one floo under

by Greyff

Harry Potter ideas i wrote out to amuse and possibly inspire, no intent to continue. Remember that flames belong in a fireplace except on no-burn days when they aren't allowed at all. thank you.

9. Chapter 9: Conspiracies

one floo under, chapter 9

more harry potter ideas not usable

Only in Britain could it be thought a defect to be too clever by half. The probability is that too many people are too stupid by three-quarters.

*break*

2/13/1979 -

"This is... odd," said the Prime Minister.

"This is only the beginning of the rabbit's hole," said the Queen.

"I'm not sure what could be stranger than learning that there's an entire society of magic existing within our borders," said the PM.

A nondescript man stood outside the end of the corridor, eyeing them as they approached. No, realized the new Prime Minister, eyeing her.

"She's the new Prime Minister," said the Queen.

The nondescript man in the slightly shabby clothing nodded at that. "Margaret Thatcher. Queen Elizabeth. You are recognized."

A section of wall opened, revealing a somewhat grungy-looking elevator.

"What about-" began the newly appointed PM, glancing at the single security agent who'd accompanied them.

"Oh, Agent Green? She's in the know already," said the Queen.

"Quite," said Agent Green, a tone of amusement in her voice.

"This is quite an old elevator," said Thatcher as she entered.

"Indeed," said the Queen, standing next to her. "I believe it was last refurbished in 1947."

"Upgrading the surfaces is scheduled for 1980," said the nondescript fellow before the doors closed.

"Well, if it's... we're moving very fast," noted Margaret Thatcher.

"The elevator itself was built in 1942," said the Queen. "Shortly after I had been approached by a very odd individual."

"That was when you learned of this 'wizarding society'?" guessed Thatcher.

"Oh yes, I had just turned sixteen, but I had already been fascinated by mechanical things and I found this even more of interest," said Queen Elizabeth II as the doors to the elevator opened again.

The short rough-hewn stone corridor didn't impress the PM. The shipyard on the other side of what she recognized as an airlock DID. "How?"

Something started walking towards them. The PM wasn't quite sure if she should classify this as a someONE or a someTHING. While it was clearly wearing a tool-belt and wearing some sort of stained workclothes, it was also clearly not human.

"Georges, you've grown," said the Queen, sounding quite fond of the large insect heading their way.

"Mine Queen," said a box at the mantis/centaur/creature's waist area. "You grown also have."

"Well, it has been a few years," agreed the Queen. "This is Margaret Thatcher. She is the new Prime Minister."

"Minister of Primes," said Georges, inclining his head and lowering antennae. Actually, realized the PM, she had no idea of the creature's gender though the voice from the box was of a male with a slight Northern accent.

"Georges is one of the refugees from a crisis out in the spiral arm of our galaxy," said the Queen. "He is what some term an 'extraterrestrial'."

"The Queen is kind to remember Georges," said the insect. "Engineer Prime is in control center. Today is reactor test."

"Ah, yes, I don't want to disturb him at present," said the Queen. "Relay my regards, please."

"'Reactor'?" asked the PM. "Nuclear?"

"Neither fusion nor fission," said the Queen. "Something else though they tried to explain it to me but the explanation did not make a lot of sense. Not sure how much is the language barrier and how much the technological gap. They have to build the tools to build the tools to make the materials to build tools with. I remind you that all of this is quite secret. Only the barest minimum of technology leaves this place, and was a condition of our agreement. What we have here are refugees from various entanglements. Extraterrestrials of various kinds."

"But this technology, it could revolutionize the world," said the PM, watching as what HAD to be some sort of anti-gravity device lifted tons of machinery up into the air.

"We are not ready for such advances, and there are other considerations," said the Queen. "The people here, and for all their strangeness they ARE people, are refugees. If the universe at large knew some of them were here - it would be a great problem for not only Great Britain but the world itself. You see, there are royals out there among the stars. And where there are royals, there are those who would supplant them. During the Second Great War - one approached me. A prince of sorts, in exile, on the wrong side of a coup. He survived and has been here since that time, ready to assist should Britain be threatened to an extent beyond even the Luftwaffe's bombardment."

"What do you mean we are not ready for such advancements?" asked Thatcher.

"How many traffic accidents are there in London each day?" asked the Queen. "Bad enough with the vehicles we have, but do you realize what sort of damage a person would do with a similar vehicle going at nearly Mach five and even a simple fusion reactor? Catastrophic indeed."

"If peoples-mine realized I here, asteroids could be towed. Much damage," said Georges.

"You're the prince?" asked the PM.

"Prince-not. Merchant of kind-sort," answered Georges.

"The moment this level of technology gets out into the mainstream, we would have to be watching for attacks," said the Queen. "There are protests at any scale-up of the military and there would be a truly massive one needed should it come to that."

"The Queen has gift from Engineer Prime," said Georges. "Word of magic-war reach us through Agent."

"A gift? It's not another soaking tub, is it?" asked the Queen. "It is with great regret that We cannot use any life-extension devices as that might put forth questions that We are not ready for."

"No," said Georges, taking a breadbox-sized device off of his belt. "Anti-magic field generator. Field covers half-klick."

"Ah, to prevent magical assassins?" asked the Queen.

"Arrangement with Britain mutual benefit, must continue," said Georges.

"Actually, We did have a request of the Prime," said the Queen, using the royal "we" to remind everyone that this was all an official visit. "We have been informed repeatedly about the wizarding delight in using mind and memory modification magic."

"Work in progress," said Georges, his mandibles clacking together. "Archway. Tricky. Go through, dispel. Very tricky make work non-individual. Humans vary muchly."

"Oh good," said the Queen with a nod. "That will most definitely be something we want around."

"Pardon. I don't mean to interrupt," said the PM. "Is that a spaceship?"

"Yes," said Georges.

"Why does it look like a battleship?" asked the PM.

"Because it is," said the Queen.

The PM paused and tried again. "Why, if it is a spaceship, does it look like a normal if a bit old sea-going battleship?"

"Camouflage," said the Queen. "If it needs to be readied, it will look to be something wholly unremarkable to anyone peering at it from orbit."

"So we have spies from the wizarding world hanging about, and we have aliens popping by every so often to check up on us?" asked the PM.

"Precisely," agreed the Queen as Georges nodded as best he could with the different anatomy.

"Bloody hell."

"Precisely," repeated the Queen.

- 2/28/1990 *

It was an entire community formed below London with rock that had been melted and fused to prevent seepage, and even then the thumping of pumps could still be heard from one end to the other.

"So," said Q, a member in good standing of MI6 who only looked a bit like John Cleese. "Just wanted to tell you that the genesplicing went well. One of our agents died and crawled off, then regenerated into a completely different looking person."

"So that's five of us that the process worked on," said M. "James, yourself, myself, and two other operatives."

"Four actually, Agent 19 had a significant portion of his body destroyed on his mission to Budapest." Q shook his head. "As our nonhuman allies indicated, the process is not as efficient as the original species' ability. Certain conditions and limitations apply."

"True. We were able to recover the body?"

Q nodded. "Yes, or at least the majority of it. Per protocol, everything recoverable was cremated."

"Good," said M. "What of our other 'allies'?"

"The psychics remain unaware of the wizards and aliens for the most part, the exceptions being a few with particular talents or exceptional cleverness," said Q. "I mainly deal with the alien technologies that we're able to replicate within our materials limitations and that won't compromise our secrets too much if they fall into unfriendly hands. Watch-lasers are about the limit there. The aliens are aware of the wizards and the psychics but are mostly self-contained. The psi-operatives with Path-3 or Clair-3 and above usually figure out about the alien presence."

"I received word from Scarecrow," said M. "Apparently the war in the wizarding world is getting worse. We may have to break secrecy if it escalates but Spider tells me that there is a child who is the key to stopping Tom Riddle."

"A child?" asked Q. "The more I learn about this magical world thing the more confusing it is. I don't suppose the child is going to find a ring and go dump it in a volcano?"

"I'm pretty sure that isn't it," said M.

"Pity," said Q. "Would have nicely wrapped it up without further involvement on our part." He thought for a moment, Scarecrow was a psi who was the primary go-to for liasons between the psi and the more mundane agency members. Spider was one of those psi not part of their department, but was ranked as Path-3 and Precog-4. Therefore someone who knew a great deal of what was going on and only communicated when she felt it was urgent.

"The policy since each group established itself has been to allow them to be self-policing as much as possible," said M. "Currently we are very close to intervening and going straight to Operation Pendragon."

Q shuddered at that. Once that particular genie was out of the bottle, and the groups were no longer as secret to each other as they currently were - it would only be a matter of time before the mundane world began to learn of such.

At worst, war.

At best, well, it never really turned out with that sort of result did it?

"So, Q, at least some of our alien refugees came from worlds which had their own wizardy idiots. Did any of them have a way of dealing with them?"

"I shall make inquiries," agreed Q.

* September 6, 1984 *

"This is the 'Savior of the Wizarding World'?" asked Margaret Thatcher as she went through the photographs that had accompanied the file. "The one who kept us from having to unleash Operation Pendragon?"

"That is so," said the current head of MI5, the domestic version of MI6, also known as the Security Service.

"Looks a bit malnourished," said the Prime Minister. "I take it that he's in a subsistance-level household, judging from the clothes?"

"No, actually Vernon Dursley makes a fair amount of money as a Senior Director at Grunnings," said the MI5 head, who currently went by the name Algernon due to a bit of alien technology and someone asking the dreaded question "What does this button do?"

"Grunnings?" asked Thatcher.

"Drills, drilling services, and borers mainly," said Algernon. "Mainly the sort of thing used in construction and excavation work, commercial applications with few products suitable for the general public. Vernon Dursley was hired in 1966 and has continued working with that firm despite some odious personal habits."

The Prime Minister flipped to the sheets dealing with Vernon Dursley, raising an eyebrow at some of it. "Well. This is not particularly acceptable now, is it?"

"Albus Dumbledore put him there, and legally it IS the only place to put him right now. Only surviving relatives and all. We have one of our fellows inside the magical side looking for evidence of any actions we can use to pull him out but right now it is dicey at best."

"I see," said Thatcher. "So, does Spider still say that this Moldytoast is still around?"

"That's 'Voldemort' ma'am," said Algernon.

"I thought there was some sort of taboo curse on the name so that it couldn't be uttered," said Thatcher.

"Possible but doubtful," said Algernon. "We just tend to call him 'Tom Riddle', or 'case DL-13'."

"Wait. He may have put a taboo curse on his pseudonym but not his real name?" asked Thatcher.

"As near as we can tell, common sense or anything approaching it is not particularly valued in the magical community," said Algernon.

"I believe it was Voltaire who said 'There is nothing common about common sense.'" Thatcher nodded once and went through the folder quickly. "Child Protective Services?"

"More likely to do more harm than good, particularly considering the wizard tendency to go firing off those forgetfulness spells," said Algernon. "Some of whom are rather more skilled than others."

"Oh yes, Agent Goldstein," said Thatcher, remembering a note that had come across her desk earlier that day. "How is she?"

"Expected to make a full recovery but she still currently thinks she's a daisy," said Algernon.

"Definitely needs to be put on hazard pay," said Thatcher. "Very well, see what can be done without direct intervention. If necessary to safeguard Mister Potter - do it."

"Understood," said Algernon.

* break *

"Another pair of backpackers gone," said Thatcher.

"We've determined that the survivors were all obliviated," said Algernon. "Badly and most likely deliberately. One of them has no idea WHY but false memories recalling that he killed them both and hacked up the bodies."

"We're sure he didn't?" asked the PM.

"As close to one hundred percent as can be, or it would never have been kicked up to our level," said Algernon. "We're dealing with a pureblood wizard or group who is engaged in the practice of 'mugglebaiting' as they call it."

"Do we have any idea which one?" asked the PM.

"Probably Lucius Malfoy," said Algernon. "We could arrange an accident."

"We'd need to be completely certain, nor is the assassination of a British citizen something to consider even then," said the PM. "Keep tabs on him as best we can though. I understand that such measures, taken against those of non-magical descent, is not actually considered illegal or immoral within wizard society?"

"It's certainly considered wrong, much like a bestiality fetish would be in our society," offered the Algernon. "Though apparently you're right in the moral structure of the wizarding society worldwide is a bit off. Love potions would be date-rape at the very least in non-magical society, but are considered normal and mostly acceptable on their end."

"I wonder how many of these 'muggle-born' they find so abhorrent are actually the result of their male wizards going out and finding someone they fancy for a fling, then Obliviate afterwards," mused Thatcher idly.

"We're figuring roughly one-in-three if you accept those who are descendents of such a thing," said Algernon. "Though some remember to cast abortificant or prevention spells, some would inevitably get sloppy. We've got our eye on one such we think was one of Lucius' own."

"Oh?" asked the PM. "Chance we can get the child to work for our end? My understanding is that the 'muggle-born' face an uphill battle obtaining employment in their society."

"Understated," said Algernon. "We'll keep an eye on this... Hermione Granger."

* break*

Vernon Dursley was many things. He was likened fairly often to a toad of a man, in manner and in form. He was quite unpleasant to his co-workers and those under his authority. Even so, he mainly dealt with stacks of paperwork and reports and the meet-and-greet with potential clients to close the deal. In fact, his ability to do so despite certain social inadequacies was the reason he'd gone from salesman to assistant director and eventually to THE director.

He put it down to personal charm, talent, and hard work.

"Sir, you've got an appointment in thirty," said his secretary.

"I've got the afternoon open," protested Vernon.

"Sir, I put the note on your desk this morning, wrote 'Urgent' in red lettering up at the top, and put three exclamation points on it," said the secretary.

"Oh, it can't be THAT urgent," stated Vernon as he looked about and found the note. Odd, his secretary wasn't easily flustered but judging from the hasty scribble - she'd been very flustered indeed. Let's see. Something about getting his lawyer to drop by for the meeting? "That idiot? He charges way too much for a face-to-face. Entirely unnecessary."

"Sir, it's nice to see you're so confident, but are you SURE?"

"Of course I am!" declared Vernon. Never let the underlings see any sign of a lack of confidence. You always had to be in control. Let's see, the meeting was with whom? Odd, his secretary had absolutely no sense of humor. This had to be a joke, no way around it otherwise. "It's not April 1st, is it?"

"Guards are already in arrival, sir," said his secretary.

"Guards, pish and tosh," said Vernon, reaching under his desk and pulling out a magazine. Ah, golf. Man's game it was. Too much walking around though. He needed to concentrate on something else for now.

"Sir, the PM is here," said the secretary about a half hour later.

"Tell the old witch she's ugly and stupid and horrendously overpaid," called out Vernon. "She ought to be beaten and driven out of town. Ha!"

Silence from beyond the open door to his office lasted nearly a full minute.

"The rep from Child Protective is here as well," said the secretary, sounding oddly shaky.

"I really think this joke has gone on long enough," muttered Vernon Dursley. "Fine, send 'em both off! I don't have time for this! Important matters to consider, more important than some pissy old broads."

"Oh hell," said his secretary, which was odd because he'd never heard her so much as say 'damn' before.

"Right," said Vernon. "Probably more freaks. Too damn many of them in my opinion, and my opinion is the only one that counts."

Two uniform-types entered the office, taking steps to the side so they flanked the door.

Vernon blinked at the sight of the next person entering. "Damn. You look just like old horse-face."

"Sergeant," said Margaret Thatcher to one of the door-flankers. "Is the representitive from Inland Revenue here yet?"

"I believe they are currently going over the files, ma'am," said the man to the right of the door.

"Oh, I believe they should be most thorough in their vigilance," said the woman.

Vernon half-rose from his desk, turning red in the face as he unleashed a torrent of invective. This bloody joke had gone entirely too far and was unprofessional and that secretary was so fired he would make sure it was retroactive and that she'd be lucky to get a job working in sewage management.

Throughout the entire thing, the fake Prime Minister just wore the same infuriating half-smirk.

* break *

The barrister looked directly into Vernon Dursley's eyes and summed everything up in a single word. "Doomed."

"What? How was I to know that any of this was REAL?! Why the bloody hell does the bloody Prime Minister visit a drill company?!"

"THAT is the first intelligent question I've heard from you," said the barrister. "And I've got an answer."

"Well?" demanded Vernon.

"You're not going to like it," said the barrister.

"I already don't like it," said Vernon.

"Another point. You can be taught after all," said the barrister. "I have a few contacts and I was curious why so many heads of departments were interested in YOU. And as near as I can tell, it all comes down to one thing. Your treatment of your nephew."

"What? That little freak!" Vernon rose up, reddening in the face, gritting his teeth to the point where they might crack.

"You say that about him where THEY can hear, I have little doubt you'll end up in an unmarked grave by the end of the year. Sit DOWN, Mister Dursley."

Vernon sat, turning white. "What?"

"I had to use up favors, but I had to know," said the barrister. "It all came down to why. I'm likely to never have to interact with anyone of the layer of society involved in this. I hope I never have to again. I was able to ascertain a few things though. One, the boy's parents were highly placed in some secretive group and died defending British interests against some terrorist organization." The barrister was thinking MI5, possibly MI6, and therefore something he absolutely did NOT want further information on the sordid details. Having such information was quite a bit more dangerous than he was entirely comfortable with.

"That's not right, they were just freaks," said Vernon.

"You may not believe it - but THEY believe it," pointed out the barrister. "I have no idea how high this goes up but it goes up pretty damn high. Mister Dursley, these are all legal proceedings and that's really all I can advise you on. As long as it stays legal proceedings with what they've got - you're doomed. Tax errors were made, but if they can make a pattern of it - that's evasion. Child Protective checked with the neighbors and found a lot of stories that don't match up. If they get a warrant and search your house for evidence of child abuse - will they find anything?"

"No, not at all," said Vernon.

"Good, because if I understand right they're probably on the way there now," said the barrister.

"Urk," said Vernon Dursley, turning almost completely white.

The barrister saw and connected the dots. He merely repeated the summation he'd had earlier. "Doomed."

* break *

Albus Dumbledore had heard from Arabella Figg that the muggle agencies charged with the welfare of children had gotten involved. He'd immediately flooed down with the full intention of obliviating the hell out of everyone involved, telling them to believe some cock-and-bull story he'd make up on the spot, and then return the status quo no matter what was going on.

He'd appeared in Arabella's floo, rushed out the door despite the squib's protests (she was only a squib after all) and charged down the street.

Photographers had been there, but photographs could be easily altered by someone sufficiently skilled with the same spell. Reporters were there, but they were easily influenced and deflected. Police and government agents and neighbors - the same.

The first wave of a Mass Obliviate hit the crowd, and there was such a scream you'd think he'd used fiendfyre on the woman. Clutching her head, falling, flopping around on the ground. One of those fits some rare muggles had when exposed to mind-affecting magic. Epilepsy, he thought they called it, and made up some muggle excuse for what caused it.

Even so, he resumed his effort after the pause to the rare response and another one clutched his head and was driven to a knee. Ah, a migraine sufferer. That too was often caused by exposure to mind-altering magic but some wizards had the same affliction. Didn't matter, he could adjust.

At which point, despite being disillusioned, a large dog hit him rather like a furry thunderbolt.

Oh great, the constables had a K-9 unit.

As it grabbed him by the wand-arm and slung him across the grass, he appended his earlier observation. Freaking BIG K-9 unit.

Which had led to HIM being repeatedly photographed, asked a bunch of impertinent questions, and eventually released.

And a K-9 had apparently fetched a stick for the muggle constables. A K-9 unit of the muggle constables had the bloody Elder Wand!

Oh, he'd reclaim it soon as he could find the dog and its handler. This still was hardly the way he'd intended things to go.

* break *

"Well done, Officer Biggs. Officer Wedge. Well done indeed. Which of you is which?"

"That would be Officer Biggs, Algernon. The unusually large dog is named Wedge. Biggs is rated as Beast-3 but specializes in working with dogs. Wedge is an exceptional dog. Caucasian-German Shephard mix I believe."

Algernon thought that Wedge could be mistaken for a pony with the size, and that Fenris might have been a better name.

"Yessir," said Biggs. "Sort of. Wedge here is from a magically-resistant strain of dogs used to safeguard temples in Tibet and similar areas. Unusually large, smart, magically resistant and very protective especially of children."

The large dog chuffed at the comment and gave a sloppy doggy grin.

"Well, keep it up," said Algernon. "I hadn't paid much attention to the breeding program until I noticed something was up with the Queen's corgi dogs reacting to things I couldn't see."

"They don't attack wizards on sight or anything, just get wary," said Officer Biggs. "Certain members of the staff have noticed that the dogs are reacting to something though as they also react to magical creatures that are invisible to mundanes."

"So I've heard. Looking forward to hearing more in fact." Algernon didn't mention how hard he was trying to get one for the main offices. This was about acknowledging the work of Biggs and Wedge, not about addressing vulnerabilities. Not just yet anyway.

* break *

Albus Dumbledore was not amused. That was the third person in a row to be hit with an Obliviate and who fell down screaming and thrashing.

Even as clueless as muggles were - the muggles were reacting in a most negative fashion to his attempt to get in the building he'd determined the most likely location of the Elder Wand. He needed that and then he could start the task of hunting down Harry wherever those "child protection" people had whisked him away to.

Which made it all the more shocking when he faced a muggle device that featured a long tube and which seemed to track his every movement in the corridor.

"Warning," came a voice from a box on one wall. "Intruder using stealth and attacking government agents. Stand down and identify."

Dumbledore blinked. His disillusionment was unbroken. So how?

"Grrrr."

Albus Dumbledore straightened. Slowly he looked over one shoulder. There was a very familiar and very large dog behind him.

Well, apparation was a well-practiced skill of his. He'd come back at a more convenient time.

Albus Dumbledore blinked as the world reformed around him. Mainly because this was NOT where he'd intended to be at all. This was not Hogwarts. This was not even Great Britain. This was the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower.

* break *

"Well, the anti-apparation ward didn't quite work as we expected. Instead of quashing his teleport, it dumped a bunch of energy into it. Looks like he ended up in Paris."

"Back to the drawing board then."

* break *

"Allo, Mister Potter. I'm Officer Biggs and this is my partner, Wedge. Say hello, Wedge."

"Aroo ra wa!" said Wedge in something that sounded like Husky-speak.

Harry was a bit intimidated at first. The dog was clearly larger and heavier than he was. On the other hand, said dog was grinning a sloppy canine grin at him and the tail was gently waving back and forth behind it.

The thought of what would happen should a certain prize-winning Harry-chasing dog face off against THIS was immensely cheering for some reason.

* break *

"Okay, so aliens have wizards," said Algernon. "In fact, most aliens have tech based on the whole 'magic' angle and get around the whole 'having to have the right blood' thing because their tech harnesses the underlying energies responsible for magic. Right?"

"That part is easy to understand," said Sakumo, the name given to one of the more human-looking aliens that was a liason. "Most races don't HAVE magical creatures or wizards. They just get to the tech level where they discover those forces and make use of them. Most of what you consider anti-grav is actually using something like the wizard's levitation spell. Same forces, different ways of accessing them or talking about them."

"So *some* aliens have wizards," corrected Algernon. "Some do not but can access the 'aether' or whatever. The energy found in the smaller folds in the universe or whatever the proper cosmological terms are. The local variety, by which I mean Earth wizardy types, access those energies by means of two genes. One is dominant and allows magical use, while the other is a damaged gene that suppresses magic if it turns on. If both sets are 'on' then you have what they term a squib. Someone who has magic in that they can see magical beasts and all but do not have the ability to use magic at all."

"That's right," said Sakumo. "And squibs are not well-treated in their society. Quite often they're just turned loose in the nonmagical world, thrown out of the family, and unable to cope with things. A few consider themselves lucky to be holding onto any menial job at all that keeps them in their magical society. So far the geneworkers have figured out how to make a nonmagical person a squib but making a nonmagical a wizard is beyond them."

"It's safe though?" asked Algernon.

"Completely at this point," said Sakumo. "That's why I'm briefing you. Only the people who have allergic reactions to the treatment medications are at risk and that can be tested for ahead of time."

"Let's do a trial group, just to make sure the process works," said Algernon, thinking things through. "How long does it take to stability?"

"Roughly two months with your species for everything to work through," said Sakumo. "Some species, such as my own, it's only a couple of your weeks. Actual injections take place over two weeks time for your species, timed injections at various sites. Some of which will be fairly painful. I'd recommend light duty for those undergoing the process."

"No side effects like what happened to me?" asked Algernon, wanting to be completely clear on that.

"What DID happen to you?" asked Sakumo.

"I used to be female and in my mid-30s," said Algernon. He made a gesture at his apparently teenage body.

"Ah. No, nothing like that," said Sakumo. "Possible nausea and diarrhea especially in the first two weeks."

* break *

Albus Dumbledore wore many hats. It kept him busy and being busy was a good thing for the most part.

It therefore took him six months to get back to the building that he thought contained the Elder Wand.

Now thoroughly disillusioned to the point where he didn't even have a scent, he went straight up to the doors to the building.

"Afternoon, sir, can I see your ident?"

Albus blinked and looked over at the box next to the door, his perfectly normal wand in hand. He blinked again then checked to make sure his spells were still active. No. They were not. Somehow between the street and the doorway, they'd come crashing down. "Just checking addresses. I seem to have lost my way."

"Understandable, sir. This is a restricted government office. You might try the sandwich place two doors down, they've got maps and a bus schedule."

"Ah, I see. Thank you kindly." Albus nodded as if that was all he was after and stepped away from the door and out of direct sight of it as soon as he could.

Perhaps a quick apparation to the other side of the door?

Albus Dumbledore made a quick gesture with his wand, placing himself under a muggle-notice-me-not charm. Then he went back to the door.

"Sir? You had a further question?" said the box by the door.

"Uhm, yes," said Albus Dumbledore, thinking quickly. "Do you have the time, by any chance?"

"Isn't there a spell for that? I see you have your wand out?"

"Uhm, right," said Albus Dumbledore.

"I'm a squib, sir. You're not violating the Statute."

"Ah," said Albus Dumbledore. "I'm Albus Dumbledore. You've heard of me. I require access to the building."

"Nature of business, Mister Dumbledore?"

"Recovery of lost property," said Dumbledore, glad that he was on familiar ground at least.

"Oh. You mean the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the first of the Deadly Hallows," said the box. "Bad news about that. It's found a new owner."

"What?" asked Albus Dumbledore as the familiar ground was yanked out from under him. How did some squib even know what it was?

"It belongs to Officer Wedge, whom you've met. Which everyone agrees as quite odd because while Officer Wedge defeated you, all he ever does with it is chew on it."

Albus Dumbledore found himself so far off what he expected at this point that he couldn't form a coherent sentence. He understood what was being said but it made absolutely no sense to him. There were articles in the Quibbler that made more sense than this.

"Anyway, we may have found someone who can defeat Officer Wedge and claim the wand. We're currently negotiating with the family to allow her a chance at it."

"Some sort of wizard's duel then?" asked Dumbledore, praying it was not a Death Eater.

"Not at liberty to say, sir," said the box. "In any case, with all apologies to the Defeater Of Grindenwald - word has come back from my superiors that no exception is to be made and you are not authorized access to this facility."

"I simply must be allowed to recover my property, it is for the Greater Good," argued Dumbledore.

"Did... did you just try a charm spell on an intercom?!"

"Err, no?" tried Albus Dumbledore.

"Oi. That's it. Leader of the Light or not. Security. Attempted unauthorized access on the South entry. Unleash the hounds."

Perhaps another quick retreat was in order.

* break *

"Daniel Granger, I have here that you are a maxillofacial surgeon. Emma Granger, you are listed as a dental surgeon - specializing in Pediatrics."

The two Grangers looked at each other before returning their attention to the speaker as the three of them walked past another set of guards and a door that looked as if it was meant to stop an atomic blast.

"I know you've been told this a dozen times already, but this is all highest level of security. As the saying goes - you can't even tell yourself what you are going to see here, unless it is in a secure room within this very facility and then you'll be monitored." The guard, wearing a very respectable looking uniform, glanced back at them. "Signify that you understand this, please."

"Yes, well, we understand the agreement and that it has to do with our daughter, but we're still rather unclear as to what this is all about," said Emma Granger.

Another door opening, and this time the guard stepped to the side and gestured them in. "The Head of MI5 will personally speak to you on that. Have a good day, Doctors."

A teenage boy and a distinguished looking elderly man looked up from where they were standing near some odd gadget that involved rotating crystals.

"Ah, Doctor Granger. Doctor Granger. Excellent. We can begin your briefing now. Understand that if you decide not to sign up, nothing of this place leaves here. No telling anyone anything. We will give further briefings if you sign on."

"Yes, yes, we understand," answered Emma Granger. "Who is the patient?"

"Oh no, it's not your professional services we require on this," said the teenager. He clicked a button and one wall retracted into the floor.

"Hermione?" asked Daniel Granger.

The older man spoke. "I am like your daughter in one respect. I am a wizard born to parents without magic. That makes me a 'muggleborn' to most. Those who are against such call me a 'mudblood' and there are laws to discriminate against people like me that have been on the books for centuries."

What followed was the old man doing a few demonstrations of magic, and then leaving in order to go into the room next door and begin instructing Hermione.

"This is one of those one-way glass rooms like in a police interrogation room?" asked Daniel Granger.

"Yes, this way she isn't intimidated by trying to do this in front of her parents," said the teenager.

"Are you a wizard too then?" asked Emma Granger.

"No, but magic and some other things can affect one whether one is a wielder of magic or not," said the teen. "I'm actually quite a bit older than I look. Just know there's a lot going on that I can't tell you about due to levels of secrecy. Even if you agree to our proposal, there's some wizards who can pull information straight out of your head. The less you know, the more lives are not at risk."

"You want Hermione to be one of your operatives," guessed Dan.

"Very good, Mister Granger," said the teen. "Whether she does or not - just having magic makes her a target. If her magic were sealed away, she would remain a target with records in the magical world giving out her name. There's a terrorist group on the magical side of things that WILL target both her and you for that. The safest we can make it would see you disappear from England and have assumed identities in Australia or Canada. But that would only be if you did sign on and things started going pear-shaped."

"You want her to be a spy?" Emma asked, her hostility to the idea coming across in her speech.

"If you're thinking Mata Hari or James Bond or such, no. Not even close," said the teen. "We have access to someone who is key in breaking that terrorist organization and possibly disrupting the whole pureblood movement. Your daughter's scores in school indicate she is quite bright and has a near perfect memory. The young man in question is the same age as your daughter. We want her to be friends with him and occasionally let us know what is going on since the British school for wizards is one place we have no actual intelligence on. Even if she doesn't hit it off with young Mister Potter, he's of an Ancient and Noble House and therefore someone handy for her to know in that society."

"Friends with a boy?" asked Dan, sounding a bit disgruntled at the concept.

"Yes," said the teen. "It HAS been known to happen. If you wanted something a bit more formal, that can be arranged but is a fair bit trickier at this juncture."

"'Formal'?" asked Dan.

"As Potter is of an Ancient and Noble House, it is subject to a number of traditions and customs that are a bit outdated in our society," said the teen, holding up a hand. "Some of which would then give your daughter legal and cultural protections she does not currently have."

"AH!" said Emma, exclaiming as Hermione lit up the end of a wooden dowel in the room.

"The 'Lumos' spell," said the teenager. "She managed it on her second try. VERY good at her age."

"What kind of arrangements are you talking about?" asked Dan, not getting off track.

The teenager began counting off on his fingers. "Engagement - which can be broken off at any time as long as the contract is written up correctly. Vassalship - basically saying she's training to be his employee and is guaranteed work later as a vassal of House Potter. Bodyguard - not suggested because she might be a bit taller than him she doesn't seem the 'front line fighter' sort. Sponsorship - in which she and you sign a contract stating that she is sponsored by House Potter and will meet certain academic standards."

"I see," said Dan, not liking the idea of HIS little girl getting engaged no matter how old-fashioned the society. The other two seemed less a problem, with the sponsorship one seeming the most palatable. "What kind of benefits with sponsorship?"

"As I said, academic standards would have to be upheld," said the teen. "In the meantime she'd get a stipend and have various school supplies paid for. It also carries the benefit of her having to have a means of communication with a lawyer we have available to keep the records and yourselves in order to monitor her progress. Sponsorships are somewhat rare in the wizarding world, not as common as they were in the 1800s, but given out to particularly promising artists and musicians and students. Not uncommon for the sponsor to become the employer down the road, or for the sponsor to basically have bragging-rights about the sponsored individual."

* break *

Hermione Granger and her parents had been coached. Two steps behind and to the right.

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter, I am Assistant Account Manager Goldplate," said the slightly pudgy goblin. "I understand you have some business with us?"

"This is my barrister, Mister Ted Tonks," said the child. "He will be handling the details."

The two immediately started the usual dance of legalese, accounting, and similar terms. At one point the sponsorship contract exchanged hands and was quickly read by the goblin.

"Ah. A sponsorship? Not seen one for awhile," said Goldplate. "Not an engagement then? Pity."

"Not happening. Not in my contract," stated Hermione.

"Well, at least leave it open for later," suggested Goldplate.

"Why is that a pity?" asked Dan Granger.

"The Potter line is an old and established line, with ties to a number of other wizarding lines," said the goblin. "It would be nice to see plans to continue it."

"Not happening," said Hermione.

"You're young," pointed out Goldplate. "Consider the possibility when you've gotten through puberty at least. I take it this is to give the young lady some legal standing and financial help?"

"Yes," said Tonks.

"An engagement or concubinage would give her much better protection and access to more funding down the road," said the goblin. "Though I understand humans can be awfully picky about that sort of thing."

"Indeed," said Ted Tonks.

Hermione wondered what a "concubinage" was - it HAD to be better than an engagement.

"Looks in order," said Goldplate eventually. "You'll need to get an owl for her. That way she can send updates on her test results and such to her family and whoever is monitoring for her performance."

"That will be my office, actually," said Tonks.

"Mister Potter, do you have your key for your trust vault?" asked Goldplate.

"No sir, is there a way to get a new key made?" asked Harry.

"Blood test, small fee," said Goldplate. "I'd suggest a couple of our new wallets that'll allow you to draw a limited amount of galleons from your account."

* break *

"Portable LIBRARY?!" exclaimed Hermione. Almost squealed actually.

"Featherweight and expansion charms, so it just looks to be the size of a suitcase," said the clerk.

"And this is covered by House Potter per the whole sponsorship thing?" asked Dan, thinking the price tag looked awfully darn large.

"Yes, of course it is," said the legal aide who'd relieved Ted Tonks after the contract had been filed.

* break *

Hermione's eyes were wide and darting everywhere in the bookstore.

"Covered?" asked Dan Granger.

"Within reason," answered the legal aide.

"Glad we got that portable library first," said Emma Granger.

Hermione began making an odd noise and was vibrating in place.

Dan Granger sighed. "Okay then."

There was a bushy-haired blur suddenly racing through the stacks of books.

"Officially though, these tomes will belong to House Potter much as the portable library does," said the legal aide. "It's just that it is expected that Miss Granger will use them. No resales or anything of the kind without express permission of Mister Potter."

"She certainly seems to be enjoying herself," noted Harry as the young witch darted around like a hummingbird on a sugar high.

"Keep in mind that even if we can get Ollivander to sell the wands to nine-year-olds that she won't be able to use magic at home without being penalized due to the laws on Underage Magic," said the legal aide.

"Where CAN she practice?" asked Dan Granger.

"On the Hogwarts Express, at Hogwarts as long as it isn't in the halls, or at Lord Potter's retreat," said the aide. "I don't know where that is - but usually pureblood residences have sufficient wards to mask magic use inside."

"Ah," said Dan Granger.

* break *

"So how does being 'sponsored' actually help her?" asked Emma Granger, sitting in the tea-room of mock-Tudor-style home.

"Other than the library, being able to practice magic here, providing a bolt-hole for her and yourselves to retreat to in case of crisis?" asked Matilda Wildsong, a "squib" who apparently worked for The Agency and was using the place as a sort of overseer.

"Exactly," said Emma, sipping at the tea to give the Agent a chance to reply.

"As she is sponsored by a House, she can get out of some things - like duels - by claiming that it would not benefit the House of Potter. Likewise, any attempt to trick her or force her into signing a contract can only be done with the approval of her legal authority until after her age of majority - that being the lawyer who is on retainer to House Potter," said Matilda. "Further - any magical attack is considered an attack on House Potter and Harry can then demand recompense relating to the amount of injury caused or that the attack would have caused."

"I see," said Emma. "And this house is sufficiently warded then?"

"It has some pretty strong wards, which we are contracting to have enhanced and renewed," said Matilda. "In addition, there are four hardpoints set to be installed."

"Hardpoints?" asked Emma.

"Hardened gunnery locations where invaders will have to deal with attacks," said Matilda. "The type and location and operating specifications are classified, of course."

"All that is necessary?" asked Emma.

"We're dealing with terrorists who in the past have used teleportation-spells to get into areas, instant-kill and nerve-attacking spells to kill non-magical and magical alike, and who believe that their blood status gives them carte blanche to do so. Essentially magic-nazi types."

"Oh," said Emma. There were times where the Australia option was sounding rather good.

"Unless you use a specific portkey, you're not getting in that way," said Matilda. "Floo travel is blocked and if you try to apparate here you'll end up in the gatehouse. That has a few hostile-intent wards so if someone is forcing you here, drop immediately to the floor or it will get VERY messy right quick."

"I see," said Emma, thinking that those in the spy business had a perfect right to be paranoid.

"Have to see if we can get a house-elf here," said Matilda. "I'm on light duty due to injuries taken during Harry's retrieval. Apparently I'm one of those who doesn't do too well when hit with memory-modification spells."

"No?" asked Emma.

"No," said Matilda, shuddering slightly. "Took me over a week to relearn how to walk properly. Major epileptic fit. It's because some spells like Crucio and Obliviate affect the central nervous system and some people are just 'off' enough in configuration. Rather like how some medications will affect different people differently."

"I know how that goes, some of those new allergy meds don't work on me at all," said Emma. "So those other two possibilities would have given more protection to Hermione?"

"Oh yes," said Matilda. "Vassalhood is basically saying you're a retainer of the House you're swearing to. I believe the Goyle family is vassal to the Malfoy family for example. Engaged though - that would make Miss Granger the Lady Presumptive of House Potter. Attacking her in THAT case brings the full wrath of not only the Potter family but everyone that considers the Potters allies into the fight. The idea of starting a battle like that will stop a few threats before it ever escalates."

"I see," said Emma.

"Mind you there is a very large problem with that, but it was something we need to verify and you're probably going to want to have your husband present," said Matilda.

"What? Something wrong?" asked Emma. "What aren't you telling us?"

"Something recently confirmed with the blood tests," said Matilda. "We'll need a wizard to check for something as well."

"That sounds ominous," commented Emma.

"Actually, yes, that is one way to sum it up," allowed Matilda.

* break *

Dan and Emma Granger exchanged a glance and then back at the two before her, with the lawyer named Tonks present.

Finally it was Emma who spoke. "If this is so, then what do we need to do?"

"First off, don't declare a blood feud or anything of the sort. House Malfoy will simply deny everything and most likely you'd have a fatal accident," said the lawyer on retainer. "If Hermione can get any sort of official recognition from the main house, and that's unlikely, that would be a whole different kettle of fish. Second, we check to see if this was a permanent erasure. If it isn't, then the memories can be erased again if they cause too much difficulty."

"We are the sum of our memories and experience, so I'm rather put off by the whole idea of erasing chunks of memory," said Emma. "Do it."

Emma went stiff for a moment after the spell was cast.

"Dear?" asked Dan Granger.

"The party. There were three of us... dear heavens. How could I forget Danys?!"

"Danys? Your friend from high school? Didn't you say she married abroad?" asked Dan.

"Danys Littlefield, formerly of Suffolk. We were having a party celebrating my wedding, about three weeks before." Emma's eyes teared up.

"I'll check into the background, see if she turned up," said Agent Wildsong.

"Obliviate is normally permanent, but in cases like this where someone gets sloppy it can be temporary or it can be that whole swaths of memory are lost." The wizard shook his head. "This one looks sloppy. He had other concerns."

"Can he be held responsible for this?" asked Dan.

"Short answer: no. Long answer: probably not ever. The Malfoy family is fairly wealthy and maintains that wealth, keeping a web of bribes in order to continue their influence in wizarding society," said the lawyer.

* break *

"Ah, everywhere else is full. Mind if I take a seat here?"

"Go right ahead," said the boy.

"Thanks. Weasley. Ron Weasley," said the redhead.

"Ah," said the girl abruptly. "Weasley. Arthur and Molly. Purebloods but sided against the Death Eaters. Allies."

"Uhm, yes?" asked Ron.

"Sorry, new to a lot of this," said the boy, offering his hand. "Harry Potter. This is Hermione Granger, who the House of Potter is officially sponsoring."

The girl shot the boy a dirty look.

"Nobody is willing to tell us what a concubinage agreement entails so NO - that is OFF the table," said Harry.

"Spoilsport," said Hermione.

"What's a 'concubinage' anyway?" asked Ron.

"Nobody will bloody tell us, and the explanation I was able to get from that legal dictionary was that it was less than an engagement but stronger than a sponsorship," said Harry. Along with some remarks about exclusivity of use, which Hermione thought meant being something like a seneschal from a castle. Which made a certain degree of sense because the wizard world was really backwards in some respects.

"It would allow me at least limited access to that restricted section in the library," grumbled Hermione. So what if it required her to wear that maid uniform that had the long skirt and all. It also had the benefit of covering her rather bony knees up.

"Okay," said Ron, thinking they sounded like they were really good friends or something.

There was a minor moment, in which Hermione loudly disapproved of anything bought off the candy butcher's cart. Apparently she felt she had to be Harry's moral guardian, or at least stand in the way of him eating a bunch of candy.

Harry, on the other hand, countered with them being kids and therefore they had a moral and ethical responsibility to behave like kids and go wild on the purchasing of candy. Ron was in favor of this argument, as he was promised a solid bribe of five licorice whips and three chocolate frogs with the attendant cards.

"I can't believe you bribed him to side with you!" scolded Hermione.

"Isn't that how wizarding politics is handled?" asked Harry. "Have to get used to the idea sometime."

Hermione frowned at that for awhile, before finally giving out a grudging. "Point."

"So are you, really?" asked Ron finally.

"Am I what?" asked Harry.

"Really 'Harry Potter'?" asked Ron.

"Ah, philosophy," said Harry, nodding. "Afraid I never got into that very much. If it comes down to it, I think John Locke got it mostly. That identity is a function of thought."

"Actually," said Hermione drily. "I think he was asking you if you were sure that you are you. That your name is Harry Potter and you're not a poseur like in those children's novels."

"Oh," said Harry. "Yeah. I'm Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived-With-His-Parents-Murdered-In-Front-Of-Him by a Lord Moldytoast."

"Who?" asked Ron.

"'Lord Moldytoast'? I'm not fond of a lot of her policies, but I did rather like the nickname she gave my parent's murderer," said Harry. "Serves to identify and insult him at the same time."

"So do you have it? The scar?" asked Ron.

"Oh. That," said Harry, lifting the hair covering the little lightning-bolt symbol.

"Wicked," breathed Ron.

"Yes, it's wonderful that every time I look in the mirror I see the evidence of parents being murdered," said Harry, a bit flatly.

"I think it looks a lot like the rune 'sowilo' myself," said Hermione. "And that's not bad at all."

"Sowilo?" asked Ron, mangling the word in the process.

"Rune. Means the sun. In Futhark it looks rather like his scar," said Hermione, rummaging around in her bookbag. "Got a picture of it here."

"That's okay, I'll take your word for it," said Ron, not ready to be subjected to more books than he had to be.

"It's a rune of power," said Hermione, sounding a bit put out. "Power to create, power to destroy. It's one of the runes considered necessary for life in fact. I'm sure there's more to it though."

* break *

"Danys Littlefield, born in Ipswich in Suffolk County. Attended Chantry Academy, moved to Essex where she made friends with Emma Eccleston, Athena Larson, and Matilda Smythe. Stayed in touch through college, though two of the four attended different colleges. Attended school with Emma. Vanished without a trace December 31, 1978."

"Dead end then."

"Afraid so. Considering that a Wizard Did It, she might have been turned into an animal or killed with the body disintegrated thereafter."

* break *

"Hermione Granger," called out McGonagall.

"Oh, THAT'S interesting," said the Sorting Hat. "Haven't seen one of those since, oh, I guess it was around 1888 or so."

"Is there a problem?" asked McGonagall.

"She's under an Academic Sponsorship with the House of Potter," said the Hat. "I think we'll have to go with Ravenclaw but allow cross-House visits if Mister Potter gets put in a different House. There's a precedent."

"Well, 1888 was a bit before my time," admitted McGonagall.

"RAVENCLAW," called out the Hat.

"I wanted Gryffindor," grumbled Hermione Granger at the hat as she took it off.

"But your academic and other activities," whispered back the Hat, "will be benefitted if you are in a different House."

It took awhile, but hardly anyone was surprised when Harry Potter was sorted into Gryffindor.

* break *

"So, House Potter has sponsored a mudblood," said Draco Malfoy. "I suppose that's about the best you could manage anyway."

"Ah, a wager between our Houses then?" asked Harry, putting down the book. That it was titled "A Muggle's Guide To Wizarding Culture" would have drawn scorn from many, but a spark of interest from anyone who had a clue what was coming.

"A wager?" asked Draco.

"In keeping with pureblood and higher society culture, of course, such things are commonly done," said Harry. "So. Exam times at the end of the year. If Hermione gets better scores than you - I win. If you beat her in at least three subjects, you win."

"What are the stakes," said Draco.

"Hundred galleons," said Harry. "Let's start with something just symbolic, as the Noble House Of Malfoy can easily afford such a pittance."

"Agreed," said Malfoy.

* break *

"Hermione is going to bloody bury him, isn't she?" asked Ron.

"She's been studying most of this stuff for over two years, and since she started learning Occulamency to improve her already good memory?" Harry chuckled.

"I do not appreciate being the subject of gambling," protested Hermione.

"Hermione, are you saying you don't appreciate the thought of being able to crush some pureblood git in an academic contest?" asked Harry innocently.

"Well," admitted Hermione, "maybe I'm not completely against it when you put it like that."

"It is upholding the honor and prestige of the Potter family," said Harry. "Even if it is just me at this point. I figured that the teachers wouldn't object to it all if it was all about grades."

Ron hesitated before he turned his full attention to Hermione. "Hermione. Please. Crush him underfoot like a beetle. If you do that, I promise to never call you 'Hermy' again."

"I hate being called 'Hermy'," said Hermione with a glare.

"I kind of got that impression," admitted Ron. "About the time you had the buckets chasing me. Please. Study hard."

"Ronald Weasley is begging me to study more," said Hermione. "Let me get over my shock before I begin revising here."

* break *

"She's... half-sister?!" said Draco Malfoy.

"Let me see that," demanded Lucius Malfoy.

The paperwork was handed off, and Lucius' expression changed from dismay to shock to something very rare for him. Embarassment.

"It's true then?" asked Draco.

Lucius nodded curtly. "Yes. I was young, they were muggles and therefore little more than animals. I was merely showing my dominance over such beasts, but this woman... yes it is certainly possible."

"So... she's not a mudblood after all," said Draco.

"If this is true, as it appears to be - no. Halfblood. Possibly had a squib in her ancestry. That would explain her test scores," said Lucius Malfoy as he considered. The girl might be sponsored by Potter, but if he pressed it then they had a better claim and could probably gain what appeared to be a very capable young witch under their own House. Being able to beat Potter AND claim a resource at the same time DID have a certain appeal.

"Father?" asked Draco, seeing the stony expression that meant his father was working out something complicated.

"I'll have to ponder this," said Lucius Malfoy finally. Haste was not required here after all.

* break *

"Oh," said Hermione. "So THAT'S what it means."

"Yes, Miss Granger, that's exactly what it means," said Minerva McGonagall, who was projecting 'disapproving' and 'stern' but was going to have a good laugh about this much later.

Hermione shuddered. "Doing THAT with a boy... No. Just no. Not in my contract."

"I'm glad that's cleared up," said Minerva McGonagall.

Hermione considered saying something about the outfit though. Looked rather nice actually in the painting. Not with her bony knees, and definitely not for her. Still, maybe in a nice vibrant red or something. It would work for those exercises she'd found, aerobics was a good way to keep fit with all the Ravenclaws just sitting around reading all day.

* break *

"Hermione," said Harry. "This is great!"

"Isn't it?" asked Hermione, currently in her recently discovered "I am a genius - praise me more!" attitude.

"What is it?" asked Ron.

Hermione flicked a button. Music started playing.

"Raven hair and ruby lips,

Sparks fly from her fingertips,

Echoed voices in the night,

She's a restless woman on an endless flight."

"You got a cassette player to work at Hogwarts," noted one of the older Gryffindor.

"Woo hoo witchy woman,

She got the moon in her eye."

"That's impossible," stated an older Gryffindor. "Muggle stuff doesn't work inside the wards."

"She held me spellbound in the night,

Dancing shadows and firelight."

"And yet it is playing," said Hermione, a certain justifiable pride in her voice.

"Don't show our father," said Fred Weasley.

"He'll confiscate it, tear it apart to check your work," added George.

"Then botch putting it all back together again," said Fred.

* break *

"Miss Granger," said Minerva McGonagall. "While I appreciate that you managed to work out a set of charms to make a muggle device work at Hogwarts, you are not allowed to have your own theme music. Nor is it appropriate for such to play whenever you exit or enter a room."

"Awwwwww."

"As it is," said McGonagall, "introducing some of those tunes to your fellow classmates is also not an appropriate use of time and resources."

"She's just upset because we keep humming 'The Cat Came Back' when she enters the room," grumbled George Weasley under his breath.

* break *

"She scored better than me in every subject save Potions," said Draco.

"And that's only with Severus practicing blatant favoritism," noted Lucius Malfoy. "Well. That puts a different spin on things."

"How so?" Draco was still feeling a bit ill over the possibility that this was his half-sister by a (shudder) muggle woman.

"I haven't found anyone suitable to sponsor who is of suitable lineage," said Lucius. "So finding a way to remove Potter's pawn from the board in another manner is being considered."

"Something to send her packing home, weeping in abject mortification?" asked Draco hopefully.

"There are many options on the table right now," said Lucius.

* end *

a/n: the idea of wizards of both genders going out and using love potions, obliviate, confundus, and similar things has been brought up by other authors and fits with most interpretations i've read of some of the more arrogant purebloods being right utter guttersnipes to any muggles who cross their path. The idea of one or more of them forgetting to use "protection" and ending up fathering what appears to be a muggle-born isn't one i've run across but considering how often such periods of forgetfulness happen in real life? And the idea of Hermione having a blood test somewhere down the line and finding out?

Oh, my - Draco would have a fit, would he not?

Probably would be better off fitted into another story by someone else. The possibility for angst and suffering is considerable.

As for various characters having "theme songs" - i'm sure that once they'd been exposed to various songs, the Weasley Twins could come up with charms to put on doorways that would basically be "If X (individual) passes through then play Y (song snippet)" and would come up with various "appropriate (or inappropriate) tunes. If one occurs to you, gentle reader, go ahead and pop it into the comments. i'm sure that "Age Of Aquarius" for the Astronomy teacher would be appro, but what about Snape?

Oh, and anonymous reviews are subject to deletion. Particularly if you're either being insulting OR your point falls into the "no damn sense" category. Such as when someone is insisting that a young boy speaking to what amounts to an ensouled self-aware computer he's had for most of his life MUST use proper diction and that verbal shorthand (when in quotes it is the indicated character speaking) is VERBOTEN. I mae e'en use soom form'a strung accent, don'cha know - wiff particular chara. From time to time at least. If I ever have McGonagall get her het up and go full brogue, I may put a phrase or two of THAT in there but I'm more likely to just refer to it as a Scottish brogue so thick you could sail on it.

I'm not overly concerned with review numbers. It's nice to have reviews, even if it's just the "so you're still alive" varieties, but I'm no longer trying to write stories due to health problems which are still plaguing me. On the good side, the biopsies so far have come back with negatives. On the not-so-good: migraine frequency up, GI tract still malfunctioning, and all meds have side-effects.

Take care.