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Hermione Granger, OM, sat in the visitor's section of the Wizengamot Hall, listening to the inane talk about things of no importance to anyone with two brain cells.
She was waiting for the Session to reach it's close, where the floor had to be tendered to anyone who wished to speak.
Last week, following the trial of Harry Potter under Modred's Law, he had chosen the Veil, since there was no certainty of what lay beyond. They had denied him even a wand to take, though they had no way of knowing that as Master of Death he had all three Hallows, which they could not find, and could not remove.
When Malfoy asked for anyone who wanted to speak, she had waited until all others had gone first before arising. Her research indicated that once she had been tendered the floor in this part of the proceedings, she could not be interrupted nor stopped until she finished.
Arising and simply standing quietly, she was given the floor, not that there was any choice in the matter.
Dexter Nott, the last presiding officer to attempt to block someone, was still rotting somewhere under the White Tower. That was the oldest wizard Prison in the realm, and it was rumored that Death would not rescue you from those confines, until the sovereign released you. Old Dexter had been in there 398 years. So far.
Granted the floor, she actually descended to the floor to speak, her Order of Merlin First Class glinting brightly, to the anger of many purebloods. She raised her wand toward the ceiling and spoke.
"Witches and Wizards of this Realm. I watched you send the greatest hero of this generation, perhaps since Merlin, through the Veil a week ago, and you called it justice, because, you claimed, you called it law."
"Well, we who have been gifted magic have recourse to a higher power than your so called law and your so called justice. As representative, in absentia, of Harry James Potter, I now act in his stead. I call upon Hecate, I call upon Morrigan, I call upon each and all the pantheon of the Old Gods to sit in Judgment upon everyone in this room, upon everyone in this Ministry, upon everyone in this Realm, who is gifted with Magic."
" I call upon the ultimate Court of Magic to judge the actions, the hearts, the minds, and the souls of every witch, wizard, and squib in Britain. And let only those who are pure escape the Ultimate Punishment, of being cast into the outer darkness, where nothing lives, but nothing dies, until the stars go out and the Universe ends, myself not excepted. So I have Spoken, so I have been Heard, So Mote It Be."
A flash of actinic light, brighter than the noonday sun, flared from her wand to the ceiling, and somewhere, everywhere, and yet nowhere, voices unheard, for centuries in some cases, began to laugh!
Perhaps it might have been called merciful, for it was quick. Instead of the long drawn out consideration of each individual, in less than an hour, seven Wix with seats on the Wizengamot remained. The Ministry building was a ghost town, and more than half of Hogwarts students and a few staff were missing, too.
But down in the Veil Room, Hermione Granger, who had been spared as innocent, by the Gods Themselves, checked her backpack, her wands, and her other items she was taking, and through the Veil she walked with steady, sure steps.
Wherever Harry Potter had gone, she was, by the Gods, going after him.
After she was gone, suddenly the Veil itself burst into flames, and fell to the floor in ashes, so no one else could ever follow that way again.