I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters
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Hermione had never before considered how to reach the topmost point of Gryffindor tower - students only ever went as far as their own dormitories after all, and the assumption was that the next flight of stairs simply led to the final dormitory and did then not continue. However, as she entered Gryffindor common room -thankfully empty of students, who were dining in the Great Hall by this time - they did not climb either staircase towards the dormitories, but instead were led towards a portrait Hermione had nevertruly acknowledged, of a rather ugly young wizard, wearing a horribly vivid red tunic, and sporting a jet black beard, and bushy eyebrows that came so close together, it was hard to decipher one from the other. It was accomodated in a small niche in the wall, just above the window-sill and barely noticeable at all, unless the viewer were to sit on the window sill itself. Both she and Dumbledore followed the man to the portrait in complete silence, exchanging no eye contact, and following in such a fashion that suggested submission to his clear knowledge. It had been enough to see that the man had been before when he emerged into the open corridor outside the hospital wing, and instantly smiled in complete recognition, leading his two companions towards Gryffindor tower without so much as a faulty step. Although several remarks were made as to the most recent portraits, of recently deceased famous members of the wizarding world, there was no hint that he did not belong. In fact, Hermione found herself daring to believe that he may well be Godric Gryffindor, and her beliefs were only heightened when he reached the Fat Lady's portrait. The calm, kindly, plump face, which would usually smile sweetly and ask inan almost dreamlike voice for the password, instead contorted into a look of complete shock and disbelief. Jumping from the chair on which she sat, her rather rounded form shaking vividly as she did so, a chubby finger extending and pointing at the strange man, emmitting a very high pitched squeak, almost inaudible to the human ear.
Godric smiled, a handsome smile, Hermione noted, that showed healthy white teeth, something she found herselfdetermined to question later on. His lips curled invitingly, and hiseyes dancedwith welcome recognition. "Shayna, my beautiful cousin, if it is possible, you look more wonderful than I have ever seen you." He gave a graceful bow, and Hermione had to resistthe impulse to laugh hysterically. It was, after all, commonly acknowledged that theFat Lady was by no means beautiful. Even so, she found the use of a first name -something she had never before considered when referring to the Fat Lady -desperately intriguing.
"My... my... my dear... my dear cousin..."The portrait blushed a vividpink, but the plumpl lady shook her head rigorously. "Iwas assured... by that Pellity boy... the large one... that you had died... many years ago... why... you were much older then!"
She seemed to round onDumbledore, as though the kindly old man would have some form of answer to her question.
"Dumbledore, one of your students must have confunded me!"
"My dear Lady," Dumbledore smiled, eyes soft, "it would appear you are not the only one on the end of such a hex. Perhaps, you could be so graceful, as to allow us entrance."
"Password?" She asked timidly. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but froze on realizing that she was not being addressed.
Instead, it was Godric, whose smile had not once faltered or faded from his face, who answered, his voice soft and alluring, "fortes fortuna iuvat" he said. He spoke fluently, his tongue forming the words effortlessly, and in such a way that sent small and altogether unneeded shivers upHermione'sspine. Only when the Fat Lady clapped her plump hands together, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes,and swung forward tolet them through did Hermione note that this password was not the one that she had been given the previous day.
She glanced at Dumbledore, who, although slightly bewildered in expression, nodded comfortingly and indicated for her to followGodric through the portrait hole. She did so,albeit nervously, falling into step with the man andasking, without prior thought. "What did that mean?"
He looked at her assessingly.After a seconds thought, he said, "it's Latin.It means, 'fortune favours the brave." He frowned. "Do you not learn Latin, Sunrise?" His voice was by no means flirtatious, and the name was most probably nothing more than a simple referral, given that she had not introduced herself; yet even so, Hermione found a blush reddening her cheeks as she shook her head. He sighed. "What year is it, that Latin is no longer taught?"
"It's 1998..." Hermione said sheepishly.
The colour seemed to drain from his face and he looked at her in confusion. "Is it brains or brawn that awards you that badge?"
She stumbled over her words slightly, blushing repeatedly as Gryffindor led her towards the niche. "I... well... I suppose... perhaps... brains..."
He rolled his eyes. "Brains, but decidedly not words." He stepped with ease onto the window sill and rested his back on the wall opposing the portrait. "Sekhemkhet, my brother," he said softly, arms crossed on his chest, covered only in a thin silk shirt. "Does the passage still live on?"
The man, Sekhemkhet, in the portrait, shook himself, as though awakening from a long, deep sleep and smiled drowsily. "Godric? My dear fellow, how do you come to exist, athousand years on from your owndeath?"
The frown that creased Gryffindor's browdisappeared almost instantly. "My circumstances are not yet understood, brother. Nor do I wish to know of my past, or indeed, my future, whichever timeline my wandering soul is set to tread.The passage?"
The man nodded. "Yes, the passage is still here. It hasn't been visited since you're passing... I worry that my hinges may have rusted into place."
Smiling humorously, Godric saidwith ease, "Fortuna est caeca." He looked at Hermione with a smirk. "For your information, Sunrise, 'fortune isblind'."
Sekhemkhet smiled broadly. "Welcomereturn, brother." He swung forwards, his hinges creaking slightly as he revealed anarrow, dusty, winding staircase.Both Hermione and Dumbledore made noises of surprise; Hermione's a soft squeak of delight at a newfoundplace, and Dumbledore's a soft sighof acknowledgement. Smirking, Gryffindor stepped through the hole of the portrait, smiling at the familiarity of his passageway; the rest of his school had changed, become something he would never have imagined it to be. This passage had alwaysbeen, and would always be his.
Hermione andDumbledore stepped in after him, and Godric felt a strange sense of invasion. Even so, he began to climb the familiar staircase, running his hands through the thick dust, listening to their muffled footsteps on the concrete stairs. Hermione choked several times, before performing a bubble-head charm, delighting in the cleanliness of the air.
The stairs wound upwards for several minutes, and Hermione wondered just how far they might have to walk before they reached his 'garden'. It was then that they emerged onto the flat floor of what was once the un-turretted top of Gryffindor tower, a completely circular expanse of dust covered floor. The sounds of their feet echoed within the turrets walls, and the silence that followed was unbroken until Godric walked meaningfully towards the middle of the room, waving his wand as he went, his voice sounding more voluminous and threatening than should have been possible. The darkened room suddenly glowed, with candles that appeared from nowhere hanging on brackets on the walls. Red wall hangings draped down, lions and eagles adorning the bordering embroidery. In the centre of the room, a small, clay plant pot appeared, full to bursting of white flowers, each one identical to that which they had left in the Hospital Wing.
Letting out a sigh of contentment, he knelt at the pot, whispering softly. "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
Hermione smiled with recognition at the school motto, then flushed in embarrassment as hebegan to speak to her once more.
"It means, 'never tickle a sleeping...'"
"I know what that means!" She said indignantly.
He smirked, stroking each petal with a featherlight caress of the fingers.
Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly, heading over to the younger man with a confidence of a man of knowledge. "Incredible," he said softly, "that your flowers are still quite so perfectly kept after a thousand years. I assume that on disappearance, a stasis spell of some variety keeps them in perfect condition?"
Frowning, Gryffindor nodded. "Yes."
"And judging by the dust of this passage, it is clear that no other has walked this stairway since."
"It was unknown by anyone else... even my fellows." He looked down, almost ashamed, but seemed to mentally shove the thought away, standing up and turning to look at the two. He jumped in shock at the bubble surrounding Hermione's head, blinking repeatedly, as though for confirmation that it was in fact there.
She blushed. "I couldn't breathe." She said simply.
"The air is clean." He replied, shaking his head and turning to Dumbledore. "Well? Do you accept that I am Godric Gryffindor?Or mustI recall my birthdate and mothers name for such clarification to be noted?I assume, as Headmaster, you have some magical knowledge. How is it that I come to be here?"
Hermione was almost shocked at the disrespect being shown towards her headmaster, and resisted the desire to hex him, instead letting the charm down and breathing nervously. Satisfied with the clean air, she awaited Dumbledore's reply.
"Oh, I've dabbled in Magic on occasion," he smiled, tapping his long, bony fingers together. "Though my time travel knowledge is not quite so good as Miss Granger's." He inclined his head politely, a smile on his kindly face.
Hermione blushed. "I don't..."
"What theory have you, Sunrise?"
She ran a hand through her hair nervously, then shrugged. "I don't really know... time travel on such a scale is... well... it's unheard of. The room at the Ministry that controls time doesn't have enough in it to carry out such a travel. Time travels would have to be spun for a ridiculous amount of time to reach here from there and..."
"You mean you know as little as we." Godric stated quietly. "Which, at the current time, is as useful as a man knowing how to cook." He turned to the flowers again, breathing deeply. "You say that time travel has been established? With this... room? This turner? Could it be... replicated, perhaps?"
Hermione frowned. "Well.. not really... if time could be replicated and remade, then everyone would be doing it to avoid dying..." She thought for a moment. "The stuff in time-turners is limited - they only use a certain amount because too much is a danger to everyone. Simply changing what you ate at dinner can have ridiculously large and dangerous results in comparison..." she began to pace subconsciously, tapping her chin as she walked. "I don't know exactly what it is... but it's definitely needed to get you home. You don't belong here after all and anything you do here could have adverse effects on the past and..."
"Sunrise is coming once more." Godric said, dryly. "Can it be done?"
"Theoretically?" Hermione enquired.
"Practically."
"Well... I..." she glanced at her Headmaster, who smiled encouragingly. "I suppose.. with enough time and..."
"The irony." The young man replied, walking over to a hanging and tracing it with his fingers. "Time is exactly the issue."
Hermione turned to Dumbledore, "Professor, might I be able to leave? I have a lesson to go to."
"Of course Miss Granger." He smiled, pointed his hand politely towards the staircase.Hermione nodded, heading away without another glance at either man.
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The day of lessons drew on, and as the final bell of the day rang, Hermione wanted nothing more than to slink unnoticed into her head girls dormitories and sleep. As she acted on this plan, dumping her rucksack on the sofa in her room and falling onto the pillow, however, she felt crisp parchment beneath her cheeks, and heard its faint rustling. Letting out a low complaint of tiredness, she peeled it off her skin and unfolded it, reading with blurry and tired eyes.
Sunrise,
I apologise profusely for being so unforgiveably rude. I implore you to help me return to my own time, if only to save yourself from myown obscenely overly arrogant person.
I await you in your headmasters office, and am told to inform you of cauldron cakes...
G.G
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She didn't know why she went. In fact, she would have much preferred to fall asleep than go and see the dryly sarcastic, apparently suicidal man who was said to be the bravest man known to wizarding history. She assumed, as she walked along, that it was the simple unique situation he found himself in that drew her to him. She was constantly searching for challenges, or puzzles, that would test her magical ability to the limit; perhaps returning him to his own time wouldbe enough to prove there was more to her than just brains in the classroom.Of course, she wouldhave to put him in his place; Sunrise was far too much like apetname, and it made her feel decidedly nervous, something that she could not be doing with if she was indeed to return him successfully.
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Godric Gryffindor sat in Dumbledore's office, holdinga silver, ruby encrustedblade in his hands. The inscription was alien to him but the sworditself was so familiar that it felt almost apart of his body. Then too, there was the ragged,patched hat that was now sat onthe deskbefore him, as he caressed the familiar hilt of the blade, thinking carefully.
It felt likeonly hours ago since he had last seen this swordand this hat, yet somehow,a thousand years had passed; a thousand years of nothingness, in which hissword had been engraved, his hathad becomethatched, and his school had acquired items he had never dreamed of. The silver bowl,placed in the now headmasters cupboard, wascompletely unknown to him, swirling with silver that was niether liquid nor gas, and that called to him from across the room. He sat stock still, attempting to resist the urge to dart across the room and dip his hand into it. What would such a substance feel like? He had never seen anything like it before. And even in this time, it must be rare, to earn the reverence of a special place inside the headmasters cupboard, beside other such spindly instruments that looked too fragile to be touched.
Despite his resolve to stay still, he was in the process of walking over to the cupboard when the door of the office opened and the young woman who had accompanied he and Dumbledore to his private passage entered, looking tired and reluctant, and wearing an even more revealing top than the one she had worn that morning.
"Sunrise," he said, a smile of welcome relief spreading itself over his face. "I reallyam truly sorry for my completelyatrocious behaviour this morning. I don't know what came over me!"
Hermione sat down on a chair and looked at him with a slight frown. "Where's Professor Dumbledore?"
"Prof..." Godric frowned. "Albus? He was called away. He said something about the ministry?"
Hermione found Dumbledore's decision to leave an almost complete stranger alone in his office rather irrational, and felt suddenly conscious of the fact they were alone, and quite far away from anyone who might help her if she found herself in trouble. Her trembling fingers clasped her wand for reassurance and she waited for him to join her.
Seating himself opposite her, he lifted an eyebrow, taking the sword back in his grip and turning it in his hands.
"How old are you?" She asked, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch over the thousand years since his death. He looked up with a raised eyebrow, almost daring her to guess.
"You mean to say you don't know my date of birth, and the current date?" A smirk danced across his lips. "How disappointing."
"At what point did you want to return home exactly?" She questioned dryly. "Because if I don't help you, you could be stuck here a very long time."
He sobered, speaking apologetically. "I'm sorry. In my time, I'm thirty. Here... well... I'm much older."
Hermione nodded, frowning. "How old were you when you founded Hogwarts?"
Godric shifted uncomfortably. "About twenty. The other three were a few years older."
"Twenty?" She gasped. "But... In 'Hogwarts: A History' it said you were all already so respected in your fields of magical expertise! How could you only be twenty? You were said to be the greatest dueller of the age! And Slytherin was the best Potioneer, and Hufflepuff was the best Herbologist and Ravenclaw."
"Sunrise," he growled softly, "Age is just a number. In my time, magical merit was earned byachievement, not age. Have times changed so much?"
Looking abashed, Hermione stated stiffly, "it's been a thousand years."
He shrugged."Time is of little importance where merit is concerned. All achievement should be recognized, not discardedfor lack of years."
Hermione blinked, then shook her head. "I'm sorry..."
He smiled weakly. "As am I. Will you help me Sunrise?"
She blushed, heat rushing to her cheeks as she tried to speak. "I... well... I... could you not call me that?"
An inquisitive eyebrow raised as though he were unaware of her request. "Call you what, Sunrise?"
"That." She said sharply. "My name is Hermione."
"I'm sorry." He murmured softly. Smirking, he leant back in his chair, putting his feet on Dumbledore's desk in a casual manner. "Will you help me, Hermione?" He stressed her name, though he avoided eye contact and instead began to twirl the sword in his hand.
She nodded slowly. "Yes... I'll help you."
He gave her anoverly arrogant and smug grin, crossing his feet one over the other and smirking. "Good. Do you have a plan?"
"Not as such..." Hermione said, slightly shocked that she was being asked for one so suddenly.
He smiled. "Well, when you do, let me know." He stood and placed the sword gently on the desk. "I'll do anything you want me to, Sunrise."
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What'd you think?
Mage of the Heart