Author: Ladyfun

Title: Educating the Children of Rulers, Priests, and Nobels.

Pairing:

Rating: Generally K+

Disclaimers: All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

SUMMARY: For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 11?. The little white lies that we tell ourselves in order to get through the day can come crashing down around one so fast, one can't breathe. Ron is about to learn exactly how that feels as he enters his first job following "The Big One."

A/N #1: Written for Round 11 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Sub for Chaser 3 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Chaser 3 prompt: Law Enforcement

A/N #2: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (restriction) No word said 2. (word) destiny 3. (word) information

Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.

Title: Educating the Children of Rulers, Priests, and Nobels.
Round 11/Dancing through the Years
Position: Beater 2- Prompt: Year 503/A Day At School
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

"What's this?" Hermione uttered, a mysterious large package arriving wrapped in the finest golden paper arriving to her stoop by owl. "Who sent this?" she asked the owl, but it was too late. He had already departed.

Hermione reached to open the ornately wrapped gift, until a firm grasp on her shoulder caused her pause.

"S'il vous plait, ma belle..." came the soothing voice of her spouse, and Head Auror, Fleur Delacour.

"Always working." Grumbled the former Gryffindor.

"Non...just want to make sure my precious cargo stays in one piece, zat is all." After performing a series of counter-enchantements and hex breakers, Auror Delacour was satisfied that the package was safe, and gave her wife the nod.

"Open."

Hermione's eager hands ripped open the packaging, causing her bride to chuckle. Hermione's eyes widened, as she read the inscription on the front inlay of the ancient book. It was a rare, never-before seen, 1st edition printing of Hogwarts: A History.

"Mon Dieu!" Fleur gasped.

Hermione's face went white as she read the inscription on the inside of the book. Vaguely familiar penmanship taunted her, and when she realized who the inscription was from, she became even whiter, if that was possible.

Dearest Muddy,
If you are reading this, that means things went horribly wrong in the war; all I have to say in that regards is damn, damn, damn! I can't envision how that happened, but then again, I can't believe my longstanding records for O.W.L.S. set in 1959 was beat by a stupid mudblood 28 years later who happened to be very intelligent and earned my respect. (I suspect you know to whom I am referring...Granger.) I'm sure you're probably a big reason that those two sniveling pubescent lunatics found their way out of a paper bag in the first place.
I have left strict instructions in the event we lost and you won, and I died and you lived, that this be delivered to you upon your 21st birthday. So...happy fucking birthday, Muddy! It's too bad your blood was so impure, I have to say, there was only one other person that loved this book as much as I did. As much as I hate to admit it, that person happens to be you.
However, this is a very special edition. This tells the real beginnings of Hogwarts, and is from my family's library. When you read further, you'll understand why we own this; it was later revised by my great-great grandfather, who was none to pleased by the role of slaves in our family's origins. Everyone has skeletons, I suppose. I would prefer that you keep this private, Granger, but it is a gift, and you are free to do with it as you wish.
Finally, as a parting bit of advice: enjoy the book, and appreciate your gifts. Knowledge is the only thing that matters, in the end.
Respectfully,
Bellatrix Black

P.S. For what it's worth, if you haven't already done so, don't marry that red-headed Weasel! He's not even deserving of washing your laundry. Go for his sister, or some other hot witch. Follow your destiny. If you haven't figured it out, you were way into me, Granger, and you like women! Don't sell yourself short, like I did. As I have clearly demonstrated, life is short. Hopefully you didn't kill me, because if you did, well...I want my book back! Only kidding. Keep it, and live well, Hermione Granger.
BB

Hermione looked up, a tempest of emotions going through her. Even dead, Bellatrix Black could still affect her. She cleared her throat.

"Well, she had me pegged, huh?" Hermione mused, tactfully, noticing the jealous fury percolating dangerously close to the surface on her Veela mate. "But, wow, she really got it wrong. I was never into her... I swear!"

Fleur had a very measured tone. "I 'ope for your sake, 'ermione, zat iz true..." huffed the disgruntled Frenchwoman.

Hermione groaned, but pulled the heavy tomb to her lap. It was ornate and the embossed letters alone were stunning. The book was simply, in a word, astounding. It was Hermione's dream come true.

"Why don't we read a little of this, shall we?" Hermione continued, nervously. Her precise intonation filled the room, as she started the first chapter, aloud...

XOXOXOXOX

As read from the 1st Edition Printing:

It was often misconstrued that the origins of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry began in the 10th century. That is an incorrect assumption.

It is when the first formal recording and public declaration of the school became official; however, the truth of the matter is that it had been operating in secret for centuries prior to the formal recording. It was a school that was kept alive by word of mouth and was started by a dedicated Greek slave, that adored his little student, named Morgana, on or around the year 503 Anno Domini. It was started as a place of refuge, where those who were different and perhaps not up to the standards of modern society, could learn and obtain an education without fear.

It began as a safe haven for magical folks to learn, in an environment free of persecution.

The story begins during a very troubled time. The onset of war in the Roman empire against the Persians had ransacked the majority of the eligible school age males; sadly, the year that had seen so much bloodshed would be the first of many long years to come of war waged between the Persians and the Romans. The reasons were irrelevant; the inability to define the borders and the relationship between the two empires were at the heart of the entirety of the conflict. Truthfully there was enough land and bounty to go around many times; the two heard headed empires would not come to that realization until much later, in 567 AD.

The wars had a cost that went beyond trade, commerce, and gold, however. The disruption to society and the evolution of civilization would take a back seat to hostility.

Yet, somehow, the informal school on the Western border of the land had still managed to scrape by; granted, it solidified its standing of the backs of former Greek slaves who had a penchant for learning and teaching to to the majority of its formal schooling.

How ironic that the slaves would be the one teaching the class of nobility deemed suitable to receive an education: children of rulers, priests, and nobility.

The "privileged" class.

However, the love of learning had been deeply ingrained into the fabric that comprised the Greek souls, who grew to love their charges. Knowledge, and the free exchange of information, was a value embedded into their very DNA; to not teach, to not learn...that would be the tragedy. More so than enslavement, even. So the first concession of the Roman elite was to allow the slave class, although highly educated, to teach their children.

The second allowance of the Romans would be to allow the daughters of the locals families to enroll them in the school while the sons were deployed to keep the numbers up. It was on the first day of the informal school year in 502 that a young girl would begin her first vestiges of formal learning. Within an inconspicuous little cluster of children interested in learning, one stood out. There was no child as conspicuous as Morgana Black, the future namesake to her famous granddaughter, Morgan Le Fay. Her granddaughter would be widely regarded as the nucleus of the future bloodline that would become the famous pure-blooded lineage of the Black family, of England.

However, Morgana Black, herself was the furthest thing from legendary. While she was pretty and drew a crowd to her, she was lonely and interested in pleasing those around her. She would often wander to the stream and help Titus, the Greek slave assigned to her class, with his daily chores. He could dissuade her as much as possible, the fact of the matter was, she was lonely. She stayed long after other kids had gone home; her parents were both often gone on long journeys to other faraway lands as they were the senior states persons for the region and frequently handled affairs of the state for the emperor.

They were important people indeed, and could not be bothered with a small child.

Titus seemed to be the only soul patient enough for the curious child; he constantly challenged her. On one trip back from washing the school linens, he watched flabbergasted as the linens folded themselves.

"Great Ceaser! What is this witchcraft?" He gasped.

As quickly as he uttered it, the linen fell to the Earth.

"I'm sorry!" Morganna Black apologized. "It's just...you had such a large load...and I didn't want you to fall behind...I...I just used my specially powers to help it go faster!" She wailed.

He hugged her. "Oh, child! You did nothing wrong, nothing! But," He whispered, looking around furtively. "Don't show anyone else! They wouldn't understand it's a gift!"

"What's a gift?"

"Why, your magical ability, child!" With a wink, he wandlessly spelled the rest of the linen into his basket, causing Morgana's eyes to widen in kind.

"Titus...you..." She murmured, unable to finish.

He pulled her into a hug. "Shhh. Be still, little blessed one. Do not fear. It has been my job, all along, to cultivate your talent when and if it presented itself. Fear not. I'm here for you."

"But how?"

"Your father. He knew this day would come, and he sent for me. Don't worry. He has made other provisions, as well, little one, I promise."

XOXOXOXOOXO

They never spoke of it again, until the next year, in 503 A.D. Once upon a time, in earlier times, the Roman empire had viewed witches and wizards as equals to mortals, or close to it; but magic was quickly falling out of favor and looked down upon by the Empire at present.

And on that twelfth day of school, on 503 A.D., it was a hot day, and lessons had been particularly tedious. Morgan Black had excelled, and had completed her entire allotment of work completed, she festered in the corner wondering how her fellow students and "privileged set" could be so damn boring.

She twirled her black ringlet in her hands, tied in the patrician upsweep famous in her time; and send her piercing black eyes on a blond girl in her class.

Ugh. Agrippiea Mendonzia, the most foul of the foul. She couldn't stand even looking at her! The little snark had been quick to tell their teacher that it was Morgan who put the snap beans in the new teacher's tunic. Really, what use in telling that information was there? She mused. Tattle tell!

But that day was infamous for the sheer fact the previously far away notion that there was war distantly around them came dangerously close to home. Persian soldiers stormed their town, and burned most of the city to the ground to send a message. They looted, and killed all who they came into contact with; however, Titus would not let that happen to his prized pupil.

He scooped her up, and she felt the nauseating feeling of whooshing through time and space; a feeling that would later be formally dubbed "apparating."

She landed with a thud, somewhere altogether...different.

"Where is this?" She wondered, aloud, as she gazed up at the daunting spires of a magnificent castle that seemed to reach the sky.

Titus chuckled. "It is no consequence. The borders are hidden." He grabbed her hand and they started walking towards a large castle looking building up ahead.

"Wow...what is that?" She asked.

"Morgana, welcome to your new school. Welcome to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school where you will be taught how to use your magic, not conceal it. Welcome to your first day of school."

She smiled brightly, until she saw next to her, an equally dazed Agrippiea Mendonzia.

Seeing her mortal enemy, she sighed. "Craptastic." She swore under her breath.

Well, life isn't always a fairy tale, now is it? Along with the sunshine, there's bound to be a little rain sometimes, as well.

Thus began the true start of the greatest school for magic ever known, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, built in the 6th century by patron saints, the largest donation of course from the esteemed House of Black in the year 503 A.D.

From the downfall of one of the proudest Roman cities rose up the endowed school for the children that were just a little bit different.

XOXOXOXOXO

Hermione read the altered version of her favorite book many, many times; especially during her pregnancy that was quite difficult. She was put on bed rest at 5 months, and that was the equivalent of water boarding torture to the active witch.

She put it up once their lively son was born; he was everywhere, all at once. Etonne Granger Delacour had the distinct traits of having his mother's beauty and his mother's brains...and it was a deadly combination. Multiple tutors had thrown their hands up, crying out he was positively beyond help, and Hermione secretly feared he would be too much of a handful for Hogwarts.

That was, however, until an unexpected knock on their front door happened that day, seven years to the day of his birth.

"Hello, Madame Granger, Madame Delacour." The well-dressed gentleman waltzed in, placing his bowler cap on their coat rack. He surveyed the room, seemingly displeased, murmuring about "too many distractions."

"Excuse me? You are...?" Hermione quickly offered, attempted to diffuse the attack posture Fleur had assumed in their living room.

He looked at her incredulously. "Who am I? Really?" He looked around the room, warily. "Where is he?"

"And who might sat be, Monsieur?" Fleur growled, dangerously low in tone.

He rolled his eyes. "Mr. Etonne, of course!"

Bounding around from the corner, he giggled. "Ditty bag! Ditty Bag!"

"Etonne Granger Delacour!" Hermoine huffed.

"Aw, Ma!" He whined.

The stranger struck him on the backside of his head, looking directly at him. "Young man, that is the last time you will disrespect your mothers, in my presence! Do you understand?"

He gulped. "And you are...?"

"My name is Mr. Titus Magister," He explained, rather impatiently. "I have been sent to ... mold...the young man who is to become the most powerful wizard in England, such as it is. However, he is currently little more than a disgrace, a borderline juvenile delinquent, at present...or so I am told. Is that true?"

"Who said that?" The young boy clenched his fists.

He waved his hands. "That is of no consequence. What matters is that we begin our studies. I have been doing this for a long time, young man, and have had more clever witches and wizards than you try to fool me."

By way of example, Titus pulled the "Fantastic Exploding Zonker" from Weasley's Joke Shop hidden in his pocket by the young wizard and exploded it in his hand. "I assure you, if Morgan Le Fay and Bellatrix Black couldn't fool me, you Sir, will not be able to, either. Shall we begin?"

Hermione and Fleur looked at each other, equal parts flabbergasted and grateful.

Hermione couldnt help thinking to herself, somewhere, right now, Bellatrix Black is laughing her ass off.

FIN