Chapter Text
Before the legends of Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin, there was another legend of Wizarding Britain. Witches and wizards faced persecution from Muggles who feared magic, yes, but only if they could catch them.
After the fall of the Roman Empire, there was a shift in Europe. Tribes were migrating, the Scandinavians were pillaging, and the powers in England were moving.
The pureblood nobility rose to the occasion, tired of being oppressed by the Romans and eager to watch them fall from infighting and other internal weaknesses.
What is known as the Sacred 28 was not as small as it is now in modern day. 1500 years ago, it was double that, or triple that, though historians cannot precisely narrow down an accurate number. Wizards and witches were isolated and hidden from blood-thirsty Muggles; therefore, magical blood stayed within itself.
The governing court of these purebloods was as simple as what historians read about Muggle Britain: a Magical monarchy.
Though the Muggle monarchy was ever changing, littered with betrayal, by-blows, and bastards, the Wizarding monarchy lived for 500 years peacefully.
The Wizarding royal line was known as the House of Myrrdin, direct lineage to Merlin. The heir to this royal house was named King or Queen when they came of age in their line of succession regardless of gender.
The Wand of Merlin was passed down through the generations, only to be successfully wielded by an heir of Merlin, whose blood and magic ran through that wizard or witch’s veins. This prevented any question on legitimacy of the heir.
If there were multiple children sired, the Wand of Merlin was the deciding factor, naming the legitimate heir by who could wield the wand; thus, the decision would be made without word from the surrounding gallery.
Each wife or husband of the King or Queen was arranged and taken each generation from a different pureblood house. This ensured the fairness in treatment of the nobility as each spokesperson of their line was eager to prevent infighting as seen in the Romans.
For five centuries, many Wizarding rulers came and went, their legacies buried after the start of Hogwarts and many other Wizarding schools, forcing more history underground after the burning of witches and the many goblin wars over time.
The last known Wizarding ruler in 950 was named Aedwulf Myrrdin, who chose not to marry the next pureblood house line of Ollivander, which was the start of the decline in the royal house's legacy and empire. The identity of Aedwulf’s wife is unknown, but it was noted as shocking to society and gravely offensive. Nevertheless, an heir was born, and the bloodline of Merlin lived on.
The nobility of the court had quickly overthrown the Wizarding monarchy years after the last heir was born. Aedwulf and his family were thought to escape persecution from the nobility, but execution was never ruled out by historians.
The monarchy was abolished, and popularity for a Wizard’s Council rose among the noble families, all desiring to have their needs voiced and met. Later, the Ministry of Magic was founded and thus a Mixed Economy democracy has been in use since the 1700s.
The Wand of Merlin was never recovered.
Hermione closed the old tome in front of her. She was in the Archives again, the smell of parchment soothed her after stressful days.
She had broken up with Ron months prior, but was still forced to see him at work. She was a budding superstar in the Department of International Magic, he was an Auror— the many events forced them together and the tabloids loved to get as many pictures of the Golden Trio as possible.
They tried to make it work after the Battle of Hogwarts. They moved in together, went to work everyday hand in hand. They had faced greater things than tabloids or pencil pushing paperwork.
But she rose quickly in the Department of Magical Creatures, switching over to the Department of International Magic after career advice from Kingsley. She was praised for her work ethic and quick thinking in difficult situations. It did not hurt that she was a polyglot, speaking fourteen different languages fluently and six additional ones proficiently. Kingsley took her everywhere with him, both as the Golden Girl and the translator.
Ron was happy for her at first. Really, he was. He was supportive. But he was always under Harry, never going further than a rookie Auror. His cases weren’t interesting, and he was frequently passed over for promotions.
He watched Hermione’s success skyrocket, and he hated it. He was resentful. He was jealous. She saw that now after years of passive aggression and backhanded comments.
Now, Ron wasn’t a bad person. He had normal human emotions as everyone else had, and if Hermione was in his position, she would most likely react the same way.
So she broke up with him. It had been eating away at her. She thought she was going to ruin their friendship, ruin Harry’s friendship, ruin their reputations among the Wizarding community.
But then Ron came to life. He moved back home to the Weasley house, happy to have home cooked meals by Molly. He didn’t stop speaking to Hermione, but rather opened up to her in a different way, and she realized that they were just never suited as a couple but as best friends.
Harry was relieved, the tension in his eyes when he would watch them together. Ron would be moaning about the cases of another lost Pygmy Puff and Hermione wouldn’t share her success of the day in fear she would offend Ron.
Now, they were excited to meet for lunch at the Ministry when they were all together, or grab a pint after a long work week. Ron had been seeing another Auror in their office and was thinking about helping George at the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes full time.
Hermione was happy for him. Really, she was.
If she was honest with herself, she was also lonely. Ron had packed up and left, all the silly colorful coffee mugs went with him. When she looked around her flat, she wondered if he took all the color with him.
Of course, she tried dating. It took her a month to mourn the loss of her relationship, but staying friends with Ron had eased that bruise slightly, so she was encouraged and tried branching out again.
One coffee date with Cormac McLaggen and she decided she was better off alone.
She sighed, shelving the Wizarding Britain, A Long Lost History back, nodding to the wizard at the Archives desk. A hot bath and a glass of wine sounded lovely right now.
Taking the lift up to the Ministry lobby, she took a step out. It was late in the evening, the after work rush usually had dispersed through the Floos by now.
It was the opposite, however. She had never seen so many people filling the Ministry lobby.
People shoved her, eyes not on her for once. She looked around for someone she knew, and her eyes snagged on the red head that had just left her thoughts.
“Ron!” She yelled out, and he turned to look at her.
“Mione! Come here.” He yelled back, smiling wide. He looked so much happier now, and a bittersweet feeling in her chest told her it was without her.
She shoved her way through, her briefcase smacking several wizards who sent glares her way. Harry and Neville were next to Ron, the latter waving at her.
“What is all this?” She asked. It had to be seven in the evening, she couldn’t imagine what all the fuss was about.
“They found some magical artefact in Greece. Kingsley said it was important and called a press conference.” Ron explained. She narrowed her eyes. This was right up her department’s alley, yet Kingsley did not inform her of this.
“They said it’s bigger than any artefact they’ve found. Dunno what the big deal is though.” Harry’s eyes looked around curiously. The Golden Trio was together, but no eyes glanced their way.
Instead, Kingsley came up onto the podium, lightbulbs flashed. On his flank were other foreign politicians Hermione recognized from Greece, Turkey and Italy.
“Thank you all for coming. It is with great pleasure that I, along with my fellow Ministers, announce that an artefact was found by archeologists in the East Aegean Isles.”
Murmurs sounded. Kingsley raised a hand to silence them.
“While it was found by Italian archeologists between Greece and Turkey, the significance was quickly discovered and the British Ministry was contacted. They turned over the artefact to us, which we now have in our possession.”
Kingsley snapped his finger, and a wand appeared before him, levitating with a protective shield around it. Even from here, Hermione could feel the powerful wards that encased it.
“I give you: the Wand of Merlin.”
The murmurs became shouts. The Wand of Merlin? Harry glanced questioningly at Hermione, but Ron’s jaw dropped.
“That’s been missing for 1500 years!” Ron shouted, Neville nodded in agreement. Hermione whispered to Harry that she would catch him up on the significance of it. While Wizarding children were told these legends as folklore growing up, the ones raised as Muggles had to learn it later into adulthood.
Kingsley’s voice boomed, his wand to his throat, “We have discussed as an entity what to do with the wand. While we agreed it must be preserved in a Museum for those to learn of the cultural and historical significance of Merlin, we also agreed that if the blood of Merlin is still out there, it is our duty to allow that heir to come forward and claim the wand.”
Gasps filled. More than a millennia had passed, but the idea of Merlin’s blood still flowing through an unsuspecting wizard or witch’s veins was exciting. She found that unlikely to happen.
But the wand was here, in front of them. It was dark wood, the type did not look familiar to Hermione. It was also quite long, and there looked to be veins that ran through it. She couldn’t be sure from this distance, however.
If there was an heir, all they had to do was grab hold of it and try to wield it. Only then would the blood of Merlin be confirmed.
”We plan to keep it here in the Ministry under safeguard where each wizard and witch can take their turn attempting to wield it. If no heir is discovered, it will be turned over to the Wizarding British Museum.”
Lightbulbs continued flashing, each Minister had a smile on their faces. A discovery this significant would go down in history, each of their names attached to it, especially if they happen to find an heir. Hermione huffed. The politicization of this historical artefact was disgusting. It should be cherished, not used as a photo-op.
“Go on, Harry. Touch it. You’re the Chosen One. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had the blood of Merlin too.” Ron teased Harry, shoving him like they were still schoolboys.
“I don’t think they’ll let me touch it after what I did to the Elder Wand.” Harry smiled back.
“Well, I think they should just turn it over to the Museum. They think the last heir was executed, anyway. The blood of Merlin was extinguished forever ago.” Hermione had her arms crossed. This was ridiculous. Kingsley was going to get a strongly penned letter in the morning. Or a visit to his office if his secretary allows her in, that old bat.
“Don’t be a bore, Hermione. It’s fun. You go touch it.” Ron teased, but chose not to shove her, which Hermione was thankful for. Their new friendship was strange, nostalgic but at the same time still budding.
“I absolutely will not touch it. Who knows if it really is the real Wand of Merlin. I’m sure there are plenty of fakes that have been discovered over the years.”
Ron scratched his head, “I think they would know if it was real or not.”
“Well I won’t entertain this any longer.” Hermione bid her friends a goodnight, making her way to the Floo networks before the rush after the press conference. A bath and wine sounded even more enticing. Maybe a steamy romance book. This Wand of Merlin thing would blow over quickly once it was discovered there wasn’t an heir.
Unfortunately for Hermione, the headlines that week were filled with the Wand of Merlin. Conspiracy theories, potential heirs, the many rejections that followed. Everyone enjoyed watching the rejections splattered on the front pages of the Prophet.
The line to the wand was long each day Hermione arrived for work at the Ministry. It was encased with powerful wards that allowed only one wizard or witch at a time to attempt to wield it. Yet before any of them could get close, the magic of the wand repelled them from even getting close to touching it.
Each Sacred 28 heir took their shot at trying it. Abbott, Bulstrode, Flint, Macmillan. Even Neville tried, but the wand rejected him as well, flinging him across the Ministry lobby in retaliation. The wand was spiteful, and Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes at each attempt she saw in her periphery when she walked to her office. She closed the blinds to her office that looked down at the lobby, putting a silencing charm on it so she could work in peace.
The new theories were that if anyone had the blood of Merlin, it would be one of the pureblood houses that had married into the monarchy. By the end of the week, even Kingsley looked frustrated at the rejections of each pureblood house of the Sacred 28.
”I’m telling you, there is no heir of Merlin. They died.” Hermione explained the following week.
Days had passed yet the lines grew longer. Wizards and witches of all nations came to Britain to try. Word had spread through international news, everyone wanted the blood of Merlin in their veins. It was no different than anyone else’s blood, Hermione surmised, but the prestige was what they wanted. The legacy was worth more than anything to these wizards.
“Then how about you try? Harry won’t try either. It’s driving me mad. The damn wand didn’t even let me near it. Guess the Weasleys were no good in Merlin’s eyes.” Ron huffed.
“Ron, a Weasley did marry one of the Kings. It’s in the book of lineage. Each house had to take turns giving an heir to be wed to the King or Queen.”
A gasp interrupted their conversation, and Ron laughed.
“Oh great, Malfoy’s going to try.”
Hermione saw the blonde haired boy from Hogwarts. Well, boy didn’t seem like the right term now. Draco Malfoy had grown significantly since their boarding school days. He seemed taller, yet still lanky as most Quidditch players were. She briefly wondered if he still played.
The Malfoy’s had escaped Azkaban by turning over everything they knew about the Death Eaters after the Second Wizarding War. Many were angered, but Lucius knew how to work the Wizengamot. Narcissa was back to hosting her regular Christmas Eve Ball the next year, their reputation seemingly untouched by the war. Nothing a few million galleons to the right charities couldn’t fix.
Lucius was behind Draco, pushing him slightly forward. She hadn’t seen Draco much, only when he would take his ancestral seat in the Wizengamot. More likely than not, he sent a spokesperson for the Malfoy family. Lucius had grown too old, too senile from the war, and Draco was named the Head of the House of Malfoy right after their immunity to Azkaban was announced.
Even when Draco was in the Ministry, he did not speak to Hermione. Only a few times did he nod to her politely in the lifts. The politeness unsettled Hermione, so she chose to ignore him.
“Go on.” Lucius barked. Hermione watched Draco reluctantly walk forward to grasp the wand.
“I can’t wait to watch him eat concrete after that wand ricochets his head off the wall.” Ron murmured. To himself or to Hermione, she wasn’t sure.
The crowd gasped as Draco grasped onto it.
“What the fuck. No, not Malfoy.” Ron gritted through his teeth.
The Slytherin could not attempt a spell, however. A deep, guttural scream left Draco. Steam rose from the wand where his hand was, and Draco wrenched his hand back.
Clutching it, Hermione could see perfectly the burn marks on Draco’s pale hands.
“Well, another rejection. Next!” Kingsley’s voice carried, and she watched Lucius’ shoulders drop slightly in dissatisfaction. He truly believed the Malfoys carried the blood of Merlin. Hermione felt a cruel satisfaction at the failure. Lucius still made her feel uncomfortable, and the wizard never did apologize to her for the abuse over the last decade.
“Let’s go.” Lucius’ robes swung as he spun around, his cane echoing off the floors. He did not look senile to Hermione as rumors said, but she had no real opinion on the matter, because she truly did not care what became of the patriarch. Draco still cradled his hand as he looked at the wand in offense.
“Ha! I knew it couldn’t be Malfoy. His dirty blood wouldn’t have Merlin in it.” Ron said smugly.
Hermione recoiled, “You don’t think dirty blood could wield it? What do you mean by that?”
Ron’s face was drained of color. “No, I mean his blood is dirty, not yours. We hate Malfoy, remember?”
Hermione was frustrated. This stupid wand was all anyone could talk about. The blood of Merlin. The magic of Merlin. The Wand of Merlin. Who bloody cared? There were starving children out there, illnesses that needed to be cured, unwilling werewolves that couldn’t afford Wolfsbane. Was this all just a fun game to people?
“Oh, get over yourselves.” Hermione stormed over, shoving people out of her way. Some people were disgruntled but quickly moved when they saw who shoved them. Her hair had always been a signature feature that could be recognized anywhere. She got to the front of the line, bypassing those behind her.
“Move.” Hermione shoved Draco out of the way. The blonde wizard was startled and looked down at the witch, confused why she would be there. She would give him dirty blood. She would show them all dirty blood.
“Granger, what are you—“ He started, but his voice cut off at the gasps of the crowd.
Hermione grasped the wand and flicked it at Kingsley.
“Put this fucking thing in a Museum and let’s be done with it.” She said angrily. She wanted to get back to work and actually do important things with her life.
“Granger—“
“Hermione—“
“Did you hear me?” She shouted. Kingsley looked back at her, jaw opening and closing like a fish. He looked positively ridiculous.
“You’re wielding the wand, Miss Granger.” He said.
“What?” Hermione sneered, the wand pointed at Kingsley. His hands were up. His eyes were wide. She had the Minister at wandpoint, she realized. She could go to Azkaban for such a crime.
“You’re wielding the Wand of Merlin. You’re the heir of Merlin.”
Hermione blinked. Once, twice, thrice.
She looked down at the wand. It did not look like one wand. It looked like it was made of two wands woven together, encircling each other before coming together at the tip. It was a dark wood with flecks of redness engrained in it. It was beautiful and unlike any wand she had ever seen.
“I’m wielding it.” Hemione already had a wand, she didn’t want this one. She loved her vinewood.
“Cast a spell.” Kingsley said. The crowd had gone silent.
“Which spell?”
“Any spell.”
She turned to Draco. He was still next to her, his hand no longer cradled but slack at his side.
“Stupefy.” She said, and the blonde wizard went flying over the crowd.
Beyond the silent crowd, a booming laughter of Ronald Weasley sounded.