for example. Even harsher still, he can actually cast people out of the family as punishment, though that is–thankfully–rather rare, as that person would also lose all the protection the family name grants, making him or her something akin to an outlaw until they take on a different name by marriage or adoption.'

Hermione was amazed to see that Draco actually shuddered at the thought.

'There were times when the most important families in Britain, and Europe in general I guess, protected and hid their branch families by forcing them to take on different names and swear a magically binding oath of fealty to the main branch. That custom is not only harshly frowned upon nowadays but actually highly illegal and thought of as a cultivated form of slavery. It's pretty much died out...for the most part.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'For the most part, right?'

Draco's face gave as much away as a blank sheet of paper. 'Yes, Granger. For the most part.'

---

¹ NB: Not to be confused with Sirius Black III, brother of Regulus Black II.

AN1, about pure-blood culture: I am aware that my take on pure-blood culture is a bit different from canon, but I really don't like following explored paths.

By no means is this to be taken as apologetics or anything. While Rowling's descriptions of ridiculous preconceptions and prejudices are, in fact, quite realistic (You only need to review the Nazi's completely barmy classification system for the ancestry of Germans. It's basically exactly the same as canon: if one of your grandparents [and to politically inconvenient people this could go back as far as a few hundred years] was a Jew [proven or believed to be, it mattered little], your family line was, in their eyes, completely and irrevocably tainted.), it (Rowling's setting) lacks a believable background (even if you decide to heed the patch-up that is Pottermore). You have strife, you have opposing parties, but there is little explanation given as to how this came to be. It needlessly simplifies the situation by refusing to arm the pure-blood bigots with even a single valid argument to fight their cause. I'm sorry, but that's just silly. Maybe Rowling didn't want to overtax her young readers by presenting an actually believable moral dilemma. I, on the other hand, have a higher opinion of those who read in their free time and will present you a believable political background that's neither too one-sided nor out-of-the-world implausible.

AN2, about pairings: I want to make one thing clear at this point. This fic features (what I consider to be) realistic relationships (that are, of course, at times exaggerated). I'm just saying this because some people seem to think that Harry will end up with a multitude of lovers. That will, most definitely, not be the case.