Heirs of the Founders

by Animekitty2

A more mature, knowledgeable and motivated Harry Potter goes to school. His fated encounter with Hermione Granger comes sooner as they share a compartment aboard the Hogwarts' Express during their first journey to school. With greater self-confidence, the muggle-born and halfblood will start the long needed reformation of the magical world, hand in hand. HP/HG/DG/LL/OC

9. Chapter 9

Heirs of the Founders

Author's notes and what not:

Once again, I feel the need to apologize for my tardiness because, recently, whenever I wanted to write, something pulled me from it or when nothing was going on my head wasn't in a writer's frame. I also fell into a bit or a time warp but hope I caught all the inconsistencies that glared in conflict to chapter eight.

That aside.

Again, thank you for your time and appreciate most of the reviews and PMs I've received, except for a few negative ones from readers reading more into the story than I wrote and seem to think I'm somehow responsible for their dirty minds putting in those details. (And I'm the perv, go figure) Whatever, this chapter departs a bit from where we were but I hope it sheds some light on Hermione's personality and where it comes from.

Thanks again,

Animekitty

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 Nine

Comfortably ensconced in her favorite wingback wicker chair and listening to some light jazz, softly playing on the stereo; Emma Granger enjoyed a quiet morning respite, despite the clock's insistence it was after lunch. Still, like any other morning—the clock's opinion notwithstanding—she sat holding her steaming mug of afternoon-morning java and inhaled its heady aroma. That aroma—in itself—did almost as much to wake her groggy brain as the accompanying hit of caffeine she got from drinking it while sitting amidst the scents and raucous colors of her gardens she lovingly maintained in the conservatory: Dan preferred to call it a sunroom. Whatever one might call the room, it was Emma's favorite place for simple relaxation and had been carefully grafted to their home; in accordance to local Heritage Laws. Still, it was those self-same laws that had allowed them to buy more house than their—albeit liberal—budget might've otherwise permitted when they decided a new home would make a lovely wedding gift to themselves.

That they even found this house was due to a series of fortuitous events that involved rain, a flat tire and very bad directions from their less than gifted real estate broker. These, combined with a very motivated vender, saw Dan and Emma buying a house that needed serious modernizing in its plumbing, heating and electrical systems but with a lot of character and potential. Its general state of disrepair led to a corresponding reduction—well below market value for its premier location—in its initial purchase price, which left a significant number of Pounds Sterling behind for repairs and renovations. With title searched and deed in hand, Emma and Dan found a reliable—made doubly so by the simple fact lawyer Granger could beat up lawyer builder, if need be—general contractor, familiar with local Heritage Laws, and a young but very good architect who knew how to listen to her clients.

With plans planned, schedules scheduled and a minor brush with the Heritage Board over the addition of the conservatory out of the way, construction began. The house's renovations—with a few interesting additions artfully crafted so as to not stand out, by Dan Granger himself—were finished a week before their wedding; allowing the soon to be husband and wife to decide upon decorations before winging off to Southern France and their honeymoon. Upon their return, Dan carried Emma over their home's threshold—as tradition dictated—and when the door closed behind them, it didn't open again for a week; inside they found their beloved playmate naked and bound to one of Dan's creations and given as their last wedding gift: Hermione was conceived that week.

Emma had another sip of her rapidly cooling coffee and grimaced.

"Yuck," she said to herself and rose to her bare feet. Turning, she padded from the conservatory and its unusual flora, much of which was unknown to English gardening guides: not that she cared; she thought them pretty.

Most of these plants, while easy to maintain—though decidedly odd—had been gifts from Nancy; who was rather adapt at smuggling rare seeds and cuttings from the exotic locales she visited. Those places were part of her other and very separate life, into which neither Dan nor Emma pried out of respect for their cherished and virtual spouse. 'Ask me no questions; I'll tell you no lies' was the adage supporting their alternative family. Thankfully, their precocious daughter instinctually understood discretion; the same discretion expected of her parents while they saw to the dental needs of their SAS contingent.

Emma entered the kitchen, dumped the residual contents of her mug and reached for the coffee pot; she noticed her wrist retained the inflamed bracelet she had lovingly earned last night: her other wrist and ankles shared the same adornment but, thankfully, their clinic was closed for their annual holiday; she didn't need to worry about unwelcome questions from obnoxiously snoopy patients, on this, their third and final week of their vacation. The first two of these weeks had been busily spent with Hermione, before seeing her off to her new school and now, the remaining days, were all theirs; they intended to use the remaining time for some seriously private husband and wife playtime: it's hard to be frisky when your daughter's at home; no matter how precocious she might be. They didn't waste any time getting down to business, either; as soon as the door closed, on their return from King's Cross Station, Dan had ordered Emma to properly prepare herself and then meet him in the study: in fifteen minutes or less. The ever-proactive Mrs. Granger, having already done the things that couldn't be rushed, was once again grateful for the permanent hair removal procedure she had endured (leaving her prepubescently smooth; her private gift to Dan for their tenth anniversary: he loved it, so did Nancy) as she doffed her clothes and put them in the hamper. (Her clothes hadn't been dirty but she knew she wouldn't be needing them any time soon.) Naked, Emma had crossed their bedroom and opened her top dresser drawer. Almost reverently, she had withdrawn a sapphire blue velvet case, sat it on her dresser, and opened it; inside was an elaborately tooled, broad black leather collar trimmed with a gold buckle and loop: the twin to one owned by Nancy. Both collars had been gifts, which Dan had had custom crafted for their triad's first anniversary; cementing their unique and alternate relationship with as much permanence as society would permit. Emma was absently fingering her collar when an incessant knocking began at the front door and interrupted her peaceful not morning.

Hoping, whoever it was would give up and go away; Mrs. Granger tried to ignore the intrusion but after five unrelenting minutes of knocking, she donned her bathrobe and attended the door; with every intention of indignantly telling the uninvited visitor to piss off—unless it was Nancy. Emma spied through the door's peephole at the distorted image on the other side. Do we know anyone with hair that shade of red? She asked herself.

"Dr. Granger," said the voice of the young man who had been knocking; he had a very polite tone, "I know you are on the other side of the door. It's imperative that I speak to you, Ma'am, and your husband and privacy and propriety dictate I be on the other side of this door to do so: I'm here on behalf of Gringotts."

"Gringotts! What? Why?" She responded with stunned recognition before yelling, "Dan!"

"What is it honey?" Her husband called from upstairs.

"There is someone at the front door from Gringotts," she called in reply.

"Gringotts! What? Why?" Dan shouted in echoed and dumbfounded response before adding, "I'm coming."

Emma, forgetting both her collar and informal attire, opened the door to their visitor. She knew full well that if the man wanted to enter, he'd enter regardless—he had to be a wizard after all—but at least this way she could allow it on her terms. With that minor consolation in mind, she found—there on the other side of the now open door—a man in his early twenties holding himself with casual confidence on their front stoop.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Granger; may I come in?"

"Um . . . well . . . yeah, I suppose Mr. . . .?"

"Weasley, William Weasley," replied the man in the tailored leather jacket and black pants who sported a fang earring, dangling from his left lobe, "I'm a second level curse breaker for Gringotts."

"Without putting too fine of a point on it; Mr. Weasley was it?" Dan said as he descended the stairs; Emma was envious, at least he had had the opportunity to throw on some sweats. "Why would a Gringotts' second level curse breaker—I believe said?—have any business with my wife and I this afternoon; we are non-magical after all."

"Well, it's rather complicated and unprecedented Mr. and Mrs. Granger—without a doubt—but when magic is involved, consequence can be unexpected; hence, I'm here," he replied.

"You really didn't answer my question, young man," Dan challenged in a tone Emma hadn't heard since their Hereford days; it excited her.

"No sir, I haven't," William Weasley replied respectfully, he felt like he was facing his mother; kinda surprising, he thought, considering the man was a muggle and a man at that.

"Very well then, Mr. Weasley; please come in as this obviously falls under your much vaunted Statute of Secrecy, which we agreed to follow; we don't want the neighbors to overhear us now do we?"

"Thank you, Sir," the redhead replied with a quick head bow as he stepped over the threshold. With the young man inside, Emma closed the door. Handsome, she thought, except for that pitiful shade of red hair that has got to go.

"Let's retire to the study, Second Level Curse Breaker Weasley—wasn't it?—would you like some tea or coffee?" Mr. Granger asked.

"No Sir, but thank you Sir—I'm fine Sir," replied the young man; he couldn't understand why but he found himself feeling both nervous and self-conscious in the presence of this muggle.

"Very well then, Emma?" Dan said.

"Master?" Emma responded without thinking, their unexpected visitor having thrown her usually guarded nature into disarray: she blushed; Dan looked surprised.

"Please get me a coffee—and one for yourself if you want—and join us in the study, pet," Mr. Granger said, instinctually falling into the relationship subtleties that his wife's unwitting response had engendered.

"Yes master," William heard Mrs. Granger respond, much to his surprise but the expectation of discretion—required by Gringotts—ensured he did not comment or react: relationship matters were—after all—the prerogative of those within them. Still, he was certain his mother would never refer to his father as 'master', ever, but Mrs. Granger seemed okay with it and didn't appear to suffer from any telltale signs of abuse. In that observation, William Weasley couldn't help but not be curious about Mrs. Granger and, surprisingly, attracted to her at a very feral and fundamental level.

"Mr. Weasley," Dan began with a wry smile, "thank you for recognizing my wife for the very attractive woman that she is but she is mine."

"I'm sorry; I never . . ."

"Nonsense, you did; if you didn't I'd think you're gay but that is irrelevant," Mr. Granger replied with neither jealousy nor anger; the young man found this oddly unnerving, too, "My wife is sexy and desirable but utterly faithful; I'm not threatened when others see her for what she is or acknowledge it. In all honesty, it's an ego boost for me but Emma is not why you are here—that I know—so it must have something to do with our daughter. Please follow me."

"I'm sorry, Sir," he apologized again without really knowing why and followed Mr. Granger. This is a very nice house, he thought, while following his host. Very posh but still very homey; I'm an uninvited visitor but I don't feel unwelcome nor beneath either the home or its owners.

"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley," Daniel Granger invited when they entered the study, "Emma will be with us shortly; we'll begin then."

"Thank you, Sir," William said as he opted for a place on a sofa behind the coffee table; he hadn't been this nervous since being summoned to Professor McGonagall's office at the end of his sixth year and asked to be Head Boy: quite the accomplishment when dealing with a man employed by goblins. His host sat on the loveseat opposite him; soon Mrs. Granger, bearing two mugs of steaming coffee, joined them.

"Thanks honey," Dan said prior to turning his formidable mien back to their young visitor and saying, "So, Mr. Weasley, what can we do for you and—by extension—Gringotts this day. I'm sure you'll understand—with us being non-magical and all—that attention from the wizard's bank is a mite unsettling."

"I would imagine, Sir," the young man deferred.

"Well?" Mr. Granger and Mrs. Granger said as they intently looked on.

"I . . . I'm sorry Sir/Ma'am . . ."

". . . call me Dan; my military days are behind me," Daniel prompted.

"As are mine," Emma said and then added with a playful smile, "but don't call me Dan that might get confusing; I'm Emma."

"As you wish," William Weasley conceded before saying, "It not what you can do for Gringotts but what Gringotts can do for you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger; I've been retained and instructed to ward your places of residence and work."

"Excuse me . . . ward?" Mr. Granger said suspiciously. "What does that mean, beyond my obvious assumptions?"

"Likely what you think Sir . . . Dan," responded the young man, "I've been sent to set up and cast various protective charms and spells."

"Why?" Emma asked, forthrightly and firmly.

"It's standard for homes of vassals to either a Noble, a Noble and Ancient or a Noble and Most Ancient house . . ."

"What did you say?" Dan said very firmly before adding, "Vassal! We are living at the end of the twentieth century, man; how could such an atavistic and medieval office be related to my family?"

"I'm very sorry Sir, it's hard to explain and I haven't been given all the associated information regarding this odd—even to me—turn of events," the young man countered, politely willful. "All I can tell you, Sir/Ma'am, is that your daughter—Hermione Jean Granger—yesterday evening was appointed, by Lord Harry James of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, to vassal of and for House Potter; I know no more."

"Who's this Lord Harry James guy you're talking about Mr. Weasley?" Mr. Granger asked, his tone calmly angry and demanding response; Mrs. Granger's glare made her feelings obvious, "and why would a Lord of any 'House' take interest in our eleven year old daughter; are such things common in your World?"

"Sir/Ma'am," William immediately replied; he understood the Grangers' obvious concern, "you've made an understandable yet erroneous assumption; Lord Harry James Potter is not some dirty old wizard with a preference for young girls but an emancipate minor: he's eleven years old and your daughter's year mate at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"What the hell's an emancipated minor?" Daniel virtually growled.

"It's kinda hard to explain . . ."

". . . so?" Mr. Granger interjected. "I consider my wife and I to be intelligent adults and, although we may be ignorant of things magical, we are communicating in the Queen's English, are we not?"

William Weasley nodded, his nervousness not abating and getting the distinct impression that at close range Mr. Granger would be very dangerous, very dangerous indeed; a glance at Mrs. Granger—bathrobe and odd dog collar et al—saw him recognizing the predator's gleam in her hazel eyes. Who are these people? He asked himself. Their file said they were some sort of muggle tooth healers but I feel like I'm sitting with members of The Nation's Close Guard.

"Then explain," Dan commanded, "If we have questions, we'll ask."

"Yes Sir," the confused curse breaker replied, "I guess . . ."

". . . You guess?" Mrs. Granger interrupted; her tone sounding very much like her husband's.

"Sorry Ma'am," He apologized; not really knowing why, "what I meant to say is that Lord Harry Potter's odd status is similar to what His Royal Highness, Prince William would have if something happened to Her Majesty and his father Prince Charles: he'd technically be King but not old enough to fully ascend to the throne."

"See," Daniel said with a smile, "it wasn't that hard to explain. Hmm . . . Potter you say; why does that name sound familiar?"

"Didn't Hermione mention she'd read some fanciful stories about a fictional boy hero called Harry Potter who's really big in the magical community; supposedly he's real or something," Emma said.

"Oh, yes; now I remember," Dan commented in remembrance, "Harry Potter and the Darkwing Duckling or something like that. I recall her saying the book was very childish and poorly written but that the hero was based off of some boy in history."

William Weasley chuckled.

"Is something funny?" Mr. Granger asked.

"I'm sorry Sir, it's Darkling Dragon not darkwing duckling," he replied. "My baby sister—well, I guess she's not a baby; she starts Hogwarts next year—has all those books; they're the only things she ever reads. And, while I must agree with your daughter's critique, I assure you there is indeed a real Harry Potter behind the stories; he's also called The-Boy-Who-Lived in our world."

"The-Boy-Who-Lived, what kinda name is that for the lad? I sorta feel sorry him if he's got that hung around his neck," commented Dan, offhandedly.

"It relates to a bit of history from about ten years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

"Stop," Daniel said, "you're not here to give us poor non-magic folk a history lesson; so let's get back to business."

"As you wish, Sir," the younger man began, "although why I'm here today does have a direct correlation, although casual connection to that; still, we need not explore that at this time. So, back to my being here today."

"Yes, you said something about wards," Mr. Granger began; he was interrupted by a chiming coming from the young man's jacket pocket, "Your mobile is ringing; do you need to get that?"

"Mobile?" William asked, more to himself than the Grangers. He pulled a small round case, which reminded Emma and Dan of a woman's compact, from his pocket and opened it.

"Curse Breaker Weasley," a harsh voice rose from the case.

"Third Chronicler Griphook, how may I help you this profitable day?"

"Are you with the Grangers?"

"Yes Third Chronicler."

"Are you secure?"

"I believe so."

"Ask if I can come over please," the voice inquired abruptly.

"I guess it's okay," Dan said and Emma nodded in agreement, having overheard—they were both getting a little thrill from having visitors with Emma just wearing her collar and bathrobe. "Who's—third chronicler was it?—Griphook, your boss?"

"Not exactly, he retained our services on your behalf . . ."

". . . Would've liked to have been asked first," Mr. Granger muttered before saying, "When should we expect him, Mr. Weasley?"

William Weasley stared at Mr. Granger, blankly, for a moment before remembering he was dealing with muggles, he looked back at the case in his hand and said, "They said you may come over sir."

"Portkey beacon number, Mr. Weasley," replied the gravelly voice from the compact.

"1x4x9, Third Chronicler," he replied.

"Is there clear passage or do you need to relocate?"

"I'd best relocate, Sir," he said before turning back to the Grangers and asking, "May we use your foyer?"

"I suppose," Daniel replied.

"Thank you, Sir," he said and stood. He left the study and returned to the foyer; the Grangers followed.

"You might find this a little surprising, Sir/Ma'am," William said once they were in the foyer; remembering they were muggles with a first year witch for a daughter this time, before saying to his compact, "It's clear for you to come through, Third Chronicler."

'Come through . . .?" Emma said in little more than a whisper.

Startled by a sudden—and rather loud—'pop', the Grangers stared when Griphook appeared about two feet above the floor and gracefully dropped to his feet; they were stunned: they hadn't expected a goblin. The new arrival hastily checked his surroundings, then turned to the Grangers and—of all things—genuflected. Curse Breaker Weasley, knowing that in matters of protocol and propriety one should always follow a goblin's lead, followed suite.

"Milady; Milord Regents, Captain and Major Granger," Griphook began, "on behalf of Gringotts, The Nation and The People and as Gringotts' Majordomo for the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Potter and Black, I do formally congratulate House Granger on their elevation to peerage in the august assemblage of Her Majesty's Wizengamot."

With his introduction aside, the goblin Griphook presented an embossed golden scroll tube to Emma, the embossment spelled out 'Granger'. Dan and his wife eyed the object with suspicion before Emma uncapped it; she tipped out a parchment. With her husband by her shoulder, she unrolled the scroll and read:

The NOBLE HOUSE of GRANGER

September the First, Common Era 1991

Providence and fealty and virtue hath combined and appointed unto the most august and venerable body of peerage, loyal to The Crown, The Family Granger's daughter Hermione Jean Granger as Matriarch to The Noble House (Matriarchal) Granger and, until such time—if ever—she or her line betray the reigning sovereign, grants unto her and her heirs the title of Lady with all duties and privileges as assigned and The Seat Granger within The Wizengamot: so mote it be.

Lady Hermione Jean Granger, having secured the favor—through honorable and dignified means—of both the Noble and Most Ancient Family Black (Scion Designate) and the Noble and Most Ancient Family Potter (Lord) is sponsored, presented and ascended to her place by virtue of compact and ceded powers to the Four Families on behalf of The Crown as proscribed by The Statute of Secrecy, Common Era 1226.

The Matriarchal Proxy and Lady Regent Emma Joan Granger (1991-1996)

Lord Regent, Emeritus, Daniel Richard Granger

THE LADY MATRIARCH, HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER (1991, 1996-xxxx)

"IS THIS SOMEONE'S IDEA OF A BAD FUCKING JOKE!" Daniel Granger roared; a sentiment shared by his wife.

"Most assuredly not, Lady Regent Granger/Lord Regent Granger," replied Griphook, propriety demanding he place Emma first in any address; the Grangers were glaring at him: if he hadn't been a goblin it would have been quite unnerving; Curse Breaker Weasley did not have a goblin's fortitude that was amusingly obvious to Griphook.

Emma Granger, absently, passed the scroll to the younger man before she and her husband turned in time and strode back to their study. William Weasley glanced at the scroll and couldn't help but feel a touch envious by what he read: A new seat in the Wizengamot and ceded to a muggle family no less, he thought, and it's Matriarchal too boot; that's going to raise some hackles I bet.

"Curse Breaker Weasley," Griphook's tone belied his age, which William knew was young by goblin standards for a senior or sensitive position; he'd have to ask about that when he got back to the bank, discretely.

"Yes Third Chronicler, or should I be addressing you as Majordomo, Sir?"

"In private, please call me Griphook; everywhere else as Third Chronicler," Griphook replied, "but what's more important is your sudden inclusion in matters being overseen by two Vaultlords and Overlord Ragnok himself. Needless to say, this matter is of paramount importance to The People and requires the utmost in discretion; do you understand, Curse Breaker Weasley?"

"I do, Third Chronicler."

"Very well then," Griphook said with a nod of acknowledgement, "let us join our Lady and Lord; one final thing, Weasley."

"Yes Third Chronicler?"

"As you saw, House Granger is matriarchal," the goblin said; William nodded, "propriety dictates that first addresses be given to the Lady Regent Proxy and then her husband; do you understand?"

"I do Third Chronicler."

With another nod of acknowledgement, Griphook turned on his heel and stepped towards the door the Grangers had passed through; William Weasley followed, a touch overwhelmed by his inclusion in a meeting so important that he'd likely never see its like again. On the goblin's heels, he crossed the floor and entered the study. The former and more casual atmosphere earlier experienced was now gone; this feeling made doubly clear when, upon returning to the study, he saw Mr. Granger sitting behind the desk as Mrs. Granger stood alertly just behind her husband's right shoulder: their deportment as changed as the room's atmosphere. How can they both look like they're wearing formal dress robes dressed like that, he thought about the odd juxtaposition presented before him. Especially Mrs.—I mean—Lady Granger; she's wearing just a bathrobe—I can tell—and that collar of hers. Damn, she's one hot woman: I wonder what her daughter looks like or will look like when she's older. Stop it Bill, your thoughts are entirely inappropriate to the situation. He silently chastised himself.

"Gentleman," Mr. Granger said when the Gringotts' delegates entered, "please have a seat." His eyes gestured to the chairs in front of the desk.

"Lady Regent," Griphook began and bowed, he didn't sit; nor did William Weasley.

"Why are you addressing me when my husband is sitting at the desk, Majordomo—I believe you said—Griphook," Emma challenged, there was no denying she was a human not to be trifled with; the goblin found it refreshing, "Is that not rather rude of you or do goblins have different manners?"

Her tone, manner and accusations were uncalled for and ignorantly acrimonious; it took the young goblin some real self-control to avoid allowing his ire to show although a bit crept into his voice when he answered.

"I intend no disrespect to your husband; he is Lord Regent—albeit in emeritus—after all but . . ."

". . . but what?" Emma Granger interrupted.

"Since the Noble House of Granger is matriarchal," Griphook replied a little more forcefully than he should have, "propriety dictates that I address you, the Lady Regent Proxy, first. I'm sorry if this counters the . . . um . . . unique dynamics of your home or spousal relations, Milady."

"What do you mean by 'unique dynamics'?" Emma asked, angrily curious.

"I understand the significance of the adornment at your neck, Milady, but in these matters; we must set them aside," he carefully answered as William's eyes shifted from Griphook to Mr. Granger and then to the collar Mrs. Granger wore.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged glances that were undeniably amorous. This whole thing—regardless of its obvious importance—is making me so fucking horny that I want to put Emma over the desk and brutally fuck her into unconsciousness: we'll not be hiding this one from Nancy, like we did regarding Hermione being witch; it's way too big. Dan mentally monologued but stood, nevertheless; offering Emma the chair, she sat in his place.

"Gentlemen," she echoed Dan's invitation, "please have a seat."

"Thank you, Lady Regent," Griphook and William replied almost at the same time. They sat before the desk.

From his place, now standing behind Emma's right shoulder, Dan began critically analyzing the situation before him; he had no quarrel with his wife's ability to handle this meeting: it was one of the things, which had drawn him to her in the first place; she was exceptionally confident, intelligent and logical. Overall, Mr. Granger was proud of his ladies, all his ladies; they were witty, able and clever with only Hermione lacking confidence but she was still young—like this young man Weasley who'd been obviously thrust into events above his station or experience. Amused, Dan almost chuckled when he saw the young Gringotts' curse breaker take a furtive glance at Emma's breasts; his wife's nipples stood proudly erect for the world to see and it was obvious that this odd turn of events were making her hot as well. We are one strange family, Dan thought, but since our visitors aren't our neighbors, patients or associates, so we're both reveling in a little exhibitionism; I wish Nancy was here, I bet Emma does too.

"Very well then, Mr. Griphook," Emma began, "please explain why we are here this afternoon under what is unequivocally a very strange happenstance."

"Lady Regent . . ."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd not call me that," Emma interjected.

"Very well then, Captain Granger . . ."

"Or that," Emma said with a frown, "my name is Emma but if you must be all stuffy and formal call me either Doctor or Mrs. Granger; Mrs. is best, since Doctor might lead to confusion when speaking to us."

"As you wish Mrs. Granger."

"Thank you Mr. Griphook or should that be Majordomo?"

"As I'm not precisely human; I'd prefer if you'd not use human honorifics, they are meaningless to me," the goblin replied. "As for Majordomo? Well, I prefer the efficiency of just Griphook."

"Very well then Griphook, kindly explain what is going on; in as few words as possible," Emma candidly instructed.

"United Kingdom's magical community—specifically its witches and wizards—is standing on the brink of an abyss and is about to blindly step over the edge," Griphook said in his opening salvo.

The Grangers looked at the goblin with curiosity; William Weasley looked like someone who just had the rug pulled out from under his feet.

"That's a pretty damning statement, Griphook," Emma challenged, "and while I'd like to say 'How is that my problem?' I must consider my daughter's future. My husband and I would appreciate a deeper explanation and, from the looks of your coworker, I'd say he would too—can I offer you a bourbon or something Mr. Weasley, you look like you could use one."

"No . . . no thank-you Ma'am," the young man replied, although he didn't know what a 'bourbon' was or why he might want one; he sure wished he could have a shot of firewhisky about now because he knew it was impossible for a goblin to over-exaggerate and Griphook had just shattered everything he thought he knew and believed.

Griphook looked at his young associate, grimly, and shook his head; he replied. "About ten years ago, the UK's magical community was under siege by a man known only as Lord Voldemort—self-proclaimed no doubt, we (as in Gringotts) would've know otherwise—and a small group of followers called Deatheaters . . ."

"Deatheaters? That's rather lame isn't it?" Dan commented in his wife's stead but he knew she was thinking it.

"Indeed," agreed Griphook, "but please let me continue."

The Grangers nodded in unison.

"He and his associates (extremists, all of them) were gathered under the banner of 'Pureblood Supremacy' and sought to redress—as they saw it—the erosion of their time-honored traditions and waning power (magic and otherwise), which was being caused—again, as they saw it—by an ever increasing number of magicals of non-magical descent entering their world."

"Like our daughter," Emma commented.

"Exactly Mrs. Granger," Griphook agreed, "but let me continue."

"Go ahead," prompted Mrs. Granger.

"All this came to a sudden end—no, that's wrong; a ceasefire would be more apt—almost ten years ago," the goblin said, "when our self-styled Lord Voldemort, after murdering the boy's parents, turned his wand on the fifteen month old Harry Potter and tried to kill him . . ."

". . . Fifteen months old!" Emma was incensed, "he tried to kill a baby—was he a monster?"

Dan rested a calming hand on Emma's shoulder and said softly, "Emma, let him finish."

"Sorry Griphook, I allowed myself to be overcome with anger, please continue," Apologized Mrs. Granger, "it's obvious this Voldemort . . . Mr. Weasley are you cold? You shivered."

"No Ma'am; sorry Ma'am."

"Please excuse my young associate, Mrs. And Mr. Granger," Griphook said, "witches and wizard are—for the most part—sorely lacking in fortitude; it is why this 'He-who-must-not-be-named' or, if you prefer, 'You-know-who' was as successful as he was."

"You're talk'n 'bout this Lord Voldemort guy I take it?" Emma asked to ensure they were on the same page; William Weasley flinched, she saw it. "That's quite the conditioned response there, Mr. Weasley. Griphook, is your young associate's reaction typical? You seem to be made of sterner stuff."

Griphook nodded and said, "I'm a goblin Lady Regent . . ."

"Tsk, tsk Majordomo," the human woman said, teasingly; Griphook was beginning to really like Mrs. Granger and was thankful he'd thoroughly reviewed their files prior to meeting her or her husband: they had an interesting history for dentists. Too bad Weasley hadn't, he might've been better prepared for the Grangers—Bah, typical wizard shortsightedness when dealing with non-magical folk, Griphook thought mercilessly as he glanced at the young curse breaker, essentially now under his care. I hope he's a fast learner and grows a backbone; I really don't want to have to weld his spine together.

"Sorry, I'm a goblin Mrs. Granger and will not flinch at the mere mention of a name." Griphook repeated; before doing something very astounding, for a goblin: he grinned at Emma Granger and then asked, "If I may be bold, can I ask you a question?"

"You may but I won't promise to answer."

"Understandable," the goblin replied, "I'd say the same but what I'm curious about is why, after your and Mr. Granger's initial response, you're both so calm now?"

"If I may, Emma?" Dan asked, his wife nodded. "Gringotts seems to know more about my wife and me than we'd have thought, or like for that matter; you did address us by our former ranks on introducing yourself. This suggests you have access to at least the public information found in non-magical society: am I correct?"

"Allow me to be blunt Captain; Major," the goblin said, "When you, your husband and your daughter first did business with us we opened the 'Granger' file."

"Understandable, Griphook," Emma quipped.

"Unlike the Ministry for Magic, we open a sub-file of basic information regarding a child's parents—we actually care about such things," Griphook advised. "Usually after a quick review, the parental file is never referenced again unless certain flags are triggered."

"I take it that was either because we are either Doctors or because of our former military experience," Dan observed.

"No sir, such things generally do not concern us."

"Then why were we flagged?" Emma nearly demanded.

"It's because of the regiment you served," Griphook answered before delivering his second salvo, "We have since reviewed your service records—all your service records, Mrs. And Mr. Granger."

". . . When you say all, what exactly do you mean by that?" Mrs. Granger quietly asked, her voice turning deadly serious; she and Dan needed to be certain: things had taken a categorically dangerous and highly sensitive turn and they had both heard how the goblin emphasized 'all'.

"Exactly what it sounds like Lady; Lord Regents . . ."

". . . How?" Mr. Granger asked and then took a quick glance at the attentive but silent young man sitting beside the goblin; Griphook understood the meaning of the glance.

"Fear not, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, my young companion is sworn by his magic and is unable to reveal Gringotts' secrets," he assured.

"What of our secrets?" Emma asked as she took a sidelong glance at William Weasley, herself; the young man was beginning to look very uncomfortable.

"Your secrets are our secrets, rest assured; Weasley's oath—or oath by any wizard in Gringotts' employ, for that matter—binds him on risk of losing their magic should his tongue's ever loosen."

"And goblins in Gringotts employ?" Daniel asked.

"Any goblin who breaks his oath—even accidentally—is fed to a dragon, Lady; Lord Regents," Griphook answered flatly, a tone leaving no doubt of his sincerity.

"Pretty harsh," Emma casually commented before continuing, "but back to my husband's question; how?"

"Quite simply Lady Granger . . ."

". . . Majordomo?" Mrs. Granger's tone made her point with the one word.

"I'm sorry, Emma," Griphook replied a bit stiffly, the woman's smile showed how much she preferred the informal address. "Witches and wizards and, by extension, their government believe that they need not concern themselves with—and excuse the word—muggles because they feel that such creatures are beneath them."

"Creatures?" Echoed the Grangers; their eyes bore into the wizard beside their goblin guest.

"Unfortunately so; I never said witches and wizards were bright did I?" the goblin jabbed and twisted his metaphorical dagger with another grin. William Weasley winced, he knew goblins didn't care much for humans—magical humans anyways—but Griphook's interaction with these muggles was more akin to the way goblins deal with each other: he was growing more confused, but more educated, by the minute.

"No you didn't," Dan replied with a grin before becoming deadly serious, "I'd still like to know how you got our service records, though; there is some highly sensitive and confidential material in them: material bound by The Official Secrets Act, I might add."

"We asked for them, Mr. Granger," was the goblin's simple reply, "we—as in The Nation and The People—are oath-sworn to the Crown; so are those who work for the Ministry for Magic and the Wizengamot: while we've remembered our oaths, they haven't; most witches and wizards don't even pay attention to the words within their pledge. By doing so, they have created a rift between magical and non-magical England brought on by their feelings of so-called 'superiority'; that rift is about to slam shut and they won't even know what hit them when it does. The Crown is losing patience with Her magical subjects and has taken steps to redress this issue. The Nation is an active partner, surreptitiously mind you, in this redress but if we can't subtly redirect the course that the Wizengamot and the Ministry has charted—whether through ignorance or conscious intent—the Crown will force a course correction: that wouldn't be good for anyone."

"Just curious, Third Chronicler but how?" William Weasley had found his voice once more, "They're just muggles . . ."

Griphook scowled at the young curse breaker, the goblin's message was clear.

"I'm sorry, Third Chronicler," he rapidly back peddled.

"Don't apologize to me, Weasley; apologize to our hosts, the Lady and Lord Regents Granger." Griphook commanded

"I'm sorry my Lord and Lady Regents, I apologize for what was essentially a slur," William honestly said, "Please forgive me, I've just had a lot of things I thought I knew upended."

"It's understandable Bill—may I call you Bill?" Emma asked; the young man nodded his head. "Minus the slur—which my husband and I never really thought of—our young friend seems to have a point: witches and wizards have magic, the Crown or its agents do not; Bill's 'how' bears repeating."

"Magic will not stop a bullet, Emma," the goblin responded, "and about having magic; let me pose a question to my young friend here so that you might better understand."

Emma and Dan nodded, obviously inquisitive.

"How many witches and wizards of non-magical descent did you go to school with, Weasley?"

"I'd say at least as many as those of magical descent, whether half or full blood, Third Chronicler."

"How many of them do you see now?"

"I see a couple of them every now and then; I've never really paid attention mind you."

"A couple 'every now and then' you say," Griphook said, William Weasley nodded, "Where are the rest?"

The young man looked blank for a moment but then replied, "I . . . I don't rightly know Third Chronicler; I've never really thought about it."

"Emma and Dan, I believe you're getting the point better than my young friend is, I can see it in your eyes," the goblin said, "Can you answer the question?"

"They return to the non-magical—or, as Mr. Weasley prefers, muggle—society and live here," Emma said, "and, if I'm reading this correctly; many start working for the Crown."

Griphook nodded and then asked, "What do you suppose happens to magically gifted children begot from these magicals in the Crown's employ, Weasley?"

"I . . . I don't know. Actually, come to think of it, I haven't met very many second generation witches or wizards, either."

"Let me see if I've got this straight, Griphook," Dan said. "Every year, a significant number of magicals—upon graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—disappear from the magical community and it isn't even noticed?"

"Unfortunately, that pretty much sums it up Dan," Griphook replied. "Of course we at Gringotts notice it and are beginning to suffer from a bloat of inactive vaults because of it."

"Just close them," Emma said, "if that's a problem."

"Our charter, which is enforced by magic, prevents us from taking such actions," the goblin said with resignation, "a vault may be transferred, consolidated or closed upon the key-holder's request but we can't arbitrarily close one. To date, Gringotts has approximately fifteen thousand vaults that are classified inactive; many of these date from no later than the 1950s."

"While this is all informative, Griphook, we've strayed from what is important in the here and now," Emma said, reigning in the tangential course their conversation had taken, "and as to why we're taking this all so well and unflustered; it comes from experience. Dan and I know just how off course even a well thought out plan may go and after the initial 'What the fuck!' stage we know how to focus on what's important; sometimes humor is part of that and sometimes it's resignation but neither mean we're taking things lightly."

"I had thought as much," Griphook said with a nod, "Goblins do much the same: panic is deadly. As a warrior race we know this instinctual while humans," he glanced at the young curse breaker beside him, "well magical humans anyways have real problems when things go South on them."

Emma and Dan nodded knowingly; William Weasley was looking confused.

"It's not just our magical brethren, Griphook, but people in general," Emma said, hoping to mollify the young man looking very lost; she was beginning to feel sorry for him and was beginning to pity the goblins who must deal with his ilk.

"Yes, I suppose that is true, too," the goblin conceded.

"So, Griphook," Emma's commanding tone directed, "How did me and my husband gain peerage in Her Majesty's wizy-yukity-muckity, thingy?"

"Wizengamot," Griphook politely said; reasonably certain Emma was being droll, "Our young Lord Potter misspoke the Rite of Protection with the Rite of Petition, we think; we've yet to receive any communication from him one way or another."

"What is the purpose of these 'rites' and why would they be applied to our daughter?" Emma asked.

"That leads us back to the sorry state of affairs dominating the UK's magical humans," the goblin replied.

"Explain," Mrs. Granger almost ordered; William Weasley was surprised when Griphook just took it in stride; with nary a scowl nor blink.

"After we reviewed your records, Mrs. And Mr. Granger, we thought we should review your daughter's with more than casual scrutiny; an almost prophetic—goblins hate prophecy, by the way—interest for Gringotts' to take, I might add," he said.

"And?" Dan and Emma said in unison.

"Your daughter is perhaps the smartest witch to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry since Lilly Evans; who was also of non-magical descent, by the way," Griphook stated, "and like Ms. Evans, may equal or exceed Rowena Ravenclaw's intellect—one of Hogwarts' Founders and known for her intelligence."

"We know Hermione is smart and I guess if you have access to our—less than public—records, our daughter's records wouldn't be that hard to attain," Dan said, "but who is Lilly Evans and what does she have to do with our daughter?"

"Lilly Evans became Lady Lilly Potter; she is Lord Potter's mother," replied the goblin. "Goblins aren't fond of coincidence either."

"So?" once more, the Grangers spoke together.

"Lord Potter—although not your daughter's intellectual equal—is perhaps the most powerful wizard in England, today, and we suspect your daughter approaches the same level," Griphook said; once more William Weasley was looking rather stunned. "We suspect—as in Gringotts; the Ministry is as inept and as ignorant as usual—that the difference between young Lord Harry and young Lady Hermione is negligible at best: he has the raw power; she has the raw focus; the results will be the same when all is said and done. Somehow, these two exceptional children—even before their very first day at Hogwarts ended—have been brought together and have grown close enough for young Harry to extend his family's protection to your daughter and to you—Mrs. And Mr. Granger—by extension."

"Why?" The Grangers again asked as one; making Griphook aware of how deeply linked these two humans were; it seemed almost magical.

"I suspect your daughter has already been exposed to and has become the target of the bigotry that is rife within the magical community," answered the goblin. "Young Lord Potter must have seen this and sought to protect her as best he could—again, this is speculation but I know Harry, it's a fairly safe assumption."

"You just referred to a 'Lord' in a rather casual manner, Griphook; I'm surprised." Emma said, Griphook smiled again: there'd be no pulling the wool over her eyes and he was certain the same applied to Mr. Granger—truly worthy of the nobility thrust upon them, the goblin thought and added with a mental smirk; the Wizengamot won't know what hit them when the Grangers and Harry take their seats.

"I became very close to young Lord Potter over the latter half of the summer, Milady and Lord Regent," he replied. "I have my position thanks to him and another unintended bout of ignorance on his part; it has been quite profitable for both of us—especially me—I'm quite young by goblin standards but have gained a position that many of my seniors are quite envious about but that is neither here nor there."

"You've yet to answer 'why?' Griphook," the Grangers reminded.

"Yes, well back to that . . ."

". . . we're waiting," again, the Grangers spoke in sync—it was becoming unsettling, even for the goblin.

"As I said, this all links back to the current state of affairs in the magical community that are at the heart of Her Majesty's displeasure," the goblin retorted. "With that said, a number of your daughter's and Lord Potter's year-mates are the spawn of those Death Eaters I mentioned earlier who escaped justice by means of the strategic application of Galleons, favors and lies."

"Bribery and blackmail—the power of pull; I get it: the so called magical world is rife with corruption," Dan offhandedly commented irritably, "I'd not care but we've sent our daughter into that . . . that fucked up bit of nepotistic parliamentarism: had we known . . ."

"Although I have no children yet, I think I can understand how you must feel," Griphook commiserated, "goblins are generally seen as less than mudbloods."

"Mudbloods!" Dan growled, "I do not like the sound of that; there is no way such a term could be anything but derogatory and insulting in the extreme."

"Unfortunately, Dan," the goblin said, "that is the attitude of those who weaseled—sorry Weasley—out of the consequences for their actions during Lord Voldemort's reign of terror and their spawn. This year, a number of these individuals have issue in attendance at Hogwarts, as well."

"Just wonderful," Emma commented, "bigoted and backwards; somebody left out a lot of prudent details before we signed Hermione's permission and enrollment forms. Tell me Griphook; are we dealing with willful ignorance, simple ignorance or were we outrightly lied to?"

"I can't answer that, Lady Regent . . ."

". . . Majordomo," Mrs. Granger said, her tone being borderline angry.

"I'm sorry, Emma," Griphook apologized. "Nevertheless, Lord Potter sought to protect your daughter but inadvertently did more; hence your family's elevation."

"How can one boy—emancipate minor aside—elevate a family to peerage on his own?" Dan asked.

"It's because of the way certain magical families—four specifically—were ceded rights by the Crown in exchange for supporting the then sovereign in matters that divided magical Britain from non-magical Britain," the goblin replied.

"Continue," prompted the Grangers.

"These four were tasked with the job to set up a governing body—loyal to the crown—for magicals so as to remove them and their 'unnatural' influence over the governance of the majority and non-magical peoples of Britain," Griphook said. "To set up the first house—later to be known as the Wizengamot—these four families were allowed to grant magical fiefdoms. Land wasn't part of these feudal appointments, hence houses—specifically manors, with a few acres to support the named families—providing that at least two of the four were in agreement."

"Carry on," Emma prompted, by herself this time.

"This appointment that allowed them to grant magical fiefdoms was never rescinded by the Crown and over time, as magical and non-magical England grew further apart, it was forgotten about," Griphook continued. "Into this forgotten and archaic bit of jurisprudence steps Harry Potter who's not only the eldest and sole surviving member of House Potter but is also the Scion Designate to House Black as well: Houses Potter and Black are two of the four families able to grant magical fiefdoms. Therefore, since the current Lord of House Black is residing in Azkaban—the wizards' prison—the family's headship falls to the next in line; hence Harry Potter is in essence also Harry Black and the defacto head of a second Noble and Most Ancient House."

William Weasley was beyond stunned by this little bit of information.

"He petitioned and then seconded his own presentation for peerage; I get it but aren't there any means for the remaining members of your government to protest such an arbitrarily method of election?" Dan asked, politics was his thing, not Emma's.

"Your presentation was followed—well I guess followed is not exactly right, things happened pretty much at the same time, actually—by a valid second from A Noble and Most Ancient House. As magic exists out of time, it didn't sense the interval—regardless of how short or long it might be—usually reserved to vest and investigate a nominee, from presentation to elevation; it only senses the accession vote.

"Could it be stopped?"

"The Wizengamot has the right to challenge ascension but there has to be at least one fully vested Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House available to present the argument. Since this matter—essentially—was granted in private by two Lords of Noble and Most Ancient House and if no one presents you to the Wizengamot in less than thirty days, it stands."

"Just to clarify," Emma began, "as long as no one reports our elevation in the next month; they'll have to accept us without recourse?"

"Essentially correct and since the only current and emancipated head of a Noble and Most Ancient House—proxies and regents don't count—is Harry it falls to Harry to present the Petition of Contention and call for a vote of Elevation. Of course, there is one minor side issue, which is: while recognizing Harry as the emancipated head of a Noble and Most Ancient House he can't take his seat until he's seventeen and therefore can't submit the petition, anyways."

"That sounds like a way to engender a lot of animosity, Griphook," Emma said.

Griphook answered, "Undoubtedly, Emma; young Lord Harry seems to be standing in the eye of a storm that will either remake wizarding society in England or leave it in ruins."

"And into the midst of this . . . umm . . . reformation, we've sent our daughter and—from the way things sound—she may well become the reformist's right hand: all this in less than a day," Emma stated then firmly stated, "When can we meet Lord Harry James Potter, Griphook?"

"Since all this has come up, we hope to meet with Lord Potter as soon as this weekend," Griphook replied, "we were going suggest that Lady Hermione accompany him—providing her guardians allow it, of course. As a vassal to Lord Potter and his House she's most certainly welcome to attend. By the way, I suspect you two might be asked to become Harry's non-magical guardians; we'd like to remove him from his current family where he's been physicality and mentally abused since he arrived there."

"Why us?" Dan asked, "It's not like we know the kid or his parents or anything like that. Hell, we haven't even met him yet and you're asking if we'd be willing to become the boy's guardians—that feels kinda rushed if you ask me."

"We're not asking for an answer today but for your open minds," Griphook answered, "and yes, this is rather rushed—goblins are all about efficiency—and since we've very few dealings with non-magicals, Dan, we seek to investigate an option we couldn't entertain before. For the most part—if this brings you some consolation—Harry would be your ward on paper only as The Nation is fully prepared to train and care for him, you'd only see him during his arrivals and departures to Hogwarts to maintain an image of guardianship."

"What if we like him?" Emma asked, "would he be allowed to stay here?"

"Emma . . ." Dan said with a hint of displeasure; he knew Emma had wanted another child but this was far too hurried for his liking.

"If you liked him then that's all the better for Harry," the goblin replied. "He'd learn a lot living in a loving home, proclivities aside; it might be confusing at first but anything is better than the status quo."

"What about a magical family?" Dan added.

"There are plenty of magical families that would gladly take him but we want him to maintain a solid connection to non-magical England because of the position he's being groomed; he'll need that insight and those allies."

"A little young to be groomed wouldn't you say Griphook." Emma challenge, "How will this Lord Harry feel when he finds out he's a pawn in a grander game, hmm?

"He already knows," Griphook responded to the Granger's surprise, "but he's more bishop than pawn—if we're using chess references—because he has a voice in all this. If your daughter remains by his side, she'll likely be the other bishop; that is until they're promoted to king and queen, respectively—metaphorically speaking of course."

"Have you thought to ask how we feel Majordomo Griphook or our daughter," Dan said with anger.

"We cannot force you to do something out of your character but right now you need to understand this," he replied firmly. "No matter how good your daughter is, no matter how many OWLs and NEWTs she achieves at an outstanding level; she'll always be second best to any pureblood who wants the same thing she does; job, home, etc . . ."

Emma and Dan glared at Griphook before Emma said, "that's one pretty biased society you're running there."

"Goblins value skill and ability over nepotism and graft," the goblin said with a scowl, "but we have no say in how humans run their government and they'd not listen or ask for our insight because we're filthy goblins. What is pathetically amusing is that these oh so superior witches and wizards blindly leave their wealth with us; never considering just how much power that gives us. If we weren't avowed to the crown, we could bring the magical community to its knees in mere days."

"Let me get this straight," Dan began, "the magical community has its head so far up its own collective arse that it doesn't realize their economy is completely and utterly in the hands of people who don't even rate second class in their opinion: perhaps you should just let them implode into a vacuum of their own stupidity."

Griphook laughed, a first for William Weasley or just about any magical to see.

"Emma and Dan," Griphook said as he recovered, "I think we'll be very good friends and I think my seniors and overlord will like you too."

Emma glanced at the young Mr. Weasley and saw a man ripped from everything he thought was precious or known; feeling sorry for him, she said, "William, I believe you came to protect our residence. So, let me dress in something a little more comfortable and I'll show you around. Dan, I imagine you and Griphook can amuse yourselves in our absence."

"Of course Emma," Dan concurred and then noticed an almost conspiratorial little nod from Griphook.

"I'll meet you in the foyer, William—or would you prefer Bill?" she asked.

"Either's fine Mrs. Granger," he replied.

"Bill then," she said on rising from the desk and with a brief nod to Griphook she said, "by your leave Griphook."

"As you wish Milady," he responded as Emma crossed the study and exited.

"Weasley," Griphook barked.

"Third Chronicler?"

"What ward schemes have you planned?"

"Standard level three, Third Chronicler."

"Increase them to level five," Griphook instructed.

"Level five, Third Chronicler?"

"Can you do it?"

"I believe so but I'll need a level five power rune, I only brought a three and I can't sign out anything higher yet. I know I can design and set the arrays but request that either a level three curse breaker or a level two warder review my work before powering the array—especially a level five matrix."

"Do you not trust your work, Bill?" Dan asked.

"I do sir but I can still might make a mistake and an improperly set array can result in serious consequences. I doubt your neighbors would appreciate me leveling their homes, even in error, so it's best if I receive certification from someone more experienced," William replied. "I'd rather do my peacock strut after a success as opposed to before a failure; especially if I want to continue to work as a curse breaker at Gringotts, sir."

"If you're a curse breaker, why are you doing . . . um . . . wardings I guess sums it up?" Mr. Granger asked.

"A curse breakers job is to bypass wardings and protective curses." The young man replied, "The easiest way to learn how such things work is to learn how to set arrays and matrices, in the first place; every curse breaker spends two to three years in warding practice before curses are even introduced."

"Thank you Bill that was quite informative, but you'd best get to the foyer; my wife hates to be kept waiting," he told the young man.

"Yes sir," William Weasley said and rose to his feet; he glanced at Griphook.

"You're dismissed Weasley," the goblin said.

"By your will, Third Chronicler," the young man responded with a nod before leaving the study; Dan took Emma's former place behind the desk.

"Now that your young associate has been given over to the tender mercies of my wife, let us speak a little freer, Griphook," Dan said, "I suspect there are things that you'd prefer to speak of in the hearing range of a witch or wizard."

"It's as you say, Dan," the goblin concurred, "and while Weasley is well and truly bound; he is too young, ignorant and inexperienced to fully understand the implications of many things now standing on the horizon for England's magical community: it's not really his fault but I can't afford to ignore it."

"Is his attitude typical of most magicals?"

"Young Weasley is actually quite liberal for a wizard but he still grew up and was educated in a society believing English non-magical society remains as it was in the latter half of the nineteenth century," Griphook explained, "a rather understandable misunderstanding considering that's exactly where English magical society currently stands, socially anyways."

"Just wonderful," Dan sighed, "a Victorian, misogynist, stratified caste based and prejudicial society. Tell me Griphook, why did we send our Hermione into that?"

"Were you told what would happen if you declined your daughter's Hogwarts invitation, Mr. Granger?"

"Not that I can remember but, then again, the day Minerva McGonagall dropped her little bombshell regarding witches, wizards and magic went by in a bit of a haze; so who can say?"

"I can and will, now; she didn't," the goblin replied.

"Why?"

Griphook scowled and replied, "They—as in the Ministry for Magic—don't think muggle parents are smart enough to make decisions for their magical children . . ."

". . . that's kinda insulting," Dan commented dangerously.

"Gringotts concurs, Dan, but who listens to goblins?"

Mr. Granger smiled fraternally before asking, "So, had we said no; what would've happened?"

"Usually, your daughter's magical ability would've been sealed and all your family's memories about magic would've been wiped."

"They'd do that?" Mr. Granger hissed as he glared, his anger becoming an almost physical thing contained by his will alor. I'm glad Weasley's not here for this, Griphook thought less than charitably, I think he'd soil himself by just being in Dan's presence right now and Mr. Granger isn't even magical. If his daughter only inherits a fraction of her father's bearing, she's going to be one scary witch—another Lilly Potter perhaps?—and someone The Nation will not want as an enemy. Goldenfangonce told me that of all the witches he'd ever met only one ever made him feel anything akin to fear and that was Lilly Potter when she was angry. The Grangers and their daughter seem poised to manage the same feat; we cannot afford to let others court an alliance with this family. We must put Family Potter and Family Granger together for the sake of The Nation and for the sake of magical England; I doubt betrothal contracts are the way to go, though, the mere mention of such could well result in emasculated goblin—not good for one's career or family line.

"Yes, Mr. Granger; without a second thought, although it's possible that an unspeakable would rewrite her memories and make her the daughter—for all intents—of someone in the Department of Mysteries: they'd be most eager to claim and study a witch of such potential," Griphook replied. "Well, that neither here nor there since you did sign off on your daughter's paperwork but we should still consider finding her a less influential magical guardian as soon as possible—The Nation has a few issues with Albus Dumbledore. We prefer keeping him at arm's length: a giant's arm that is—from our day to day operations, which banking is but a part of."

"So, what are Gringotts day to day operations then?" Dan said with a wry smile. "Trying to topple the Ministry for Magic, are we?"

"The Ministry does not need The Nation's help to topple over—it's pretty wobbly on its own." Griphook answered, "Are you familiar with the—excuse the term—muggle game of Jenga?"

"That's the one where you slip a block out of a tower of blocks and then try to restack it on to; if I remember correctly, the person who makes the last successful move before it collapses wins, right?"

"Jenga unfortunately describes Wizarding's society too accurately and the tower is very unstable because many of the blocks—magicals of non-magical descent to be precise—aren't being put back in the tower; their absence is undermining the tower's foundations, since only a few old blocks are now supporting it."

"Interesting analogy, Griphook, but I see the point your making," Dan commented, "the so called Ministry of Magic, by denying placement for people like Hermione, is building a government that doesn't see the holes in its own foundations and eventual it will all collapse under its own weight. But let me ask you, Griphook, is that a bad thing?"

"Marshalling chaos is difficult—if not well-nigh impossible—and Gringotts really doesn't wish to operate in a climate of anarchy," the goblin said. "So to avoid that, we're actively recruiting people who may be able to steer this magical but socially inept, short sighted and arrogant juggernaut into a better course; lest the fools perish from the implosion—so succinctly as you put it earlier Dan—of their own skulls because of their vacuous heads."

"So, Griphook," Daniel said with a conspiratorial grin, "if I've read the unspoken properly; you're trying to recruit Emma, Hermione and me into a bloc aligned with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter and Black—I believe you said?—The People and The Nation, otherwise known as Gringotts; and Her Majesty."

"Yes Lord Regent, I'm glad you understand and I wish others were as pithily aware of their current circumstances and what's being said to them; like you and your wife."

"So, you wish to use me and Emma in plans that may well bring down this so called Wizengamot and replace it with something else?"

Dan didn't recognize the look on Griphook's face but William Weasley may well have; still, Dan was tersely aware he had hit the mother of all questions and noticed—far better than the average magical might—the concern on Griphook's face. He smiled and said, "As a dentist, one does not generally expect an invitation to join a revolution but that is precisely what you are asking Majordomo Griphook isn't it? And, from what I've heard, much of this will likely revolve around this Young Lord Harry Potter but that is unimportant, isn't it? What I want to know is: what's in it for Gringotts? Why are you really here Majordomo Griphook? And, by the way, is young Mr. Weasley aware of these covert machinations?"

"Mr. William Weasley is exactly as you see him; the product of a wizard's education and a wizard's upbringing. He'd never understand this conversation because it counters what he's been taught to believe. He's truly oblivious because of his social conditioning but we have hope for him yet and yearn he'll remain useful should he find out about the Council of Sentience and the rest."

"What is this Council of Sentience?" Dan asked suspiciously.

"The unheard—by the Wizengamot that is—voice of nonhuman magicals in the UK and the forerunner of the New-Wizengamot to be proclaimed by Her Majesty. This new body will grant these people seats and votes and a say in governing matters, jurisprudence and law making; it'll also include new-blood and half-blood witches and wizards and give them the recognition they deserve."

"What of the old Wizengamot?" Mr. Granger asked; he was curious and understood the risks of sudden political or social upheaval.

"It'll be incorporated and the seats will remain with the current families—passing from generation to generation as always—but their influence will be greatly reduced; thus not allowing them to run roughshod over the rights of the newer and most likely elected members of this noble assemblage," Griphook replied.

"I take it that The Nation is prepared for things like a Maccabean revolt lead by old families trying to protect their positions and influences," Daniel commented.

"If it was just The Nation and a few other sentients, we'd likely fail as we have in the past but with Her Highness' eye on and already displeased with Her magical subjects, as it is, it's different this time," the goblin said. "The Crown will not be sitting idly back with the intention of dealing with the winners, this time: there is too much at stake; especially since we'll be lucky if the current Statute of Secrecy protects us for another ten years and that's at best. The revelation that a magical society has lived alongside the non-magical society for so many years will need to be handled with the utmost delicacy and diplomacy and, without a doubt, things will get ugly for a while; we must prepare for that eventuality and period of instability."

"You've given me a lot to think about, Griphook," Daniel said as he leaned back and began studying the ceiling. Aside from faint jazz refrains emanating from the stereo in the sunroom, the Noble House of Granger was quiet.

—}{—

William Weasley, Level Two Curse Breaker, fidgeted with his fingers as he waited for the return of, in his opinion, an undeniably hot woman who was going to show him around the Noble House of Granger and its grounds so he could plan a level five runic matrix. He was nervous, considering he was easily a year away from being trusted with such a complex array, in either design or execution but he couldn't say no either. (Shoveling dragon dung wasn't his idea of a fulfilling career and saying 'no' would easily qualify him for that lofty position. I guess there'd be some job security, I can't imagine dragons not shitting or pissing, he considered facetiously and then tried to shake the insecurity from his mind.) As such, his innate intelligence—respecting his lack of experience—ensured he was making a perfectly good decision by requesting the skills of a Level Two Warder or a Level Three Curse Breaker to review his work before powering it up. If they catch a mistake, it means more training for him, which was better than the alternative: looking for new job—providing he lived through a faulty matrix blowing up in his face—because he thought he knew more than he did. From this little bout of self-effacement, William Weasley was roused as Emma Granger descended the stairs wearing tight short shorts and a tube top that left little to his imagination—on top of it all; she was still wearing that damnable collar, which the young Weasley found so distracting.

"Where do we start, Bill," Emma said with a grin, "and try not being so obvious when you stare at me—some might find it creepy."

"Sorry Mrs. Granger . . . I mean Lady Regent Granger."

"Please don't tell me I'm going to be forced to repeatedly hear 'Lady Regent' while I'm with you because if so, I have a flog that would love to meet such a pretty young man," she said with a smile but William felt pretty certain she wasn't joking "Call me Emma, Bill."

"Yes Milady . . ."

Emma scowled at the young man.

"I mean Mrs. Granger," he corrected as he watched Emma take an exasperated breath and give her head a little shake.

"Are you ticklish young Bill?" she said with a naughty smile.

"Um . . . well . . . a little I guess . . ."

"Good, let's make a deal," she offered.

William looked at the indubitably attractive woman, blankly; he didn't know what to make of the woman—at least old enough to be Ron's or Ginny's mother—who seemed to be teasing him.

She gave him a big smile and continued, "For every 'Mrs. Granger', 'Ma'am' or—god forbid—Milady or the even worse Lady Granger you utter, Mr. Weasley; I'm gonna tickle you for a minute—is that a deal?"

"Um . . . what about Mr. Granger, won't he be . . ."

". . . Mad? Jealous? Incensed? Or something like that," Emma said with a smile and saw the young man's little nod. "Never fear Bill, he'll just hold you for me and if you think your little piece of pointy wood will stop him, let me give you a word of advice: you'll have maybe one and I mean only one chance with your wand. If you miss, it'll be all over for you because I doubt your empty handed combat skills match my master's. And, just so you know, Hermione wasn't the only one to read her school books this summer and from which both Dan and I easily extrapolated a very basic axiom: a witch or wizard without or unable to use their focus, be it a wand, rod or staff, is more helpless than a kitten. Yeah, yeah we know some mages can cast without a focus but they are few and far between and what they can cast is usually quite weak. On a final note, when Dan and I make plans, we act on the rule and don't overly concern ourselves with the exceptions nor do we second guess ourselves. We are not helpless muggles; we will act when we must and with very little remorse when we do, if you catch my meaning."

A shell-shocked William Weasley said weakly, "Yes Ma'am."

"I'll let you have that one for free, Bill," she said, smiling. "So, where should we begin?"

"I'd like to walk the perimeter of your property first," Bill replied, "since that is where the first ward ring will be set."

"And what is this first ring?" Emma asked as she slipped on her open toe sandals, opened the door and stepped outside.

"The first ring warns that someone has crossed the boundary," he replied, following Mrs. Granger through the door, "it can be set to distinguish between known and unknown individuals."

"How will Dan or I know when that happens?"

"Usually, the occupants of a warded premise feel the intrusion through their magic and know on which side of welcome the intruder is on," replied Bill.

"Well, that'll be fine when Hermione is home but how will us poor non-magical folk know?"

"We'll provide monitor stones that will light on ward activation; green for known and welcome guests or yellow for unknown visitors."

"And how will we set this?"

"With an enchanted log that communicates with the wards; all you'll have to do is add the name of a welcome visitor to it while they are inside the wards."

"And the wards will recognize someone by means of only a name written in a book?" Emma asked.

"Oh no, it's far more complex than that; that's why the person being allowed must be inside the wards—that's how the ward gets to know them."

"I see," Emma replied, not really liking his answer. Hmm, she thought, I guess a ward operates a bit like an EEG. A person crosses, gets scanned and the sample is then cross referenced to an EEG sample on record; a simple Boolean operation says yea or nay based on whether the sample is recognized—at least that explains the green and yellow signals. She then asked, "Just curious, but is it possible to know if a person crossing the ward is unwelcome?"

"Of course, that would cause the monitor stones to glow red," he replied.

"I guess we enter those in the log as well?"

"It can be done that way Mrs. . . I mean Emma," he began, she smiled at his hasty correction, before he continued, "but usually we prefer to incorporate intent monitoring into the ward—it'd pretty hard to invite one's enemy over so you can input them into your access log on the denied side—kinda stupid too, I'd think."

Hmm, Emma thought, how does that work? Let's see: maybe a person's intent on doing harm radiates a specific pattern that when detected flags the intruder as unwelcome. I wonder if such thought patterns can be seen and recognized on an EEG but, still, that kinda implies universality in brain patterns doesn't it? Bah, I'm gonna have to go with 'it's magic' until I know more.

Emma and Bill stepped from the front porch and walked to the home's fence line, tastily hidden behind an evergreen hedgerow and strolled the perimeter, stopping every now and then so Bill could write something or draw a quick sketch. From the property's perimeter, they walked to about the halfway point between the house and fence and completed a second circuit, again stopping from time to time. Their time together was spent without words, leaving Emma to simply follow the young curse breaker as he worked.

"This is going to take longer than I expected," William Weasley muttered as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Emma said.

"I . . . um . . . didn't think your home or its grounds would be this large, Ma'am," he replied, as he turned to face her.

"Tsk, tsk, Bill and you were doing so well," she said slyly.

"Sorry?"

"You've earned a minute of tickle, Mr. Bill," Mrs. Granger replied with a friendly smile. "Do you want it now or are you gonna to save them up?"

William Weasley's mouth fell agape and he turned almost as red as his hair while his imagination conjured a not entirely unwelcome image of Mrs. Granger, wearing just her collar, tickling him. He said, "You . . . you were serious about that?"

"I was just teasing," said Emma with a playful smirk.

"Oh . . ."

"Was that a relieved 'oh' or a disappointed 'oh', Bill?" She asked with playful innocence.

"Not sure," he mumbled, caught off guard by how her question sounded—at least to him; it served to reinforce his opinion: Mrs. Granger was an extremely attractive woman, scarily so. Merlin's beard, Mr. Granger's friggen lucky to have such a hot wife, he fervently thought, I'd have to marry a veela to be this lucky.

"Did you say some . . . What the hell, is that a snowy owl?" Emma said as a white avian did a quick back-wing before landing gracefully before her.

"It's just your average post owl, Emma," Bill replied nonchalantly; the owl hooted at the man in a manner suggesting displeasure.

"A snowy owl is average?"

"Well," he conceded, "a snowy owl is a little unusual, I guess."

"Did you just say 'unusual, I guess'?"

William glanced at Emma—she was staring at the owl; the owl was staring back—and then understood; he said, "I'm sorry, I sorta forgot you're not magical; I guess you're not used to postowls yet."

"You might say," she replied absently as the owl hopped forward and then back, at her feet was an envelope with very familiar writing.

"Hoot?" The bird seemed to query.

"Um . . . thank you, I guess," she said, bending to pick up the letter.

"Hoo," the snowy owl seemed to respond.

Watching the bird and Emma—not to mention Emma's behind as she bent over, which was a definite distraction—Bill realized his imagination wanted to explore some inappropriate avenues, which had very little to do with postowls.

"HOOT!" the owl's loud voice seemed displeased and directed at the young man, Mrs. Granger glanced at him and teased suggestively with her smile; William Weasley was again almost as red as his hair.

"My, my Mr. Weasley," she feigned prudishly while fanning her face with her hand.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger; I . . . I . . ."

Emma burst out laughing and the snowy owl hooted in a manner portentous to refined amusement.

"I'm sorry Bill but you're just so innocent, I can't help myself; thank you."

"Th . . . Thank you?" he stuttered.

"It's a secret," she replied playfully before saying, "I think we should head inside, don't you? What about you, pretty birdy?"

"Hoot," the owl seemed to reply in the positive.

"That would likely be for the best, Mrs. . . Emma." Bill smiled timidly through his almost relapse and then, after a surreptitious glance about, conjured padding for his sleeve. He held out his arm; immediately the snowy owl winged to the offered perch.

"I'm kinda glad we're in the back yard, Bill, less chance to be overseen," Emma said and then mumbled, "Guess we need to install an owl door or something."

"Excuse me?" the curse breaker said.

"Oh, just talking myself; let's head inside Mr. Weasley and company," she said, glancing at the rather large bird balanced on his forearm, "I hope you're house broken my feathered friend."

"Hoot."

"I'll take that as a yes Mr. Owl . . ."

". . . HOO!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Owl," she corrected.

"Hoot."

"Do you understand her Mrs. Granger?" he asked with mounting surprise.

"Not sure exactly, it's actually a little—no a lot—bizarre but I just sorta feel like I know what she's hooting; a woman's intuition I guess," she replied with a shrug.

"Well, they do say postowls are smart."

"Do they now," she distractedly replied and headed towards the house, curse breaker and owl in tow; she guided them to the conservatory, slid open the back door and welcomed the duo inside.

Nice, William Weasley thought as he glanced around at the thick foliage and flowers of Emma's garden, which seemed—peculiarly—more Fae than human. Even some of the plants looked oddly familiar, but out of place for some reason; he couldn't quite put his finger on why: gardens and plants was his mother's thing, not his.

"Hoo . . ." the owl seemed to comment with appreciation as they passed through the sunroom.

"Thank you," Emma automatically answered, "it is quite nice and, surprisingly, very easy to maintain; I love this room."

"Um . . . Mrs. Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Are you sure you're not a witch?"

Emma briefly glowered at Bill before realizing that having a wizard call you a witch wasn't really insulting; she replied, "Pretty sure but who knows? I did carry a witch inside me for nine months, perhaps some of Hermione's magic rubbed off on me. Is being exposed to magic like being exposed to radiation? You know, accumulative over one's life."

"I'm not sure what you mean exactly; the Department of Mysteries might: that sounds like something they'd study," William replied as Emma led them back to the study and stepped inside.

"Weasley," Griphook barked at the curse breaker, "is that Lord Potter's owl, Hedwig, on your arm?"

"Um, I don't rightly know Third Chronicler, she arrived while we were outside; I didn't recognize her. I'm actually surprised she came to my arm so willingly."

"Hoot," Hedwig replied before silently taking wing and landing on the desk.

"Why is there a snowy owl on my desk?" Dan asked, torn between confusion and bemusement.

"It's more comfortable than Bill's arm?" Emma deadpanned before adding, "She delivered a letter from Hermione."

"From Hermione?" Dan echoed as Emma joined him behind the desk; she handed him the envelope and he tore it open. He pulled out the letter but didn't really notice the three smaller envelopes that fell out and landed on the desk

Dear mum and dad, Dan, with Emma reading over his shoulder, began. This letter and its means of delivery must be very surprising to you both but you may as well get used to it.

"Cheeky girl," the Grangers said, immediately in-sync once more.

I know you didn't expect a letter so soon but a bunch of stuff has already happened so I needed you to know.

"Needed?" Emma whispered.

I met a boy on the Hogwarts express.

"A boy already," Dan growled, his daughter's writing having a greater affect that Griphook's words did. Emma smiled clandestinely.

He's kind of famous in the Wizarding World but tries to keep a low profile. I'm not really surprised he garners a lot of attention but I believe he'd prefer to remain unknown for the most part. I don't really want to say too much in this letter but, and I know this will sound really weird, I'll need you to put on the rings before you read my other letter.

"Rings?" The Grangers said quietly and as one; this odd connection between non-magicals was growing on Griphook's mind; William Weasley didn't notice but the goblin was going to look into it when he had a chance. "What rings?"

Glancing at the desktop, the Grangers notice two small square envelopes beside a third larger one. On one of the envelopes, the green one, someone had written 'tap me'; Emma picked it up, leaving the blue one for Dan. She put the envelope on her left hand and tapped the box with her right index finger; the envelope grew into a ring box. With Dan watching, cautious and suspiciously, she slowly opened the box and found a heavy looking gold colored ring that bore a green crystal that looked like a snake; if it hadn't been for the shape, Emma might've thought the crystal was an emerald. She showed it to Dan, who followed suite with the blue box. Inside, he found another ring; it bore a sapphire colored crystal in the shape of an eagle. Confused, they put the open boxes on the desk so Griphook and William Weasley could see them.

"Th . . . those are F. . . Founder relics," Griphook actually stuttered; to William Weasley's surprise.