cclxxi. three-hundred and thirty three
Harriet had mixed feelings about the end of term.
On one hand, she couldn't wait to get away from Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad. The former followed Harriet whenever she could, her quill always scratching away at the parchment on her clipboard. Harriet kept her nose clean and was nothing but a model student, and yet Umbridge always had a negative comment about her. The witch reminded Harriet of a dreadful pink Dementor who'd taken to haunting her like vengeful, brassed off ghost.
The latter harassed most anyone, so much so that the professors had taken to holding the Inquisitorial Squad members back after lessons so their peers and the rest of the student body could get to their next classes without interference. To avoid them and Umbridge, Harriet spent much of her free time in the common room or the Aerie, either fiddling with interesting bits of magic or simply exploring. She felt as if a permanent pair of eyes had been set on the back of her neck, and the pressure to maintain perfect decorum wherever she went drained her terribly.
On the other hand, she would miss lessons with the Coven. They'd gotten her a group photo for Yule, taken by one of the Gryffindor members, Colin Creevey. It had everyone but her in it, even Hermione and Elara, who must have kept it a secret so she would be surprised when it was presented in their last lesson for the year. Harriet didn't cry, but it was a near thing.
She would miss Hogwarts despite the trouble she always found in its halls. She would miss tea with the Headmaster, where she'd talk about her lessons with Slytherin and Professor Dumbledore would have stories to share about the many things he'd seen in his life. She'd even miss detentions with Snape, where she could find a measure of peace from the rest of the school and sit with a book and read while listening to the Potions Master huff over bad essays or the latest Umbridge debacle. They would duel at least once a week, then analyze her form, disseminating what they could about Slytherin's skill.
But then, it was time to leave, and while everyone else took the carriages out to Hogsmeade so they could ride the train, Harriet went with Remus up to Professor Dumbledore's office, and she stepped through the Floo into Grimmauld Place.
"You'll have to stay here while I go collect the girls at the station," Sirius told her as she sat at the table with a cup of tea prepared by Mably, who always came home on the holidays to be with Elara.
"I don't see why they couldn't come through the Floo too," Harriet groused. "I don't like being the only one."
"Dumbledore said something about appearances and all that rot. I'm sure he's got his reasons."
Soon enough, Sirius returned with Hermione and Elara in tow, joined by Malfoy, as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were still at Grimmauld. "They're driving me barmy," Sirius grumbled as Narcissa doted on Draco, who'd gone red in the face. "But at least I can leave the house for a spell and clear my head. With Gaunt's Guardian arseholes out in force, Lucy and Cissy are stuck inside most of the time."
For a few days, they enjoyed a normal holiday—or, well, as normal as could be expected for something in Harriet's life. Grimmauld had never looked better, the rather grimy and blatantly ancient furnishings and dilapidated architecture corrected by Narcissa's firm hand, tended to by her house-elves Dipthy and Delby. Elara wasn't terribly fond of the changes, and she sulked in her room for an afternoon until Narcissa allowed her to pick the wallpaper in the lounge.
Dobby came to stay with them as well—more than delighted to subtly harass his former masters while they resided in Grimmauld. Narcissa and Lucius always found their tea too hot or too cold, the furniture always slightly in the way, their robes wrinkled and one sock always missing. Harriet would hear Dobby cackling every time one of the Malfoys cursed.
With him came the surprising addition of Winky, another elf from the school's kitchens.
"I promised her I'd help find her a family," Hermione explained over a game of Muggle checkers. "I asked her to help with—well, you know, the election."
Harriet snorted to herself. Help with blackmail, more like.
"Yes, anyway—I promised to help her find a family after she assisted me. You know how I hate the idea of elves being property, but I can't simply expect for them to change their ways overnight, and Winky's terribly miserable. I was hoping you would take her in."
"Me?" Harriet sputtered, surprised. "What? Why?"
"Because you could show her what it's like to be in a family that treats her as an equal rather than a—a dog." She took a breath to control her temper, then sighed, lowering her voice. "She belonged to the Crouches before. Crouch Senior had her managing his son after he smuggled him out of Azkaban, and they both treated her awfully. I thought, seeing as you would understand being on the receiving end of the Crouches' harassment better than anyone, you might be able to bond with her, and Winky might like helping someone her former masters have hurt. Please consider it."
Harriet didn't have to consider it long. She didn't like the idea of owning a person, but she also didn't want Winky to feel homeless, not after having dealt with the likes of Barty Crouch Junior. She accepted Hermione's proposal, then she went about introducing Winky to her familiar and golems.
"It's just me and Livius and these little idiots here," she explained as they all sat on her bed. Harriet scratched at the back of her head, awkward. "I think I got a house or something, but not until I reach majority and get access to the main family vault. I could use the extra help with Livi—he needs more time outside, seeing as he's getting so big, but uh, you might not be comfortable with that. Err, so I can understand if you'd like to find a different family, maybe a bigger one…."
Winky looked between Harriet and the snakes, lingering longest on Livi, who knew better than to bite any of the elves in that house or at Hogwarts.
"Why doesss it ssstare?" the Horned Serpent asked.
"She might be joining our family," Harriet explained. He had nothing to say to that, though Harriet saw his interest in Winky was markedly more curious than before.
Finally, Winky seemed to come to a conclusion, and she asked, "Is Missy Harriet being alone?"
"Not really. I've got my godfather and Elara and Hermione—and the Flamels, I'll have to introduce you to them. My mum and dad died when I was little, killed by Vol—You-Know-Who. I've got relatives, but they're not…not great people. Haven't talked to them in a few years now."
Winky nodded, large ears flapping. "Yes, Winky is being happy to belong to House Potter!"
"Oh?" Harriet weakly replied. "That's great, Winky. Thank you."
"Thank you, Mistress Harriet!"
"Just Harriet, Merlin…."
So, a little bed was made beneath Harriet's nightstand, and they argued about laundry and organizing and cleaning. Harriet mostly let her have her way, but wrangled out an agreement that she would join the dinner table with Mably and Dobby. Dipthy, Delby, and Kreacher refused to take part, even when they left place settings for the missing elves.
For those few short days, the many residents of Grimmauld Place enjoyed a hectic, but otherwise unproblematic beginning to their Yule holiday. Then, it was time to go to the Ministry.
xXx
Harriet looked at the robes neatly laid on her fluffed counterpane and thought she might be ill.
"Is Harriet not liking them?" Winky asked as she stood on tip-toes to peer over the bed's top. "Winky can iron them better, she can!"
"No, no, that's not it. You did a lovely job," Harriet rushed to assure her. "I'm just not excited about where I have to wear them to."
Exhaling through her teeth, she finally reached down to pick the robes up and shrugged them on over her day clothes. The front had a series of finicky clasps that closed in such a way as to let the fabric lay flush against her torso, and when Harriet paused to look at herself in the mirror hung on the wall, she made a face as if she'd bitten into a lemon.
"Blood hell," she grunted. "Plum really isn't my color."
She looked ridiculous—though, she had to wonder if it were at all possible not to look ridiculous in those robes. She appeared especially silly because she was a teenager dressed in stiff, overly prim attire meant for an older witch, and she thought no one could take her seriously.
I don't have to be taken seriously, she reminded herself. All I'm doing is casting a vote. That's it.
She headed downstairs after bidding Livi and Winky goodbye, taking the stairs one at a time, careful of her thick hem. She could hear male voices rumbling together as she stopped on the landing to look down, and she saw Professor Dumbledore had arrived in his Wizengamot robes, joined by Sirius and Mr. Malfoy in theirs, as well as much of the rest of the house. Mr. Malfoy looked as pale as a sheet, and he leaned against one of the walls with his wife's hand on his shoulder.
"Ah, Harriet," Professor Dumbledore greeted as she descended the final steps, her face tinged a delicate pink as she felt all eyes turn to her. "I'm glad to see all is in order with the robes. Very stately."
It was on the tip of Harriet's tongue to say she looked like a git, but she respected the Headmaster too much to do that. "Thanks, Professor."
Sirius looped an arm around her shoulders, though Elara chivvied him away before he could muss up her plait. "Honestly," the taller witch said with a delicate sniff. "She doesn't need you hanging off her, wrinkling her clothes."
Hermione joined them, extending a scroll from Harriet to take. "Here. It's an assortment of last-minute notes and things you can look at while the vote is happening." She exhaled and tucked one of her frizzy curls behind her ear. "I can't anticipate how things will go, but we can only hope at this point."
Harriet nodded as she tucked the scroll into one of the seamless pockets sewn into the robes' front. Elara helped with one of the old-fashioned clasps she hadn't quite tightened the right way. "All right," she said. "Is Mr. Malfoy going to be sick over there?"
Hermione glanced in his direction, then away, her sympathy limited. "He's being his usual dramatic self," she said in a dry undertone. "He hasn't gone back to the Ministry since abandoning Gaunt, you see. He's petrified of walking into the chamber and being stuck in the same room with the man. It's not as if he could do anything in public. Ridiculous."
Privately, Harriet thought it prudent for Mr. Malfoy to feel some measure of fear when being in Gaunt's presence. After all, the Minister's goons had abducted her off a busy, public platform without any issue, and Gaunt wasn't what anyone would consider rational. Harriet's neck could attest to that. Malfoy was in the best position to understand Gaunt went to great lengths when he felt slighted.
They set out through the Floo not long after that, Malfoy sticking to Professor Dumbledore's side like a Niffler to a sack of gold. Sirius found it amusing and made several comments as they strode through the Ministry Atrium, attracting curious looks from employees and visitors alike, but Mr. Malfoy didn't pay him any mind. The wizard's pale, pointed face had taken on a distinct green tinge.
After checking in, they boarded the lift, the gate screeched closed, and they descended.
Harriet broke the grim silence by asking, "Is this…is it going to take long?"
"I can't assume you have more important things to be doing," Mr. Malfoy drawled, and Sirius trod on his foot.
"Not terribly long, no," Professor Dumbledore answered. He had his sole hand folded against his middle in a casual pose that looked ever so slightly awkward because of his missing limb. Harriet thought he looked better than the rest of them in his plum robes with the gaudy silver 'W' on his shoulder. Like a proper wizard. "A typical session may last through the entire afternoon into the evening, but a vote requires much less debate, you see. The arbitrator will call for the sixty-six representatives to vote one by one, and then a result is had."
"Is there a specific order that we have to vote in?" she asked.
"No." Malfoy answered her this time, gripping the serpentine head of his walking cane as if it might vanish at any moment. "What Miss Granger failed to understand in engineering this fiasco is that the arbitrator must be properly bribed—oh, shut up, Black." Sirius had pulled a truly gruesome face, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. "They must be bribed to call the Houses in a specific order. Many of the lesser scum follow the votes of their betters and so must be called on after those votes have been cast."
"That's not how I would have chosen to word it," Professor Dumbledore said with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "But not entirely far off from the truth. The identity of the arbitrator can be difficult to ascertain before a vote such as this, but the Order came through, and Mistress Amble was genially coached in how important it was for certain names to be called before others."
Harriet nodded. It didn't shock her to hear that the Headmaster accepted the inevitability of blackmail and bribery; it seemed everything to do with magical politics involved either posturing or strong-arming or ensuring gold found the right palms. It made her dizzy, trying to understand it all.
The lift slowed, and the gate rolled back to reveal the corridor beyond. "Level nine. Department of Mysteries."
Dozens upon dozens of witches and wizards had crammed into the space and blocked the stairwells, both those in their plum Wizengamot robes and those not. A camera flashed, releasing puffs of smoke, and Harriet thought she saw the distinct blonde hair of a certain Prophet reporter dipping among the crowd, chased by her emerald green quill.
"Let us mosey toward our destination, shall we?" Professor Dumbledore said, speaking above the frightful volume. "Oh, Harriet, if you could assist an old wizard, please. Those stairs are something awful…."
He offered his arm as if he needed to be guided forward, and Harriet understood he simply didn't want her to get lost in a potentially unfriendly horde. She looped her arm around his, and they stepped off the lift into the teeming fold.
As soon as he appeared, many people wanted to speak to Dumbledore, and Harriet found herself all but smashed into his side, an elbow knocking her glasses askew. The crowd surged, voices raised.
"If you could please give Miss Potter room, gentlemen, thank you…."
There were Wizengamot members and Aurors, reporters and correspondents. There was one bloke from the ICW that Harriet didn't catch the name of who stopped to tell Dumbledore, "We're watching this vote with interest, Professor. There's been rumors, you see—."
The Headmaster paused at length to speak with a vaguely familiar wizard with black hair, long sideburns, and a mustache Harriet recalled spotting at Sirius' trial years ago. "Malcolm McGonagall," Professor Dumbledore introduced. "He's the Head of the House of Ross, and our dear Professor McGonagall's younger brother."
She shook hands with the wizard. "How do you do?" he said.
"Erm, good, thanks."
All in all, Harriet expected to pass through the tight, packed corridor like a limpet, unremarked on by any of those around her, but for better or worse, this didn't happen.
"Erroneous Pyrites," introduced a silver-haired man with sharp, glinting eyes and gold-capped teeth, extending a white-gloved hand for Harriet to shake. "Master Slytherin has told me quite a bit about you."
Harriet's heartbeat spiked. She felt sweat building beneath the thick collar of her robes. "He has?"
"Naturally. You are his apprentice, after all." They shook, and then the man laced his fingers together, arching a brow. "He's expecting me to follow your example this afternoon."
Harriet took that to mean Slytherin had ordered him to vote as Harriet would. Her deranged Master had been mostly ambivalent toward the whole matter of the vote. "You are all like children building sand castles," he'd explained to her the day before she departed. "You, Granger, Gaunt, Dumbledore. Your progress has been acceptable, so I don't particularly care how you spend your free time. I won't be requiring you this Yule holiday, anyway."
"What do you mean by sand castles, Master?"
"It's pointless. No matter how tall it is built, or how deeply you dig the moat, the tide comes in, and the castle crumbles. Surely I do enjoy seeing Gaunt troubled, but ultimately, it's futile. You will see."
There were other faces there that she hadn't expected to meet. Linden Craft and Cedric Diggory sought her out, the pair both dressed in Ministry robes, though nothing to do with either the Wizengamot or the Aurory.
"I'm working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Diggory explained, smiling. "And Linden's interning in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. We knew you'd be here and came to wish you luck."
"Thanks, you two."
Linden leaned in closer to her, perhaps closer than Harriet was strictly comfortable with, to whisper, "A little birdie told us you've started a group at the school."
He nearly gave her a heart attack, thinking the Coven had somehow been exposed, but Cedric explained, "We haven't heard anything specific, promise! We want to join though, whatever it is."
She stammered, "You want to join, but you don't even know what it is you're joining?"
"We know you're at the head of it, and that's all we need to know." Linden crossed his arm against his middle. "If you think everyone's completely blind to what's happening with Slytherin and Gaunt and the Dark Lord, you're mistaken. We want to help, if we can."
There wasn't much more Harriet could say to them there in that setting, not surrounded by so many ears, and not with the Headmaster curiously looking on. She trusted Professor Dumbledore and understood he must have some passing knowledge of the Coven, because no one was bloody clever enough to keep a group that size from the Headmaster, but she took their privacy seriously.
"I'll write," she told Linden and Cedric before moving on.
They were nearly to the chamber's doors when Harriet almost collided with another wizard, and she glanced up on instinct to apologize. She looked into the face of the older Snape impostor—the man whose house she'd broken into and stolen blackmail from. Harriet froze and gaped like an ugly fish. The wizard blinked, eyes narrowing—and then smirked.
"Oh, Tiberius. Hello," Professor Dumbledore said to him.
Rather than returning his salutations, the man replied, "Give Severus my best, Headmaster," and moved on. Professor Dumbledore frowned, then asked if Harriet had happened to meet Lord Prince before. She shook her head so hard she rattled her teeth.
That can't be good. Merlin's bollocks.
The room in which the vote for Minister would be held much resembled the one Harriet's trial had been in, if smaller and more cluttered with nice cushions on the long benches and swiveling sideboards prepped with refreshments. The smaller space afforded less seating for the public, which meant only a handful of people not wearing Wizengamot attire were allowed past the Aurors guarding the doors. The air smelled of pipe smoke and incense, a few members already in place, smoking or sipping cups of tea.
"Let's find seats over here, shall we…?"
They situated themselves somewhere in the middle of the tiered rows, Harriet placed between Sirius and Dumbledore. Malfoy seated himself behind the latter, and Harriet got the distinct impression he was using Dumbledore's height to hide.
I don't blame him for trying.
Others joined them there—Mr. McGonagall, Neville's grandmum Augusta Longbottom, a dark-skinned wizard named Shacklebolt Harriet thought was probably related to one of her students, Basil, and was apparently part of Dumbledore's Order. Mad-Eye Moody's brother sat in front of them, along with old Ollivander, and even Xenophilius Lovegood, who always managed to make a bloody scene whenever he saw Harriet. He insisted on shaking her hand at least six times, embarrassing the daylights out of her.
She noticed most everyone present was a wizard.
Madam Bones stopped to shake Professor Dumbledore's hand. "I can't say I'm particularly enthused about my chances," she told him, accepting a cup of tea from Augusta Longbottom. "But pressure from your side of the fence has been unrelenting, Dumbledore. The least I can do is live up to my side of the arrangement."
"You do yourself a disservice, Madam Bones. You would make an excellent Minister."
She threw her tea back in one gulp, scalding or not. "We'll see."
Gaunt arrived when the chamber was nearly full, trailed by those whom Harriet guessed were his closest followers. His red gaze swept the tiered rows, and Harriet leaned back, using Sirius to block his vantage. Sirius obliged, and she was fairly certain he tossed the git a two-fingered salute when he finally did look in their direction. Dumbledore softly chided, "Come now, Sirius," but his beard twitched with a hidden smile.
A stooped witch Dumbledore quietly identified as Amber Amble, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, eventually called the chamber to order. Everyone quieted, and Harriet's pulse ratcheted up another level as she tried to keep herself calm. The court scribe, Anne Katrina Gambol, joined the first witch in the room's belly, along with a strange brass device with two blank, glass faces and several affixed lenses.
"It registers your vote," Sirius muttered after Harriet nudged him and pointed at the contraption. "It's a bit of a magical lie detector, you could call it. It won't count the vote if a person's Polyjuiced or under a compulsion like an Imperius. If it doesn't register the vote, it's not legal."
Amber Amble cleared her throat. It was a thick, phlegm-filled sound. "We convene today, the Wizengamot, in the solstice of the year 1995, beheld by magical providence, to count a vote in volume, not in body, for the British Ministry of Magic's thirty-fifth Minister for Magic. The results recorded here today are witnessed by the full authority of our governing body and are held in truth. If you object to his sentiment as it has been given, please speak now."
The room remained silent aside from a stray, smothered cough in the back. Harriet could hear the court scribe's quill scratching on the parchment as she hurried to write everything Madam Amble said.
"Very well. We will begin with the vote from the House of the incumbent Minister, as is tradition. Will the Head of House Gaunt please stand?"
Naturally, it was the Minister himself who stood, the gold of his ring glittering in the chandelier's thick light as he ran a lazy hand through his hair. "House Gaunt levies eleven votes in favor of myself, Marvolo Gaunt."
The right face on the brass contraption changed, illuminated with the numerals 'XI.'
"Thank you, Minister Gaunt. Next, the House of the challenger. Will the Head of House Bones please rise?"
Madam Bones stood up. "House Bones levies four votes in favor of myself, Amelia Bones."
The left face of the contraption flashed with 'IV.'
As Madam Amble called on the next House to vote, Harriet set about retrieving the scroll from her pocket, grimacing at the noisy, distracting crinkle that rose as she did so. Professor Dumbledore loudly cleared his throat, and she yanked it the rest of the way out, wilting in her seat.
"Thanks, Professor…."
"Pay attention, dear."
Harriet unrolled Hermione's notes in her lap and redirected her gaze to the counter, then to the scroll. The next House was Burke, and according to Hermione's speculations, it was no surprise their four votes went to Gaunt.
Next—.
"Will the Head of House Malfoy stand?"
Mr. Malfoy fairly wobbled as he rose, presenting himself to the inspection of his peers—and his former Master. Harriet saw his throat bob as he swallowed, though there was no trace of his nerves in his voice when he spoke. "House Malfoy levies thirty-seven votes in favor of the challenger, Amelia Bones."
Whispers broke out among the spectators, so much so that Madam Amble had to call for order several times before the volume receded. Gaunt stared at Malfoy all the while, and Draco's father sunk into his seat like a man defeated.
"A mistake, Lucius," Gaunt said, his tongue lingering like a snake's. Menace dripped from every syllable, and Harriet felt a trill of fear chase along her spine.
"Quiet, please."
The vote continued in this fashion, the numerals on the glass faces creeping upward on either side. Amble called Harriet's name much earlier than she expected, and suddenly being urged to stand by Sirius scattered her wits. She stepped on her hem and staggered.
"Er—House Potter levies, uh—I don't—?"
"Seven, you tiny imbecile," Malfoy hissed behind her.
"Seven! House Potter levies seven votes in favor of um, Amelia Bones."
Chortles popped up among the listening witches and wizards. "Thank you, Miss Potter," Madam Amble said. "Though, we could without the stuttering next time."
Harriet wished the bench would swallow her whole—like that chair Elara used to have at Grimmauld. Just eat me, holy shite.
Dumbledore came next, giving five votes to Bones—and then Sirius, with twenty-eight. This set off another round of discontent mumbling, and Harriet could see people leaning toward one another, some shaking their heads, others nodding. I hope that means something good.
"Will the Head of House Prince please rise?"
That man Professor Dumbledore called 'Tiberius' got up. "House Prince levies three votes in favor of Madam Bones."
"Thank you, Lord Prince."
As he resumed his seat, Harriet heard Professor Dumbledore hum under his breath. "Interesting." He glanced at the scroll in Harriet's lap, gently tapping his finger against one of the many names. "You may want to watch what happens next."
The next House was House Selwyn—and though Hermione inked a tidy little Omega symbol by their name, indicating she expected they'd vote for Gaunt, they voted for Madam Bones. It was then that Harriet noted an arrow in the confusing mess of Hermione's handwriting, one clearly linking 'Selwyn' to 'Prince.'
Oh. That's what they mean by the votes of some Houses being dependent on others….
The name "Prewett" was called, and Harriet was startled when Mr. Malfoy stood again, giving another three votes to Bones.
"I don't understand," she whispered to Dumbledore, and he whispered back—.
"It would be impossible to fully explain at the moment, but suffice it to say the votes of some Houses are either proxied or owned by others, and for one reason or another, they aren't fully absorbed into that House for a set period of time. Those votes will continue to be viewed as separate. An example of such would be when I held the votes for House Potter in proxy while you were a child, until you grew to an age where you could accept your seat."
Harriet continued watching, listening to the repetitive droning of Madam Amble's rather guttural voice calling people to stand and give their preference for Minister. Harriet kept consulting Hermione's notes—and frowned when "Slughorn," clearly labeled with an Alpha symbol, suddenly voted for Gaunt.
What?
It happened again with Shafiq, and again with Ollivander.
Harriet's gaze flicked across the room, searching—and found Gaunt already looking in her direction. They made eye-contact, and his mouth curled in a smug grin.
That bastard.
It appeared that while Hermione had been working on several of the Dark-inclined families, Gaunt had been threatening those on the other end of the spectrum. He'd thrown off Hermione's speculation.
Shite, Harriet thought, frantically attempting to count and recount the marks on the parchment as the vote continued. Shite—shite! What did he do? Who did he get to? Did he ruin things?
The next three were all for Gaunt—Greengrass, Gamp, Dolohov. Harriet bit her lip as the numerals on the right face continued to flicker higher and higher, challenging the ones on the left.
Parkinson made a surprising switch to vote for Bones, but Crouch—a firm member of Hermione's middle Lambda party despite having had a Death Eater in the family—voted for Gaunt. Nervous glances were thrown toward Gaunt, heads bowed, shoulders hunched.
Damn….
Harriet despaired as the numerals fell even, and then crept higher on the right.
Professor Dumbledore exhaled, sounding tired. "Well…."
No, Harriet told herself. Come on, there has to be someone else. That can't be all—.
The left face glowed 'CLXVI.' One hundred and sixty-six. The right, 'CLXVII.' One hundred and sixty-seven.
No!
"Thank you, Madam Rowle," Madam Amble said to the Head of House Rowle as the witch sat again. "And thank you, members of the Wizengamot. This concludes the vote held here today, with one hundred of sixty-six votes in favor of the challenger, Amelia Bones, and one hundred and sixty-seven votes in favor of the incumbent, Marvolo Gaunt. Congratulations to—."
Harriet rocketed to her feet. "Wait!"
The chamber fell deadly silent as her shout echoed against the walls. Gaunt, who'd stood as well, ostensibly to accept his victory, stared at Harriet. Even Professor Dumbledore appeared rather alarmed by her sudden exclamation.
Merlin, now isn't the time to get tongue-tied, numpty!
"I—I contest," she said aloud. Many in the Wizengamot chuckled, and Gaunt laughed. It was a hard, cruel sound that reflected little amusement in its depths.
"That's not how this works, little girl," he said. "Your meddling can only take you so far. The vote is absolute—."
"I contest the votes from House Peverell," she continued before she could lose her nerve. She felt like an idiot, standing there with dozens of unfriendly eyes turned upon her, questioning, belittling.
"There is no House Peverell."
"There was," she clarified. "And there's a precedence for the acknowledged split in the House, in—." She consulted the notes clasped by her shaking, sweaty hand. "In 1865. A member of the acknowledged split can contest how—how the subjective votes are entered." She gained more confidence as she spoke. "As a member of House Potter, I can argue how the votes inherited from House Peverell are counted because it's been acknowledged by the Ministry in the past that there's a dispute in who should have inherited those numbers. It means the votes have to be abstained."
Next to her, Professor Dumbledore inhaled a small but surprised breath. Heads swiveled like weather vanes swinging in the wind as they turned from Harriet to Madam Amble, who blinked at the young witch.
"She's—well, yes. She's right," she acknowledged as if she couldn't believe it.
"That's outrageous," Gaunt snarled, leaning on the rail in front of him. "I don't care what precedence she believes she has. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Gaunt is the last surviving family of the main Peverell branch. The Potters are nothing but a distant, irrelevant offshoot! Those votes are mine."
"But a precedence cannot be dismissed so easily." Whoever she was, Madam Amble didn't cower in the face of Gaunt's clear displeasure. "A precedence is a standard we have to evaluate. So long as the counter recognizes the claim, it is legal."
All eyes turned to the counter. For a moment, the glowing numbers didn't change, and Harriet's heart fell to her stomach, thinking all Hermione's research had been in vain, but then—.
The numerals on the right flickered. CLXVII became CLXIV. One hundred and sixty-four.
No one dared breathe. A quill fluttered to the floor, and they all heard the feather brush the stone, so deathly still and silent the chamber had become. The counter did not change again.
"Well, I—. That's that. Con—congratulations, Madam Bones," Madam Amble stuttered, her scribe scrambling to pick up her fallen quill. "Our new Minister for Magic!"
Amelia Bones stood up, moving like a puppet on strings, her expression shocked. "We could do with the stuttering, Madam Amble," she said, her voice gruff. She had to fix her monocle from where it had fallen off. "Thank you. I am glad to accept the office."
Harriet couldn't believe it.
They'd done it. They'd done it. Just like that. Gaunt was no longer Minister.
She didn't know what overcame her, but Harriet—still standing—turned to the other side of the room, and she called out, "It's as you said, Mister Gaunt." Her voice rang high and clear above the startled but jubilant applause. "The vote is absolute."
Harriet smiled—and in that expression, she exerted every ounce of savagery held in her body, every moment of agony she'd endured in Azkaban or under his brand, every second of misery she'd experienced watching Hermione look at the scar on her arm or sob over Jaime Ingham or the unnamed Muggle-born boy Gaunt let die on the Malfoy's floor. He'd lost, and Harriet bloody well let him know it.
Gaunt saw—and he snapped. Suddenly, he pointed a wand straight at Harriet's face, and she didn't have hers in hand. There was nothing between her and the fury of an enraged, jilted fragment of a murderous Dark Lord.
A/N: Random note, but I was reading a fic lately where the author kind of held the fic hostage with a comment count wall, which isn't the point of this note. What is the point, is one of the comments on the fic mentioned "You're so rude. You don't even thank your commenters," and I thought, "Huh. I don't either. Do people think the same about me?" So, I just want you to know, if you leave comments or kudos or likes or reviews or just silently read, I very much appreciate you clicking on my fic, giving it a chance or reading all the way to the current update. And if you do leave a comment, I read them and they make my day, even if I just don't have the time to respond as often as I'd like. Anyway, back to the fic! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It was a bit tedious to write because there's not a lot happening necessarily, just a whole lot of characters and wordy politics squeezed into one scene.
Technically, Professor McGonagall should be the Head of the House of Ross, but I think with the rest of her responsibilities, and because she doesn't have children of her own, she probably passed that down to her brother. If you're curious, it would become the House of McGonagall after Malcolm's death or abdication. It takes a generation for any potential contests from the House of Ross (ie, a member who claims to be more directly descended from the branch and holds the name, formally ordering Headship to be bestowed onto them rather than proxies of a different surname) to pass before the name is officially changed.
Eventually I'll get the list of the official vote (and the Coven membership, one day, I swear) on the Discord.
Harriet: *glances around the chamber*
Harriet: *sniffs*
Harriet: "Smells like the patriarchy in here."
Or
Gaunt: *loses election*
Dumbledore: *starts twerking*