(A/N: Given how he's spent the last few years, it stands to reason that Harry would be a bit more adventurous in his culinary tastes than Hermione.
The goblin members of the Wizengamot were mentioned all the way back in Chapter XV. And my theories about Artifaction as the goblins' form of magic were used in some of my other stories, like Restoring Hope </shameless plug>.
Harry's epiphany in the chapter's last bit seems absolute and inescapable, based on what canon has given us.
This is by far the longest chapter to date, but it needed to be. Thanks as always are due to MirielleGrey, my Beta Who Can Grow People.)
(Disclaimer: I am in awe of those who create universes. My own forte is exploring universes, quite a different thing. Evidently, many people with the first skill are woefully inept in the second skill. Especially those with surnames that rhyme with Bowling.)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXXII: Fulfilling Commitments, Large and Small
*
"When you've dressed yourself," said the Healer at St. Mungo's kindly, "just come down to the ground floor and find Admin. They'll have a quick bit of parchmentwork for you, and then you'll be free to leave."
Ginny slowly nodded. "And you're sure nothing can be done about…?"
The Healer looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry, dearie, I know how frustrated you must feel. But those memories are gone. We only kept you for overnight observation, just to make certain there were no other damages to your mind, and there don't seem to be. Mentally, you're the same person you ever were… minus a few days of memory. And physically, you're in tip-top shape, which was only to be expected for a Chaser of your skill." She gave Ginny a reassuring smile and a pat on the arm, before leaving the room.
Ginny took her time slipping out of the hospital gown. She vaguely recalled being brought to St. Mungo's: very disoriented, unable to track her surroundings, and only slowly regaining her sense of time and place. Evidently she'd been visiting the Ministry - Ginny guessed she'd gone to support Blaise as he chaired his Conference on International Crime. She remembered urging Blaise to chair the Conference, as a way of cementing his position within the Ministry - and as heir apparent to Kingsley Shacklebolt.
She glanced down at the side table, where that morning's Daily Prophet lay. From its banner headlines, it was clear that the Conference had been completely eclipsed, relegated to back-page status. There'd been an attacker within the Ministry - she'd been attacked, hit with a Memory Charm. The attacker had also gone after Hermione… and was then caught by Ron. Ron!
And then… the newspaper seemed to gloss over the details, but… then there'd been a fight, and Hermione and Blaise were involved, and Shacklebolt had died, and Hermione had died! And then… she'd been brought back to life. Brought back to life by a hero, himself risen from the grave: Harry Potter.
Harry.
Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, trying to sort through her feelings. Harry… Harry was alive again. Harry had spent a decade and a half trapped behind the Veil, according to the Prophet. Harry had heroically freed himself by bringing back Hermione's soul, following its path back to the living world. In a sense, he owed his return to her… and she certainly owed her life to him.
Another glance at the Prophet showed its front-page photo, grainy and amateurish, probably taken by one of the delegates at the Conference: it showed Hermione sitting on the floor, Harry kneeling beside her, and the two were embracing for all they were worth. The angle of the photo was such that only Harry's head, arms and upper torso could be clearly seen, but he was obviously in his altogether. Hermione's face was in profile… but on the half that was visible, the expression could only be described as blissful.
Ginny had no illusions about what Hermione must be feeling for Harry now. She remembered perfectly how she felt when Harry saved her from the basilisk - and that was small beans in comparison to this. She felt a pang of sympathy for Hermione. But Hermione was married to Ron, with vows that couldn't be set aside. And Harry had always treated Hermione as the sister he'd never had; that wouldn't have changed while Harry was in the kingdom of Death.
Indeed, to judge by appearances, Harry hadn't changed while in the kingdom of Death. Harry hadn't aged at all: he looked exactly as in her last memory of him. Ginny glanced at her reflection in the mirror as she buttoned her blouse. She was trim, in excellent form, her hair shone like fire, and she knew she looked damned hot - for her age.
The idea of a mature woman romantically involved with a schoolboy was… troubling, she had to admit. A bit squicky, actually. But this was Harry. He wouldn't find her age a problem. Why, he seemed to have a preference for older women, if his experience with Cho was any indication. And he was seventeen, healthy, and male… No, Harry would come back to her, just as she'd always imagined. And he'd do so at the moment when his fame couldn't be brighter.
That fame might be useful to Blaise's career. If Blaise's fortunes could be tied to those of The Boy Who Lived Again… well! Ginny didn't doubt her ability to persuade Harry to join with them. She knew exactly what "arguments" (she smiled coyly to herself) would sway him best. And Blaise would certainly not complain about the results.
Now if only she could contact Blaise and discuss these developments with him. For some reason, none of the messages she'd sent to him at the Ministry had been received.
*
Blaise Zabini had grown thoroughly tired of re-reading the Prophet's lead story, complete with its sidebars and speculations. Thankfully, the story had downplayed his role in the conference room - his actions, and the accusations leading up to them - but that was its only redeeming feature. Otherwise, it was simply an effusive paean of adulation for Harry I-Cannot-Be-Killed Potter. With a generous dollop of Granger-Gelato as icing.
At least Potter's homeless and penniless, even if he is alive again, Blaise reflected. And clueless as well: he'll have no idea of what's been happening in the world, these last fifteen years. He, at least, won't prove a hindrance to me.
Outside his cell door, the three Aurors on watch sat up straighter as footsteps sounded in the corridor. Seconds later, two wizards stood framed in the doorway: Gawain Robards, and, amazingly, Tiberius Ogden, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Blaise hadn't expected Ogden to be included in his deal… Robards must be taking it seriously indeed.
"Gawain… Tiberius," he greeted them easily, folding his Prophet and tucking it under his arm as he rose from his cot. "Good afternoon. I trust all is well with you?"
Ogden gave Blaise a smile of greeting in return. Blaise acknowledged the elderly wizard, but otherwise paid him scant attention. Tiberius Ogden was an ineffectual hand-waver, who'd been pleased as punch when he was chosen to be Albus Dumbledore's successor as Chief Warlock. He'd proven an amateur politician at best, content to let the Minister of Magic dictate the Wizengamot's agendas. Doubtless Shacklebolt had found that very useful.
Doubtless the next Minister of Magic will find it useful as well, Blaise thought in anticipation.
Robards regarded him neutrally for a few seconds, before brandishing a roll of parchment. "I've prepared our agreement, if you'd care to look it over…"
Blaise strolled to the cell door and accepted the parchment through the bars. "Of course I'll look it over, but… didn't Arnold deliver my message?" He knew Peasegood had, and he knew he wasn't going to be allowed a solicitor, but there was no harm in gently digging at Robards. This breach of the Wizengamot Charter of Rights was quite illegal, after all.
Robards let the dig go by him. "Yes," was all he said, as he gestured at Blaise to read. With a slight sigh, Blaise unrolled the parchment and reviewed the wording. It was, he noted, a Magically Binding Contract… not that he'd expected anything less.
He glanced up at Robards with one eyebrow raised. "The language is rather broad, don't you think, Gawain? 'Assist Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Corps to the best of my ability'? Please. That wording would require me to donate my entire fortune to you, if you ever ran over budget." He pointed to the clause in the document. "How about, mm, 'Answer truthfully, to the best of my recollection, any questions from Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Corps pertaining to the Cartel," he countered.
With a nod, Robards flicked his wand at the parchment. The clause vanished momentarily, then reappeared with Blaise's wording… with an addition. "'…and provide Pensieve support for those answers upon demand'," read Blaise aloud. "Reasonable."
They worked their way through the contract, until both were satisfied with its wording. Blaise handed it back to Robards, who produced a self-inking quill from his pocket. He signed the contract and passed it to Ogden. Ogden seemed befuddled as always, but he signed readily enough at Robards's urging. "Well, if you're sure you don't need me anymore…" he smiled. "I should be heading back to the Council chambers… still some minor cases to hear today…" With an affable nod to everyone, he departed.
Another person took his place at the cell door: a young woman, carrying a valise in one hand. She looked somewhat familiar… Blaise racked his memory until he recalled that she worked in the Department of Magical Catastrophes. She worked under Peasegood, and she was… Mnemosyne Fleming - not an easy name to forget! Under Peasegood, but, he remembered, not as an Obliviator…
She was one of the Ministry's Legilimenses! "Now I must protest, Gawain! Using Legilimency on me is a flagrant violation of the Charter of Rights. I haven't yet signed your little contract, after all." He made his voice sound scornful yet unconcerned, even while he was hastily preparing Occlumency shields within his mind.
"I'm not here to invade your memories," Fleming told him. "I'm here to see that they're uncontaminated."
"Your rights are safe," added Robards sardonically. "But we're not sealing any bargains until I'm sure you haven't been tampered with." He nodded at Fleming, who raised her wand and pointed it at Blaise.
"Legilimens," she said clearly.
Blaise was now very glad he'd waited until the last moment before completing his plan. He left his Occlumency shields mostly lowered - enough to prove that he could hide things from Fleming, but chose not to. Blaise could feel Fleming's psychic magic washing over his mind: a curiously gentle feeling, not like the ripping of memories typical of Legilimency. It lasted only a few moments.
"Clean," reported Fleming.
"Of course. Are you certain Arnold spoke with you today?" Blaise asked mildly. He returned Robards's scowl with a tight, patronizing smile as he reached for the contract and quill. A quick scan showed nothing had been added or removed… flattening it on the table, he scribbled his name at the bottom. The parchment made a soft thrumming sound, showing the Magical Binding had been sealed.
He rolled up the parchment again. Retaining the quill in one hand, he tossed the contract back through the bars of the cell door with the other. "What's next?" he asked nonchalantly, seating himself at the table.
"Next comes questioning," Robards responded, tucking the contract into his breast pocket. "I'll ask you some specific questions, and depending on the answers, I'll have Fleming here extract certain memories for safekeeping. In case of, let's say, accidents." Behind Robards, Fleming was rummaging in her valise; Blaise could see one of the Department's evidentiary Pensieves, as well as some implements he couldn't identify.
"Reasonable," yawned Blaise, every fiber of his body affecting an aura of boredom. "I trust you've arranged for refreshments? For yourselves, if not for me - I can see this will take a while." He withdrew the Daily Prophet from under his arm and began to unfold it to its back page. "Fortunately, I can keep myself amused until you're ready…"
"INCENDIO!"
The Prophet burst into flames in Blaise's hands. Hastily he dropped it onto the floor, and tried to put out the fire with his feet, but the flames were persistent: within seconds, nothing remained of the newspaper but fine ashes. Angrily, Blaise brought up his eyes to see who had treated him so shabbily.
And saw Granger, triumphantly brandishing her wand.
"Damn, Granger, I realize it wasn't a pretty photo," Blaise snarled, "but that's hardly my fault, is it!? Either sue the Prophet or learn to use a mirror, but don't take it out on me."
Robards, Fleming, and the other Aurors were staring in shock at Granger. "Hermione…?" Robards began.
"Sorry, Gawain," she said, lowering her wand, "but I didn't have time to explain… and I was sure you'd want at least one witness kept alive and intact."
"For Merlin's sake, how much longer do we have to put up with your endless insinuations?" Blaise turned to Robards. "Gawain, any promise of cooperation was based on the assumption that I'd be treated with a certain amount of fairness and dignity. Including Granger in these proceedings gets me neither! She's already proven her bias against me - and I don't have to put up with her attitude any longer." He crossed his arms in a gesture of finality. If need be, I can raise questions about the Charter of Rights again… or find little details in the contract to cavil at. Anything, to distract them, and put off the questioning until tomorrow…
"I'm not staying." Granger smiled at Blaise. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "I just had to make sure you could carry out your side of the bargain, that's all." She looked back at the others. "It was the crossword puzzle," she explained.
Blaise remained stoic. Robards and his cohorts stared at Granger blankly.
She sighed in the way Blaise had learned to recognize: she was about to lecture. "Remember when Peasegood first discovered that Lovinett's memories were sequestered? He was afraid that trying to break through the sequestration would erase all of Lovinett's memories. And now we've seen that happen - to Doukas. Obliviation, sequestration, full mindwipe - they're all variants of the same Memory Charms. If one can be set to trigger with a key word, why can't all of them? Doukas was prepared by the Cartel for his mission, with a Memory Charm set to wipe all his memories upon receiving the key word." Granger glanced back at Blaise. "And they prepared you as well, didn't they, Zabini? Probably just sequestration in your case, not full mindwipe, but I couldn't take the chance. I'm surprised you did, quite frankly."
"But… I tested him," Fleming said in confusion. "Mr. Peasegood tested him…"
"That's the brilliance of it. I've got to give you credit, Blaise, it was quite ingenious." Granger returned her attention to Fleming. "You and Arnold checked for signs of sequestration. And you found none - because none of his memories are sequestered. Yet. But as soon as he receives the key word, the memories we want would be squirreled away. We probably wouldn't have thought to keep checking him for sequestration, and he could give you perfectly honest testimony - to the best of his recollection - while still withholding the information we need."
"Then you know what the key word is?" asked Robards.
"Well, no… but I know how it was delivered. Mnemosyne, when you found Doukas this morning… you said you thought he was ignoring you, right? That he was sitting at the table? What was he doing?"
"I thought he was…" Fleming's eyes widened, and she stared at the pile of ash on the floor of the cell. "He was reading…"
"This morning's Prophet," Granger finished with her. "We've been assuming the key word had to be spoken - but there's no reason it couldn't be in print, is there? It came to me just a few minutes ago: The key word can't be a common word in daily use. But it mustn't attract undue attention, either. So where could you expect to find recherché words and not think them out-of-place? Word puzzles."
Now she was watching Blaise again, gauging his reactions. He was absolutely determined not to give her a gram of satisfaction as she continued, "In this case, the Prophet's daily crossword puzzle. Again, it was a stroke of brilliance. How better to widely broadcast the command in a perfectly innocuous way?"
She gave Blaise that smug half-smile of hers, the one he detested, then turned back to Robards. "If you compare today's puzzle clues with tomorrow's, there'll be at least one that's repeated. If I were the Cartel, I wouldn't stake everything on the chance that Zabini sees the Prophet every single day. They'll have redundancy measures. The key word will appear several times, over several days."
"Which means," put in Robards, growing excited as the possibilities came to him, "that if we were to subpoena the Prophet for the names of the authors of the puzzles on those days, we might get another lead to the Cartel."
"Certainly worth trying," Granger agreed. She locked gazes with Blaise and gave him a small half-bow, half-salute. Yes, quite clever of you, she seemed to silently say, but not clever enough.
Fists clenched by his sides, Blaise seethed in impotent fury. He knew no power of Obliviation could ever erase the memory of her smile of victory, and at that moment he would cheerfully have volunteered all he knew of the Cartel, accepting the consequences, if for five minutes he could have his hands around Granger's throat.
*
"And here's the last for today," Sheryl said, handing Hermione the case file for her signature. "You remember, Brock and his Statute of Secrecy violations? Three-member Wizengamot panel heard the case, and it looks like Smith's elocution lessons paid off. Brock got hit with a hefty fine this time."
"Good. This is his fourth offense," Hermione nodded, flipping through the file. "Open and shut case, really, but I'm still glad Nehemiah got the verdict. He's needed a win for weeks, now." She began to sign the file off, then paused as she read the attendees. She glanced up at Sheryl. "You did say a three-member panel…?"
"For a minor case like this? That's normal, isn't it?"
"Yes… but evidently we could have had our pick of judges for the panel. It looks as though most of the Wizengamot were available today. Including our Chief Warlock… and including Forgelock and Gemhoard!"
Sheryl shrugged. "I think they were holding themselves ready for a summons, just in case someone did convene the full Wizengamot today. To elect a Minister, I mean."
"Well, yes, but for goblins to wait on humans?" Hermione shook her head in amazement, then quickly signed her name to the case file and handed it back to Sheryl. "And I strongly doubt the full Wizengamot is going to convene this late on a Friday night, anyway."
"And speaking of which…" Sheryl waggled her fingers in farewell as she grabbed her cloak from its peg on the wall. "Don't stay too late!" came her parting shot as she rushed out the door.
She always says that, noted Hermione in amusement. But for the first time in a long time, she felt inclined to follow Sheryl's advice.
It had been a very full day: preventing Zabini from snookering Gawain; warning the ICW about the sequestration triggers, lest Castigni try a similar stunt; disinterring the fake body from Harry's tomb (it had been a Transfigured log), which together with the Gringotts evidence established Harry's identity beyond any doubt. And of course, all the minor crises that people insisted on bringing to her. She'd barely had a moment to herself all day.
Which was good. Constant work kept her from dwelling on that darkness, deep and inviting, from which she'd been rescued barely thirty hours earlier. She didn't want to dwell on that land beyond the Veil, morbidly fascinating though it might be. So far, the only other thing that could make her forget her brush with Death, besides hard work… was Harry.
Sweet Aphrodite, but she loved that man.
It made telling him about her Rebirthday Party that much harder.
Hermione drew a deep breath, and slowly let it out. She put the last few documents into her briefcase and snapped it closed. Wand raised, she concentrated a moment on her thoughts of Harry - happy thoughts all - and said aloud, "Curry take-away for dinner." A flick of her wand and a murmured "Expecto Patronum," and her Patronus-messenger was speeding its way to Enthalpy House. Harry hadn't said he'd be returning to her house that evening... but he'd certainly implied that he'd be sleeping there for the foreseeable future.
With a smile on her lips, Hermione wended her way to the Atrium, there to Apparate to her favorite Indian market to pick up dinner.
*
"Hi! I got your message!" Harry announced cheerfully as she Apparated in her living room. "And you're in luck, I know this great little place in Southall with take-away. Some Rogan josh, a little Murgh makhani… I asked them to go easy with the spices, I didn't know how hot you prefer your… um…" His enthusiastic monologue slowed and stopped as he saw the paper take-away cartons in her hands.
"Um…" Hermione looked embarrassed. "I meant I was bringing home curry, not that I expected you to…"
"Ooops," he mumbled.
She had to laugh at that. "Don't worry, Harry. With the day I've had, I'll take all the comfort food I can get. It means a little more in the icebox, that's all." She eyed him speculatively. "You got naan?"
"I got naan."
"Then life is good." She carried her tandoori chicken and fish biriani to the table, there to join the curries Harry had brought, and they sat to eat. After a few bites, Harry waved his fork at the take-away cartons. "Comfort food?" he inquired.
"Rose only left for Hogwarts this month," Hermione explained dryly. "For a working mother, 'comfort food' means 'any food I myself don't have to cook'." She saw him duck his eyes and return to his eating, and softened her remark. "But, yes, I've always enjoyed Indian cuisine. This is good, Harry."
"Ah. Glad I could help, then." He spooned more rice into his dish. "Rough day, then?"
"Mm… calling it a full day would be closer to the mark. I'd rather hear about yours, first. You made it to Gringotts, I understand?"
"And established my identity, no problem," he nodded. "From there, Ollivander's… got my new wand, and it didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would." With a smile, he drew it from his pocket, brandished it theatrically, and levitated Hermione's glass of tea.
"Nice. Do you mind if I…?" She held out her hand, and Harry dropped his new wand into her palm without hesitation. He grinned at her astonished reaction. "What is this made from? It's so…"
"Heavy? Hard? Yeah, Ollivander told me he's been experimenting with his wands. That wand's one of his better efforts: ironwood."
"There are several types of ironwood, Harry. Did he say which kind?" She hefted the wand slightly, getting accustomed to the extra weight, then flicked it at her glass of tea and caused it to settle back onto the table. "Is it Brazilian ironwood, South African, Borneo bilian…?" Or, she continued silently, is it the ironwood I suspect it is?
"He called it lignum vitae. The core is even more unusual: gryphon heartstring. Ollivander said, as far as he knew, it was unique among modern wands."
"Given the ferocity of gryphons when they're attacked, I would imagine so." Hermione debated on lecturing Harry about the symbolism of his new wand, then decided against it. If Harry wanted to know, he'd ask, and she'd happily tell him. But let's face it, she smiled to herself, that wand is entirely appropriate for the Boy Who Lived To Save Others.
"Well, after Ollivander's," he resumed, "I went back to my flat for a bit, then I went out into the field." Harry looked at her over the tops of his spectacles. "My, er, special projects, you'll recall. I just wanted to follow up with them while I had the chance. The Cheswrights, the old couple with the dairy farm, remember? They're doing loads better… they didn't need any more help from me. Um, I think they're the only ones you know about…"
Harry paused, considering. There was the husband who'd turned abusive to his wife when he was drunk - that case had turned out strangely, but luckily, better than Harry'd hoped. The Cheering Charm he'd cast on the man, triggered when he did something nice for his wife, had become a sort of Pavlovian conditioning. Now he was constantly looking for new ways to please her - and from what Harry could observe, she was most certainly pleased.
"Does this mean you're giving up the 'Guardian Angel' business?" Hermione asked.
He shrugged. "It's harder to do without a Stealth Cloak, don't you think?" He smiled shyly at her and added, "Besides, I don't know that I'll have time for that, if I'm living full-time in the wizarding world again."
Which was the perfect segue for Hermione to tell Harry about her Rebirthday Party, and how their friends and family deserved the truth about his long disappearance. She opened her mouth… and lost her nerve. Instead, she fiddled with Harry's wand for a moment, before thrusting it back to him.
He took it with a quizzical look at her face, as though he could sense that she'd had something to say but had decided to remain quiet. "So…" he said after an awkward moment, "you were going to tell me about your day."
"Ah, my day," said Hermione, seizing on the opportunity for postponement, and rapidly gave Harry a summary of Doukas's mindwipe, Zabini's plea bargain, and how in the end he'd been forced to cooperate with his memory intact. She concluded with her concerns about the Wizengamot, and why some members were delaying the selection of the new Minister.
"Tiberius Ogden, our Chief Warlock, can't convene the full Wizengamot, as tradition demands," she finished. "As far as I can see, all three of our holdouts come from old-fashioned Pureblood families. Oh, they may not have agreed with Voldemort's methods, but they wouldn't object a bit if his goals had been met. They see themselves as saving traditional wizarding culture - and they don't see it has bad parts as well as good. They'd prefer Zabini as Minister, warts and all, because they believe he'd help them save their traditions."
"Mm. I imagine they can't be too blatant about it, though," Harry sympathized. "I mean, the only time I ever saw the Wizengamot was when Fudge had convened the full lot of them for my trial. When I was tried for defending myself against dementors, just before our fifth year, remember? Once Dumbledore reminded them they needed to be fair, most of them were fair. If they're to have any legitimacy, they have to be, well, at least seen to be fair."
Hermione nodded. "Which is how Kingsley and I got so many of our reforms made into law: basic fairness for everyone. More rights for Muggleborns, better representation for all races - did you know the Wizengamot has two goblin members now?" She smiled at his open-mouthed surprise. "After all, if the Wizengamot is going to ratify laws that affect their race, it's only fair that they have a say in those laws."
"Wow… I never would've believed it. I mean, last I heard of goblins, they were still mad at us for keeping their artifacts and not letting them have wands!"
"That was part of the accord Kingsley came to with them. Really, the goblins only wanted wands as a sign of status. It's not like they need wands. Their magical artifacts will do just about anything a wandcast spell can do."
Harry hesitated. Her point touched on an idea he'd had, days earlier, while he was waiting in the elves' quarters at the Ministry. He hadn't dared bring it up with Mr. Ollivander… but Hermione would surely know the answers. "Can goblins even use wands?"
The question brought her up short. After a moment's reflection, she replied, "They should, at least in theory. Why else would they want them? I suspect they couldn't use our wands, though… they'd have to have wands designed for them, for their special magic. You do know that most magical Beings have their own special magic, don't you, Harry?"
"I know that goblins are experts in artifacts: Gryffindor's sword, their bank vaults. Ron's Great-Aunt Muriel's tiara. And I think the goblins made an unbreakable helmet for Hagrid to give to the giants…"
"Plus, I suspect it was goblins who actually made Dumbledore's Deluminator. They were probably following his directions, but still…" Hermione smiled as Harry listened intently. "Artifaction is the goblins' speciality, you see. Their magic doesn't express itself as charms and spells, as ours does, but in the magical devices they create."
She paused and watched carefully as he waved his wand and began to levitate the dishes into the sink. While it wasn't the level of control he'd shown a week earlier, when he'd still been Master of the Hallows, he did seem to perform the charm with much less effort than most wizards. Hermione was determined to explore just how much mastery Harry had of his magic, with his new wand - a very powerful wand, as she could tell from using it.
"Now, giants… you mentioned the giants a moment ago," she continued. "They're a different case altogether. Giants never had a great deal of magic to begin with, and it's almost entirely spent in simply keeping them alive. The square-cube law would…" Harry's puzzled expression stopped her for a second. "The square-cube law, Harry. Dating from the time of Galileo? If you enlarged a man until his height was doubled, his bones and muscles would increase by four times - the square of the height - but his weight would increase by eight times, the cube of the height. You'd reach a point where, if all other factors remained unchanged, he'd collapse under his own weight."
"Oh. Okay, you're saying that giants' magic is used to fight this law? To keep them from collapsing?"
"Exactly. Their magic makes them proportionally stronger, and more impervious to damage. Which is why giants are so resistant to hexes."
"Uh huh." Harry looked lost in thought. "And I suppose merpeople's magic is used to keep them alive under water. And the centaurs… well, their special magic is, what, Divination?"
"Divination and Healing," Hermione amended. "The greatest Healer who ever lived was the centaur Chiron."
"So… giants and merfolk can't use wands. And goblins and centaurs would need wands tuned to their own special magic. They can't use humans' wands. Have I got that right?"
"Yes, pretty much. You see the problem now that we've had with some of our more tradition-bound wizards, who seem to think that the wand is the measure of civilization…"
Harry stopped her. "Then why have a law against it?"
The abrupt question caused her to lose her train of thought. She sat blinking at him in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
"Think back to the incident in the campground, after the World Cup we saw. Ireland vs. Bulgaria," he clarified as an aside. "Remember how Barty Crouch Junior was there, invisible, and he stole my wand to cast the Morsmordre spell. And poor Winky was blamed, because she happened to be there with my wand? Remember how Mr. Diggory yelled at her, Hermione? I'll never forget." He leaned forward and looked grim. "Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use: No non-human is permitted to use a wand. But if they can't use a wand, why bother with a law?"
Hermione had no ready answer. She sat back in her chair and thought hard. Harry gave her the space to think, busying himself by placing the leftover curries in the icebox. A tap of his wand brought the teakettle to a boil within a few seconds; he measured leaves into the teapot, poured in the boiling water, and covered the pot with a tea cozy.
"It must come back to… status," Hermione finally replied. "As I said a moment ago, for many wizards the wand is the very emblem of their magical essence. For a grown wizard to surrender his wand is tantamount to cutting off an arm or a leg. In a sense, it defines them. To wield a wand means to be a wizard, and vice versa. And therefore they wouldn't want any other magical race to be able to make that claim, and take away their uniqueness."
Harry knotted his brows in thought. "Okay. Yeah. Okay, I suppose that makes sense. I guess." He waggled his head, expressing his ambivalence at the notion that a person's worth was measured by a stick.
And he still had that look of intensity on his face. Hermione's curiosity was piqued. "Why is this so important, Harry?"
"Well, er, it's an idea I had… while I was with your witnesses a couple of days ago. Swivingham's 'working girls', uh, elves." He twisted his mouth in deprecation. "It's probably a stupid idea… I mean, after all the hard work you've put into it, this can't be the answer…"
"What can't be the answer?" She found herself drawn deeper into his thought processes… and slightly irritated that he couldn't tell her in plain English what he was thinking.
Harry rubbed his nose, choosing his words with care. He decided to come to the point gradually. "Our professors at Hogwarts… they all had wands, didn't they?"
Hermione sighed impatiently. "Yes, Socrates, they did."
"Ha ha. Bear with me, please." He leaned forward again, intent on making his argument persuasive. "They all had wands. Well, in Hagrid's case, he had his wand when he was still a student. But he was allowed to have a wand, right? And Flitwick - I remember someone saying he had a drop of goblin blood in him."
"His great-grandfather," Hermione affirmed. "Professor Flitwick is one-eighth goblin, not that it matters."
"It would matter a lot to Voldemort's Death Eaters. Halfbloods and Mudbloods were bad enough, but half-breeds?" Harry shook his head. "But Flitwick had a wand; Hagrid had a wand; Madame Maxime had a wand. Heck, Fleur Delacour had a wand, and she's a quarter Veela. Socially, they might be looked down on by the Pureblooded bigots - but legally, they couldn't be denied wands. Legally, they're all humans."
"Because they all have human ancestry! At least half-human, in Hagrid and Olympe's cases, and much more for the others. Legally, they'd have to be treated as humans."
Harry fixed her with a hard look. "Is that an actual law? Is it actually written down in the law that anyone with human ancestry is considered human?"
"Of course it's…" She paused. "Every witch and wizard has the right to carry a wand, by law. Non-humans may never carry wands, by law. It's implicit that all wand wielders are human, but… you're right, Harry, wizarding laws are based on the assumption that the offspring of a human is human. It's axiomatic, but never explicitly stated."
"Then you need to explicitly state it as soon as possible." He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile.
"I… I don't understand. Why is it so urgent that…?"
"Because humans may not be enslaved," he said, slowly and distinctly.
"Because humans…" Hermione began to repeat his words, then stopped. Her eyes grew huge, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. "You can't be serious!"
"Look at it the way I did, and tell me if I'm wrong." Harry began to tick off points on his fingers, tapping them on the table for emphasis. "Your witness elves, Brillig, Fatima and the rest. If you didn't know they were three or four feet tall - if you ignore their ears, and skin color - wouldn't you say they looked just like human girls?" He gave Hermione a moment to absorb that point, then continued. "Fatima told me that elves have to mate where their masters tell them, and with whom. Didn't we agree that elves were bred by humans? That some elves, like Fatima, were bred for beauty as well as other traits? Human standards of beauty?"
Another pause. Harry opened his mouth to make his next point, but Hermione spoke first. She spoke in a low voice, a voice of discovery. "I knew it was true in human history. From the earliest records of slavery… masters have always taken advantage of slaves, forcing them into sex. I should have realized Swivingham didn't invent house-elf prostitution - he only brought it into the light. And if humans are cross-fertile with goblins or giants, there's no reason they can't be cross-fertile with elves. Magic trumps genetics, evidently."
Her gaze locked with Harry. "You're saying that house-elves have human ancestry."
"Yes."
"Your hypothesis, then, is that the original reason for Clause Three was to keep anyone from discovering that fact? And that reason, never being directly stated, has been all but forgotten, subsumed under wizards' desire to remain dominant among magical races?"
He half-closed his eyes as he parsed through her statements, then nodded in confirmation.
"I concur." Hermione stood and began to circle the table, hands clasped behind her, thinking furiously. "Pass that one law, just as you described it, and house-elf slavery would end overnight! Which makes it absolutely imperative that the Wizengamot convene and select a new Minister - one who's not Blaise Zabini! It should be Gawain, I think - Gawain Robards, Harry, currently Head of Magical Law Enforcement - the Head of that Department has traditionally been a favorite for the Minister's position, and he's been sympathetic to our cause for years. I'm sure his name would come up in any discussion - if we could just get the Wizengamot together to discuss it! Aaargh…"
"Well," offered Harry, "maybe tomorrow you should contact this Tiberius Ogden, and see if he'd be willing to go against tradition… convene a less than full Wizengamot…"
"Oh!" Hermione stopped short, her cheeks pink. There was no help for it now, she had to tell him… "Um, it can't be tomorrow. Tomorrow is… well, Ron's taken to calling it my Rebirthday Party." Harry cocked his head curiously, and she hastened on, "It was originally going to be simply a birthday party, on the Saturday after my birthday, in Hogsmeade, so Rose could attend. Now… well, now Ron wants to invite others…"
"Um, I suspect he already has. I think Andromeda Tonks was kind of hinting about a get-together on Saturday…" Harry fell into a reserved silence.
"Ron…" She hesitated, then continued, speaking even more rapidly, "Ron was there when I interrogated Ted Lupin, and made him admit you were still alive. Ron thinks I owe everyone who was there a complete explanation. But I won't, Harry, not without your permission. I promised you…"
"Um… Hermione, I really don't want to the truth to get out… too many people wondering where I've been for fifteen years… I concocted a pretty good cover story, I think, and I'd like to keep it intact." He brooded for a moment. "Ted knows most of the truth already… I'd imagine he's shared it with Tori Weasley by now… who else?"
"Bill and Fleur. Ron and Rose. Neville. Andromeda Tonks. Professor McGonagall. They're all trustworthy, Harry, and I can make them take magical oaths this time if you think I should…"
He waved it away despondently. "No, no, I understand. You need to make things right with these people. All right, you can tell them, but please impress on them that I really want this kept close." He stood from the table; his eyes didn't quite meet Hermione's as he added, "You might want to hold off about telling them about, y'know, you and me. I'll leave that up to you." He managed a shaky smile. "I, um, just remembered some things about one of my 'special projects' that I forgot to do. I should probably take care of that before it gets too late."
With that, he exited the kitchen, only to Disapparate away a second later. It left Hermione confused, until she realized what had prompted his words. Harry was having difficulty finding his place in the wizarding world again - his fear of crowds would highlight any feelings of isolation. And now, having learned that he'd not been invited to her Rebirthday Party, he was still expected to allow all his secrets to be revealed there.
Betrayal would be too strong a word for how Harry was feeling, but abandonment was probably too weak.