Chapter 11: Ministry MadhouseSummary:Shmex. mlml. (I'm so sorry).
Goblins
Elves
Ministers (good ones!)
Dogs!
Notes:Surprise surprise!
It's been almost a month, right?
Sorry, life sometimes gets craazy.
But I'm even crazier, so here I am with a new behemoth.
A full thirteen thousand words of absolutely nothing.
Enjoy!
Kisses,
S.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextIn his hazy, half-conscious state, Harry couldn't quite discern reality from his lovely dream.
He'd dreamed of Hermione's hot, wet mouth enveloping him, her soft hands stroking his shaft, of her long curls brushing his thighs with every movement. He was almost ready to let go when he realised the sounds he was hearing were his own moans.
His eyes flew open, meeting Hermione's amused and aroused gaze.
She was lying on her stomach, her hips raised in the air, her mane of hair glowing a dark gold in the faint light coming from the windows. Her lips were stretched over the thick head of his cock, her cheeks hollowing in a motion that made him groan in his throat.
'Morning,' her teasing voice tore him away from the most potent pleasure he'd ever felt.
'Fucking good morning, indeed,' Harry rasped. Hermione's chest rumbled with chuckles, making his hips twitch and his cock slide an inch deeper into her mouth.
'What have you done, Mi?' Harry took stock of his body, finding himself restricted but still soft-limbed. Not a Petrificus, then.
'Sticking Charm,' Hermione admitted. 'For everything but your hips,' she added.
'Not that I'm complaining, but-' Harry was interrupted by his own whimper as she slotted the head of his cock deeper, teasing the entrance of her throat.
'You ate me like ice cream, last night. Just thought of returning the favour.'
'You didn't need to,' Harry's breath grew increasingly ragged.
'Want me to stop?' Hermione let his cock slide out of her mouth, placing a slow kiss on the head and teasing kitten licks on its slit.
'No! I mean, if you want to- ' Harry was desperate by now.
'I wouldn't have woken you up with a blow job if I didn't want to,' the credibility of her eye-roll was severely affected by the motion of her thighs rubbing together, as if to relieve an itch.
'Finite it, Mi.' Harry's hips pushed lightly upwards.
'Nope. I'm having too much fun.'
'Fucking tease,' he would never forget the sight of her smirking around his cock.
'Tell me what you like,' she asked.
'You.'
'You know what I mean,' she looked straight in his eyes and sucked harder.
'Fuck.' Harry panted, their eye contact adding a deadly layer of intimacy to the act.
'Just like that, Mi. Suck the tip, love. You're so fucking good. The prettiest little -fuck- wife.' Harry was able to forcefully remove the charm from one arm, wrapping her hair around his fist.
Hermione shuddered at the display of power, his magic slithering on her skin like a caress.
Harry's magic had always been magnetic for her, but had recently evolved into something of an aphrodisiac- especially when he did something impossible for any other wizard.
Harry gently pulled at the roots of her hair, loving the effect he had on her.
He felt her arousal like it was his own. He could feel the echoes of her pulsing cunt, could see the tight points of her nipples, and her hooded, watery eyes said the rest.
'Come here,' he ordered.
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
'Wanna taste you again,' he panted, barely coherent.
'You want to-?' Hermione's eyes widened.
'Yes, love. At the same time.'
'We can try,' Hermione hesitated for a moment, then straddled his chest and lay on his torso to continue her onslaught.
'Sit properly,' Harry growled, her tongue laving at the skin around his tip. He forced his other arm free, wrenching her closer from the waist. Hermione let out a yelp of surprise, blushing furiously.
His hands framed her arse for a moment, then parted it.
'Fuck, Mi, look at you. You're soaked.' Harry played with her bare folds for a moment, separating her lips with two fingers to watch her cunt clench on air. Hermione whined, her hips swaying slightly.
'Prettiest cunt on the planet,' Harry licked a strip from her clit to her tightest hole, making her keen in mixed pleasure and embarrassment. Their magic swirled around the room, sparks of gold and blue and red and silver blinking in the faint sunlight and charging the air with static.
'Sweetest, too.' Harry spat on her opening, watching with satisfaction as the liquid mixed with her juices. He attacked her cunt like a man starved, sucking and fucking his tongue inside her in turns, feeding the unending need he had for her. He felt like he couldn't live another second without her taste on his tongue, her lips on his or her voice in his ears. He wanted to mark her all over, to leave the imprints of his fingers on her hips, his come on her skin and the indents of his teeth on the slope of her shoulder. He still couldn't believe that she was his wife, that she was quite literally made for him, and he felt secretly satisfied that the other boys had heard her moan for him.
Let them know who pleasured her, who got to care for, love and fuck her.
She was his, only his.
He should've punched fucking McLaggen harder.
Hermione almost choked when his thoughts slipped through the Bond, her jerky movements pressing her cunt onto his mouth.
'Need something to fill you up, love?' Harry noticed her restlessness.
'Mmh,' she nodded, and his cock twitched on her tongue. She laved the prominent veins with her tongue in response.
Harry teased her with his middle finger, barely stretching her with the tip, then added a second one when she forced it inside with a push of her hips.
'Needy little witch,' he spat again, and four of his fingers lightly slapped her delicate, reddened flesh. Hermione's keen echoed through the almost-empty house.
'Fuck, I'd send this memory to my past self if I could. Bastard would wank himself raw.' Hermione snickered, the sound veering into a muffled shout at Harry's ministrations.
'I'm not joking,' Harry clarified, his mouth occupied with her clit. 'What do you think I did after we sparred, the times when I got out of the room so fast?' Harry chuckled at her disbelieving sound.
'Can you blame me? Sweet Hermione, with braless tits straining your shirt at every dodge and spell. Positively obscene,' he pushed his fingers deeper, harder. 'These fucking -' Harry sneaked his other hand down to her breasts. '-little nipples, all hard and ready for me.' He twisted one between his thumb and forefinger.
Hermione whined, every sense overwhelmed.
'You've always been such a fucking tease,' Harry bit her clit delicately, rationality gone from his mind in favour of raw impulse.
"Should've killed fucking Krum for looking at you wrong. McLaggen, too," he hissed, Parseltongue hiding the rampant possessiveness he wasn't sure how to channel yet. "Should've rewarded your loyalty with my tongue in your cunt. Should've made sure everybody always knew you were mine. My- fucking- girl." He punctuated his hisses with forceful thrusts of his fingers, Hermione rushing wet around them.
He decided she had to come first. A third finger joined the others, stretching her out more than ever before. He took her tender clit between his teeth and sucked, his hand moving faster and faster. The lewd, obscene sound of her arousal made him dizzy.
His fingers curled upwards, her walls contracting around them, and he felt her thighs shake. Hermione came hard, her body trembling and her mouth slack around his dick.
Harry greedily covered what he could of her cunt with his open mouth, drinking down every drop of her cum as if it were ambrosia. It might as well have been, in his opinion. Her magic went haywire, toppling Dobby's flower arrangement from the dresser and shaking the pictures on the walls.
Harry's face was drenched, his hand cramping, but he didn't stop until his wife's tremors were over.
His satisfaction at giving her pleasure knew no limits, and he revelled in this newfound favourite activity.
Hermione took a moment to recuperate before deciding to try out something new.
She slid off the bed, taking care not to hurt Harry with her legs, and knelt on the floor. Grabbing her wand from the nightstand, she released the rest of her Sticking Charm.
Getting the hint, Harry sat up and cradled her between his thighs.
'Isn't the floor cold, love?' He caressed her face for a moment, emerald eyes astonishingly vibrant without his glasses. He was still marked with her fluids, his lips red and shiny, and his raven hair was messier than ever.
In Hermione's eyes, he'd never been more handsome.
'Dobby must've charmed it to be warm,' she noticed.
'The little guy deserves a raise,' Harry chuckled.
'That he does,' Hermione took hold of his shaft, gathering some of her slick to lubricate her movements better.
'God, I love when you do that,' his balls were so full he felt like he was exploding.
'Do what?'
'When you use your cum to play with my cock. It's so fucking hot.'
'Good to know,' Hermione caught his eye before spitting open-mouthed on his tip. Harry's cock twitched, and he suppressed a moan.
'Suck, love.' He cupped the back of her head with a large hand, guiding her in a bobbing motion.
'Fuck, that's perfect. My perfect Mi.' His voice was lower than she'd ever heard.
She released his cock for a moment, tapping it on her tongue a couple of times, then abruptly took as much as she could in her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.
Harry was perilously close and tried to signal for her to move, but Hermione just raised an eyebrow, her hand coming to play with his heavy sack.
'Mi, fuck, I'm coming, love. Move-'
His prick shone with spit and precum, coming out of her mouth with a pop. She jerked it quickly above her open mouth, her coy, teasing eyes fixed on Harry's.
Harry looked at the scene with his mouth agape- the sight of his prissy best friend pleading with her mouth open to drink his cum sent him over the edge.
He had imagined similar scenes too many times in the past.
Had fantasised about shutting her up with his fat cock each time she went on a rant about what he should and should not do, imagining her cross-eyed and submissive, his cum dripping from her skin, pooling in her mouth and marking her tits.
Harry remembered when they fought, and he had to run inside a bathroom stall in order not to slam her against a wall, thrust his tongue in her mouth, and his fingers in her cunt. That'll distract her, he remembered thinking. He remembered his cock throbbing in his trousers every time he won one of their duels, the memory of him towering over a kneeling, wide-eyed Hermione too potent to forget. He remembered every time she bent over to reach a book in the Library, his self-control the only barrier between her knickers-clad cunt and the load he'd always wanted to pump inside her.
He'd needed her for years, he admitted to himself.
He'd wanted to bury his face in her arse, that time under the table at the Three Broomsticks.
He'd wanted to plan the DA lessons while she impaled herself on his shaft, keeping him warm in her hot little hole for hours.
He'd wanted to take her from behind on their table in the Library, his cock swollen and ready at her clipped, teacher-like tone and the haughty way she tilted her chin.
He'd wanted and wanted and ignored it for years, but now she was his, and she wanted him.
He came with a loud groan, his spend splashing on Hermione's tongue, pooling and dripping down her chest. The self-satisfaction written on her face only provoked him further. His magic caused some of the remaining morbid art pieces to fall from the walls, destroyed.
He collapsed back onto the bed, Hermione joining him while chuckling at his dazed expression.
She sat against the headboard and cleaned them up quickly, feeling the remnants of Harry's pleasure running through her veins like honey. Harry rested his head on her lap, spent and still sleepy. She played with his hair for a few minutes, the silence comfortable and relaxing.
He was enjoying her attentions, still recovering from the monumental orgasm he had just experienced.
The easy intimacy between them was, in her opinion, one of the best parts of being Bonded to her best friend. She never needed to worry about filling the quiet moments with chatter, nor did she-
"…filthy couple ruining Mistress' antiques… stain on the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black… destructive intercourses… beastly pinnacles…"
"Maybe we should silence the room next time."
"Why is this so bloody difficult?' Harry slammed one of the books on the table.
"Gently! It's old," Hermione snapped.
"I couldn't give two shits about a book, Mi. We have to be fast, or we don't know the next time we'll have access to the Ministry," Harry's frustration resonated in her chest.
Hermione sighed.
"I know, love," she placated. "But we can't go any quicker than this. We've scoured at least a hundred and fifty books for a mention of the Veil in what, three days?" she tried to comfort him.
"Two and a half. But there are thousands of them."
"Well, we've restricted the pool…" Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Some," she admitted.
"… Blood Traitor Master left Kreacher… any riff-raff…"
Harry's eyes lit up.
'Mi?'
'Mhm?' Hermione's eyes didn't move from the text.
'Sirius left me Kreacher in his will.'
'Yes, so?'
'So, could I command him even without a formal bond?'
'I suppose so,' Hermione nodded, baffled. 'Why?'
"Kreacher!"
"Half-Breed-"
"We're the shame of the Most Insane and Incestuous House of Black. We're the greatest misfortune that's ever happened to dearly unmissed Walburga and her cousin-husband after Sirius, whose biggest mistake was not marrying one of his relatives and giving birth to more Pureblood little genetic mistakes like his mother, thus letting you end up with us. We got the message, trust me. Now listen well: are you able to find specific books in the library based on the subject? Don't even try to lie."
"Kreacher can if Master commands," the old elf sneered.
"Then bring me all of the books you can find with mentions of the Veil of Death or the Department of Mysteries. No tricks, and you're not allowed to inform anyone else. Also, remove anything that could harm us from them. Are we clear?"
"Kreacher reluctantly obeys Half-Breed Master's orders," the old creature snapped his fingers with a mocking bow.
A second later, the whole table had been cleared, and the books on it had been replaced.
A total of no more than thirty dusty tomes lay on its surface, ready to be perused.
Hermione's eyes shone, her gaze fervent.
"Absolutely brilliant," she breathed, her hands already reaching for the first book.
"Now, this is what I'd call a restricted pool," Harry's tone was notably smug.
"Yes, you're the best. Now sit down and read."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Found it!" at Hermione's screech, Harry nearly fell from his chair.
"What? What did you find?" His hands trembled with excitement.
"The Veil of Death, or the Portal of Souls… artefact that predates the construction of the British Ministry of Magic and the Department of Mysteries…
Most people believe it to be a one-way portal onto the other side… found proof of one instance… it is said he was aided by Morgana Le Fey… enormous power to overturn the flow of the trapped soul… limbo between life and death.
It is not an incantation, nor a ritual… pure intent and overwhelming force… to reverse its travel and recuperate human form.
Only someone whose power exceeds the Index… or multiple someones able to directly pool their magic together…"
"So, what are we going to cast at the Veil? Expelliarmus?" Harry lamented.
"I don't think we're supposed to cast anything, Harry," Hermione looked thoughtful, her eyebrows furrowing. "I think we'll simply have to channel as much magic as possible into the Veil while focusing on the intent of retrieving him, and Sirius should pop out in one piece."
"Could it truly be that simple?" Harry sounded sceptical.
"I'd skim the rest of the books, just to be sure," Hermione proposed.
"As for its simplicity, Harry, do remember that only Morgana is rumoured to have completed the process. Its relative straightforwardness doesn't equate with general ease. For example, we'll have to try and pool our magic together -or a variation of magic pooling, anyway- which would be impossible for anyone else, as it would always result in two distinct magical signatures. Not for us, though," she noticed his quizzical look. "How else do you think you could read the letter from Hermione? The ink was keyed to my magic, but we have the same magical signature now. That means that while we have separate cores, the magic can flow and ebb between us at will. To retrieve Sirius, we'll have to master pooling it together in a single spell."
Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly behind the lens of his glasses.
"Let's get a move on, Mi. We've got an afternoon with the Goblins next." Harry injected false cheer in his tone.
"What a splendidly relaxing day. I truly love holidays."
"Ready?"
"Yeah."
Hermione cast a Notice-Me-Not on both of them, checking the tidiness of his clothes and throwing a handful of Floo powder in the fireplace soon after.
"The Leaky Cauldron!" She exclaimed, and the green flames enveloped her. Harry repeated the process, only to end up toppling them both to the ground of the run-down pub.
'So much for stealth,' Hermione remarked.
'I hate the Floo,' Harry grumbled.
'And I'm eating dust, Harry. Get up, will you?'
'Sorry,' he got up with a groan, offering her a hand.
'It held up,' Hermione confirmed, looking around. The few people present seemed unaware of them.
'Good. Now let's go- this place is giving me the creeps.'
They slipped unnoticed to the entrance of the Alley, tapped the correct bricks and entered.
'It looks like a ghost town,' Hermione commented while cleaning up the soot on their clothes.
'Fucking Death Eaters are terrorising everyone, I reckon.'
Hermione took his hand, walking briskly towards the enormous, asymmetrical entrance of the bank.
Harry dispelled the charm, walking the marbled, deserted path with his head held high- he'd read that it wasn't a good idea to show weakness to Goblins.
"Greetings, teller." Hermione offered.
"Names?"
"Harry and Hermione Potter, neé Granger."
The old creature asked for their key with a blank stare.
"We need a Blood Verification Ritual. A complete one." Harry explained quietly, passing his key to identify himself.
The goblin's eyes widened. He nodded briskly, disappearing through a small door neither of them had noticed before.
A few minutes later, he reappeared with another, better-dressed goblin at his side.
"Greetings, Mr and Mrs Potter," they offered their hands to shake. He seemed both surprised and suspicious at such joviality.
"I am the Potters' Account Manager, Ripclaw. My colleague hinted at a particular request of yours?" His face was almost perfectly bisected by a long scar, and his expression was sombre. He looked like he could make a child cry just by standing still.
"Indeed," Hermione confirmed. Ripclaw nodded curtly in acceptance.
"Follow me."
The corridor they took to Ripclaw's office was spacious but poorly lit, the sconces on the walls doing little to soften the gloomy, cave-like feeling of the space.
The office itself was circular, with grey stone walls and few personal belongings. Two uncomfortable-looking chairs faced a spacious desk made of dark wood and a big wingback chair that allowed the Account Manager to reach their height while seated. Almost.
Two stone bowls, barely the size of a saucer, were placed in the centre of the desk.
Ripclaw offered them a dagger, motioning with a nod to the bowls.
'What a ray of sunshine.'
'I'd prefer an accountant to be efficient rather than nice, Harry.'
'True. Still, I'm not sure I understand the link between a ritual to recognise your ancestry and a bank. I mean, why do it here and not at the Legacies Department?' Harry slashed his palm, letting the blood drip onto the bowl.
'Gringotts is not just a bank, Harry. It's the place where everything precious to wizards is stored- their past included. Not to mention, I've read that the Horde possesses some very old and powerful magics, artefacts and fighting techniques- all practised and stored somewhere underneath the Vaults. They can do things wizards can only dream of, I believe. Not that any wizard has ever beheld any of it, in recent history,' Hermione explained.
She repeated his actions, some blood trickling down her wrist.
Ripclaw was surprised by these two children, to say the least.
He'd heard about the young Potter Heir and his newly found Soulmate. Everybody with ears had to be honest, but he believed little of what Wizards said.
They had made a good impression, strangely enough. Both were well dressed, polite but not simpering, nor were they arrogant or conceited. They didn't ask too many questions, and barely flinched in pain when collecting their blood.
These kids had seen some action, he thought. Interesting couple.
He collected the two bowls, dropping a runestone into each.
They glowed red for a minute, then smoke-like, dark branches started to form in the air above them.
With the slash of a long nail on parchment, he transferred the results. The scrolls were charmed to never run out of space, as it stood to logic that a far-reaching ancestry would show at least hundreds of names.
He skimmed the bottom of the parchment with ease, noting as expected the gold of the Potter name on the Heir's paternal side and the plain black of the Evans girl's lineage.
He rolled the scroll further, barely refraining from scoffing at their ambition.
They already belonged to one of the oldest families of the Magical Peerage; did they truly need to investigate to this extent? Wizards' greed truly had no limits.
He continued unravelling, noticing some old names like Smith and Black in the midst, but nothing out of the ordinary. Until he arrived at the last quarter of the parchment.
There it was, standing out in stark gold against the backdrop of the mostly Muggle Evans lineage, the surname Gryffindor.
That was… unexpected.
Trying to make sense of the situation, Ripclaw noticed that Mr Potter was the only magical male offspring of the family since Godric himself. The patriarchal line had changed one surname after another, every descendant giving life to either Squibs, Muggles or witches.
Until Mrs Lily Marie Potter, neé Evans.
Was it a generational curse being broken? Maybe as a side effect of the child's predestined fate, Ripclaw mused to himself.
No matter, he decided. The Hogwarts Founder had left most of his fortune to the school, and his daughter's portion had been squandered hundreds of years prior.
But the Lordship was still there, he realised. Politically, it still had advantages for the young man to acknowledge his link to Godric. Especially since he was rumoured to be prophesied to fight against Slytherin's Heir.
It would be fitting- and a great tool to steer public opinion.
Ripclaw's gaze stopped on the name of the first Potter wizard, after whom the line took the modern name.
Ignotus Peverell.
The name was changed for protection against people following the Quest, he realised.
This boy… if the rumours were true, then the conflict was a lot more balanced than he'd believed.
He filed everything away for later, deciding to uncover the young witch's genealogical tree instead.
He didn't find anything peculiar in the beginning. A lot of Muggles, as was normal for a Muggleborn. An interesting connection to the Dagworth-Grangers on her father's side, but nothing close to the main branch. So, no inheritance to claim from them.
A few Squibs here and there, born to some wizards of little import who married into the family…
His brows started to furrow. For the Soulmate of someone with both the Gryffindor and the Potter legacies on his shoulders, she had quite the lacklustre ancestry. Strange.
He almost swallowed his tongue when his eyes caught the final, golden text.
Pendragon.
Mrs Potter was the first magical Heiress of the main line- the only one qualified to take the Ladyship and inheritance Arthur had sealed away after Mordred's birth.
He had to notify the Chief. Immediately.
Harry and Hermione looked around in contemplation.
Ripclaw had run off somewhere after looking at Hermione's parchment, twenty minutes earlier.
'You think…?'
'That they're going to make a big deal out of this? Yes, I do.'
'Brilliant. They could've left a magazine, at least, or taken us to one of our Vaults instead of leaving us to waste time in here,' Harry was bored.
'I think it's better like this. Get the formalities out of the way, claim whatever we have to claim, then go to the Ministry and deal with the rest of the paperwork. Leave Vaults and magazines for leisure time.'
'I'd rather do something else for leisure, but fair enough.' Harry caught Hermione's half-exasperated, half-intrigued gaze.
'I just hope Scrimgeour's better than Fudge.' He changed the subject. Couldn't risk getting a boner with someone named Ripclaw in the vicinity.
'He was an Auror, right?' Hermione sounded hopeful.
'That's all well and good, at least he can protect himself, but it doesn't mean anything to me. God knows how many Death Eaters are employed in that shithole.'
'With shithole, you mean the Ministry?' Hermione asked, amused.
'What else? If he's the Minister now, it means that he's good at politics, Auror or not. What if he wants me around for some publicity stunt to make him look good? I'd rather bash my head against a pillar.'
Hermione looked thoughtful.
'That might not be the worst thing,' she tentatively surmised.
'Bashing my head against a pillar?'
Hermione stared at him, nonplussed.
'Hermio-ne…' Harry sing-songed.
'I know you hate it, Harry. I know. But just listen for a minute,' she said. 'What if some publicity stunts, as you call them, could get us help from the DMLE? We could use your, well, our fame for something good, for once. We already did it with Rita. I'm not saying we have to compromise our morals or anything like that.' She blocked his objections before they began.
'I'm saying that we're going to be in the papers anyway, and in this way we can control the narrative, at least. If Minister Scrimgeour is truly interested in managing the War situation better, then we'll support him publicly. If he isn't, then we'll make his life hell. Easy.'
'Easy, sure.' Harry rolled his eyes.
'Consider this from another side. Sooner or later, we're going to sit on the Wizengamot. We'll occupy both the Potter and Pendragon seats, if not more. With Sirius, we'll have the Blacks on our side. The Longbottoms, too. That's a good start for a voting bloc- the Light faction has diminished in numbers since the first Blood War, and we have the means to restore it. If people knew, they'd rally around us. That kind of support is an even better deal for a Minister than a photoshoot with the Boy-Who-Lived, don't you think?'
'Godric, do I really need to meddle in politics?' Harry looked mildly disgusted.
'Not right away, I think. That'll be more useful as a post-bellic effort. Using our influence to reshape the political landscape and whatnot,' Hermione waved her hand imperiously.
'Of course, Your Majesty,' Harry deadpanned.
'Jests notwhitstanding,' Hermione levelled a look at him. 'Right now, the Wizengamot is the least of our problems. Our seats will be more of a threat to the Dark faction and a prompt to sway the Grey to our side than anything else, for now- a mere show of influence. The war still takes precedence, but having some political sway will help to deal with the Ministry's side of it, too,' she surmised.
'Don't make that face, Harry. We've been meddling in Ministry affairs since our third year,' Hermione remarked.
'I preferred the Dementors.'
'So, we're gonna be the poster couple for the War.' Harry was resigned.
'We already are, love.' Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
'I never asked for any of this,' Harry sighed.
'I know.'
'I'm truly the Chosen One, am I not? I have to fight, whether I like it or not. I think it's dawning on me truly, now.'
'We have to fight, Harry. Both of us.'
'I'd rather you stayed as far away as possible from this shitshow.'
'If you're going to feed me some crock and bull story about leaving the fight to the men, I'm going to punch you, Harry.'
'I would never,' Harry kissed her temple. 'Nor could I do any of this without you, honestly. Still, I would have liked for you, at least, to have a choice.'
'I had a choice, Harry. I made it when I was twelve, in front of an unconscious Troll, Professor McGonagall and several bathroom stalls. I'm frankly tired of repeating this.'
'You know what I mean.' Harry sighed heavily, resting his head on her shoulder.
'I do, and I also know why you're wrong. One, I would've been by your side even as just your best friend, and the other Hermione's letter proves it.' Hermione enumerated with her fingers. 'Two, I'm a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor. I would've found my way into the Order even if I weren't your friend at all. I would fight in any possible timeline, love, and so would you. Because that's who we are. You didn't ask to be the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, or whatever else, but if you believe that you wouldn't be the first on the front lines even if you were just Harry, then you're delusional.'
'I've never thought about it in those terms, honestly. It's always been something I just had to do, you know? I always find myself in these impossible situations where I have to act, if I don't want to die. I never thought about what I would do if I had the possibility of not fighting at all.' Harry said thoughtfully.
'My parents fought against Voldemort before I was even born. Born to those who have thrice defied him, and all that. They believed in the cause, of course. Me? I was forced into this hell. I could never look at it as just a 'cause', as a mere clash of principles and ideals that resulted in violence. It's all too personal for me. But yeah, I want to believe I'd fight anyway, because it's the right thing to do. Just like they did.'
Hermione kissed his forehead.
'Of course you would. You're my Harry.'
"Mr and Mrs Potter," Ripclaw introduced. "Meet Gnarlhorn, Chief of the Horde."
The goblin was a little taller than their Account Manager, his skin leathery and greyish. He was eyeing Hermione with interest, a half-smile curving his paper-thin lips.
It was not a reassuring sight.
"Mrs Potter, Mr Potter," he shook both of their hands, then took a seat. "I have some information on your results that I'd like to share." he was a lot nicer than Hermione thought he would be.
Was it because of her connection to the Pendragons? It had to be.
"Of course, Chief. Please," Hermione gestured with a hand to go on.
Harry admired her nerve. Seeing her being able to remain so composed in front of a powerhouse like the boss of the Goblins was impressive, a far cry from the nervous first-year he had known. The night she'd freaked out more about being expelled rather than being killed seemed like yesterday to Harry.
He was so proud of her.
Gnarlhorn motioned to Ripclaw to take the stage first.
"Mr Potter, we have registered and perused your results, and as I see it, you have two options. Either you ignore them, or you accept them- and their consequences."
'And water is wet, Captain Obvious.'
'Shut up and listen, Harry.'
"Each choice has its drawbacks and advantages, but for your specific situation, I would recommend the latter. It appears you have claim to both the Potter and the Gryffindor Lordships, from paternal and maternal line respectively- with the possibility of assimilation of one into the other, as not to render formal greetings and signatures impractical- if you so desire."
Harry was taken aback. He was a Gryffindor from his mother's side? Older Hermione was right. God knew how many Muggleborns never learnt about their origins.
'Told ya,' Hermione gloated.
'When?'
'When I told you it made more sense for the Sword to come to a real Gryffindor, one by blood,' Hermione clarified.
'Right. Well, now the fact that the Hat at first wanted me in Slytherin is a bit embarrassing, isn't it?'
'Please. You have the subtlety of a cannonball, Harry. You wouldn't last three days in Slytherin.'
'Thank you for the vote of confidence, love'
'You're welcome.'
"I will accept the Lordships, assimilating the Gryffindor name into the House of Potter,' Harry stated. One more or one less wasn't important, in his eyes.
"Good choice. Basically, you'll get a seat more in the Wizengamot and all of the influence the name has in Society, but almost nothing is left of Godric's physical inheritance. A journal, the Sword and little else." Ripclaw explained.
Harry nodded.
"What about the Potter Lordship?"
"The Potter Accounts, as you can imagine, are a lot more convoluted. You have vast holdings and various estates that have been managed exceptionally well for the last fifteen years, and as such have flourished- if I can say so myself." Ripclaw seemed very proud of himself.
"The total number is not precise, as most stocks fluctuate daily, but it's safe to say you and five generations after you will never go hungry," he slid a folder on the desk.
Harry opened it, skimming the infinite amount of numbers until the last page, where a real-time number flashed gold with every change.
'Merlin's ballsack.'
'What?' Hermione strained her neck to get a look at the page, and her eyes bulged in astonishment.
'Jesus, Harry. Do you truly own an island in Sicily?'
'We own it, sweetheart. Fancy a trip?'
'Maybe after we win the war.'
'I'll hold you to that.'
'See that you do.'
"I understand. Is that all?' Harry asked.
"We'll have to get the signet rings from the Vaults, and you'll have to take the paperwork to claim your Lordships to the Ministry, but this is basically it for you. Now, Mrs Potter's situation is more… delicate," he eyed the Chief.
Gnarlhorn cleared his throat, a raspy, dry sound that sent shivers down Hermione's spine.
"Mrs Potter," he started. "Your results revealed that you're the only Heiress to the Pendragon line, the first since the times of Arthur and Mordred themselves." He gave her a few seconds to process the information, furrowing his brows when he noticed the lack of genuine surprise on her face.
He did not ask questions, though. It wasn't his place to know.
"I believe this poses some complications, yes?" Hermione asked calmly. Maybe too calmly.
"It does, and it does not. On one hand, Arthur sealed most of his personal treasury and the last dregs of his Family Magic in Vault Number One and his House Ring, respectively. Considering the accumulated interests, you've just become the richest witch in Europe, at a minimum. That's without considering your husband's wealth."
'At least Ron'll have someone else to be jealous of.' Harry quipped.
'Godric, Harry. Can you imagine the good we could do with this kind of money? Think about all the non-profits I could set up as passion projects…' Hermione's effervescent voice bubbled in his mind.
'Leave something for bread and water, please? Maybe a few strips of cloth to wear?'
'I'm not going to bankrupt us,' he could feel the glare in her tone.
'Sure.' He wasn't all that convinced.
"This kind of wealth is a double-edged sword in on itself, as you can imagine. Money moves mountains, but it can also topple them. For this reason, I would be happy to work on your Accounts personally, Heiress Pendragon," the Chief added.
"I would be honoured," Hermione's nod was respectful, but her eyes sharpened. "But I was made to believe that Goblins, as a whole, did not think very highly of wizards. I can't help but ask: why are you so conciliatory with us, Chief? Is it because of the depth of our coffers, or something else?"
"I like your… forthrightness, Mrs Potter," the Chief looked more amused than offended, thank Merlin.
'Ballbuster. That's what he means.'
Hermione had to force herself not to roll her eyes.
Gnarlhorn sighed, adjusting his position on the throne-like armchair.
"Indeed, we do share some interests. Arthur Pendragon was one of the few wizards to ever collaborate with Goblins without stabbing them in the back." Hermione barely refrained from intervening in his speech.
"He demonstrated a level of trust and respect to my ancestors that we're not used to receiving from humans, let alone from their Kings. At the time, Arthur helped establish the bank system as a whole, helped find a space for Goblins that wasn't as slaves in underground mines or in continuous conflict with every other species in any territory we'd try to occupy. He helped us gain the freedom we have today, and we respect him and his progeny as a consequence. To be honest, we Goblins owe King Arthur a debt, and I plan on repaying it through you. Until you give me a reason not to, of course." Gnarlhorn shared. Harry's eyebrow neared his hairline.
"I cannot share any more than that, Mrs Potter," the Chief said firmly. Harry snorted at the way Hermione's inquisitive expression fell slightly.
"I understand."
"I believe you're inclined to take your position, then?" he asked.
"I am," Hermione nodded. "But I would like to know what position it is and what it entails, practically?"
"We've already mentioned the monetary part, and we'll go through the ledgers at a later time. As for properties, the ledger mentions Tintagel Castle as the only one still standing. It probably entered a sort of magical stasis, layered with protective transfigurations, after Arthur sealed the Family Magic away from Mordred, to lie dormant until a worthy descendant made his or her way into the world."
"Tintagel was the Castle in which Arthur was rumoured to be born, right? It could be considered my ancestral home, I believe."
The Chief nodded in agreement. "It is, indeed. I'm sure you'll find a way to access it in the main Vault. As for the title itself, at one time, your ancestry would've made you next in line to the throne. However, as you know, Magical Monarchy was abolished with Arthur's death, and the Round Table expanded- hence the Wizengamot. Of course, you still have two seats in there, but until now they've been more… nostalgic ornaments than anything else. Also, your formal title is that of a Princess, while Mr Potter will be called Prince Consort- his own titles notwithstanding. Mere honorifics, of course, but that alone puts you in an unassailable position in terms of influence." Gnarhorn explained.
'You know, I was joking when I called you Your Majesty, love.'
'Very funny, Harry. God, can you imagine what the Twins will say?'
'They're going to take the piss out of us for centuries.'
The Chief sighed.
"I heard about your… delicate positions, in regard to the War against Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle- or whatever he likes to call himself these days. Especially yours, Mr Potter. You're warriors, and I respect that. As a rule, though, Goblins do not interfere in Wizards' matters, and we cannot afford to publicly take a stance," his eyes hardened.
"However, I would be open to making an exception and helping you as a way to repay your family. Any request should be reasonable and shouldn't put my kind in danger, of course."
Harry's grin grew feral.
'You said fighting techniques and very old magics, love?'
'Godric maim and claim me.'
'My Grandpa would never.'
'Your Grandpa, Harry?'
'Yep. And Merlin is your honorary uncle. Maybe granduncle?'
'I have no words. Truly.'
"We need training. Fighting, magic- hell, even throwing darts and catching butterflies, at this point," Harry ran a hand through his hair.
"To be frank, we've got gallons of magic just running through our veins and making the air around us all electricky, but we don't have the faintest idea how to use or channel it. I don't know about Hermione, but I've been suppressing it as much as I could since our Bonding. This cannot stand -we need to hone it into more of a weapon than it already is, and fast, not ignore it and hide to play Exploding Snaps. Voldemort won't wait for me to be seventy and ready to fight, so if you have something to help us with that, we'd be eternally grateful." Harry finished, slightly pink around the ears in embarrassment for his outburst.
Gnarlorn pondered his words for a moment.
"Training, you say? Well, I don't know about catching butterflies, but…"
Gnarlhorn's grin matched Harry's almost perfectly.
"Professor Dumbledore.
If you'd like to mend what remains of our relationship, come to Gringotts the day after tomorrow afternoon, at four o'clock.
We'll be waiting for you.
H.J. and H.J. Potter."
Albus drew a ragged breath in.
He would go. Of course, he would go.
Maybe making amends wasn't as impossible as it seemed?
Maybe they were all an old man's hopes, and nothing more.
In any case, he had to help young Harry in any way he could.
He owed that to him, at least.
"Dearest Professor McGonagall,
Remember your offer about Thursdays?
We have a better alternative.
If you can, we'd like to invite you to Gringotts two days from now, at four in the afternoon sharp.
Please let us know if you're available.
Thank you for your help, and we hope to see you soon!
Your cubs,
Harry and Hermione."
Minerva brought two fingers to massage the bridge of her nose, underneath her glasses.
These two would make her go from grey to white; she just knew it.
She shuddered at the idea of a child born from them. Or, Godric forbid, a pair of twins. If they ever existed, she would retire. Effective immediately.
A group of Marauders, a pair of Weasley Twins and a Golden Trio had been enough to last her a lifetime- let alone spawns with parts from all of them, put together.
Either way, she started planning for her visit to Gringotts.
When her cubs called, she would respond.
She had been too wrapped up in Albus' leadership to understand her wrongdoings, but after a few days of reflection she felt like the original Minerva McGonagall again.
It was high time for her to come back, she thought.
(Years later, Minerva McGonagall became the Potter Twins', James and Sirius, favourite Professor. She never forgave Harry and Hermione for allowing them to attend Hogwarts- even if Sirius was her own Godson. But that's a story for another time.)
"Esteemed Professor Flitwick,
We'd like to start by thanking you for your invaluable help in understanding our Bond.
Without you, we would've been in the dark about certain topics for months, if not years, when all we truly need right now is speed- as you can certainly imagine.
The threat is upon us, and we need to be prepared.
If you'd be open to sharing some of your wisdom with us, we'd be exceptionally grateful.
In the hopes of a positive answer, we'd like to invite you to Gringotts, three days from now, at four o'clock in the afternoon. If you'd rather not, we won't take offence. However, we would dearly feel the absence of your mentorship.
Your exploits as a duelist are well known, after all, and you've been one of the best teachers we've ever had.
Truly.
Of course, we'll fill you in on the rest of the information on the day of the meeting- but a hypothetical inquiry with a certain bank's Chief shouldn't be out of bounds, so to speak.
With hope and anticipation,
Harry and Hermione Potter."
Filius read the missive a second time, testing its authenticity.
He had a good rapport with the Potters, of course, but they'd never been the closest students to him.
A pity at that. The amount of potential in those two was enormous.
Well, now he had a Floo call to make, didn't he?
The fact that the meeting was to be held in Gringotts only served to heighten his interest.
Maybe it was time to take those two under his wing, finally.
He remembered Lily with lots of affection, and Merlin knew the two needed all the help they could get.
"Gnarlhorn's Office!" He threw the powder in the fireplace, the exasperated face of his childhood best friend greeting him from behind the flames.
"They already wrote to you, didn't they?"
"The Potters? Yes, indeed."
The Chief sighed.
"Come in."
Filius grinned.
Harry twisted the heavy ring around his finger for the umpteenth time.
"This thing is a boulder," he complained.
"So you've said- about thirteen times since you put it on. Which means fifteen minutes ago."
"Well, it's true."
"It's beautiful, though."
"It is. A bit on the nose, but it's pretty. Yours looks good, too." Harry's middle finger caught the light, the flat, square ruby reflecting the sunrays where it sat, surrounded by a golden frame that circled his finger in a thick, robust line. The Potter coat of arms was engraved on the inner side, warm with magic against his skin.
"I love mine. It's less recognisable than yours, but it's very delicate."
"It changed once you slipped it on, though. It was as much of a rock as mine before," Harry pointed out.
"I think it adapts to the wearer," Hermione reasoned. The ring had been a thick, old-looking thing taken straight out of the Middle Ages, but once she wore it, it transformed into a beautiful work of twisted, golden goblin-made filigree encasing a marquise-cut amethyst that seemed to glow from within. It was still clearly ancient, but it had an ethereal charm that Hermione had adored immediately. Her own coat of arms rested on the backside of the gem, not visible to the beholder but pulsing with power.
'Are you ready?' Harry asked.
'To make a scene at the Ministry? At this point, why not? I mean, we're the only Soulbonded couple in existence, we've just accepted goblin weapons training and morally blackmailed the most knowledgeable wizard alive to mentor us. My tolerance for the absurd rises in stock each day, it seems.'
'Not so logical anymore, ah?' Harry teased.
'When has logic ever applied to us, Harry? Even I have to admit defeat at some point.'
Harry inclined his head in playful endorsement, then entered the red telephone box.
He dialled 62442, then waited for the floor to lower, his left arm wrapped comfortably around Hermione's waist.
They reached the clerk's desk, who didn't even lift his head from the latest issue of the Prophet- the third one in a row with their faces on the first page.
"State your name and the purpose of your visit," he droned on flatly.
"Harry and Hermione Potter, to request an audience with the Minister," Harry offered his wand to register.
The clerk froze in his seat, slowly moving his gaze upwards.
When he reached Harry Potter's emerald eyes, he couldn't help but let out a little shriek, nearly dropping to the ground.
"M-Mr Potter, Sir! What an honour, what an honour," he forcibly took Harry's hand and squeezed it to the point of pain, his eyes manic and his movements bordering on violent.
If Harry was surprised by the reception, he didn't show it.
"My pleasure, er- Valdras," he spied the clerk's name on his badge.
'What's with wizards and naming their children?' He asked incredulously.
'Imagine calling your baby something like Albus Severus,' Hermione snickered. Harry shuddered.
'I'd have to be seriously fucked in the head to do my son that dirty.'
'Imagine Sirius' face, though. It'd be priceless.'
'If he didn't disown me first.'
'And he would be in the right, too.'
"No worries, Mr Potter! Mrs Potter, what a pleasure to meet you! I've read all about you in Witch Weekly-" Valdras made to enthusiastically grab Hermione's hand too, but a glare from her husband froze him in fright.
He swallowed thickly.
"Er, Mr Potter, I'm not sure if the Minister-"
"We would be grateful," Hermione interrupted him with a dazzling smile, her magic working as a natural magnet on the wizard. "If you could inform the Minister of our visit. We wouldn't want to attract too much attention and disturb the employees, right? I'm sure you understand the need for discretion, Valdras." Her smile was still in place, and only the glacial tone of her last words snapped the clerk out of his daze.
"Of course, of course! It would be my privilege to help you, Ma'm. If you could just wait here for a moment-" he scurried away mid-phrase, Ministry-issued robes fluttering behind him.
A low-level clerk barging into the Minister's office and banging the door on the wall was not exactly discreet, though.
Valdras barely had any time to register Scrimgeour's rage, speaking over the Minister for a few good seconds.
"- they're here-"
"-sacked!"
"Minis-"
"-dare you-!"
"Harry and Hermione Potter are waiting to see you, Minister!"
Rufus shut up fast.
Valdras didn't realise the volume of his voice had reached a shout.
The whole floor was staring at the scene, whispers picking up like a tide at the announcement.
So much for discretion, Hermione would think later.
"Mr and Mrs Potter, I'm sure you understand this is highly irregular. Ordinarily, you should have to go through the proper channels-" Scrimgeour trailed off, his eyes scanning the parchment Hermione Potter had slid across the desk while he talked.
His eyes became the size of dinner plates, then zeroed in on their right hands.
It was all true, then.
His brain lost itself in calculations.
They controlled a total of four seats in the Wizengamot now, if one didn't consider their allies.
Public opinion was going to eat up the narrative of the Prince and Princess of Wizarding Britain being Soulmates. Especially without a drop of 'pure' blood in them.
They were the living proof that Magic had chosen a side in the War.
Also, Rufus could feel the magic seeping from their pores, just begging to be released.
They were, effectively, untouchable.
He couldn't get the Boy-Who-Lived to do nothing he didn't want to.
But if they had the advantages of money, fame, power and titles, what were they doing at the Ministry? Asking for an internship?
"Minister," the Boy Wonder started. "I'm sure you'll understand if I'm not very concerned with protocol, in times such as these. After all, you slandered me for an entire year and never made reparations, and I didn't even complain about it. In light of that, I thought I'd be allowed a few liberties, so to speak, when the situation demanded them, " Harry added pointedly.
Rufus had to fight down a flinch.
That fucker, Fudge. It was all his fault.
"You never made reparations for the damages inflicted on Ministry property either, Mr Potter," Scrimgeour was no shrinking violet.
Harry nodded, considering it a good tit-for-tat.
It was not as if he needed money- his wife was richer than him, and he was already a Midas.
"And that's why we're here," Hermione interjected.
"To pay for the damages?"
Hermione couldn't help but snort softly.
"No, to retrieve Sirius Black from the Veil of Death."
"So, what you're telling me is that Sirius Black is innocent, fought with you in the Department of Mysteries, is your Godfather, and fell through the Veil because of Bellatrix Lestrange's stunner?"
"Yes," Harry offered a nod.
"And now you want me to believe that you can pull him out?" Rufus' incredulity was palpable.
Harry and Hermione shared a glance, then released the tight control they had kept for days on their magic.
The ornate wooden furniture shook, the air crackled with electricity, and their eyes glowed faintly in the dimmed, flickering light of the office.
Scrimgeur's hand trembled involuntarily when he unsheathed his wand.
This kind of power… it either was the best news Magical Britain had ever had, or its worst possible nightmare.
"Mr and Mrs Potter! Stop this at once!"
"Believe us, now?" Harry hid a smirk.
"Merlin damn me, I do," Rufus continued to point his wand at them until they returned to normal. If they even knew what normal meant, he thought.
He cleared his throat.
"Even if I could allow you entrance to the Death Room and you succeeded in your endeavour, I wouldn't be able to restore Mr Black's freedom -if he even is as innocent as you say. Public opinion would-"
"Godric, you're just another Fudge, aren't you?" Harry's temper got the best of him.
"You talk big, do little, keep people in the dark about the danger they're in, and would deny an innocent man his due because of optics." He spat, shaking his head in disappointment.
"I hoped you'd be different, Scrimgeour. That you'd value the law and the truth more than a pleasant speech full of lies to placate the masses. That's what I expected from an Auror. It seems I was wrong in even considering aligningmyself with your government."
Harry offered his hand, and Hermione took it, motioning to exit the room.
'One, two…'
"Wait. I think we started on the wrong foot, Potter." Scrimgeour sighed, all formality and intimidation melting from his face.
Harry's smirk was devilish.
'Masterfully played, love,' Hermione giggled in his mind.
'Is there a reward?'
'The whole strong and imposing persona is interesting, that's for sure.'
'Just interesting?'
'Stimulating, also.'
'Gotta replicate it back in Grimmauld, mh?'
'I wouldn't be opposed,' Hermione teased.
'Good girl,' she flushed red.
Composing themselves for a moment, they turned around and gave Scrimgeour a pointed look.
"Take a seat," he gestured to the stuffed chairs in front of the desk, then silenced the room.
"I'm not going to lie to you. The Ministry is in a very precarious position. I know for certain that numerous Death Eaters have infiltrated most Departments, and we have no way to rat them out without taking the War out in the open," his yellowish eyes closed tiredly.
"What the public needs, right now, is reassurance. We can't have the whole Magical Community revolting because we're not effective enough, nor can we out ourselves to You-Know-Who. Do you think I don't want to fight them, too? I'm as much of a light wizard as you are, Potter. Frankly, I'm at an impasse." He spread his hands in the air.
"What I hear, Minister," Hermione interjected. "Is that the Ministry refuses to take a side. We both know who the real threat is-"
"Do we?" Rufus stopped her. "Because from what I can see, there are three factions. One, the Death Eaters. We know their modus operandi fairly well, and their bigotry rarely leaves space for innovation, thank Merlin- so they're easy enough to identify and counteract, when the law permits."
"Then there's the Ministry, which combines all factions and can't risk tipping the bowl in fear of upsetting one of them, provoking attacks and guerrillas that would make governing even more of a nightmare. Finally, we have the Light side. Now, your champion has always been Dumbledore, and that's a problem in itself."
"How could any Minister decide to trust a man blindly, no matter who he is, who won't deign to disclose the full situation to the authorities? He's good for heroics and flashy duels, but for country-wide coordination of forces? Completely disruptive. You think I don't know about the Order of the Phoenix?" Scrimgeour scoffed.
"Of course I do. I don't have the right to know about my Aurors' free time activities, of course, but the fact that they've fashioned themselves vigilantes would never be a good look for the Ministry as a whole- unless we win the War and they're hailed as heroes, that is. If one looks at it from above, one side is as bad as the other, with the difference that the Order is reactive and tends not to use deadly force. In any case, both of them try to run roughshod over the authorities, whose only real concern is protecting the larger public."
"So what?" Harry asked, unimpressed. "Are you just going to sit on your arse and wait for the other shoe to drop? What has to happen for you to make the Ministry choose a side? Because this whole speech might have been fine in theory, but in practice? There's no such thing as neutrality. You don't work for Voldemort? He's gonna end you. Full stop. Then he would appoint a puppet, if not himself, as Minister, and we'd lose both the circus and the monkeys. What about the public, then? They wouldn't even have an opinion, because a lot of them would end up dead. But yes, do go on about how both sides are the same," Harry rolled his eyes. Rufus flinched. He knew Harry was right.
There was no such 'same thing' between the two sides: one would destroy the world, the other would only try to keep it together.
"And what exactly do you propose instead, Potter?" the Minister hissed. "Shall we go on a rampage against anyone who's ever been sorted into Slytherin?"
"No," Hermione shook her head, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "You pick a side. Publicly. We arrange a press conference to confirm that yes, Harry -and I, technically- are fated to fight Voldemort. The Chosen One and his Soulmate have promised to fight for everyone, but only if everyone fights for themselves. We boost morale. We reassure them without lying about their circumstances, all the while labelling the Death Eaters as what they actually are: terrorists and lawless criminals. We make a show of every Death Eater we can rat out and every new Auror you recruit to protect the Community," Hermione rose from her seat.
"We publicise our titles, make a couple of appearances in the Wizengamot, and demonstrate that this time the Ministry is telling the truth- using Sirius' trial as an example, whether we can get him out of the Veil or not. We'll tell the whole story, and we'll use his case to bolster people's trust in the government. All the while, we make it clear that the Minister has the full approval of the strongest magical beings in seven hundred years, not to mention the spawns of three of the oldest magical lineages in existence. We disclose Tom Riddle's true parentage. That should give us a basis to deal with the more traditionalists of the Grey faction and undermine his credibility, at the same time." Hermione nodded to herself, pacing the room in calm strides.
"We play up the Muggleborn-And-Half-Blood-Soulmatespoint, making their blood purity claim seem even more absurd than it already is, and extending our help to all of the Muggleborns and magical creatures who need it."
"Magical creatures?" Scrimgeour furrowed his brows.
"Of course. Do you think Voldemort's not gonna use everything at his disposal? He'll have Giants, Dementors, Werewolves, and Morgana knows what else at his beck and call. We'll have to fight fire with fire: Dumbledore sent some feelers around them, but that's been mostly a failure."
"We need to leverage our closeness to the Elves- one of the dumbest things I've seen wizards do is underestimate them. We have made some strides with the Goblins, but it'll be a long way until they find it worthwhile to fight alongside us," she admitted. "Maybe the Merpeople? If they feel like the Lake is in peril, they might just aid us from there. Veelas! We'll have to ask Fleur about that-"
"Vampires!" Harry exclaimed.
"What about them?" Hermione asked.
"Remember Sanguini? He said he could smell our power from afar. Maybe they would follow us based on that," he proposed.
"Mh, doubtful. They're very isolated creatures, holed up in covens and the like. I don't think they would move without a very strong incentive."
"We'll think more about that later, though. We still need to get Sirius today, Mi."
Rufus had the strangest impulse to wave his hands and announce his continued presence.
"What do you want in exchange for your public support?" He asked straightforwardly.
"We want you to give Sirius a fair trial. We want you to take the necessary measures to eliminate as much as possible of Voldemort's influence from the Ministry," Hermione started.
"And we want free rein until either Voldemort or us has been defeated. Each and every action we take or have taken against them, or to protect ourselves, will not be liable to prosecution." Harry continued. "I won't allow myself to get locked up in Azkaban if I blow up someone who just attacked me," he clarified.
"You want carte blanche?" Rufus asked incredulously. "Who assures me that you won't become the next Dark Lord?"
"Then you can deal with the current one yourself." Harry shrugged.
"Who assures me that I won't be considered a criminal after I kill Voldemort? I seem to remember something about a Courtroom Ten and a minor being processed like an adult for defending himself against Dementors. Am I wrong, Minister?"
Rufus bristled.
"I cannot trust you with that, Potter." He started.
"What if you could?" Hermione asked.
"How?"
"We'll show you our memories of the last five and a half years. Then you'll tell us if we're liable to become tyrants or not," she shrugged.
"What if I decide to charge you for something you've done in them? I don't believe for a second your score is clean," he raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Then we'll accept it." Harry shrugged. "But I don't think you will."
'We'd obliviate him clean, right?'
'Obviously.'
"I have one of the special Pensieves we use for interrogations. We don't use them often, because memories are protected by law and can't be viewed without explicit permissions from various people, a bit like it is for Veritaserum," he explained. "Most importantly, it will tell me if you're feeding me bullshit," he warned.
They nodded, and he summoned the object.
Harry and Hermione extracted two long, thick filaments of silvery thoughts from their minds, containing their first year at Hogwarts' most important moments.
They decided to mix them into the stone bowl, their magical signature allowing the memories to complete each other like puzzle pieces.
"You come with me," Rufus commanded.
"Very well," Hermione decided to out her little projector-like innovation later. Maybe for Sirius' trial?
They took a deep breath and immersed themselves in their past.
They re-emerged seconds later. They'd chosen the most relevant moments of the timeline, but it still took time to showcase the chain of events clearly- thus, it felt like much more time had passed.
"Are you both completely stupid?" Rufus raged.
He'd passed what felt like months with the two teenagers at his side, while watching the two children in the memory. He'd lost any and all airs befitting a Minister about a hundred shouts ago.
"The Stone was in 'peril', and you decided you would take on Snape? As firsties?"
"And Albus! What in the hell made him hide such a precious thing at Hogwarts of all places?"
"Well, in the end, it wasn't Snape, so…" Harry tried to justify himself.
"Oh, right, it was just another Professor- the one possessed by You-Know-Who!" Scrimgeour all but yelled.
"And you, missy! Setting your Potions Professor on fire?Does it sound like something you should do?"
"I thought he was attacking Harry…" Hermione mumbled.
'If he's this mad now…'
'God help us for the rest.'
Rufus readied himself for the second round, giving the two teenagers a look of almost parental reproach.
"Do you have some sort of psychological problem?" Scrimgeour was on the verge of retching after seeing the scene in the Chamber of Secrets.
"I could argue I've got more than one, but it wouldn't help," Harry admitted candidly.
"Let me try making sense of whatever I've seen. There was a whole Basilisk in the school -for centuries. Nobody knew, and once it was freed and killed someone, they blamed Hagrid of all people- and snapped his wand. Then the Basilisk was let loose by someone possessed by You-Know-Who, again, and you thought it was your prerogative to go and fight them both? With a Sword and a bird?"
"Who else? Nobody else speaks Parseltongue, and only Ron and I knew about the Basilisk- thanks to Hermione. We tried alerting Lockhart, but you've seen what kind of cretin he is." Harry shrugged.
"That's it," Rufus took big strides towards the door. "I'm going to arrest Dumbledore and every other so-called teacher in that- that deathtrap of a school."
"No!" Hermione intercepted him. "Remember, Voldemort is scared of him. We need Dumbledore for now. After the War, he's all yours," she said, knowing very well that the Professor wouldn't survive for much longer.
The Minister eyed them both for a second.
"You don't seem all that chuffed with Dumbledore," he observed.
"We're not," Harry admitted. "He's not a bad person, but he's done some things we're really not okay with. Our personal differences need to take the backseat for now, though. We need him to train us and to keep the Death Eaters away from Hogwarts, at the very least."
Rufus nodded, admittedly still unhappy about the situation.
"Are you about to tell me there's more of this?" He gestured in the direction of the Pensieve.
"You have no idea," Harry sighed.
"Fucking Fudge," Scrimgeour kicked a leg of his desk.
"So, Sirius Black truly is innocent," Rufus collapsed on his armchair, two fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.
"Told you so," Harry added unhelpfully.
"And somehow the Ministry thought it appropriate to give a Time-Turner to one of the most problematic Hogwarts' student ever," he nodded to himself.
"Hey!"
"What, Hermione?" Rufus made away with any kind of pretentious titles. He'd basically seen these two grow up by now.
"You want to tell me you're not a troublemaker? After all of this?" He asked incredulously.
"Well," Hermione pouted, not finding a counterargument. Harry snickered, his years-long conviction about Mi's optional rule-following being proven. Hermione shot him a glare.
"And they hired a werewolf to teach Defence," Rufus powered on.
"Remus was one of our best teachers," Harry defended his honorary uncle.
"I don't doubt it, but you've seen how much of a safety hazard he was, right?"
Harry sighed, knowing he'd been cornered.
"Turning back in time and riding a Hippogriff," the Minister muttered, still processing the events.
"It's going to get worse before it gets better," Hermione offered.
"When does it get better?" He asked, sceptical.
"I don't know, maybe a few years from now?"
Harry refused to see the memory of the graveyard, going back to his seat and waiting for the other two to finish.
When they did, Rufus looked green in the face, and had new kind of respect for Harry in his eyes.
Hermione was openly crying and launched herself at him like a rocket.
'Never again. That's never going to happen again. The next time you face him, I will be there, and we'll be ready,' she sobbed.
'It's all in the past, love. Don't cry, please.'
'I can't- Harry, I saw you under the Cruciatus Curse. I saw you get back up and resist his Imperius- never again,' she babbled incoherently. 'I love you,' she said brokenly, pressing a small, salty kiss on his lips.'You will never have to bow to anyone again. I promise.'
'I love you,' Harry brushed her cheek with his.
"I'm so sorry, Harry." Rufus took their moment of comfort as an opportunity to recover from the horrifying scene he'd seen.
"No worries," Harry said from over Hermione's head.
"No, that's not it. The Ministry… we failed you. And we failed the whole community," Scrimgeour sounded defeated.
"There's still time to do the right thing, Minister," Harry offered a word of comfort.
"Call me Rufus."
"I can't deal with this," Rufus shook his head, pacing around his office.
"Imagine living it," Hermione quipped.
"Godric be blessed, you've seen more action than I did in twenty years as an Auror. I feel ashamed," he passed a hand through his lionine mane.
Harry was still frozen in front of the Pensieve.
'Love?'
'I'd forgotten, Mi. I forgot how my heart stopped the second you hit the floor,' he swallowed thickly.
'I'm here, love. I'm here, and I'm well,' she hugged him tightly, releasing him only when he'd stopped shaking.
"What about this year?" Rufus changed the topic, recognising Harry's struggle in seeing Hermione being hurt.
"You know what happened, mostly. We got closer, kissed and Bonded. We found out about our Lordships, and now we're here," Hermione shrugged.
They had started to trust Rufus, but not enough to divulge any other secret.
A moment of silence passed.
"You're going to ask me for a vow of secrecy, aren't you?" Rufus sounded tired.
"We have to," Harry admitted. "It would only apply to things we don't make public ourselves, though."
"Very well. I, Rufus Archibald Scrimgeour-"
"Archibald?" Harry snickered.
"My maternal grandfather was a Muggleborn," Rufus huffed, exasperated.
"Sorry," Harry snickered some more.
Rufus was beginning to understand why Tonks and Shacklebolt liked these children so much.
It was hard not to.
The floor that housed the Minister's office was crawling with people.
The whole staff had received the news of the Potters' visit, and now they were all waiting to see how the meeting had gone.
Arthur Weasley was one of them.
The second he'd heard about his children's presence -because to him, Harry and Hermione were as his as Fred and George- he'd sprinted through the halls, ready to defend them with wand and fist.
The scene he saw was not what he'd expected.
Harry and Hermione exited the ornate doors with their arms wrapped around each other, the Minister appearing behind them with an uncharacteristic smile on his face.
"Rufus, I'd like to visit the Legacies Department. The guy who told me about the Potters works there, and I'd like to thank him personally," Harry said offhandedly.
"Of course, Harry," Rufus nodded.
"And while we're there, we could leave the paperwork we brought?"
"No need, Hermione. I've already sent them for processing and received the memo. You're officially Lord and Lady Potter," he ushered them through the throng of people. "As for the other title, I'll need a day or so to confirm with the Goblins. You'll receive a couple of official certificates to keep, but once the Goblins give word, I'll send a Patronus to inform you."
"Perfect, thank you."
"No problem."
People watched the show with their mouths agape.
Was that Scrimgeour, the hardass? Why was he speaking to the Potters like a jolly uncle?
Arthur was flabbergasted.
"So, first stop Department of Magical Transportation to take the test?" Rufus asked about their plans.
"No need!" A middle-aged wizard ran in front of them, panting. "It's me, Twycross," he said when he noticed Harry's bewildered gaze.
"Good afternoon, Instructor," Hermione offered politely.
"No need for formalities, Miss-Mrs- Lady Potter!" He caught himself a couple of times.
A flash blinked in the corridor.
'Good gracious, who called the press already?' Hermione was at her wits' end.
'One of the three hundred people in this corridor, I reckon,' Harry held an eye-roll at bay. 'Ignore them. We shouldn't say anything outside of the scheduled interviews,' he reasoned.
'So Rufus said,' Hermione concurred.
"We can proceed with the testing in this unused office, if you'd prefer not making the trek to our facilities," Twycross offered, verging on simpering.
"Very well," Harry shrugged, exchanging a glance with Hermione.
'Do you think we're ready?' She fretted.
'We've tried hundreds of times, Mi, and we've never splinched ourselves. It would be a major task off the list,' he encouraged. Hermione nodded in response.
'Let's do this.'
It took all of Rufus' self-control not to scoff at people's oohsand aahs.
Last year, everyone had been adamant that Harry had gone mad and was inventing things to gain attention. Now, once the boy got triple the power, a Soulmate and his Lordship, he'd become everybody's darling again.
Typical sheep behaviour, in his opinion.
"Done?" He asked the two teenagers.
"Yep."
"Good job. Now, would you-"
"Harry, Hermione!" They swivelled around, smiling at the man in front of them.
"Mr Weasley!" Harry half-hugged the man, with genuine affection in his heart. He truly liked Arthur.
"What are you doing here? Molly did tell me you had a lot to do, but I didn't think it would involve the Ministry." He ignored the envious glances he got from his colleagues.
"We'll tell you everything next time we visit the Burrow, Mr Weasley." Hermione smiled.
"I told you to call me Arthur at least a thousand times, Hermione," he tapped her hand affectionately. "Are you coming around for Christmas?"
"Yes, we think so," Harry nodded.
"Very well. I'll see you at home, then. Be safe," he whispered, embracing them at the same time.
"Yes, Arthur," they chorused with a small laugh.
"That's better," he beamed. "I'm so very happy for you two, you know?"
"Thank you," Hermione blushed prettily.
"What are you thanking me for? You're my children. It's natural to want you happy and safe."
Harry's eyes were suspiciously misty when Arthur walked away.
———
Eldrich Flanders felt on top of the world.
He knew that offering information to Harry Potter would be a boon for his career.
Look at him!
Before, he was just a guy who talked too much and had a reputation for prying into other people's affairs in name of the Legacies Department.
Now? He'd been singled out by the Chosen One and the Brightest Witch of Her Age, who were also Lord and Lady Potter, and Soulmates to boot.
He'd been publicly thanked for his services, and the Ministerhad given him a rare nod of approval.
He could feel that promotion coming his way.
That Grantworth, who always got around dropping this or that name, could suck it!
———
They entered the Death Room in complete silence.
They'd briefed an Unspeakeable about what they'd come to accomplish- not before they'd demanded a vow of secrecy valid until Sirius' prospective trial, of course.
Unspeakeable Forty-Seven had been very helpful, giving a couple of theoretical tips on how magic pooling should and shouldn't work. It hadn't been practised for centuries, of course, so theory was all they could get- but it was better than nothing.
Until then, their handling of the Bond had been remarkably instinctual.
They didn't need to think twice about their physical closeness or their shared thoughts. This was something else, though. This wasn't even pure magic pooling, to be precise. It was more of an external connection between their spells, because they needed both of their full powers to pull it off. Ceding a part of their powers to the other for the spell's duration wasn't going to cut it.
They'd bounced some ideas around, and the conclusion was that, as it had become a common theme, it was mostly a problem of intent. Apparently, the more obscure and delicate the branch of magic is, the tighter it is tied to the caster's heart, mind and power and less to an incantation or the precise movement of a wand.
In this case, it was particularly difficult for them because their focus had to be on Sirius and on connecting their magic together at the same time.
If they'd done well, then two spells of some sort should come from their wands, connecting and intersecting each other before hitting the Veil as one.
They shared a glance and squeezed their hands together.
Harry was trembling; the room and the Veil were too much of a traumatic landscape for him to ignore.
He took a couple of deep breaths, sincing them with Hermione's.
At their internal count of three, they closed their eyes and cast.
Bright, nearly blinding blue light came from their wands. Their magic seemed anxious to merge with the other, braiding itself in a thick beam directed at the ghostly drapes of the Veil.
The transparent, incorporeal curtain swayed as if whipped by a strong wind, entering and exiting the stone arch in turns.
The process continued for minutes that felt like hours, their bodies not yet used to such quantities of magic being spent at once.
They felt on the verge of collapse, their legs weak and their heads throbbing.
At one point, they were ready to declare defeat and lick their wounds, but the wind rose.
Their hair whipped around in wild arcs, their knees hit the floor, but they didn't let go of their wands- or their focus.
Rufus watched the scene in awe, never having seen such power from such young people.
Blessed by Magic, indeed, he thought.
It was time for the Ministry to take a clear stance- the Light side would never be as strong as it was with them and Dumbledore at the helm. They would have to push their advantages while they could.
The unspoken, unwritten and unknown spell broke in thousands of light shards, scattering like glass.
The entrance of the ancient, mysterious artefact gathered shadows from within- a unseen force pushing them outside the stone pillars in answer to Harry and Hermione's overwhelming power.
Sirius Orion Black returned as he went.
Flamboyantly dressed, with his wand raised and a laugh on his tongue.
"You bitch!" Sirius stunned the empty air, his hair flipping and his movements theatrical. He belatedly realised that his target wasn't anywhere near him.
"Where's everyone?" He looked around himself in confusion.
"Hermione? You weren't there before!" He indicated her with a finger, confused. "Pup? Why do you look bigger than two seconds ago?" He continued his rapid-fire rant. "Where is Remus? Is Dumbledore on his way?" No reply came.
"What the hell is going on?" Sirius ultimately yelled once he saw Rufus Scrimgeour standing at the door.
"Padfoot?" Harry croaked, his eyes filling with tears and still in disbelief.
Hermione held his arm comfortingly, her own eyes warm and stinging.
It had worked.
They'd done it.
Sirius was back.