Disclaimer: As much as I would love to claim the Harry Potter universe as my own, I must humbly admit that it is not so..

To my reviewer siriuslyblack04, thanks for your comment. It made me smile. :D

The Fates Prophesied

Chapter 3: The Colours Revealed

Mistress B

Filch had caught him the first night as he had run from Norris' meows. He had been sentenced to detention, overseen by Filch himself, for the rest of the week as his punishment for being out after curfew. As he scrubbed the floors of the dungeons, he heard Filch's muttered remembrance of the days when a misbehaving child was punished by a night in the dungeons, suspended by chains from the roof. His brown hair fell into his eyes as he pushed the brush over the floor, his knees and back aching, sweat on his brow. He muttered to himself, his eyes focusing on Filch as he sat on a chair, his back to him, his muttered remembrance's echoing throughout the room that was silent except for the steady rasp of the bristles on the stone floor.

He shook his head and looked back at the stone floor, the slime that had been layered slowly disappearing. He was sore that he had been handed such a long sentence. It was the fourth day he had been in detention, the last day. Saturday hadn't come quick enough for his liking, the days inching, the detentions each night tiring him. He was already behind in his homework, and wasn't happy that he would have to spend all tomorrow as well as all today working solely on homework. He cursed himself that he had been out after curfew so much the previous years. Filch had been delighted that he had already started. He cursed under his breath as his knuckled rubbed on the stone, peeling away the skin, and he blew the hair out from his eyes after shooting another glare to Filch's back.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The week had passed quickly for Hermione, classes passing in a blur, the lessons taught fading from mind as soon as she left the classroom. She had counted down the minutes to last bell every day, rushing to immerse herself in sorting the journals that would become her only pastime, she was sure. To her, the projects was more than extra marks, but instead a way for her to forget, to put her parents' disappearance to rest, at least for a while each day. They had finally made a dent in the crates and boxes, they no longer reappeared each time they had finished with one. She took that as a sign that soon they would be able to start on the actual deciphering. Malfoy had looked as eager as she did when they realized the boxes were no longer reappearing, although he had acted nonchalant.

She sat in the Great Hall on Monday, the rest of the students long past gone to their last class. Hermione didn't have any classes the rest of the day, and she sat in the Great Hall considering heading to their study early. Malfoy had one last class, and although Hermione usually spent her free class outside, usually helping Hagrid with his second year class, today, with the rain coming down in sheets, she had shaken her head as Hagrid had asked whether she would be joining the class again today. She sat with her head on her elbow, textbooks open in front of her as she attempted to finish a two foot potions essay on the properties of moon sugar when mixed with unicorn hair and boiled in mandrake oils that was due the next week, a wide yawn escaping as she covered her mouth lightly with the back of her right hand.

She dipped the quill into the ink pot and wrote another two lines before stopping again, her quill poised over the ink pot in the process of dipping it yet again, gazing out the windows to the cloudy sky. The sound of thunder jolted her and she jumped, her eyes tearing from the clouds that swirled like quicksilver behind the backdrop of the streaming rain. She reluctantly wiped her quill off on a napkin and sprinkled dust over the ink, drying it best she could before rolling up the parchment and packing her books into her book bag. She tossed the bag over her shoulder as she stood, leaving the table and heading towards the large doors that led out of the hall.

She left and headed up the stairs towards the fourth floor Head's common room, intent on putting away her textbooks and picking up the notebook she had decided to use for notes on the journals. She wasn't sure whether she would need it yet, but she had always believed in being prepared for anything. She entered the room, stopping only briefly to talk with the nymphs, smiling warmly before she said the password and watching as the painting dissolved before her. She stepped into the room and glanced at the clock before heading towards her bedroom. A mere twenty minutes into the lesson, she estimated as she pushed open the door to her room, putting the book bag on her desk and beginning to pull out the textbooks from it. She piled them neatly on her desk, the parchment placed squarely in the middle of the desk, and she opened a drawer, rifling through it until she pulled out a book, grey with lavender designs on the cover and the same coloured writing on the spine, spelling out her name and the year. Her parents had intended it to be a journal, but she never used them anyways, and didn't want to waste a perfectly good book.

She placed it in the book bag, along with spare parchment, another notebook, this one a plain white one from the year before, and numerous quills and different coloured inks. She also threw in a few pencils and a ballpoint pen, smuggled in from home. She turned and rifled through the armoire, peeling off the robes and changing into jeans and a white t-shirt, a black hooded sweater over top. She grabbed her book bag and stuffed her robes in, in case she didn't return to her room before dinner. She tossed the bag over her shoulder and left her rooms, stopping briefly in the common room to grab the blanket off of the back of the couch that she had awoken with draped over herself, folding it up and holding it over one arm. She left the commons then, making her way through the corridors to their study.

She said the password to the suit of armour and then moved into the enclosure behind it, then into the recess off of that. She pushed open the small door, moving into the room that was still crowded, if not quite as bad. She placed her book bag onto the table and glanced around. They were almost done all of the colours, the shelves almost full. She placed the blanket down with her book bag and pulled off the sweater, knowing that, although it was warm now, by tonight she would be glad she had both the sweater and the blanket. She began her work quickly, puling the remaining books out of the boxes and stacking them on the walls, humming to herself. She didn't know what she was humming, only that she was. She knew that eventually they would have to pull all of the journals off to arrange them according to date, but she would have to ask Dumbledore when the first journal was written before she bothered.

She worked steadily, longing for music to break the silence instead of her own humming.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Draco idly twirled the quill between his fingers as he sat in his Magical Remedies class, the mediwizard who was there to describe the hardships of a career in healing who droned on and on long past ignored. There wasn't many in this class, most trading it in for the more popular classes such as Advanced Potions or Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Draco had long surpassed the class levels and found that he wasn't interested in either of those classes.

His father had required long hours spent with Snape in extra classes, and had completed, in effect, both Advanced Potions and Collegiate Potions before the end of last year. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, he knew Dark Magic, so had long since learned the defence to most Dark Magic. Another gift of Lucius'. He had been required to spend a long amount of his time on the holidays studying with his father, learning different dark spells and, indeed, reaching his father's skill level by his sixth year.

He had since stopped working on dark magic, long before even Lucius' death, part of the reason Dumbledore was able to trust him with the Order, he supposed. The mediwizard was still rambling, and Draco glanced at the clock. The class, which had so far become one of his favourites, seemed to be dragging on interminably, the mediwizard's monotone lecture causing, two tables in front of Draco, Terry Boot from Ravenclaw to begin to snore loudly. Amazingly, though, the mediwizard didn't seem to notice, and Draco had a silent bet with himself over when the wizard would notice the slumbering boy. He stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick by.

Twenty minutes to go until the class would be out, and he would be done for the day. Knowing Granger, she would already be in the study, as she was every day. He assumed she wasn't there all class, since she usually carried with her the scent of fresh air and grass, not easily picked up in the closed off study.

He leaned back and put a notebook he had picked up in the common room, empty at the time, of course, on his stomach, propping it up on the table, and began idly jotting down things, his blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. He had long ago stopped styling it in the way his father had preferred for him, at least during school. He kept it loose, about his eyes and falling down to his jaw, putting styling products in to keep it neat, but not enough to make it slick back as he used to. He hummed a few seconds, and then nodding lightly jotted something else in the worn notebook, the pencil he had swiped from Granger making light grey marks above the writing.

He looked back at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. '40, 41, 42, 42, 41, 42, 43...' He paused, then frowned and glared at the clock as it jerked backwards again. He shook his head and growled lightly, the monologue coming from the front of the room not helping his mood. He looked down at the notebook, where on a line halfway down he had written idly "The clock is out to get me." He sniggered softly and glanced at the front of the room, where Professor Kristophosen was shaking the bald mediwizard's podgy hand. The mediwizard soon left and Kristophosen stood at the front of the room, her gaze stern and her hands on her hips.

A loud snore from Boot brought her attention. She glared and walked over, picking up a student's textbook on the way. She stood with it raised above the desk where Boot was drooling, her eyes glinting. She wasn't really threatening to look at, Kristophosen. Her blonde hair went to the bottom of her shoulder blades, the colour of her eyes shifting always between blues and greys and greens. She was about 5'7" with high heels, 120 lbs soaking wet. But, however pixyish the small woman looked, she had proven herself to the class time and time again to be harder than nails, sterner than McGonagall, and more laid-back than Dumbledore. She had given quite the speech on the first day of classes, outlining her requirements.

"The number one thing I require is respect. For both me and any other teachers or lecturers. Give that, and I can promise we will have an easy and, I daresay, fun year." She had said, pacing the front of the room as she had spoken, her soft voice demanding their attention.

Draco cleared his thoughts and watched as she gazed down at Boot, shaking her head. She dropped the heavy textbook, a resounding crash from the large tome hitting the desk echoing through the room. Boot jerked up, falling out of his chair and sprawling on the ground, panting heavily. Draco sniggered and shook his head, leaning forward to better watch. Kristophosen gazed down at him and then turned, heading back to the front of the room and resuming her pose.

"I am disappointed, students. This was our first guest speaker of the year, and you alienated him. I ask little of you, class, except for respect, both to anyone who agrees to speak to you guys and to myself. This was an easy assignment, to pay attention and learn. Instead, I find you are daydreaming, doodling, sleeping." Here she sent a dark glare to Boot. "I can only hope that you will prove to the next speaker and myself that you are mature enough to remain in this class."

Draco shifted uncomfortably, tucking his notebook into his book bag as he sent a furtive glance at the clock. The bell rang then, shrilly breaking the silence that had descended over the class. Kristophosen sighed and sank into her desk. "Go on. Get out of here." She said softly, waving idly at the door. The rest of the class packed up quickly and hurried out of the room, whispering to each other. Draco stuffed his books into his book bag and stood, heading out of the room. Halfway out of the door he paused and turned around.

"Professor Kristophosen?" He said, shifting his book bag unconsciously, searching for a place where the books that weigh it down didn't dig into his shoulder. She looked up and raised an eyebrow in question. "Sorry for not paying attention." He said hurriedly, turning and leaving the room before the professor could say anything. He frowned as he headed through the corridors towards their study, not quite sure why he had bothered apologizing. No one else had felt the need to, why would he? He growled and shifted the book bag again as he turned down the corridor where the suit of armour was located.

He muttered the password to the armour, moving past it into the enclosure, and then into the recess, ducking so that he could pass through the door. As he had thought, Granger was hard at work, her hair gathered in a knot at the base of her neck, her checks red as she carried a particularly large stack of journals towards the bookcases. She had cleared a good number of boxes, and Draco was sure they would be working on deciphering any day now. He was actually looking forward to it.

He strode forward, tossing his book bag onto the table next to hers, and grabbed the books off of the top of her stack, lightening the armload of the struggling brunette. He grinned as she sighed in relief, shaking his head and placing the books on the shelves where they belonged, before grabbing the empties that Granger had left in the room and taking them out to the hall. He threw them out, not leaving the enclosure behind the suit of armour, and then turned back, returning to the study. He pulled a box off of a top of a pile, grabbing an armload out of it before heading towards the shelves they had reserved for he blue-banded books. He glanced over at Hermione and rolled his eyes as she emptied yet another box, the stack of books in her arms towering over her. He shook his head and turned back to his box, working silently. As usual, the only break in the silence was Hermione's humming and the sound of the books being slid onto the shelves and into their places.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Harry sprawled out in one of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room, the fire crackling in front of him and a book open on his lap. He was reading the book, barely listening to Ron's narration of an episode in their Care of Magical Creatures class that day, Ron's arms flailing as he mimicked the creature Hagrid had brought in, A chuckle coming from Seamus, who was really the only one listening. They had taken the course again this year, not because they needed or wanted it, but because they had nothing better to do. Neither were the least bit interested in Divination, and Harry had absolutely refused to spend another year listening to Trelawney, who had shared classes with the centaur Firenze since Firenze had been banished from his herd in fifth year.

Ron's narrative ended and the group that was gathered around the fireplace scattered, leaving Ron and Harry alone. Ron stared into the flames, leaving Harry to his book for a good while, until Harry could see Ron fidgeting out of the corner of his eye.

Ron turned and looked at Harry, who continued reading. "Harry, have you seen Hermione lately?" he asked, gazing around the commons. Harry hadn't, and had remarked on it earlier, not that Ron had heard as he had been spluttering about the spiders Hagrid had brought in with the creatures. Harry just grunted in answer and kept reading, ignoring Ron. Ron frowned and glanced around, standing. "Harry?" Harry ignored him again. Ron reached over and grabbed Harry's book, yanking it out of his hands and hitting him in the back of the head.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Harry asked, frowning at the redhead and rubbing his head and Ron handed him back the book.

"I said, have you seen Hermione lately." Ron repeated, sitting back into the armchair.

Harry shrugged. "No, she's been off with her classes and that projects she told us about. The one McGonagall has got her on." Harry said idly, flipping through the pages in his book, trying to find the place he had been before the tome had been taken from his hands. "Why do you ask?" He added, glancing up at the redhead, who shrugged.

"It's weird not having her around, is all," Ron said idly, leaning back in the chair. Harry rolled his eyes and found the spot he had been at, going back to his reading. Ron shifted, drawing Harry's attention from the book. Harry rolled his eyes and Ron sighed. "You think we could go to her dorm?" Ron asked, looking at Harry. Harry sighed and glanced at his watch.

"Ron, it's 11:30. Past curfew. I highly doubt we could go to her dorm." He said, looking back to his book. Ron frowned and seemed about to add something. "And no, we will not use the Cloak just to go to the heads' dorms." He finished, shooting a glance at the redhead, who quickly closed his mouth and glanced around. Harry grinned and shook his head, concentrating once more on his book.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Hermione glanced around the study, grinning happily to herself. They had just finished the last box, and now all that remained was to organize them. She had pointed this out to Malfoy, who just looked at her and shook his head. "Granger, you can organize. I'll sit here and watch." He had murmured, looking at the fire that was crackling in the fireplace from his seat on the armchair. Hermione rolled her eyes and made a face at the back of Malfoy's head, sinking into one of the seats at the table. Draco reached over to the table and pulled his book bag to him, taking out a notebook and a pencil. Hermione frowned.

"Hold on a minute…" She said, getting Malfoy's attention. "Those are mine. The notebook and the pencil." She accused, glaring at the notebook. It was just a plain green one that she had never used, nor had she planned to use, but that Malfoy had it without asking? Malfoy chuckled.

"Aye. I found it out in the commons, tossed on the table. I figured you didn't want it, considering it is at least a few years old and didn't have a single thing written in it. I..." He paused, searching. "Borrowed it for an extended period of time." He said, grinning lightly. Hermione smiled lightly and shook her head.

"Well, next time you decide to 'borrow' something for any length of time, please make sure to ask me." She said, smiling lightly before pulling out some parchment and a pencil from her own bag. She jotted a quick message on it and jumped up, saying a quick 'be right back' before heading out the door. She jogged through the halls and up stairs to the owlery, where she glanced around. She coaxed a brown school owl down from the rafters and tied the message gently to its leg. "Take it to Dumbledore for me, alright?" She said to the owl, stroking it lightly before letting it go.

She stood at the window long after the owl had left, staring at the sky outside. Even at night the clouds shifted, making the sky an inky colour, swirling, mesmerizing her. She stood for many minutes until, in only her t-shirt, she began to feel a chill. The cold nights were coming early this year, unfortunately, and she already couldn't wait for spring. She left the window and made her way back down the stairs, heading through the halls, turning and going down staircases, until she stood once more in front of the suit of armour. She said the password and entered again, surprised to see Malfoy still sitting in front of the fire.

He hummed something softly, briefly, and then jotted something above a line at the middle of the page, then all of a sudden his pen was once more at the top of the page. She shut the door behind her and looked back, and the notebook was shut and he was leaning back in the chair, looking into the fire. "Had to send a message to Dumbledore, ask him when the first journal is dated. That way, it'll be easier to set them in order." She explained as she stood at the table, bundling her stuff into the book bag and pulling her sweatshirt over her head. Malfoy nodded at her explanation and she pulled the bag over her shoulder. "Are you going to stay here for a while longer?" She asked, stepping to the door. Malfoy looked back and nodded. She nodded and opened the door. "All right then, goodnight." She said, leaving the room.

She was happy to finally make it to the common room, kicking her shoes off right at the portrait and carrying them into the actual dorm. She threw her bag onto her bed as soon as she made it up to her room, and a glance at the clock at her bed showed her the time. Half past midnight had just come and gone, and she was tired, her body as well as her mind exhausted. She had just pulled off her clothing and pulled on a nightgown when she fell onto her bed, her eyes fluttering closed as soon as her head hit the pillow.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She woke with the sun in her eyes, the sound of the steady stream of water coming from the shower the only sound to break the permeating silence that filled the Heads' dormitory. She stretched languorously, yawning and blinking as she gazed around the room, taking in the scattered parchments on her desk. She sat up and pushed the blankets off of her legs, swinging them out from the thick quilt and scratching idly at the back of head. She rubbed her eyes and walked to her armoire, pulling a pair of jeans out from the bottommost drawer, and a plain white tee from the shelf at the top. She grabbed some socks and underwear from the top drawer and pulled a pair of shoes from the bottom shelf, setting them beside the door before going to stand by the door, her head against the wall.

"Malfoy, your time is up." She called through the wooden barrier, closing her eyes and yawning. From inside, the sound of Malfoy starting to sing reached her. He was actually very loud… Hermione glared. "Oh, very mature. Don't think I don't know what you're doing, ferret!" She shouted, pounding on the door. The sound of his laughter reached her, and the water shut off within a few seconds. Hermione stepped back from the door, her arms crossed impatiently. She waited an appropriate amount of time, giving him a chance to dress, and then knocked on the door once more. "I need the washroom, Malfoy." She said, leaning back against the wall.

She leaned her head against the wall, and heard Malfoy unlock the door. She opened the door and quickly looked anywhere but the counter where he was leaning across the sink, drawing his razor over his jaw. "Oh, don't tell me you didn't have time to dress, Malfoy." She said in frustration, banishing the image of him standing, just a towel wrapped around his waist. Malfoy chuckled and rinsed off his razor, bringing a hand towel to wipe of the excess lather that remained on his face.

"I had time, I was occupied with other matters. Such as grooming." He paused. "You have heard of personal grooming, haven't you?" He asked innocently, gazing at her. She frowned and turned to face him, ignoring his state of partial undress.

"That's mature, Malfoy, really. I mean, children never use that insult. Oh no, you had by far a wittier comment than any seven year old." She said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Malfoy chuckled again.

"I know, I know. My witty repartee must have you in a right fluster." He shot back, shrugging and grabbing his cologne off of the counter before heading towards his door. Hermione placed her clothes on the counter and waited for him to vacate the room. Malfoy turned back and glanced at her, hand on the doorknob. "But don't worry. I'm sure you'll someday come close to matching me in verbal sparring." He finished, opening the door and sliding through, shutting it before Hermione could fully process his comment. Shaking her head she pulled off her nightgown wordlessly, climbing into the shower and letting it caress away her troubles, forgetting everything but the rhythm of the water massaging her flesh.

She shampooed her hair quickly, working away the grime from working in the dusty study for hours, working away the smell of the old tomes. She came out of the shower smelling lightly of roses and vanilla, the bathroom steamy and the mirror fogged. "Granger, you finished showering?" called Malfoy through his door.

"Yes, but I wouldn't come in just yet." She said as she dried herself off, the beads of water that slid over her soon wiped away but the thick white towel. She knotted her hair briefly at the base of her neck, allowing herself the chance to dry off completely, without stray beads of water from her hair streaking down. She pulled on her clothes and wrapped her hair in the towel before letting Malfoy in. He took up his regular spot on the right, she on the left, each busy with readying themselves for the day.

She leaned forward and let her hair fall from the towel, then began to work the brush through the tangled strands that fell in front of her face. She was nearly upside down, and she couldn't help but hear Malfoy laughing. "Shut it, you prat. This is the only way I don't end up soaking my shirt." She muttered, rolling her eyes. This only set Malfoy off further, and she huffed in frustration, flipping her hair back over her head and eyeing him through the mirror.

He tried to choke back his laughter, and failed miserably, bursting out again. Hermione glared and gritted her teeth together, tuning out his laughter, singing to herself as she focused on the words to the song. Malfoy stopped soon and just stared at her through the mirror. "You sing?" He asked softly when she looked at him inquisitively. Hermione blushed a deep scarlet and shrugged uncomfortable.

"Nothing major. Just to occupy myself, lately. I've never really had any training or anything, just sort of sang." She said awkwardly, drawing the brush through her hair. Malfoy just nodded and went back to his own hair, eyeing her occasionally out of the corner of his eye. She finished up quickly, her hair in a messy bun, the highlights sparkling amid the dark brown of her natural colour, and swiped some lip gloss over her lips before leaving the bathroom. She walked to her desk and stuffed in her books for the day, along with her quills and parchment, then, after sliding on her shoes, walked down the stairs, pulling her robes on one arm, book bag clenched in the other.

She heard a pecking as she walked towards the entrance, and turned to see the brown owl she had sent to Dumbledore the night before sitting on the sill of one of the windows. She opened the window and untied the message from the owls leg, slipping it one of the treats she had bought the year before for the times when Pig visited her dorms. She sat on one of the armchairs and unrolled the slip of parchment, recognizing the Headmaster's scrawl.

Ms. Granger.

I gather you have already sorted the journals into their colours. I'm not sure if you have realized this yet, but they are organized not only by colour, but each colour is a representation of a founder's house. By now, you will realize what I mean. Green for Slytherin, red for Gryffindor, yellow for Hufflepuff and blue for Ravenclaw. Now, I know this does not really pertain to what you have asked of me, since I assume you already realized this, but I think you may not know why they had the different colours for each of their journals.

They each chose a different colour to show that while they are all the same, they are also very different. They each stood for different things, red not only for Godric's house, but for his personality. He had a temper, Salazar a tendency to be envious, Helga an ever-optimistic constant hopeful, and Rowena had the air of royalty. Remember this when you read their journals, and this will help you understand their thoughts.

The school began in 1009. The first journal should date in early 1006, when the four met and, realizing each had an enormous aptitude within different aspects of magic. They decided to band together and create a way to spread this knowledge to the coming generations. This is, of course, common knowledge, and I cannot help but wait in expectation for your first report, giving me, I hope, further insight into the brilliant minds of those who began our school.

I believe that this project may be the best thing to happen to many of us in a very long time, and that, in the future, many will wish they had been the ones on the project that had discovered a way, long forgotten, to defeat Voldemort. Until that distant date, we must remember to live with hope that we will indeed find a way to finish this for the good of all.

Remember that I am but a few floors away and my door is always open to a student in need,

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster.

Hermione sat in contemplation as the contents of Dumbledore's note sank in. That the founders had chosen their colours based on their personalities had never occurred to Hermione; she had assumed the colour choosing was based on each founder's family coat of arms. Then, as the clock chimed 8:00, she jumped from the chair, the sounds of Malfoy's steps on the stairs echoing hers as she grabbed her book bag. She stopped as she ran towards the entrance, then turned around, note clenched in her hand. She stopped in front of Malfoy and held out the note.

"It's about our project, from Dumbledore." She said before pushing it into his hand and running towards the entrance. "Make sure you read it, and get to the study as soon as possible so that we can work on the project quicker!" She called over her shoulder before leaving the room and running through the emptying halls towards her class.

She would hate it if she were late because of the note from Dumbledore. She nearly bowled over a third year, and at the sight of a charging head girl, many students found themselves clearing the way for the harried brunette. She turned into the Transfiguration classroom just as the bell rang, signalling the start of class, and had just sunk into a seat at the back of the class when McGonagall entered the room. She knew she must look a sight, her messy bun literally falling out of the knot, and her cheeks red, both from the run and embarrassment, the curious gazes coming from her classmates not helping the matter in the least. She thought back to Dumbledore's note and pulled a notebook out of her book bag, gazing at the front of the room. McGonagall was demonstrating a spell Hermione had long known, and so she opened the notebook, turning to the first clean page and placing the date in the top right corner. She put her pencil to the first line, pressing it to the paper as she thought about what to write.

Entry one, personal response, "Founder's Project."

As assigned by Prof. Dumbledore and Prof. McGonagall.

Hermione Granger

As I consider what I have learned today, I cannot help but find my mind wandering. To think that the colour scheme would affect me so is unbelievable, and yet, it is true. I cannot help but wonder what else that I had assumed will turn out to be false, if even such a simple thing that was always believed to be true is found to be false. That the emotional association of colours and their responding attachment to the founders derived the colours… I had never even considered such.

To me, the colours were most likely derived by a familial importance, as the colours of a family coat of arms, or the favourite colour or a favoured relation. I suppose that next, I will discover that the animals, the Gryffindor lion, the Slytherin snake, were not chosen for their associated properties, but that they were the Founder's pet, or that they had each had a bad experience with one of the chosen animal.

She paused to think and looked up in time to see McGonagall do a demonstration of a tough spell, changing a glass of water into a particularly beautiful rose. They were learning to change anything into a flower, something Hermione had learned in order to give her mother a lovely Mother's Day gift. She glanced around and shut the notebook when she saw the curious stares she was still receiving, probably because she was ignoring the teacher.

She sighed and tucked the notebook back into her book bag, along with her pencil, instead pulling out some spare parchment and uncapping a bottle of ink and readying her quill, turning to listen to McGonagall's lecture on the precision needed to make the spell work properly.

There we go. I hope you all enjoy!

Please, Read and review. I long to hear some feedback on this.

Mistress B