LITTLE MISS MUDBLOOD – ACT 2 : SCENE 1 : CHAPTER 50
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"W-What are you trying to say?" Y/N said nervously, though she already knew what the man meant. In fact, she's known all along, ever since that Patronus lesson, when she had the vision.
"Dada?"
A tall, burly man turned from the nursery door, looking back at Y/N with sad eyes. A quaint and familiar woman standing next to him burst into tears and Y/N, feeling rather attached to the woman, reached out for her, saying, "Mama?"
The young woman went to go reach for Y/N but the man, with a single tear glistening down his cheek, held her back. He clutched her tightly to his side and pulled out a long stick-looking thing, pointing it at Y/N. Frowning, she cowered next to the little baby with bushy hair next to her.
"Obliviate."
It had been obvious since then. She was not, in fact, Jacob and Elizabeth Granger's daughter, nor was she Hermione Granger's twin. Rather, she was the eldest daughter of Monica and Alexander Grace, the big sister of Anthony Grace, and the only niece of Annabella Parrish.
It was coincidental that she knew all four of them.
"Misses Grace, if you will," said the tall, dark wizard, gesturing towards the barrier. "We must find your brother."
Y/N swallowed down a lump in her throat as she gazed at Hermione, who had a shocked look on her face. Finally, she left her cart with her fa- Mr. Granger, and ran through the barrier, the tall wizard hot on her heels. Together, they looked around, searching for a mop of brown hair.
They finally found him just getting off the Hogwarts Express, a grin on his face as he bid good-bye to his friends. He turned, and a surprised look flashed over his face as he came face-to-face with Y/N and the tall wizard.
"Y/N – Mr. Shacklebolt – how are you?" he said, smiling. The grin faded as he saw their stoic faces. "What's the matter?"
Something clicked in Y/N's mind. She thought about Professor Trelawney's prediction, and how it applied to her and the situation.
Change will come at the end of the train.
The train ride home – it was confirmed that Y/N was Monica and Alexander's daughter, that was the change.
Be prepared, for it will come with an abundance of pain. Not for you, I don't think, but another's heart will surely sink.
Mr. Shacklebolt had said he was sorry for Y/N's loss . . . which only meant – oh, no! Monica and Alexander Grace . . . they were dead? But surely –
Y/N's heart gave a great heave as she looked at Anthony's face – he was . . . her brother? And he had known their parents all his life and –
The first three must stay, but the last two go away.
Y/N figured she had been talking about Y/N's last name. The first three letters, 'Gra' obviously stayed, and the 'er' was dropped. . . 'ng' was changed to 'ce' . . . at least, that's what Y/N thought –
"You two must come with me, at once, please," said Mr. Shacklebolt, who took Anthony's trunks and owl and placed them on a trolley. He walked with great strides – Y/N had to run to keep up with him, and Anthony was asking many questions as they practically ran through the barrier.
They joined the Grangers once more, who were silent as they followed Mr. Shacklebolt, Y/N, and Anthony to a small black car.
Soon, they were on the road, not one of them speaking a word as Mr. Shacklebolt drove. The full effect of the sudden change hadn't hit Y/N yet, but that could be because of how long she already knew. Today only confirmed her suspicions.
It was a hasty blur of events as the Grangers and Graces were transported from the Muggle world to the Minister for Magic's office. Y/N barely remembers squeezing into a telephone box that descended straight down like a lift and arriving at the atrium, from which they took an actual lift, all the way down to the first floor, where thick purple carpets covered the floor and mahogany doors led to offices.
Y/N and Anthony now sat directly in front of the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, whose head hung in his hands and his lime-green bowler sat on his desk, carelessly upturned. His deep sigh rang out through the soundless office, and his hands rubbed through his rumpled grey hair, pulling lightly with nerves. He peered up at Y/N and Anthony through sorrowful eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak when a soft knock disturbed the near-silence. Fudge's eyes flicked to the door.
"Come in," he said shortly and snippily, sitting up straight and flipping his lime-green bowler back onto his head.
A grey-haired, slim witch marched through the door, face impassive as she strode through the chairs to place a large briefcase on Fudge's desk. He gave her a curt nod and her nostrils flared slightly, but she marched right back out of the office, swinging the door behind her. It gave a loud slam, startling Y/N.
Fudge finally spoke.
"Monica Grace, Alexander Grace, and Annabella Parrish . . . are dead," he said grimly, watching Y/N and Anthony's faces.
Anthony gasped, and his hands tightened around the arms of the chair. His foot tapped against the carpet-clad floors in one-eighth second intervals and his mouth hung open, disbelief written all over his face as he stared at Fudge, who continued,
"They were killed by two dark wizards, who we've caught and imprisoned at once," he recited monotonously. "We're very sorry for your loss –"
"Sorry?" Anthony chuckled darkly. He slowly stood, fists clenched by his side as he stood as rigid as ever, towering over Fudge. A trickle of blood ran through his fingers. "You're sorry? I want them dead! I want –"
"Anthony," Y/N whispered, pulling the boy back into his seat. He looked at her, desperation in his cloudy, rage-filled eyes. "Anthony, let him speak."
"But –"
A quick look from Y/N silenced him. Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat, fingers clenching as he reached for his wand. Shakily picking it up, he tapped the briefcase on his desk thrice, muttering something incoherent under his breath as he did so. It swung open at once, a light mist coming from it.
"I shall now read you the wills of Monica and Alexander Grace and Annabella Parrish," he said dully, and pulled out two sheets of parchment. Mr. Shacklebolt took copies of the wills and handed them out to everyone in the room – the witnesses.
Fudge cleared his throat, slipping on a pair of reading glasses.
"Of Monica and Alexander's will, I shall read request number one: 'Y/N Elizabeth Grace will be Anthony's caretaker until he reaches the age of seventeen,'" said Fudge. He peered over the rim of his glasses, and Y/N couldn't help but think Fudge was trying to imitate Professor Dumbledore. "However, seeing as you are a minor, you must have an adult over the age of twenty-one in the household over-seeing the both of you. Anybody in mind?"
Y/N swallowed. Something bubbled in her throat, something unpleasant. She spoke, "Yes – my Grandmother Gertrude."
"Do you really want to do that?" whispered Hermione behind Y/N. Fudge looked at Y/N, asking the same question. She nodded.
"Moving on . . . request number two: 'Y/N Elizabeth Grace will inherit absolutely all of the Grace Property and possessions, as Anthony Alexander Grace will inherit absolutely all of the Gaunt Property and possessions,'" read Fudge. He looked up at Y/N.
She nodded her understanding.
"Request number three: 'Y/N Elizabeth Grace will inherit three-fourths of the money associated with the Grace family name, and Anthony Alexander Grace will inherit one-fourth of the money associated with the Grace family name, as it is the reverse of the money associated with the Gaunt family name,'" he stated, and Y/N nodded.
"Request number four: 'If Y/N Elizabeth Grace were to receive the will when under the age of sixteen, Monica and Alexander Grace request that she is taught to apparate, in case of any emergency,'" Fudge cited. He looked up, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "The Ministry normally would not allow this to be placed in a will, however, we cannot deny the heirs of both Slytherin and Merlin. Therefore, we allow this request to be passed through. You, although, have the option to decline."
"I accept," Y/N said quickly, crossing her ankles. Fudge sighed and continued.
"Request number five: 'Monica Grace, as rightful owner to the locket of Slytherin, leaves it in Y/N Elizabeth Grace's possession,'" he read. Fudge's jaw ticked. "The Ministry, at the moment, has no access to the locket of Slytherin."
"And why not?" Hermione questioned, but Mrs. Granger quickly shushed her.
"That's a good question," said Y/N sourly, crossing her arms.
Fudge stuttered. "W-Well, someone stole it, I'm sure, but then again, the M-Ministry never had possession of it in the f-first place –"
"Get on with the will," Y/N almost snapped, tired of Fudge's bullcrap.
"Y-yes, of course," he said quickly, adjusting his glasses and picking up the paper again. "Request number six: 'Alexander Grace, as rightful owner to the Coin of Merlin, leaves it in Y/N Elizabeth Grace's possession.' Now that, we do have."
Cornelius Fudge pulled a box from the briefcase, sliding it slowly across the desk. Y/N looked at him suspiciously before taking the box, laying it in her lap and opening it.
A silver, Galleon-shaped coin rested in the center of the box, a similar-colored chain weaved through a loop in the top. Y/N peered at it. She had seen the portrait of Merlin in the Common Room many times, but she didn't realize she was related to him. The same portrait had been carved on the coin, his white beard reaching his feet, a staff held tightly in his hand . . . on the back were the ancient runes for 'Protect and Survive', the same runes etched on the side of her own wand.
Y/N placed the necklace around her neck, tucking it down her shirt, and she prompted Fudge to continue.
"Request number seven: 'Y/N, as first-born to Monica and Alexander Grace, is subject to receive and own the Grace Agriculture and Animal Breeding business, which is overseen and co-owned by professionals,'" stated Fudge. He looked up at her. Y/N, although very confused, nodded curtly, and he continued, "Request number eight: 'The Ministry of Magic is not to touch or take anything that belongs to the Grace family name, as everything clearly and certainly belongs to Y/N Elizabeth and Anthony Alexander Grace, no matter how young or naive they may be.'"
Y/N almost grinned. The Ministry was notorious for their manipulative ways, where they try to find a loophole so they could claim stuff that didn't belong to them. This way, they couldn't take anything of their, and Y/N was proud her parents thought of that.
"Request number nine: 'Y/N Elizabeth Grace will keep the traditions of the Grace family name, and will also have the respect of the Wizarding World and the Ministry of Magic.'"
A wave of overwhelming responsibility crashed over Y/N. Keep the traditions? What were they? How many were there? And how difficult would it be to keep up with them?
"Of Annabella Parrish's will," Fudge continued on, flipping his page. They followed. "Request number one: 'Y/N Elizabeth Grace will inherit Annabella's Bookshop and Library, and all the books and property within."
Y/N smiled grimly, nodding.
"Request number two: 'Y/N Elizabeth and Anthony Alexander Grace will split all possessions of Annabella Parrish between them fifty-fifty,'" said Fudge, and he slipped the wills back into the briefcase. The papers in their hands were ripped out by an invisible force, and they flew into the briefcase along with the original wills. Fudge turned to Y/N and Anthony.
"We shall resume this tomorrow," he said tiredly, pulling off his glasses. He turned to the Granger family. "Thank you for being witnesses. You are dismissed."
Mr. Shacklebolt led them out of the office and Y/N, staring after her ex-family, felt a lump build up in her throat as the door swung shut. She turned back to Fudge, swallowing deeply.
"Y/N . . . Anthony . . . I truly am sorry for what happened to your parents," said Fudge sorrowfully, looking at them with serious eyes. "I know it's all of a sudden, especially for you, Y/N, but there was no other way to tell you two. I –"
"How come I didn't know Monica and Alexander were my real parents?" Y/N interrupted, the thought fresh on her mind. "How come I was raised as a Granger, and not a Grace?"
Fudge sighed, looking out his window. The sky had darkened considerably, with the sun nearly set and the moon rising high. His eyes flickered uncertainly over the shadowed landscape briefly before finding Y/N. He frowned.
"They were frightened," he said slowly, toying with the brim of his lime-green bowler. He checked his watch, and his eyes widened to the size of small saucers. "Of . . . You-Know-Who. They thought he was going to try and murder you, Y/N, so they gave you to the Grangers, who lived in a small town and had a Muggle-born girl your age. They had already obliviated themselves from your life, and had wanted to tell you when you turned seventeen. H-however, with their death, we had to tell you sooner so you could take over your inheritance."
"But -"
"I'm afraid we'll have to pick this up tomorrow, Miss Grace," Fudge said hurriedly, scrambling around his peculiarly tiny office. He snapped his case shut with a bang. "We'll have to go over everything regarding legal issues tomorrow morning, then start your apparition lessons in the afternoon. Considering it's you, that should be finished by evening tea and we'll be able to discuss other important matters such as your roles as the Head of the Grace Household. G'day, and Kingsley should be with you in a hot second."
He scurried to the door, throwing his overcoat and lime-green bowler on. Hastily, he swung open the door, tipped his hat to Y/N and Anthony, and left without a second thought. The tall man entered the room again.
"Shall we, then?" he said, gesturing our the door.
Y/N and Anthony stood, making for the door. Mr. Shacklebolt led them through the purple-carpeted area and to the same lift they came from, and nobody spoke a word as they were lifted up to the atrium. They took the visitor's exit, where they were met with a shiny black limousine. Mr. Shacklebolt held the door open for them once again, and Y/N and Anthony climbed in.
Y/N noticed, as they took off, how luxurious the limousine was. Green velvet walls, black Moroccan leather seats . . . it made Y/N wonder what was in store for her. Obviously a luxurious life, but what did she have to sacrifice for it?
It took a couple of hours to get to their destination – and Y/N figured they weren't going the speed limit. Most likely way over, because it looked like they were a good ways' off from Penzance, which was around five and a half hours from London. It had taken them all of two hours to get there.
Dazzling lights lit up the massive property they drove to. Y/N looked out her window to see a great stone castle standing proudly upon a small cliff, with pointed roofings and many stories lines with windows – windows with minimal light peeking through, illuminating its surroundings. Of what Y/N could see, the structure was simply stunning. It looked of royalty, like kings and queens and princesses and princes lived there – but they had, many years ago. Y/N has yet to learn of the history behind this gorgeous architectural dream.
The limousine pulled up to a closed silver gate, with guardposts on either side and burly men within the posts. One stepped out. His face displayed no emotion as he marched over and knocked on the driver's window, who rolled down the window Y/N was sitting at. The guard peered inside.
"Hand, please," he said gruffly, holding what looked like a scanner-thing.
Y/N reluctantly held up her hand, and the guard pressed the scanner to her palm. It made a weird sort of buzzing sound before it dinged – 'Y/N GRACE', it read. The guard nodded and did the same to Anthony and Mr. Shacklebolt; 'ANTHONY GRACE' and 'KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT' popped up, and the guard scanned the driver's hand before signaling to the other guards. With a light creak, the gates swung open and they drove through, following a gravel path with tall trees lining it.
Y/N looked around in awe. Perfectly shaped bushes and pathways formed a huge circle before the castle, and within it a great fountain laid, with sleeping ducks and a high spout. They drove the outer pathway and approached yet another set of gates, this time with no guards, but with a keypad. Mr. Shacklebolt slipped Y/N a folded index card, with eight numbers written upon it, and the driver drove up beside the keypad, lining it up with Y/N's window. She reached out, flicked open the case, and punched the numbers in, hearing a beep! with every key pressed.
The tall gates gave a heave and opened; the limousine silently drove up a hill, circling behind the castle and pulling into a car park which, as Y/N looked around, housed many many luxury cars, from Bentleys to Maseratis to Audis and more. Whew! Y/N couldn't even drive yet and she was still drooling over them.
Anthony led the way to a glass lift, pressing the up arrow repeatedly until a small ding! was heard, and the lift doors split open. With a sorrow-filled smile, he entered, allowing the doors to softly shut behind him. Back facing Y/N and Mr. Shacklebolt, he allowed the lift to carry him up, to someplace still unknown to Y/N.
"Where's he going?" whispered Y/N as her eyes followed the lift upwards.
"To mourn," said Shacklebolt shortly, and he clicked the up arrow of another lift. "Come. I'll show you your bedroom."
They entered the lift silently, the only sound being the steady rise of the lift, and the soft ding! of their arrival. The lift doors opened to a grand corridor; marble lined the floors, pillars sat along the walls, and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings. Mahogany doors alternated between the pillars, and massive windows were perched on the opposite side, allowing the minimal moonlight to pour into the corridor.
Mr. Shacklebolt led Y/N through the corridor, to the furthest door down. Just around it was another corridor, which led to a great set of stairs, spilling into a spectacular ballroom. Well, of what Y/N could see. The man opened the door for Y/N, giving her a tiny smile as she entered.
"Have a good night," he said, and shut the door behind her.
Y/N looked around. The walls had been painted a deep shade of green – almost like a juniper color, it was darker than emerald yet lighter than seaweed green. Gold borders lined the very top of the walls, and intricate leaf-like designs were painted on the ceiling and the wall with the king-sized bed, both gold in color as well. The bed itself was neatly made, and had a black headboard with a gold trim, as well as golden silk sheets with an ivory duvet.
The young Grace girl didn't understand what was with all of the gold. Was it a sign of wealth? She knew that back in the medieval days that gold was highly treasured, and if you had even a sliver of it then you'd be filthy rich.
She looked at the room once more. Massive windows lined a whole wall, and a pair of gorgeous french doors led to a precisely built balcony, overlooking the grand lake. Y/N, if she squinted hard enough, could see the beach over on the left side, and a quaint, Mediterranean-style village. Of course, they were far off from the Mediterranean sea, but perhaps the citizens didn't like English-style towns. Either way, it was a nice change of scenery.
Y/N passed many figurines and portraits as she sludged over to the bed, tired from the eventful day. Nothing had really sunk in yet, but what she had noticed was how much she missed the town of Heathgate. Mr. Adam, the mailman; Matthew McCrow, their milk provider; Graham Hopp Coffee Shop with the nice, cute waiter; and even Annabella's Bookshop and Library – even though Y/N now owned it, it brought tears to her eyes that the sweet, southern Annabella who used to own it was no longer there.
Kicking off her shoes and pulling off her jeans, Y/N didn't bother going through any of her nightly-care routines. Instead, she simply threw off her bra and pulled herself under the sheets and duvet, closing her eyes and hoping all of this would make sense in the morning.