Michael was one of the pages at Lleuwlynn and Selwyn, and he was Hermione's favorite coworker. He was young, only out of Hogwarts a couple years himself, and he was a kind if slightly awkward-looking fellow. He was tall and lanky with sandy brown hair that he wore in spikes with the tips bleached, and he had a crooked yellow smile that made Hermione wonder if he'd taken the occasional Bludger to the face.
Not only was he a Muggle-born and open about that fact, but he was very interested in learning absolutely everything he could about the wizarding world. He'd taken the job at the publishing firm as a way to have nearly unlimited access to books just so he could learn as much as he could. When he'd worn an old Ravenclaw Quidditch jersey to work one day, Hermione had felt precisely zero surprise - he was the most Ravenclaw Ravenclaw to ever Ravenclaw, in her mind.
Michael enjoyed Hermione's own enthusiasm for learning, and he treated her like an adult. Hermione loved listening and learning everything he had to tell her. Michael knew a lot about many random things, especially obscure theories of magic, and Hermione enjoyed hearing about it all whenever there was no work for her to do.
One day, when discussing the most recent wizarding war, Michael had asked her about her blood status, and Hermione had hesitated. Michael caught it and quirked his head, and Hermione bit her lip.
"Not here," she said. She dragged him deep into the stacks.
Michael went along curiously, and Hermione made him crouch down to her level.
"My blood status is… complicated," she told him. "Promise you won't tell anyone else."
Michael was too curious to stop there, it seemed, so he obligingly withdrew his wand, making a wand vow with Hermione.
"I was told I'm a New Blood," Hermione told him seriously. "But without that designation, I'd be considered a Muggle-born just like you."
Michael blinked. "A 'New Blood'?"
Hermione explained about meeting Luna in Flourish and Blotts and the prophecy she had spoken, and how the Sorting Hat had called her New Blood as well. Michael listened and looked at her curiously as she spoke about doing her best to establish New Blood as being a thing. He was looking at her thoughtfully by the end.
"If a Seer said you're a New Blood, then you're a New Blood," he told her matter-of-factly. "No matter what doubts you feel, the wizarding world takes the words of verified Seers pretty much as law. Even if New Bloods weren't a thing before you, they are now, with you being the first."
"Yes, but that means nothing if people don't believe me," Hermione said, resisting the urge to kick a bookshelf. "I'm in Slytherin. I've told everybody I'm a New Blood, and I think my year mates mostly believe me, but the rest of the house doesn't. I get a lot of flack for being born to Muggles. A lot."
Michael looked at her sympathetically.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could help," he told her honestly. "I got shit on too when I was in Hogwarts for being Muggle-born, and I was only in Ravenclaw. The blood prejudice is awful and unfair."
Hermione bit her lip.
"Do you mean it?"
Michael blinked at her. "What?"
"Do you mean it?" she asked. "That you wish you could help?"
He looked at her quizzically. "Of course."
Hermione took a deep breath. "Even if it meant breaking the rules?"
Comprehension dawned in Michael's eyes.
"You have an idea," he said. "You've come up with an idea."
"I've had the idea for weeks now," Hermione admitted. "I haven't seen the opportunity to carry it out, though. I figured I'd have to wait a few years, work my way up to being a page or a binder in order to do it…"
Michael chuckled. "Vitac is never going to let you transfer departments. You're too good at copy-writing. He's already mourning you going back to school, you know."
Hermione flushed, and Michael laughed.
"So what's your plan?" he asked amenably. "It's been a while since I've gotten up to some good mischief."
After double-checking to make sure no one needed them, Hermione led him through the stacks, crossing over rows.
"These are the master copies over here, Hermione," Michael said. "What are you-?"
"I know," Hermione said, hushing him. "Come on."
They went far back into the stacks, past the 1970s, the 1960s, the 1950s, the 1940s. They stopped at the section for the 1930s – all the books published in the entire decade.
"We're either looking for a book by 'Anonymous' or Cantankerus Nott," Hermione whispered.
Michael's eyes lit with understanding. "The Pure-Blood Directory."
They split up, searching the shelves.
The Pure-Blood Directory had been a short book published anonymously in the 1930s. It had decried the mixing of magical blood with Muggle, urged magical people to only marry other magicals, and pushed the agenda of pureblood purity forward hard. What it was most notable for was its inclusion of a list, of the "Sacred 28" – a list of the 28 families with completely pure blood and flawless pedigree in the United Kingdom. Regardless of the ideas touted in the book, the list had caused a large stir in the magical community in Britain; pureblood families who bought into the ideology and were on the list were suddenly better, worth more than their peers and elevated in status, while families on the list who didn't follow the ideology cried out against the publication and were promptly labeled blood-traitors by the hardcore believers.
Hermione had memorized the list of family names before she'd come to Hogwarts, finding a copy of the list in an etiquette guide. She had recognized many of them: Tracey Davis was the only other girl in her dorm that wasn't part of the Sacred 28, and Draco and Theo were both on the list as well. A few others she knew were, too: Marcus Flint's family was listed, as was Neville's, as well as Ron's. There were a few others around the school as well – members of this illustrious pureblood elite.
"Found it!" Michael hissed, and Hermione hurried over, taking the book from him and reading quickly, her eyes rapidly scanning the pages.
The book was much as she expected – full of vitriol and hatred, dripping disdain for Muggles from every paragraph, conveying the superiority of purebloods, but itself not particularly well-written. Luckily, it was rather short.
"Do you know the spells to edit a master?" Hermione asked Michael, scanning the table of contents. She glanced up at him. "Do you?"
"Yes," he admitted. "I shouldn't, but I do." He sank to the floor next to her. "Do you know what you want to change?"
Hermione rapidly flipped through the book. It wasn't very long, and she finally found what she was looking for somewhere in the middle – the definition of 'pureblood'. It was hidden in the middle of the book, after the grandiose introduction but long before the meat of the book, the directory of names itself.
"Here," she hissed. "How do I edit it?"
"It's done by dictation," Michael told her. "You'll have to know exactly what you want to say before you start speaking. The spell will adjust the print lines."
"And it will all fit?"
"If there's room," Michael warned.
Hermione flipped the page, seeing about three-quarters of a free page at the end of the chapter. That was all the wiggle-room she would have to add text. She flipped back to the part she wanted.
"Okay," she said, biting her lips. "I'm ready."
Michael traced a complicated sigil over the book, his wand careful, deliberate.
"Commutatio scriptum," he whispered, and touched his wand to the page.
The page jerked, and the text began to turn blue, spreading out from his wand point. Hermione looked to Michael, astonished, and he nodded to her expectantly. Hermione took a deep breath, leaned over to Michael's wand, and began to speak.
Hermione had long since considered what exactly she would put into this book if she ever got the chance - considering it over and over again, often while trying to fall asleep. It had been one of her goals once she'd started working at the publishing house, as soon as she had learned such a thing was possible. Hermione spoke very carefully, every word deliberate and chosen with care.
When she was done, she pulled back and nodded to Michael, who pulled his wand from the page, murmured a "Scriptum signo" and traced another complicated sigil, and the text sealed itself once more, the blue turning back to black. Once they were both sure it was done, the book completely sealed, they both let out deep sighs of relief.
Dark black text that hadn't been there before stood out to Hermione in stark relief.
Most venerated and rare of the purebloods is the New Blood, the originator of a new Great House. New Bloods represent the spontaneous generation of magic from an entirely unmagical line, given their power by being touched by Magic itself. Those of New Blood are exceptionally powerful, through this connection with Magic itself, and they have been gifted with fertility, destined to be blessed with many powerful children, ensuring the success of their new Great House.
New Bloods can be noted by their skill with nonverbal and wandless magic, as well as the amount of power they control. Once a witch or wizard of New Blood comes of age, they may formally make their claim as one of sacred and new blood. A convocation of the Sacred 28 families will be called, and the New Blood will demonstrate their strength and the purity of their magic and blood. Two-thirds of the existing families must agree that the person is truly of New Blood, gifted by magic itself, and not the spawn of a squib pretending at power.
Once the quorum agrees, the name of the New Blood must be added in, considered another Sacred family, and the Directory updated to the Sacred 29 (or the Sacred 30, the Sacred 31, and so on).
Hermione pulled her eyes from the page, her breath short. She pressed her fists to her eyes and rubbed them hard. She felt like she might faint.
"I can't believe you just did that," Michael said, his voice sounding slightly stunned. "Holy shit."
"You don't?" Hermione asked, biting her lip. "Oh, we are going to get in so much trouble."
Michael seemed to snap to.
"We're not going to get caught," he scoffed. "No one will ever know. All the copies people have will update. No one will know it was ever different. And we're done – all we're doing now is looking at a copy of a very old book. Nothing wrong with that."
Hermione bit her lip. "Then why can't you believe we did that?"
Michael stood and re-shelved the book, before taking her hand and leading her from the stacks, over to the safer ones, the reference shelves. Hermione hurriedly trotted along at his side.
"Because that is the one thing I can think of that will give your claim the most legitimacy," Michael told her. "I can't even count how many times I heard people reference that stupid book and discuss their bloodlines. The purebloods, the blood purists, they venerate that book. And you just... went and changed it. You just rewrote their canon." Michael shook his head. "The sheer nerve on you, girl…"
"I can't believe I was able to do it so soon," Hermione admitted. "It was a pipe-dream, really – something to work up to and manage to do once I got to learn the right spells to edit a Master and had enough power to do it myself… I never dreamed I'd have an accomplice..."
Hermione froze as the words left her.
She had an accomplice.
Accomplices, from what she knew, were dangerous loose ends, and, if left dangling, they could tie you up and trap you later. Accomplices could end up very incriminating, and the Slytherin part of Hermione was screaming at her for not learning how to erase memories before starting on this mission with her friend.
Hermione took a deep breath and looked Michael in the eyes.
"In order for this to work, I need no one to ever know this was done," she told him. "You helped me. What do you want in exchange for your silence?"
Michael quirked an eyebrow.
"It shows that you're in Slytherin," he said, a slow grin coming onto his face. "You're not comfortable with getting something without giving something in return. Though most Slytherins don't ask 'what do you want?' so directly."
Hermione fought the urge to squirm. "So?"
Michael shrugged.
"I can't think of anything, really," he said. He grinned at her, his crooked teeth mocking her in the dim light. "Not really. What can a thirteen-year-old girl get me that I can't get myself?"
Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, considering.
"I might have an idea…"
A few days later, Michael came up to Hermione and suddenly hugged her hard in front of everyone else, making her squeal in surprise. He picked her up, swinging her around in glee and laughter, making everyone else stare.
"Aah-! Michael, what-?"
"Your parents said they could fix it!" Michael exclaimed. His joy was contagious. "A couple surgeries and possibly braces, and they'll help me with a payment plan, but they can fix it! It never even occurred to me to ask Muggle dentists after Madame Pomfrey said it was too dangerous to try – she said magicking it might make my teeth fall out!"
"That's great, Michael," Hermione exclaimed. "Now put me down!"
Michael did so, laughing as Hermione stumbled slightly, dizzy.
"You don't even know what this means to me," he told her, grinning widely. "Hermione, I haven't gone out in public much or really dated for years. Oh, I can dress up and comb my hair, sure, but the second I open my mouth, it's over. But this… this will fix that! I will look normal again!"
He laughed again, more quietly, almost to himself, as if he couldn't believe it. Hermione beamed up at him, excited and happy at his joy.
"We're even, now, right?" she said. "This is good enough for you?"
Michael stared at her.
"Hermione, I cast a few spells for you, and we were done in five minutes. It was nothing," he told her, giving her an honest smile. "This... This will give me back my self-confidence, give me back my life. You are giving me way more than I gave."
He clapped a hand onto her shoulder, offering her a hesitant smile.
"If you ever need anything – anything," he told her seriously, "I'll be one of the first at your side."