Heirs of the Founders
Author's notes, etc . . .
First off, let me apologize for the delay-the ideas in my head weren't making the trip to my fingers properly. Having realized this, I let my mind wander a different path with a respite story that took on a life of its own, which I hope to post soon; it's another HP story called Grey Kittens.
As you've likely noticed; I bowed to the concerns of many readers and upped the rating for this story. (You'd think I had them screwing on the head table on a Sunday morning or something) Well, at least I need not worry about the knife edge I was treading trying to maintain a T rating. My last chapter created a lot of fuss and anger but I'm staying the course I laid out when I first planned this story so the D/s elements will remain. (I found it kind of amusing that many negative comments revolved around believability: this is a fanfiction based on a story about a young boy who finds out he's a wizard, attends a school for magic, flies a broomstick, etc . . . and my writing is unbelievable-go figure). If you're curious, this story should end with the Chamber of Secrets but I've preliminarily charted a course through third and fourth year.
On final note, I think I got all my typos, etc . . .; if not: sorry.
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 Eight
Hermione and Harry silently shared the afterward that followed the young witch's revelation. Mutually uncertain, they each silently reviewed Hermione's confession and its meaning to them; while intensely aware of the others proximity and the shimmering tendrils of magic passing between them. Lost in the essence of 'them' to the exclusion of all else, they were in their own world but knew they could not remain there.
"I guess, Mione, the best thing to do is follow your parents example and see where things leads," Harry said, shattering the silence, "but to be honest, I don't think I'm ready to move beyond hugs and cheek kisses just yet—for real anyways, although my imagination might explore further—and I don't think you're ready either. Let's just be girlfriend and boyfriend for now and ignore the rumor mongers and their ilk; hopefully we'll be smothered out of the gossip circuit by some other juicy scandal—we just need to ensure it's not us, that's all."
"You're right Harry," she said, "We'll keep our heads down and not draw any more attention to us but I'm a little worried about the 'The Lady Matriarch' thing. How long do you think we can suppress it?"
"Hard to say, Professor Sprout didn't seem to know; she just said 'Hermione Granger' when she took the roll, so I don't think your title has been added to attendance lists," Harry said, sounding reasonably certain. "We know Neville knows but I don't think he'll say anything and, other than us, he's only comfortable with Susan Bones and Hanna Abbot; otherwise, he's too shy to speak to the greater student body. I guess we need to pay attention to Susan and Hanna, just in case, and should consider different ways to swear them to silence if Neville accidentally blabs. Professor McGonagall knows and will likely tell Professor Dumbledore but I don't believe they would be indiscreet but if one is—well, I don't really want to think about that right now. Perhaps with me openly sporting my Potter Lordship, people will be distracted by that and not notice you."
"That could easily work the other way, Harry," Hermione countered, "After all, others may want to know more about the girl—mudblood was what Malfoy called me, wasn't it?—who has cleaved herself to the most eligible wizard at Hogwarts and is probably putting out for him."
"Hermione, don't demean yourself by using that word—even sardonically; if you do, the fools who speak of foolish things will feel more important than they truly are," he counseled. "That aside: we'll just do our best and deflect any rumors without out-rightly denying anything when we can. I think we'll have to tell Professor Flitwick but we need to know if he's sworn to The People or the Headmaster first."
"I guess that's our plan for now, Harry, but we'd better not be complacent when it comes to rumors and gossip."
"We won't," Harry concurred but suddenly began to laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"I just thought that the first person to likely feel the wrath of my dear Lady Matriarch will be Malfoy; I'm sure he's planning something he thinks will be clever and will put us in our proper places. Boy, will he be surprised when he finds out that the Lady Matriarch of a new house, need only answer to the Lords and Ladies of Ancient and Most Ancient Noble lines: Draco's daddy is the Lord of a simple Noble House; we may need to remind him though."
"Oh, that does sound amusing but I hope it isn't too soon, I want to focus on my studies first."
"So, Mione, what do you want do right now?"
"I imagine I could contently curl up with one of these books but first I should write to my parents—not that I know what all to say or tell right now; did we leave those rings with the Founders?"
"I've got them in my pocket but I'm not sure how to send them," Harry replied, "Hedwig's good with envelopes but I have no idea how to send a package or what not."
Luckily, Peeves had just exited the Founders' Room and had heard Harry, he said, "All you need to do, Lord Potter, is tap the top of the box with your wand or finger and it will flatten out like an envelope; the recipient does the same and they become boxes again—no inherent magic required."
"Thanks Peeves," Hermione and Harry said in unity, Peeves smiled; the two were already in sync.
"By your leaves, Milord and Lady," he said with a respectful bow, "I've been charged with the task to sense the current mood of the castle; I'll be about should you require me."
"Very well, Peeves," Harry said as he and Hermione stood, "we look forward to working with you, Fiona and the Founders and think it will be mutually beneficial."
"Does Milady concur?" the poltergeist asked with a toothy and rascally grin as he grew translucent and morphed to his spirit form.
"Most assuredly," the witch replied to the bobbing mist hovering before them; with a maniacal cackle, Peeves shot off and disappeared through a wall.
"Why do I get the feeling that Peeves makes things unnecessarily complicated?" Harry observed as the poltergeist vanished.
Hermione chuckled and said, "A floating sentient Heath Robinson Contraption, what next; a beast bred to clearly state it wants to be eaten?"
"Who knows?" Harry rejoined with obvious amusement, "At this rate I'll be immune to surprise by the end of the week; although I'm sure there'll be plenty more shocks to come. Let's explore, Mione."
The witch shook her head and said, "I want to write my mom and dad first but I'm not sure how best to describe things—especially when a lot of it's pretty sensitive."
"Hmm . . . I see what you mean but you can use Hedwig to send it when it's done," he offered, "she's a lot more secure than a regular post owl I'd say—even Gringotts accepts her as a secure courier, which is quite an admission for them."
"Thanks Harry; that makes things a lot easier for me but how will Hedwig find my home?"
"All you do is single-mindedly focus on to whom and where you're sending her and she's able to find her way—don't ask me how; it works though."
"Well, that's delivery covered but I'm sure I don't know where to start when it comes to the letter; any ideas?" the hazel-eyed witch posed.
"Will your parents follow a request, from you, to do something you can't explain, my girl?" he asked. My girl? He considered. Is she really 'my girl' I know we're gonna pose as a couple but am I being presumptuous—it feels right but we've only just met; soulful confessions notwithstanding.
"I think so," she answered, as she and Harry crossed the floor to the table near the middle of the room.
"Then how 'bout this," Harry began, and gentlemanly he pulled out a chair for his witch, "Write a simple letter and ask your parents to put on the rings, included in the envelope and with those send a second sealed letter. That way they are protected before they read anything sensitive."
"That's a fine idea but I'm still not sure how to begin the second letter, what do I tell them; what can I tell them?" Hermione asked as she sat and pulled her book-bag to her.
"Start with the train ride and go from there; I'm not sure if you want to mention the Founders but you can't avoid your family's nomination or ascension." Harry said as the bushy-haired witch drew a pad of muggle stationary and a fountain pen from her tote. Smiling, Harry said, "A fountain pen, are you for real Mione?"
"Well, it beats a quill and inkwell hands down, any day; besides I actually like the feel a quality nib offers when I write—my teachers thought I was weird though."
Harry smirked, "You are weird, Missy Granger."
"Should I reply with 'you have no idea' or 'what's wrong with that'?" she said with a playful smirk.
"I like 'you have no idea' it sounds more promisey," teased Harry.
"You wish," she said with a smile that conveyed a newborn sense of openness between them.
"One thing, Mione, and you don't havta answer if ya don' wanna," Harry began respectfully, "but just 'how' are you like your mom; you're only eleven, how could you know?"
Hermione turned away, cheeks reddening again and hesitantly replied, "Um . . . well . . . you s . . . see, I've kinda . . . um . . . experimentedbymyself a bit."
Momentarily stunned, Harry looked at his witch and his imagination began churning out images, distracting in nature; he said rather breathlessly, "P . . . perhaps that's something to talk about some other time."
Hermione nodded, opened her pad of stationary and looked thoughtfully at the paper while resting her pen against her lips. There was a calmly sensual element to her action and Harry felt something squirming inside; he pulled his gaze from her face and glanced at her stationary. Cute, kittens reading books, very fitting, Harry thought, as he saw the page.
"Harry," Hermione said, "you don't need to sit here while I write, why don't you explore some?"
"Naw," he said dismissively, "we've gotta do that together, it'll be more fun that way; I'll just grab a book from a shelf, I'm sure I can find something interesting."
"Well, okay, if you want; I'll try not to take too long," replied the hazel-eyed girl.
"Take your time Mione; I don't think anything here is gonna disappear."
"Thanks Harry," she replied and turned her attention to the letter. Dear mom and dad . . . She began writing.
Harry stepped away from the table and sauntered to one of the many bookshelves that covered the walls. He glanced at the contents and noticed two things: first, many of the titles gilded to the spines were not English and second, the books had been shelved before the invention of the Dewy Decimal System. Well that sucks, he thought as he pulled a book with an English title from a shelf, it's gonna be hell trying to research things using this library but if I ever get bored, I'll have something to do: I can organize this mess. He looked around the room and consciously noted how many bookcases—stuffed to overflowing—there were. Really bored, he concluded and began exploring the room.
Harry noted that the door to the Founders' room and the chamber's entrance were opposite one another. The other sides each had a hearth centered by bookcases and behind those he found staircases leading up and down. Ignoring where the stairs led for now, Harry glanced at the opulent looking furniture of the well-appointed room and then looked up. Spanning the room, above the entrance he saw a balcony-like walkway that bridged the upper two sides and above that, the chamber's ceiling was enchanted to show an animated night sky. He wanted to explore further but opted to sit on one of the comfortable armchairs and look at the book in his hands: Enchanting: Theory and Practice, level three, Harry read the cover before opening the book and with a little squirm to find just the right spot for coziness he began to read.
"I think I'm done Harry," Hermione finally announced and pulled him from his reading, "do you want to read it before it's sent?"
"I trust your judgment," he answered. "We'll stop by the Owlery before supper and send it then."
"Okay," Hermione began before a familiar hoot overhead interrupted her.
They looked up and saw a small white dot that flitted across the ceiling's nightscape; it grew into Hedwig as it neared. The beautiful bird alit upon the table and looked around the room, as if a queen surveying her realm. She followed with a simple hoot when she glanced at Harry and then turned to Hermione. Hedwig hopped to the young witch, glanced at the envelope on the table and then stared into at Hermione's eyes; she gave the bushy-haired witch a quizzical hoot and raised her claw.
"I guess we can skip the owlery," Harry observed with a snicker as he looked at his two girls.
"Do I need to tie it to her leg or anything?" the young witch asked without looking at Harry.
Should I be jealous, they look completely enraptured by one another; he humorously thought before answering, "If it's heavy it's a good idea, otherwise she'll be fine."
"How long will it take for her to get to my house?" She asked.
"Hmm . . . not really sure," Harry replied thoughtfully, "Hedwig can complete a round trip from Surrey to Gringotts in about an hour—I was never able to figure out how but I suspect she has a hidden talent for teleportation . . . or something like that."
"Really?"
"I guess; because I can't explain it any other way, Mione."
"I'm gonna havta read up on post owls when I get a chance," his bushy-haired friend stated with curiosity.
Harry chuckled.
"What?" Hermione seemed a bit put out by the young wizard's response; Hedwig turned her head almost 180 degrees, looked at Harry with her piercing eyes and gave him an indignant hoot.
Hermione giggled before saying playfully, "at least Hedwig appreciates me."
The emerald-eyed boy clutched his chest over-dramatically and exclaimed, "Both my girls, conspiring against me; oh, the shame of it all!"
Hedwig cocked her head comically and hooted in what seemed an amused fashion, turned back to Hermione and with another hoot; picked up the letter and took wing. The snowy-feathered strigiforme, the hazel-eyed witch thought with needless complication, became a receding dot before vanishing into the curtain of night, which was the chamber's ceiling.
"That's one nice piece of magic," he said, voicing Hermione's thoughts unwittingly.
"I'd say," she said in obvious veneration and in something akin to arousal.
Harry chortled again; he had heard a revealing undertone in her timbre.
"What?"
"You're weird," he replied without malice.
"I know," Hermione impishly agreed, "but where did that come from?"
"Do you know how you sounded when you said 'I'd say'?"
"I can imagine," she flatly answered, "even my parents and Aunt Nancy find me odd in that way and odd for them is quite a stretch—let's explore."
Harry stared at Hermione; he didn't know how to respond to her admission and was speechless.
"You look like a guppy, Harry," she said casually; suddenly she felt her heart fluttered wildly as shame erupted from nowhere.
Immediately, the young wizard sensed his friend's sudden distress and, in an action entirely alien to him, closed the distance between him and the girl; he knelt beside the sitting witch and wrapped his arms around her as best he could: Harry gently whispered in her ear, "What's wrong, my Mione?"
"I . . . I was disrespectful," she replied, her eyes fixed upon the floor.
"What . . . whatever do you mean?" He softly challenged, "you don't mean the guppy remark do you?"
She nodded her head.
"But that's silly, I probably did look like a guppy," he tried to soothe but Hermione seemed to become more crestfallen by the second.
"C'mon Mione, I don't like this, what can I say to make it better; I don't understand."
Harry heard a door close and glanced towards the Founders' Chamber, Fiona was there and looking concerned, she said, "Milord, you know that emotions affect and can enhance magic don't you?"
Harry nodded, as Hermione withdrew into herself.
"It goes the other way too," the Founders' construct stated, "magic can affect and enhance emotions."
"What can I do?" he said near panic.
"Exactly what you're doing now, hold and comfort her," Fiona replied and suddenly the fireplaces and torches blinked out, leaving them in darkness; even the illusion of the night sky vanished: Harry felt dizzy.
"What's going on?" he asked in the dark; then everything flared to life and the star-studded firmament returned.
"I momentarily stopped the flow of magic in the room."
"Huh?" Harry was doubly confused.
"By interrupting the magic, it should—for the lack of a better word—reset Milady's magical core and emotions."
"I . . . I don't understand," the young wizard stammered.
"It's very hard to explain, Lord Potter . . ."
"Will you stop the Lord Potter thing, please?"
"As you wish Mi . . . I mean Harry."
Harry, to his utter relief, felt Hermione beginning to relax in his arms; Fiona continued, "Do you understand the concept of a feedback loop?"
"I guess but I'd never think to apply it to magic," he replied, "is that what happened to my Mione?"
Fiona nodded and answered, "Milady's emotions and magic were feeding off each other; likely due to the stimulation of your proximity and Rowen Ravenclaw being—well—Rowena Ravenclaw and for all Lady Granger is phenomenally precocious; she is still only eleven years old. What happened seems very similar to a problem Founder Ravenclaw had when she was about Milady's age."
"Please drop the formalities; my name is Hermione," the young witch asked weakly.
"As you command, Hermione."
"I'd have preferred you caging your response differently but that's still better," she replied, her voice becoming stronger as she spoke, "Please continue, Fiona."
"I beg that neither of you take offense to what I'm about to say . . ."
Harry and Hermione responded by shaking their heads.
Fiona took a long, thoughtful, look at her new master and his witch before she resumed, "Hermione is still physically and emotionally immature but she's also partially woken. This is very rare and will likely continue to cause loops until she matures some more—I'll have Helga explain to Harry how to momentarily stop the flow of your magic, Hermione."
"What do you mean by 'partially woken' might I ask?" Hermione almost sounded like herself again and a relieved wizard released her from his embrace, "you don't have to stop, Harry, I like being hugged by you; I understand why you're uncomfortable, though."
Harry blushed endearingly before overcoming his shyness; he placed his arms hesitantly around the bushy-haired witch once more.
Realizing a milestone had been reach between the young witch and wizard, Fiona smiled and answered, "I don't know why you've partially woken but essentially it means that you are aware of an intimacy that transcends what most ever experience and have begun to embrace it. I've only ever heard of one other who woke at such a young age—actually younger—and that was Rowena Ravenclaw herself but there was extenuating circumstances in her case."
"Are you comparing me to a Founder?" The hazel-eyed witch asked.
Fiona nodded, "I am, shall I continue?"
"Please," Hermione and Harry responded together; Fiona smiled.
"I'm about to tell you something, which only Merlin and the Founders knew and that which only Avatars and Patrons have ever learned; you two are by far the youngest to ever hear it," the Founders' construct told them. "And while Lord Potter is a Claimed Patron; you Lady Granger are not, nor are you an Avatar, but you need to know. This is an unprecedented honor and you'll only ever be able to speak of it in these chambers and only to those acceptable to Founder Ravenclaw; do you two understand?"
The young witch and wizard nodded.
"Good, let me begin," Fiona said. "When Founder Ravenclaw was young, raiders loyal to Morgana le Faye assailed her village. They brutally savaged and slaughtered all but one before burning the hamlet to the ground; the next day, Morgana's minions found Rowena in the smoking ruins. Knowing no normal child could survive the conflagration; the raiders brought the future Founder before their mistress: The Dark Courtesan of Sorcery—that's what they called le Faye back then.
Merlin's arch nemesis immediately recognized the potential in the young Ravenclaw and knew the girl would grow into a formidable witch who'd one day rival her and her most hated foe; easily surpassing her nephew/son Mordred. Knowing this, but not wanting to waste such promise, Morgana cast a very dark concubine curse on Rowena and intended to bind her to Mordred; she would become his plaything and eager participant in any act or perversion he might order or visit upon the young witch and her power would be at his command."
"Any act?" Hermione said; her mouth was very dry.
"Yes," Fiona resumed, "she would take pleasure from what her master took pleasure from; even if it was an order to do things to herself, blissfully even unto her very death if that's what her owner desired. Luckily, Morgana and Mordred—by his father/uncle's hand, King Arthur—died in the Battle of Camlann. In the aftermath of battle, Merlin found Rowena shackled and caged—almost dead from dehydration and hunger—in le Faye's lair. He recognized the dark curse that lay upon the young witch and knew only Morgana could lift it, he also saw the young girl's potential and worried that she might find her way into evil hands if he did nothing. Knowing no other way to protect her, Merlin—to his everlasting dismay, guilt and apology—bound Rowena to himself; he later bound her to his three other students, which Ravenclaw and he would later find and train."
"Did Merlin . . . you know . . . with Rowena?" asked Hermione, her precocious curiosity getting the better of her propriety.
"Yes," Fiona replied with a slightly lurid smile, "he had to: one of the curse's affects was to enhance certain needs in a person; if not acted upon it would drive the victim mad, it also leaned those needs towards a dark extreme."
"How young was Rowena when . . ."
Anticipating the remainder of the young witch's question, Fiona interrupted, "Does it matter? It was that or insanity; besides during the Founders' era the concept of acceptable and proper was very different from now, Hermione: your question is irrelevant, you can't apply modern nor muggle morality to the past."
Chastised, Hermione said nothing but looked sad all the same.
"Hermione," Harry whispered in a wise tone, "regardless of the cause, Rowena Ravenclaw accepted what she was and moved on. Instead of wallowing in the curse, she embraced what she had become and, if her portrait is an accurate reproduction, it looks like she enjoyed herself. Remember what I said about what was apocryphally said?"
"I know and I'm being hypocritical—considering my own feelings—but I'm still of two minds on the subject, because of the societal norms we're taught," Hermione replied. "My Aunt Nancy once told me it's a very common feeling amongst Lifestyle's Initiates until they learn how to accept who they are to themselves; I'm beginning to understand that now. I'm scared though, I'm still young but I think of things that many twice my age may never consider—it makes me feel very alone."
"Be thankful you're with me and at Hogwarts," Harry soothed, "I think you've already found your place."
The hazel-eyed girl smiled timidly and quietly said, "Thanks."
"Well, you two," Fiona said, "I'm off to join my brother in our assigned tasks; I hope I was able to help?"
"Yes, thank you, Fiona," Hermione replied, as the Founders' construct grew translucent and misty, like Peeves had earlier.
"Fiona?"
"Yes Lord Potter?" she replied; Harry scowled.
"Will you be in trouble for telling us these things without Founder Ravenclaw's permission?" he asked, voicing his concern for the pseudo student.
"I spoke with permission, Harry but I'm truly thankful for the concern you've shown your servant; it's uncommonly kind of you."
"Harry's servant?"
"Yes Milady . . ."
". . . please stop that, Fiona," Hermione stated with exasperation.
"As you command . . ." the teasing tone of the wraith who looked sixteen was obvious.
". . . that too, please," the young witch added before asking. "Do you take some perverse pleasure in toying with me?"
The specter Fiona smiled and retorted, "A little, I am my brother's sister after all, besides, I like you; if I didn't I wouldn't play with you but to answer your question: I'm Harry's servant because he invoked his Office of Patron, so I'm his to command but I'd prefer if it was you—please command me mistress."
Hermione was about to counter the construct's suggestive tease but the entity vanished before she could speak; if she had been standing, the young witch would've stamped her foot in frustration. Harry chuckled, removed his arms from around his friend and stood.
"It's not funny," she said and glared at the green-eyed boy.
"Yes it was and your flustered look was cute."
Did he just call me cute? Hermione asked herself as a warm tingle flowed through her body and dispelled her anger.
"One more thing Milord and Lady," Fiona's disembodied voice said, "Founder Hufflepuff would like to see you two downstairs."
"Sorry?" Harry and Hermione asked the air.
"You'll see—ta ta for now, youngsters."
"I guess this means we're exploring downstairs first," Hermione said rhetorically as she pushed her chair from the table and stood.
"I guess," concurred Harry.
Taking his witch's hand, Harry led her across the chamber; Hermione was eyeing the shelves with avarice as they crossed the short distance.
"Did you see anything interesting on the shelves, Harry?" she asked with a hint of envy because he had had an opportunity to browse the laden bookcases.
"Loads, but it's gonna be bloody . . ."
". . . Harry!"
"I'm going to say it again, Mione; you're one weird witch," he playfully teased, "I mean: you, the Founders and Fiona can speak of things an innocent eleven year old should never hear; yet you take offense when I say 'bloody', it's an odd juxtaposition, don'cha think."
Hermione opened her mouth to answer but immediately closed it again. He's got a point, she silently realized.
"As I was about to say," Harry resumed, "there's not even a smidgen of order with the way these books are shelved, finding useful information will be an exercise in frustration and incidents of blind luck. Still we have at least seven years here; perhaps we can bring order out of chaos before graduation."
They reached the stairs and before they began to descend, a row of wall sconces flared to life and lit their way. Harry and Hermione followed the flickering lights down, turned at the bottom landing and stepped into another sitting area; it maintained the same perimeter as the chamber they had left. Two fireplaces, in line with their upstairs siblings, roared to life and mounted on the wall, where the chamber's entrance would've been above; was the painting of a pond and a little cascading waterfall. On a rock in the midst of this serene landscape, Helga Hufflepuff stood with her back to the real world, skipping stones upon the painted surface of the pool.
"Hello again Hermione and friend and welcome," the Founder greeted without looking, they heard the smile in her voice, "it's pity you can't join me, this is perhaps my favorite spot in my rather small world and the water is pleasantly warm as well."
"It's our pleasure, Lady Founder," Hermione respectfully answered for them, "and I see why you like it; it's quite beautiful and tranquil: you wished to see us?"
Helga turned and smiled in a motherly fashion and said, "I thought I might play host and show you around our home as a pretense to getting to know you two better; after all, I feel we'll be spending a lot of time together. Besides, they don't really need me at the moment . . . you appear to have a question Hermione; I can see it on your face."
"I'm sorta surprised you said that, I always thought . . ."
". . . that were always together, heaven's no my dear," the Founder interjected with a grin, "we each have our roles to play and Rowena, Salazar and Godric have always been the tacticians and strategists of our quartet; while I'm the support and logistics you could say. Since we need little in the way of support and logistics—we are, after all, merely soul copies in paint and canvas—I've come to be our Avatar and Patrons' tutor. Let me show you two around."
"We'd be honored, Lady Founder," Harry humbly accepted with a reverent nod that Hermione mirrored.
"Oh pish posh, none of that formal nonsense, call me Helga."
"I'll . . . I'll try, Helga," Hermione replied with difficulty, "but it's hard and kinda goes against my nature; especially with someone I respect."
"Do you suffer from the same malady, my young Lord," smiling, she asked the emerald-eyed youth.
"Naw," he answered with a smirk, "I've had little luck with authority figures, like teachers or doctors or their ilk; they've always ignored what should've been obvious but I've learned to feign respect quite well. It wasn't until I began associating with and learning from goblins that I saw there were some who might earn or deserve my esteem, Helga, and if you keep calling me Lord or some similar such nonsense I might just paint a mustache on your portrait, my dear Lady Founder."
"Harry!" Hermione erupted, aghast by her friend's candid impudence; Helga Hufflepuff looked from Harry to Hermione and began to laugh.
"I've been threatened countless times in my existence but never with that," the Founder quipped with a rascally grin and tapped her upper-lip; from whence grew a long, thin handlebar mustache: she asked, "So, Milord is this what you had in mind?"
"I was thinking bushier," Harry deadpanned.
"You mean," replied Helga; the mustache transformed from a handlebar to a full-blown walrus worthy of Uncle Vernon, "like this?"
Hermione began to giggle softly, her giggle grew to a chuckle and then her chuckle grew to an all-out and hearty laugh; soon tears of mirth streaked her cheeks, the Founder's silliness providing much needed relief for the young witch.
"Now, isn't that better," the image addressed Hermione, "levity is important and needs to be embraced for a happy and long life; you needn't be so dire and serious all the time and at such a tender, my dear: leave that for bitter old men who think themselves more important than they ever were. So, first things first; now repeat after me, Harry: 'claudō.'"
"Cl . . . Claudō?" Harry repeated.
"Very good, again."
"Claudō," he said again, Hermione accompanied him.
The Founder rewarded the children's effort with a warm smile; she then said, "Now, with your wands pointed at your target, scribe a small anticlockwise circle with the business end of your focus. Once you complete the circle, give the tip a quick downwards flick. Now, you try."
Harry and Hermione followed Helga's instructions and executed the described pattern.
"Good, now practice for a few minutes and become comfortable with that," the portrait instructed.
The young witch and wizard began to practice the wand strokes as instructed under Founder Hufflepuff's watchful eye, earning a maternal smile for their dedicated focus and effort.
"Now, we put it together," Helga said and noticed that youngsters' attention returned immediately to her, "We begin the action with the incantation; time it so that the circle and first syllable 'clau' end concurrently and, without changing cadence, follow through with the flick and second syllable 'dō'. Again, ensure that motion and sound remain parallel until completion of your cast. Okay then, let's see some magic you two."
Harry put the word and action together but it took a number of tries before he felt the familiar warmth that began at his shoulder, flowed down his arm and passed into his wand through his thumb and index finger; a bead of bluish light shot from his wand-tip before splattering liquid-like against the floor: the young wizard smiled."
"How did you do that, Harry?" Hermione asked with frustration.
"Let me see you try."
"Claudō," Hermione incanted, perfectly in time with her wand action but nothing happened; Harry grinned.
"Mione, you took the whole 'hold your wand firmly' thing too far," Harry observed and—from the corner of his eye—saw the Founder's nod in agreement. "You need to primarily hold and control your wand through your thumb and index finger; you're almost using your whole fist, this induces variances in precision because you're using more strength than you need."
The hazel-eyed witch glanced at the painting for corroboration; Helga, still smiling warmly, said, "Harry's right, your actions are too broad; it's the most common mistake that young witches and wizards make. That being said—by the way—this mistake is not just the province of newbloods but common to purebloods as well. Actually, many of them are worse because they learned from a very young age that dropping a wand is tantamount to failure or defeat. Try again my dear."
"Claudō," Hermione tried again and succeeded; her face lit up with the biggest smile Harry had yet seen.
"Hurray for me; I can teach," Helga exclaimed with mock self-efficacy and surprise.
"So," Harry began quizzically, "what did we just learn?"
"The Claudō spell is a minor hex that interrupts the flow of magic for a second or two," replied Helga, "it also causes one to feel lightheaded, dizzy and disoriented for five or so seconds."
"I get it; if Hermione has another feedback episode I'll be able to stop her magic from affecting her emotions," he concluded.
"I should think so," agreed the Founder, "it useful in a duel too because it's quick to cast, can collapse most shields and will interrupt casting; with the added bonus of disrupting a target's equilibrium and focus for a few seconds and in a fight or duel every second counts."
"How do you counter it?" Hermione asked with great interest.
"Best to get out of its way," the portrait answered, "but you'll likely not need to worry too much about it; it's one of many spells that have been virtually forgotten over the years and will only be found in very old grimoires."
"Is it safe?" Harry asked with obvious concern.
"Yes, the hex's very transient nature ensures that," responded Helga, "it's what could follow that's dangerous."
"So that's what Fiona did earlier," the hazel-eyed witch concluded.
"No," the Founder countered, "neither Fiona nor Peeves—for that matter—can use Noble magic."
"Noble Magic?" Hermione said with confusion, "I've never heard of it before."
"I kinda remember a passing reference in some old book I read at Gringotts but that's about it. Helga?" Harry added.
"Noble Magic is the power most magical beings—witches and wizards included—manipulate when they cast spells such as Charms or Transfigurations," Helga answered. "It is the product of intelligence and spirit—or one's soul if you prefer—shaping and storing naturally occurring magical fields. Our children, Fiona, Peeves and to a lesser extent Hogwarts itself are artificial constructs with no inherent processing of their own because they're not alive, they do things by manipulating raw Ignoble Magic. Ignoble Magic is the magic created by the universe, which the Earth stores and radiates; it allows potions, runes and runic arrays to function beyond their creation; it's also the fuel for Noble Magic. All magic flows and is in a constant state of flux; if stilled, magic is essentially turned off—you can't fill a sink with a closed tap you might say: that is what Fiona and Hogwarts did and why all the magical elements upstairs stopped working."
"I think I kinda understand but why did she have to 'turn off' all the magic when she helped me?" the young witch asked.
"It's about focus, my dear," the Founder's image replied, "thinking that Noble Magic is a rapier and Ignoble Magic is a club and you might get the general idea of their differences. This is really Rowena's forte, Hermione; she and Merlin spent decades studying the Nature of Magic—she's Merlin's true successor when it comes to these matters, perhaps she could explain it better."
Excited, Hermione's inner bookworm took over, she asked almost ardently, "Are there any tomes or what not about this, upstairs maybe?"
Helga and Harry chuckled.
" . . . What?" the bushy-haired girl said, sounding a touch embarrassed.
"I don't know what may or may not be on the selves, upstairs; I haven't browsed a bookcase in well-nigh a millennium," Helga said lightheartedly with a smile, "being as I exist solely on canvas and am the product of some clever artistry could be the reason I'm kinda behind in my reading, though."
"Mione," Harry began, "you can scour the collected cacophony upstairs later; let's check out these chambers first. Lead on my auburn-haired Lady."
"We'll start with the room on the right, my emerald-eyed Lord," the Founder said and stepped from the pond and waterfall portrait.
"Who's right?" The young wizard asked.
"My right," he heard from his left, through a door that had just opened, "don't leave your little Lordette behind."
"Little Lordette, bah," Hermione quipped quietly and rolled her eyes.
"C'mon Mione," Harry took her hand and urged, "let's go."
The magical youths, following Helga's voice, stepped into the indicated room. As before, the room lit upon entrance but instead of wall sconces, the light came from large candle laden chandeliers hung high overhead; producing a brighter light than simple flickering flames should. This chamber was easily twice as long as it was wide and at least two stories high. A series of arched clearstories crowned one of the longer walls while the opposing side was decorated by a series of large magical portraits: in the first painting, Helga Hufflepuff was merrily dancing with a blushing young woman who wore an Elizabethan era ball gown. Releasing her dance partner, the Founder turned her attention to the two first-year students.
"Welcome to what you could call the multipurpose room," Helga said. "In this area Hogwarts is able to add, remove or alter decorations and furnishings as required by the user. You can instruct the castle to convert this space to whatever you need whether that's a small dueling arena, a large training hall or even—as you can see at the moment—a ballroom if that's your desire. Once upon a time, we used to host twice-annual galas for the fall and spring equinoxes. Alas, how I miss those days, we've held no parties for four or more hundred years but I can still remember them; especially that time when Ric—Godric that is—Sal and their Avatars set the room to turn our guests' clothes, even their underthings, invisible about two-thirds of the way into one of our spring galas. Fun times, fun times . . . you can get away with so much when you're a revered Founder."
Harry and Hermione snickered; then the young witch asked, "Why did you stop the parties?"
The Founder frowned and answered, "Because we allowed the Hogwarts' Board of Governors too much autonomy and allowed ourselves to be supplanted by politicians who were not educators; much to our shame. As our influence waned, so too did peoples' memories and eventually we were forgotten; not the Founders themselves, they were relegated to myth and legend and became bigger than life but we—their soul copies—and the Office of Avatars faded from history."
"I don't get it," Harry said with confusion, "why would you allow the Board to take over?"
"We honestly thought it was best for the school at the time," replied Helga. "After all, we were voices of people becoming ancient and we were growing out of touch with the, then, modern era: we had become anachronistic. Even the Office of Patron ultimately faded but mostly due to resentment; many of the newer families thought too much power was concentrated in the hands of the Four Families: perhaps they were right. Regardless of why, our Avatars—if we had one; good candidates were becoming hard to find and/or were too old when presented—lost their voices in the administration of Hogwarts and the Patrons were essentially pushed from their offices: thus ending the Golden Era of Hogwarts."
"I suppose this is more history edited from Hogwarts: A History," Hermione commented indignantly, "I never read anything about a 'Golden Era' but why do you say it ended? Hogwarts is the premier magical institute on this side of the Atlantic."
"I would love to laugh about this, Hermione, but the school we founded on the concept of educational equality has become the breeding ground for future politicians, blood-bigots and brain-washings," the painted image replied with a scowl. "Hogwarts offers neither the breath nor width it once did in the subjects it teaches and, in time, many forgotten or became subtopics of others. As much as I hate to admit it, you'd be better off going to Beauxbatons Acadamy in Southern France and this from a Founder; it's mortifying."
"What!" The young witch and wizard exclaimed in unison.
"It's sad but true, my dears," said Rowena as she joined Helga in the portrait.
"But why . . ." Hermione asked weakly; the bushy-haired witch looked stunned.
"Vision, or lack thereof to be precise," Rowena replied. "Our illustrious Board of Governors has no unified vision for Hogwarts because they are politicians before educators and that guides their decisions; it doesn't help when it's splintered into light, dark and neutral factions and when Galleons supersede reason when it comes to our children's future and education."
"Ouch, that's one damning opinion you've got there, Lady Founder," Harry commented.
"If it was just an opinion it wouldn't matter; unfortunately it's backed by declining NEWT scores and the loss of subjects once taught here, especially over the last hundred or so years," Founder Ravenclaw answered crossly. "If I was cynical, I'd say modern witches and wizards are afraid of well-educated children: what am I saying, I am cynical and that's exactly what's happening at Hogwarts these days; it doesn't help when newbloods outperform purebloods on average, either."
"I thought the Founders didn't abide by either blood theory or politics?" Harry asked; he sounded almost suspicious to Hermione's ear.
"We don't; the board—well quite a few, anyways—do," Helga replied, "and it's not just the so called 'dark' faction either, some of the 'light' and 'neutral' governors share the Wizards are superior to muggles fantasy, too."
"Nope, most witches and wizards don't ascribe to evolution—social or physical—nor do they see the brewing revolution," Rowena added, sarcastically.
"What brewing revolution?" Hermione asked with concern.
Rowena tittered before replying, "If you remain part of young Lord Potter/Scion Black's life Lady Granger, you'll likely play pivotal role in the coming reformation. Magical U.K. is at a turning point; it must adept or it will die and the Tom Riddles and their ilk will eventual reveal themselves to modern muggle Great Britian. Depending on how that transpires will determine the viability of our culture and our place on this Earth. If our actions are seen as a threat, all those platitude-shouting, placard-waving, blood-purist fanatics will discover that a rifle round from a thousand yards doesn't care about their beliefs nor will it be stopped by the strength of their rhetoric. Unbeknownst to most magicals in this country; we're dancing on the wand-tip of an endanger species designation and the countdown has begun."
"Seriously, it can't be that serious can it?" the hazel-eyed witchling asked. Seriously and serious in the same sentence, she thought in distraction, what am I thinking?
"Unfortunately it's true," Harry answered, "but most witches and wizards prefer to bury their collective heads in the sand like the proverbial bird; this worries the Council of Sentiency because they know their people will be in the crossfire if hostilities erupt between magical and mundane England: it's why they are working surreptitiously with the Crown."
"You don't sound like an 'older than my age' eleven year-old, either, Harry," Hermione said facetiously as her mind began ordering all that she had learned.
Harry shrugged and replied, "I wasn't allowed to be a child at the Dursley's and my time at Gringotts just amplified my maturity, I guess."
"Quite a lot to think about, eh, Hermione," Rowena said with a wink. "Anyways, I need to get back to Sal and Ric—they're likely goofing off as we speak—and will leave you in the matronly care of Helga."
The image of Founder Ravenclaw stepped from the canvas and vanished from Helga's side.
"Want to get together, Winny?" Helga called to the departed image.
"Love to," The other Founder answered from off portrait.
"Playroom or grotto?" Founder Hufflepuff called back in question.
"Hmm . . . playroom I think, I'm far too wound up for the grotto today," Rowena's voice—dripping anticipation—drifted back into frame and answered.
"I'll see you there," Helga confirmed and then said to Harry and Hermione, "now, back to the tour then."
"We can do it later if you want," offered Hermione, the innuendo between the women had been obvious.
"Why?" the image asked, "I've got nothing pressing to do at the moment: oh, you're being thoughtful aren't you?"
"I guess," Hermione said; then asked solicitously, "don't you need to . . . um . . . you know . . . render assistance—you could say—to Founder Ravenclaw?"
"Oh, that's later, my dear; it's not like we need to worry about time or anything like that," Helga replied in reassurance, "So, any questions about this room?"
Both children glanced around before shaking their heads in reply.
"Very well then, we'll just leave here and head across the anteroom where we met earlier," she said and stepped from the portrait; the Founder gave her earlier blushing dance partner a kiss on her painted cheek as she passed.
"Do you think we should reinstate the Founders' Galas, Mione?" Harry asked.
"I think it'd be fun but weren't we asked to keep quiet about all this?"
"I'm not thinking anytime soon, besides they need Avatars first but at some point, the ability of the Founders and Patrons office to affect any sort of change cannot be met from the shadows," he replied. "I'm thinking we've been offered an excellent tool to shift the sheeples' blind devotion from the status quo towards a brighter future; I'm pretty sure we'd have backing from most muggleborns at least—they're a pretty angry lot these days."
"Angry? Why Harry?"
With his green-eyes boring into the young witch he answered, "You may be the smartest person I've ever met Hermione, maybe even the smartest witch to grace these halls since Rowena Ravenclaw—it's quite obvious—and with your eidetic memory nothing should stop you from achieving anything your heart desires but . . ."
". . . but? . . ."
"As a muggleborn, if it hadn't been for my little mistake with the whole Lady Matriarch thing, regardless of how well you did at Hogwarts you'd be passed over in favor of the pureblood if they want a position you've applied for," Harry told her. "Halfbloods do marginally better—it depends on their bloodline—but are still unlikely to rise to much prominence or esteem in Magical England . . ."
". . . that's totally unfair!" exclaimed Hermione in interruption.
"Indeed," he concurred, "that is why most muggleborns and many halfbloods vanish from our society shortly after graduation. What do you expect, they have no real future nor prospects and always risk being fired in favor of some disenfranchised pureblood who believes they are better by virtue of their blood alone: Ronald Weasley comes to mind but I may wrong, I don't really know him that well yet; he does appear to have envy issues, though."
"I guess I can see that," the bushy-haired witch commented, "particularly the way he seized on the wealth aspect of our little encounter with Draco Malfoy on the train."
Harry nodded and said, "That, and the way he cozied up to Neville after finding out he was the 'Neville Longbottom' as opposed to some other Neville."
Hermione smiled and said, "A bit convoluted but I get your point, Harry; I've seen it too, you can't imagine how many times somebody has sucked up to my parents because they're somewhat affluent in our neighborhood."
"Are you familiar with Ayn Rand, Mione?"
"The queen of objectivism? Some," she replied, "I don't completely agree with her Libertarianism though."
"That aside," the young wizard continued. "She writes that only those who don't need it are fit to inherit wealth and that an heir must be equal to his money or it will destroy him; I think Ronald Weasley would be destroyed by wealth because he doesn't understand what it truly represents."
"You may be right Harry but he's still young; he might change."
"Perhaps, but in all honesty I don't believe people change that much with age, Hermione. I think personality traits need validation to become part of a person: a spoiled child is likely to grow into a spoiled adult; that sense of entitlement comes from an external influence, it's not self-generated."
"Are you two coming?" they heard Helga call from the anteroom.
"Sorry, we'll be right there," Harry answered and then said to Hermione with a wink, "We better go or she'll think we're doing something naughty."
"Prat," his witch said playfully before, with hands linked, they joined the Founder who was waiting for them in the pond portrait.
Eyeing the children she commented, "You two look pensive, what's up?"
"I guess you could say we were discussing the shaping of 'being' with a side of 'nature versus nurture' thrown in," the emerald-eyed boy replied.
"What next," Helga teasingly asked, "the nature of the universe and all that?"
"Forty-two," Hermione quipped.
"Sorry?" the Founder and Harry said in concert.
"It's the answer," the bushy-haired witch answered humorously, "you know, to the ultimate question about life, the universe and everything—never mind, it's only funny if you know the source."
"Undeniably, moving on then," the Founder said as the door opposite the multipurpose room swung open, "first room on the right just beyond that door, my dears."
Hermione and Harry exited the anteroom, stepped into a dark corridor and then entered the room on their right as instructed; it was a potions lab with multiple workstations.
"Our own potions' lab," Helga said from a portrait of a witch hunched over a boiling cauldron. The scene was outside and the snow that lay upon the ground, beyond the circle of heat cast by the fire, showed that it was winter; their guide was warming her hands near the flames.
"Looks pretty well equipped," Harry observed.
"Of course, only the best for Founders and Patrons," commented Helga and then pointed to the door in the wall on their left side, "that leads to the storage room but I'd imagine most of our potion supplies are beyond their usable life now. Anyways, I'll meet you in the room beyond that; the storeroom hasn't got a portrait for me."
The novice witch and wizard crossed the lab and exited through the indicated door. Pushing the door open, their nostril were assaulted by a foul odor that they could even taste; it hastened their steps as neither wanted to linger and quickly they reached the opposing door. Pulling it open, they stepped from the storage room and were gagging.
"That bad eh?" the matronly image sympathetically commented from a picture of a large workshop that reminded the youthful magicals of Santa's, except it was staffed by surly looking goblins instead of whimsical Christmas elves.
"What's all this stuff for?" Hermione asked as she and Harry looked around.
"This is an enchanting studio for rune work and such," the Founder replied, "aside from the workbench; we have a small forge and various other craft-stations. Let's head back to the anteroom, at least you can bypass the storage room from here."
Helga stepped from the portrait, leaving Harry and Hermione behind. They glanced about the workshop and noticed the second door. Turning, the young witch and wizard crossed the studio and headed to the exit that didn't lead to their previous odious experience. They swung the door open, stepped into the corridor and traversed the short distance to its end and the anteroom's entrance; the Founder smiled a welcome from her place in the pond painting.
"The last room down here is at the heart of what it means to be a Founder," Helga told them. "let's head to the room opposite of me and we'll see you inside."
"What's in there?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing, I guess you could say," the Founder replied enigmatically. "Its reality . . . has yet to be . . . hmm . . . defined, I guess you might say"
"Excuse me?" Harry asked; he liked neither her answer nor the manner of its delivery.
"It's better to experience rather than hear about, trust me," replied the image.
"I'm not fond of being asked to trust, as you know," he retorted, his voice the sharpened edge of a blade and wary; he pointedly asked, "is it safe?"
"It should be . . ."
". . . should?" anger crept into his tone.
"I don't think we're in danger Harry," Hermione soothed, "besides, aren't you at least curious; this is the first time Helga hasn't been forthright with us, there must be a reason."
Harry looked towards the last door. It looked like any other but for its rather ornately crafted frame and, like Hermione, he was curious as to what lay beyond but the goblins had taught him to temper his inquisitive nature with a healthy dose of circumspection.
"Well, I'm going to have a peek," the young witch stated, "I'd like to know what's in there; besides, I sorta feel drawn to it."
"Hermione . . . fine, fine; we'll check it out," Harry conceded and then lightly teased, "Mione, I bet you're a girl who can't look at Christmas presents without going crazy."
The bushy-haired witch cocked her head and smiled shyly before saying, "My parents always waited until I went to bed on Christmas Eve before putting gifts around the tree."
Harry shook his head with amused disdain and thought, nope not surprising, not surprising at all. Harry grinned.
"Did I say something entertaining, Harry?"
"I was just imagining a bouncing bushy-haired five-year old Hermione begging her parents to let her open the prettily wrapped presents because she had to know what she didn't know."
"Harry!" Her tone and embarrassed look confirmed that the young wizard had hit very close to the mark.
"Well, let's satisfy your kittenish curiosity, Mione," he said and walked to the door, "you coming?"
Hermione followed and joined him at the door, which swung open on their approach. A low hanging, yet thick layer of mist rolled through the door and across the floor and bathed their ankles. It was neither cool nor damp, like fog usually was, and neither did they feel it as it swirled and rippled about them as it encroached upon the center of the anteroom's floor. Had they not seen it, they might not have known it was there but for the faint tingle, they felt as it immersed their feet and lower shins in a dense floor-covering blanket. The blanket was primarily white but sparkling from its depth were glittering flecks of intense rainbow colors, which seemed to spark and flare from tiny crystals that danced and played like dust motes in a sunbeam.
"What is this?" Hermione asked, almost entranced by the hypnotic kaleidoscope that played about her ankles.
"I'd be guessing if I tried to answer but I suspect our answer waits inside; we're committed, may as well proceed."
"I guess," she responded and took Harry's hand in search of comfort; together they stepped through the door and into the dark room, but for the odd luminous fog at their feet and its colorful flecks of light that danced through its depth, beyond.
"Welcome, children," they heard the recognizably voice of Salazar Slytherin say, "to the Heart of Hogwarts and the Founders' Ritual Chamber. This is the place where Hogwarts truly began, the only part truly constructed; from this seed—I guess you could call it—grew the first incarnation of our noble school."
"Grew?" Harry asked, stunned by the idea
"I'm sure he means metaphorically, silly," Hermione teased.
"I most certainly do not, young lady," Salazar countered, "when I said grew that is what I meant. Hogwarts—beyond this chamber—is a construct of magic and is somewhat sentient, it evolves to meet the needs of those it houses, those who teach and those being taught. In a sense, this chamber is the only true reality that is Hogwarts; the rest of the school exists as a static representative of probabilities."
"How . . . How can that be?" Hermione asked.
"It's only in the last hundred or so years that muggles began to recognize this aspect of uncertainty, that things are not really as they are seen," Rowena replied. "To most non-magicals, even now, uncertainty exists in things like the sociopolitical arena, ideas and weather forecasts; not in physical things. To magicals, uncertainty is built into their day-to-day lives and is mostly ignored until a spell goes wrong. Where a muggle sees fixed a magical sees mutable, an item's form and function being dependent on the need and desire of the moment and the ability and power of the caster involved in determining that form; that is why Transfiguration is sometimes the most difficult discipline for non-magicals to learn. When you see Hogwarts, Hermione, you see the thing and not the idea that gave and gives it its form—it's really hard to explain."
"I'd say," replied Harry as Hermione continued to wade through the metaphysics, "so—other than dark—what is this place and what's with the fog?"
"The fog, as you so succinctly put it, is the visible manifestation of the collision between noble and ignoble magic," they heard Rowena respond. "Our Ritual Chamber centers on the convergence point of five major Ley-lines, it's why this and the chamber above us are pentagons; each vertex is the point where the lines enter the structure, those lines converge at the center of the chamber. The ignoble magic comes through the Ley-lines while the noble magic comes from the teachers and students in the castle, which functions as a huge reservoir."
"And the darkness?" Harry asked drolly.
"Simple," answered Godric, from the surrounding pitch, "the light isn't on: let there be light."
The room began to brighten slowly around Hermione and Harry and as the curtain of darkness parted, details slowly emerged from the receding twilight. The first thing they noticed was that the light filling the chamber had no source and came from all directions; leaving the room void of shadow. As the intensity grew, it became harsh to their dilated pupils forcing the children to try, and fail, to shield their eyes from the increasing glare. Through their tears of discomfort, the chamber drew into focus as their eyes adjusted and after numerous blinks, they were at last able to see.
The young witch and wizard looked around and the first thing they observed was a room approximating a pentagon but because of the directionless nature of the light, all corners were obscured by a diffused glare. On the four walls that completed the perimeter were the images of the Founders but they were not portrait-like, instead they looked to be standing in three-dimensional space that extended beyond the confines of the chamber. Even the fifth wall, through which the door breached, held the same visual quality as the other four making it appear as if the entrance stood on its own and if one desired, one could walk around it.
"You two look awestruck," Salazar's image commented with a smile.
"It's . . . it's kinda hard to grasp," Hermione managed.
"I'd say," Harry agreed, "but—I don't know—shouldn't there be ritual stuff in here; it's . . . um . . . blank."
"Blank?" Rowena commented, "I can see that and that's a very apt description of what you are experiencing, Harry; this room takes its form and creates its contents and substance from the needs of the ritual being performed."
"What about you four," Hermione asked, "What are you?"
"What you're seeing here are our true soul copies," answered Rowena, "this is where we truly reside and what you see in the other portraits—within the Patrons and Founders' Chambers—are echoes of these images and co-exist with them."
"Co-exist, as in two places at once?" queried the bushy-haired witch.
"Precisely," Helga's image replied, "When you and Harry first met us upstairs, Hermione, we were also down here and when we met out in the antechamber—down here—I was there and also here, while Rowena, Ric and Sal were here and upstairs. Where we are, is more dependent on where we're the most focused—I guess you could say—which when I said we weren't always together is approximately untrue."
". . . approximately untrue," Hermione whispered with amusement. "I guess that allows instant communication between the four of you; all you do is shift your focus."
"Pretty much," concurred Helga, "but I think it's time that the two of you should leave the mysteries of the universe behind for today; dinner starts in about fifteen minutes and while you could have food brought to you here, your absences would likely raise unwelcome questions."
"It's already that late?" Harry commented, glanced at his watch and heard his hunger announce itself; his stomach growled. "I guess so, let's go Mione; I'd rather enter the Great Hall with the multitude and avoid unwanted attention. By your leave, my Lords and Ladies."
"Have a good dinner you two and don't be strangers," Godrick said in dismissal.
"We won't be," Hermione replied, "there's too much to learn here; you'll likely get sick of me."
"Never my dear," Rowena smiled and replied honestly, "I'm eager to spend time with you."
"Now, be off with you two," Helga ordered with a matronly smile, "young bodies and minds need to be properly fueled, my dears, and proper rest too; good night."
"Yes, have a good evening," added Salazar, "and be good little Slytherins and be properly discrete."
"We will," Harry promised and taking Hermione's hand, he and the young witch turned and left the chamber. They passed through the chambers and reached the exit.
"I wish we could see if anyone was on the other side," Harry said, "I'd rather we not be seen stepping through the Hogwarts crest by anyone, especially Professor Dumbledore."
"Too many questions?" Hermione asked, "but why the Headmaster in particular; he's a great wizard.
"I'd say," he replied to the first and then continued. "It was the Headmaster who left me with my loving relatives. He never checked up on me or if he did he didn't do anything about what he saw and while most witches and wizards seem to revere the man; my mom and the goblins warned me he seems to have his own agenda for 'the Greater Good' or perhaps his own greater good."
"Your mom?"
"It's kinda complicated, Hermione," Harry replied, "Suffice to say; my mom was the smartest witch of her generation: like you are in ours."
Hermione blushed, "but I don't really know anything yet; you're being a little premature aren't you?"
"I don't think so; but that aside, I still wish I knew if anyone was outside."
In answer to Harry's concern, the exit grew transparent. The area beyond was free of potential witnesses and holding hands, the two stepped into the Entry Hall. They joined the haphazard queue of students arriving for dinner, headed for their house table and joined Neville and Ron—already gorging himself with breadsticks.
"Where were you two all afternoon?" Neville asked.
"Exploring," Harry replied cagily.
"Really? I was too but me, Hanna and Susan didn't see you nowhere," the chubby wizard said.
"That's 'anywhere' Neville," Hermione corrected and replied honestly, "and we didn't see you anywhere either."
"Yeah, tha's right," Harry agreed before teasing, "I bet you were fooling around with your Hufflepuffs."
Neville blushed but answered shyly, "They're not 'my' Hufflepuffs; they're just friends."
"Uh huh," Harry said with a playful smirk, while giving Hermione a conspiratorial wink.
"Well, Harry my boy; how was your first day of school?" Harry heard the Headmaster ask from behind; it made him and Hermione jump as he silently berated himself for being caught off guard for the second time that day. He turned to face Professor Dumbledore and as his eyes swept past the head-table, he noticed Professor Snape glaring in his direction and Professor Flitwick glowering. I'm going to hear from him later, Harry thought, I'm becoming complacent.
"Why, good evening Professor Dumbledore," Harry replied as he felt the telltale tingle of a carefully measured legilimency probe behind his eyes: his passive occlumency shields snapped to active in a heartbeat. He constrained his anger and continued firmly, "Professor Dumbledore, if you ever try to use Legilimency on me again, I will be forced to report you to the Wizengamot for the attempted use of a mind probe on the head of a noble house. Other than that, my first day went quite well; have you met my friend and housemate Hermione Granger, professor?"
The elder wizard turned his attention to the bushy-haired witch beside Harry and looked her straight in the eyes; she stared back. Even after being chastised for using Legilimency, he sent a probe at Hermione and—as he expected—the girl had no protection but as he peeped into her mind, he saw nothing; from the nothing a library emerged. Stunned, he found himself drawn deeper into the library. How can a girl so young have such a well-ordered mind? He thought as his mental self reached for a book on a nearby and neat shelf; he couldn't open it.
"Is something wrong Headmaster?" Hermione asked innocently.
"Oh, I'm sorry Miss Granger I was distracted for a moment—didn't mean to be rude," he said, hastily recovering from his shock, "I imagine things are quite different from what you're used to—being muggle-born and all."
"I'll manage, sir, Harry has been a wellspring of knowledge and since he was muggle raised, he understands how I'm feeling," she replied sweetly.
"Very good, very good," he said, "Well I'll let you get back to dinner and, Harry my boy, if you need anything; you know where to find me."
"That's very kind of you, sir," Harry said stiffly, "but I do have some concerns."
"Concerns? My goodness, already?" he said grandfatherly, his eyes a twinkle. "What might those be?"
"First, I'm not your boy. Second, I don't know where to find you. Third, I'd prefer if you'd not address me so informally—you don't know me nearly well nor long enough for that. And . . ."
". . . and?" Professor Dumbledore interjected.
"A gentleman never intrudes upon a Lady's privacy," Harry said with a hint of ire. "What I said for my mind goes for those under my protection as well; Miss Granger is not only my friend but a friend of House Potter too. I'd suggest you refrain from using sneaky legilimency probes on a vassal of my house: it is an affront to societal propriety and protocol and worth remembering—I know more than I fear you wished I knew, Headmaster."
Dumbfounded that a first year would be so bold—let alone take the great Albus Dumbledore to task on propriety and protocol—he stared at the young wizard and realized Severus was right. This is not how I imagined our first meeting would go—he's supposed to cleave to me as his surrogate grandfather and mentor. I must find out what happened—who taught him and gave him the confidence of a goblin. I'll need to bring him back to the fold before he strays too far from the needs of the Greater Good.
"Very well then," Professor Dumbledore said, not acknowledging what Harry had said, "I'll let you and Miss Granger enjoy your dinner. Good night Harry my boy and you too; Hermione my girl."
Harry and an angering Hermione watched the headmaster turn and leave for the head table; both glad he had gone.
"Blimey mate, you barmy or something? That was Dumbledore; I can't believe that you spoke to him like that and is Granger that important to you—she's muggle-born ya know," Ron Weasley said through a mouth filled with breadsticks.
"I'm kinda surprised too," Neville added, "but I understand why you were upset; I'm surprise that the Chief Warlock would try Legilimency on the head of a noble house—even an underage one."
"Yeah, well it is Dumbledore after all; I think he actually believes his press," Harry replied offhandedly and turned his attention to the dinner that just appeared on the Gryffindor table. Hermione said nothing; she was beginning to agree with Harry and wondered what else her books might've gotten wrong.
"What's Legilimency?" Ron asked before stuffing a gravy-dripping slice of meat—too big for a normal sized maw or appetite—into his mouth.