A/N1: The second installment in the Noblesse Oblige series begins right after the first one ends. If you have not yet read NO: The Plan, you might want to do that first.
A/N2: Don't be silly; in no way do I own Harry Potter. As a small reminder, this is an alternate universe story based upon that series. That means that events and personalities may have changed; as an example, in the first chapter: who is in what House. If you are anal about canon, I encourage you to re-read J.K. Rowling's original works, because you won't find that here.
A/N3: Contrary to what may appear, this is not a Ron-bashing story. However, the gap in maturity levels between a polished and educated youth and the younger child of an overprotective mother is portrayed. Trust me; he will eventually grow up.
Gryffindor Dorm
After the prefects concluded the welcome and orientation meeting, the first years headed up the winding staircase. Spying his trunk with the Potter arms embossed, Harry invited Roger Malone and Dean Thomas (the student who had exclaimed at the announcement of Hermione's title) to join him on the bed and continue their earlier conversation on the merits of several London football teams.
"Oi!" A tall redhead burst into the group and placed an arm across Harry's shoulders. "You blokes budge over and give me and my pal Harry some space. Whoever's stuff is there," he pointed at the nearest bed, "find another place to sleep."
Dean's and Roger's protests at this treatment died in the back of their throats when Harry stepped out of the gangly ginger's reach and spoke in cold tones. "Weasley, I believe your name is? The room arrangement will stay as it is. Are you not aware that the Hogwarts house elves monitor our interactions in the Great Hall and sort us out by congeniality? Obviously, they feel that Dean and I have much in common."
"What are house elves?" Dean echoed Hermione's question from several years earlier.
"They're just servants, only good for cooking and cleaning. And it's Ron, by the way."
"Well, Ron, house elves are capable of much more." Harry addressed the other boys. "At my school we didn't have any, since it was in a primarily muggle area, but we studied their lore and history with some of the Longbottom and Malfoy elves."
"Malfoy!" he spat. "As my best mate, you and me'll be staying far away from that git. Malfoys are dark."
Harry's jaw clenched. "Let me make this as clear as I can, Weasley. I am not in the market for a 'best mate'. I already have three of them, and one is Draco Malfoy. I will not tolerate any derision aimed in his direction."
"But–but you're the Boy-Who-Lived! Malfoy's dad was one of You-Know-Who's top lieutenants. He only escaped Azkaban with bribes. Blood money, I call it."
"All of that is in the past. Mr. Malfoy has shown me nothing but kindness and has done much to make up for his past. Or do you not keep up with the news?"
The redhead folded his arms and sat down on his assigned bed with such force that he bounced. "Leopards don't change their spots."
"Ah, now I recall." Harry's eyes narrowed. "For four generations," he turned to the others, "the Weasleys and Malfoys have engaged in a blood feud. In the past few years Mr. Malfoy has made overtures to put an end to the animosity but has been rebuffed by the head of House Weasley; your father, I presume. Now whose spots don't change?"
The Irish lad chortled. "That'd have to be Weasley, since he's spotted all over. Well, Harry," he put out his hand, "the name's Seamus and I'm willing to be less than your best mate so long as I don't have to 'M'Lord' you all the time."
Shaking the proffered hand, Harry replied with a smile, "To my friends, I'm just Harry Potter. My classmates from my former school and I are trying to sort out a common room for our entire year so we can mingle with students from other houses. I'll let you all," he included Ron in the glance around the room, "know when that comes to pass."
Dean shook his head. "My mum'll never believe I share a room with a lord."
"Say, Harry," Seamus piped up, "you went to a school before Hogwarts? I thought those books that used to be everywhere had you living in a castle."
"And fighting dragons and taking on monsters worthy of the labours of Hercules?" Harry rolled his eyes. "When the...my guardian heard about those, she went after the publishers and had them all withdrawn. The dolls, too."
"Hey," Roger grinned, "doncha know it's more masculine to call them action figures?"
Harry grunted in disgust, "Unfortunately, they had removable clothes and outfits which could be purchased separately. That, according to Hermione, grants them doll status."
When the lamps flickered in the pattern which had been described as curfew warning, they quickly dressed for bed and crawled under the covers.
Hufflepuff Dorm
Neville ignored the whispers behind him in the common room. The prefects had just dismissed the first years' meeting, and he was considering which floor would be the best location for the inter-house meeting area, the first major item on the team's agenda. His thoughts were interrupted by the clearing of a throat, and he looked up to meet the eyes of a curly-haired classmate.
The boy gave an immaculate bow. "My name is Justin Finch-Fletchley, and we," he indicated the rest of the first years, "would like to know how you'd like to be addressed."
"Addressed?"
"Lord Settsburg, I'm muggleborn, and since my pater is the second cousin of the Duke of Collum, I know the proper forms."
"Thank you for inquiring," Neville nodded to the clustered mass of students, "but we–my friends and I–have decided to be informal, unless there are extenuating circumstances which require otherwise."
Justin's posture relaxed, and grins could be seen on the faces of others. "That's a relief! I hate those big family get-togethers. With all the Lord-ing and Sir-ing going on, conversations take forever to finish!"
"So, Justin," Neville smiled, "was your Hogwarts letter unexpected?"
"I'll say! We live in an old house and generally just credit any strange happenings to ghosts. My mom cut up stiff that I wasn't going to Eton, but Dad smoothed it over."
"Lord–Neville," the blonde girl who had been the first named for the Hat, "how did you manage to gain the title?"
"I mean, you're a pureblood and all," her pretty red-haired friend added as one hand fiddled with her long plait.
"Well, that's quite a story. For tonight, I'll just say that my friends and I were recruited and trained to unite the students." He glanced around at them. "Hufflepuff House is known for loyalty to its own members, but loyalty should be expanded to include all who possess magic."
"Even those who are evil, like You-Know-Who?" a boy challenged. "Ernie MacMillan," he reminded Neville.
"And I'm Zacharias Smith," a blond pushed forward abruptly, "a direct descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. That's m'cousin Sally over there," a girl with mousy hair waved, "from a cadet branch of the family. I would like to dispute your statement. It's well known that Slytherin is the breeding ground for Death Eaters, and here you are, pals with one of them."
"Zacharias, Ernie," Neville looked at each of them in turn, "I agree that evil in all forms should be abhorred. However, it is neither fair nor wise to shun every member of a House for the actions of a few."
"That's foolish and dangerous talk!" Zacharias snorted.
"Perhaps, but is it not equally foolish to make such a decision without considering all evidence?" The flickering lights cut off the rest of Neville's speech. "We can continue this discussion later." He bowed to the girls before joining the boys in their dorm room.
"Isn't he dreamy, Susan?" the blonde sighed as she and her friend settled for the evening.
"Yes, Hannah," she replied, "and not at all how Pop-Pop's old friend Mr. Algie described him. He's Mrs. Longbottom's brother, you know."
Ravenclaw Dorm
Ravenclaws, always in search of knowledge, did not allow the first years to interrogate the new celebrity on their own.
"Granger? That's not an old wizarding name, unless you count the lapsed house of Dagworth-Granger. Are they kin of yours?"
"Not that I'm aware," she answered with aplomb. "My mother has done a bit of genealogy and while there have been a few adoptions in Dad's family, nothing can be proved."
Another older girl sniffed. "That stands to reason if you only used muggle resources."
Hermione tilted her head. "What makes you think we did not have access to wizarding pedigrees?"
"But you're muggleborn! You'd only have heard of us on your last birthday."
"Fair point." She nodded. "However, there was an…incident several years ago, and it was determined that it would be best if I had a modicum of grounding in this society before being tossed to the lions."
"Ey up, what does Gryffindor 'ave t'do with it?" queried one student whose sorting had been towards the end of the alphabet.
"Sorry, it's a non-magical saying, with the historical source referring to people sentenced to die by mauling of wild beasts because of a differing belief system." Hermione held out a hand to the girl with the northern accent. "I remember your name was Lisa, but all I can recall of your last name is that it came after Potter and before Zabini."
"Turpin, and that's almost allus t'way of Gryffs, accordin' to me older brother." The girl's wide grin and sandy flyaway tresses made Hermione swear a silent oath to teach her hair spells.
"It's interesting–oh, Roger Davies, by the way–that each one of you 'special' students went into a different house."
Hermione shrugged. "Coincidence, I'm sure."
"I doubt that, but, then again," he chuckled, "it's not likely that a bunch of first years could influence a centuries-old magical artifact."
"That's enough third degree for now." The fifth year prefect who had introduced herself as Penelope chased away the older students. "First years," she smiled at the group, "your earlier curfew is for your own benefit. You will be expending much magical energy in the coming months, and it will well behoove you to eat and rest properly. Go on, up the stairs with you!"
Unfortunately for Hermione, sleep was a long time coming that first night.
Slytherin Dorm
"Drakey!" Pansy Parkinson squealed after the first years had undergone their Slytherin 'hazing'. "I knew your family was secretive about your long absences, but gaining a muggle title!" She ran a hand up his arm. "Did much money come with it?"
Draco peeled away her clinging fingers. "First, it is a title which is both muggle and magical, and, second, it's none of your business if money comes with it; there will not be another betrothal offer from us in the future."
When Lucius began to distance himself from the other non-incarcerated Death Eaters and then proceeded to diversify his investments, Peter Parkinson had denounced him as a traitor to his blood and ceremonially incinerated the document. It had taken the better part of six months for Lucius to collect the cancellation compensation, and shortly after that the Parkinson head of house had succumbed to the mysterious illness which only affected those bearing the dark mark. While the family was by no means impoverished, Pansy's uncle kept a tight grip on the purse strings and, so far, had not found another wealthy pureblood scion to accept his niece in matrimony.
"I warned you that your game wouldn't work, Parkinson," an elegant blonde snapped. Curtseying, she introduced herself. "Daphne Greengrass. We met at a few social gatherings before you left for schooling. This is my friend, Tracey Davis," she indicated a girl with straight brown hair. "Since her mother is a muggleborn witch, she was never invited to those horrid 'play-parties'."
Draco bent over both girls' hands and gave their knuckles an air kiss. "And those engagements might have been more entertaining had she been." He looked around. "Most of you look vaguely familiar. Do you mind refreshing my memory?"
