His Mistress

-- CHAPTER SIXTEEN --

The Weasleys' Secret

Rita Skeeter let out a shriek as she found herself face to face with the notorious Death Eater whose picture was on all the official Ministry posters in every shop window, and who was searched for by every Auror in the country. Or so she had thought.

"What - what -" the reporter gasped, her eyes shifting between the famous Auror and the convicted Death Eater.

She closed her gaping mouth abruptly and clutched her crocodile-skin handbag - which undoubtedly contained her most precious possession, the Quick-Quotes Quill - closer to herself. She was now trembling from a mix of fear and excitement, muttering short phrases to herself in a very audible voice.

"Miss Perfect not so perfect after all! Oh, this is going to get the first page in all papers ... I will be the most distinguished reporter there is ..." She was already reaching into her bag to pull out the quill, when her hand froze in mid-motion and she looked fearfully at the very angry pair of Death Eaters (she could see the Dark Mark under Granger's turned-up sleeve).

Lucius sneered. "You will do nothing of the sort, Skeeter, not if you wish to leave this room without the symptoms of the killing curse on your body,"

"And with your sanity intact," added Hermione, smiling cruelly. "You will find that I am nearly as proficient at the Cruciatus Curse as my dear friend Bellatrix."

The reporter's eyes lost their glint of excitement rather suddenly.

"I must confess, Skeeter," said Lucius maliciously, "that I find myself in doubt as to whether the Azkaban guards would listen to the words of an unregistered Animagus known for her defamatory discourses against the Ministry."

"That's right," said Hermione. "As I am sure you remember, Rita, I am an Auror, and I can place you under arrest right now. You would find yourself in the Azkaban fortress before you can say 'traitor'. My true loyalties aside, I am one of Minister Fudge's most trusted Aurors, and you have no idea how delighted my supposed boss would be to learn of your disgrace ..."

Rita snorted loudly. "An Auror!" she shrieked, laughing shrilly. "Some sham of an Auror you are, you - you fraud! You're a danger to the Ministry of Magic, that's what you are."

Hermione exchanged a smirk with Lucius.

"But the Ministry - or the public, for that matter - is not aware of that, Rita," she said affably. "All they know is that I am the Muggle-born friend of Harry Potter. If you were to come forward claiming I am ... what, a spy? A Death Eater?" Hermione laughed. "You are notorious for your old grudge against Harry Potter and myself. No one will listen to you, and you know it."

"Doesn't stop me from trying!" shrieked Rita.

"And that is why," said Lucius, "you will not get a chance to try. We will not let you."

Hermione nodded. Then something occurred to her. "You know her secret?" she asked, turning to her lover in surprise. She thought she was the only one to know of Rita's Animagus form ... actually, she should have expected that he knew it as well, seeing as his son had been well acquainted with the 'beetle' in their fourth year.

"Indeed I do, though I was not aware that you did as well, Hermione."

"Miss Perfect caught me in my Animagus form and blackmailed me into not writing anything she didn't approve of for a whole year," Rita explained before Hermione could say a word. "Much like you did, Mr Malfoy, only her requirements were quite the opposite of yours - I was not allowed to write an article that showed Harry Potter in a bad light, or I would find myself in Azkaban."

"I see," drawled Lucius. "And when did this happen, Hermione?"

"At the end of my fourth year at Hogwarts, and all the duration of my fifth,"

"I should have guessed. I admit I did wonder where the nosy Ms Skeeter had disappeared to ... clever for a fifteen-year-old girl, my dear, most clever," he said approvingly.

"Well! Who would have guessed, eh, Miss Perfect? And I thought you were going after Harry Potter ... but of course, I should've foreseen it that you would end up with him instead," Skeeter said spitefully. "After all, you two are exceptionally alike."

"Could you please let me deal with her, Lucius?" Hermione implored, a malicious glint in her eyes.

"I maintain that you are taking more after Bellatrix every day," he said with a smirk, "but by all means go ahead; I am certain I will find it entertaining." He sat in an armchair and watched the scene lazily.

"Let's make a deal, Rita. You keep silent for now. But if we ever do decide to make this common knowledge, you will get the honour of writing the article - containing exactly what we say, of course - and if it gets the front page, you will get the credit and the fee for it. That is, when we decide and not a day earlier. So, what do you think of my proposition?"

Rita's eyes had widened greedily as soon as she pieced together the words 'front page' and 'fee'. "I'll do it," she said eagerly.

Hermione laughed. "Too bad I don't trust you," she said, raising her wand, but the reporter promptly turned into a beetle again. "Impedimenta!" cried Hermione for the second time.

Hit by Hermione's spell, the insect fell back upon the table. Hermione waved her wand and an empty glass jar materialised in front of her. She removed the lid, scooped up the struggling beetle into her hand, and dropped it into the jar.

"I believe this feels familiar, doesn't it, Rita? There," said Hermione, tapping the jar with her wand, "an Unbreakable Charm just like last time. This way you cannot transform and use magic, because there isn't enough space to transform. Nice, is it not?"

She transfigured a sheet of parchment into a few fresh leaves and twigs of grass and pushed them into the jar. The beetle tried to crawl out while the lid was off, but it was a failed attempt because the Animagus kept slipping on the glass walls every time it tried to climb them. Then the jar was closed, forestalling any further attempts.

Hermione moved the jar to the side of her desk, like a decorative item. The beetle tried to climb the walls of its glass cage again.

She shot the insect a contemptuous glance. "Patience, Rita," she said with a grin. "You will be staying here for a long time ... until it is safe for us to let you out, if ever. Not that it bothers me - I have a cat, and now I also have my own pet beetle. How nice ..."

"And try not to aggravate Hermione when she is working," added a smirking Lucius, "or you might find yourself the subject of a most unfortunate experiment. I am certain that she has speculated about what effect the Cruciatus Curse would have on an insect of your kind ... haven't you, my dear?"

"You are right, I have wondered ... and not just any insect, no, I used to imagine how long a beetle Animagus would last under that spell," admitted Hermione casually, twirling her wand in her hand.

"I daresay you will have the chance to find out," said Lucius with a malevolent look at the glass jar, before kissing Hermione on the lips under the horrified gaze of the beetle's black eyes. His hand closed around her wrist and he led her from the room.

"I have been wondering for a long time, Lucius," Hermione started tentatively, "why is it that you hate the Weasley family so much?"

His grey eyes flashed at the name 'Weasley'. He gazed at her for a few seconds, and Hermione was starting to think that she should not have asked. Then he put a hand around her shoulders reassuringly and spoke.

"Well, I must say I have been expecting you to ask this question. Let me tell you a story, Hermione," he said at last. "It dates back to the times when the Malfoy name was at the height of power. I need not start in the beginning, for you already know it. But there are details you do not know, though ...

"Lord Altair Malfoy had several advisors, one of whom he trusted and favoured above all others, and whom he even called his friend. This advisor, or counsel as he was titled, was the only heir to one of the oldest and richest families in the kingdom, ranking just behind us. But he was a greedy man, you understand, greedy and power-hungry, and Dumbledore managed to convert him to his Muggle-loving outlook. As you see, he was not content with being second best, and when Dumbledore promised him what he had always coveted ..."

He paused. "Because, you see, in exchange for his family's backing in the rebellion, Dumbledore offered him something no wizard could resist. He promised to make him Minister for Magic if the rebellion was successful in overthrowing the monarchy. The counsel seized the opportunity and became Dumbledore's major backing; he financed the revolt and passed private information to the leader of the rebels. It was this information that made Altair's assassination possible.

"Once the royal family was murdered and its remaining heir had no chance of regaining his status, the counsel revealed his true allegiance and his role as Dumbledore's greatest ally, and was named Minister for Magic, as promised. However ..." and here Lucius smiled slightly in satisfaction, "he did not get the happy ending he had been hoping for."

"How so?" Hermione prompted with great interest, "What happened?"

And what did this have to do with the Weasleys?

"The young Eridanus Malfoy, survivor of the purge, watched Dumbledore murder his family, but he escaped. Dumbledore was not happy with that turn of events, obviously, but he saw the adolescent as no big menace. A serious mistake ... not for the champion of Light himself, no, but for his main ally, as Eridanus had caught a glimpse of them together that fateful morning, and made the conclusion. He understood that it was this friend of his grandfather who had led Dumbledore into the manor, and he swore vengeance on the one who had arranged his family's destruction."

"And ..." said Hermione as he fell silent again. He smiled very coldly at her, sending a chill of foreboding down her spine.

"One night, after years of prudent scheming, he did indeed make the blood-traitor and his family pay. He arranged for the gold in their Gringotts vault to be transferred discreetly into his own, without their knowledge, of course. You see, the Goblins respect you the more money you have, and their esteem for the Malfoy name had never waned. Hence, the heir convinced the Goblins that it was mere justice, compensation due to us by the traitor and his family, who had taken our power and position. The Goblins reported afterwards that a Dark wizard had broken into the bank at night and robbed several vaults, and one particular vault just happened to be affected more than the others, as it was left empty. No one knew that the contents of the Malfoy vault had increased mysteriously during the night ... and even though the blood-traitor suspected the truth, he could never prove it."

"Brilliant ..." she said in an awed voice. "Truly brilliant ..."

"That same night, Eridanus set fire to the sumptuous house of the former counsel, who had by then retired from his position as Minister for Magic, and cursed his bloodline so that they would never be able to regain wealth unless a future heir to the Malfoy line chooses to lift the curse. But to this day, no Malfoy has had the smallest inclination of doing so, nor have the blood-traitor's descendants ever apologised for their forefather's sins. True Muggle-loving fools they have become ... they still live where the house used to stand, though they have only managed to build a dilapidated fleapit in its place, and the surrounding vast grounds have fallen into ruin ... no money, you see," Lucius smirked at his wide-eyed listener.

So that's why the eleven governors of Hogwarts believed him when he threatened to curse their families if they didn't endorse Dumbledore's suspension, Hermione figured out. They must have known his family had already done something like that in the past, only no one could prove it, and they were too scared anyway ...

"And this," he concluded, "is how started an everlasting feud between two families who had once been the closest of friends ... much like Slytherin and Gryffindor, in fact."

Hermione was speechless, mostly because she had realised how many things there were that she never knew. And they used to call her the know-it-all ... But it couldn't be what she was thinking, could it? No, that was impossible. They had never been into the Dark Arts, much less followers of a Dark Lord ...

"Why did your ancestor let them live, when they had done such a terrible thing? I would have killed them," said Hermione.

Lucius grinned maliciously. "He could indeed have killed them all easily, but he chose a more suitable - and lasting - vengeance. They stole our position from us, and we took away all money they had, preventing them from ever regaining it. He condemned them and their descendants to live in the worst conditions known to wizardkind, for eternity or until their name dies out, which is improbable, judging by the number of children they tend to produce ..."

His cold eyes looked cruel and unforgiving, and he spoke in the same tone he used to taunt Arthur Weasley. In fact ...

Hermione's forehead furrowed thoughtfully. It couldn't be ...

But it would explain everything ...

"What is the traitorous family's name? Is it -?" she asked with trepidation. She had a suspicion, and it was confirmed when Lucius answered -

"Weasley."

Hermione gaped.

"I cannot believe this! The Weasleys, once a Dark family ..."

"It is in their name, you know," said Lucius. "Weasley is a derivative of the word weasel, which has a very Dark connotation ... the weasel is traditionally known as a deceitful and malignant animal, and the name suited that particular family quite well. They were very much into the Dark Arts, and there was not one Weasley child who wasn't sorted into Slytherin, not until Dumbledore converted them to the ways of the Light.

"It is also said that redheads are predisposed to treason ... the Weasleys have proven to be just the example."

So the allegory against redheads also existed in the wizarding world, then. It was a known concept among Muggles, and it was backed by the bible, apparently. In Muggle Christianity, it was mentioned that Judas Iscariot, the disciple who had been bribed to betray Jesus, had red hair ...

"But ... do today's Weasleys know all this? The role they played in the past?" Hermione asked, still utterly shocked.

"I think not," he said. "You have noticed, of course, that the Weasleys hold no respect whatsoever for proper wizard traditions ... for generations they have been taught to loathe the Malfoy name, but I doubt they know - or care - how the enmity really started."

Hermione still had difficulty grasping what she had just found out. At last, she merely nodded, knowing that her perception of the family she used to be friends with would never be the same.

Lucius pulled her closer to him, fully aware that he had just shattered one of the last connections she had to the Light side.

"I will be leading an attack on the Fawcetts tonight, Hermione," he informed her, throwing a lazy glance at the grandfather clock on the wall, "and as I am convinced you would be eager to take part, I have taken the initiative of inviting you along ..."

"But the Dark Lord said I was not to risk my position like that," said Hermione, "has he changed his mind?"

"The Dark Lord wishes that you remain his spy, Hermione, and as we all know, spies do not take part in offensive moves ... however, you know I have never been particularly good at following orders -"

His eyes gleamed with amusement, and Hermione thought, Yes, you are far better at ordering people around - I should know.

"- and as I doubt the Dark Lord would be too displeased with you for this ..."

Hermione's eyes widened. "All right, Lucius, I get it. You are ordering me to join you on this dangerous, reckless, extremely unwise, and downright insane idea of defying the Dark Lord. Right?"

"That would be quite correct," he drawled.

"But that's extremely risky! What if he does get angry about it? The Dark Lord would -"

"I never thought I would see the day when you would be defending Lord Voldemort, Hermione," he cut in coolly.

She flinched at the name, and then she gaped at him, flabbergasted.

"You cannot carry on this way, Hermione," he said, standing up. "You need to decide with whom your loyalties lie. Is it me ... or is it him?"

She recalled the Boggart-Voldemort's words: You are not loyal to me ... How true.

She sighed. "You know the answer to that question, Lucius."

"In that case, perhaps you can take out your Death Eater attire," he said briskly with another, more meaningful glance at the clock. "You are delaying me."

Wordlessly, Hermione pulled out the black robes and mask from the cupboard where she had hidden them. In a minute, she was dressed in a way that concealed her identity entirely. Lucius pulled up his own hood, but Hermione wondered why he bothered - everyone knew he was a Death Eater, anyway.

They Disapparated to Ottery-St-Catchpole, the village that housed the wizarding homes of the Lovegoods, the Fawcetts, and the Diggorys. Regrettably, the Weasleys did not live there anymore - they had not returned to The Burrow since their relocation to Grimmauld Place, many years ago.

*

Long after midnight, the Dark Mark glimmered in the sky over the British community of Ottery-St-Catchpole, eliciting screams of terror from its magical inhabitants. Under the glow of the green skull, two figures swathed from head to toe in black silk walked hand in hand, not sharing the general hysteria. Snow was falling from the sky, but the white flakes melted as soon as they touched the couple's clothes, and the black fabric remained dry as if by magic.

Only their eyes were visible through their masks, one pair cold grey and the other chestnut brown.

Their comrades, who had helped in the attack, had already Disapparated, but they were in no hurry.

"Perhaps you could also join me on some of my Muggle-hunting escapades -" the wizard said in a drawling voice, "- of which the Dark Lord does not know," he continued just as his companion opened her mouth to make an objection. "I have always done so; the Dark Lord does not begrudge me for it."

"Maybe not, but he would begrudge me for taking initiative like that," the witch said uneasily.

"I am a higher-ranking Death Eater than you, Hermione, and as such, you are obligated to do as I say," he said smoothly.

"Unless the Dark Lord expressly told me not to - which he did," she countered.

"Which he did not," he rectified. "The Dark Lord merely asked you not to - ah - 'partake in any attacks'; he never said anything against a bit of Muggle-hunting for fun, which clearly does not fit the definition of an attack ..."

Hermione gaped at the devious way he twisted the words to his advantage, so that she could not find anything to retort.

"Oh, all right then," she said, admitting defeat.

*

Early in the morning, Hermione Apparated in the Atrium of the Ministry for Magic, and if one looked carefully enough, it could be seen that she had not gotten much sleep the previous night. Not looking where she was going, she nearly collided with a young red-haired wizard dressed in pristine blue robes, but succeeded in leaping out of the way at the last minute.

The wizard, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles, was carrying a stack of folders bearing the official Ministry of Magic seal and stamped with 'TOP SECRET' in large, red letters. Nothing unusual, just some confidential paperwork and legislative material for the leading officials in the government: the Minister for Magic, his personal assistants, and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, alias Percy himself.

"Hello, Percy," said Hermione.

"Good morning, Hermione," said Percy pompously, shaking her hand. "Got to go, the Minister is waiting," he said in a rush before disappearing in the swarm of witches and wizards streaming from the fireplaces on the left-hand side.

Hermione joined the knot of people waiting for the lift. Her red robes stood out in the crowd, and several sleepy-looking officials acknowledged her with nods, waves, and the occasional "G'mornin'."

"Hey, Granger!" greeted the aggressive-sounding voice of Zacharias Smith.

"Hello, Zacharias. How many raids yesterday?"

It was the typical friendly chat between Aurors, comparing each other's number of raids and captures.

"Four, and all of them pointless! There was not a single Death Eater in sight, and I had to skulk around in old, abandoned houses digging for some Dark stuff that wasn't even there!" Smith's voice pulsed with indignation.

"Well," said Hermione evenly, "I had six raids, and no Death Eaters there either - I only managed to get a few scrolls of Dark material."

Her fellow Auror clapped his hands together. "That makes two of us. Really, this is getting ridiculous! When are they going to see sense?"

"Who?" asked Hermione.

"The Minister and the Wizengamot. It's about time they let us use the Unforgivable Curses on those filthy Dark wizards. During the last war, Aurors had this power - then why don't we?"

"Don't you think that's a bit harsh, Zacharias?" she said carefully. She was aware that the people around them were listening intently to the conversation.

"Harsh? Not at all! It's not fair if we're forbidden to kill them, when they have no qualms about killing us! Why are we waiting for them to kill us off?"

"But ... there is always Azkaban," said Hermione, but Smith shook his head.

"You know it's pointless. They don't stay in there for long - You-Know-who can get them out whenever he wants, no one can stop him! There's only one thing to do, and it's to kill them before You-Know-Who can save them," the tall skinny Auror said strongly, drowning out the magical voice announcing "Level Two".

Before they could continue the conversation, the lift came to a halt and its golden grilles parted with a loud clanging noise. Recognising their floor, the two Aurors jostled their way to the doors and got off.

Upon emerging from the lift on level two, instead of turning right and into the corridor that led to the heavy oak entrance to the Auror Headquarters, Hermione turned left and found herself in another hallway, one she did not use often. Hermione walked past an enchanted window through which she could see a bright, sunny sky littered with clouds, courtesy of Magical Maintenance, and towards a door at the far end that bore the words Wizengamot Administration Services in silver letters.

A solemn-looking witch wearing the plum-coloured uniform of the Wizengamot, her hair styled in a long plait, was coming in her direction.

"Susan! How are you doing?" called Hermione.

"Morning, Hermione," Susan Bones said in a tired voice. Since the death of her aunt, Susan seemed to have aged ten years. "Nice necklace you've got there," she remarked, looking at the emerald pendant on a gold chain around Hermione's neck.

"Thanks. I rather thought so myself ..."

"It must've been expensive ... where did you buy it?" inquired Susan curiously.

"I did not. It was a gift."

"Looks rather expensive for a gift ... what brings you to the Wizengamot's offices, Hermione?" Susan asked suddenly.

"Well, I need to check something in the archives," said Hermione.

"Oh! The archives are that way," Susan pointed to a door on the right.

"Thanks," said Hermione.

She pulled the door open. A witch in dark green robes greeted her at the entrance. "Hello, I'm the Keeper of the Wizengamot Archives," she said cheerfully, sticking out her hand.

"Hermione Granger of the Auror Office," Hermione introduced herself, shaking the woman's hand.

"Granger? The famous Auror? It's a pleasure to finally meet you," said the archivist, who was wearing square spectacles. "So how can I help you today?"

"You needn't bother. I would rather search on my own," said Hermione. "I've spent the majority of my time at Hogwarts in the library, and I like to do my research independently."

"As you prefer," said the surprised archivist. Hermione managed a rueful smile and looked around the vast room. Three of the four walls were lined with shelves from floor to ceiling.

On the fourth wall, there were two long tapestries, one of which listed the names of all of the former Chiefs of the Wizards' Council and the other, Britain's former Ministers for Magic. Hermione approached the second tapestry without really thinking about it.

She looked at the line at the very bottom, which said,

1998-present Fudge, Cornelius O.

The line just above it was identical except for the date. Fudge had been re-elected, though Hermione could not fathom what the public saw in him. The man had none of the qualities essential for the leader of a country, honestly.

1990-1998 Fudge, Cornelius O. was preceded by 1984-1990 Bagnold, Millicent. In wizarding Britain, elections were held every eight years, unless a Minister retired - like Madam Bagnold had done after six years on the job.

Then Hermione's eyes travelled upwards and all the way to the seventeenth century, where she saw a name that felt awfully familiar. The line just after 1845-1853 Meliflua, Cepheus read,

1853 Lestrange, Antarès

There was a gap after that, and the next date was exactly forty years after. And the name caught her eye. It was a name she would never have expected to see on a list of Britain's former Ministers for Magic, at least not until recently.

1893-1901 Weasley, Nathan R.

Hmm, Nathan Weasley ... wasn't his signature on the bottom of the Act that banned the use of the Unforgivable Curses on Muggles? Hermione distinctly remembered seeing it there, only she had never noticed the words 'Minister for Magic' under the name. Then there was the much more recent Muggle Protection Act, signed by Arthur N. Weasley, but that was an entirely different matter ...

Suddenly, Hermione found herself imagining the next line appearing at the bottom of the list, after Fudge's. 2004 Granger, Hermione A. The first ever Muggle-born Minister for Magic.

In her mind's eye, the list seemed to cut itself off after that, leaving her name being the last line, and none came after, just empty space ... Dream on, Hermione, she admonished herself, suddenly realising that the archivist had been trying to gain her attention for quite some time.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

The witch smiled knowingly. "Distracted, were you? You remind me of Percy Weasley - he comes here often, and each time, he stops in front of that tapestry and his eyes glaze over ... don't worry, Miss Granger, you aren't the only one fantasising about seeing your own name on that list. He's an ambitious young man, that Weasley ..."

Hermione felt a surge of disgust at the name 'Weasley'. But, she reminded herself, at least Percy was more decent than the rest of them ...

"Excuse me, but could you tell me ..." Hermione started, looking curiously at the archivist, "why is there an interruption after 1853? What happened?" She knew the answer, of course, but she wanted to hear the official, Ministry version of the events. And what role Minister Lestrange played in them.

"Oh," said the bespectacled witch, who looked disconcerted. I bet no one has paid any attention to that little detail before, thought Hermione. "Well, the Minister elected in 1853 ..." the archivist trailed off uneasily.

"Miss Lestrange?" prompted Hermione.

"Yes, Lestrange. Well, she ... she didn't even last a week as Minister," the Keeper of Archives dropped her voice to a horrified whisper. "It turned out she had been working for the Dark Lord of the time. It is rumoured - and hear me, these rumours are the only thing we know, so it's pretty likely they're true ... it is said that she helped him take over the government. That she stepped back and allowed him to kill everyone who opposed the Dark side, and even participated in it ... and the day after, all the papers reported his investiture as the new Minister for Magic ... to this day we have no idea how it happened, or what became of Lestrange ..." The witch shook her head.

Oh, I know what became of her, all right, thought Hermione. She became Antarès Malfoy, that's what.

"Terrible times ... terrible times these were. Thank heavens for Dumbledore ..." the Keeper of the Archives said reverently, as though in prayer.

Anger and outrage flashed in Hermione's brown eyes. "Thanks indeed for Dumbledore ... the saviour," she said, aversion evident in her voice, though the archivist mistook it for awe. It was funny how people only heard what they wanted to hear, and were deaf to what they weren't expecting. The saviour - the murderer. "Quite the hero, wasn't he? Oh, I am sorry, but I have wasted too much time on conversation. I must get back to my research."

"Of course, Miss Granger. I apologise for distracting you ... I know you have a busy life, being an Auror and all ..." the woman said with sympathy.

Busy life, huh? You don't know just how busy, thought Hermione, walking off towards the shelves on the far wall of the room.

The Wizengamot Archives contained record of all the decrees, acts and edicts that had ever been approved by the Ministry or its predecessor, the Wizards' Council. The thousands of scrolls were classified by chronological order, and as Hermione did not want to have to sift through all of them, she ran her wand across the shelves and used a charm that would make it emit an orange light whenever she came upon something of interest.

Hermione spent her lunch break researching wizarding law. She had learnt the basis of the Wizengamot Charter of Rights at the Auror Academy, but there were many clauses and regulations that weren't part of the Charter. Most of these were ancient, and so accepted by the magical community that no one ever questioned where they came from or when they had been passed.

The first relevant scroll she uncovered was a decree, adopted many centuries ago, that stated that with the approval of the Wizengamot, the Minister for Magic had the power to change the country's political structure (from democracy to monarchy, for example).

The Wizengamot was the wizard High Court. It was also the legislative body of the Ministry of Magic. A Bill had to be voted and approved by the Wizengamot before it could become law. But who appointed the people on the Wizengamot?

Hermione found the answer to that question in Clause Two, section A, of the Decree for the Nomination and Dismissal of Wizengamot Officers. The decree itself, signed somewhere in the 1520s, read as follows:

a) The appointment of Wizengamot officers and warlocks is entirely to the discretion of the Minister for Magic.

b) Any witch or wizard who is of age, has been residing in Great Britain or Ireland for at least five years, and has no criminal record can be appointed to sit on the Wizengamot if nominated by the Minister for Magic and accepting of the position and the responsibilities that accompany it.

c) The Minister for Magic can relieve a Wizengamot member of his or her position at any time, for any or no reason.

d) Wizengamot members may resign from their position at any time, for any or no reason.

It all came down to one thing: Fudge had an awful lot of power. He had to get the laws he passed approved by the Wizengamot, but he could appoint whomever he wanted on the Wizengamot (as long as they were British citizens and weren't deprived of legal rights) and dismiss those who spoke out against him. And keeping in mind that it was the Wizengamot that elected the Minister for Magic ...

So that's how they did it, deduced Hermione. Antarès Lestrange must have proclaimed wizarding Britain a blood monarchy as soon as she was named Minister for Magic ... and as the Wizengamot had probably been composed of the old pure-blood families back in these days - after she had given notice to those who would not have been favourable to the change - they had given their support heartily ...

But this was not the only fascinating knowledge Hermione acquired that day.

In actual fact, she also stumbled upon a very interesting text, a rule that had existed for thousands of years and was still in effect. The information it contained was so mundane, so basic, and so essential that Hermione was shocked she had never heard of it after having lived in the wizarding world for over a decade.

In the wizarding world, many laws and traditions dated back to the Middle Ages, and had not been modified since. Among Muggles, such customs would have been deemed outdated and discriminatory, but to wizards, they were normality.

And according to a law that had become a tradition, a witch automatically attained her husband's blood status upon marriage. It meant that if a half-blood witch married a pure-blood wizard, she would be legally considered a pure-blood. And the same occurred if she was a Muggle-born.

It was an archaic convention that clearly discriminated against women, because if a pure-blood witch got married to a wizard of lesser status, she would be cast out by her family for making a misalliance. For example, when Andromeda Black married her Muggle-born boyfriend Ted Tonks, she lost her status as a pure-blood and could be considered a Muggle-born herself, thus bringing shame upon the family into which she was born.

But when Hermione's eyes first fell upon that paragraph, she had blinked in disbelief, her breathing had quickened, and she had felt her eyes fill with tears. She would not stay a Mudblood for ever! She had thought her Muggle parentage was a curse that would follow her until the end of her life, that there was no escape ... she had long since lost hope. But she had just been proved wrong, and it was probably one of the happiest moments of her life so far. Oh yes, hope ... hope was a beautiful thing.

All she had to do was to get married to a pure-blood wizard, and no one would ever call her a Mudblood again.

But ...

Hermione froze at the implications. Get married ... she could have done so many times already. Ernie, Ron ... even Rabastan Lestrange, who by all signs was as smitten with her as Viktor Krum had once been, had either proposed to her outright (in Ernie Macmillan's case), or at least hinted at it. And yet she hadn't even considered the idea ... nor would she now. She would not ... she could not.

She belonged to one man, and she would stay his for ever. And she knew he would never make her part of the Malfoy family, for the fundamental reason that he already had a wife.

Then again ...

She was a Death Eater.

And to all Death Eaters, there was a rule to live by ...

Impedio Oblitteranda Est.

Suddenly, a smile spread across Hermione's face. It was a smile that held at once hope and joy, ambition and triumph, malice and vindictive anticipation ... it was not a kind smile. It was a smile that the world would one day learn to dread ...

Most importantly, it was a smile of determination. It was time to act. She had stood back and let things happen for too long. Now it was time to fight for herself ... it was time to do something, to attempt to achieve something she could only dream of ...

She had a long way to go, but perhaps now was the time to start ... before it was too late.

She had made a resolution, when she lay dying at St Mungo's hospital ... she had sworn she would destroy the one who had tried to annihilate her. The one who stood in her path ...

With a glance at the Keeper of the Archives, who was busy cataloguing books on a nearby shelf, Hermione replaced the scrolls in their right places and left the room.

Later that day, she was given the mission to raid a house presumably harbouring dodgy individuals. The house was empty, of course, because its inhabitants had somehow been warned about the raid. Or at least that was what Hermione later told her superiors at the Ministry. And she was sure the Ministry would not re-check the location if she reported that she had found nothing suspicious in the house - the Aurors did not have time for that.

In reality, number seven Elmsford Road was the residence of the Lestranges, and when Hermione, in her Auror uniform, knocked on their door, she was merrily invited inside for a cup of tea. Just like Grimmauld Place, it was a Dark wizards' house camouflaged in the middle of a shabby Muggle street, and the interior was pretty much the same, with peeling wallpaper and doxy-filled curtains. Apparently, it had fallen into neglect during its inhabitants' thirteen-year sojourn in Azkaban prison.

Bellatrix had been particularly overjoyed at seeing her fellow female Death Eater, and while chatting with the dark woman, Hermione got an idea.

She had been trying to find the time to visit Knockturn Alley for the last few days, but unfortunately, she always had to stay overtime at the Ministry and could never get away from work while the shops were still open. Unless she snuck off during her duty hours ... and this was her chance. She explained the situation to Bellatrix, only leaving out what it was that she wanted to buy and for what purpose. The older woman, delighted by Hermione's interest in Dark artefacts, not only let her use the fireplace in her house, but even offered to lend her her own Death Eater robes.

Far not all Dark wizards were Death Eaters, but all of them approved Voldemort's ideas, and Death Eaters were viewed as heroes by most Dark families. Therefore, if you wanted to be safe and respected in the midst of Dark wizards, the best way was to make them believe you were a Death Eater even if you weren't one - or show it openly if you were.

Hermione thanked her fellow Death Eater, promising that she would not be long. She then donned the black robes and mask, which fit satisfactorily, and approached the crackling amber flames. She threw in a pinch of Floo power, called out "Knockturn Alley!" and walked into the warm flames.

Hermione emerged from the stone fireplace in Borgin and Burkes with a soft whoosh. She walked towards the counter, but there was no one behind it. She pulled out her wand and shot off a ringing sound from it, then she waited, glancing around the large, poorly lit shop.

There were shelves that held skulls and other human bones on one wall; black masks similar to the one Hermione was wearing were exhibited on another like paintings, and pointed, metallic, tweezer-like utensils were suspended from the ceiling. Glass cases filled with various Dark objects and bloodstained books and locked black cabinets containing, Hermione guessed, even more illegal items, were stationed in the corners.

A grumbling man emerged from the back room, looking annoyed. When he saw the masked Hermione, however, his expression changed drastically.

He smiled in what he thought was a friendly manner, and spoke in a fake, affable tone. "It is a pleasure to meet you, er ... madam. I am Adrastus Borgin. How may I help you? You must look at the new inventory we've received this week, the prices will interest you -" he said without pausing. At least he knew better than to ask her name.

"I am rather looking for something in particular, Mr Borgin," she said, interrupting the shopkeeper's monologue. "I need a subtle poison that cannot be countered, not even by a Dark potion. Preferably one that acts instantly."

The smile disappeared from the man's face. "I'm deeply sorry, madam, but we don't sell poisons," he said regretfully. "Our shop carries artefacts, madam, not potions ..."

"Really?" said Hermione, a menacing glint appearing in her eyes. How dare this wizard lie to her? "I have heard from some of my ... associates," she emphasised the word so as to leave no doubt as to what group she meant, "that you have a large variety of poisons in stock. Are you refusing to sell to me?"

The man stuttered for a moment, brushing his greasy hair out of his eyes agitatedly. "No offence, madam," he said uneasily, "but you could be an Auror in disguise for all I know, and with the latest legislations ..."

Hermione found it hard not to laugh. An Auror in disguise? She was one, all right. But if he wanted proof that she was not going to arrest him ...

She placed her left hand on the counter and pulled back her sleeve for a second, letting the man's eyes fall upon the skull imprinted in crimson on her skin. "I am no Auror," she hissed, "and the Dark Lord shall be most displeased if you do not provide what I am asking for, Mr Borgin."

That was a complete lie - Voldemort had no idea of what she was doing. But Borgin surely would not owl the Dark Lord to check if her words were truthful ...

Borgin's eyes widened in fear, both of having Lord Voldemort after him and of the Death Eater in front of him, who could cast the Cruciatus Curse in her anger. "Forgive me, madam, I didn't know ... I have exactly what you need, madam, just a moment," he said genially.

He came back with a small bottle of dark green glass. A piece of paper was stuck to it, and on it was written, in a slightly smudged script:

Basilisk fang tincture + oil of monkshood
in infusion of belladonna and hellebore
Tasteless
Instant effect

"This is a combination of the deadliest substances in the wizarding world, madam," Borgin said in a hushed voice, "everyone knows Basilisk venom is lethal, and the other three elements, when combined, will bring about instant death. Three drops will suffice."

It was exactly what Hermione wanted, except that she had no guarantee that the substance in the bottle was in fact what was written on the label and not something else entirely. But she assumed that Mr Borgin would be too afraid of Voldemort's wrath to sell a fake to someone he knew was a Death Eater, especially if he thought it would be used on Voldemort's orders.

"All right, I will believe you on this. But remember that the Dark Lord will be very displeased if it does not work correctly," she said warningly.

The shopkeeper nodded tensely. "Basilisk venom is infallible, madam. This will be one hundred twenty galleons and seven sickles."

"So much? For this tiny bottle? But there isn't even a teaspoonful in it ..." Even if she had enough money to pay for the purchase, that didn't mean Hermione would not try to bargain a bit. Why waste her money? If it was indeed what Borgin was claiming, this little bottle was entirely worth it, and it would be useful not just this one time, but still ...

"I'm sorry, madam, but you know how hard Basilisk fangs are to obtain," said Mr Borgin.

"I am aware of that, but one hundred twenty? Now that's too much, really," she declared, adjusting her hood.

"All right, how about a round one hundred, then? But no less; it was really hard to acquire, madam."

"One hundred it is, then," said Hermione, opening her handbag. She counted the galleons, handed them over to Borgin, whose eyes had gained an unsettling glint at the sight of gold, then walked back towards the fireplace, the bottle of deadly substance safely hidden in a deep compartment of her bag. She Flooed back to the Lestranges' house, returned the robes to Bellatrix, thanked her for her hospitality, then Apparated back to work.

She hoped Coddy would hurry up and visit her sometime soon as the elf had promised, so that she could put her plan in motion quickly, now that she had the supplies ...