Chapter Four: Proper Wizarding Pride
Hermione could hardly breathe with the stares of the Carrows upon her, making her feel as if they could see through to her very bones.
She hoped that her confession was enough honesty to meet Lady Alecto's demand.
She hadn't ever said anything like that aloud. There hadn't been anyone to say it aloud to.
When the excitement had faded and she'd begun to read the pamphlets and the trilogy of government-sponsored books about the Wizarding World she'd been entering, Hermione had quickly picked up on the fact that she was different even amongst wizarding people. A gnawing sense of inferiority had begun growing in her, the more she read and the more she learned about her new world. It had been eating away at her silently, for months.
Strangely, now that she'd spoken it aloud, the great and aching fear that she was not good enough because she was not raised as a witch – Hermione felt better.
There was nobody for her to talk to about it before now. Nobody would understand.
Only her parents knew about her magical abilities; they were just barely accepting of it. They were relieved to finally know what was 'wrong' with her, but it had been a nasty shock for them to learn she was a witch. Her mother still cried when any time it came up that she was a witch. Her father kept giving her a strained smile that never reached his eyes. And she couldn't tell anyone except for her parents about magic.
The Ministry for Magic representative that had come to explain about her magic over the course of several visits had been very, very clear: international magical law forbid anyone except for the non-magical child's parents to know about magic. Sharing the secret of her powers could have very serious repercussions, especially once she entered the Wizarding World officially.
If she were to tell her parents that she felt as if she weren't a proper witch or as if she wouldn't belong because she was the first magical person in her family…all those doubts that they had and all the reasons that they had used to keep her waiting when deciding if she would attend Hogwarts…
Hermione couldn't tell them.
She wouldn't tell them.
The only people she could confide in were standing in this room –
Master Goshawk and the Carrows, the powerful Dark wizards that she had reached out to in hopes that she could have something better than being the daughter of Muggles in a world that despised such births.
Harry felt like a wizard as he finished at Madam Malkin's Robes and stepped back into Diagon Alley.
His four shopping bags had been shrunk down to the size of matchboxes. He would easily be able to hide them from his relatives when he was forced to return to Surrey. The enchantments on the shopping bags to make them full-size again would only respond to a wizarding person's touch. The full, magical wardrobe had been securely put in the pocket of his new, black breeches and Harry patted his pocket, just to be sure they were all still there.
New clothing that was only for him, never worn or discarded like rags before he'd owned it – Harry felt it was worth just as much as the satchel of gold he'd gotten from Gringotts.
Harry thought about the witch who had purchased it for him on a whim.
He never had something like that happen before. His relatives didn't like people being polite to him; they hated him, and they encouraged everyone else to hate him, as well. Here in this new world, there was nobody that his relatives could get at and poison against him. Harry wondered if there was a means of looking up the incredibly generous witch. He wondered what ways wizarding people had of communicating.
If there was a public directory, like a phone book, then perhaps he would be able to look up the elderly Lady Urania Carrow and thank her, as well as her daughter-in-law, Narcissa.
They were the first adult wizards who'd been kind and generous to him. They hadn't known him nor cared who he was; so far, without Hagrid's presence to draw attention to him, nobody had noticed that he was this famous hero, so far. The lady witches had both looked at him, dressed as a proper wizard boy in plain robes, and simply decided he was worth something as rare to him as generosity and good will.
Harry had only been in the Wizarding World for a few hours, but already, he preferred this world.
A few hours in the Wizarding World was better than every single moment of his miserable life in the Muggle World.
"Well, at least the Mudblood knows her place – at the very bottom, looking up."
Amycus Carrow broke the silence with cruelty.
Hektoris made that same odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He didn't sound nor look cruel like his son but that meant little; the snide sneer that was twisting his mouth said enough. "Indeed, dear son. It is a relief to know that there are Mudbloods who come into our world and seek to submit to the proper order of wizardry. How rare it is to find a Mudblood who knows their place, especially so young in life."
"It's just as I told you, family Carrow." Master Goshawk said. He was looking at Hermione with satisfaction. He was smirking as he added: "Might we have a budding Slytherin on our hands, with her ambition to become a proper witch and rise above the affliction of her birth?"
"Absolutely not!" Amycus scoffed. "Slytherin House is the original bastion of ancient purity, devotion to Magic, and proper wizarding pride. The only place there's likely to be for her is Gryffindor House. There is no shortage of her fellow Mudbloods there, right in the den of the blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers."
"It would be a complete waste of her potential if she were to become a Gryffindor." Master Goshawk argued. "Sir Amycus, you are right that Gryffindor House attracts the highest number of Mudbloods, sometimes outpaced by Hufflepuff House in certain eras –"
"The only acceptable place for the fostered ward of the Ancient and Most Devoted House of Carrow is Ravenclaw House."
The Lady Carrow silenced Master Goshawk, her voice as commanding as her presence.
Lady Alecto came between the two winged armchairs where Hektoris and Amycus were seated. Hermione did not fail to notice that although Hektoris was her father and Amycus was her brother, the men of their name and family, Lady Alecto was the leader and the head of the family. Somewhere beneath her intimidation of the looming, powerful witch standing before her, Hermione was impressed by Lady Alecto.
She could have been imagining it, but Lady Alecto seemed faintly impressed with her in return.
"What is your name, little girl?"
Hermione sat a little straighter; she noted that Lady Alecto didn't call her a Mudblood anymore.
"Hermione. Hermione Jean Granger."
"That is your profane name. The uncivilized name you were given by your beastly parents, whose lineage somehow produced the superior expression of magic. You have the ability to earn a new lineage and become more than the misfortune of your unnatural birth." Lady Alecto came closer to her. Hermione couldn't move under the fierce dark gold of the witch's eyes; she was hanging off of Lady Alecto's every intense word. "With our acceptance of your petition, the House of Carrow takes you unto us. You belong to us now, until such time we deem you civilized and worthy of being introduced into our society as a proper witch. You are simply Hermione, from this moment forward – an undesirable with no name, no family, no history, no lineage in magic. Should you live up to the potential that Master Goshawk believes is worthy of our cultivation, you shall earn a new name. Perhaps the Carrow name itself."
Hermione was so captivated that she didn't notice how her breath frosted in the air, though she had long since stopped feeling cold or uncomfortable.
Lady Alecto stepped so close to Hermione that there was little space between them. When Lady Alecto reached out and gripped her chin, Hermione was surprised at how very gentle the touch was.
"Hermione, witch of no name, do you accept the honor of being fostered, sponsored, and cultivated by the House of Carrow? Do you accept the responsibility of devoting yourself to rising above the misfortune of your unnatural birth to Muggles? Speak now in agreement or leave The Symposium with no memory of this in your unworthy mind."
Hermione did not hesitate.
"Lady Alecto, I accept."
With her words, something happened.
A frosty-cold jolt of magic came from where Lady Alecto's hand gripped her chin and zapped down the side of her neck. It felt as if something stung her hard; Hermione cried out in pain and flinched away from Lady Alecto. Her eyes were only slightly blurred with tears as she went to touch her neck – and the skin slightly raised, as if she had a welt scratched into her.
"That moment of pain you just experienced will soon become your greatest pride, if you have the potential we're now dedicated to cultivating." Hektoris Carrow rose to his feet, looking at her critically. "Speaking of pride, our new ward looks most unbecoming of being fostered by the House of Carrow, dear daughter."
Lady Alecto glanced at her father with a grin.
"Oh, don't worry, Father. The next time you see her, she shall come as close to dignity as she can get with being a Mudblood. She is my ward, after all. I shan't have her looking anything less than worthy of belonging to us now."
Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to wait for Hagrid before starting to make serious purchases beyond clothing.
He decided that he didn't care. He had his robes; he was in a magical district of London, a wizarding boy without one thing that would make him a true wizard. He needed to get his wand to be a proper wizard.
Harry didn't know the first place he could buy a magic wand, but half the fun was exploring and finding out on his own.
The enchanted shop signs were caroling about all sorts of places Harry couldn't have imagined existed before now. He came across a few shops he would need to go back to – Flourish and Blotts, Jigger and Slug's Apothecary – but only sought out any place that said they sold wands. After a few minutes of walking down the busy boulevard, blending in with all the other wizards and witches, Harry finally came across the shop that must be where magic wands were purchased.
Ollivanders was positively ancient. The sign that identified it as the wandmaker's shop claimed it had been in existence since 382 BC. Harry had not been allowed to study much history, but he did know that if that was true – the wandmaker's shop was over a thousand years old and more.
Harry was slightly in awe as he walked into the shop.
He was in a real, genuine magical wandmaker's shop and he was about to receive his own wand.
As there were customers already being assisted, Harry quietly looked for somewhere to sit and wait his turn. The only available seat was next to a boy who also appeared to be by himself. Harry hesitated. He might look like a proper wizard, but he wasn't. Not really. What if the boy started talking to him? How would he have a conversation with a boy who clearly had been a wizard all his life, dressed finely in robes that looked expensive and noble? Harry found himself roaring with nerves, suddenly anxious where he'd been charged with excited curiosity only moments before.
The boy must have sensed someone standing near him.
He looked over abruptly, his very dark eyes quizzical and assessing Harry sharply, swiftly.
"Hello." The boy seemed to be taking in everything about Harry, from the heels of his feet to the top of his hair. His gaze narrowed when he made eye contact with Harry, but all he said was: "There is a bit of a line. This seat isn't taken if you would like to wait more comfortably."
Harry felt the hitch of panic ease. The boy seemed perfectly courteous and normal. With a low murmur of thanks, Harry sat down beside him – and just like he had with the witch Hermione earlier, Harry offered his hand.
He was startled when the boy offered his hand, but grasped his wrist instead, squeezing as if they were shaking hands. Harry immediately followed his lead, briefly gripping the boy's wrist in return. When they released each other, the boy seemed to think more of him than he had before.
"My name is Theodore," declared the dark-eyed boy, formal but somehow still friendly. "I thought I'd be getting ahead of the school rush, but I suppose not. If I wasn't required to receive and register a wand with the British Ministry – well, I wouldn't have to suffer through such an awful wait."
Harry was instantly fascinated. "Nice to meet you, Theodore. My name is Harry." The habit of not offering his last name seemed to be working well for him, so he kept on with it. He tried not to seem as if he'd just been in the Muggle World yesterday, ignorant of magic. "Are you new to England? What are the rules for your ministry in your country?"
Theodore smirked. "Of course I'm not new to England. I don't sound like I'm new to England, do I?"
Harry wasn't sure if he was being mocked or not. Theodore didn't look as if he were being cruel or was about to give him trouble; he could sense when someone was about to try and take the mickey or even hurt him, after a lifetime of being Dudley's punching bag. Even still, Harry was suddenly wary of Theodore.
"Well, no. You're talking about the Ministry for Magic as if you're not from here, is all." Harry was proud of how he didn't give away or hint that he had only learned about the Ministry a few hours earlier, when he and Hagrid were leaving that miserable hut on the rock in the sea. "What reason would you have to register a wand? You look like you're going to Hogwarts in September, too."
"Unfortunately, yes, I am." Theodore sighed, as suddenly put out. "I have to purchase and register a new wand with the British Ministry, because I already have a wand. My true wand is a Gregorovitch wand, crafted custom in Croatia at one of his better satellite shops. The problem is, Gregorovitch wands are not approved or regulated in Britain, so it's like I don't have a wand at all. I have to get a second, less powerful wand and be on par with the British substandard, I suppose."
Harry's mind was spinning and exploding as he listened to Theodore talk. He had never imagined that there were witches and wizards in other countries, magical laws and rules and regulations. He hadn't thought much about it when Hagrid said there was a Ministry for Magic.
"I thought you had to wait until Hogwarts to receive a wand." Harry seemed to have guessed right, because Theodore didn't correct him or became suspicious that he wasn't really a proper wizard.
Theodore sniffed. Harry felt that same wariness as Theodore's tone became a bit snide. "You do have to wait, if you're so common that your family doesn't have the ability to give you a proper education before Hogwarts. My family doesn't have that problem. As is traditional for the House of Nott, I was educated at Durmstrang Institute for the past two years. You become eligible for attendance at ten years old; I turned ten within two months of the start of the academic year, according to their policy, so I've been at Durmstrang since August 1989."
Harry blinked. He couldn't help but think that he wished had known about magic sooner; he could have gone from the Dursleys as early as nine years old, if he'd known about his vault of gold and the magical schools that seemed far, far removed from the misery of the Muggle World.
"Well, how come you didn't stay at Durmstrang Institute?" Harry asked, the strange wizarding name sounded foreign but powerful as he said it for the first time.
"It wasn't my choice," said Theodore, promptly. "Father is very serious about tradition and legacy. Our family were amongst the first students and educators at Hogwarts. We've been going to Hogwarts for a thousand years and he wasn't going to allow me to be the first link to break that chain. It doesn't make any difference, though. I'll still be spending my holidays out in Russia with my mother's family, as Grandfather Dolohov promised – Father can't stop that."
Harry didn't know what to say. Even if he weren't feeling a cinch in his chest, a strong yearning for a father and a family he had never known surging through him so deeply it hurt – Harry wouldn't have known what to say to the bitter, annoyed complaints that Theodore had about his own father. He hadn't ever known anyone who would speak so terribly about their own father to a perfect stranger. Nor did he know what it was like to be so put out with his own father that he'd vent about it to someone he'd just met a few minutes ago.
Harry was saved from trying to come up with a response by the pale-eyed girl behind the counter, beckoning to Theodore, briskly.
"Well, this will be my turn to be helped." Theodore got to his feet, much taller than Harry expected. Harry didn't hesitate this time when Theodore held out his hand; he clasped the taller wizard boy's wrist with the same firm but friendly grip as Theodore held his wrist with. "I'm certain I will see you at Platform Nine and Three Quarters in September. Perhaps we will meet up on the train?"
Theodore didn't wait for Harry to answer.
Confidently, he strode up to the counter; there was none of the nerves or excitement that Harry felt himself, for this wasn't the first wand for Theodore.
Harry stared at the magical measuring tape and the very tall boy-wizard being measured by it.
There was so much to learn about the Wizarding World, not only in England, but all over the world. There was an entire world and history, an entire heritage that had been kept from him deliberately for so many years, he may as well be a Muggle. Harry shuddered.
He was not a Muggle; he was a wizard.
A wizard who would never again let the Muggle World separate him from his magic and who he truly was, ever again.