Harry Potter Serpentine Succession
Covering the events of the Chamber of Secrets
Harry Potter No Thing Unearned book 2
Usual disclaimer. Harry Potter, the characters setting and world thereof remain the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan fiction offered not for profit. The only character I claim as original is Noodle, and he writes himself, I just stay out of the way. If you disagree with what the characters are doing, they are following the growth they experienced from the choices and experiences that shaped them in the last books as filtered through the somewhat jaundiced lens of a veteran with questionable interpersonal skills. If you don't like it, write a better one and I will probably read it.
Chapter 13 Summer fun at home.
Harry Potter was not enjoying his summer.
When normal children come home from school covered with wounds, accused of murdering their professor and/or defeating a returning dark lord, they face questions about why they endangered themselves, why didn't they report to authorities, why didn't they think about their parents before endangering themselves. Goblin children on the other hand face a somewhat different interrogation.
Axe Master One Thumb swept Harry's legs from under him with a hook of his blade, then brought his axe down in a reverse stroke that would have cut Harry in half if he didn't roll away from his own axe in desperation.
"Defeat the Dark Lord? Killed a fully grown wizard? What have you to show for it? You pathetic waste of the resources of clan and cavern. You brought down Voldemort, slayer of seventeen of the clan, looter of the sacred vaults, and WHAT HAVE YOU TO SHOW FOR IT!" One Thumb snarled, not even breathing hard as he casually punished Harry Potter, son of Griphook, for the shame of facing the enemies of his clan in combat and not exacting even a knut or sickle in recompense.
Harry got to his feet, but the pathetic wizard shield his muttered "Protego" failed before the goblin silver of the two-handed axe and Harry felt it slice deep into the flesh of his left shoulder and down to the elbow. The cold feeling of shock and blood loss washed over him. Goblins fought for profit, and Harry had killed somewhere between zero and two sworn enemies of his clan and hadn't even come away with the change in their pockets. To say that this shamed his entire living clan was grossly misstating it. He shamed ancestors so ancient he needed a new language to properly name them.
Goblin's believed in positive reinforcement. The believed that if you barely survived correction for your misdeeds you would make a positive effort to avoid repeating them. Harry tried to convince Griphook that is not what positive reinforcement actually meant, but he was sure there was some critical bit of gobbledygook to English he was getting wrong, as his father and mother were watching him get cut apart in the ring with expressions of cold disinterest.
Axe Master One Thumb looked down on Harry and smiled in condescension. The same smile Voldemort held in his memory every single night when he got to relive the death of his mother. The same smile Dumbledore gave him when he played his little games and made Harry dance like some Imperiused puppet on his little strings. The smile of the predator to prey, the smile of the powerful to the powerless. The smile that reminded Harry that those he loved were his only until someone stronger chose to take them away.
Something cold roused in Harry. Something he didn't recognize rose within his soul, sliding into his mind and magic like a hand into a long abandoned glove. The hand slid into the glove and reached out to Harry's wand.
The helpless rage of a powerless boy was swept away by something cold dark and hungry. The runes on his skin burned with lightning, green jagged sparks arced over the burning silver wrought lightning scar of his forehead Soweillo rune and Harry raised up eyes blazing in the green fire of the killing curse. His voice was not the screamed rage of a child, but the cold anger of a vengeful god.
"$ Crucio $" Harry spoke the unforgiveable torture curse in Parseltongue and the blood red serpent left his wand towards Axe Master One Thumb.
Axe Master One Thumb had survived when Voldemort came to Gringotts in the last war. Had survived, but one thumb, one eye, and half his face had been lost to the dark curse that had consumed the rest of his squad. He had carved the life from more than one arrogant wizard, but he remembered well the helplessness he felt when Voldemort and his hand picked followers, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rockwood, the Lestrange Brothers and Barty Crouch junior had slaughtered casually the survivors after Voldemort had shattered every defense that should have held against any living wizard.
He was well trained, a century of battle had beaten any mercy or fear from his goblin blood and bones. He didn't hesitate or flinch as his axe flashed to interpose the goblin silver broad head of his axe between the torture curse and his flesh.
His one eye widened as the blood red curse wove around his blade, cold dark eyes deeper than the abyss opened from the blood red bolt, and a gaping maw marked by long sharp fangs grew as the blood red bolt turned into a living hissing serpent made of pain and hatred.
It hit Axe Master One Thumb and drove him up against the runic constructs of the training ring. The runes of the training ring flashed into bright burning life, the limiters on pain and physical damage triggering as the Crucio curse pushed beyond the identified safe limits even for goblin training.
The serpent of scarlet hatred pinned Axe Master One Thumb in mid air, pushed into the wards so powerfully they burned into his back even as the goblin silver of his heirloom armour ran in rivluts down his body, burning his flesh as they went.
One Thumb screamed and screamed, his bones flashing visibly through flesh rendered translucent by the scarlet power of magic made into living malice, a soul deep hatred of all life that existed only to teach life to welcome death.
Harry rose to his feet, blood pumping from his left arm, his right arm extending like a spear towards his writhing and shrieking enemy. With a casual flip of contempt, he flicked downward and right, and the snake tossed Axe Master One Thumb to the floor.
Harry allowed his wand arm to fall down to the ground, the wand held loosely but ready in the manner Griphook knew spoke of the instant willingness to resume battle.
Banishing the wards with a mutter, he stepped slowly to his son and smiled. While Frithweaver shot to his side, bandages and potions ready to heal his physical wounds. Griphook stared into the vulnerable depths of his son's eyes.
Griphook nodded slowly. Harry was struggling to process the potential he had just found inside him. Not just the magic. No. Harry was born to magical power. His father was the product of an ancient line of mages that shook the world with their tread; but his mother was something wilder and less knowable. From her came a connection to magic unbound by the rules of the pure blood and the traditions of the wizards that turned sideways from the muggle world and walked away.
Harry was struggling with the monster inside. Griphook reached out and took his son by the shoulders.
"So. You did not face the enemy of both your houses and come away empty handed." Griphook said.
Harry's face snapped into fear and revulsion as he realized that the power and knowledge he just used to break and torture a goblin war master was stolen from Voldemort, probably from the last battle at Yule.
Frithweaver's maternal hand snapped up and slapped him so hard he almost fell. He turned to face her and she gripped his face in both her clawed hands.
"NEVER turn aside from the power you need to defend what is yours. Pry it from the flesh of your enemies, loot it from their corpses or tear it screaming from their minds. I DO NOT CARE.
My son is no man's sacrifice. Whatever you must become, YOU WILL COME HOME AGAIN!"
Harry turned to Griphook and Frithweaver, trying to explain that what he had done was wrong and evil.
"Mom, dad, that was Crucio, the torture curse. It is one of the three Unforgivable curses. To use it is to go to Azkaban for life. Worse; the version I cast was in Parsletongue, the only wizard in living memory who ever cast it was Voldemort. You can't shield against it, and once it has you, not even Dumbledore can do more than scream." Harry said, trying to explain how ashamed he felt right now.
Griphook dug his fingers into his human son's shoulders. It was time he learned a few bitter truths they would never teach at Hogwarts. There is the way the world is taught, and the way it actually works. No son of his could afford the illusions of the privileged pure bloods in their ivory towers.
"That curse is unforgivable cast upon wizards. They use it against our kind all the time. Under your precious ministry, the Unforgivable Curses are only unforgivable against wizards in good standing. It is perfectly legal to use them against anything that isn't human enough for them under the law of the moment. There have been times it was legal to use against Muggles, Mudbloods and Halfbloods.
Even today, you can use it against anything that isn't listed as pure human by the Ministry of Magic and while they may bluster, no law will touch you. Be aware, as a legal goblin, they may use it against you.
Obey your mother. Win your battles and come home. If wizarding Britain marches after you, then I guess the Goblin's go to war." Griphook spoke loudly.
Harry looked up to see Axe Master One Thumb stagger over and cuff Harry roughly along side the head.
"Finally you are living up to your bloodline. You took this weapon from your enemy. That is a good start. Every scrap of power, every piece of gold, every drop of blood. Do not leave them even the memory of their name. That is goblin vengeance!"
Harry looked into Frithweaver's face, and Griphook's. He remembered the green fury of his mother's gaze as she came to him, bound in the agony of her own death until she could finish dragging Voldemort down with her, and finally accepted what he was.
He wasn't Dumbledore's Boy Who Lived. He was Lilly Potter's Boy Who Would Live, he was Frithweaver and Griphook's Son Who Would Survive to Come Home.
He looked down and noticed that the blood from his left arm had spattered his holly and phoenix feather wand. He watched as the wand slowly seemed to soak up the blood. Somewhere inside he knew that was wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Outside Gringotts, a House Elf pulled his ears. He could not breach the wards of Gringotts. He had to! He had to stop Harry Potter from returning to Hogwarts. If Dobby did not stop Harry Potter from returning to Hogwarts, then Harry Potter would die!
What had nasty master said? "That goblin filth and his precious friends. A Half Blood bastard shaming a pureblood house, a cowardly blood traitor who should have remained a squib, and a muggleborn who is too stupid to realize she has no place among us."
Dobby smiled. If he could not reach Harry Potter, he would reach Harry Potter's friends!
Harry Potter would stay safe with the Goblins if his friends were not returning to Hogwarts. Harry Potter would thank Dobby if only he knew. Even Azkaban was safer than Hogwarts this year. Dobby would see Harry Potter's friends safe. Safe in Azkaban if he had to!
Hermione's Home Life Hell
Hermione Granger was not having a good summer.
She was a good girl, a studious girl, and above all a gentle one. Or, at least that is who everyone remembered her being. To be fair, everyone included Hermione. What she was beginning to realize is THAT Hermione Granger was like last winter's glove. It looked like she remembered, but she couldn't seem to make it fit anymore.
The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic was not the very sane act of child protection that Hermione had learned from her "Welcome to the Wizarding World" Ministry textbook her summer before Hogwarts. It took a winter with Milicent Bulstrode, Half blood daughter of a noble house, raised like an insider with a outsiders perspective and a mind that was Slytherin to its last scale and fang to explain it. This was a law that existed to keep the muggleborn forever down. No muggleborn would be allowed to practice magic, because the Trace on their wands would report any underage magic use (which would be blocked by any half capable wards) and magic used in any muggle areas, that is areas without a registered witch or wizard, set off an automatic complaint process targeting whichever muggleborn underage student lived closet to the incident.
If the targeted witch or wizard did not know they had the right to demand an Auror report within 24hrs to confirm the underage witch or wizard's wand did not in fact show any prior incantations during the period of the violation, the automatic warning became a strike. At three strikes, your wand was broken and you were expelled.
Milicent confirmed that many muggleborn who embarrassed the pure-bloods had been stricken from the rolls of Hogwarts over the centuries. Everyone knew it, but even the tolerant Light Faction that condemned the Dark Faction for anti-muggle violence smirked quietly from the sidelines, as pure blooded of all sides expected to always be better than muggleborn at magic, and reacted badly when they were proven wrong.
Hermione had begun her summer with what she described as growing pains. She returned to her muggle neighborhood from boarding school with a cauldron and enough ingredients to last her a productive summer of brewing and experimentation. She had enough Arithmancy texts and Rune texts to allow her to advance her knowledge of enchantment to a useful level. All of this could be done without a wand, and without setting off the trace.
Then Hermione went for her morning jog. Hermione had not gone into the whole "beater warrior goblin" mania her three friends had, but she had very much been made aware that her friends could concentrate longer, and consistently produce more and steadier magical power due to their heightened aerobic fitness. Hermione was entirely an empiricist. If it worked, she would adopt it. Jogging became as much a part of her school routine as revision and encoding all advanced research in parsletongue in case it got illegal and interesting at the same time.
Hermione had forgotten about bullies. It was funny, at the beginning of First Year, boys still thought they could bully girls due to the physical differences. It lasted a little bit longer because well raised pure blood girls didn't go for combat related magic, except when they did. Boys made note of those witches that hunted back and left them alone. Those witches were not the good marriageable girls, they were the Lily Evans, Bellatrix LeStrange, Cassiopia Black, Lucretia Borgia, Elizabeth Bathory and Morganna LeFey. They were the things that you talked about in whispers, but not while they were looking. Hermione had not set out to become one of those witches and had not noticed how much less complicated her life became when it happened anyway. People didn't bully Hermione Granger anymore.
She had been jogging, unaware that she had been assuming a degree of immunity that came from being a lot more dangerous with a wand than any first year had a right to be, when she ran into Tina Trimble (Christina, but only substitute teachers ever called her that, and never twice), and her group of would be boyfriends and general minions.
Tina would understand pure-blood ideology perfectly. While she was a muggle, and would be nothing but prey to the pure-blooded bigots, the degree of assumed privilege they shared united them in spirit. Hermione's parents were both dentists. While very well off, and with assets that put them into the low millions, they were not super rich, nor were they inherited rich. They got where they were through hard work and ability, not by social connections and the web of power that Tina was raised to be a future spider queen ruling from the comfortable center of that all important web. The Grangers didn't care about that web of connections, and Hermione never understood her proper place on the ground, looking up in mute worship of her betters. Worse, the daft little commoner had left to a private school so private that all her best connections could get was a simple "If they don't ask for you by name, you may as well not exist. Let it go." To say Tina did not take it well that Hermione Granger was important enough to be asked by name by a group powerful enough to ignore her own family's connections was intolerable.
They caught Hermione about six blocks from home. It was pouring rain and Hermione honestly didn't give the three BMW much thought as they waited at the side of the road. It was early on a Tuesday morning, and any number of party people were dragging themselves back, while any number of business people were already out attacking the day. It was that kind of district, people moved fast whether they were part of the daylight world or the nightside. Hermione almost found it restful as it reminded her a bit of Hogwarts.
That restfulness ended when a window rolled down and Tina called out to her from one of the cars she had been passing.
"Hey Squirrel Girl!" Hermione had a second or two before it occurred to her that insult was intended for her. Poppy Pomfrey corrected her teeth with a little well applied dental magic that also corrected some wisdom teeth buds that were never going to do anything except overcrowd her jaw later, and were best just convinced with a touch of magic to melt back into the jaw and let useful teeth get about their business.
Hermione did not stop running as she processed, she was only three kilometers into her morning five, and working on how to blend sound suppression with muggle notice me nots for her footwear so she could jog unnoticed by the boys who kept making remarks about her workout wear. Tina was not happy, and the doors of the BMW to the front swung open and blocked the sidewalk.
So did the ones behind.
"Hey, Granger, I'm talking to you!" Tina shouted.
Hermione stopped, turned to face Tina and noted the group of eight boys around her. Older boys. Great. Tina was a problem with her own age minions, borrowing from her family's hangers on in senior high seemed excessive. She sneered and reached for her wand and froze. No wand. She didn't bring it because she couldn't use it.
"I hear you got carted off to some private school. Probably all girls knowing how ugly you were when you left. Isn't it lucky for you, I brought a few boys for you to meet." Tina smiled nastily as she held up her phone camera.
"No one will believe you got a date, so don't worry, I will record it for you!" Tina smirked.
Hermione was reaching for her fire when she froze again. NO! Even without her wand she could burn these abusive idiots down to the ground and their cars with them. Use of magic before muggles, especially recorded and broadcast would get her expelled!
Hermione panicked. She reached behind her and grabbed a gift from Fred and George Weasley. A dungbomb. She had kept it in her fanny pack, telling herself it wasn't materially any different than mace or pepper spray, and certainly not illegal under muggle or magical law. She had honestly kept it as a defense against the occasional off leash dog that she ran into (the owners being sure that sweet baby Soul Ripper wouldn't hurt a fly), never thinking that without a wand, and unable to call upon her fire, she was totally helpless in the muggle world.
Hands already closed on her right arm as she dropped one dungbomb at her feet, and with her breath held, tossed the other one in Tina's car window.
Hermione bolted as the boys just out for a bit of fun encountered a girl that didn't honestly feel like either prey or fun. She vaulted the first fence she came to, and cut through the yard, vaulting the second fence and doubling back to the dedicated bike lane that ran home. You could not outrun a BMW, even if the driver was struggling to breathe or see through the best of Zonko's dungbomb goodness. You could certainly outrun a bunch of vicious rich kids who never ran anything but their mouths if they were forced to get out of their car and run.
Never again. She was supposed to be the cleverest witch in her generation. While she did not hold with the muggle baiting and muggle bashing that wizarding society held, she was aware that as a real witch, muggle society would indeed resume the burnings or worse if they had the ability. Muggle or wizard, those with a monopoly on power were not gentle with those who commanded a power they couldn't take away with the stroke of a pen and a new rigged law. Hermione would not be helpless in this world, or the wizard one.
She had to make a phone call to Professor Sprout. The Professor had a muggle land line for her Hufflepuffs to reach her in summer. More important, she could send a post owl. Hermione was a reasonable English schoolgirl once, but it was time to admit those days were past. Time to owl a goblin about a gun.
"Hermione Granger must not return to Hogwarts!" A squeaky voice called out from behind her in her own basement. Without a thought, Hermione summoned fire to her hand, and with the little sister of a star blazing around her fist turned to see the strangest creature in her young life.
It was about three feet high, like a really underfed goblin. It cowered before her like no goblin could. It wore a tattered tea towel like a toga with a crest on it so frayed she could make out little about it. It had large bat like ears that seemed oddly frayed and a bit wilty like old cabbage. It's eyes were wide, liquid, and sensitive like a puppy that had been kicked too often, and lied to about treats, but still in its heart of hearts wanted to believe that this time there was indeed, a treat.
"What are you?" Hermione asked, curiosity trumping fear in the way it often did for her.
"Dobby is a House Elf Mistress!" The House Elf, whatever that was, said, then looked horrified.
"Bad Dobby, Bad Dobby!" He chanted, then rammed his head into the metal work bench she was engraving bits of barrel with silencing and heat dissipation runes, bits of slide being worked with ,muggle notice me not charms and a confundus array to disguise its magnetic signature from metal detectors. The expansion charm on the small detached box would only arouse questions wondering why the trunk expansion charm was being put on something barely larger than a muggle cigarette lighter, and smaller than a chocolate frog.
"Stop that!" Hermione ordered, not particularly wanting her muggle parents to notice what was on her enchanting bench until its runes were fine-tuned enough to be assured they would function without interference.
Dobby stopped, blinked and repeated.
"Hermione Granger must not return to Hogwarts this year." Dobby said sincerely, wringing his hands.
Hermione was not willing to give up her future on the say so of what looked like a bat crossed with a particularly dim five year old wearing a tea towel. Plus, she was being actively hunted by the local billionaire's brat and her devoted parasites, so not really promising a smooth and enjoyable muggle existence just then.
"No. I am going back, I am going to pass my OWLS with ease, my NEWTS with record scores and whatever pureblood prat sent you can just deal with never being half as good as a muggle born at whatever he couldn't be arsed to actually work at for himself." Hermione stated.
"Or herself?" Hermione said, kicking herself for the automatic gender assumptions. Women could be both powerful and horrible too after all.
"Himself, Mistress, but Master doesn't know. Master would punish Dobby if he knew. Hermione Granger must not go to Hogwarts, or Harry Potter will go to Hogwarts, then Harry Potter will die!" Dobby said, dissolving in sobs and collapsing to his knees.
Hermione stopped. Okay, this was not what she was expecting at all. She didn't actually know how to proceeed. She can't go, or Harry dies.
"You want to stop Harry from going, but can't reach him. Is that right?" Hermione said, checking her sums the way she did with Arithmancy before applying power to any array.
"Harry Potter is behind Goblin wards!" Dobby shuddered and shook in fear.
"And Neville?" Hermione asked.
"Longbottom manor has plants with roots between the worlds. Dobby tried to apparate in, but the plants were waiting for Dobby. They would...eat Dobby." The House elf looked appalled that the Longbottoms would dare to defend themselves with potted murder plants that ate uninvited teleporters. Hermione made a note not to drop Herbology. There were bits she hadn't got to yet that sounded interesting.
"And Milicent?" Hermione said.
"Bulstrode Manor is dark, Mistress. Things scream in the walls, things that won't be allowed to die. Things that watch. They are so hungry, and so lonely. They want intruders to try to reach past them. Dobby does not know if he could get past them. Dobby is afraid they might let him in." Dobby said in a tone that implied rather strongly that let in in no way implied let out again.
"Well that is the old dark families for you. Utterly horrible answers to commonplace questions. They probably have a bug zapper for garden parties that runs on the souls of trapped fairies. Honestly, they wonder why everyone not raised in those madhouses gives them the side eye every time they talk about home." Hermione said with a sigh.
"Well I am going back, and there is nothign you can do about it." Hermione stated firmly.
Dobby smiled. "Dobby thinks there is." He snapped his fingers once, and the lights went out. He snapped his fingers again, and a great ball of light, the perfect duplicate of a Lumos spell looped with intent and infused with enough power to persist for the night, hung in her basement work room.
Identical to the ones she cast in her dorm room to study, or in the work rooms when she needed better light and no shadows to do fine runework.
"Bugger!" Hermione swore.
"Hermione! There is an owl for you upstairs. The letter on it has a very important looking seal on it!" The voice of her father came from upstairs. That was fast. So fast that someone had indeed put her on a watch list to catch any misuse of magic as a pretext to kick her out. Could be Malfoy, honestly, it could be any of a hundred people including Ron bloody Weasley whose inferiority complex got triggered by her ability and work ethic.
Dobby smiled softly. "Hermione Granger must not go back to Hogwarts."
Hermione punted the House Elf like a soccer ball, the unaccustomed violence shocking both Dobby and herself, but she was just beginning to discover who she was, and who she had the potential to become. Hogwarts wasn't a place, it was her life, and someone was trying to take it away for bloody Boy Who Lived Hippogriff droppings!
"Morgana's Tits dad, DO NOT LET THAT OWL LEAVE. I need to give a response!" Her parents were shocked and horrified that Hermione dare to swear, or give orders. Luckily, the ministry post owl was self important and entitled as the junior bureacrats it served and had no intention of leaving until it got its treat. Them's the rules. Service provided, tip your owl, even if it's your arrest warrant. That is the basis of wizarding civilization.
Hermione grabbed and upended the owl. She wrote with her wand on the unopened envelope.
"Per Ministerial regulations Decree 13 on the Reasonable Restriction on Underage Magic, Paragraph 4, subsection c, I hereby demand an Auror verify that the wand of the accused Hermione Granger has not cast any magic since departure from Hogwarts, and have written confirmation of the removal of the automatic violation notice. YOU have twenty four hours to comply."
She fed the owl one owl treat, then looked it squarely in the eye and whispered to it, holding a fresh quarter chicken breast in one hand. "I will give you this if you return this letter to the prat who sent it, and poop on his desk."
The owl eyed the chicken breast, clacked his beak, and let Hermione stroke his feathers and scratch the bit just below the wings mid back you can never get to. He couldn't remember the last time any of the Ministry clods bothered to give him fresh chicken or a good scratch. He hooted twice, nodded and bolted down his chicken. He would fly hard, that always speeded his digestion. He had a double delivery to make!
"Hermione Jean Granger!" Her mother said, invoking the ancient power of the middle name to alert an errant child as to their imminent and justifiable doom.
"We do not swear in this house, nor do we commit vandalism by bird to government offices!" Mom said, in righteous fury. Hermione remembered a time she would have said and felt the same. She felt sad, and somewhat hollow. Something had been lost, and she couldn't quite remember what it was, only that the place it used to be held something rather larger and harder now; something that she needed.
"Not in peace time mom." Hermione said sadly.
"We aren't in peace time anymore. Some coward has declared war on me for the crime of being born your daughter. I crime I don't have the grace to be ashamed of. Because I was born your daughter, they want to take my magic away. They will lie, cheat, pervert and corrupt the law to make sure I get my magic taken away before I become a legal adult, and they will no longer DARE to get in my way."
Hermione flinched inside to see her mother and father shrink away from her. Hermione had not noticed the fire wreathing her head like a crown, like a halo of flames as she swore her defiance to the powers of the wizarding world they could neither understand, nor defend her from.
Her father sighed. "Do what you must. The world is as it is, not as it ought to be. Just be careful Hermione. The world isn't kind to those who try to change it."
For the first time it occurred to Hermione that her parents had not always been very successful mid to upper class dentists. There might indeed have been a time they wanted something either more or different, and been forced to take what they were allowed. It made her suddenly sad, and yet even more insistent on winning.
Noodle told her she was destined for greatness. Noodle assured her that one day people would mark their calendars by when Mouse Giver arrived at Hogwarts. On a good day he allowed that Speaker might be mentioned, and it would only be fair to allow Water Witch and Root Singer their place in history at her side. Slightly behind, and to the side, but Noodle had always told her that she was destined for greatness. Any number of people can and should get bitten along the way; no female who didn't crawl over the bodies of at least a half dozen rivals could really be sure she had achieved her potential.
Noodle was only not a sociopath due to his being a particularly well adjusted Rock Viper, rune enhanced, and soul bonded to four parselmagic student wizards. For an obligate carnivore reptile, he was gregarious, well adjusted, and civilized. He had come a long way in teaching Mouse Giver to stand up for herself. He had come rather farther in convincing Hermione she was worth defending than Hermione had come in convincing him that murder was not always the best solution. That murder had indeed been the best solution to both Voldemort (work in progress) and Quirrell (mischief managed) did little to sway the snake that he was wrong, and even more to undermine Hermione's good English public school indoctrination that violence never solved anything. Conquered most of the world worth having with violence, so honestly the history of the British Empire didn't go a long way towards proving the doctrine of the same system, but she had worked hard to believe it anyway.
Harry, and Milicent hadn't helped. They worked hard to convince her that she deserved to defend herself, and that her enemies didn't deserve anything. She was sure she could have held on to non-violence as a goal if it hadn't been for Neville. Neville had been sabotaged from the day he was born by his dear Uncle Algie. This had been tolerated right under everyone nose. Uncle Algie had tried to murder Neville at least a dozen times he would mention in casual conversation as if a defenseless child being murdered for his inheritance was just something you had to accept. That was the straw that broke Hermione's nonviolent heart. Neville was worth defending, and nobody else was doing it. Magic is a weapon, and life is a war. Neville, Harry, Hermione and Milicent were born losing that war, and maybe it was time to do something about that.
Auror Dawlish strolled into the Granger house with a sneer.
"I am here for Hermione Granger. If you waste my time, I'll see you in Azkaban for some attitude adjustment and real schooling." Dawlish said, tapping his wand and letting the light fall upon is Auror robes and badges, aware that he was the only being of power in at least a kilometer; a true god among dim witted mortals.
"Eighteen hours into the allotted twenty-four. Either you are faster getting the rescind order to me than your late arrival implies or you and your superiors wll be called to answer to the Hogwarts board for treaty violations. Won't that be fun. Can't image the lazy prat who got the Ministry bend over a barrel for Malfoy to whip concessions out of would be at all popular around the water cooler at work." Hermione shook her head sadly, like she was examining a particularly dim pupil in summerschool.
"For threatening a minor with Azkaban you could be brought up on charges, for bringing up Azkaban itself before muggles, you could be brought up on a second set of charges. How about you perform Priory Incantatum on my wand, assure yourself the Ministry has made a terrible mistake before your wand suffers an accidental discharge and dispells your career?" Hermione said, looking Dawlish in the eyes with pure defiance.
Who does this little chit think she is.
"Wand, mudblood." Dawlish snapped.
Hermione handed over her wand, and in a perfect imitation of Sybil Trelawny, the Divination Professor at Hogwarts she intoned eerily while handing over her wand.
"Oh yes Auror Dawlish, it is sensitivity training in your future! Yes, yes, tolerance training on blood status, gender identity, and racial purity!" Hermione said, shaking her hands beside her head like Trelwany did when prophesying someone's doom.
With a snarl, Dawlish cast the command, and frowned. The wand hadn't cast ANYTHING in over a month. He sneered at Hermione. The little mudblood thought she was smart? She wanted to wave regulations at him? Lets play that game. He might take the occassional top up to his pay to turn a blind eye to the sort of thing reasonable people knew shouldn't really be illegal, but he was a Merlin be damned Auror, and no muggle born child was talking back to him.
"Let's be seeing your work room then. Let's see what kind of forbidden things you have, little mudblood smartass." Auror Dawlish said, and Hermione led him downstairs.
On Hermione's workbench were her rune engraving tools, save the magical goblin silver needle that was quietly orbiting her hand since she entered her warded work room.
"Anti-muggle barrier. Entirely rune based and powered off the bleed from the adjacent ley line two blocks over. No muggle could get down here with a search warrant and pound of C4" Hermione said as Auror Dawlish's hopes of finding enchantments in sight of muggles vanished as he passed the basement wards.
No windows, so no outside observation was possible, so no way of pretending he got a muggle complaint.
There was a cauldron, work bench, and those terrible muggle lights that hurt the eyes. He ran his wand around and found the remnants of the Lumos. There was a lot of rune work on the bits and bobs on the workbench. Had to be twenty different things in pieces on the bench. You would have to be Arthur Bloody Weasley to parse out what all the bits made when put together. The fact that some of the bits made a Walther PPK when put together probably represented a flaw in Aurour training. They pretty much thought muggle guns were flintlocks unless they were veterans of the Grindelwald war.
"There was a Lumos here!" Dawlish snapped.
"Well duh!" Said Hermione. "Something triggered the muggle watch, although getting a warning letter within the minute says that someone had been paid to watch my house pretty much all day and night just hoping for something. Not that I'm saying you are corrupt, just that the timing looks a lot like a put up job, and you are the one sent to do the dirty bit."
Dawlish pointed his wand at Hermione. "Your wand read clean. Explain."
Hermione crossed her arms. "House Elf. Told me not to go back to Hogwarts. I refused. He said he could make me. Cast Lumous and look here you are, trying to make me not go back to Hogwarts. How does it feel to work for a House Elf?" Hermione said cheerfully, knowing that anyone so obsessed with blood purity to call her a mudblood in front of her parents on an official Auror call would be enough of a supremacist to be deeply insulted at the thought of serving a House Elf.
"You expect me to believe that?" Dawlish sneered, he had a good sneer. He practiced.
"Don't care. Muggleborn can't own House Elves so not even you can spin anything he does to be my issue. My wand is clean, I cast no spells. You asked a question, I offered the truth. What you do with it is not my problem." Hermione said with a hair flip she learned from Milicent. Actually, she was pretty much channeling her Slytherin friend for this whole confrontation. Hermione was not good at confrontation, but she had a friend who lived for them.
Dawlish was done playing Nice Auror. There were no witnesses. She had no blood status. She was not connected. She couldn't even legally defend herself. He would have the truth out of her, then just oblivate the wreckage. If she ended up a little stupider and weaker, well serve the uppity mudblood right.
Pointing his wand at the witch he cast "Legimens!"
His mind smashed into the little witches like a battering ram. He didn't try to be subtle or gentle, he pierced her mind as deeply as he could. He wanted it to hurt, and he wanted her to be so terrified of him that she would never raise her gaze, let alone her voice to him again. He struck deeply with the training of an Auror, and used none of his skill to avoid hurting her.
It proved a mistake.
He was deep inside her mind, her memories were all around him, but so were coils of black nightmare. Scales of violet tinged blackness, some graven with shining silver runes slid and slithered between his mind and the path back.
"$You shouldn't have hurt her. SHE IS MINE!$" A voice hissed in Parseltongue, a language last spoken by the Dark Lord himself! The voice wasn't human though. Dawlish glimpsed the face of a great serpent darker than night, then there were only white fangs, and pain.
Hermione felt a jolt of pain in her head, then Dawlish was screaming. He screamed and screamed. Hermione's parents were calling from upstairs, demanding to know if everything was alright.
Everything was not alright. The Auror had tried something with his wand, and now he was spasming on the floor screaming. Blood was coming from his eyes and nose. He had just wet himself. The Auror was crawling along the floor in no particular direction. He was pawing at the ground before the wall, writhing like he was in agony, but no longer able to even speak.
Turning to her potions rack, she looked for answers. Not healing, most of the damage wasn't physical. Not bones, not blood, not poison. She eyed the calming draught she made more or less because she had the ingredients in her garden fresh and free and enjoyed making the potion.
Calming draught? I mean, it couldn't really hurt. She wished they had a healing course at Hogwarts. It being a post NEWT study was so frustrating! Hermione finally decided to gamble and forced the potion into the Aurors throat.
He came back to himself slowly. When he did, his eyes locked on her, then he scooted away along the floor away from her.
"You have snakes in your head!" Dawlish screamed.
"Drama queen much?" Hermione snapped. "I have rudimentary Occlumency skills as taught by Noodle, the most skilled mind art practitioner I know. Noodle is a sentient snake, so it is not unreasonable that there are non-human elements to my mental defenses. If you injured yourself during that utterly illegal intrusion into my mind, you will find that any legal repercussions will be yours. Even if you had a warrant, my Head of House as my magical guardian, would have to be present for any such mental probe, and it would be done only in the presence of a certified medwitch. You know, in case of someone having abominable control of their legimency and hurting themselves assaulting a twelve year old!"
Dawlish staggered up the stairs and out. That witch wasn't right. Her defenses were something like you would expect of some scion wearing the Lord or Heirs ring to an ancient and Noble House, not a muggle born bitch in the sub urbs. There was a living snake inside her brain, inside her soul. Dawlish felt the poison working inside him. He had to apparate back, the calming draught giving him the control to. To assault her mind again meant risking death. I don't care what who was being paid. They could send someone else next time.
"I expect my clearance letter by own before the time is up Auror Dawlish. Tick tock Dawlish. Tick tock!" Hermione chased Auror Dawlish from her house with that warning. Any scraps of dignity or pride trailed behind him like the wedding train of a runaway bride.
"Was that strictly speaking necessary Hermione?" Her father asked, alarmed at the fear in the grown law enforcement official's face as he ran from their home.
"Yes daddy. Sixth rule of Slytherin. The hand that strikes you must lose fingers, or it will strike again." Hermione quoted.
"I thought you were Hufflepuff?" Asked her confused mother.
Hermione walked over and gave her a hug. Tears dripping from her eyes for reasons she couldn't explain.
"I am as Hufflepuff as they allow me, and as Slytherin as I need to be." Hermione said, and determined that along with the present for the Weasleys for the Dungbombs, Harry for the Walther PPK (goblins view all arms sales as just right and holy, especially the illegal ones), she owed Milicent Bulstrode the biggest gift of all. Knowledge is a weapon, magic is a weapon, and weapons are weapons. Only now was she seeing how thoroughly the rules wanted Hermione to be disarmed.
She was done playing by them.