Court Cases and Cafes

Ch. 14

"Alright, then," Scrimgeour announced pompously, "Anyone for tea? Biscuits?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Hermione murmured quietly.

"Let's just get this over with, shall we? I have a hair appointment in two hours. Chop chop, Minister," Narcissa complained shrilly.

Lucius nodded. "It would be prudent to get on with it, Minister."

"Right. Well, as you know, the mental state of your son, Draco Malfoy, is in question, and that is what we are here to discuss. Miss Granger?"

Hermione straightened her papers on the table. In the weeks since her first visit to Hermana Oscura, a tent had been put up, much like the one she had stayed in at the World Cup. it was homely, and looked a little bare, as though it had been cleaned by a visitor long gone.

"I have done some researching, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and as you know, the bipolar disease can only be inherited from a parent. If you or your son is allowed to be tested by a Muggle doctor-" Narcissa made an indignant noise, "-and is proven to have this disease, then it will be very easy to procure a significantly shorter term for your son, at the very least."

"And on what basis are we trusting said Muggle doctor?" Lucius inquired in a nasty tone.

"Now, really, Malfoy-" Scrimgeour began, but Hermione cut him off, rising grandly to the occasion.

"Mr. Malfoy, I am a Muggle, and I was trusted with one of the most precious material things on this planet, and that is magic. Muggles are not idiotic. They are not fumbling dolts. They have survived without magic since the dawn of time, and I daresay they have made at least seven times the advancements wizardkind has made. So before you go of on an anti-Muggle tangent, remember what I say. And keep in mind what happened the last time anyone not of pure-blood was considered inferior. You and your family were almost destroyed. Drop the rubbish and at least strive to become a decent human being for ONCE in your life, so that we can get through this."

Her facial expression dared the eldest Malfoy to challenge her. She was at least a head shorter than he, yet the slight witch more than made up for it simply with a look.

"Well, Ms. Granger, someone's got an attitude, haven't they?" he said with mock politeness. A branch cracked in the roaring wind. Hermione half expected Scrimgeour to object, or Narcissa to back up her husband, but they were still, like statues.

She rounded on Lucius.

"What have you done, you-"

But Lucius Malfoy was frozen in place.

And with that, the youngest Malfoy sauntered in, hands bound behind his back.

Hermione found that the source of that crack had not been a branch in the ever-strengthening wind, but the arrival of Malfoy and his guards at Hermana Oscura.

"Please don't hurt my father, Granger. I rather like the benefits of his money, and if he dies, it goes to Mum first, and we all know she'll never kick the bucket."

She held her head in her hands.

Sweet baby Jesus, I implore you: please save this poor witch from whatever devils are playing this cruel joke on me.

"Oh come now, Granger, I'm just having fun. Also, you think really loud. Could you tone it down a bit? I've got a little ache in my head."

She gave him a withering glare, and he chuckled, guessing her thoughts. "I don't think I'm as bad as all that."

"Oh yes you are. Now unfreeze them."

He looked behind him. "I rather like the Stagge siblings where they are, thanks. My wrists still burn from that mute girl."