Certain Dark Things || Book Five

xlvii. abstain

The reality of time running out didn't truly hit Hermione until Harriet received her robes in the post.

Their fifth year at Hogwarts was passing them in a blur of secretive activities, furtive letters, and heavy homework assignments. Hermione enjoyed the distraction of it, barely noticing how the month passed, how the weather chilled and the world faded to hues of gray and brown. She kept writing to people she could hardly recall the names of, and every missive snuck into the school from Mr. Malfoy reminded her of the fast-approaching solstice, but it truly didn't hit Hermione until that very moment.

They sat together on Harriet's bed, the curtains drawn closed for privacy, though none of the other girls were about. Hermione had her legs crossed and the sleeve of her jumper pulled to her elbow, revealing the ugly, demeaning scar left behind by that rat Lestrange. Elara held the arm in her lap, one hand on her wand, the other holding open one of those grimoires Harriet said felt disgusting to touch. Elara would tap the wand's tip to one of the scarred letters, mutter an incantation, then grumble under her breath.

Given the nature of the curse in the injury and Elara's own bloodline, she hoped to clear the residual Dark magic from the ropey, distorted skin, so it could be healed fully. Hermione doubted it was possible regardless of Elara being a Black, but she consented to spend her Saturday morning being poked and prodded. Harriet had scrunched herself into the corner by the footboard, wrapped in a blanket and her familiar. Crooks had sauntered over on his bandy legs to inspect, though he left a healthy distance between himself and the possessive Horned Serpent.

Winky popped into existence, a package held above her head.

"Winky is having a package for Miss Harry!" she squeaked. Harriet extracted herself from her cozy nest to accept it, swatting Livius' nose away from Winky's arm.

"Thanks," she said around a yawn. "Hmm. Doesn't have a note."

"It's being from the Headmaster, Miss!"

"Huh." Harriet tore the wrapping along the seam and peeled aside the top flap. The lighting wasn't bright, but Hermione spotted the distinct plum color right off. "Blegh. I forgot about that."

"Those are Wizengamot robes," Hermione said aloud, her thoughts otherwise grinding to a halt. "But of course they're Wizengamot robes. You're going to vote."

The reality of the vote for Minister being days away shocked Hermione in a visceral way, and for a second, she couldn't breathe.

"Are they allowing you to vote without an adult proxy then?" Elara asked, looking up from Hermione's arm.

"Yeah. Professor Dumbledore explained it a bit more in-depth to me in our last lesson." Harriet wrinkled her nose as she pulled the robes from the wrapping. "He's held the votes for my family in stasis since—y'know. And it's not usual to let a minor into the Wizengamot, but being the very last person in the family makes an exception. When there's literally nobody else, they don't have much of a choice but to let me vote on something like this."

Elara nodded along with what she said. "I wish I could attend. They're being rather strict about who can enter the chamber this vote."

"I would guess they're always strict about it when it comes to the vote for Minister. Are you all right, Hermione—?"

Both witches startled when Hermione scrambled off the bed, yanking open the hangings.

"But the vote can't be so soon!" she cried, diving for her carrel. She shoved aside stacks of books and parchment to find the binder she sought, stray notes spilling around its bulging seam. "I haven't received confirmation from so many people yet! The Macmillans haven't answered, and the Clagg's are still on the fence. Gaunt's Omega party still has far too many votes!"