Heirs of the Founders
Author's notes and what not:
Once more, thank you for your interest and reviews; I'm really happy that my work means enough for you to spend your time with me-well, my story anyways.
Just to clarify, I write and submit without a beta so any mistakes, typos, etc. . . might be missed because I'm not following one of the writer's cardinal rules: Thou shalt not edit thyself.
To all of you who might think me long-winded-chapter six and I haven't got past September 2nd yet-I ask you to be patient and forgive my indulgence; I believe chapter seven should put an end to the beginning and that afterwards time will pick up pace: I have lots planned and want to get there soon but I don't want to rush either-I think I've thought up some good twists and hope you'll enjoy them.
Tah, tah for now,
Animekitty2
Obligatory blah blah blah:
I do not now, nor have I ever and only will if I'm the last person on Earth (at which point the whole concept of rights, royalties and responsibility, etc. . . becomes moot, to say the least) own Harry Potter or the characters therein, they belong to J. K. Rowling; I'm just playing with them.
Chapter Six
Hermione's outburst, while unexpected didn't really surprise Harry; he knew she was only reacting to the parade of revelations and events that had begun aboard the Hogwarts' Express, yesterday. As one who had only recently experienced similar upheavals in his life, the young wizard understood the concept of 'overwhelming' from firsthand experience. I hope Hermione is as adaptable as she seems, he thought with concern as he looked, with what he hoped was a reassuring face, at his friend. I know what it's like to face machine-gun eye-openers but I was lucky; I don't really have any social or emotional rapports in the mundane world but she seems really attached to her parents, this has got to be tough for her—I bet this is the first time she's had to go it alone. I need to be there for her; hopefully Neville will be too. Harry reasoned as he glanced at his—for all intents—new-found peer and hopefully newborn friend; it wasn't looking good, though: Neville appeared as if he wanted to flee from the extremely upset young witch; now known as the Lady Matriarch Granger.
"Hermione, look at me," Harry almost commanded as he firmly took her hands and turned her to face him, "We will figure out what happened, maybe the answer will be found in the package I got this morning, but flying off the handle is not going to help: you must know that."
Hermione could only nod.
"Right now, my little witchling . . ." Harry paused. Yikes, did I just say that? He thought with dismay, berating himself. 'My little witchling' why don't I just put the other foot in my mouth and save time: hopefully she's too upset to hear that. ". . . I think you should take a few deep and calming breaths, pop up to your dorm and freshen up a bit—it'll likely make you feel better—and then meet Neville and I in the boys dorm to see what Gringotts has sent me."
"Yes Harry," she simply replied, her former fury now subdued and supplanted by demure deference. She coquettishly smiled, squeezed Harry's hands before she turned and left for her dorm.
"Blimey mate," Neville said with discomfort, "is she always been like this?"
"Don't know," Harry replied, "I only just met her—you know—on the express."
"Just met?" he echoed; then said, "I thought that you've—like—known each other for a while; you two have this really odd vibe thing going and you seem like two sides of the same Galleon: if I'm not being too bold. You don't think she's barmy do you, mate?"
"Barmy? Nah, I think she's just a girl who's a long way from home," replied Harry, "I bet it's the first time she's ever been so far away from people she can trust or places and things she's familiar with. Think about it mate; she's living in a dorm with a bunch of strangers, in a brand new school; not only does she have to adjust to that, she has to get used to the whole magic thing too. Sure, she might be a little queer but I like her that way; she makes me want to take care of her. On top of that, she seems to have caught the 'weird things keep happening to me' disease from me: look out Neville, I might be contagious."
Neville chuckled and met Harry on the landing. He said, "Weird is an understatement, if you ask me. I've never heard of a disease, which elevates someone to nobility as a symptom. By Merlin and Morgana, mate; if you're contagious you'll be beating people off with a beater's bat, at least I'm immune: I've already got the noble family thing."
"Immune? I doubt it, you'll just catch some other weirdness from me," Harry said with a chortle as they climbed the stairs. "Let's get my package; hopefully it'll answer some questions, too: I'm sure Hermione is really, really confused right now; if she knew what happened she'll likely feel better—she seems to be the type to thrive on knowledge and take comfort in answers."
Harry and Neville reached the top of the stairs, made their way to the first years' dorm and entered.
"Leave the door open, Neville," Harry said, "A closed door might make her nervous; besides, I want to make sure she gets the right room."
"Yeah, the wrong room could be really awkward for her," Neville agreed.
Crossing the dorm, they stopped by Neville's trunk. He placed his thumb against a crest, which was likely the Longbottom Coat of Arms, and a series of solid sounding clicks preceded the trunk's latches springing open; the top of the chest started to rise. Harry watched as Neville's trunk grew into a full-sized, double door wardrobe.
"Neat trick, that," Harry commented, "I think I've got trunk envy, where did you get it?"
"I didn't," he replied, "it's been in the family for ages—antique I guess—grans once told me every Longbottom heir from way back has used it when going to Hogwarts; kinda a family tradition I guess. It's bigger on the inside, too."
"It's brilliant, I'll have to see if I can find one somewhere."
"If you want, I can check with my grans; she might know where to find one or who could make something like it."
"Cool, thanks Neville; that'd be great," said Harry.
Neville opened the cabinet, took out Harry's package and handed it to the green-eyed wizard.
"Thank you Neville . . ."
"Hoo hoot," Hedwig hooted from the window ledge.
". . . and thank you too, Hedwig," Harry said to his feathered friend, before she took wing through the open window and into the very blue sky.
Neville, looking slightly envious, watched the owl take flight and said, "I wish Trevor was so useful, he usually just sits around and occasionally croaks. You may have trunk envy, mate, but I've got pet envy; that's one cool bird you've got there."
"Hedwig's not a pet, she's a familiar," they heard Hermione say, a hint of know-it-all in her tone, as she entered the room. The young wizards watched, with amusement, as she discreetly tried to snoop, "It's a lot neater than I thought a boys' dorm would be."
"Give it time," Harry chuckled, "by tonight, I'm sure you'll hardly see the floor; we're boys after all."
"Ron Weasley's surely a slob; if his eating habits are any indication. I don't know about Finnigan or Thomas but you two look like you like things neat and take care of your stuff," she observed.
Neville blushed, a little, over what sounded like approval and smiled shyly. Package in hand; Harry walked to his bed, sat and looked at the formally scribed address and read, 'The Most August, Lord Harry James of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.'
"I'll have to write to Griphook and tell him to tone it down a bit," Harry quietly muttered.
"Sorry, did you say something, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"I was just muttering," Harry answered, "I think I need to tell the goblins to address my correspondence to Harry Potter or, at most, Mr. Potter if my name is too informal."
"Gringotts' goblins are sticklers when it comes to formalities; good luck with that, Harry," Neville commented.
"I think they'll listen," Harry said as he ran his finger under the envelope's flap, broke the Gringotts' seal and withdrew the folded piece of parchment.
Dear Lord Potter, Harry read silently, Gringotts has received notice that you have placed a young witch, Maiden (as of September first, common era 1991) Hermione Jean Granger and her family under the protection of The Noble and Most Ancient House Potter and named her friend.
As per standard procedure, Gringotts has dispatched a warder to the Granger Residence and their workplace to place wards for their protection and privacy; your account will be billed accordingly. The installed wards will be anti-magic detection, anti-apparition and Dark Mark detection. If you have any questions regarding the wards or wish to add to them please contact me and it will be arranged.
On another note, he continued reading, as a newly appointed friend and protected, we wish to know your intentions on this matter; does Maiden Granger wish to pursue full Vassalage or will she remain simply a friend of House Potter? If she chooses to pursue full Vassalage, you and Maiden Granger will need to attend a recognized Magical Notary Public for the fealty oath to be properly administered: Gringotts provides such services for a marginal fee.
Finally, it seems that the late Lady Lily has machined more events with The Nation as functionaries, to the continued amusement of Overlord Ragnok; as such we forward a set of memory marbles and actuator and a letter addressed to you. We recommend that you open both somewhere private, as we don't know the contents of the letter and believe memory marbles might be frowned upon by Hogwarts facility.
Faithfully in your service, Third Chronicler Griphook.
Harry frowned and looked at Hermione.
"What's wrong, Harry," the young witched asked; he answered by handing her the letter and let her read.
"Harry, this doesn't tell me what happened and for all I'm grateful that my parents and home will be protected, I feel very uncomfortable that you're going to be paying for this service—I bet it'll be expensive," Hermione said with obvious discomfort. "I'm not sure about this Vassalage thing either, it sounds positively medieval; would it mean I'd have to address you as Lord or Master: what about my parents?"
"Hermione, I don't want anyone to address me as Lord and definitely not Master; unless you want to, that is," Harry said with a mischievous grin before becoming very serious. "I don't really care about the cost of the Gringotts' wards either if they protect you and your family. I feel really bad about this, though, it seems that—in less than a day—I've managed to paint a big and bright bulls-eyes on you and your parents. There are factions that might try to threaten or take advantage of you because you're my friend; that concerns me more than any money spent protecting you or your family. If you want, I'll renounce this whole 'protected and friend of' thing and let you get back to a normal life."
"It's okay, Master Harry," Hermione replied, half-jesting with the noble formality; she felt a warm tingle course through parts of her body as she spoke it, "Let's not worry too much about that right now, my biggest concern is this peerage thing; can you do anything about that?"
"He can't," Neville answered for the green-eyed wizard since—by the look on Harry's face—he didn't know what to say. Neville continued, "The elevation to nobility is set by magic accepting the nomination and election of a nominee by a majority vote in the Wizengamot or the presentation and seconding of a Motion to Elevate by the recognized heads of at least two Noble and Most Ancient Houses; once elected, a family remains of nobility in perpetuity. It's the strangest thing I've ever heard of but I'm sure there's a reason why your elevation succeeded. Sorry, Lady Granger, you're going to have to accept what magic has ordained and bound. At least you can safely tell Malfoy to piss off now, if you want, since only his daddy—or Harry—is your peer, now."
"For all I'd love to tell the bigoted little spoiled brat to 'piss off' I think it would be a better if I, for all intents, hide in Harry's robes for the time being," Hermione said with a shy smile.
"Am I in those robes too, Hermione?" Harry teased good-naturedly.
"Prat," Hermione said as color seeped into her cheeks but she didn't sound offended, "you know what I mean."
"So," Harry began, "I guess for now we won't talk to anyone else about this and hope that whoever else knows will be as discreet. I think Professors McGonagall and Flitwick will understand but you'll need to instruct them on your preferred address, Hermione; like I did with Professor Flitwick."
"I'm still not happy about this and my parents are gonna freak, Harry: what do I say to them?" she asked.
"Tell them what you know and promise to tell them when you learn anything new, I guess," Harry suggested.
"I guess," Hermione conceded, "what about your other letter, Harry, and what are memory marbles?"
"Don't know what a memory marble is but I guess I should read the letter," he replied but both Hermione and Neville sensed Harry's sadness.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione softly asked.
"It's this letter," he replied as he brushed a tear from his eye, "I think it was written by my mum but it's kinda painful and all; I'd rather have her and my dad; instead I get relics, regrets and what might've beens. It's sorta overwhelming I suppose."
"It'll be okay, Harry," she tried to sooth, "I may not really know what you're feeling or going through but I still have ears; if you wanna talk, I'll listen. It's what friends do, I suppose."
"Y'can count on me, mate," Neville sincerely added, "I'm sure—in time—I'll understand your feelings, too."
"Thanks you two," Harry said, brushing another tear from his green eyes, "I guess I may as well read my letter; no point putting it off."
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Harry—with his hands shaking—unwrapped the heavy package; letting the plain brown paper fall to the floor. For a moment, he just stared at the envelope and the glossy, deep rose colored wooden box—with golden trim and hardware—which now sat on his lap. Beside him, he felt the bed move and saw, reflected in the case's lustrously lacquered finish, Hermione sit beside him. Drawing another deep breath, Harry lifted the envelope, slid his finger beneath the flap and broke the wax seal, which bore the Potter coat of arms; almost reverently, he removed the folded parchment.
Dear son, Harry read silently, I hope this letter finds you well and hope you've been sorted into the house that best suits your needs and temperament. Me and mum hope its Gryffindor but considering—sorry, this will likely sound insensitive—we're dead—no point sidestepping that rather major point—and our plans and instructions were ignored by the self-proclaimed leader of the 'Light' and 'Greater Good' (damn, how I hate hearing capital letters when someone pontificates—your mum does too). We know it had to be him, since, as far as I know he's the only one who could swing such an abuse of process and institution with impunity but, be that what it may, mum and me want you to look to the future; not dwell on the past or what ifs.
To help you, between me and mum (bless her little Slytherin heart; it's sometimes hard to believe she was a Gryffindor) we've tried to set up as many counters to the manipulation and puppetry that has seized control of your life, education and destiny (if you believe in such things). We hope it will be enough and by now you should've received at least one of your mum's implanted messages, have spent some highly educational time with The Nation and The People—I think Overlord Ragnok has a crush on your mom—and have arrived at Hogwarts far more prepared than Albus Dumbledore is aware or desires.
I'm not sure how long you can maintain the façade of a boy raised by muggles but hold it as long as you can and—above all—do not trust Dumbledore. One of the most important things I learned from your mum is that many of the United Kingdom's magicals are—as your mum playfully and aptly described—sheeple with an almost worshipful and devotional aegis towards Dumbledore and that they will pretty much believe whoever shouts the loudest. My advice to you, son; be loud and gather a strong circle of friends and allies and—although I hate to disparage my own kind—put more faith in our muggle-born and half-blood brothers and sisters than most of the so-called purebloods.
Harry briefly glanced up, glanced at his companions and resumed reading. Two more things before I go. One, mum and me have provided a set of memory marbles to help you learn faster; they cover what we learned in our seven years at Hogwarts and a lot of things since. These memories provide knowledge but not learning; you will still need to work hard—likely a lot harder than most of your peers and friends but the results will be worth it. Second, you'll need a place to study and practice and because you are who you are there is a ready-made place at Hogwarts that you can use. What you do, privately or with those you trust, is stand in front of the Hogwarts' crest in the Entry Hall and say: 'I, Harry James Potter, head and lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter do invoke and claim, by right of blood, the office of Patron and all the rights, duties and responsibilities therein.' I'm not going to say any more than that but I think you'll be very surprised. Good luck son, your mom and I love you more than our very lives. Love Dad.
With tears streaming down his face, Harry refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope; without warning, he felt Hermione wrap her arms around him and gave him a hug. He stiffened briefly in her embrace before relaxing and putting his head on her shoulder.
"I think I'll just grab my Herbology Text and head out," Neville said; astutely judging the situation, "I'll see Hermione and you in class. Oh, by the way, the others will likely be up from breakfast soon; if you catch my meaning."
"Thanks Neville," Hermione said and Harry quietly echoed her words as the young wizard retrieved his things and exited their dorm.
"Are you going to be alright, Harry?" Hermione asked with honest concern and warmth.
"Yeah, I'll manage; thanks Hermione," Harry replied, "Neville's right and unless we want to add to the rumors that are already beginning to swirl around us we'd best leave before being seen. Let me get my stuff and we'll meet in the Common Room, 'kay?"
"Why, do you need a moment to yourself?" Hermione asked with a little confusion.
"No, no that's not it; don't you need your books and stuff?"
"I left those in the Common Room before I came up," she replied.
"Oh, so let's go then."
"Harry, before we go to class I think you should give you're a face a quick wash with cold water; unless you don't care if people know you were crying."
"I don't, really, but I'd rather not give Malfoy something he and his cronies can go on about," Harry replied with a smile, "I'll meet you downstairs."
"Okay Harry," said Hermione before she stood and crossed the dorm.
"Hermione," Harry said causing the young witch to pause at the door, "I think I know what happened to you and I still have things I've promised to tell you. Can you spare some time for me after lunch.?"
"Of course I can," she replied but she thought she sounded giddy; her cheeks grew rosy.
"Thanks, I'll be down in a moment," he said and Hermione left the room.
With her exit, Harry quickly went to the washroom and washed his face as she suggested. After a brief stop to use one of the other washroom fixtures, Harry grabbed his book-bag and headed downstairs. He met Hermione and they left the Gryffindor dorms before any of their classmates returned. They reached the Entry Hall just as the majority of students began filing out of the Great Hall with full bellies.
"Do you know where greenhouse one is?" Harry asked Hermione.
"According to Hogwarts: A History, all the greenhouses are located outside, at the rear of the castle but it didn't really go into any details," she answered and began nibbling her lower lip as she said. "I think the editors of Hogwarts: A History assume everyone went to Hogwarts; they don't include maps or specific locations, I only just noticed that."
"I guess we ask someone then," he said. Conveniently, an adult witch exited the Great Hall.
"Excuse me Professor," Hermione asked the woman; who wore somewhat shabby looking robes, an apron with gloves stuffed into the pocket and scuffed boots, "we need to go to greenhouse number one for our Herbology class: can you please help us?"
"Hmm . . . let me think, greenhouse number one you say," the witch replied, her voice warm, friendly and a little playful. "I believe all you need do is follow that corridor," she pointed, "turn left at the tee and you'll see a door at the end of that hallway; the door exits into the rear gardens, where you'll find the greenhouses."
"Thank you Professor," the two students chimed in unison before walking away.
Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, eh, Professor Pomona Sprout thought, smiling, as the youngsters' purposely strode away; their hands linked. So cute together and already the talk of the staff—likely the entire castle—after what happened last night and how young Harry Potter dealt with Severus and the Malfoy heir, it was so funny but still worrisome; Malfoy Senior is not someone to be trifled with and I fear it will come back to haunt them. I wonder if they know they're holding hands?
—}{—
Hermione and Harry followed the professor's instructions and soon exited the castle. Through the door, the older witch had directed them to; they stepped into the —formally arranged and mostly blooming—rear garden and, opposite the castle's exit, a row of numbered greenhouses stood side by side. With a glance, they found their destination and began walking—through fragrant air—across the garden and to greenhouse one. They thought they'd be the first arrive but as soon as they entered the oppressively steamy conservatory they saw Neville intently and excitedly gazing at the collection of plants.
"This is bloody brilliant . . ."
". . . Neville watch your language," Hermione suggested but the chubby wizard was too transfixed to hear her.
"Have you ever seen such a collection? I'd love to see what's in the other greenhouses: I bet they're something amazing, too. You know, I only recognize three quarters of what in here and this is the first year greenhouse too. I hope we have a good teacher, I have so many questions to ask."
"I take it you like plants, a lot," Harry said.
Neville blushed and said, "I guess . . ."
". . . I guess, is that all you've got to say?" Hermione said through a giggle before saying, "But thank you Neville."
"Thank you? Why are you thanking me?" Neville asked, confused.
"For letting me see, first hand, how I look when I talk about something I like a lot or find really interesting and exciting," Hermione said with a smile and self-effacing chuckle, "It's kinda embarrassing and eye opening. Please, Lord Harry, if you see me doing that again I want you to gag me, put me over your knee and . . ."
Hermione's hands flew to mouth as she thought in panic, Eek! I did not just say that in front of two boys I barely know, c'mon girl get your act together and your hormones under control—I really will have to write mom, tonight—I'm sure they'll think I was joking, I hope. Hermione's imagination began to spin out graphic fantasies of loosing herself to a pair of emerald eyes as that part of her mind out-rightly refused to be reined in by a sense of propriety.
"You're breathing funny again, Mione," Harry whispered; his warm breath tickled her ear, "and I'm beginning to think there is something you're trying to hide. I might only be eleven, officially, but I'm older than my age and there are certain things you don't want a goblin to teach you; they're sometimes a little too thorough for comfort. It will likely be very uncomfortable for us but I think we need to add it to what we need to talk about after lunch—I'll come clean if you will."
Hermione blanched—she hadn't expected Harry to clue into her difference so soon. Who are you kidding, girl, she silently scolded herself, a big sign around my neck would've been less obvious than the signals I've been sending him. I can't deny who I am, her staid and logical self non-verbally chided, I must tell him and let him decide how he feels about these things. He won't—can't—understand, he's too young; he'll leave me alone—I don't want to be alone, her fear of abandonment self wordlessly screamed in defiance her rational self immediately countered. I don't know that, besides it doesn't matter either way; he will understand or he won't and no matter how hard I believe I can hide myself he will eventual know—he's far too observant not to. If I start lying, now, I'll always be lying but in the end, he's going to know—anyways: a relationship, whether friendship or more, will not survive when lies and half-truths are the foundation's mortar—that's what mommy told me when I told her my feelings were confusing.
After her bout of inner angst, Hermione simply answered, "Yes Harry."
"Good girl," his whispered answer made her shiver.
"That weird vibe you two got going is getting stronger, mate," Neville's sudden observation caught the young witch and wizard off.
"What weird vibe?" Hermione asked sounding both confused and worried.
"It's kinda hard to explain," Neville answered hesitantly, "but it's really noticeable—I bet even Ron Weasley will notice eventually—and if you two don't figure out how to tone it down it's gonna set tongues a wagging."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances before the green-eyed wizard replied, "Thanks for your candor, Neville, we appreciate the warning and I guess we need to pay attention to how people see us. I'm sorry Hermione, all the interest in me puts you under the ever-present eye of gossipers and rumormongers; I'd understand if you want to stay away from me, at least until all the interest dies down some."
"You're my first friend Harry and the first person—other than mum and dad—to ever stand up for me," she replied, "I'm sure I won't like the attention but I don't think you should face it on your own, either."
Harry's eyes misted and he emotionally answered, "Thanks Mione, I really appreciate that; I promise I'll be there for you too."
"You two can count on me too," Neville sincerely added.
"Thanks Neville," the witch and wizard said as one.
"You know," Neville said, "no matter how much you two deny it or say you're just friends; if you two keep answering like that there'll be no way to put the 'couple' rumors to bed."
Harry glanced at Hermione and saw her smile; he replied, "I think the best way to avoid the speculation is to just admit we're together; what do you think Mione?"
With her gaze dropping to the floor and her cheeks aflame, she quietly responded, "W-Wouldn't that be—like—saying I'm your girlfriend?"
"I-I guess," Harry stammered; he hadn't considered the implications of his suggestion. "Maybe that's not the best solution; I'm sorry Hermione, I hope you don't think me presumptuous I didn't mean it like that, I don't want you . . ."
". . . I-I understand, Harry," Hermione answered weakly and sniffed, "who . . . who'd want a bushy-haired know-it-all as their girlfriend . . ."
". . . I d-didn't mean I wouldn't want you to be my girlfriend. You're beautiful and brilliant and someone I can talk to, easily and you listen; you'd be the bestest girlfriend, ever. I mean I don't want to trap you into some weird faux relationship just to keep people from talking about us; it isn't fair to you."
Wiping a few stray tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, followed by another sniff, Hermione looked at Harry, smiled feebly and said, "Th-thank you Harry."
"Weird faux relationship?" Neville snickered, "it may be weird but it won't be faux—I can't even begin to imagine you two not being together and I've only just met you. I think Harry is right, say you're together, let the dominoes fall where they may and once everyone gets bored they'll find something or someone else to gossip about. Besides, if you try to deny it and the way you two are—especially when together—no one will believe you and the constant scrutiny won't go away: Let's face it, fact has a shorter life expectancy than rumor and doesn't fuel gossip."
"So, Hermione, I guess that makes us boyfriend and girlfriend now, I promise to treat you the way you need to be treated," Harry said, his smile suggesting more than his words. "I've never had a girlfriend—any friend for that matter—before, I might be kinda possessive and dominating, if I do something wrong, you've gotta promise to tell me Mione."
It may have not been overly romantic and very sudden but Harry's admission made Hermione feel like she was on fire and even closer to her mother and aunt. With head bowed and hands behind her back, Hermione demurely answered, "Yes Ma . . . Harry, I promise to do my best too; please properly correct me if I make a mistake."
Her brief slip—thankfully, unnoticed by Neville—was definitely heard by Harry but he didn't draw attention to it. Her incomplete first address was louder than her second and complete one and as his head filled in the missing letters, he found the greenhouse becoming uncomfortably steamy and his imagination running rampant. We have a real lot to talk about later, Harry astutely concluded.
"Weird vibe again, people," Neville softly pointed out.
"Th-thanks, Neville," Hermione answered for the new couple. "This is a really spectacular collection of plants, don't you think Harry?"
He glanced around, nodded his head and replied, "You're right Mione, you too Neville, these plants have obviously been well cared for from what I see; I bet we'll learn a lot in here."
"Do you like to garden, Harry?" Neville asked and noticed his classmate scowl a little. "I take it you don't then."
"No, I do actually Neville," Harry replied, carefully picking his words. "One of my chores was doing the lawn and garden at my aunt and uncle's house; my Aunt Petunia was very proud of her roses and begonias and expected me to take proper care of them. When she supervised my yard work she was almost civil to me."
"What do you mean 'almost civil', Harry?" Neville asked, seizing on the two worrisome words he heard, with suspicion.
"I'd rather not talk about it," Harry's response was firm and unquestionable.
"Harry?" Hermione's concern was apparent.
"What did I say?" He said in an icy and commanding tone.
"I . . . I'm sorry, Harry," the witch apologized diffidently but each found the exchange oddly satisfying; Neville felt like he wasn't even there and was beset by confusion. Harry and Hermione seem really kinda peculiar, the chubby wizard's adolescent mind observed.
"Wow," a girl said, it sounded as if she just entered the greenhouse, "You three must be really eager to start class."
Hermione, Neville and Harry turned to face the new arrival, her tie and crest were Gryffindor and she entered with a darker skinned girl; Harry and Neville—their faces obviously betraying them—didn't remember their names.
"Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil," Hermione said quietly, rescuing her two companions, "Parvati's twin sister Padma was sorted to Ravenclaw."
"Thanks Mione," Harry said softly before welcoming the two girls, "Good morning Lavender; good morning Parvati."
Parvati's cheeks darkened a little and she shyly smiled; Lavender was not nearly as reserved and cheerfully responded, "Good morning Harry Potter; good morning Hermione; good morning . . ."
The jovial young witch was looking at Neville; he quickly glanced away, blushing, before timidly responding, "Longbottom, Neville Longbottom."
Soon others joined the five Gryffindors and, a few minutes later, the rest of their classmates; including their year-mate Hufflepuffs, had arrived and were milling about the greenhouse.
"Settle down class," the voice of an older witch called for attention, "Welcome first-years to greenhouse number one, I'm Professor Sprout and your Herbology teacher. First off, no matter how hard you try to avoid it; you're going to get dirty in my class, accept it. With that aside, for those who are not familiar with it, Herbology is the study of plants, specifically magical plants. Until you've completed your OWLs, this class is compulsory and over the next five years I will teach you how to identify, care and cultivate many plants that are commonly, and some less commonly, found and used in everyday life. You will also learn how to harvest and prepare many of them for use—specifically in potions. For those of you who continue studying Herbology to the NEWT level, you'll find that you will be expected to successfully grow, harvest and prepare many of your own plants, with minimal supervision to achieve a passing grade—this is harder than it sounds, believe me. Furthermore, if you plan to take Potions at the post-OWL level, you will also need a passing grade in my class to qualify because you will be expected to provide many of your own fresh ingredients by the second terms of your sixth and seventh years; this makes Herbology mandatory if you plan to pursue NEWT level potions. So, with that in mind, let us begin with today's lesson; today we will learn about safety and the Herbologist's most common tools."
With those words, the professor who had told Harry and Hermione how to get to the greenhouses began her lesson in earnest. Harry found the safety part of the class surprisingly informative because he had never dealt with plants that could be physically aggressive but he allowed his attention wander a bit when Professor Sprout began introducing common garden implements. A quick glance at Neville found the boy more interested in the surrounding plants than he was in the lecture but it was obvious—to Harry anyways—that his lack of attention came from knowing the material and not a lack of interest. Hermione, on the other hand, was raptly attentive to the lesson. I don't think Hermione has much of a green thumb, Harry affectionately reasoned as he looked at her and then allowed his focus to drift off into pleasant daydreams, which were—at times—pleasantly surprising, a little worrisome and definitely not prepubescent vanilla.
"Am I ever glad that's over," Ron Weasley boorish voice drew Harry from his mental wanderings, "I wonder what's for lunch?"
"Ron," Hermione's voice was unmistakable and cross, "we're here to learn you know; it isn't just about food."
Ron looked as if he had heard something scandalous and dismissively said, "Who cares, beside it's only the first class—it's not like I don't know what a rake or hoe is for; I'm sure even muggles use them."
The young witch glowered at the red-head and was about to speak; Harry intervened and said softly, "Hermione, ignore him he seems to be an idiot so don't worry about what he thinks—just don't help him with his homework or to study, unless he becomes less of a git."
"Yes Harry," she said self-effacingly and, especially after some of his earlier daydreams, he found her manner exciting. Yep, definitely need to talk, alone; he thought before glancing at Neville, I hope he has plans for after lunch—I don't want him to think we're ditching him.
Harry, Hermione and Neville, along with the rest of their classmates, crossed the garden and entered the castle. With lunch about to start, most of the students opted to go straight to the Great Hall for lunch. The mixed group of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors split apart when they entered and joined their house tables; it appeared that all the first year Ravenclaws and Slytherins had arrived earlier.
"Oh boy," the tone of avarice clearly audible in Ron's voice, when he saw the laden tables, "I'm starving, this looks great—this has got to be the most best part of Hogwarts."
The train wreck, which was Ron Weasley's eating habits, could not be derailed and once more, his housemates were forced to endure the appalling spectacle. Hermione and Harry counted themselves lucky at breakfast because they had pretty much finished eating by the time he had come down; Neville hadn't been so lucky and then Harry realized something.
"Neville," Harry began, vainly trying to ignore the visage of gluttony nearby, "you came back to the dorm a little after Hermione and I did, did you actually eat breakfast?"
"Yeah, I had some toast," he replied, meekly.
"Geez Neville now I feel bad, I could've waited; you didn't have to skip breakfast over a package addressed to me." Harry said apologetically.
"It's okay Harry," said Neville, "after what I accidently overheard when you, Hermione and McGonagall were talking and the way the two of you rushed out of here; I figured it might be pretty important."
"Well yeah it was but I still feel bad about it," Harry maintained, "and it didn't really answer the most pressing question this morning. Actually, you helped more than the letter did and I think I know what happened now."
"You do, that's great—I'm sure it will really help Hermione," the boy said earnestly, "when will you tell her?"
"I want to tell her after lunch."
"Will you want my help—you don't seem too sure about politics," Neville offered.
"You're right about the magical politics thing; reading doesn't equate experience," replied Harry, "but in this I'm okay, thanks anyways Neville."
"Okay, if you're sure. Me, Susan and Hanna are getting together after lunch to explore the castle a bit, since we don't have any more classes today. You and Hermione could join us later—I'm pretty certain that Hermione could use some friends and Susan and Hannah are really easy to get along with; I guess that's why they're in Hufflepuff."
"I don't know, maybe, I'll talk to Hermione later about it," Harry replied noncommittally.
Harry turned his attention from his friend and gazed hungrily at the food on the table; he opted to follow yesterday's dinner solution and took a little of everything. Hermione did the same, she was also trying to ignore Ron Weasley but she wasn't nearly effective as Harry was with that. She was about to say something until a very large bird glided into the Great Hall, found an empty piece of tabletop near Harry and landed near the wizard. Tied to its leg, Harry saw the envelope the eagle was carrying; the bird lifted its leg and offered it to the green-eyed wizard.
"I guess it's for me," Harry addressed the eagle and received a loud squawk in reply. Harry untied the letter and said to the bird, "Thank you."
With quizzical glance and another squawk, the eagle took wing, flew to an open clearstory and departed. For a moment, Harry was at the center of attention but eventually lunch resumed prominence for everyone but Draco Malfoy: he knew whom the eagle served and wondered what the goblins wanted an the uncouth little half-blood. Harry ignored the blond wizard staring at him and looked at the envelope in and read, The Lady Matriarch Hermione Jean of the Noble House of Granger, care of The Most August Lord Harry James of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. Private and Confidential.
"What is it Harry?" Hermione asked with curiosity.
"Don't know—it's for you," Harry replied then leaned towards her ear and playfully whispered—relative to the noise in the Great Hall that is, "Lady Granger."
If Hermione had almost convinced herself that everything had been a mistake or a joke in very poor taste, the official looking envelope baring formal script put those thoughts to rest. The Lady Matriarch, she read and thought; blimey, that makes me feel old. I mean really—Matriarch?—what the hell does that mean, anyways, it's not like I'm a mother or anything. She turned the unwelcome envelope over and saw the ornate 'G' graven into the wax seal. What do the 'Vogons' want with me, she thought, remembering her father's amusing yet apt first impression of goblins during their visit to Diagon Alley; I guess I can assume it's important. Harry's right though, they do need to tone down their address. Hermione lifted her eyes and looked at her lunch; she suddenly wasn't hungry and the idea of eating caused an unpleasant sensation in her stomach. Knowing that for her, anyways, lunch was over; she turned her eyes to the enchanted ceiling and wondered about the magic that had created it. As she watched fluffy clouds, drift overhead, she felt a prickle that often meant someone was staring at you; Hermione's gaze turned back to the Great Hall and she almost immediately spotted the culprit: sitting at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was alternately glaring at Harry and her.
"Harry," Hermione said as she leaned towards her friend, "I'm not very hungry anymore. I think I'm going to go back to our dorm, lock myself in a lavatory for privacy and read this letter. Besides, I'm tired of Malfoy's glares and the temptation to use one or two of the hexes I read about this summer is becoming too great; I'd be embarrassed if I failed or in trouble if I succeed."
Harry chuckled and glanced at the snake table; he smiled at Draco, winked and blew him a kiss: the pale boy's eyes immediately sought other vistas and his face glowed bright cerise.
"Wait Mione," Harry said, pushing his plate away, "I'll come with you but before we go back to the dorm I'd like to try something on the way."
"What do you want to try?"
"It's something my dad wrote in the letter, which I thought was from my mom; he suggested I try it, he didn't say what it would do: only that I'd be surprised."
"Excuse us," Harry said to Neville, "Hermione and I have something to do."
"It's fine mate, I saw you hand the envelope to her; I understand."
"Please don't say anything, Neville," he earnestly asked.
"Don't worry, Harry, it's not my place to speak of another family's business, especially when Gringotts is involved."
"Thanks mate."
"Don't mention it; I'm sure you'd do the same for me," said Neville.
"Anytime, Neville thanks again and I'm sure Hermione would thank you too but she's understandably distracted at the moment."
"Harry, since Hermione is muggleborn and doesn't know our ways, I'd be happy to tutor her if she wants," Neville offered, "she has to learn proper etiquette before she makes a major mistake. Bloody hell, there are so many stupid rules in matters of propriety that it almost guarantees that she'll slip up. I know she's really smart but she's still ignorant. If Hermione speaks to Malfoy junior, now, like she did before the sorting even someone of your rank would be hard-pressed to defend or protect her. She's playing a whole new game, now, and she doesn't know the rules."
"Thanks for the caution, I'll pass on your concerns,' Harry said with a smile before uttering a little snicker, "expect a ton of questions next time you see her."
Neville smiled in reply and Harry rose to his feet, picked up his book-bag and stepped from the table. He took a cursory glance around the Great Hall; Draco Malfoy was looking at the Gryffindor table again and watching Hermione and him: Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape shared Draco's curiosity. Harry joined Hermione and together they crossed and exited the Great Hall. Unconsciously linking hands, Harry led Hermione across the Entry Hall; they stopped before the Hogwarts crest.
"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked with confusion.
"Don't know really but I'm about to find out," he replied with a wink before continuing, "Ahem . . . I, Harry James Potter, head and lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter do invoke and claim, by right of blood, the office of Patron and all the rights, duties and responsibilities therein."
With the completion of the oath, Hermione and Harry watched an odd shimmer rippled across the face of the Hogwarts crest; a breeze that seemed to come from the wall followed.
"What was that?" the young witch asked.
"I'm not sure," answered her companion, "but I think it's like the portal at King's Cross to platform nine and three quarters—only one way to find out, I suppose."
"Harry, you're not planning on just stepping through without knowing what's on the other . . ."
". . . side? Sure, why not my dad wrote about it," Harry said, "I'm sure it's safe. C'mon."
Harry stepped into the crest, pulled Hermione behind him and together they entered a pitch-black space. Although surrounded by inky darkness, they could tell they were standing in a fairly large room that swallowed up sound as well as any light filtering through the translucent wall, now at their backs.
"Harry?"
"I'm here, it's okay."
"I know you're here—you're holding my hand after all—but that still beckons the question: where's here?"
"We need light," Harry casually observed and, as if in response, wall sconces began flaring to life around them. Within moments, the room filled with diffused, shadow-less, light and revealed a chamber that was reminiscent of the Gryffindor Common Room but with bookshelf covered walls. Hermione gasped.
"Harry," the young witch's voice was breathy and electrified, "th-this is amazing; what is this place?"
"I don't know but it looks really lavish and exclusive," he replied, as his green eyes swept over the room and contents. "It feels—I don't know—kinda tombish; you know, like no one's been here for years but it isn't dusty or musty."
"I've got to go look at the books, they look really old but in really good shape," Hermione said—as if to herself—and let Harry's hand slip from hers; she seem utterly enthralled.
"Hermione," Harry said; she ignored him.
"Hermione," he said more forcefully.
"Mione!" his almost yell startling the young witch from her rapt focus on the books around her. "Talk first; explore later, I'm as curious as you."
"You're . . . you're right, sorry."
"Sofa or table?"
"Um, sofa's fine, I guess."
"Okay then, after you," Harry indicated with a wave of his arm and a nod of his head.
The two crossed the room and sat upon the plush chesterfield, as if in welcome the fireplace before them blazed to life.
"First things first," Harry began, "thanks to Neville, I think I know what happened and why you're now Lady Granger and I'm really, really sorry about it; it was my fault."
"What did you do Harry?"
"I must've misspoken the incantation that gives you my family's protection and magic heard it as an incantation of petition."
"Wait," Hermione interrupted, "what do you mean 'magic heard it' and Neville said something similar this morning. I mean its magic, a thing—some kind of energy according to you—hearing implies that there is some form of intelligence that has the ability to 'hear' in the first place; otherwise, how would it 'hear' as you put it?"
Harry rubbed the back of his head and then hesitantly answered, "It's kinda—no—really hard to explain and it isn't exactly understood but magic sometimes behaves like it's quasi-sentient and occasionally seems to almost have a will of its own. I wish I could be clearer, Mione, but the whole nature of magic thing is in the upper echelons of arcane theory. In all honesty, maybe a dozen researchers around the world actually understand the Arithmacy involved and most of them work for various non-magical agencies that covertly monitor isolationist magical communities, like we're part of; their research is seldom seen by magicals because—well—you know: 'What could muggles know about magic, they're inferior to us' mentality."
"I guess I can live with that, Harry, but I still want to know how I became 'The Lady Matriarch Hermione Jean of the Noble House of Granger' because you said something wrong," Hermione said. "According to what Neville said; it requires either a majority vote in the Wizengamot or an agreement between the heads of two Noble and Most Ancient Houses: neither condition has been met as far as I know. I doubt that the Wizengamot even knows I exist; while, I know you head a Noble and Most Ancient House, you'd need another Noble and Most Ancient House to support your misspoken incantation."
"And so, Mione, we've reached my first big secret," Harry said.
"I'm listening," she stated, conversely curious and apprehensive.
"I'm not only the head of House Potter but Scion Designate for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black because my godfather—Lord Elect Sirius Black—made me his heir. For the time being, my godfather is indisposed and unable to take up his mantle of lordship and until he does I'm the defacto head of House Black."
"That doesn't make any sense, Harry," Hermione said with uncertainty, "how can your godfather be the Lord Elect but not the head of his house? Why is his Scion Designate the defacto head?"
"Um . . . You see my godfather is currently in Azkaban."
"The wizard's prison!" she exclaimed.
"Well . . . yeah."
"Why?" asked the hazel-eyed witch.
"He was accused of betraying my parents and me to Voldemort and was tossed into Azkaban without a trial but I know he's innocent," Harry stated, emphasizing 'innocent'.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course," Harry replied ardently, "he's my godfather, he swore the oath. He can't do anything to hurt me because it was sworn on his life and magic."
"His appointment was never revoked?"
Harry shook his head.
"Why is he in prison then?"
"Gringotts is looking into it for me but so far the Ministry is being exceedingly tenacious and not answering inquiries," he answered. "The only thing we know is the decision to put him in Azkaban, sans trial, was made at the highest levels of the Ministry and Wizengamot; then everything was sealed."
"That's not right," exclaimed Hermione, indignantly.
"Tell me about it," Harry agreed, "but because of these circumstances, leaving me technically the head of two Noble and Most Ancient Houses; I presented and seconded my erroneous petition and magic acted accordingly: you're irrevocably the Lady Granger, I'm really sorry Hermione."
"But . . . but, I'm only eleven—well almost twelve—how can I be a 'Lady', I'm not of age yet."
"I guess you're like me, then," he replied, "an emancipated minor."
"Emancipated minor," Hermione repeated, "I'm not even sure what that means."
"It means we can legally use our titles, act in the name of our families—like how I granted you my family's protection, my wee error notwithstanding—and perform many minor ceremonial functions," Harry told her. "What we can't do is take our seats in the Wizengamot or vote on laws and stuff—kinda a pointless restriction, if you ask me, because we're able to appoint and/or dismiss our proxies with impunity and at will. We also must have guardians and, in our case, we need magical and non-magical ones. Hermione, it might be a good idea to get a new magical guardian appointed, as soon as possible."
"Why?"
"Because you're muggle born and Headmaster Dumbledore was appointed your guardian when your parents signed your Hogwarts' admission forms," Harry advised, "I have Gringotts looking for a suitable replacement but they haven't had any luck yet."
"What's wrong with Professor Dumbledore as our magical guardian?"
"My mom and dad prepared a bunch of things for me, just in case—you see," he replied, "I was told not to fully trust the Headmaster and my time spent at Gringotts reinforced that feeling. It may not matter too much for you Hermione, although it would make me feel more comfortable, but I am, at least for the time being, the head of two Noble and Most Ancient Houses; I don't want a man I don't know to have access to that power."
"I'll think about it but right now I think I have other things to deal with," Hermione said.
"At least you don't have to worry about your non-magical guardians," Harry said, offhandedly, "I wish I was so lucky. By the way, are you going to read your letter, this is far more comfortable—more private too, I'd say—than a lavatory."
"I believe I agree with you Lord Potter," the young witch replied playfully as she drew the letter from her book bag. Summoning her courage, she slipped her finger under the envelope's flap and broke the official seal; tentatively, she drew out the folded parchment and just looked at it.
Hermione summoned her courage, unfolded the letter and began reading: Dear Lady Granger, she read the formal salutation. Gringotts wishes to congratulate you on your recent ascension to peerage and hope our future dealings with House Granger will be mutually beneficial and profitable for you and the Nation; I am Third Chronicler Griphook and have been appointed as your liaison and aide by, jointly, Vaultlords Goldenfang and Diamondwill. Due to the unique nature of your elevation, through what we believe was a mistake by Lord Potter-Scion Black, we think it best to keep your situation confidential—unless you instruct otherwise—and known only to myself, Vaultlords Goldenfang and Diamondwill, Assistant Silkenrobe and Overlord Ragnok. As per ancient covenant and on behalf of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, we have deposited the ceded peerage amount of twenty-five thousand Galleons to the newly assigned House Granger vault. As this is a Preferred Vault, Gringotts confers numerous services that you may call upon at will or need, Lady Granger. It is also imperative that we meet as soon as possible but with school just beginning, this will be difficult to arrange, unless you wish to publicly invoke your title, which we don't recommend at this time. I suggest that for now we communicate through Lord Potter-Scion Black, since he's officially taken up his mantle and won't arouse unwanted suspicion when he receives or sends official correspondence. Furthermore, Lady Granger, I will be at Hogwarts in early October for my monthly review with Lord Potter-Scion Black; perhaps he will give you and I some time to officially meet. One last thing, as the Lady Matriarch Hermione Jean of the Noble House of Granger you, your parents and your patrons—Lord Potter-Scion Black—will be commanded to appear before Her Majesty for the swearing of the Pledge of Fealty but we don't expect the summons before the New Year but be prepared, all the same. As this is a non-public ceremony, we have a little more leeway in the scheduling; if we do receive it early we may be able to arrange a private audience over the Christmas Break. If you have further questions or concerns, feel free to contact me. Your humble servant, Third Chronicler Griphook.
Hermione refolded the parchment, returned it to the envelope and put it in her book bag; she looked at Harry.
"So?" said Harry.
She took a deep breath and said, "The goblins think you made a mistake, they're keeping everything confidential, I've been granted twenty-five thousand in peerage Galleons and a preferred vault, they suggest we communicate through you, I need to meet with someone called Third Chronicler Griphook and sometime next year or maybe Christmas Break we'll be commanded to appear before Her Majesty."
"Is that all?" Harry said with a puckish smile.
"Yep," Hermione simply replied, her reserved response an attempt to avoid being overwhelmed. "Harry, let's explore a bit before we talk about anything else, I need some time to think."
"I think I understand, Mione," he replied.
Harry stood, extended his hand and helped Hermione to her feet. They glanced about the room but opted not to explore the bookshelves because a double door, standing opposite the entrance, seemed to demand their attention. Holding hands, they stepped around the sofa, crossed the room and—at their approach—the double doors swung inwards. They exchanged glances before stepping over the threshold and into the room beyond. Once more, wall sconces lit automatically revealing a five-sided chamber that was dominated by a pentagonal table that was surrounded by two chairs per side. Hanging on four of the walls were portraits of four people and over the doors, a fifth painting hung; it was of Hogwarts.
"Welcome children, to the Patrons and Founders' Chamber; I am—or was—Salazar Slytherin. It has been many years since a patron entered our hallowed retreat—why am I not surprised it's a Potter?"