Summary:

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry remembers a friend whilst he looks through his stone basin.

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Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor are, in many ways, the parents of today's magic. Their sweat, blood and beings went into the creation of their teaching, into the learning of their students. Into the castle in which all wizards and witches now consider a second home. Their nobility, their values, and their genius were passed along to all who entered the walls of the castle, even those of the nonliving and nonhuman, to assist in the education of the magical. Today, it still happens, as soon as newcomers climb the stone steps, before they even learn where they belong. They are influenced by the teachings and majesty of the four most wondrous magicians of all time. The students of the school are granted knowledge and powers that are unique to these old stones, and then even more individualized things are passed along to those sorted into the separate houses. The founders' traits are shared with their House children, guiding them to futures exclusive to that single group.

These traits, they run in the very blood of their charges, it seems. Inbred, grained within the very soul of the miniature wizards. But there are some whose blood is centuries old, that have slithered and snaked about the very veins of the creators of Hogwarts. These few are the heirs of Hogwarts, the closest of the descendants to match their ancestor. It is usually the youngest, surprising to some, who have the true spirit of their heritage within them, even though they lived and learned so little. Having not yet been trained to curve and school their thoughts to the liking of their parents, their guardians, their school masters, or their society, their opinions and inborn values are as true to the founder's as the founder's itself.

Their likeness to their predecessor frequently confuses the castle, an extraordinary feat that can have disastrous consequences and life-saving advantages. The ancient magic that moves the staircases and brings the paintings alive, that sparks the growth of a new generation of warlocks, intertwines with the magical heritage that runs through the heir's body, bringing forth an image of the late founder, instead of the person itself. When need be, the heir and his or her counterparts can use this trick to their advantage. Three of the four can lock their powers up within the castle that had been built by their forbearers, thus relieving all four of their magical qualities. Throughout history it had been used in times of great need, whether to destroy an heir, or to save a civilization, though the drawbacks were great.

The successors would be magicless until one of the original returned to Hogwarts to claim their abilities back, no longer able to live the tedious life of a squib.

Once old enough to learn of their family's secrets, of their heritage, of their rights to help the good of their world, these persons are kept under surveillance by the headmaster or headmistress of the witchy school. Many become good friends, amiable allies, with their castle's keeper.

'And such is the way it is with me,'

His offhand ponderings filtered through his mind, catching his attention and dragging it away from the handwritten history lesson he was reading. He knew it by heart, having read the tatty book many times in the last half century since he first laid eyes on it. Albus Dumbledore sat a little straighter, closing the book before realising that a pair of brilliantly bright green eyes were staring at it, a mere half foot away from his own. He blinked, surprised as his aged mind realized whom it was. The young woman who was standing in front of him, watching him intently, was one of the few he had just been reading about. Her name had not been mentioned, but she was an heir of Hogwarts. She smiled victoriously and stood up straight, having been squatting just a bit to get at his sitting eye level.

"I would like to point out that I have won, Headmaster."

"Won what, my dear?" He asked curiously, folding his long fingers together on top of the leather bound that was now set aside in his lap. Her eyes grew a bit narrower, a cheeky countenance over-coming her cheery disposition. She had yet to blink, he observed in a bemused fashion.

"The staring contest, of course. I announced that you and I were having one as soon as I stepped in the room. You hadn't said anything so I took that as a confirmatory."

"I hadn't even heard you, besides I had been reading."

"You don't blink while you read, Headmaster."

"It still doesn't count as a won battle, my young Gryffindor." Albus pointed out, slipping his eyeglasses into one of his pockets. His eyes were beginning to blur whenever he read. In a few years time, he would need them even when a book was closed. The young woman frowned, though still somehow keeping a humoured disposition. All the heirs he had come across were alike in that fashion. They exerted a content, blissful atmosphere, to drive away any suspicion of nerves. In the current day and age, he couldn't blame their behaviour. Their attempts at being cheerful were being reinforced more so than usual.

"Well then, I.." she started, pursing her lips in a slightly resentful manor. It was a rare occasion that she won in a staring contest, especially against him. Curious by nature, she tended to look at something interesting when it caught her attention. And it is a fact that humans blink when they turn their heads, automatically, "I think we ought to have a rematch."

"I am extremely busy, Miss Samantha. Perhaps another time?"

"Another time then," She stated after a meaningful, thoughtful pause. He doubted she was as content as she sounded with his decision, "I shall just have to claim that I am victor until then.. Until then, Headmaster-."

"You hadn't won though, that little ruse of yours doesn't count in the least bit. It takes two to compete."

She ignored him completely and slinked off towards the other side of the room. The Lounge had only one other professor in it at the moment and she was unusually drawn to the man. Not that it was anything to be looked into, they were good friends just as he was with the two of them. Filius Flitwick, kind hearted and a very friendly man, patted her arm as she sat down beside him and leaned towards him to see what he was grading.

He often wondered how she could move about without being noticed, as she wasn't like the other girls. She was shorter, perhaps that added to the quick footing she had acquired as a toddler, but she was also fuller than many of the girls. No, he couldn't say she was overly robust, but she was one to scowl and murmur when she had to do anything in a hurry. She was an extremely lazy fifteen-year-old girl.

"They wrote 'Pie' in their charms essay?" She asked, pointing to the word which was baffling her. The Charms professor snorted and corrected her, having her look more closely. She mumbled something that he couldn't make out, rummaging in her robe pockets and leaning back against the cushions of the squished looking couch she was settled on. He would have to ask the caretaker to stuff it, he could just barely tell that a spring would begin to show after another month's use.

"Would you care for a lemon sherbert, professor?"

Having looked back down at another book he had sitting beside him, Albus glanced up and found her now settling into the open chair beside him. Narrowing his eyes in confusion, he looked at the small golden object in her hand. "It's a muggle candy. I think they taste a bit sour."

"No thank you, Miss Samantha. Perhaps another time."

"You're too busy to have a piece of candy, professor?" she asked, sounding thoroughly surprised. The mask of cheeriness had flickered for just a moment. He sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. There were times when the mask would aggravate him to no end, threatening to abscond with his own calm one.

"No, of course not, I just do not wish-..," He sighed once more before removing his hand from the second book, "perhaps we ought to have that rematch now, I'm a bit tense from working. Winning shall put me in a better mood."

Brightening up considerably, she stood up and looked form him to the other professor. Before she could call to him, Albus piped up. "Oh no you don't. He's not referring. He likes you better than he likes me." A small snort came form the small professor, who merely pulled the topmost parchment onto a smaller, graded, pile.

"Professor Flitwick isn't like that," she said, looking down at him out of the corner of her eye, "there's no one else to do it."

"Oh fine." He said, looking at the door, in hopes that Professor McGonagall or perhaps another Professor would walk in at that exact moment. No such luck. The other professor was summoned over and the small competition was begun.

---

"A memory, clear and intact, is all it is," he noted out loud. The colours of the brunette and her two close friends turned grey and eventually thinned away into all that was seen was a shimmering silver liquid in a basin with runes on the side.

The image of the young girl's face stood out clearing within his mind's eye, along with many other faces and places. She had been an exuberant girl when around him. But there had been times when she had thought no one was watching, when her sunny weather had been clouded over by thunderclouds. He recognized these feelings of turmoil in the young man who was currently in the same position. All expected him to stop the same man. She and her fellow heirs had been thought destined to pull Tom Riddle's power away from him, to gather at Hogwarts and store their magical heritage within the walls and live without it until needed.

But it had not been so. The Ravenclaw heir had not yet been born, still developing within his mother. The unborn child had saved his mother from certain death, all magical mothers-to-be having supernatural qualities, even by wizarding standards, which kept them safe from danger. But the other two, Helga and Godric's heirs, had not been so lucky. One having lost all conscience thought for treason against the ministry, and one disappearing without a trace, into a muggle life undoubtedly.