Fake It Till You Make It

The Complete Histories of Lord Hadrian James Potter-Peverell-Black of Gryffindor-Slytherin and Lord Ronald Bilius Weasley-Prewett-Dumbledore of Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw

Ancient Marriage Contracts

Hermione was having a very nice time. Professor Slughorn had commandeered the Gobstones Clubroom and through the liberal use of expansion charms and some rather impressive weather enchantments had created a truly magical winter wonderland deep in the heart of Hogwarts for his favorite students, the so-called 'Slug Club' and its former alumnae... and it hadn't a half hour on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of term that he had made clear his intent to consider Harry, Ron, and Hermione among that select group, leading to them dancing in a magical snow-flurry while hobnobbing with some of the most famous names in Magical Britain.

Hermione surveyed the room, shadowed enough to give its inhabitants a sense of intimacy, though the floating lanterns gave off more than enough light to ensure the pomp and splendor that Horace Slughorn had gathered in one place was clearly visible to anyone in the room, no matter where they stood. Gwenogg Jones was chatting to a starstruck Ginny Weasley and two older Hufflepuff witches. Melinda Bobbin and Daphne Greengrass were sharing a drink while talking quite animatedly with Ambrosius and Dulca Flume. Hermione snorted at the next scene to catch her eye, Parvati and Lavender were deeply engrossed in a conversation with a very ancient woman who positively glowed with beauty charms. Lady Wimbly or some such, responsible for the annual benefaction of the incredibly important Most Charming Smile Award. Parvati was pointing toward Lavender at something that Hermione couldn't see, but there was much waving and jumping involved.

And standing in the front-and-center, beside the violin, harpsichord, and clarinet that were playing themselves and a bubbling flute of amber fluid in his hand was Professor Slughorn, looking out over his demesne while looking as plump and pleased as a proud mother hen... if mother hens typically donned top hats, red robes with a vast expanse of white trim, and the Chrismas elf shoes now commonplace among the Hogwarts denizens, complete with a full set of fourteen gold-and-silver bells.

"Alright there, Lady Granger," Ron's voice cut brought her out of her thoughts. Harry and Ron were dressed in a pair of plain but smart robes with an admittedly incredible bit of magic that she thought really might be their own work, that changed the pattern and colouring to match that of the girl they were currently holding. Right now the effect was rather striking, as the three-piece instrumental band was currently playing a jaunty quick-paced tune that had Ron dancing in a circle with one of his betrothed in each hand, resulting in half of him in inverse coloring of Padma's chari while the other half was uniform black with mother of pearl pinstripes as a complement Hannah's dress.

'I'm fine, thank you," Hermione replied with a smile. "Just waiting for another drink." She held up an empty flute of her own. Ron gave a nod of acknowledgment before returning to his two girls, moving off in the general direction of Harry, who was dancing, so to speak, inside of his own circle consisting of Hestia, Flora, and Astoria, his robes a spinning riot of scarlet, periwinkle, and cream. The three girls were half whooping, half singing a song that presumably, usually accompanied this particular melody.

The music finished, and Harry laughed at something Astoria whispered into his ear, giving her a quick peck on the cheek and squeezing Hestia's and Flora's hands before making his way out of their circle and moving over toward Romilda, his robes shifting to match hers as he neared, becoming midnight blue with a smattering of golden stars.

"Enjoying yourself, Miss Granger?"

Hermione stiffened at that, though as much in respect for the speaker as surprise. "Good evening, Minister," she turned around, voice steady. "How are you doing?"

Rufus Scrimegeour grunted, his naturally stony face looking only slightly less grim than usual. "Better than expected, worse than they ought to be, so as good as it gets these days." Hermione grimaced slightly at that, things had picked up markedly after Fudge's removal and Scrimegeour's subsequent elevation, both in terms of Harry's relationship with the ministry and actual attempts to thwart Voldemort. Nonetheless, 'better than expected, worse than they ought to be', covered a lot of ground both literal and metaphorical.

"I'm sure you're doing a very good job. Lord Potter-Peverell-Black and Lord Weasley-Prewett speak very well of you."

"Do they? Well, that's nice." The Minister spoke with dryness that would put Snape to shame. "As long as we're all on the same page."

Hermione nodded, doing her best to be diplomatic (not the easiest thing for her). Then, not to probe, but... "Is that what we need to talk about, now?" she asked, probingly.

Scrimegeour looked a little off-put by the bluntness of her question, but nodded nonetheless. "Need a word, if you wouldn't mind. Rather urgent, to be frank."

Hermione hid a sigh. She knew that there were few opportunities to meet with the minister without drawing any undue attention, but she had been so looking forward to a night away from it all. She might not have six of them, but dipping her toe into a relationship had been quite exciting and educational in its own way, and she had really been excited about an entire evening of nothing more serious than a Christmas Party.

"Of course, Minister," she beckoned towards Ron, and then gave Harry a wave. He looked at her and then the Minister, giving her a small nod to show that he had seen her and would presumably be on his way over. He leaned over and whispered something into Romilda's ear, causing the younger girl to send a short glare her way.

Harry chuckled, whispering something in her ear again that made the glare melt away, and with a lazy kiss, he finally moved toward her and the now arrived Ron, Romilda running off with a bounce in her step to talk to Astoria and the twins.

On his way, Harry stopped and grabbed Lavender away from her gossip circle, pointing at the Minister as Lavender's mouth made a small 'o'.

"Good evening, Minister, Hermione – I take it your betroths are enjoying the fete, Ronald Bilius?"

"Quite, Hadrian James, quite."

"Harry, the Minister would like a quick word," Hermione began, trying to ease things along without too much needling of the closest thing they had to a powerful ally outside of Hogwarts.

"Of course, Minister, of course, but my Lady Potter-to-be would never forgive me if I allowed this evening to pass without sharing our news with you while we have the opportunity, rather than have you read about it in the papers ," Harry beamed, and Lavender looked suddenly stupefied with joy.

"We'll be signing the Ancient Pureblood Marriage Contract on the New Year, of course, and then the rest of my betroths shall follow throughout the year as per the appropriate Ancient and Noble Customs Calendar as it aligns with each of my Ancient Family Magics."

"Well, naturally," Ron added helpfully.

"But, well, Lav, would you like to do the honors?"

Lavender thrust out her perfectly manicured hand, and Hermione stared at it dumbly. Harry wanted to show the Minister her nail polish?"

"The Ancient and Noble Heirloom Diamond of Lord Potter's First True Love is on the fourth finger of Lavender Brown's left hand," Lavender gushed with a happy squeal.

Hermione blinked as a giant gemstone encircled in a thick band of gold appeared on Lavender's hand where it very clearly had not been before. Oh Really! Out of everything Harry and Ron had done over the past four years, this took the cake for being the most superfluously advanced spell-casting since the time they had "invented" house-sized expandable trunks. And the most, the most...

"Very charming, my dear," The Minister said at last, the twitch in his bushy eyebrows the only part of his face giving away that he was just as appalled by such an irreverent, yes, that was the word she was looking for, use of quite literally the most powerful and complex spell developed in the past three centuries.

"I'm sure Lord Potter agrees with me my dear, that he is a very lucky man. Lord. Speaking of which, Lord Potter-Peverell-Black, Lord Weasley-Prewett, Humble Granger, if I might have a moment of your time, in private?"

Whether it was Scrimgeour's auror training or political savvy that was responsible for it, he managed to keep his tone completely straight throughout the entire declaration, even with Lavender's hand now waving around near his face.

"I'll be back in a moment, Love," Harry said to the would-be...will-be Lady Potter. "I'm sure the Minister just wants to hit us up for another donation. He pecked her cheek. She giggled, and with another twirl of her ring flounced off in the direction of the Carrow twins.

"I take it she's not the political one in your... family," The Minister said at last, after casting a privacy bubble over the four of them. Harry gave him a dirty look. "Not on a national scale, no. But you'd be surprised the sort of way she has managed to take charge among my Household. She really would have been crushed had I not introduced you, she's been over the moon all day." Harry shrugged, then shook his head as if to clear it. "What can we do for you, Minister?"

"To the point, eh? I'll be blunt then. I'm going to go after the whole lot of the scum who wormed their way out of justice the last time round. Everyone who got off with the Imperius Defense, we're going in wands blazing first thing Boxing Day when the sots are hungover from too much Ogden's. Every man jack of them, stunned, shackled, and a shot of veritaserum shoved down their necks. And anyone we catch so much as having blushed in the direction of You-Know-Who, we'll hold a private testimonial hearing and then chuck 'em through the veil. And rid ourselves of the whole bloody lot."

Hermione gulped. She knew these things had to happen on an abstract level, had realized they were at war, but to think some of her classmates – even if not very nice ones – could wake up in a few days to find their parents had been taken from their homes and just disappeared in the middle of the night left her uncomfortable inside.

"I doubt you'll get much support for that in the Wizengamot," Harry said at last, his eyes still cool.

Scrimgeour's great mane of hair shook. "No, I won't. A quarter of those would need to follow the first batch through the veil if I could, but... well, there's no hope for that just yet. What I can do is at least get rid of the biggest threat still hiding in plain sight, and present the Wizengamot with a fait accompli."

"And you want our support before the knives come out," Ron concluded.

"Yes." Scrimegeour didn't mince words. "Before the first visitor arrives at Diagon Alley on Boxing Day, I want the pair of you on both sides of the alley, shouting my praises for doing what needs to be done to keep those madmen out of power."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a look.

"If you do this, and do it properly – no botch-ups, and no hauling in people like Stan Shunpike, then I'll sing my support so loudly they'll hear me at Ilvermorny." Harry too, minced no words.

"Hope not, I hear you in the shower and your singing's bloody terrible."

Scrimegeour reached into his pocket, pulling out a creased piece of parchment and shoving it at Harry. "Names and Addresses authorized for the raid are all there, nobody on it that doesn't deserve what's coming to him, though on your head if you lose that list, Po... Lord Potter."

Harry took the list and pocketed it.

Then Scrimegeour got a shrewd glint in his eye. "Noble and Ancient Pureblood Marriage Contract on New Year's, did you say? Don't supposed your, ah, Ladies, would mind if they stole the morning papers New Year's Day, would they. Prophet, Quibbler, W.W. – we'll do the lot. Can even talk to Jenkins and Carlyle and get you a spot on the morning wireless."

They went on like that for a few more minutes, ironing out the details of the coming days and informing the Minister, that no, they did not need any assistance at this time with their Special Project, and that while they and Dumbledore had hit a snag on the most recent thread, they could report being about five-sevenths of the way done with it. Scrimegeour looked like he'd bitten a lemon when they yet again refused to disclose precisely what the Special Project entailed, but nonetheless dropped the privacy charm, thanked Lord Potter-Peverell rather loudly for his generous support from the Gryffindor Family Vault and Lord Weasley-Prewett for use Hufflepuff's Ancient Magics, and made his way over to Eldred Worple as if he had been looking forward to nothing more all evening than to discuss overhauling Britain's legal restrictions on vampiric dietary customs.

"Blimey, this is all really happening," Ron said once the Minister was out of earshot. "Come a long way, haven't we?"

"And a long way left to go," Harry replied somberly, then a silly grin wobbling over his face as his eyes caught Astoria being twirled around by Daphne. He turned to the pair of them. "I'm sorry Lady Granger, but I believe my dance card is calling for me. Do you mind-"

"By no means, Lord Potter, I shall take care of your friend," a fourth voice called out from behind them. Hermione smiled, leaning back. One arm wrapped around her, the other presented her with the heretofore forgotten refreshment. Harry and Ron smiled and then with a quick nod, made their way over to their respective parties, though most of their girls had at this point formed an indistinguishable mob, spaced apart only by the needs of their dresses and Lavender's arm length. Catching sight of Harry, Romilda skipped away from the group and pulled him back onto the dance floor, while Ron put an arm around Parvati.

"I hope I needn't feel jealous of how the Minister steals your time," the voice at her back continued, though with more amusement than any real worry. "I'll have to have words with him the next time I see Uncle Tiberius if I do."

Hermione giggled and half turned so as to swat the non-drink-holding arm. "Shush, you." She frowned, mostly playfully. "He referred to me as Humble, am I really going to have to carry around that ridiculous title around for the rest of my days. Humble Hag, I mean honestly!" She turned around the rest of the way in his arms.

Cormac nodded seriously. "Preposterous, is what it is. Of all the words to describe you, I would never go with one as ridiculously absurd as humble."

She should have been annoyed at that. She shouldn't have giggled and swatted him again and laughed when he jumped away in faux indignation all while doing his best to keep the flute of bubbly punch from spilling... but she did. Then he moved toward her, oh goodness in front of everyone he was going to-

"I have every right to be here!"

Never before had she wanted to curse Draco Malfoy, figuratively and literally, as she did in that moment.

"No, no get off me. Get off. Stop!" The boy actually shoved Professor Snape, who looked murderous. Malfoy though was too far gone to notice, much less care.

Gone was the arrogant, overly-coiffed boy that had strutted around Hogwarts as if his father owned the place back in the first and second year. Gone even was the hot-headed and venom-spewing teen that had scowled and spat as Harry and Ron had somehow danced from one absurd victory to the next. All that remained was a pale shadow; his one good eye was manic and sunken in his skull, the other, made of glass and definitely without the auror-grade enchantments, span frantically around and around making a popping noise at every rotation. His hair was tussled from his escape from Snape and already sweat was beginning to flow down his face which was so pale as to be almost translucent. The fingers of his silver hand at the end of his left arm clenched and unclenched without any sort of control, and the ragged scars running down his face to his shoulders were clearly visible from where his robes had been dislodged in the scuffle.

Next to him, almost as an afterthought, stood Pansy Parkinson, dressed in pastel pink robe that pooled around her feet and looking absolutely mortified, frozen like a statue, one hand caught in Pomona Sprout's grip and making not the slightest attempt to escape.

"Draco, you said we had an invite." She whispered into the silence that had fallen like a lead weight.

That set Draco off again.

"We should have, we should have. Everything should have been different." Spittle was flying from his lips. "It's his fault," his silver hand shot up and pointed at Harry. His and the blood traitor and the mudblood and all those disgusting servile whores-"

"That's quite enough of that," Harry's voice cut through the room like a knife, Malfoy going silent mid-rant as Harry's silencing charm cut him off. He stepped forward, and the whole room stood and watched this schoolboy duel take its final curtain call. Though Harry, Hermione realized with a true moment of clarity, was no longer a schoolboy. Schoolboy's did not hobnob with Ministers over the future of Magical Britain... and deserve to be doing so. And Malfoy was not even a schoolboy anymore, but a... a walking corpse of a madman.

Harry waved his wand silently and Malfoy's wand flew out from his good arm's sleeve and whizzed into Harry's hand. Malfoy looked stunned.

"You insult my loved ones and yet you're shocked I take away your ability to harm them?" Harry asked, sounding incredulous, though Hermione had heard him enough to know he was acting for his audience. "Six years, and that's all I've ever done, and still you don't expect it?" He looked almost pityingly at Malfoy.

Then his attention turned to Malfoy's wand for a moment, tracing a finger down it slowly with his free hand. And then, to the shock of everyone in the room, he threw it back to Malfoy, who caught it in the silver hand.

"I'm going to give you your voice back, and you're going to apologize to everyone in this room, and then leave." Harry turned to Pansy.

"Miss Parkinson, I apologize that you appear to have been caught up in this mess, and advise you reconsider your life choices." A pause. "Time is running out."

Pansy nodded quickly. And then, with obvious conflict flashing down her face, said aloud:

"Yes, Lord Potter."

Draco Malfoy turned towards her, face seething, and Pansy flinched, but did not otherwise move away, still frozen in her spot and in Sprout's grasp.

Harry waved his wand just in time to allow a strangled gasp to finish escaping from Malfoy's throat.

"You took everything from me, Potter," he said at last, voice raspy and furious. "You killed my father, you bankrupted the Malfoy name," Malfoy froze, as if agonizing of whether to reveal some final injury. "You, you debauched my mother."

Hermione's head snapped towards Harry faster than a dragon in midturn. For his part, Harry looked appropriately shocked by the last declaration.

"I have never debauched your mother, Malfoy," he said at last. He paused, a thoroughly Daphne-esque smile slipping across his face. "Though, Polyjuice is not the most difficult potion to procure I have two house-elves that are known to Narcissa Malfoy née Black. Not to cast aspersions but perhaps your mother-"

Draco completely lost it. Perhaps it really was just the long line of indignities that he had suffered (quite rightly) over the past few years at their hands. Perhaps it had been the consequences of his family's poor decisions over his lifetime finally catching up with him. Perhaps it was, if the Marauder's Map was any guide, something to do with his determination and complete failure to enter the Ancient Star Chamber of Ravenclaw. Perhaps he had simply given up hope. Perhaps, Malfoy really did love his mother and this insinuation truly was the last straw.

Even so, it really was a bit much that with literally three aurors in the room, plus the Minister of Magic, Malfoy decided that if he only had one spell left to fire, he would fire it at her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And Malfoy's wand turned into a rubber chicken. Hermione felt her heart seem to restart.

A moment of silence.

"As I said, Malfoy," Harry pulled Draco's wand out of his sleeve. "Why are you so shocked that I take away your ability to harm my loved ones after you threaten them?"

Draco turned even paler. He went limp, all fight had abandoned him, even his magical eye stopped spinning and just emitted a soft hiss.

Pansy looked ready to die, staring almost comatose as two aurors under Scrimegour's barked instructions to take Draco Malfoy away. "For good."

For Pansy, perhaps in time there might be redemption. For Malfoy, Hermione didn't care.