o0Oo Scene Ten oO0o

Author's Notes (7/29/13):

Okay…wasn't expecting the first real flames for this series regarding the last chapter.

To 'Procusi' who somehow insinuated that I would enjoy raping and torturing people like Hermione was in Scene 9, I would just like to say that my mind/imagination takes me to some dark places but just because I can picture something doesn't mean I would perform anything remotely resembling the acts depicted in the last chapter. I frankly find that insinuation insulting and unwarranted. While I should not need to defend my actions to anyone other than myself in this case I will: the gratuitous gore and violence in the previous scene was placed there to show just how far dark the original timeline became after Harry disappeared. Without darkness there can be no light. I wrote that segment because I needed to contextualize the stakes involved in Harry's destined battle with Voldemort. As for 'Procusi's claim that the fic "reads like it is being written by a virgin teenage boy whose only sexual experiences are overheard conversations in the locker room and whose mind has not developed enough sophistication to be able to distinguish between quality and quantity – 'spraying cum is c00l, so spraying buckets of cum will be really c00l', I can only say that I have a singularly perverted imagination and that I don't think spraying cum is 'c001' (Leet-speak, really? We aren't in the 90's anymore…) that particular image is erotic to me and this is my fic so I can't help but infuse elements of myself into the work. I realize that it isn't for everybody and I accept that but I do have a rather broad…palate…for sexual experiences under my belt. Sure in real life you wouldn't be shooting semen like Harry did but we also wouldn't be flying brooms or apparating. Your argument is childish and pointless as were your comments. If you read the previous chapters you had no issue with Harry's issue during the Narcissa/Bellatrix sequence, no issue with the amount he came all over the floor before Walburga entered the bedroom, and certainly no problem with him apparently screwing a 12-year old Narcissa! Double standards…

To 'george17' I will simply reiterate the fact that the darkness of the previous scene is justified by its purpose in the story, a purpose that will be revealed in this scene. The fic is a fic about war, a war between wizards, a war between classes, and a war between the baser instincts of men and civility. I'm only elaborating on the darkness JK wrote about in the background. 'george17' also wrote that he "quit reading after your pathetic little Voldemort/Hermione rape and torture sequence. And, no I have no desire to discuss this with you" which seems funny to me since Voldemort didn't rape Hermione, in fact aside from torturing and killing her he had no hand in her humiliations before she was dragged into his throne room. And I don't think the sequence was 'pathetic' or 'little' at all, it was a longish scene and it gave us new information regarding the state of the world in Harry's original timeline. The scene doesn't have any delusions of grandeur…it is a functional sequence and a telling one for Hermione's character. As for his belief that "This was a fun fic until you totally changed it into something dark and disgusting with no warning" I will concede that the darkness was rather extreme and that a warning would have been in order (and has since been included in the edits to the previous scene) but I will defend that the darkness was always in the fic. I may write with a deft hand but make no mistake, my worlds are red in tooth and claw.

I will also note that both 'Procusi' and 'george17' are both readers only, and opinionated ones at that by a cursory examination of their profiles. They are not writers, they are not participants, they are spectators. I encourage them to try their hand at fanfiction and write stories the way they want to write but until such a time they'll just have to ignore my little story as they both indicated they would. Such is the life of flames in my world, if you flame me I will 'feature' your comments in my author's notes. Ye have been warned.

On a better note, 'Lydia-Hood', who was also highly critical of the rape sequence in Scene 9 did take the time to converse via PM and explain their point of view. That was a refreshing change from the previous 2 examples above and restored my faith that even if we disagree certain roads are still clear for communication. Mainly the consensus seems to indicate that it wasn't so much the rape scene itself (although it was merely described and not actually depicted) as the descriptions of the act and the lack of a warning beforehand. The warning has now been placed in the previous chapter. I apologize if my writing upset anyone but I make no apologies for the writing itself. I'm not taking a superior attitude or magnanimous stance, unfortunately my mind goes to the worst possible descriptor before anything else and when I'm in a hurry that spills onto the page. I feel I must agree that the descriptors of the rape were more gruesome and intricate than they needed to be but in my mind (at the time) they were justified to show the depravity of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Okay, there have been minor grammatical edits to Scene 8 (not really worth revisiting unless you want to re-read) and substantial story edits to Scene 9 (more Zaira Zabini characterization following the duel and 'dark' warning around the volatile gore portions of Hermione's scene) but FFnet isn't allowing me to edit the chapter names so I can't indicate the chapters were edited. The summary for the fic has also been altered to warn about graphic depictions of death, gore, and an instance of rape for those readers tender to such things.

Anyway, cheers!

Author's Notes (8/8/13):

I had to attend a conference this past Monday through Wednesday and I didn't have time to put the final touches on this chapter last week so for the moment you're getting a truncated chapter. I apologize.

Minor edits to chapter 1 (thanks go to JoshuaAlexander) in the chart for the Lestrange brothers and Lucius.

o0OoO0o

Cold and darkness greeted her eyes when she awoke. That and a curious lack of pain from her multitudinous injuries…

Somewhere in the general area of her heart was a tightly wound ball of copper wire revolving with harsh grating loose tines against the confines of her soul. It felt wonderful, it felt complete, and in the end it felt hollow. Death this was and the afterlife was a muddy swimming pool of icy textures and stale air. She had failed…everybody. Her eyes were whole again and her lower bits didn't scream in agony so she knew her 'soul' as it were was complete in the dark bastion of oblivion but that knowledge gave her no solace. Everyone she knew from before was dead, her best friend missing and presumably dead, and the most vile thing to crawl out of God's creation was poised to sunder all in his grasp.

Foremost in her mind was Harry, her Harry suffering an unknown fate either on the run from Snatchers or dead in a ditch somewhere alone. And after enduring days of vicious rape and torture and sexual degradation at the hands of the most vile of Voldemort's Death Eaters all she had to show for her stubbornness was death. She was certain that if she were able to go back in time she'd have figured a way to free herself and punish the horrible troglodytes holding her prisoner. She was the brightest witch of her age! Or rather had been the brightest witch of her age.

Purgatory, or wherever she was, seemed composed of nothing but maddening black and rough stone under her bare feet. Skinned knees…she was getting skinned knees from the sharp rocks…was this some form of punishment? Was she being punished for failing her best friend, her lover, her soul mate? It served her right in a way.

Finally reaching a sandy plateau she stood upright and felt no air flow, no movement, nothing against her bare body. This truly was hell. The faint cries of the damned rose up around her suddenly cutting through the silence. Wails and cries and screams, gibbering and blubbering and denials, everything washed over her until her ears pounded from the pressure of so many voices. Falling prone on the sand she tried covering her ears but that proved nothing more than an exercise in futility – nothing even dimmed the cacophony. Every student at Hogwarts was screaming as Death Eaters overtook the wards, smashed the walls, and slew each and every student unwilling to swear fealty to Voldemort. The teachers with the exception of Snape were summarily executed. And she could hear each and every one of them…this was her hell. Her punishment…

Suddenly her entire world went silent. The absence of noise crowded in around her close like thick treacle and threatened to burst her eardrums with the sheer force of pressure. It became too much and she screamed into the ether!

Sudden illumination abruptly caused her scream of torment to become a shout of surprise. The light seared her retinas for several agonizing seconds before the blinding glare began to dull down and she could see where exactly she was…

It was a perfectly round room made from rough hewn stone. The floor was a soft silt, not sand, and in the center was the rocky ruins of a staircase, the formerly ashlar construction pitted and worn with fragments littering the general vicinity. Atop that rocky outcropping stood a lone stone arch draped in black cloth.

She was in the Death Chamber on level 9 of the Ministry of Magic! She was there when Sirius fell through the Veil and remembered the singularly creepy atmosphere of the room.

"Would you shut off that blasted alarm already?" A door opened along one of the walls and a portly man in dark gray robes emblazoned with the MoM sigil stepped down into the chamber. "And get Bode down here! We need to figure out…"

His eyes went wide and his train of thought jumped a rail and ended up flying over a mountain gorge as he saw her. If she wasn't cold and naked she would have been amused at his expression but as it was she covered her nipples and thatch of pubic hair.

"Can someone get me some clothes?"

"What the devil do you think you're doing here? I told you not to perform any unapproved experiments with the Veil until Director Simms returns from his trip to Portugal! And what the devil happened to your clothes?!"

That definitely wasn't the response she had expected.

"And what have you done to your hair?" The roundish man pulled off his cloak and handed the garment to her while wisely averting his eyes.

"Uh…I don't think you understand how I got here and I certainly don't know you or anything about this place other than the fact it exists." Hermione slipped on the cloak and pulled the edges tight against her body. Despite the new clothing barrier she still felt naked in the vast chamber with this complete stranger.

"I got the alarm upstairs! What the hell is going on down…here…?" A brunette woman, or really a girl since she looked no older than Hermione herself burst through the doorway. At the sight the girl froze up and fainted backwards into the arms of another Unspeakable.

"Symbelline? Sym; what's wrong?!" The newly arrived Unspeakable hoisted his unconscious burden to the side. "Croaker who the hell is that?"

"We, uh…I thought it was you at first…at first."

Hermione watched the man carrying the other girl step down into the inner ring of the chamber slowly and the closer she came the more she recognized similarities in their appearance. It wasn't simple similarities like the color of their hair or their eyes (although Hermione's hair was bushy and the newcomer's was sleek and shimmering) it was down to the curve of their cheekbones and the set of their mouths. They could be exact duplicates! They were the same height, approximately the same weight, they had the same deep scoop to their collarbones – it was really quite uncanny! Her nudity forgotten, the entire horrible torture fading rapidly into the analytic process revving up in Hermione Granger's head, she stepped forward and grabbed the new female's hands. Hitchhiker's thumbs…

The fat man, called 'Croaker' by his assumed subordinate, shot a quick Ennervate at the unconscious woman who equally quick scrambled out of the man's arms. Her brow drew down as she looked even more closely at her duplicate.

"Can you roll your tongue? Can you make a clover out of it?" The question addled the new arrival who haltingly nodded. Her eyes narrowed. "Show me."

The woman, called 'Symbelline' by the other male Unspeakable, glanced at the older fatter man standing in just a white dress shirt and slacks. He gestured towards Hermione and shrugged his shoulders. Symbelline stuck her tongue out, rolled it tight, before crimping it into a three-leafed clover. Her pink tongue then darted back between her dark pink lips.

"Okay, I've showed you my tongue for whatever sick reason you wanted to see it, now who the fuck are you and why do you look like me? And how did you get down here through 9 levels of security and 3 guard stations without a stitch of clothing on?"

"Hold on just one moment," Hermione took a deep breath, "do you or do you not have a birthmark in the shape of a kangaroo on your left buttock?"

Symbelline's face reddened abruptly and she began to sputter.

"Wha-wha-what!? How do you know that!? Are you some kind of metamorphagus? Are you attempting to break in to the Department of Mysteries and steal my projects!?" Symbelline drew a cherry and amantortoise shell wand from the inside of her robes. "You've got some nerve! Who are you?"

"Where is Harry Potter? Do you know who that is?" Hermione's voice was reaching ear-splitting tones. Her voice was shrill, her nerves were frayed, and she was acutely aware that she was naked in the presence of two men she didn't know. That last was not an especially comforting thought in light of her last experiences…

"I don't know any 'Harry' Potter, who are you!? Answer me or so help me God I will throw you in the vat of Cognivores…"

"What Potters do you know? Do you know the name Voldemort?" The bushy-haired girl's mind was racing a mile a minute with the possibilities. Had she fallen through the fabric of reality itself? Was this the past? Was this an alternate universe where everyone she knew was wrong or never born? More importantly was the question of why she was here in the Department of Mysteries at all? She had died…died…she was dead! She'd felt the last of her consciousness fade along with the swiftly growing puddle of blood on the floor of Malfoy Manor. What had brought her back?

Her older duplicate brandished the wand and suspended Hermione a foot off the sandy stone floor.

"You will answer MY questions first, you little BITCH!"

"Whoa, whoa, Sym…calm down! There's something very strange going on here and we aren't going to find out anything when you're angry!" Dederick Croaker grabbed Symbelline's arm and motioned for Andreas Twirlington, the other male Unspeakable, to help him restrain their colleague. "Now let's get some magical suppressive cuffs and talk all this over in my office, hmm?"

"Are you just going to let her restrain me like that?" Hermione was quickly forgetting just what reality in which she was currently operating…

Croaker cast Finite Incantatum and the naked brunette fell the foot to the ground.

"Listen here, young lady, you are an unknown factor, you look exactly like one of my subordinates, you appeared out of nowhere on Christmas Day, and you're asking me whether you should be restrained?" The rotund man's wrinkled eyes hardened to black diamonds. "You are in one of the most secure areas of the Department of Mysteries and we have to make a decision: do we simply kill you or use you for experimentation?"

Hermione shut up and allowed a pair of silver manacles to be placed around her wrists. Soon the quartet was seated in Croaker's office overlooking the Ministry Atrium. It was a largish room – neither too big nor too small – and he peered at her over his desk. Symbelline sat on his right side and Twirlington perched nervously on his left, all three waiting for their erstwhile guest to say anything. Hermione being Hermione…that didn't take long.

"I would like to know what the date is, what all of your names are, and what Potters you are aware of at the moment." She had a defiant jut to her chin and her eyes were flinty.

"Why you little-"

"Hush, Sym, let's humor the girl for the moment." Croaker set the key to her manacles on the desktop blotter. "How about a 'quid-pro-quo' agreement, hmm? We will answer your questions then we will ask you three questions, so on and so forth…is that agreeable?"

Hermione didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. She nodded silently.

"Today is Christmas, December 25th, 1968. My name is Dederick Croaker, the gentleman to my side is Andreas Twirlington, and the woman on my opposite side is Symbelline Rebeck. We are in the Department of Mysteries in the British Ministry of Magic in London, England. The only Potter I know of is Charlus, the Lord Potter, and his son James. I gave you our location for free."

"Very well, Mr. Croaker, thank you for answering my questions. You may now ask me three questions." Hermione gave a passive air but internally she was screaming. Time travel wasn't anything particularly new to her but going backwards an hour is quite different than finding yourself thirty-odd years in the past! Harry wasn't even born, the Potters (well one Potter and one Evans) weren't even at Hogwarts yet, and…and…

…and she was staring at the biggest problem. Said problem was the first to ask a question.

"What is your name and how did you get here?" Symbelline was irritable, tired, and more than a little scared of the doppelganger sitting across Croaker's desk from her…who knew what kind of horrible espionage she was attempting?

"That's two questions actually but since you gave me a freebie I'll grant you one. My name is Hermione Granger and I don't know how I came to be in the Death Chamber."

"Wh-wh-wh-where do you come from," Twirlington stutteringly asked, reminding Hermione of Quinius Quirrel, before clearing his throat. It was obvious he was not a high ranking Unspeakable.

"I come from Kent; my parents are Daniel and Emma Granger, D.D.S."

"A-a-actually I mean where do you come from?" Ah…the moment of truth had come.

"The last place I remember before awakening in the Death Chamber was the parlor of Malfoy Manor. I was dying." There was no point in hiding things – not now considering everything they said matched the little details she saw in the office. Croaker's desk calendar read the date and year, their fashions (particularly Symbelline's pencil skirt, pixie hair cut, and false lashes), and the massive image of Eldritch Diggory plastered across the Ministry atrium outside the window. "I was born on September 21st 1980 and I died in 1998. I have come from the future."

"Hmm…that does make things somewhat complicated." Croaker leaned back in his squeaky desk chair and popped a jelly baby into his mouth. "First off…we'll need to conduct the rest of the interview with you under Verataserum. Second, you won't be allowed to leave the Ministry – at least not in the near future. Thirdly, and I will make this very blunt: are you Symbelline Rebeck's daughter?"

"I…don't know, Mr. Croaker, I think that there are far too many similarities to just write them off but my mother was Emma Granger – a Muggle – so I don't know how this could be…"

"But she knows about my birthmark…no one knows about that! And she looks like a younger version of me! Twirlington! Go get the Verataserum, I want all her answers confirmed without a shred of doubt." Sym stood up and walked around to their guest. "If she is a bona fide temporal refugee we have protocols in place…it would also explain how she came to be in the Death Chamber."

"Would you please stop referring to me in the third person," Hermione huffed, "I'm sitting right here."

Sym quickly jabbed the displaced teen in the breast with her finger. She received a squawk of pain and indignation before the bushy brunette growled low in her throat.

"Seems real enough to me…what about the Verataserum?"

Twirlington left forthwith in a scuffling run down the corridor.

"Now that he's gone we can talk seriously." Croaker stood up and warded the room. "He'll need to request the potion from the potion master general and he's asleep at home at the moment. We have a great deal of time until his returns."

Sym sat down at the edge of Croaker's desk facing her 'daughter' and brandished her wand. A diffuse cloud of sparkles erupted from the tip and swirled around Hermione. Croaker did the same until all Hermione could see were sparkles dancing before her eyes.

"Well, she'd definitely not from around here…and I have an 'eyelet' but no 'hook'. Could be an effect of the spell used? What have you found?"

"I'm not sure how to read it," Sym rubbed her chin, "she's definitely my daughter – or at least believes to the core of her being that she is – but it clearly shows that both her parents were Muggles! Even core-rot doesn't remove the traces of magic…"

"There are very distinct fairywing levels reading here…but temporally speaking she wouldn't have used them in any conjunction to get this effect. Dark magic traces on her external aura, a smudge on her core but nothing to be worried about, oh dear…previous petrifaction and an incomplete polyjuice reversal."

"Petrifaction might explain the fairywing's presence but not the levels I'm seeing here-"

"What about that 'time thingy' old Rubberoot was talking about last month…didn't he need fairywings-"

"And the Sand of Anubis, yes…but even then the arithmancy didn't iron out, there's no way it could work-"

"Unless you came from the future!" Croaker tucked his wand back into his shirtsleeve and grinned at his protégé, Sym was the only student he'd ever had to follow his rapid-fire train of thought. "Now that that is settled let's get the girl up to speed and down to the examining room."

At the murderous looks Hermione was giving him Croaker wisely stepped back and sat back down behind his desk.

"Uh…perhaps it would be best if you were to carry out the physical examination, Sym, you two being women and all…"

Sym smirked…at least some men knew when to crack up and admit defeat. That pompous oaf Rookwood on the other hand…

"Would one of you PLEASE explain what the devil you two were talking about?! Hooks and eyelets and core-rot, I may be from the future but that doesn't mean I understand a word of what you two were talking about! You may have just been speaking in gobbledygook for all I could understand!"

"What we are talking about is…simply put…a soul bond. There have only ever been 6 other witches or wizards who travelled through time and in those instances a soul bond was responsible only once. Now unlike what most people think, a soul bond is not a romantic entanglement – although it certainly can and in most cases is one – but rather an understanding between two sympathetic souls that over time meshes the individuals' magic cores together. A soul bond is therefore just another term for magical dependency, in this case a dependency of psychological wellness. You are familiar with Loggin's treatise on sympathetic mystical fields?"

"Loggin's theory states that individual magical cores produce individual magic fields around witches and wizards, similar to how spells can be traced to individual wands, spells are also 'fingerprinted' by their caster's magic field signature. A caster's psychological state when spells are cast affects their magic field and can also affect the power/effects of the spell cast." Of course she was, Hermione had hung on Professor McGonagall's every word for the past 6 years so of course she remembered the lecture during her 1st Year in magical theory.

"A textbook response, well done, but one that is woefully inadequate regarding the underlying nature of magical fields," Croaker sat down in Twirlington's discarded chair, "while Loggin's treatise is correct on the whole, it does not explain how soul bonds are formed…instead I would direct you to Gypsum's 'Dialogues on Magical Nature' where she posits that the fundamental personality of magical fields – called 'auras' by her – changes dependant on exposure to other magical fields.

"In order to understand soul magic one must first understand Gypsum's hypothesis: auras are subject to change from trauma, personal experience, emotion, age, and environment. Naturally your aura isn't the same from birth to your 11th birthday, it changes due to your experiences and growth physically and emotionally, sudden trauma or traumatic experiences over a long period of time darken an aura and can occasionally lead to a similar darkening of a magic core. We call this phenomena core rot. Use of the Unforgivables does not – contrary to popular belief – poison your core, instead it poisons your mind. However, if you are the recipient of an Unforgivable this does leave marks down to your core. I assume that is the cause of the smudge on your core.

"Magical cores are the closest we have to a soul…and I speak as a career Unspeakable. They are the carriers of ourselves and our magic. If a Dementor sucks out your magic core your body slowly winds down until it expires from a lack of animating spirit. We have never discovered the Muggle counterpart but it seems fairly certain that such a thing does exist. The magical field we generate, our 'aura', is just a representation of our core in the form of tangible magic. Now you might be asking yourself exactly how all this figures into your soul bond?"

Sym had given Hermione a cup of water laced with a diluted pepper-up potion and it was apparently kicking in if the time-displaced girl's expression as he spoke was any indication…

"So you're saying that auras are tied to our magical core and that auras transform in proximity to different stimulating auras. Similar to a crowd mentality?" Hermione loved talking shop – something she never had an opportunity to do with Harry or Ron – and gobbled up the morsels of knowledge Croaker was serving with relish. "So if I may extrapolate from your hypothesis, it means that by long-term exposure to a sympathetic aura those auras intermingle and form a purely magic-based bond? That is what this soul bond is?"

"It's a little more involved than that," Sym interjected, "unlike how most layman think a soul bond is not strictly a romantic bond. It is exactly as advertised: a bond between two souls permanently linked to one another. Now in most cases a soul bond does result in romantic feelings and relationships but we have recorded several friendships that were legitimate soul bonds and two or three examples of the 'Ahab-Syndrome'."

"The 'Ahab-Syndrome' was named for the antagonist in Melville's Moby Dick," Croaker coughed lightly into his hand and took a licorice snap from the silver dish on his desk to avoid meeting Hermione's glare, "ah…but you probably already knew that, didn't you? It's the term we use to describe soul bonds that become poisoned. The souls are still linked but instead of forming a romantic couple or best friends the two individuals come to differing opinions and declare themselves nemesis. Thus the pair are still very much a part of each other's lives but from a twisted point of view. These types of soul bonds typically end in murder-suicide whether deliberately or ironically.

"What we see with you is a pure love bond, a 'Romeo-Juliet' as we call them, which means that your soul and the other party's soul have hooked together inextricably. Now usually these bonds are linked to emotional and physical states, if you two were together you would be happier than you would be apart, if he were on the other side of the world you would know intrinsically that he was alive and that he loved you and vice-versa. However, your 'eyelet' is missing a 'hook' and as such I don't even know how you're still alive and sane."

"Usually the death or loss of magic of a soul bonded results in madness or severe depression for the other. That's something the Purebloods don't like to talk about…they like to think all their marriages are soul bonds but in real life they're probably just sympathetic auras meshing. The Purebloods are so closely related sometimes that it's no wonder their auras mesh so well – but that isn't what I'm talking about here, what we're discussing; you have made a soul bond but now show no connection and no signs of withdrawal." Sym bounced her leg over her knee nervously – it was something Hermione remembered her mother did as well…they had to be one in the same but how? "Do you know the name of your bonded?"

"Harry Potter," she responded without a hint of indecision, "he disappeared from my time shortly before I…came here. He is…was…my best friend and closest ally since we started Hogwarts."

"Well," Croaker sat back up and straightened his cuffs, "I can make some discrete inquiries with Gringotts but unless he shows up to claim a position with the current Potter family there isn't any way to track him – not with his connection to you non-existent."

"You don't think he's here? In this time?"

"I wouldn't say that…the last time we had a temporally-displaced visitor pop out of the Veil was also a soul bond so this isn't without precedent but you don't have a tether to him so we can't track him down. Now don't lose hope but don't get your hopes up either, we'll have to take this whole situation in stride. Chin-up dear!"

Hermione thought for several silent moments before deciding that they were right. They had never seen this situation before so there wasn't any reason to believe that Harry wasn't out here in this past history waiting for her. She had to keep hope that they would find each other, after all they always had in the past (future?), and if anyone was going to bend the laws of magic and nature it was going to be Harry. She would let Croaker check with the goblins but she doubted Harry was stupid enough to try and claim the Potter name.

The bigger issue in her mind at the moment (since she really didn't want to think too much about what went into building her soul bond with Harry) was her mother. There was no doubt that Symbelline Rebeck was Emma Granger. The question was what kind of accident or attack rendered a personal magically null? Even if magic was lost, core destroyed, depleted by over exposure to Dementors, there were residual signs that the person used to be magical. Muggles had no intrinsic magic which was why squibs were easily tracked and identified. Then again, Hermione had no idea whether this was her past or a completely alternate dimension created by her temporal jump. She would play it cool; she would find out all she could about Symbelline Rebeck, the current Potter Family, and soul bonds before she considered implementing her other plan…

The complete and total destruction of Tom Riddle, Jr. and the entire British Pureblood society!