Variance

Chapter Two: Readings

The sun shone through the window and fell upon the fragile face of the small girl. She wrinkled her nose and yawned as she turned away from the early morning light. As her mind replayed the previous day, it seemed merely a fanciful dream caused by too much sugar and television. She sighed and her eyes gradually opened, but the first object she saw caused her to shoot up excitedly. Maybe it wasn’t a dream after all, for her eyes landed upon three books, A Brief Expose on Recent Wizarding History, So You… Wait. Hermione frowned. Three books? She only had a few pounds on her yesterday and the exchange rate into wizarding money was very unfavorable, so she could only afford to buy two books. Why were there three on her desk?

She picked up the new book, titled Pillars of the World: Generational Pureblood Families and Their Family History. It was quite thick, bigger than either of her other choices. When she placed it in her lap, it fell open to a page bookmarked with a folded piece of thick paper with a very odd texture. Hermione glanced at the open page, one that seemed to deal with elite pureblood dress, and flipped open the unusual bit of paper.


Hermione Granger,

You do not know me, and I do not intend that you do so. I need neither your gratitude or your obeisance for my gift to you, for it is indeed a gift that will begin you on your new journey, to leave behind the mundane Muggle world for the wonders of the Wizarding.

Ah yes, child, you are definitely a witch.

I heard your story this day, but did not get a chance to speak with you to properly welcome you to your new society. Trust me, girl, now that you have awakened your powers you will find the Muggle existence cold and rewardless compared to the excitement of the Wizarding world to which you now belong. There is no doubt in my mind that you will receive in three years’ time a letter of admittance from the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in the meantime there is no reason why you cannot continue to grow in knowledge and information.

You are certainly quite a resourceful little girl to navigate Diagon Alley at such a tender age and I must congratulate you on your excellent choices of reading material. Both are adequate introductions for you, but I also insist that you read my selection for you in addition. It will give you a thorough grounding in basic Pureblood culture and customs, very important if you wish to make friends with the correct people.

However impressed I am with the success of your little foray into Diagon Alley, I must forewarn you that it cannot happen again. I am incapable of stressing enough how lucky you were to make it through safe, as it is all too easy to wander off of the safe path into a more dangerous area where a little girl untrained in magic is easy prey for various nefarious persons. You must not return there without a magical guardian there beside you to guide and protect you.

I am serious, little one. If I hear that you have wandered back into the Leaky Cauldron and further, then I will never send you another book or letter. You are on your own.

Yes, I do plan on helping you develop a thorough understanding of the fundamental basics of the Wizarding world. Perhaps it is because too many young witches and wizards from non-magical families get lost in mediocrity and thus I will not discard this opportunity.

If you wish to reply, leave a letter on your desk when you slumber and I will devise a way to retrieve and answer it as quickly as is possible.


Hermione rubbed the paper gently as her brow furrowed, deep in thought. Who could this mysterious anonymous writer be? She was certain that it could not be the rude man she had accosted the previous day. The blonde aristocrat, for that was how he acted, surely had better things to do with his valuable time and he had seemed disgusted with her. No, it had to be a bystander who had listened in on the one-sided conversation.

Satisfied with her reasoning, Hermione looked at the open page.

How to Recognize (and Show Proper Deference to) the Elite Pureblood Families

With fewer ancient pureblood families unsullied by new infusions of muggleborn or even half-bloods because of deep prejudice against the practice of doing so, the remaining families hold even greater power than when they were more numerous (the most recent loss being the marriage of pureblood paterfamilias James Potter to a muggleborn wife). Several prominent positions may legally be held only by a British male citizen of good standing with five generations of pureblood ancestors on both sides, or with both sides totaling ten generations of purity with one being no less than generations removed. If the citizen is female, the total count of pure generations must be fourteen with a single side being no less than five generations of purity. As a result of the declining pool of suitable candidates, many purebloods who meet the requirements take upon themselves multiple offices, with the current record held by Lord Lucius Malfoy at five simultaneously. While most of the positions are indeed powerless, a majority wield traditional influence and a few, such as the positions of governor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, indeed have a great deal of power and responsibility.

Within the past few decades, the question of blood purity became a central issue in society. Elite purebloods – differentiated from mere purebloods by a greater count of pure generations – realized as a group after the Fall of Grindelwald – and the relaxing of many prejudices against muggles and muggleborn on account of the declining overall population of the magical - that their numbers were in a seeming freefall. Most were quite alarmed, while others, most notably the Weasleys and Prewetts, embraced the new changes and welcomed muggleborns with cautiously open arms. Those Elite who despised the relaxing of attitudes, led by the Malfoy progenitors, viewed their own heritage as rife with achievement and necessitating great pride in it. This started a counter-cultural movement as many Elite chose to revert back to many ancient traditions and customs, including dress, and renewed the emphasis on proper forms of address and manners. There are some families, however, that keep to the old customs but do not share the same prejudices, most notably the Dumbledore line, nonetheless, the most strict revisionists consider the disregarding of the reestablished practices towards themselves a dire offense.

The offending of a minor member of an Elite family can often be forgiven, such as a distant relative to the patriarch, except under special circumstances in which said paterfamilias has formally taken the relative or friend into his protection. Any offense against a protected person or the head himself, however, can be construed as a calculated insult and often retributive actions are taken as a result. Luckily, there are few Elite heads who insist on the following of the most stringent of customs and the identification of the patriarchs is simple.

When greeting an Elite head, it is considered offensive to speak first. Instead, it is the decision of the head whether or not to acknowledge the greeter, who makes his presence known by a removal of the hat and a slight bow depending on the relationship between the two. A nod of the head is often sufficient acknowledgement from the Elite to encourage further conversation. It is recommended, however, that a stranger not seek to engage any paterfamilias which is easy enough to do when one knows the identifying features. The most obvious indication of the Elite heads is the length of hair, as traditionally he wears it loose and allows it to grow often past his shoulders or even longer…

Hermione gasped. That blonde man in the Leaky Cauldron, the description of an Elite pureblood matched him completely. What if she had deeply offended him? It sounded as if he likely had a great deal of power and influence. She flipped to see if there was a table of contents in the book, but it seemed to her that the Wizarding world was not on par with the muggle world in terms of organization. And dry, stuffy reading. She quickly paged through the book, looking at chapter titles.

Elite: The Dumbledores

That looked promising. At least it was on the subject she wanted. If she had truly offended a venerable personage, then she at least wanted to know who it was. Hermione skimmed the description of the Dumbledore family and noted that the current head, an Albus Dumbledore, was the headmaster at Hogwarts. She continued to thumb through the book.

Elite: The Weasleys

Elite: The Flitwicks (disputed)

Elite: The Parkinsons

Elite: The Blacks

Elite: The Potters (until recently)

Elite: The Malfoys

This description caught her eye.

Elite: The Malfoys
Descended from Malfoi, descended from Malte

Associated with power and wealth, the House of Malfoy prides itself on being arguable the most visible and strict adherents to the Elite pureblood customs of old. Originating from Scandinavia, more specifically modern Norway, in 911 the last remaining member of the family, Hrafn Malte, fought with Rollo in Gaul, modern France, and was ceded a large territory when the muggle King Charles the Simple granted Normandy to the invaders. In 1065, the head of the Malte House, angered French wizarding society when he openly threw his support behind blood purist and Dark Lord Du Sang. When Du Sang was defeated in 1066, Malte joined the wizarding contingent of the Norman Invasion of England – for the wizards at that time took advantage of the fact that the Saxon wizards would be highly distracted by the muggle war – largely to escape the incensed French purebloods. It is written that the French Wizard King, upon hearing of Malte’s deception, lamented, “It is better to have ten Dark Lords in front than a single ally of bad faith[mal foi] in the rear.” When Malte received word of the King’s remarks, it is reported that he laughed and took the name Mal foi, or Malfoi, as a badge of honor.

As muggle William, Duke of Normandy, conquered Saxon England, Malfoi was one of the advisers in the invasion of the Saxon wizards and was highly rewarded with a wealth of land. Over time, the Norman-French language and Saxon Old English influenced one another, and Malfoi became Anglecanized into Malfoy.

Hermione closed the book as she considered the new information. A knot in the pit of her stomach formed as she realized that the blonde man in the Leaky Cauldron was likely the head of the Malfoy family. Not only a pureblood, but an Elite, and she had not only insulted him by not following customs, but she offered him her name! She groaned and shoved her face into her pillow as she realized that there was probably now a prejudiced Elite with a vendetta against her. There was no way to fix it, she decided, but could only do her best so it wouldn’t happen again.

After a quick breakfast, Hermione made her way outside to sit underneath her favorite tree with her new book.

+++

After many years of marriage to Narcissa, Lucius could tell when she wanted to broach a difficult subject. It was a pinched look combined with lines around her pursed lips, and as he idly flipped through the Daily Prophet, he mused that one day her face might freeze in that expression as she seemed to be using it more often lately. He nodded in approval to his son Draco as the boy painstakingly cut up his sausage by himself. Draco sat up even straighter in his chair and continued with a bright smile.
“Lucius.” He paused, his cup of tea halfway to his lips. He resumed drinking leisurely and carefully patted his mouth with a pristine napkin before he answered with a drawl of, “Narcissa.”
“Lucius, I must discuss the matter of Draco’s acquaintances.”
“Of whom do you speak?” he responded, seemingly bored.
“All of them. I know there are few children with the appropriate bloodline, but surely he can do better than that simpering Parkinson girl and those dullards Crabbe and Goyle.”
Draco looked up from his plate in disgust. “Crabbe and Goyle are boring. I don’t like them, and Pansy is such a girl.”
“Draco, you are not involved in this conversation,” Lucius rebuked. Draco flushed and morosely continued to eat. “Narcissa, it is good for him to cultivate his followers at such an age. He is Malfoy, and I will not have him tainted with the wrong sort before it is necessary he be exposed. However, perhaps you have a point. I suppose the Zabini boy is the next most appropriate.”
“No! You know I don’t trust that woman. She is on her fifth husband, the past four dying under mysterious conditions.”
“Yet her lineage is pure, as was the father of the boy.”
“A foreign wizard, Lucius, nearly as inadequate as one of the insufferable Weasels, pureblood but entirely unsuitable. No, I will not have it!”
“You want Draco to increase his circle yet you wish to include such undesirables? My, my, Narcissa.” He shook his head mournfully. He felt a thrill of triumph over besting her once again in their verbal skirmishes, yet it was followed closely by a pervasive fatigue. These domestic fencings were commonplace and he felt an urge to sigh. Instead, he let a faint smile play on his lips while Narcissa soured.
Lucius felt an uncharacteristic desire to flee the oppressive atmosphere. Theirs was a marriage of convenience and he had long tired of her presence and pretensions, though usually he took pleasure in provoking his wife. Today, however, he could not discard the notion of visiting his newest acquisition, the mudblood. Feeling the weight of his son’s anxious glances and Narcissa’s pointed glares, he made a quick decision.
“I have business today,” he announced as he strode out of the room, ignoring her with haughty disdain the way only a Malfoy could, and accompanied by the growing feeling that he was in a trap of his own making.
+++
An old crone stared out the window of her small apartment, watching her rubbish bins. For days, her bins had been knocked over by an animal, emptying it and strewing the trash in a most unsightly manner.
“Likely those nasty little children,” she liked to tell anyone who feigned interest, or rather anyone she encountered, “but I’ll catch them one of these days.”
She sat at the window with a cuppa in her hands surrounded by her cats as she guarded her bins. Then, she blinked. A blonde in flowing black cloths appeared where none should have been, right out of thin air.
“Aliens! I told you, Mr. Fluffles, it’s a government conspiracy,” she whispered savagely as she turned to a feline companion. The crone turned back to berate the rubbish scavenger, but he was gone as if he had never existed.
She looked in the alley and at her bins, then at her cuppa, then back again. She shuffled over to the sink to pour it out, saying, “You were right, Mr. Fluffles, no more, that brew doesn’t agree with me”
+++

Lucius apparated to the alley near Granger’s house and rapped himself over the head with the Disillusionment charm as soon as he landed. He sneered at the muggle-ness of the area, more obvious in the daylight. The uniform houses, prudishly manicured lawns, all of them offended his lofty sensibilities. He resisted an urge to kick over the rubbish bins, instead settling for elegantly sweeping past them towards his destination.
Lucius spotted the girl outside the house as she read under the spreading leaves of an old tree. His mouth tightened in displeasure when he noticed the title of the book displayed for all of the neighborhood to see. While not the most overtly magical, it was bound to raise a few eyebrows from meddling muggles. The thought that it likely had been his prerogative to charm the cover crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. The chit should have known better than to remove it from her room, let alone the residence itself.
Taking out his wand to change his appearance to something more nondescript and then to reveal himself, he stopped as he noticed two boys approaching the oblivious girl. The taller of the two announced their presences as he ripped the book from her hands and the second pushed her to the ground, obviously haranguing the girl.
Lucius finished the temporary appearance charm; his golden hair turned a dark brown and his sharp features softened. He wanted to see the actions of his new interest, so he waited before revealing himself.
Hermione, initially confused by the sudden onslaught, shot to her feet and demanded the book back. The boys laughed and the holder of the text slowly and callously ripped out pages, taunting her. In defense of the precious tome, she launched herself at him, fists awkwardly but intently pummeling him. Lucius heard his startled yelp from his position several houses down, and smirked. Though she resorted to undesirable muggle methods, she used the tools available to her in an outright Gryffindor roar of defiance. Then again, he mused, even snakes struck back when cornered.
Leaving the issue of her future Sorting for later perusing, Lucius dropped the disillusionment charm and gracefully strode towards the quarreling trio. As he neared them, he began to distinguish the shrill voice of Granger as she promised swift death to the foolhardy wankers for ruining her book.
She must have seen movement out of the corner of her eye, for as he drew near, she quickly ceased her death threats and swinging fists and self-consciously straightened her shirt and jeans.
The boys did not see his approach, their attentions and taunts still on the girl. One of them boldly stepped forward and shoved her to the ground in retribution for the rapidly growing bruise on his eye.
At the look in her outraged eyes, Lucius acted swiftly. He grabbed both boys by the back of their necks, careful to hit the sensitive pressure points.
“Hey!” they shouted, twisting in pain.
He turned them to look him in the face. Lucius raised his voice to cut off the hastily accusing voices as they blamed the girl for provoking them, for starting the fight, for their poor marks in school, and for all the ills of the free world.
“Do not attempt to persuade me that my eyes lie, boys. I am well aware of who began this altercation.” He shook them roughly when they protested. The fools did not know when to shut up. “I see why you are jealous of this girl, for it is obvious she possesses more intelligence than the both of you combined. Now,” he said as he gripped an arm in a crushing grasp, “you will apologize to her, thank me for showing you the error of your ways, and go home. Never touch her, talk to her, or even think of her, else you will deal with me. Again.”
He released them harshly and the two boys ran off, not looking back. They didn’t dare stay in his presence any longer. In a few days, they would skulk back to Granger’s house to sullenly apologize, or perhaps leave a note for her to find. They did not want to know the consequences of disobeying the tall man with the cold eyes and cutting voice.
Hermione looked at the man, her eyes wide with surprise. “Thank you so much, sir,” she said earnestly, though looking at her torn gift with sadness.
Lucius ignored her, but picked up the book and the torn pages. Turning his back to the nearest house, he replaced the pages in their rightful spots and withdrew his wand, carefully drawing it along the rips and tears, mending them.
“Was it you?” he heard her ask excitedly. Finished, he tapped the book one last time with his and, placing a Notice-Me-Not charm on it, shoved it in her direction.
“You should have known better, girl, than to take this outside where dirty eyes can see it,” he said tersely.
Hermione, struck by the coldness of her rescuer, wilted as she rubbed her dirty hands on her jeans before accepting the book. She had met the nice man with magic, the one who had gone out of his way to help her learn about her new world, but she could only manage to irritate him. Clutching the book to herself, she nodded and apologized in a small voice, thanking him again for fixing it.
He eyed her. Lucius had approved of her avid defense of the tome. Knowledge was power, and book-learning was a powerful tool. It boded well that she protected her book, her slip in bringing it outside notwithstanding, and he was sure that he had curtailed that activity of hers.
Lucius nodded shortly to the girl. Abruptly, he turned and strode back towards the dim alley to apparate back home, wondering if he was wasting his time with the small mudblood.