February fourteenth was a day that Hermione was sure that she would remember for the rest of her life – for there was nothing about this day that excited her in the same way it seemed to excite those around her. Well, that wasn't entirely true – she was excited, but it was dwarfed by the feeling of absolute misery and dread that sat heavily in the bottom of her stomach. She should have remained steadfast – like she had at the end of her first year – only, she had crumbled before her mother's determination and, damn it all, her bloody reasoning.

Hermione trudged her way down the stairs, willing her feet to move as slow as possible – with each step, she felt a lurch in the pit of her stomach – a lead weight that wouldn't shift – and her heart fluttered painfully in her chest, speeding up with every anxious glance at the bottom of the many flights of stairs before her.

Perhaps, if Arcturus hadn't met his unfortunate fate a month ago, she may have felt differently – after all, it was supposed to be a big moment for her. All she could think about, however, were the melancholy smiles, and those bright, emerald eyes that would grow shiny when he thought she wouldn't notice.

Harry, her best friend – her first friend – was aching in such a terrible, painful way, and she had no idea what to do to make it better. She spent every waking moment at his side, more often than not, when they sat on the floor of his room each night, she would find herself dozing off with her head on his shoulder. He would wake her with a gentle shake, and Neville would be there too – the two of them assisting her to the bottom of the staircase leading to her room, their eyes on her until she passed into her own little Common Room.

Those nights, she would dream of the Harry she used to know – the kind boy that had leapt on the back of a Mountain Troll without a thought or care for himself, that had accepted her for who she was when nobody else would. She'd dream of the quiet nights reading in their corner of the Common Room, tucked away in an alcove while the twins unleashed terror on the rest of their house.

Other nights, she would dream of castles, and forests – of knights in their shining armour, and the princesses and ladies to whom they would beg favour.

It was that same desire that drove Hermione to pour over the articles pertaining to Arcturus's death – some of the information she'd found hadn't painted a very good picture, but her hope was to bring as much information to Harry as she could, if only to give him that bit of closure he desperately deserved.

She had discussed it with her parents – specifically her mother – and had been left utterly astounded at the emphatic response she had received. Even now, as she meandered down the staircases, she could remember reading the response from her mother about why postponing the plans they had discussed for months was the exact opposite of what Harry needed.

Hermione wasn't quite so sure.

She was of the opinion that Harry needed security, and his friends to rally around and support him in whatever he needed – recently, he had taken to the hunt for the Chamber of Secrets with a passion and fervour that she hadn't seen in him since before Draco.

She didn't know why, but she found herself always drawn to his face in those moments – the way his eyes would stare at the looping words on the parchment – nor did she know why it made her stomach flutter and her cheeks feel warm.

Her mother, in comparison, believed that Harry needed something normal – she tried not to grimace over the implication of that – to bring him out of his funk. To remind him that the world continued to spin, and that he was surrounded by those that cared for him.

Months ago, it had seemed an excellent plan – easy to accomplish, and it looked excellent on paper. Now, with everything that had happened, and everything that continued to go on around them, she found her nerves twisting her stomach uncomfortably – but she pushed forward – she was a Gryffindor, after all.

The plan had been simple – she put extra care into her hair, making sure that it was similar to how she had worn it at the Black Wedding. Her bangs were braided into a crown around her head, while the rest of it fell in loose, wavy ringlets that fell between her shoulder-blades.

She had applied a number of charms – making sure to use the ones Daphne had taught her – to highlight her eyes and add a little colour to her cheeks. Nothing much, just enough to keep it looking natural.

Today was a Sunday, which meant that she was free to wear whatever she pleased around the school – within reason, of course, it was February, in Scotland after all. As a result, she had opted for a pair of warm boots, with the laces meticulously tied, of course, a pair of her navy jeans and a thick, warm, burgundy, pull-over hoodie.

Inside the front pocket, her hands fidgeted nervously and her hands felt clammy – her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she stepped around a giggling pair of fourth year girls, both clutching small handfuls of parchment to their chests as they hurried past her.

She was going to kill her mother.

She closed her eyes briefly and leaned against the railing of the bannister of the landing on the first floor. There was only one more staircase left between her and the ground floor, and after that, only one short trip between the foot of the staircase and the hundreds that would be within the Great Hall.

Perhaps it all would have been fine, had Lockhart – a professor she was struggling to respect more and more as time went on – not made his stupid announcement on Friday before classes began. Everywhere she looked, there were garish decorations all about the walls, and small fairies flittering about the air.

It was supposed to have been a day like any other – like it had been last year – where people didn't make a huge deal out of it. They simply received their parchment with a simple verse on it, and moved on – yes, that was how things were supposed to be done. Not this! Whatever this was.

Maybe, if she were lucky, she would wake up in her bed and it will have all been a terrible dream. She pinched herself, just enough for the sharp jolt to run up her finger and cursed quietly under her breath when the dream didn't dissipate.

She was going to have some very firm words with her mother – and her father for being a coward and not taking her side.

She huffed as her boots came into contact with the plain, flagstone tiles of the ground floor – the beige stone looking far more cheerful than she did in that moment.

Because she'd spent longer on her appearance – she'd tried on no less than four outfits this morning – the boys were already down in the Hall. Neville would no doubt be making a grand time of it all, teasing Harry to his heart's content, while Harry would be buried under a pile of parchment – just like he was last year.

The walk between the staircases and the Great Hall seemed shorter than it ever had before, and as she came to a stop between the two large wooden doors, she felt as if she were on the precipice of a cliff.

The four of them were exactly as she'd imagined them – Neville was laughing to his heart's content, and Harry looked especially forlorn as he tried to salvage his breakfast from the small mountain of parchment and envelopes that covered it.

Daphne and Tracey sat opposite the two boys – the two of them with their own modest piles of parchment as they grinned and nibbled at their food daintily. Unlike the other occupants of the room, the two Slytherin's paid no heed to their stacks of envelopes.

She took a bolstering breath and quickly wiped the palms of her hands on her thighs and took the leap – her right foot entered the Great Hall first, and then her left foot. She concentrated on moving one foot at a time and maintaining a pleasant smile on her face.

Was she smiling too much? Were her steps too quick? Damn her mother for making her go through with this.

Her friends looked up at her approach, and she couldn't help the triumphant grin when it was Harry who looked in her direction first. Daphne smirked and cocked a brow at her as her eyes took Hermione in, and Tracey grinned impishly and bounced in her seat excitedly. Neville smiled as he leaned around Harry, and the boy for which all of her stress the last two days had been about, smiled at her in that familiar way that made her heart beat a little faster – the first time it had happened, she thought it the start of a panic attack. Even now, months later, she wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't.

She slid into her usual spot, next to Harry, and almost leapt away when their knees bumped together – though he didn't seem to notice, or, if he did, he didn't comment on it. Further down the table, Fred and George were attempting to serenade Angelina and Alicia with off-tune and off-rhythm ballads, while Katie Bell shook her head in exasperation.

Her eyes darted to the small mountain of envelopes that Harry was pulling from his plate – his breakfast completely ruined. There were dozens – and it seemed most were addressed to 'The Boy-Who-I-Love' – the overpowering stench of perfumed parchment filling the air all around them so much that Hermione's eyes began to water.

"Good morning." She choked into the back of her hand, waving her other hand back and forth in a futile attempt to remove the miasma.

"It is rather good, wouldn't you say, Tracey?" Daphne commented, her grin devilish and her ice blue eyes sparkling behind her long lashes.

At her side, Tracey leaned forward, resting her chin daintily on her hands as she grinned at Hermione along with her friend. "The best."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the two girls – they were practically giddy.

Daphne was clothed in her usual style of dress – it was black, with long sleeves. Her hair was loose, rather than being tied in a complicated up-do, as was usual – the dark curls cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. Tracey, on the other hand, was wearing a similar hoodie to her own, though hers was grey, and her thick, dark hair, was tied back in a messy bun.

Harry, the whole reason for her nauseating morning, was dressed impeccably, as always. He wore a thin, baggy tunic – not unlike the one he'd worn when he was last under Madame Pomfrey's care. His sleeves were rolled up and bunched around his elbows, and it was just thin enough that she could make out the silhouette of his chest and stomach beneath it.

She averted her eyes quickly and felt her cheeks warm at the smirking faces of the two traitors across from her. She scowled at her friends and stuck her tongue out at them both when neither boy was looking.

"Shouldn't you both be opening those?" She asked, gesturing to the small piles by both of the girls. The piles sat alone on the table, ignored, and forgotten. When the two of them glanced at where she was pointing, both looked startled that they even existed.

"Probably not – they'll most likely be overtures for a betrothal." Daphne shrugged, flicking her wand into her hand, and tapping the top envelope. The pile burst into a small, controlled flame – within seconds, the parchment was consumed, and the ashes removed from sight the table remained untouched.

"Pretty sure I have one from Draco." Tracey grimaced, holding one envelope up gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. "I think I'd rather kiss a slug."

"That can be arranged." Neville muttered around a mouthful of apple.

"Careful Longbottom – or I'll make you kiss Malfoy." Tracey fired back immediately, giggling as Neville's eyes went wide and he inhaled his mouthful violently.

While Neville thumped his chest and coughed into a napkin, Hermione bumped her shoulder gently into Harry's. His eyes darted to hers, his loose hair whipping through the air, and for a moment, her mind ground to a violent halt as a stray strand of his dark hair dangled before his eyes lazily.

She tracked it back and forth, watching as it wafted gently in the breeze of the Great Hall, the way it bobbed and bounced with each movement Harry made. She shook herself violently from her trance and blinked quickly as she averted her eyes.

"Any that stand out this year?" She asked quietly, nodding to the pile before them – her hands darted beneath the table, her fingers worrying the creases of her jeans around her knees.

"They're not addressed to me." Harry snorted, tossing three onto the table dismissively.

"That just means they don't really care about you." Hermione smiled, bumping his shoulder again. "All that matters are us five – the Vargarnir."

"Damn right." Neville coughed from the other side of the table.

"We're a pack." Daphne nodded. "Though, personally, I say we drop Neville as soon as possible."

"Hey!"

"Survival of the fittest and all that." Tracey nodded.

"I'm fit!"

"You just choked on an apple." Harry deadpanned, turning to look at the boy next to him. Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and attempted to hide her smirk, though at Daphne's playful wink, she knew it to be a lost cause.

"I wasn't prepared!"

"To what? Eat an apple?" Tracey grinned.

Neville's mouth opened and closed quickly, though no words came out.

"I don't think I've ever witnessed a more Gryffindor thing – Neville almost got sent to Madame Pomfrey because of an apple." Daphne snickered.

"Hey now, he was very courageous and brave while he was choking." Tracey added – the two girls falling into full-belly laughs as they held on to one another for support.

Beside her, Harry was chuckling quietly and patting Neville on the shoulder. "Don't let the mean Slytherin's get you down, Neville – you're the consummate Gryffindor."

"You could do with earning a few more hours with Madame Pomfrey though." Tracey grinned. "Isn't it a Gryffindor's rite of passage?"

"I don't know what you-" Hermione sniffed, only to be cut off by the large boom that shook the Great Hall. Further down the table, Seamus blinked the soot from his eyes as the large cloud of smoke dissipated into their air – all around, students laughed and cheered.

"You were saying?" Daphne asked, levelling her with a look.

"I don't want to talk about it." She murmured with a pout. "The spells aren't hard."

"That's the curse of being a Fire Elemental – things like to go boom." Neville sighed, waving a small mist of smoke from his face – of them all, Neville had been the closest, and small embers still fell lazily. She assumed, from the smell, it was all that remained of Seamus's breakfast.

"It must be so much better being a Water one." Harry muttered, rolling his eyes as he narrowed his gaze at Daphne.

Hermione had to stifle a giggle – it had been a few days, but evidently Harry was still sore about his first loss in the Duelling Club. He had duelled Daphne, and the witch had surprised everyone by unleashing a cyclone of water at Harry that had thrown him against the shield, gasping for breath and soaked through.

"Now that you mention it…" Daphne grinned, tapping a finger to her chin.

Harry tossed another letter onto the table – this one was splashed with egg yolk. "You don't have to be so smug."

"Why?" Daphne chuckled, propping her chin on the back of her hand. "I've watched you duel – you never make the same mistake twice. I doubt I'll be able to surprise you like that again."

"She's right, you know." Neville nodded, reaching for a plate of eggs and soldiers. "As much as I hate to admit it." He added sulkily.

"Of course I am."

"When did you know?" Hermione asked, leaning forward – her foot was bouncing under the table, the one closest to Harry. She tried not to think about their knees bumping every few seconds.

"That I was an Elemental?" Daphne asked, tilting her head to the side slightly. "I don't know – I tried a spell and it worked." She shrugged.

"We should get Hermione trying out Magefyre one of these days – if she's any, that'll be the one." Neville chuckled as he dipped his toast in the yolk.

"It was one time!" She cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "I hardly think that counts as sufficient evidence."

"Let me dream." Neville shrugged. "I might set him on fire myself if he gets rid of one more of my potions."

"Maybe you should stop getting them wrong." Tracey quipped, stealing a slice of toast from Neville, and sticking it in her mouth.

"Not my bloody fault." Neville huffed, to the chuckles of those around him. "Snape is awful."

Harry nodded solemnly and finally tossed the last of the envelopes from his plate – the meal was ruined, of course, and Hermione had been keeping a watchful eye on the ones she had seen him sort through. She couldn't decide if it was better or worse that her own would arrive separately.

"Are you going to open your letters?" Tracey asked, shaking her from her thoughts. Hermione blinked.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, frowning. "What letters?"

"Oh – silly me." Tracey grinned unapologetically. "These ones." She said, lifting a small pile – five envelopes tall – from the bench beside her.

Hermione accepted them dumbly, her fingers tracing over the simple envelopes slowly. She had never received cards before. A small part of her felt giddy, while another, larger, part wanted to do anything but open them.

Summoning all of her courage, she broke the seal on the first one – it was a short, to the point note about how nice she looked with her tamed hair and the skirt she'd taken to wearing this year. She grimaced in distaste and had to force herself not to glare in Terry Boot's direction.

The next two were both from Gryffindor's in the year above – one was from Cormac McLaggen, and the other Richard Mab, the two boys never far from one-another's side, and well known throughout the school for commenting on the appearance of girls.

The fourth came as a surprise, as it came from Earnest Macmillan, from Hufflepuff. She immediately discarded that one – he was the source of some of the vile rumours about Harry that were flying about the castle.

The final came from Graham Montague of Slytherin – a tall boy that often trailed after Draco. She scrunched her nose up at the terrible verse that had been scrawled on the parchment and dropped it on the table with the others.

She heaved a sigh, and Harry bumped her leg with his own as he leaned into her. "Better luck next year."

"Hopefully." She squeaked – she hadn't meant to squeak, of course. Her cheeks warmed once again, and she wished desperately for the bench to swallow her whole.

"I like your hair today, by the way." He added, taking a quick sip of his drink.

Hermione hadn't bothered with food or drink. Her stomach had been in knots since the moment she had woken up, and even the brief moment of recognition for the time she had spent on her hair made her stomach go all a flutter once more.

"Thanks, I, uh, like yours too." She murmured, mentally reminding herself to curse her mother across the country when the year finished, threat of expulsion be damned.

"Mine?" Harry blinked, setting his goblet down on the table. "I didn't do anything with it." He frowned, eyes looking up comically toward his hairline.

"It, uh – it always looks nice." She said quickly, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"Oh – thanks. You should have seen it when it was short." Harry snorted. "Stuck up everywhere."

"That feels like an understatement." Daphne snorted into her cup. "You looked like you'd chewed on a wand."

"Was it really that bad?" Tracey laughed, leaning forward. "It's hard to imagine him with short hair."

"It was worse." Neville answered gravelly, causing Harry to roll his eyes. "Damn near defied gravity."

"It wasn't that bad." Harry muttered, and Hermione caught the twitch of the corner of his mouth.

"You're right – it was worse. It was adorable." Daphne answered dramatically, sticking her tongue out as Harry reeled back as if he'd been struck. Hermione laughed at his expression – his mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide.

"You take that back. It's bad enough I have to take that from Andromeda."

"Who do you think told me to call you it?" Daphne challenged, nose crinkling as she grinned.

"She wouldn't." Harry gasped.

"She would." Both Tracey and Daphne said as one. "We got the letter the other day demanding we refer to you as adorable for the rest of your life." Tracey added.

Neville swallowed his mouthful and snickered quietly – Harry snapped his eyes to his friend and raised a warning finger. Hermione found the whole thing delightfully refreshing. It was as if the terrible events of the year hadn't happened.

"One word from you, and I'll make you dance all night with her at the next celebration." Harry warned.

Neville shrugged. "I don't mind – she's pretty."

"She's married." Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes.

"And old enough to be your mum." Tracey grimaced.

"I'll grow up."

"That-" Harry began, only to pause and shiver. "Is an image I could have done without."

"Doesn't she have a daughter older than us?" Hermione asked, propping her chin on her hand as she leaned on the table.

"Gods, I'd forgotten about Nymphadora." Neville shuddered. "She'd flay me alive."

"And you think Sirius wouldn't? She's his favourite cousin." Harry chuckled.

"He has more than one?" Hermione blinked.

Neville grimaced and leaned on the table around his plate. "Andromeda's the middle child of three – Bellatrix was the oldest, then Andromeda, and Narcissa was the youngest."

"Narcissa? Really?" Hermione sighed, cocking a brow. "Is she a narcissist, by any chance?"

"Ironically, no." Harry sniggered. "She is Draco's mother though."

"Sirius is related to him?" She gasped; her eyes wide as they darted to the blonde boy on the Slytherin table where he was holding court with his troupe. "I wondered what he was doing at the wedding."

"Pouting, probably." Neville grinned. "The Malfoy's think they're better than they are."

"Even their family in France wants nothing to do with them." Tracey snorted. "It's not even a secret."

"That sounds…" Hermione paused and pursed her lips, looking for the right word. "Sad."

Harry shrugged. "They're a cadet branch of the family, and rumour is, they settled here because of some scandal or another back in the day. There's cadet branches all over the place."

"There used to be a dozen Potter families." Daphne sighed. "One used to live on our land – or so my father tells me."

"They did." Harry nodded. "I have the records at Rosestone." He shrugged.

Hermione frowned at the turn the conversation had taken – she could see the slump in Harry's shoulders, and the quiet that had fallen over them all. Around them, students laughed and joked, read their letters allowed, or shyly approached one another. In that moment, they seemed to be in their own little world, a complete contradiction to those that surrounded them.

She reached out, grasping Harry's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. When he squeezed back, and he smiled at her, despite the tightness in which his lips were pressed, she couldn't help but feel like she'd achieved something great. Recently, each of Harry's smiles made her feel like she'd stumbled upon some secret treasure.

She was about to say something – anything – to change the subject to a happier one, when the call of an owl drew the attention of half the Hall. It was a Tawny Owl with gorgeous brown feathers tipped with white – its short yellow beak clutched the bane of her morning in its vice grip, and its large, black eyes stared at Harry as it swooped through the air.

It landed before him, gently placing the envelope on the table, and offered a slight bob of its head. Harry reached out slowly with his fingers, a small piece of bacon between them that the owl ate eagerly, tossing its head back and closing its eyes. It hooted softly when Harry scratched its neck affectionately.

"You're not allowed another owl." Neville muttered. "Hedwig's enough of a handful as it is."

"I think she's perfectly well behaved." Hermione sniffed – her brief panic over the delivery of the letter momentarily forgotten as she rallied to the defence of Hedwig.

"The two of you are in cahoots, that's why." He huffed. "Come on, Harry – open the letter."

"Yeah, it could be a secret admirer." Daphne added, staring at Hermione, an excited grin splitting her lips.

Harry sighed and turned the envelope over, though he hesitated when he saw the address. Hermione cringed and pulled the front of her hoodie up, over her nose.

"Huh – it's addressed to me." He murmured, actually going so far as to open the envelope – unlike all of the others he'd tossed to the side.

"He is a smart one." Daphne snickered.

The parchment came out easily enough – it was just a small piece that was folded neatly in half with a simple, innocent verse on it. Hermione had spent days agonising over what to say and what not to.

Harry read in silence, his lips mouthing the words and his eyebrows crinkling together in the middle. His eyes darted from the top and to the bottom once, twice – scanning it with that same intensity that made her feel funny in the Library.

"It's just signed 'H'." He muttered, turning the sheet over in his hand and checking the back. "Nothing else."

"What did you think of it?" Daphne asked, leaning forward eagerly – the owl long-since having flown from the Hall.

"It was lovely." Harry replied. "No idea who signed it though."

"Really?" Hermione blinked, sitting a little taller as she looked at him in shock. "You've no idea?"

"No – why would I? It's just signed with an initial – it could be from anyone." Harry shrugged, folding the paper, and tucking it into a pocket on his trousers.

"Is this really happening right now?" Tracey blinked, looking between the group dumbly. "Seriously?"

Daphne elbowed her with a look, while Harry just looked confused. Hermione frowned and folded her arms across her chest – she had thought she'd made it abundantly clear. Perhaps there was something to be said about Gryffindor thick-headedness – the boys in particular.

She huffed and refused to look at him.

"Is what happening?" Neville asked, confused.

"Her-" Tracey grunted, rubbing her side in the corner of Hermione's vision as Daphne elbowed her again. Tracey cleared her throat awkwardly. "I mean, Harry, opening, his, uh – his first letter! Who'd have thought, ey?"

"It is a first." Neville hummed with a shrug.

Hermione blinked as she looked up and around at the two boys – seriously, this couldn't be happening.

"Hermione, can I have a word?" Daphne asked, standing from the table.

"Me too!" Tracey cried, scrambling to her feet.

"We can come too – we're done here." Harry said, moving to get to his feet.

"No!" Daphne and Tracey shouted, drawing the eyes of those around them. "It's girl stuff!" Daphne added, waving for Hermione to get to her feet.

"Okay – I guess we'll meet you in the Library then?" Harry offered, to which Daphne nodded shortly.

Hermione stood up with all the enthusiasm of a convict walking to the gallows – her plan had been an absolute failure, something she should have expected – but to have it crash and burn so spectacularly? She sighed as she stepped out of the long bench and trudged down the aisle, Daphne and Tracey matching her pace on the far side.

She followed the girls out of the Great Hall, and into an empty classroom just down the corridor. While Tracey directed her to a seat, Daphne pulled out her wand and locked the door with a flick of her wrist.

Hermione sat heavily onto the chair – it was one of the smaller classrooms, and all around there were runes displayed and various formulas – one of the electives, then. Tracey and Daphne both spun chairs around from the row in front of her and leaned on the single, small table separating them.

"Boys are stupid." Daphne said immediately – she reached over and grasped Hermione's hand, squeezing it affectionately.

"I don't think I can ever forget what I just witnessed." Tracey murmured, her eyes staring at a spot just over Hermione's shoulder. She sniffed and smiled a little, despite it all.

"How, uh – how long have you two known?" She asked, her eyes darting between the two girls.

"The Troll." They both nodded, grinning simultaneously.

"A girl can't ignore a boy as brave as that." Tracey beamed. "I don't think chocolates would have quite the same impact."

"I-I didn't…" She began, her eyes wide.

"We know – we let you work it out on your own." Daphne smiled. "Between the three of us, Harry's always been a bit slow on the uptake of things to do with girls."

Hermione grinned, her free hand tracing the grooves in the wood of the desk slowly. "Do you think-"

"Without a doubt."

"Yes."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!" Hermione cried, looking between the girls.

"Oh please." Daphne snorted, rolling her eyes. "He's only had eyes for you since the whole thing with Quirrell."

"Morgana's tits, he sent you a letter with Clara over the Summer." Tracey gushed. "That he did that should speak volumes. It's not your fault he's thick-headed." She added, snickering.

"I can't believe he didn't work it out – he's usually so smart!"

"He has a lot going on, and he's not used to reading these sorts of things." Daphne soothed, smiling kindly. "Don't hold it against him now, but really lay into him for it on your first Hogsmeade for me."

"You think we'd go to Hogsmeade together?" Hermione asked shyly, glancing at the tabletop. It wasn't that she hadn't considered the possibility of one day going to the town – but to go with Harry? She pressed her lips tightly together, that same giddy feeling from earlier flittering around in her belly.

"I think he'd be a fool to go with anyone else." Daphne replied, arching a brow as she smirked. "Our Harry always pulls his head from his arse eventually."

"Daphne!" Hermione gasped, her cheeks flushing – Daphne simply grinned triumphantly and sat back with her hands in her lap.

"So, when did you work out that you fancied him?" Tracey asked, scooting her chair closer to the table.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, her eyes flickering between the two girls for a time before she huffed out a breath. "The wedding." She answered eventually, sliding down the chair a little and covering the front of her face with her hoodie.

"Yes!" Tracey cried, throwing her arms in the air victoriously and falling back against her chair. "You owe me five Galleons." She beamed at Daphne, who was scowling at Tracey.

"Damn you, Granger."

"I can't believe you were betting on this!" Hermione cried; her eyes wide. "Of all the rude, inconsid-"

"We have wagers on everyone." Daphne shrugged nonchalantly. "Even one on Longbottom."

Hermione's tirade stopped abruptly as Daphne's words echoed around her head. She opened her mouth to speak, only for the words to die on the tip of her tongue – her jaw closed with a snap, and a few seconds later, she tried again. "What do you mean you have one on Neville?"

Tracey shrugged easily. "Which House his first Hogsmeade date will come from."

Hermione scrunched her nose.

"I have money on Slytherin." Daphne said, folding her legs. "Personally, I'm holding out hope for Parkinson."

"Seriously?" Tracey asked, her head whipping to look at the other girl. "Parkinson, of all people?"

"Aye – she wouldn't know what hit her."

"That-" Hermione began, only to sigh and pinch the bridge of her nose. "I don't know why I bother."

"Because you love us, and after Harry, we're your favourites." Tracey grinned, resting her head on Daphne's shoulder playfully. Hermione rubbed her temples.

"Just because Harry is-" She began.

"Pretty." Tracey added.

"Brave." Daphne nodded.

"Kind."

"Or funny, when he wants to be."

"I hate you both." Hermione sighed, glaring at the two grinning girls. "You spend far too much time together." She huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

"It's against the Hogwarts rules to lie." Daphne nodded solemnly.

"Who said I'm lying?" She replied, narrowing her eyes at the two.

"Your nostrils flare when you lie." Tracey shrugged, and Hermione's eyes widened as she covered her face with her hand. "We're Slytherin's for a reason, Hermione – do try to keep up." Tracey winked.

"You're both terrible." She said, her voice muffled by her hand.

"Aye – but we cheered you up though." Daphne smirked.

"Shut up." Hermione pouted.

"Why did you give him the letter? I'd have thought you'd have waited for a bit." Tracey asked, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I was pretty sure you'd wait, actually."

Hermione shrugged a shoulder, her hand lowering to play with the string of the hoodie, twirling it around her finger absently. "My mum made me do it."

"Wait, excuse me?"

"I'd been planning to do it since before Christmas, and I wrote to my mum for advice, and we came up with a plan, and then everything happened, and I tried to cancel it-"

"Hermione, breathe." Daphne chuckled, interrupting her hurried spiel.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting to ten, before releasing it. "I tried to put it off, but my mum said it might be the best thing for him right now, with everything that's happened." She paused, focusing on the string around her finger. "It didn't feel right."

"Done this before, have you?" Daphne asked, cocking her head to the left.

"No, but I-"

"Then how do you know how it's supposed to feel?"

"But-"

"Hermione, we're thirteen." Daphne began. "Well, you two are." She clarified, gesturing to Hermione and Tracey. "Harry's had an awful time of it – and frankly, we have no idea how to do any of this. I agree with your mother."

"Me too – we weren't there through all of it, but we know he's not the same as he was in September." Tracey smiled morosely. "Maybe it'll help to remind him he has people here that care about him."

"How much of his responsibilities do you understand – I mean, really, understand?" Daphne asked, leaning forward, her forearms resting on her knee.

Hermione blinked, looking between the two girls. "Uh, he's never really talked about it, but from the books I've read – he's the last of his family, right? With Sirius and…" Her breath hitched. "Arcturus pledging House Black to him, he's arguably the most powerful person in Britain, right?"

"Partly – you're on the right track." Daphne sighed, glancing at the door. "Whatever I tell you doesn't leave this room, understood?"

She nodded, her tongue wetting her lips quickly.

"Harry is the last surviving heir of his family – you know that already. Here's the thing, however – if Harry dies, without an heir of his own, House Potter goes extinct. A family that has a legacy of over a thousand years, gone, like that." Daphne said, snapping her finger for emphasis.

"I only know a little, 'cause you hear things every now and then – mostly rumour." Tracey added. "But the rumour is that half the Ministry is chomping at the bit to get their hands on the Potter estate."

"It's true – my father and Arcturus denied a motion in the Wizengamot to declare Harry a bastard three months ago. It's not just the Ministry that want the Potter lands – it's the other Lords too."

"That's awful!" Hermione cried.

"That's politics." Daphne shrugged. "Until he can claim his title, they'll keep trying – even after, it's not a sure thing he'll be able to keep hold of it." Daphne closed her eyes briefly and chewed on her lips. "Arcturus taught him politics and the history of his family, as best as he could, from the moment he could learn. For all that Harry is loved – he didn't grow up the same as you and Tracey."

"It's not a secret that Heirs grow up quicker than everyone else." Tracey shrugged. "I remember the first time Harry was seen in public after House Black took him in – it was all over the papers, and my parents didn't stop talking about it for weeks. I think we would have been, what, six? Seven?" She asked, glancing at Daphne.

"He was six, just about to turn seven. I'd only known him a few months by that point." Daphne nodded, looking toward Hermione. "You have to understand, Harry only knew Neville and I by that point. The first time he went out…" Daphne shook her head. "He jumped at the slightest noise for at least a week."

"Pretty sure he got mobbed." Tracey muttered darkly.

"He did." Daphne nodded sadly, smoothing out a wrinkle on her dress absently. "Arcturus put half a dozen reporters in Saint Mungo's."

"Why is everyone so obsessed with him? I get being The-Boy-Who-Lived, but he was a baby!" Hermione sniffed. "Why don't people just let him be Harry? He hates that title."

"He does – Neville was with him when he first learned what it meant." Daphne sighed, rubbing her hands idly in her lap. "You know he knew Neville for years before he met me."

Hermione and Tracey nodded.

"Harry loves to read – you both know this as well as anyone. He found a book. I don't know how he found it, but he and Neville read it together – I think they were four or five. He read about what happened to his parents, and it was the first time he performed accidental magic."

"What did he do?"

"Blew up half of Andromeda's house – damn near gave Lipsy a heart attack, too. Neville has been with him ever since. They don't talk about it."

"Is that why they're so close? Or is it usual for God-Brothers to be like them?"

Daphne took a minute to answer – her lips pursed in thought. "Possibly – though it's more likely because they're both the last orphans of the war."

"It's terrible." Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "Do you ever wonder what the two of them would be like if they still had their parents?"

"Harry would be happier. Neville too." Tracey smiled sadly.

"It doesn't do well to dwell on the 'what-if's' – at least, that's what my mother tells me." Daphne shrugged. "I think that's the saddest bit about it all – it's all Harry has, sometimes."

"He has us though." Hermione nodded resolutely.

"That he does." Tracey grinned. "Some more than others, I'd say."

"Merlin, you can't stay serious for five minutes." Hermione sighed, getting to her feet with a roll of her eyes.

"It's why you keep me around – you'd all be far too serious without me here." Tracey sniffed, quickly getting to her feet also. Daphne was the last one to stand, smirking as she did so. "Besides, if you think I don't want all of the juicy details of your first Hogsmeade right after, you're very much mistaken." She added, hooking her arm through her own, while Daphne unlocked the door.

"He hasn't even worked out it was me yet!" Hermione replied, shaking her head. "And Hogsmeade isn't until next year – he could ask anyone else in the castle by then."

Daphne looped her arm through Hermione's remaining one, the three of them slowly meandering through the castle arm-in-arm. She couldn't help but smile to herself – the morning had been absolutely terrible. She'd been dreading it, and to have Harry not even pick up on the hint…

She had her friends, though. She had Daphne, and she had Tracey – there was a comfort that came from them that she couldn't replicate with Neville or Harry, no matter how much she adored the two boys. With the two girls, she could be herself – she could ask how to manage her hair, ask what clothes suited her and what didn't. She could even talk about boys, though there was really only one that she wanted to talk about.

"I wonder who my first Hogsmeade will be with." Tracey sighed, resting her head briefly on Hermione's shoulder. "Just as long as it isn't a Gryffindor." She added, scrunching her nose as she looked at them.

"And what's wrong with Gryffindors, hm?" Hermione asked, arching a brow.

"We're already out-numbered. I think we need to make sure we're not spending any extra time in the Medical Wing, don't you think?" Daphne answered, her amusement barely contained as they turned a corner.

"Oh please – I've yet to end up there." Hermione scoffed.

"The fact you ended up in that tower is a crime. We'd have made a proper Slytherin of you."

"I don't know – the Ravenclaws would throw a right tantrum if they didn't get her." Tracey muttered, causing the three of them to laugh.

"What about Hufflepuff?" Hermione asked, her head swivelling between her friends. "You don't think I could have ended up there?"

"Oh, sure – but then you'd have to deal with the likes of Diggory. How any girl can get any work done in that house is beyond me." Tracey sighed, a far-away look in her eye.

"Diggory – seriously?" Daphne blinked.

"He's just, rather handsome is all – and kind too!" Tracey shrugged as the entrance to the Library came into view. There weren't many students about on a Sunday, and it had quickly become one of Hermione's favourite days to visit the hallowed hall.

"It does fit with Tracey's trend." Hermione murmured as they stepped through the entrance – at the far end, she could spy Harry and Neville huddled around a thick volume and talking quietly between themselves.

From her desk, Madame Pince eyed them warily – a stack of parchment on her desk, and a quill in her hand as she paused in her duties. Hermione offered a small smile to the matron of the library and received a short nod in response.

"What do you mean?" The girl asked, looking at her.

"Your penchant for older men." She shrugged her shoulders, smirking.

Tracey stopped dead, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "Hermione!" She shrieked, her face turning scarlet as she rushed to catch up with Hermione and Daphne, both of whom had continued walking. Daphne, her arm still entwined with her own, burst out laughing – her free hand darting up to cover her mouth.

"Volume, young lady!" Madame Pince called, her furious gaze on the group of girls.

"Sorry Madame Pince!" Tracey called over her shoulder. "Won't happen again!" She added quickly. The moment the three of them were out of view of the librarian, Tracey whirled on Hermione. "I don't know if I should be shocked or proud."

"You can be both – I know I am." Daphne chuckled; her grin matched only by Hermione's own. It wasn't often that Hermione would tease any of the others – she had been teased far too viciously and often growing up – but every now and then, she would indulge herself.

"You understand that this means war – you can't fire a shot like that and not expect retaliation." Tracey laughed, taking Hermione's arm once more.

"You'll do no such thing – leave her be." Daphne said, rolling her eyes. "If you want to go to war with someone, have at it with Neville."

"But he's too easy!" Tracey pouted, and Hermione found herself giggling as they came to the table where the two missing members of the group had settled at.

They had decided to hide themselves away within the Library at every given opportunity – there were volumes upon volumes in the room on all sorts of subjects, and it was avoided, especially on weekends, by most of the school. Of course, Harry had Quidditch practice three evenings a week, and Duelling Club took up their Thursday evenings.

It had become a refuge for them – with the return of Daphne and Tracey to the group before the holidays, the school's ire had turned toward them too. Though, there weren't many that would dare stand against the formidable duo of the two Slytherin girls – at least, not overtly.

Hiding away in the library had actually been Hermione's idea, and one she was rather proud of. It had taken time for her and Harry to come around to the idea of searching for the Chamber – the two of them had been of the opinion that Amelia needed to be informed of the Basilisk right away. The scale wasn't enough to be certain of anything, and as much as she hated to admit it, was more likely to get Harry in trouble for possessing it.

She shouldn't have been surprised – after all, Basilisk's were illegal, and all sorts of serious trouble would be brought down on anyone that was found with one in their possession. The selling of their carcasses was perfectly acceptable – if heavily regulated when their parts came on the market – and according to Tracey, the Goblins were always the number one buyer.

If Harry should announce to Amelia – related through Sirius or not – she would be forced to open an investigation into Harry for possession of the item. It would be just the opening people would need to give him more grief than he already had.

It had taken a couple lengthy conversations – with Daphne, of all people, advocating for the search – but eventually Hermione had conceded defeat and suggested they use the library. It was the perfect place. Disruptions would be minimal under Madame Pince's watch, and they had access to all the books they would need – barring the Restricted Section, of course.

Daphne extracted her arm first, and slid into the chair across from Harry, and Tracey took the one across from Neville. Hermione scowled at the two girls as they grinned – the chair next to Daphne was piled high with books – as was most of the table – leaving only the seat next to Harry available.

"What are you three giggling about? I get nervous when the three of you are together." Neville asked warily, his eyes looking between the three of them as Hermione slid into her chair.

"Just some girl talk." Tracey shrugged a shoulder, propping an arm on the table and resting her chin on her hand, her fingers tapping her cheek in a slow, steady rhythm.

Neville shuddered, and Hermione couldn't help but grin at the brief look of panic that swept over his face. "Forget I asked." He muttered, looking back down at his book.

"What are we going through today?" Hermione asked, looking at the various books arranged in their neat stacks.

"Personal accounts of the Founders – their journals and the like." Harry answered, his fingers tracing the lines of the page absently.

"You really think we'll find anything in these?" Daphne asked, lifting one from the pile next to her. "Surely, these must have been gone through hundreds of times by almost anyone looking for the Chamber."

"I'm with Daphne on this one – you really think we're not wasting our time? Everyone knows it's somewhere in the Slytherin Common Room." Tracey nodded, thumbing through a few pages of her own. "I can't imagine the other Founders will have known much about what happened there."

"Maybe they did, maybe they didn't – either way, I think leaving any possible lead unexplored would be foolish." Harry replied evenly, his voice soft.

Hermione picked up her own book – one of the journals of Rowena Ravenclaw. The volume was old, the leather binding flaking and peeling away from the thin piece of wood it was bound to. The pages were old, the parchment dry and dusty – between her fingers, it felt as if it would crumble at any given moment, and the ink had almost completely disappeared in places.

Her eyes swept the looping, graceful flow of Rowena's penmanship – she wondered what the woman would have been like in person. Hermione had always pictured herself a little like Rowena, or, when she was thinking especially highly of herself, that Rowena was more like her.

It was well documented that Rowena was the smartest witch of her age, and as Hermione's eyes scanned the woman's inner-most thoughts, she couldn't help but agree with that assessment. Rowena wrote in such a clear, concise way, that it was easy to follow along – almost like a teacher explaining a problem in class.

That her written word occasionally referred to some unknown term that Hermione couldn't even begin to guess at, or even comprehend – there was passing reference to a spell linked to her Diadem, a relic that had long been lost – made her head spin with a pleasant buzz. She could read Rowena's books for hours – maybe when it was all said and done, she'd do just that.

Her fingers turned the page with all the same care that a parent would give a new-born. These books were priceless, relics of a time that lacked many texts.

It is with my deepest regret that I write in this book on the evening of February second, nine-hundred-ninety-eight.

For four months, we four friends have quarrelled and argued on the subject of Muggle-born entering our hallowed halls of Hogwarts. My dearest friend, Helga, joined me in extolling the virtues of those born into families that hold no magic, for what could be a greater gift than that of magic?

My mind races with the possibilities of those that have joined our school, or, one day, will walk along the corridors of the very fortress that we transformed to suit our needs. What wonders would they create, under the direct tutelage of the many tutors that reside here, pooling their knowledge to innovate and improve?

"I think I'm reading about the breaking of the Founders." Hermione murmured; her eyes wide as she looked up at the others at the table. Daphne and Tracey looked up first, followed by Harry, and finally, with a grunt – or perhaps it was a stifled snore – Neville.

"Seriously?" Tracey blinked owlishly. "From which one?"

"Rowena." Hermione answered, her fingers tracing the lettering slowly.

"Damn – I got Hufflepuff." Tracey pouted, leaning back in her chair, and running her hands down her face. "What's she saying?"

"I hope she's spilling all the secrets on the other Founders – could you imagine if we got dirt on the Gryffindors?" Daphne grinned, nudging Tracey. "They'd never live it down."

"Godric was an upstanding wizard, thank-you-very-much." Neville huffed, sitting a little taller. "There's a reason he's so well thought of – better than your own."

Hermione frowned at that, and swatted Neville on the arm, leaning around Harry and brushing against him briefly to do so. He smelled sweet – had he tried a different soap? She cleared her throat as she settled back into her chair, brushing her fingers briefly through her hair as she pulled it over her shoulder.

"Ah yes, because Salazar was the big bad wizard everyone thought he was, and the sun shined out of Merlin's arsehole." Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Daphne!" Hermione hissed, her eyes darting in the direction of Madame Pince's desk, hidden away behind the rows of bookcases.

"What? I'm not the only one that think's it's stupid." She sighed. "House Slytherin was well respected and powerful before it died out – Gods, it was almost as powerful as House Potter in its day." Daphne said, gesturing to Harry, who nodded silently as he sat back in his chair. "They were honourable, and there's no documented reason as to why everyone calls Salazar a bigot."

"He argued with Godric a lot." Neville shrugged, tapping the page of his own book. "Godric's banging on about Salazar now, actually – most of his entries are about, and I quote, 'the up-jumped, spineless Wyrm'."

"That sounds awful." Hermione grimaced, her face scrunching in distaste. "I thought they were all supposed to be friends."

"It's hard to get context from journals unless it's explicitly explained." Harry shrugged. "I know why he called him a Wyrm, though."

Hermione looked at him, an eyebrow raised, while Daphne scoffed.

"His House Sigil – Slytherin's Family Sigil was a Wyrm. I forget the colours, though."

"Trust Potter to know the crest of a dead family." Daphne teased, returning to her own book, her chin propped up on her palm as she absently turned the page.

"Five points to Gryffindor!" Tracey grinned impishly, causing Harry to chuckle, and Hermione to smile to herself. Despite knowing him for over a year, Harry continued to surprise her – she grinned and bumped his shoulder as she looked back at the page in front of her.

My only wish, especially in these dark times, is that we could remain steadfast in our goal to bring education and security to those around us, that otherwise would have been left to the world, doomed and destined to fade into obscurity, shunned by their fearful peers.

I digress – today has been long and heart-breaking.

We four set out to create something truly, deeply wonderful, and I fear the tapestry we sought to create has begun to unravel; the threads coming undone, no matter how we might try to stop the catastrophe.

Salazar and Godric came to blows in the Great Hall during the evening meal – two students wept and required consoling after the harsh words, and Godric, much as I care for him, drew his blade. It was frightful, and truthfully, has left me more shaken than I care to record even for posterity.

Hermione gasped; her eyes large as she looked up from the book. "Godric drew his sword on Salazar!"

"Seriously?" Neville blinked, leaning around Harry.

"That's what it says – I doubt Rowena had any cause to lie in her own journal." Hermione.

"That would explain why he apparently never returned." Daphne murmured, pursing her lips slowly. "Can't say I'd react too well to being held at sword-point."

"I'll keep it in mind." Harry huffed, rolling his eyes.

"She might beat you again." Neville snickered, and Harry clipped him around the back of the head with his hand. "Right – can't have that." The boy mumbled, rubbing his head.

"How many people do you think have read these?" Tracey asked after a moment, stifling a yawn. "They're not page-turners, after all."

"Not sure – who have you got?" Daphne asked, leaning over, and trying to peer at the scrawl on the page. "Oh – Hufflepuff. Better luck next time."

"I've got Gryffindor." Neville shrugged.

"Me too." Daphne nodded, and everyone looked to Harry.

"Slytherin." He muttered. Hermione blinked, not quite sure why she was surprised – she had simply assumed he would have gone for Gryffindor. After all, wouldn't it have been the most amusing? Or at the very least, perhaps even full of bawdy comments – everything that Hermione had ever read about the man had painted him as a powerful warrior and wizard, but also a larger than life character. It had always been hard for her to decipher fact from fiction when it came to that man.

Daphne hummed and shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly.

"Okay, I know that noise." Harry grunted, and Daphne smirked.

"I'm just surprised, Potter."

"We can swap if you'd like, but you'd miss half of what it says."

"Why would she miss half?" Tracey asked tiredly, frowning slightly. "Besides the words blurring together." She added, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Harry glanced around them, and Hermione found herself mimicking his glances – the room was still empty, and from what she could tell, they were alone. Regardless, Harry leaned forward onto the table, his body covering the pages of Slytherin's journal, hiding the words from sight.

"I've told you a little about Parseltongue, right?"

"Not that much of it made much sense." Neville muttered; his voice equally as low. Frankly, Hermione found the whole talent wonderfully fascinating, though it irked her that it wasn't a gift she could learn – how interesting must snakes be to talk to.

"Well, I told you guys that it's an oral thing, right? There's no books on it or anything of the like?"

They all nodded slowly.

"The journal is dripping with magic – I can feel it like I can feel any of you. I'm getting a real sense of Slytherin as a wizard from reading it. If that makes sense?"

"Not even a little." Tracey said warily, her eyes darting to the book beneath his arms.

"I think it's Parselmagic – I can't explain it any better than that. Here, read this bit." He said, quickly glancing around again before spinning the book on the table and tapping to a spot on the parchment. Hermione cocked her head, twisting her body to try and see what he was pointing at, but there was nothing out of the ordinary – though she had to admit that Salazar's penmanship was atrocious.

"It's just a passage about the Dark Forest." She said, looking up at him.

"That's the genius of it – the magic is in the ink!" He gushed excitedly – she hadn't seen him this excited in a long time. "While I'm reading the same words, I'm hearing others too – in Parseltongue!"

"It sounds fascinating – it's nothing dangerous though, right?" She asked, worriedly.

Harry pressed his lips together tightly and fidgeted in his seat. "Nothing so far – he talks a lot about," Harry paused, his eyes darting to Daphne and Neville. "Some things to do with his family – places they went to and the like, but nothing to be worried about so far. I can't imagine there'd be anything in here that could be harmful – wouldn't Dumbledore have done something about it?"

"What if he doesn't know? He's not a Parselmouth, right?" Tracey muttered. "I feel like the more we look, the more dangerous things get, and my mum always said never to trust anything that talks back to you if you can't see where it keeps its brain."

"It is getting more dangerous the longer it goes on, and not just for us." Daphne hummed, chewing on her cheek. "With Rivers attacked last month and now a member of the staff? I'm surprised we don't have escorts."

"I'd forgotten about Professor Cantrill." Tracey murmured, eyes falling to the desk.

"Madame Pomfrey's taking good care of her – it's all anyone can do right now. Her fiancé comes in to visit her. He seems nice." Harry shrugged; his voice quiet as he glanced back down at the book. Hermione smiled sadly and gripped his hand under the table – their fingers interlocking naturally in a way that made Hermione feel like her heart was beating a mile a minute.

"We'll figure this out." Daphne smiled, her shoulders squaring as she looked around at the group.

"Aye – we won't say anything about you hearing voices from a book either." Neville grinned, causing Harry to cringe.

"You make it sound like I'm half mad." He said, elbowing the other boy, who just snickered as he went back to his book.

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, and quickly buried her nose back in Rowena's journal, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the grin that threatened to spread across her face – Harry hadn't let go!

I understand Salazar's concerns, in truth. Those born without the gift often wage war among themselves around the borders of our lands, and, though he is not a native to these parts, he fears for our safety. Perhaps it would have been safer to construct the school on our own lands, where the threat of Muggles was not quite so dire – perhaps, not so many years ago, we should have listened to Salazar.

In truth, for all that I am vaunted for my wisdom, and my value for intelligence, I know not the correct path – there are too many possibilities, too many variables.

I fear for the repercussions of tonight's events, for Salazar may do something rash. I have confined Godric to his tower, where he can vent his anger in safety – the protections of Hogwarts will keep him safe and provide many an item to break and smash in the room that comes and goes as it will.

Godric will bellow and sulk on the morrow about my chasing after Salazar, though I wonder how he will react when he discovers that I lost him entirely in the room we arranged for our descendants? Even now, many hours after the sun has set, and with my candles burning low, I know not of how he did it. Something to think on for another time.

The fracturing of our fellowship is something I find that weighs heavily on my heart, but none so much as the heartbreak I weep for a girl that will lose her father, and Salazar a daughter, for after tonight's events, there will be no reconciliation between the two men.

I pray that this does not mark the end for Hogwarts after such a tumultuous road, and I pray for the strength to hold my head high as the sun rises tomorrow. For now, my eyes ache, and my body longs for sleep.

"Guys – do you know if Salazar had any children? Specifically, a daughter?" She asked, looking between Harry, Daphne, and Neville – the three glanced up from their books and frowned.

"No – his house went extinct about two or three centuries later, right? Salazar wasn't even the Lord – he was a third son, I think?" Neville frowned, looking between Daphne and Harry.

"Sounds about right from what I know – why?" Harry asked, his head tilting to the side. "Did Rowena say something?"

"She mentions a few things, but yeah, there's a mention of Salazar having a daughter at Hogwarts around the time of the argument." She nodded, spinning the book, and tapping the spot on the page. Everyone scrambled to read it, their eyes darting back and forth, tracing the ink.

"Wonder why Rowena's commenting on it?" Tracey murmured. "Wait, you don't think…?" She added, glancing at the others.

"Think what?" Hermione asked, looking around at the four.

Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose before massaging her forehead. "Rowena had one daughter – Helena Ravenclaw. What a lot of people often forget is that Helena was an acknowledged bastard – Helena Nighean, of House Ravenclaw."

"Could she have been Salazar's?" Hermione gasped, eyes darting to the page and back again.

"Honestly, I could care less – there's so much in these books that goes against what is generally known, or at least, assumed, that it's giving me a headache, and frankly, we don't need to be unearthing thousand year old secrets right now." Daphne groaned, and everyone else nodded slowly.

"I've never heard of this place." Neville muttered, tapping the page a little above where Hermione herself had indicated – specifically, the part about a room for their descendants.

"Me neither." Tracey shrugged. "Do you think it's a hidden chamber somewhere? Like their sanctuaries?"

"Maybe – but the only place I know has anything to do with the descendants of the Founders is-" Harry began slowly, releasing her hand and stretching with a groan.

"The Trophy Room." Hermione finished, glancing at Harry. "There are alcoves specifically for awards given to members of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor's families – they each have a statue and everything."

"Might be a good place to start – especially if he disappeared around there like Rowena mentioned." Daphne nodded, pursing her lips. "It's as good a lead as any for now."

The sound of heavy boots approaching made them all look up and turn around to the source of the noise, and Hermione had to quickly cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

There, walking toward them in a white satin toga, with enchanted wings strapped to its back, was a Dwarf, large, bushy beard, and face tattoos, carrying a harp with a definite put-out expression. He looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Right, which one of ya wee ones is," The Dwarf paused, glancing at a small scroll. "Potter?"

"Oh Merlin!" Harry groaned, burying his head in his arms on the table.

"Look laddie, I'd rather be anywhere but here right now, so buck up and let's get this over with." The Dwarf grunted, strumming the strings idly with his large, meaty fingers. Hermione couldn't help herself – she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as she fell into Harry's side, tears running down her face.

The others were likewise occupied in attempting to remain in their seats, and Harry had turned a hilarious shade of red. The Dwarf cleared his throat and plucked the first notes.

"His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard – by the Stone this is terrible." He sang, pausing only to grimace at the parchment and offer a sympathetic look to Harry. "I wish he-"

"Stop!" Harry cried, reaching into his pocket. "Merlin, just stop – here, if I give you this will you go away?" He pleaded, thrusting a handful of Galleons toward the Dwarf.

"Aye – that'll do, laddie. Tell ye what, how about you throw in another Galleon, and we'll never speak of this again, ey?"

"Gods, yes!" Harry grunted, shoving the final golden coin at the stranger.

"Pleasure doin' business with ye." The Dwarf grinned, his teeth barely visible through the thick beard. Spinning on his heel, the creature disappeared with a jaunty whistle and a spring in his step.

"Oh, Merlin, I think I pissed myself." Neville moaned, clutching his stomach – he glanced down quickly. "No, we're alright. Oh, Gods, that was the best thing I've ever seen."

"Merlin, I hate Valentine's." Harry cried, and despite it all – Hermione couldn't stop the giggling that wracked her body.

As much as she had been dreading the day, she couldn't help but admit that it was the most fun she'd had with her friends in a long time.