Short Interludes Part 1
Topknot
Topknot (a name she used in the presence of humans) smirked as two of the three humans helped the much younger one to his feet and out of the rendering chamber. Turning back, she began barking orders as goblins rushed up, blades at the ready as another team pulled the shed basilisk hide aside.
Externally, Topknot was scowling, full of the goblin equivalent of Resting Bitch Face. Internally, she was cackling and rubbing her hands together over the truly, uniquely massive size of Potter's kill. She'd seen the pensieve memory, and was in fact the person who'd made the initial price quote.
"To see it up close...," she whispered, too quietly for anyone to hear.
Later, word of the basilisk would make the rounds, and many, many goblins would peer at it in awe before the rendering of scale and flesh began. Huge amounts of photographs were taken of the single sword wound that penetrated the roof of the King of Serpent's mouth, and not a small number of goblins had their pictures taken while standing in the maw of the beast, gazing at the photographer as if from thin, venomous bars.
Topknot, however, was not merely a renderer of flesh, but also the magical equivalent of a forensics examiner. The wound was measured before the brain was excised to reveal a perfect brain stem strike. Incidentally, she also found a sliced in half amulet that had somehow been implanted in the spinal column. While she passed it off to examiners, she was of the opinion that the amulet was what allowed the basilisk to be controlled.
Her later notes reported several gallons of venom, almost five tons of meat, all of the organs (save the eyes) were intact, the bones were flawless (and venomous), and the hide was perfect. She promptly set aside Potter's share of the bounty, handing over the sections of 'fresh' basilisk hide for the armourers to begin their work.
Neville Longbottom
1 September, 1994
Boarding the Hogwarts Express, Neville sighed as he entered a compartment. The events of the summer had been draining, rather than a relief, as he'd always fantasized it would be if his parents ever recovered. As it happened, he'd discovered that his grandmother was heavily into bribing fellow Wizengamot members, as well as being skilled in blackmail, extortion, and occasionally outright bodily harm that nobody could prove.
His parents, on the other hand, were a whole different matter. Frank, once he realized that he wasn't getting control back, and after two separate sessions of Neville physically beating his ass, the man began to at least attempt to bond with his son. As it so happened, Frank was somewhat delighted to discover that Neville was a prodigy in Herbology, and so began teaching him some of the plant-based magics, long considered to be lost to almost all British magicals, that he'd used during the Blood War. The way forward was slow going, as Neville's first impression of his father had been rather poor, but it was progressing. Of course, the largest issue was the fact that Neville was in the full flush of both hormones and the Family Magicks, and that meant that his temper tended to run rather high.
His mother, on the other hand, had no idea how to connect with Neville. Neville could understand her predicament. In her view, he'd gone from a fifteen month old toddler to fourteen year old boy in a matter of days. And her temper ran far hotter than his father's. Her reaction to learning that Neville had been broken at an exceedingly young age of being left handed, she verbally tore into Augusta, citing known magical medical facts about difficulties with socialization and higher general anxiety levels. Finding out that Harry and Neville hadn't been raised together, and in specific that Harry had been raised by muggles, sent her into a frothing rage. Neville and Frank both had to hold Alice back from physically assaulting Augusta on a number of occasions.
Thankfully, Neville had managed to order a more or less even keel at home, and was actually looking forward to a quiet time at Hogwarts. Which struck him as incredibly ironic.
Fifteen minutes later, Hermione popped her head into the compartment. "Mind sharing, Neville?"
"I don't know," Neville replied with a smirk. "As you can see, I have so many of my friends in here."
Hermione rolled her eyes before she set her trunk up on the rack. Taking a seat, she asked, "How was your summer?"
"Eventful," Neville admitted with a groan. "Mum and Dad are slowly coming around," he continued, having written Hermione about the subject to see if she had any ideas, "and Gran still isn't happy with it all."
"Did any of my advice help?" she asked hopefully.
Neville chuckled at the question. "Actually, yeah. The bit from your dad was really useful."
Hermione rolled her eyes, huffing. "Of course Daddy's advice turned out to be useful. 'Beat them until they comply', right? Daddy spent far too long in the Royal Marines, I swear."
"Dunno about all that," Neville replied with a shrug, "but it worked. Dad and I are slowly coming around. Mum's still more of a work in progress, but it's moving, at least. How about you?"
Hermione leaned back in her seat, smiling shyly. "After the World Cup, I got escorted to Gringotts. Turns out there's a new Heritage Test available, free to muggleborns."
"Heard about that from Harry," Neville broke in. "He says that it'll have serious impacts all over Britain."
"He's not wrong," she admitted, flashing an ornate ring. "I'm the new head of the Dagworth-Granger line, as well as thirty-six minor families, both here and on the continent. I plan to hit more vaults come Christmas, and maybe take an extended trip to the Continent next summer."
"Congratulations!" Neville enthused. "It's always a big deal when a House gets reawakened, especially after three major wars in a century."
"Three?" Hermione asked in her 'This is data I do not have' voice.
"The Great War absolutely decimated massive chunks of magical communities on the continent," Neville began, "and Grindelwald's war came too fast for magicals to recover from. You-Know-Who was only twenty-five years later, and while it was limited mostly to Britain, it practically gutted us. The muggle Cold War certainly didn't help matters. Ah," he paused to address Hermione's confused expression, "Gran's a politician; political history was mandatory for me growing up."
"That stands to reason," Hermione admitted. "Anyways, the Dagworth-Granger vault held tons of books that I'd never heard of! And a few thousand Galleons, but my parents plan to help me invest that. They're going to talk with Harry's investment people to see what's in the magical world."
"Sounds like you have a good plan," Neville replied with a smile.
"I think so," she answered, still smiling. "But then there's you! Look at you, Neville!" she gushed, smiling with a faint blush. "You are looking dead fit!"
Neville chuckled at that nervously. "Well, the House Magics forced me to diet and exercise, and training with Dad helped a lot. I probably gained nearly a stone in muscle in the last month. Sorry I couldn't make it to the World Cup," he offered, changing the subject, "but I had to sit in with Gran about what House Longbottom was going to be voting this month."
"That's alright," Hermione reassured him. "The game was, well, the game. I only really go to quidditch matches because Harry is playing. I much preferred the holiday air around it all!" she gushed out with a broad smile. "The stalls, people speaking all the languages, the food, the sheer atmosphere was wonderful! And then," she continued, her smile collapsing, "after. The Death Eaters tormenting that poor muggle family."
"I heard a bit of that," Neville admitted. "I also heard Gran flying into a rage because it all got swept up. What happened there?"
Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she reported, "I was staying with the Weaselys in their tend when we heard explosions. Lara, er, Lara Croft, Harry's friend, was out of the tent first. Bill told her to get her friend Sam to the woods, and for Arthur to get us kids there.
"I'm not sure what happened, but somehow Sam called down lightning on the Death Eaters while I was running. It hit them, and didn't touch the muggles. And then somehow I lost my wand, and someone used it to cast the Dark Mark into the sky. That got consumed by more lightning.
"The next morning, Arthur was in a right fury, as all of the Death Eaters got free thanks to the Minister claiming 'A spot of high spirits and alcohol'. More like him getting richer," she snarled out. "Sam is doing okay, at least. I'm still not sure what happened."
"Damn. I wish I'd been there," Neville admitted. "Unfortunately, my House Magicks are pushing me towards stuff, conflict mostly. It's the old Viking blood, y'know? But I probably wouldn't have been able to help wading in with a sword."
"That's... a shocking thing to hear," Hermione admitted, eyes wide, just before Ron staggered into the compartment, slinging his own trunk onto the rack before flopping down into a seat. Seconds later, the whistle of the Express blew, and the entire train lurched as it began moving.
"Sorry about that," Ron panted out. "Ginny kept forgetting stuff, Fred and George did their dumb comedy thing, and I had to wait on all of them. Did I miss anything?"
"Just talking about our summer," Hermione explained, pulling out a notebook. "Anything new for you in the past few days, Ron?"
Ron sort of shrugged. "Not really. Still working on getting the figurines to move, fascinating stuff. Talked with Harry's guy at Gringotts, he said he'll get me more Warhammer stuff so I can experiment more. More books, models, and such. More research into stuff; Bill gave me his old Hogwarts books, since the twins have Percy and Charlie's. Got my homework done; turns out there's a ton of stuff that might tie in to all this."
"Warhammer?" Neville asked, completely lost.
"Warhammer is produced by Games Workshop," Hermione began. "It was originally designed as a tabletop strategy game using miniatures in a fantasy setting. More recently, they have a version set in a science-fiction setting. Harry sent Ron one of their box set armies to try and figure out."
"It's bloody brilliant," Ron breathed out. "Much better than chess! Two armies, random rolls of dice, situational rules... And muggles made this!"
"Where have I heard of Games Workshop before?" Neville mused aloud.
"Games Workshop was famous among wizards," Ron explained, "for their high quality chess boards in the '70s. Someone saw what they were doing, and invested heavily. To this day, the old Games Workshop chess boards are still used in tournament Wizard's Chess games."
"Huh. That's a things, I guess," Neville commented. "I guess this Warhammer thing is really interesting for you then."
"It's bloody brilliant," Ron repeated. "Still, school and such. Gonna see about various ways to animate the models. Think Snape'll advise me on it?"
"Maybe," Neville shrugged out. "Worst he can do is turn you down, right? He's still a teacher; it's his job to educate. Any word on when Harry's returning?"
"Late October to early November," Hermione stated. "He has to wait for the military presence around Hong Kong to ease up before he can get there. And he's joined the Healer's Guild in Thailand. I'm glad he's not just skiving off," she continued, absently noting a few things down, "but I can't say I'd blame him."
Two hours later, the compartment door slid open to reveal Draco Malfoy, without his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle. "Good morning, Scar-" He paused, eyes flicking around the compartment. "Where's Potter?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"Thailand," Neville replied, wand already in hand at his side. "There was a shipwreck, and he's stuck there for now."
Draco blinked, then said, "Timbul's buggerup, right. So, are any of you entering?"
"Entering what?" Ron demanded, his fist balling up.
Draco smirked at the confusion. "Oh, none of you know? My father told me weeks ago! Still, I suppose you'll find out soon enough. After all, there was a reason that dress robes were on the school list.
"Longbottom," he continued in a more formal tone, his hand extending, "congratulations on your ascension. I heard that things have been difficult for you."
"Thank you," Neville replied, standing to shake Draco's hand. "It's been rough, but we're weathering the storm."
"And you, Granger," he turned, extending his hand to Hermione. "Congratulations on your own ascension. I imagine things are somewhat confusing with all of that."
"Thank you, Malfoy," she replied evenly, also standing to shake his hand. "They are, but I'm managing."
Stepping back to the doorway, Draco said, "Once school settles a bit, we three should sit down, talk about the future."
"What're you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron demanded, leaning forward in a hostile manner.
Draco sighed, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. "Weasley, you probably weren't taught this since you're not in line for Head. We three represent the future of Magical Britain. It's only fit that we learn to get along early."
"You've always hated us," Ron stated, leaning back. "What changed?"
Draco sighed dramatically at Ron's outburst. "School is only seven years of our lives. The House system separates us from easily making friends across those lines. But if people can set aside their differences, we can make a real difference in the future. You two," he called out as a parting line, "keep it in mind, yeah?" The door slid shut as Draco stepped out.
"What was he on about?" Ron asked.
"Networking," Neville replied. "He's not wrong about us being the future of Magical Britain. He represents a faction originally from Magical France, I represent Pre-Statute Britain, and Hermione has a ton of new titles, in addition to her feet being in the muggle world. The current Malfoys are too young of a family to have a vote, but I have a vote through Gran, and Hermione is eligible for her own proxy to represent because the Dagworth-Granger line is still quite well regarded in almost every circle."
"So Malfoy is trying to what, curry favor?" Hermione asked.
"Not exactly," Neville replied, turning the conversation over in his head. "More like... I think he's playing the long game. He and I were both raised with politics. Opposing sides, but the exact same subjects. I think he's making inroads now to set himself up in the future.
"He's not wrong in Hogwarts only being seven years," Neville continued thoughtfully. "And he's right about the House System being a problem. If we do this, we'll have to be sneaky about it. But it could be a good thing later," he admitted. "Especially for you, Hermione. You have a ton of titles that you'll be getting soon enough, and you'll need more than one person helping you with all that. If Malfoy is good for his word, and can be trusted to keep his mouth shut, he could be useful."
19 September, 1994
Neville hung up Dobby's satellite phone (and noting that he needed to get himself one), leaning back into the chair in his office at Longbottom Manor. Harry was at least in high spirits, Neville had suspicions that Harry's luck would rear up to torment him. Now he was wondering if it was just Hogwarts that gave Harry such a bad time.
Recalling earlier in the day, he reminisced over a very unexpected conversation...
"It's like this," Draco began, "we all know that Britain is a mess. Too much old money is concentrated in too few hands, and too much money is sitting in the dark in Gringotts. We've barely moved past the Victorian Era, and muggles have gone to the moon! What do we have? Fast brooms? The Wireless? Sure, we have potions and magic, but does that have to mean we should stick with just that?"
"I'm shocked to hear you say this," Hermione admitted in the derelict classroom that they'd commandeered. "Isn't magic supposed to be the most wonderful thing in the world?"
"It is," Draco replied. "But is that all that we are? Wands, potions, and brooms? Why can't we innovate like the muggles? If we worked as fast and as hard as them, why hasn't there been a magical on the moon? Why don't we have something like tellyvision? Or that 'phone' thing, rather than a fireplace for floo calls?"
"What are you saying?" Neville asked, relaxing into his now cushioned chair once he determined that this wasn't some sort of trap or ambush.
Draco scrubbed at his face, before saying, "Basically, we're stagnating. Too much new blood is leaving Britain, too many new ideas. Longbottom, you know just as well as I that Hogwarts doesn't have half the courses it did a century ago. Granger," he continued, seemingly changing the subject, "any idea what you want to do after Hogwarts?"
Hermione blinked at the question. "I had considered either going into medicine, like my parents, or perhaps law."
"Muggle or magical?"
"Probably a bit of both," she admitted.
"Then you'll need to go to University, right? Oh, don't look shocked," he replied to Hermione's upraised eyebrows. "Yes, I know a bit about the muggle world. So, how are you getting there without records, hmm? I don't know what you'd need, but I imagine seven years of Hogwarts doesn't rightly carry over."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock at the implications. "No... No GCSE's, no A-Levels... No records at all! I can't get into Uni because I don't have any of the needed records!" she exclaimed in horror.
"Gets worse," Draco continued grimly. "Hogwarts only prepares us for the magical world, and poorly at that. I've heard that muggle schools have courses on science, maths, government, economics, world history. Not to mention they require procreational education. None of that is here. Maths is an optional course with Arithmancy, but what about a writing course? Why doesn't Hogwarts teach how the Wizengamot and the Ministry work?
"According to my mum, who was raised as a Black," Draco continued, "the magical world is what's called a post-scarcity society. With the exception of food, we can make anything with a swish of a wand. It may be temporary, but it's there. Ages ago, one of the great controversies of Hogwarts was that everyone graduated literate. Can you imagine? The local gentry suddenly threatened because some peasants could suddenly read after disappearing for a few years? When nobody but the gentry and members of the religion could? Today, it's less of an issue, but as recently as a century ago? Unthinkable!"
"It's a fair point," Neville added. "There's a theory going around that Slytherin only wanted people from magical families here so that a muggleborn couldn't be tortured into revealing the location of the school. Plus it took longer for them to learn how to read Latin."
"This is all good information," Hermione stated, scribbling in her notebook, "but what can we do about it?"
"I don't know," Draco admitted, his shoulders slumping. "I really don't. But you are the head of a bunch of lines, Longbottom's line goes back more than a thousand years, and I'm looking at potentially uniting the French and British Malfoy lines. In Britain, we've only been here a couple of centuries, even if the original Malfoys were at the Battle of Hastings. In France, however, the Malfoys were rubbing shoulders with the royalty ever since there was a royal line, ever since Louis the Stammerer in the mid 800s. The three of us make up the very future of Magical Britain, possibly chunks of the Continent.
"What about Harry?" Neville asked.
"Potter is in a weird spot," Draco admitted. "On one hand, the Potters go back to about the 1200s, so they're an old line. On the other hand, Potter's title as the Boy-Who-Lived throws it all up in the air. And then there's the Evans line. Don't look surprised," he smirked at Hermione's startled expression. "I know how to do research. I know that Potter is the heir to the Evans Viscouncy. It doesn't mean anything magically, but on the muggle side, it can count for a lot more. I'm not sure what, but there's got to be something for being a member of the gentry.
"So with all of that, Potter is taking up a strange space in our world. My father considers him wild card, and if someone can influence him right, he can be used anywhere. Mind you, Potter is also limited by his contact with Dumbledore. A lot of influential people don't like him, but they can't fight the common view of the man."
"What's so bad about the Headmaster?" Hermione asked. "His achievements alone-"
"Are so far distant that they might as well be from a different person," Neville interrupted. "Grindelwald, the 12 Uses of Dragon's Blood, and then the Order of the Phoenix? The alchemy was all before he became a teacher here, Grindelwald was the first half of the century, and nobody really verifiably knows that Dumbledore was the head of the Order."
"Exactly," Draco replied. "Grindelwald is still imprisoned in Nurmengard fifty years later, and the only reason that the war with the Dark Lord ended was because of Potter. Add to that all of his jobs, each of which is a full time job," Draco snarled out, "and it's a wonder the man can get anything done!"
"He's not wrong, Hermione," Neville added, explaining, "Dumbledore is Headmaster, Chief Warlock for the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump for the ICW. He's stretched so thin, it's a wonder it all hasn't come tumbling down."
"So," Hermione began, "Hogwarts isn't sufficient, and Dumbledore is failing to do his jobs. Where does that leave people like us?"
"I get where he's going," Neville inserted. "Magical society isn't moving forward, and we're being repressed in school. Malfoy wants us looking at planning for after Hogwarts. You and I are in control of our houses, while Malfoy is the heir to his and, if he's right, to the original French line, possibly the Black line through his mum. The three of us carry a lot of clout, and can really affect things down the road."
"Do you honestly think that Harry would go along with this?" Hermione asked with a bit of sarcasm. "Malfoy, do you think he's just going to forget the last three years?"
"Absolutely not," Draco stated. "In fact, I'm counting on it. Potter may be the Golden Boy, but he has a brain and a temper to match. And it won't take him long to figure out that I've been acting the way I act because I have to."
"How do you mean?" Hermione asked, even as realization bloomed on Neville's face.
"Longbottom gets it," Draco said, gesturing to the boy. "Basically, I am the Malfoy Heir, possibly also the Black Heir. But if I don't act in certain ways, I run the risk of being disinherited. Unless I act as the Prince of Slytherin, blood purist and all that, I run that risk, which means I'll have no name, no money, nothing. And there's sod all my mum can do about it with my father as head."
"So we consider, and then come back with ideas?" The two boys nodded. "Fine. You've given me a lot to think about, Malfoy. Thank you for that."
"One last thing," Draco mentioned as he collapsed the privacy wards over the door. "You need to be careful, Granger. While not a lot of people have my father's connections, you can lay down gold that Zabini has heard of your new rank. He's from the continent; his mother is Moorish Italian, his father British. And while I don't know the details, his mother has had seven husbands, all now dead. It wouldn't surprise me if he bred true. So be careful, Granger."
------
Dobby
28 October, 1994
Dobby had been working hard for Harry. Non-stop arranging for the rebuild of the Village Manor, arranging long-term repairs for the Evans Manor, assigning the house elves in preparation for their bonding with Harry, it was all very busy business.
For relaxation, Dobby had taken to a diversion that Narcissa Malfoy enjoyed: muggle cinema. Comedy, fantasy, tragedy, science fiction, Dobby took it all in. The snacks weren't very tasty, but he understood that a cinema made hardly any money on ticket prices, relying heavily on the overpriced concessions.
Today, Dobby (in his midget disguise) walked out of the theater with wide eyes. The movie had been fascinating. Drugs, gun violence, even dancing! Moving to an alley so that he could pop back home, he considered what he had finished watching.
"Does Dobby need to get a gun?" he giggled out. "English, motherfucker! Does Bad Master speak it?" he misquoted, still giggling maniacally. "Does Harry Potter Sir look like a bitch? Then why is Bad Master treating him like a bitch?"
-----
Ron Weasely
7 September 1994
Ron's stomach was turning itself out with how badly his nerves were crushing him. But he stuck it out as the rest of the students filed out of the classroom.
Finally, the room was empty except for himself and one other. Dark eyes flicked up from the parchment he was perusing as a single eyebrow raised. "Yes, Weasely?" he drawled out.
"Professor Snape," Ron began, a tremor running through his voice, "I was hoping that you could help me."
The other eyebrow raised as Severus Snape's attention became definitely focused on Ron's face. "With?"
"I have some figurines from a game called Warhammer," Ron began, his voice slowly gaining certainty. "I've been looking into how Wizard's Chess pieces are done, and was wondering if there's a way to do something like that with muggle plastic figures. But they'd have to be less rigid in how they can move, y'know? Like, they can be... set up for a variety of motions?"
"Programmed," Snape inserted. "Like a golem having pre-programmed responses to instruction."
"That's it! Anyways, I was hoping you could recommend something in potions to help with that."
Snape leaned back, actually intrigued by the youngest male Weasley's concept. With the exceptions of the three eldest, no Weasely had ever had the stones to ask for his input. "What do you have so far?"
"Well, I have the basic animation spell for the chess pieces," Ron began, pulling out a few pages of parchment, "but it's all too limiting, since chess pieces are all rigid."
"I see," Snape replied, noting down several items on another sheet of parchment before handing it over. "Review these tomes. They are quite above your grade level, but if you apply yourself, you should make full sense of them within two years."
"Thank you, Professor," Ron gushed, eyes flicking over the list. "I'll get right on this."
Snape watched the boy rush out, his mind already maneuvering methods and techniques for what Ron had envisioned. Then he mentally shrugged, returning to the mind-numbing task of deciphering the handwriting of yet another pureblood. In truth, he preferred the handwriting of muggleborns; their formal education was far more suited to teaching children how to write legibly.
Almost a week later, Ron came across several promising things within the NEWTs level books he'd gotten from the library. He immediately (with the help of the twins) found an old, abandoned potions laboratory in the section of the dungeons that hardly anyone ever went into anymore, and set to work.