Ministry-trained Educational Expert
“How do you like the wizarding world, Heather?”
“It’s nice,” Heather responded. They’d all changed out of their robes and Hermione was thankful that she kept her muggle pyjamas, as she and Heather were the only ones wearing trousers.
“It’s it so wonderful?” Marie, a half-blood, asked eagerly. “I couldn’t imagine anything better.”
“Sure.”
“What was it like growing up with muggles?”
Heather picked at her sleeve.
“It was just like growing up in the wizarding world,” Hermione said. “Except there isn’t telly here.”
“What’s telly?”
“It’s like a theatre performance that you can watch on demand, but better,” Hermione said.
“There’s lots of them,” Heather added, “you can watch whatever you want.”
“That’s nice,” Parvati said. Hermione made eye contact with Heather. They didn’t get it.
“It was kind of startling,” Hermione said, suddenly desperate to take all their eyes off Heather, who was again picking at her sleeve. “To learn that there was this whole other world that I hadn’t been allowed to know about that suddenly wanted me but only part of me.”
“Of course, we want all of you!” Lavender reassured her.
“But not my parents,” Hermione said with a smile. “Or my culture. Or the technology my people have developed.”
“You aren’t a muggle Hermione, you’re a witch,” Lavender said. “That’s not your culture.”
She was trying to be nice, reassuring even. Regardless of her intentions, rage bubbled up in her.
“It is,” Hermione said. “How could it not be? Muggles raised me, taught me, let me run wherever and whenever I pleased, and gave me a safe place to come home to. The wizarding world kept me out until it pleased them and then made me fight for every centimetre of space I take up.”
“Hermione, you’re a witch!” Lavender insisted. “No one can take that away from you. There isn’t any type of way that you could do it wrong.”
She truly sounded like she believed that.
“What if I didn’t know about family magic?” Hermione asked. “Or didn’t know how to use a quill? Or what jewellery means here or why I need to wear my hair up in certain situations. Or how our politics work? Would I still be treated like a real witch then? Or if I broke the rules and was expelled? Would they take my wand? Make me wait until I was seventeen to even be able to access the magical world? What about in the summers when they send me home and cut me off from magic? Am I a real witch then?”
“I need to wear my hair up?” Heather pulled on her braid.
“How you have it is fine,” Hermione said, tired. “If you are going to have it down it should be in some kind of style unless you have a hat. Plain ponytails are generally avoided. You’d need something like a butterfly clip.”
“And jewellery?”
“Has power here,” Hermione said. “In the rich families, it sends messages about alliances and politics. Regardless of wealth, it shows family support.”
“And family magic?”
“Is a whole separate conversation,” Hermione said. “One that isn’t urgent.”
Lavender and Parvati stared at her like they’d never seen her before.
“Who taught you?” Heather demanded. “How did you learn? Professor McGonagall didn’t tell me any of this.”
“Mrs. Tonks,” Hermione said. “This summer. There aren’t really any books on this.”
All the girls were staring and Hermione couldn’t find it in her to care.
“I’ll teach you,” she added, impulsive. “I don’t know everything but if you want to learn I can teach you.”
“Yes please,” Heather said solemnly. “I need to know.”
The other girls were doing their best to act like everything was normal which seemed to involve a lot of staring past their shoulders.
“Right,” Parvati said into the uncomfortable silence, “Does everyone know what to do tomorrow morning?”
--
“Heather,” Hermione said, “this is Harry, my best friend. He grew up in the muggle world too.”
Harry waved hello and went back to his breakfast.
“He’s not much of a morning person,” Hermione told Heather in a stage whisper. Heather gave an unsure giggle.
Heather had spent much of the sleepover last night unsure and nervous after their conversation before bursting into tears before bed. Eventually, Hermione managed to figure out that Heather had no way for her nightlight to work and was embarrassed and scared all at once. She’d solved the problem with bluebell flames in an unbreakable, sealed jar.
“Heather’s going to sit with us,” Hermione informed Harry. Harry waved a polite salute with his toast before staring back into middle distance.
“What classes do you have today?” Hermione asked Heather.
“I have Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Heather said, serving herself breakfast.
“Charms is fun,” Hermione assured her. “I have no idea what Defense Against the Dark Arts will be like this year. Professor Umbridge is new.”
Heather touched her hair again. Hermione had helped her spell her hair up, into to braided half ponytails. The rest of her hair fell down her hair in soft curls. She looked just like the rest of the first-year girls with their new robes and carefully made-up hair. “I don’t need a hat?”
“Some people choose to wear one,” Hermione said, glancing around at some of their classmates. “Most people our age don’t wear one unless it is a formal and traditional occasion.”
“That’s Jane,” Heather said. “Her hair isn’t up. Should we tell her?”
A first-year Ravenclaw sat with her classmates eating breakfast, hair down and wearing no jewellery. She was glancing around at everyone else between bites.
“Do you know her?” Hermione asked, hesitating and hating herself for it.
“She’s also a muggle,” Heather explained. “Our parents found the platform together.”
“Muggle-born,” Hermione corrected.
“Why do we have to say that?” Heather asked. “Why can’t we be what we are?”
Harry looked over, watching them.
Hermione took a big breath and put down her knife and fork. “We don’t have to. I didn’t for the last four years. People called me slurs and gossiped and made fun of me. But I was still at the top of my class. I had friends. I was mostly safe.”
“So why did you start wearing your hair up?” Heather demanded. “Why did you tell me to?”
“I want to make the world a better place,” Hermione said. “I want to be taken seriously when I speak. I want to make people who have power listen to me.”
“So you have to act like them,” Heather figured it out far faster than she had.
“For now,” Hermione agreed. “But not always and not forever. Just as long as it takes for me to get what I need.”
“We need to tell Jane,” Heather decided.
“If we tell her we might as well make sure everyone knows,” Hermione said. “Are there any others?”
Heather scanned all the tables. “I don’t see anyone.”
Hermione took one last big bite of breakfast. “Why don’t we go over?”
Jane was sitting next to the first years and Ginny.
“Hullo,” Ginny said.
“Do you always sit over here?” Hermione asked, puzzled.
“No,” Ginny said, “but Luna invited me today.”
“Good morning,” the girl behind an upside-down magazine said.
“Good morning,” Hermione replied, still puzzled.
“Good morning,” Heather plopped herself down next to Jane. “The purebloods and half-bloods will think it's weird if our hair is down. Also, we need jewellery.”
Jane examined Hermione and Heather’s hair. “I don’t think I’m that good at hair yet.”
“Hermione can do it,” decided Heather. “She did mine.”
“Luna doesn’t have her hair done,” Jane said, looking around the hall. “There’s some others too. I suppose they’re wearing hats.”
“I don’t like it when my hair pulls,” Luna said, serenely as she turned a page. “I’ll wear a hat on holidays.”
Jane nodded taking this information in. “Something simple please,” she said to Hermione.
Five taps and a wave of her wand, Jane’s hair was pulled back into a neat, five-strand French braid. It looked lovely with her dark hair.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re muggle-born then?” Ginny asked. “Has anyone explained quidditch yet?”
Hermione sighed as both girls shook their heads and Ginny launched into a spirited explanation. It seemed that even at the Ravenclaw table, she couldn’t escape sports talk.
--
History of Magic was as boring as it ever was. Harry sat between her and Ron and was pointedly not acknowledging it. They spent the time flicking a balled-up piece of parchment back and forth. At least this time Harry and Ron seemed to know what war Binns was referencing. Hermione spent her time taking notes. She’d charmed a quill using a spell she’d learned from a reporter, and while the quill dashed across the page, she read ahead for the homework. The book was much more interesting than listening to Binns drone on.
Neither Harry nor Ron asked for her notes at the end of class. She thought about reminding them but she could see the quirk of Mrs. Tonk’s eyebrow and pushed the urge down. Harry and Ron could handle themselves. Besides, Ron hadn’t apologized yet.
The trickle of their classmates leaving the classroom and moving down the corridor turned into a stream on the stairs which flooded the inner courtyard. The autumn sun did its best to keep them warm but the wind whipped through the court year, carrying leaves and owl feathers. Hemione made her way to a low wall and took a seat. Harry sat next to her and was promptly swarmed by Cho and some other Ravenclaw girls. Ron, surprisingly, went to sit next to Lavender and Parvati, a coin spinning between his hands.
Hermione pulled a book from her bag, A History of Notable Portraits, and started to read. She had an unintentional historian to track down.
--
Defence Against the Dark Arts was going to be a joke this year.
“How do we fix this?” Harry asked, hand twitching toward his wand as they left. He’d managed to only lose them 10 points the whole class and avoided hexing their Professor when she’d called Remus a half-breed.
“Ted?” Hermione asked. “I don’t actually know if this is illegal.”
“They can’t not teach us how to defend ourselves!” Harry, who had been remarkably level-headed all of one morning of this school year so far, had reached his limit. “Especially this year! And that woman -!”
“Hem, hem,” Hermione was already betting she would hear that sound in her nightmares. “Mr. Potter.”
“Professor,” Harry gritted his teeth and spun back around to face the witch in pink.
“Detention, Mr. Potter, tonight. For behaviour unbecoming of a student.”
Hermione dug her nails into his arm and sent a prayer out to the universe. Harry ripped his arm away and stalked down the corridor.
Professor Umbridge had just started to turn back to her classroom when Hermione called out “Professor!”
“Ms. Granger?” the expectant look sent shivers down her spine.
“I was hoping I could ask a question, Professor,” Hermione said. “I’m quite confused.”
“Of course, Ms. Granger.”
“I’ve just been reading the Prophet a lot,” she said, and Professor Umbridge’s face immediately soured. “They’ve said what Harry said, that Cedric was murdered by You-Know-Who. Is that not true?”
“Of course not, Ms. Granger,” she was going to punch this woman in the face, just wait. “Mr. Diggory’s death is a tragic result of the Triwizard tournament. Simple as that.”
“Then the ministry concluded its investigation?”
“There is no evidence of foul play, You-Know-Who or otherwise,” Professor Umbridge said crisply. “No matter what the student body may have been told.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
Hermione took off down the corridor. She had a letter to write.
--
The House of Diggory was not a noble house nor was it ancient. They did not hold a guaranteed seat on the Wizengamot despite members of their house frequently holding elected positions or serving on citizen committees. They were, however, an old house and very, very angry.
“This is completely unacceptable!” Amos waved the letter around, pacing.
“I had not been notified that the investigation had concluded,” Sirius said with a frown.
“A farce of an investigation!” Amos shouted. “What did they investigate, hmm?”
Mrs. Diggory stared, stone-faced, into the fire.
“A point you should be sure to make during the session today,” Andy swept in, a severe look on her face. “Shall we depart?”
“We will be early,” Sirius pointed out. Even earlier than they normally were.
“Is that a problem?” Andy asked.
Sirius was starting to get a feeling that it would be a problem if they didn’t leave now. “Not at all. Mrs. Diggory?”
A plus about fireplaces the size of Bowtruckle Run and the Ministry was that Sirius could arrive with Mrs. Diggory on his arm. It was a pointed message, one that the press picked up on immediately. Mrs. Diggory flinched and then glared, daring the camera flashes to look away from her grief. Cedric’s parents were still wearing full mourning robes, severe black with no adornments. Mrs. Diggory wore a simple silver locket that held a lock of her son’s hair. Sirius and Andy wore black as well and simple - well, simple for a Black - silver jewellery.
There weren’t very many people inside the chambers yet. The few council members who were there already stood on the floor, chatting. They looked up at the sounds of cameras flashing and reporters shouting.
Sirius met the eyes of each person and then dismissed them, cutting his eyes to the stairs. He led Mrs. Diggory to the House of Black seats and then guided her into the advisory seat that Andy usually took. The floor went silent. The press got louder. Andy took the seat on his other side. Mr. Diggory sat next to her. They waited.
The people on the floor took their seats. They were all still considerably early.
More members started to trickle in. They looked around, spotted the Diggory family sitting with them and everyone else sitting down, and took their seats.
A chill ran through Sirius and he looked toward Andy. Triumph, visible only to someone who knew her, limmed her face.
This, this was a coupe. One he hadn’t thought they would manage for months yet.
Lucius Malfoy entered, read the room, and exited again. He came back exactly three minutes later with Narcissa on his arm. A ghost of a smile graced her face and they made eye contact on the way to their seats.
Word must have spread that something was happening because the Wizengamot was full before the Chief Warlock had entered the chambers. There was whispered conversation but nothing that rose higher than a murmur. Andy was radiating smugness if you knew her. Mrs. Diggory had angry tears running down her face that kept the cameras flashing at the door. Amos was vibrating in his seat. Sirius let the cold that always followed him radiate outward. Let other people feel it for once.
The Minister entered the room and turned red, eyes locked on him. Sirius stared back. Fudge looked away first.
Dumbledore came in last, silver-spangled robes glinting under the cameras. He looked up at Sirius once, unreadable, before taking his seat.
The Chief Warlock entered the chambers as usual, sorting through the papers in front of him. For all that he had been selected as a neutral party, he had a great head for politics; he didn’t look up once.
The Chief got settled - he needed to learn his name - and then looked up, eyes sweeping around the room. He banged his gavel, calling the session to begin.
Sirius pulled out his pocket watch - an heirloom silver piece with a suspicious scorch mark that he refused to explain - and blinked at the time. They were starting a full 6 minutes early.
He put away his pocket watch, looked over at Mrs. Diggory who looked back, and then raised his wand, calling on his family magic.
The gavel banged again. “The court recognizes House Black.”
Sirius looked out at the Wizengamot. “House Black cedes the floor to House Diggory.”
“The Court recognizes House Diggory.”
Amos stood, magic radiating from him in roiling clouds, and made his way to the floor. The Wizangamot was silent.
Amos set the letter on the podium, hands gripping either side. Mrs. Diggory’s breath hitched. Fudge glanced at the Chief Wizengamot. Percy Weasley closed his eyes and visibly tried not to cry.
“Chief Warlock,” Amos started, fury making every quiet word hit true, “I come here today to demand answers for the injustice levelled against my House. My heir, my son, Cedric Diggory, was murdered during the Triwizard Tournament this past summer. The healers determined he died via the Killing Curse. The only other confirmed person to be with him, Harry Potter, heir to House Potter and House Black, was not only cleared of any wrongdoing but was found to be tortured with the Cruciatus curse. He reported that Voldemort and his followers killed my son and was responsible for his torture. He barely escaped with his life, risking everything to bring my son’s body back with him.”
Gaps hissed through the room at the news Harry had suffered the Cruciatus curse. Lucius’s face was calm. Narcissa’s face was appropriately sad. Sirius wanted to tear their ears off with his nails. He forced himself to study the empty Lestrange seats instead.
“Regardless if Harry’s account was accurate, the death of my son needed to be investigated. The person who caused my son’s death needed to be found,” Amos looked up at the Chief Wizengamot. “I was assured by this council that my son’s murder would be brought to justice. I was promised that it would be handled with dignity and care.”
The body didn’t seem to know where this was going. The press was hanging on to every word.
“Please, Chief Warlock, explain why Heirs Potter-Black, Malfoy, Nott, Abbott, Longbottom, Ollivander, Bulstrode, Greengrass, Parkinson, Flint, Brown, and Patil were informed that not only is the investigation into my son’s death is closed before my wife and me, but they were assured that the ministry has determined that my son was not murdered? By a ministry official on behalf of the minister, no less?”
Really, Sirius thought, I should have wanted to be head of House for this alone. This was a better reaction than most of my pranks received.
The bangs of the Chief Warlock - Chester? Harold? - couldn’t be heard over the shouting. It seemed most heirs had not informed their heads of this development. Fudge was shouting - not that Sirius could hear him - but the purple of his face and the spit flying gave it away. The Chief - Earnie Sr.? - had leaned over the side of his pulpit and down to the Minister to speak with him.
Mrs. Diggory sat as still as stone, glaring at the minister. A camera flashed, breaking the rule of no cameras inside the courtroom, and a flood of flashes followed.
The Chief - he looked like a Hawking now that Sirius could see his profile - cast his gavel aside for his wand. In an impressive display of transfiguration, every camera lens turned to stone. Reporters shouted as they tried to account for the extra weight. Three silencing spells flew through the air, one at the press, one at the gallery, and one at the council members.
“I will fine every member who does not comport themselves with the seriousness that this office requires,” the Chief Warlock stated, grimly. “As for the press, any photo of the inside of these chambers that is published will result in the photographer being banned from any future Wizengamot session. The next time a camera is used is the last time the press will be allowed in these chambers.
“Mr. Diggory,” he continued, “Please tell us exactly what was said.”
“Professor Umbridge,” Amos spat, “informed the student population at Hogwarts that, and I quote, ‘Mr. Diggory’s death is a tragic result of the Triwizard tournament.’ Furthermore, the students were assured that the investigation had found no evidence of foul play. They were assured that Mr. Potter was lying and that the ministry had closed the investigation.”
The scratch of quills filled the silence as every head turned toward Fudge. He stuttered and then visibly steeled himself. “I apologize for the way the news found you, Mr. Diggory,” Cornelius began. “However, Professor Umbridge was correct. Mr. Diggory’s death was a result of the Triwizard tournament.”
Amos drew his wand and chains shot from the floor, wrapping around him. “LIAR!”
Mrs. Diggory took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Sirius raised his wand again.
The Chief Warlock waved his wand toward him. “The court recognizes House Black.”
“I petition the court to release the official findings of the investigation.”
“Mr. Weasley,” the Chief Warlock turned to Percy. “Please retrieve the case file.”
“I can’t, sir,” Percy said, staring at Amos who was no longer fighting the chains but refused to put his wand away.
“Why not, Mr. Weasley?” the Chief Warlock asked.
“We haven’t received it yet, Chief Warlock Hawking,” Percy answered, meeting his eye. “The Aurors are still meeting with the solicitors of the accused in order to set up interviews.”
“Minister Fudge,” Hawking took a deep breath. “Do you care to revise your statement?”
“The reason they have found nothing,” Fudge said, apparently committed to his version of events, “is because You-Know-Who is dead. He has not come back. He can’t come back. You can not bring people back from the dead. This whole thing - all of it! - has been orchestrated by Albus Dumbledore to remove me from power!”
While everyone in this room had realized that Fudge had truly believed that and had used it to manipulate Fudge into doing what they wanted, it was still shocking to hear it out loud.
“Are you saying that Albus Dumbledore killed a student to remove you from your position?” Hawking asked, incredulous.
“No!” Cornelius shook his head, looking around for anyone to support him. “A student died, a truly tragic accident, and Dumbledore used this opportunity to claim You-Know-Who has returned!”
Sirius raised his wand. Hawking gestured at him.
“Are you calling my godson a liar, Minister?”
“He’s been confunded!”
Hawking turned back to Sirius, eyebrows raised. “Our healers have found no evidence. The only evidence they have found corroborates his statement.”
“You’re on his side!”
“Harry’s?”
“Dumbledore’s!”
Narcissa ducked her head to hide whatever disbelieving amusement broke through. Fudge was truly paranoid.
Bill raised his wand.
“The Court recognizes House Prewett.”
“I petition the Court to allow a healer to verify the Minister’s health.” Has he been enchanted?
“So ordered,” Hawking banged his gavel. “In addition, the Minister’s offices shall be frozen. If Minister Fudge is in good health, an investigation into the mishandling of this investigation will commence. If he is not, well, an investigation into the harm of the minister and the mishandling of this investigation shall be undertaken. Mr. Diggory, the Wizengamot extends its deepest apologies. The investigation has not been closed, and the Court will take special interest. As for the alleged witnesses,” the Chief Warlock looked up toward the families in question, “I am sure they would be more than willing to speed things along considering this entire incident has left your family without a son and heir.”
This man must have a wand of iron; calling out known Death Eaters by drawing attention to the fact that they had killed a pureblood wizard from a magical House.
Amos nodded once. “House Diggory cedes the floor.”
The gavel banged again. “The session will resume in a quarter of an hour.”
The silence spells lifted and the chamber exploded into noise. Mrs. Diggory broke down into sobs.