"You got letters," Hermione's father greeted her when she got home. His eyes were dancing. "One of them came by raven."

"By raven?" Hermione said, frowning. "Usually they use owls."

"That's what I thought," her father said with a grin. "Still – we had a raven in the house going mad, trying to figure out where the window was again to escape."

"We'll need you to fix the lamp in the sitting room, dear!" her mother called. "The bird ran into it on its way out."

After Hermione changed out of her robes into something more casual and had repaired the lamp, she sat down at the table to read her letters while her father read the paper. The first she tore into bore a fancy seal with a large 'M' and fleur-de-lis, which left Hermione with little doubt as to who it was from.

Dear Hermione,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard from Daphne that you ventured into dangerous areas in search of votes for your campaign, and though one vote is as good as another, such votes are very risky to get. I trust that your magic has protected you, but I would advise you to avoid such risks in the future. You are too precious and too special to Magic to risk in such a way…

Hermione frowned as she read on. The rest of Draco's letter went on, explaining why hedgewitches were dangerous, how they could steal your magic, and how they proved the need for blood purity. Hedgewitches' magic had weakened, Draco asserted, by mating with Muggles back in the medieval eras. If they had married other wizards, he was sure their magic would still be strong, and they wouldn't need to try and steal it from others who had not laid in the mud.

The entire letter, though the tone was one of worry and concern, reeked of blood superiority and felt incredibly condescending to Hermione. From an analytical point of view, it was interesting to incorporate this new knowledge of 'weaker wizards' into her mental picture of the blood purists. If the old families had hedgewitches working for them and had grown up seeing the weak magic of others, it almost gave more credence to their prejudice. 'Surely the reason for one being stronger than the other would be the quality of their blood?' they must think.

Hermione was far from convinced of that. She was fairly certain that if given a wand, the hedgewitch kids could learn magic just as well as anyone at Hogwarts could.

She wondered just how blood purism actually addressed Muggleborns. She'd made up the bit about them being from Squib lines, but what if that was what people actually thought? Would Muggleborns rank above or below hedgewitches, in this hierarchy? She suspected above, given Muggleborns got to go to Hogwarts, but she was only guessing.

Sniffing, Hermione set the letter aside, deciding to deal with that later.

The second letter was much more pleasant.

Hermione,

It was a delight taking you to dinner on Wednesday. My mother teases me for the smile that lingers on my lips for thoughts of you, and she insist that I get out of the house instead of mooning all over the place like a lovesick cow. As such, would you like visit the park with me this week? There is a beautiful park near my house that's lovely to take a ramble in. There are rose bushes there, and it has been far too many days since I last gave you a rose.

I know you and your Slytherin friends are undoubtedly busy with your nomination and campaigning and other such scheming things, but should you have a spot of free time, I would implore you to spend it with me, and I will make sure that for at least a little while, you're able to relax and smile.

Yours,

Cedric

Hermione smiled, a light flush to her face. Mooning about like a lovesick cow? Cedric seemed unable to ever not exaggerate.

Still. The idea of seeing him again before her adventure with the goblins, even just for a couple hours to walk about a park… it was a nice one, one that made a smile linger on her lips, and she set his letter aside to respond to later before moving on to the last.

This letter was something different, Hermione could tell immediately. The parchment it was written on was filthy, ink splatter and water stains decorating the back. Even more curious was the smell of it, which smelled faintly of salt and sea water. Curiously, Hermione eased open the blank seal.

To Hermione Granger:

I didn't know you existed, so I didn't write before. Sorry for that. I would have, really. I would have written. But I only learned of you when my sister came to visit. She told me about you, then, so I knew. I would have written sooner if I had seen the papers. She showed me the papers about your adventure in Hogwarts last year. I was ecstatic to learn about you. You show that Magic is favoring us again. I am so glad to know that Magic is among us once more.

I am so honored. I get to live in the time of the first New Blood of an era. That is history-making, you know? You, being the first New Blood of an age. It has been centuries since the last. To know Magic is amongst us and has blessed us – it is inspiring, and it harkens a great change, and great things to come. I hear that you have already accomplished so much, even though you are so young. Your power is spoken of with reverence and respect, and you're only thirteen! That's incredible, and I cannot wait to see what else you accomplish as you grow older and gain more power.

I am sure Magic will guide you on your path. You will change the world with your Magic. I'm sure of it. I can't help you now, though – I'm in a situation where I'm unable to assist you or help you with your foretold quest. But! Know that I support you from afar. And as soon as I am able, I will help you and support you as best as I can. You are destined to bring about great Magic and magical restoration among us! I will aid you in your destiny however I can.

Yours truly,

The signature was smeared and unintelligible. Hermione did her best to make it out, but it was truly a smear of ink. She could barely make out any of it – all she could really tell was there were no descenders or tails in any of the letters of the name.

She stared at that letter for a long time.

Was this fan mail, of a sort?

Hermione had no idea, and she flinched at the notion. The writer seemed oddly obsessed already with her being a New Blood and her being sent by Magic for some great quest. Hermione had no intentions of going on any 'great quest' – she was quite content with her own action plan, thank you very much.

Still. The letter shook her, somewhat. It was hard to set it aside.

"Anything interesting?" her father asked mildly.

"Some," Hermione said slowly, frowning. "One proselytizing me, one that's like fan mail, and one asking me out."

Her father laughed.

"Asking you out?" he said. "Are you going to say yes?"

"I think I will," Hermione said, her eyes softening as she smiled. "Cedric's perfectly lovely to spend time with."

"Perfectly lovely," her father teased, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Her father raised an eyebrow. "I thought I would have to approve all dates for you first," he said, and Hermione frowned.

"Why?" she asked. "As patriarchal as magical society is, you're not magical. That wouldn't make any sense, for people to write to you first."

"Ah, but I have received such letters," her father said slyly.

"You have?" Hermione was shocked. "What kind? Ones asking permission to court me?"

"A couple," he said, nodding with a grin. "And one from someone's father asking if we might arrange a betrothal contract between our two children."

"What?!"

Hermione was on her feet before she realized it, and her father was laughing. Her mother came into the room with a sigh.

"Don't tease her, dear," she admonished. "She's bound to be sensitive about this sort of thing."

"What, about being ignored archaically and instead people asking me to sell her off?" her father said. His eyes gleamed. "It's just part of her new culture, dear."

"Who?" Hermione demanded. "Who sent you such a letter?"

Her father shrugged. "The father of one of your classmates, apparently. He had a funny name…"

Hermione groaned. "They all have funny names."

"Well, this one was funnier than most," her father insisted. "Ouros or something. Phobos? I don't recall. His son had a perfectly normal name, though – he said you two got along well and were partners in Potions, and that a match between you would be a good fit."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Thoros?" she said, aghast. "Thoros Nott wrote to you, a muggle, to ask about a betrothal contract?"

Her father shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal.

"I ignored it, of course," he said. "New culture or not, arranging that sort of thing behind your back seems dehumanizing and barbaric. He'll probably come to the conclusion that muggles can't receive owls or don't know how to return them." He looked at Hermione. "Are you quite alright?"

Hermione's mouth was dry.

"No," she said faintly. "No, not really."

"Not someone you fancy?" her father said knowingly.

"It's not even that!" Hermione protested. "You don't realize – the idea of Thoros Nott contacting a muggle for anything…"

Thoros Nott was one of the original Death Eaters, Hermione knew. She'd quizzed Theo about his father, as well as Tom Riddle about his old school mates. The idea that a Death Eater had written a muggle about arranging a marriage contract…

The idea blew her mind.

What was going on here? Was it a scam to lure out her father to be murdered? Or did Thoros legitimately want her and Theo to be affianced?

"I think I'm going mad," Hermione moaned, clutching her eyes with her hands as she sank back into her chair. "No, not me, the world. That's it. The world's going mad."

"Best go mad as well, then, dear," her mother teased, coming back into the room with dinner. "Otherwise you won't fit in."

After her discussion with Clover about hedgewitch magic, Hermione took to tracing sigils on her mirror and windows as well. If all magic needed was focusing your intent and power on an idea you wanted to manifest, it could work, couldn't it? She mainly traced Fehu – a stick with two side arms out the right side at an angle – which was the one Clover had taught her and was supposed to bring good luck. She had yet to speak to her parents about the goblins, and she suspected she would need all the help she could get.

She confided in Cedric about the matter when she saw him on Thursday, as he took her for a walk around a park. His eyes went wide as he explained, but he listened thoughtfully as she spilled the story out.

"You've been invited to the goblin stronghold?" Cedric repeated. He whistled. "That's impressive. The goblins haven't trusted witches and wizards for hundreds of years."

"For good reason," Hermione pointed out. "We don't exactly treat them in a way that inspires trust, do we?"

"Fair enough," Cedric conceded. He considered the matter as they walked. "Well, you could always play up the political angle. Mention that if you don't go, the goblins are likely to revolt and destabilize all of magical society."

"They are not," Hermione snapped, turning to glare, only to see a teasing glint in Cedric's eyes. She huffed as her face flushed, and Cedric laughed.

"I don't know, Hermione," he admitted. "My parents would be horrified and never let me go, no doubt. But your parents don't really know much about goblins, do they? Just that they run the bank and such. Maybe just act like you're going to stay with a friend. It's the truth, isn't it?"

It wasn't a bad idea, Hermione mused. It was with that thought that she finally approached her parents that evening, tentative.

"I've been invited by a friend to spend a week with them," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully. "It's a very special invitation. I'd like to ask for permission to go."

"A friend?" her mother asked, curious. "Which friend?"

"Bloodthorne," Hermione admitted.

"They really do have odd names," her father said, snorting, but her mother's eyebrows rose up.

"That sounds like a goblin name," she remarked casually.

"It is," Hermione said. She tinged her voice with pride, not with worry. "I've been invited to visit their village. I'm the first witch trusted to see how they live in hundreds of years."

"Why?" her father asked, surprised. "Not that I don't think you're special, Hermione, but that's quite the change in policy, isn't it?"

"I've been helping them a lot financially by helping them set up loans," Hermione explained. "It's garnered me respect and trust, enough to let me see how they live." She looked at her parents imploringly. "Please let me go! I may not get another opportunity, and this is the chance of a lifetime!"

Hermione's mother was frowning.

"I didn't know you were friends with any goblins," she said.

Hermione shrugged.

"The Charms teacher is half-goblin," she said, deliberately misleading. "Most people aren't willing to be friends with goblins, I'd say, but I try to treat everyone equally and with respect."

Her mother looked struck at that, her eyes saddened by the idea of goblin children with no friends.

"What do you think, Richard?" she said, turning to her husband. Hermione's father looked thoughtful.

"Goblins," he said. "They're not enemies?"

"They're not my enemy," Hermione said firmly. "They'll fight back if they're attacked, but they're perfectly civilized."

"And they're smart?" he asked. "Literate? Not slow and angry and aggressive?"

"They run the banking system," Hermione said incredulously. "I daresay they're not stupid, Dad."

Her father shrugged.

"I don't have a problem with it then," he said. "We're going to be busy most of the week, anyway – we signed up for an evening class on Shintoism. I'd be more comfortable if you took your sword, just in case, but it sounds like an exciting adventure you shouldn't miss up."

"It sounds like an educational experience," her mother corrected, rolling her eyes. She smiled at Hermione. "It's just for a week?"

"Yes," Hermione assured. "I'll be back in plenty of time for our trip to France."

"That sounds lovely, then," her mother said. "How do we contact you if we need you? Just an owl? I doubt goblins have a telephone."

"Just owl Gringotts, care of Bloodthorne for Hermione Granger," Hermione said, beaming, "and I'm sure I'll get it in no time."