Dark, Twisted and Time Turned

Chapter 12: The Ministry of Magic

(*Warning: discussion of war, sexism)

The Ministry of Magic was far different then she recalled from her brief visit in the 90s. The building wasn't half as dingy as she remembered; in fact, it very much resembled the British Parliament building. She pushes away her questions as to what happens, knowing she didn't want to know the answer. The entry way was heavily guarded, the air shimmering with magical wards. No one could find this place if they hadn't been here before, and even then, the wards would stop them from apparating closely.

She walks from her place on the very outskirts, digging through her bag until she finds the papers sent to her, presenting them to the guards at the doors. The signature of the Minister of Financial and Lineage Inheritance unlocked the door for her. It was quite a long title, for someone who didn't exist in the future.

A small blue bracelet wraps around her wrist, as they admit her in. A visiting symbol, that would dampen some of her magic while inside. Ingenious. She stares around as she walks through the atrium. As she had suspected, the ministry workers milling about dressed in a blend of muggle and wizard fashion, all in black and white shades.

Hermione followed the sign pointing her towards the Inheritance office, a tiny little wing of cubicles quietly tucked away in one of the back corners of the ministry. There were a few hushed conversations, as most of the business in the Inheritance department was legal matters. However, Hermione walks right past the cubicles and knocks on the door of Julien Scoffret, the head of the department. The minister himself, as this was a very special case.

There had not been a confirmed descendent of Hector Dagworth-Granger in nearly a hundred years. His line, it was presumed, died off. Yet Hermione emerges from nowhere, with no history, claiming heritage, which even she could tell was suspicious. The shock that had apparently rippled through the Wizarding community had sent her straight to the head of the snake. She had seen something about a witch claiming heritage several times in the prophet, though none of them, thankfully, mentioned her first name.

She checks her reflection in the shiny plaque before being called into the office. It was well furnished and rather spacious, with tones of red accenting the cherrywood desk, which took up most of one half of the room. And there behind the desk, was a middle aged, auburn haired man.

"Mr Minister." She says curtly, and he gives her a smile over his paperwork. "Miss Hermione Granger, sir. Here about the Granger estate and inheritance."

"Miss Granger! I will not lie when I say I have been anticipating meeting you; thank you for travelling during the current circumstances." He stands and shakes her gloved hand, of which she had borrowed from Phyllis Burke. "We were not aware there were any remaining descendants. We searched to no avail."

"My family did love to travel," she gives a wry smile as her shoulders burn, and the lies came easily. "I was born in Romania, and I believe we stayed there a few years before moving to America. It was long enough for my mother to remove any of my documents from their intelligence."

"Yes, Headmaster Dippet had mentioned something about that. Would you care to elaborate?" She was thankful to the calming draught as she lied again,

"They forbade me from magic. It was around the time Grindelwald was coming into power, and I assume they were paranoid. We moved into England a two years ago. We exclusively lived in Muggle towns, and the muggle war- well, there was an air raid, and neither of them got out. I took a wand, and my trunk, and I ran."

"I'm so very disappointed to hear that, Miss Granger. Now, to the matter at hand, I assume you have evidence supporting your claim?"

"I do, Mr. Minister. " She extracts several papers from her satchel, some copies of what she had already sent, and hands them across the table. He takes a moment to flip through the papers, giving each a glance over. She looks around the room as he does, catching sight of a newspaper under several documents, the headline something about a woman claiming the Dagworth-Granger seat in the Wizengamot. She nearly snorts a laugh; she had no intention of sitting on that awful council. "The papers found out rather quick, don't you think?" He glances up at her comment.