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‘Truly, Madley, Deeply’ - part 2 - Wemyss's Appalling Hobby:
From the Party Guilty of Committing 'Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn'
‘Truly, Madley, Deeply’ - part 2

Planning – stopping up of public Floo access (St Asaph’s Gazette)

… ANY PERSON AGGRIEVED BY THE ORDER and desiring to question the validity thereof, or of any provision contained therein, on the ground that it is not within the powers of the above Act or that any requirement of that Act or of any regulation made thereunder has not been complied with in relation to the Order, may, within 6 weeks of the 14 May of this year apply to the High Court for the suspension or quashing of the Order or of any provision contained therein.



I’m healthy and happy.  Well, happy enough.  All of us blossom eventually: was I, then, duty-bound in some way to strike a blow for the rights of women by dressing poorly and speaking harshly and generally acting as if I were Harriet Harman in a burqa?  Granger-as-was seems to think so.  It’s degrading – I take my text from the Gospel according to Saint Hermione – to indicate in any way that one might wish to be noticed by (gasp!) A Man, here-endeth-the-lesson.  Well, balls to that.  I seem to remember one young Witch at Hogwarts, whose name sounds curiously like ‘Hermione Granger’, throwing several eppys over the thickness and dimness of one Ronald Bilius Weasley, and tarting herself up for Viktor Krum.


Viragos don’t win cases.


Oh, very well.  Let’s be honest, then, and damn the consequences.  I don’t like being pawed at – metaphorically: any old bugger tries it on literally, he’ll lose a hand to a severing hex – by jowly seniors, or drooled over by withered old Red Judges.  But I’ve a job to do.  Do you think no male barrister, Muggle or Wizard, has ever used what’s politely called the impress of his personality, the peacocks, to his and his client’s advantage?  I’ve a job to do.  What would be a real setback for women’s rights, Hermione, dear (you cunting hypocritical cow), would be to accept that what’s saucy in the gander is primly unacceptable in the goose, to accept an unnecessary limitation and console oneself for losing with the superior excuse that the playing field simply isn’t level, oh dear, and one must simply accept that as one falls into a helpless Victorian swoon (quick, my maid!  Someone must loosen my corset-stays, for I faint!)….  There’s not a man beneath a wig – junior, barrister, or Wizarding Serjeant – who doesn’t use his charm and sexuality, so long as he has any at all, in court.  That confiding fashion in which he insinuates to a witness in the box, that fatherly, hand-patting manner with an elderly charwoman-turned-juror-for-the-day, that winsome smile as he puts a dangerous point….  Do I fail the Sainted Granger-Weasley’s purity tests if I fight back with the weapons that are turned upon me?


You’re bloody well right it’s degrading – if you let it be.  But permit me a dissent to the opinion that it’s demeaning to beat the other side at its own, smooth, centuries-old, hand-worn game.


I’m old enough to remember when the Floo could be closed and the liberty of the subject restrained and Wizards and Witches hunted like feræ naturæ for the Death Eater sport of venery, thanks ever so.  And the Holy Hermione’s older than I am (and looks it, in the light, dearie, don’t you?).  Perhaps her memory’s gone, rotted away by age and years of pious hypocrisy.  Nowadays, the closure even of a public Floo access point under the Act is done by law, with the public having a say, and able to apply to the High Court to stop it.


I don’t give a damn for how the Front Bench see me, or the Benchers of my Inn, or the great god Mob.  Or, rather, I do, but I mustn’t care.  I’ve made myself not to care.  Because I’ve a job to do, and it really isn’t of any moment whether it leads to place and appointment and preferment.  I’m not in this for my own good.  I could retire from the arena now, covered in laurels and the grudging, admiring hared of those I’ve beaten to flinders.  But that is not why I took this job on.  I’ve lived through lawless times, made more lawless still by being masked under the forms of law, and I’ll not have it.  I’ve at least another century in me, and I’ll sodding well devote every day of it to restoring and maintaining a true and honest judiciary and system of law, by whatever means I see are wanted, whether it suits some people’s suburban pieties or not.           



Ministry Estates (Department of Mysteries; Royal Corps of Aurors; DMLE) – Godric’s Hollow considerations (Athenry Gazette)

… Land at the above location has been declared surplus to Ministry requirements and is to be sold. The Godric’s Hollow Rules require Ministry Departments, under certain circumstances, to offer back surplus land to the former owner or their successors in title at market value.

Ministry Estates therefore wish to trace anyone who may fall within the definition of former owner or successor as contained in the Godric’s Hollow Rules.

Former Owners: Kieran Colley-Pole; Kathleen Mary Fitzgerald-Blount; The Reverend and Honourable Richard Mornington de Burgh; The Ecclesiastical Commissioners for the Wizarding Church in Ireland; Lady Celia Connell-Bodkin; The Trustees of the Killderg and Fairy Water Fuel Allotment Charity, the right Hon. Sir Seamus Finnigan and the right Hon. the Lord Thomas.

The former owner or their successor(s) in title (other than through purchase) are invited to contact Ministry Estates by writing within two months of the date of this notice to:

Aubrey Croker-Claybourne, ME Ops Ireland (Disposals), Room J786, Building 549, Auror Lines, Waterford.

Successors in title should state and provide evidence of their relationship to the Former Owner.



There aren’t many Wizards or Witches who grasp the situation.  Arthur does: for all his air of sleepy complaisance, Arthur is the best of the lot, in any party in the Moot.  Shameless Finnigan does, I think: he’s the Chief Bloody Unspeakable, he’d damned well best do.


And then there’s Harry.


Harry knows.


Shall I tell you a secret?  There is a reason why I am so virgin a flirt – or harlot, if you take the Granger view.  Dear Arthur understands that nothing that is said of how I manage the DPD, or brought cases for the Crown in my day, or tickle up funding for my Department, cannot also be said of the whole business – the whole, rough trade – of politics.  It’s dirty and demeaning and degrading, compromised and compromising, yes: all that.  We call it democracy.  Finnigan – and his Dean, and what a pity those two haven’t eyes for anyone save one another, not that it surprised me, when they were tearing away after girls at Hogwarts they hunted always in couple, like hounds, and I saw even then that what would befall, would befall; I wonder if they were even capable with a woman unless they were sharing, and at last they had the sense to cut out the middle-Witch – Finnigan comprehends that laws and constitutions aren’t suicide pacts, and are all subordinate to the ultimate law of preserving the freedoms and liberties of the subject and the rights and independent sovereignty of the Crown.


But then – there’s Harry.


He’s been at the sharp end since he was born.  He’s steeped in the grand old British martial tradition of inspired insubordination.  He knows when to throw the book of the rules aside, to do what wants doing so that rules have meaning and can be kept.  It’s a damned fine line, and he’s walked it all his life, and never put a foot seriously out of line.


There was no chance, of course, once Ginny nobbled him.  One couldn’t even resent that.  It was the real thing, true love and all that rot.  I did hope – a decent period after she was killed – but, there, he picked another lawyer from my stable, and I yet sleep alone.


Yet I did one thing for him that Ginny could not do, nor Malfoy.  I got the Godric’s Hollow Rules through, and I doubt Granger the Prim – who could never in million years have managed it – would approve of all my tactics.


But what would you have?  An unthinking obeisance to petty rules, not even law, mere blindworm regulation by stuffed robes of bureaucrats, that took a man’s property ‘for Ministry use and public safety’ – and doesn’t that cover a multitude of sins – and never returned nor paid a Sickle for it?


I did that.  That was my triumph.  And Dr Granger, old Prim’s No 1 Cup, can get stuffed.




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8 comments or Leave a comment
From: seneska Date: May 23rd, 2010 06:38 pm (UTC) (Link)
I've just read all your updates for the day. Each of the chapters for both stories was moving and certainly gave me something to ponder over.

wemyss From: wemyss Date: May 23rd, 2010 07:25 pm (UTC) (Link)

Thank you.

It's a tension, really, isn't it: what must be done at the sharp end to preserve liberty at home.
noeon From: noeon Date: May 27th, 2010 11:39 pm (UTC) (Link)
But permit me a dissent to the opinion that it’s demeaning to beat the other side at its own, smooth, centuries-old, hand-worn game.

Shhhh. Don't tell.

*sharpens corset stays and grins*
wemyss From: wemyss Date: June 5th, 2010 06:59 pm (UTC) (Link)

Oh, dear, did I let something slip?

noeon From: noeon Date: June 6th, 2010 10:01 pm (UTC) (Link)

ὁ λόγος τῶν πραγμάτων εἰκών ἐστιν.

Aka nice icon. And nicer work. :)
wemyss From: wemyss Date: June 7th, 2010 07:18 pm (UTC) (Link)

To paraphrase my own most recent long fic...

... It's been some time since anyone quoted Michael Psellus to me.
From: (Anonymous) Date: June 7th, 2010 07:38 pm (UTC) (Link)

Well, then it's high time!

Even if it's a humble Simonides apophthegm (190b), the reading of which is making me have Thoughts again about visual and verbal depictions.

And yes, your recent longer work is going to have to be read through again for good measure. The notes were a great pleasure.
noeon From: noeon Date: June 7th, 2010 07:39 pm (UTC) (Link)

I think you can guess who that was...

...someone who forgot to log into LJ.
8 comments or Leave a comment