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

16. Chapter 16

Heirs of the Founders

The ramblings of a distracted writer:

I think Ludwig Von Siegfried has been hiding under my bed because I've been plagued by kronic KAOS for the better part of a year now. Would you believe I need to Get Smart and take Control but my time window seems so narrow I've missed it by that much, frequently. Sorry about that chief.

And now back to our regularly scheduled author's note (or is that excuse?):

Very little has changed since my last update because those previous circumstances, affecting my writing, continue to dominate my life but things are getting a little better. I've also come to the conclusion that I'm almost OCD when it comes to writing and if my morning doesn't follow a specific routine, I can't sit and even begin to write; regardless of all the ideas swimming in my brain that I'd like to commit to this or my other stories. I want to write and submit things more frequently and hope I'm able to find away around my dilemma; perhaps my family's vacation (we're going to Disney World for two weeks and its the first proper vacation we've been able to take for 10 years or so), we'll help me remove some of the mental flack that has cluttered my brain for the last year or so.

Hope you enjoy and again apologize for the delay. I also am thankful for my new followers for Heirs and my old followers who've stuck with it through all my random and infrequent updates. (a shout out to Wolfgang108 who has being understanding, encouraging and checks up on me from time to time with PMs. This one's for you, my friend, and you may continue to politely kick my ass when I need it) As for my other -sort of- active story, Grey Kittens, I'm working on it too; perhaps I'll manage an update from Disney World but no promises: Micky my beat me up because of that content.

With fond regards,

Animekitty2

PS: This one is a little long but not quite long enough for two chapters of my most recent sizes.

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 Sixteen

Thursday, September 19th arrived under a low grey ceiling from which a mist-like drizzle fell languidly onto Hogwarts and her grounds. It was a cold rain, the type that slowly penetrated your clothes and draws out the misery of getting wet to a torturous extent. Unrelenting—even unto late morning—the day's dampness remained to greet the first stirrings of a young witch just starting her thirteenth year. Struggling to wake, this witch—also known as Hermione Granger—sat up and stretched as her blankets fell to her lap. She shivered, as the clammy chill bypassed a flannel nightgown that allowed cool fingertips to raise goose bumps on skin that may as well have been bare. Unwilling to surrender to the temptation of remaining under warm blankets; Hermione kicked the covers to the foot of the bed, swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and parted the red velvet bed-curtains that provided a smidgeon of privacy for the now twelve-year-old witch. Slipping strategically placed slippers onto her bare feet, she stood; thankful for the protection they provided from the cold floor. With a quick glance at the sodden and grey morning laying beyond the dorm windows, Hermione thanked Merlin that Professor Flitwick had decided to limit their training to Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. She was doubly thankful for the Thursday morning respite; it allowed her to make up the sleep sacrificed at the altar of Astronomy class.

Since her classmates were still asleep, Hermione cat-pawed across her dorm and to the bathroom they shared with the second year Gryffindors. This morning Hermione had it all to herself, she saw, and—since it was her birthday—she thought she deserved a good pampering and a nice long hot shower was just the ticket. Humming a randomly composed little melody, she shucked her nightgown and slippers and stepped into the shower area. Unabashedly naked—unlike Pavarti, who had a prudish and old-fashioned attitude about nudity—the young birthday-witch made her way across the white tiled floor and to her preferred shower-head. Stowing her toiletries in the little nook provided for them, she turned on the water and stepped under the warm cascade.

"Gotta love magic; no sudden frigid or scalding blasts," she stated absently as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"I can imagine that would be unpleasant," said a soft, sultry voice.

Not expecting a response, Hermione flinched. She whirled to face the voice and found a very attractive and naked—yet oddly nondescript—girl of about sixteen, sporting a lurid smile.

"Fiona!" Hermione exclaimed as she clutched her chest, "By Morgana don't do that to me, I nearly joined Myrtle's Haunt-a-Loo Club."

"That would've made her happy, I'm sure," replied the Founders' feminine construct in a tone that was all too innocent.

"Who, Moaning Myrtle?" asked the usually bushy-haired and currently drenched witch. "I can't imagine anything would make her happy but then again she'd have someone to mope with; misery loves company after all."

"You know, she's not really that bad," Fiona said with a suggestive grin, "the whole moaning and moping thing is just the persona she puts on to keep people out of her washroom."

"Why would she want that?"

"Because Myrtle's a slag, Hermione."

"She's what! How? Why?" Exclaimed the hazel-eyed witch.

"You heard me," replied the alluring faux 'girl', "and if you must know, ghosts are just as solid and can be just as sordid as you or I are—at least with each other—and can experience everything 'fleshies' do: yes, that too; so why not revel in a pleasurable time-waster without any associated risk. Admittedly, when Myrtle was a new-dead she was a drag and pretty prudish but it didn't last all that long—maybe a decade or so—before she . . . um . . . embraced her possibilities, you might say. Sure beats being bored and miserable. Morgana's sodden knickers, Hermione, these days finding her entertaining Nick, the Bloody Baron or the Fat Friar—at the same time as often as not—when students are all snug in their beds isn't all that uncommon and like any ghost she's damn near insatiable and as kinky as all get out."

"I . . . I don't think I needed to hear that, Fiona," Hermione said having finally found her voice. "So . . . um . . . why are you here?"

"Why? I just came to give you a birthday hug, my little witchling," Fiona replied possessively and, within an eye-blink, stood before the young witch. She pulled the birthday-girl into an intimate and inescapable hug, a hug returned by instinct.

Hermione felt Fiona's full, soft but firm breasts—almost smothering—against her face; it set the young witch's heart aflutter and the squirmy sensations wiggling through her were more than enough to remind the young Gryffindor that she wasn't a little girl anymore. Even the scent—reminiscent of the odor that sometimes hung languidly in her parents' room—made the hazel-eyed witch forget that the girl holding her wasn't really 'real'. Hermione's young body responded to the feeling of flesh against flesh and it felt good: a feeling she was certain her dorm-mates would think as improper, at best; if not downright icky, as was most likely.

"I can't believe how good we smell when we're together like this," Fiona whispered sinfully; her words and warm breath making Hermione tremble, "We're gonna have so much fun when you're older. Me, you, your wizard; like this, wet, naked . . . tangled: watching, touching, grasping, gasping . . ."

". . . F-Fiona, p-please," Hermione whispered barely audibly; uncertain of what she might be asking.

"My, my dearie; what am I to make of that?" teased Fiona, "too much, too soon perhaps? Should I keep it simpler?"

"S-simpler?"

"Yes simpler, sweetie," she playfully provoked, "Maybe just the two of us snuggling, like this, and watching one of Myrtle's indulgences; would you not find that fascinating . . . not to mention stimulating?"

"I'm . . . I'm not ready yet," said Hermione as her self-control firmly reasserted itself, "but . . . but thank you, anyways."

"Thank you?" Fiona said, holding Hermione at arms' length; she studied the hazel-eyed witch and asked with a curious smile. "Thank you for what?"

"For telling a girl she's desirable, bushy-hair and buckteeth et al, is a very nice birthday gift. Perhaps, in a few years, I might take you up on your offer but not yet; still, that bit about Moaning Myrtle was intriguing and I'm admittedly curious—in a purely scholarly capacity of course."

"Of course," Fiona repeated with a smirk before planting a quick, sisterly, kiss on Hermione's forehead, "I'll check back on your next birthday; perhaps you'll have a change of heart by then."

"Maybe, who knows? But since you're here: can you wash my back? I've an itch I can't reach."

To Hermione's relief, things never descended beyond the back scrub she had asked Fiona for and in thanks the young witch offered the same to the Founders' 'daughter' in return. Once Fiona had finished washing Hermione's back, she passed the cloth to the young witch and turned expectantly.

"Are these pixie-wing tattoos?" stated a surprised hazel-eyed witch when she saw her shower-mate's back.

"Kinda," replied the teenaged looking 'girl', "but they're not exactly tattoos."

"Not tattoos?"

"Nope, let me show you," Fiona said almost smugly and with that the inked images became bas-relief like; then sprouted from her back. As half-leaf shaped wings grew larger, Fiona's stature grew shorter as if material from her diminishing height went to her rapidly emergent and nearly transparent wings.

"Pretty," Hermione mumbled in awe and, accompanied by an almost imperceptible hum, Fiona—now shorter than the young witch—slowly rose from the floor and hovered, with her bare toes dangling a little above the white tiles.

Fiona, looking over her shoulder, flashed Hermione a naughty grin and gaze before purring seductively, "D'ya like my wings? Y'wanna touch 'em?"

Unconscious desire compelled Hermione to accept Fiona's playful invitation; she reached forward and allowed a fingertip to stroke—very lightly—the edge of a fragile looking wing. On immediate contact, the source of the faint hum became apparent as the young witch felt the audible but too fast to see oscillations: except for the hypnotic effect, they created. Mesmerized, Hermione watched faint ripples of color transverse the surfaces of Fiona's virtually invisible wings as the shower room's harsh light was reflected and refracted, prismatically, by the almost clear membranes that defined each wing.

"W-Why?" Hermione said; still entranced.

"The wings?" Fiona said, slowly pirouetting to face the birthday-girl.

The hazel-eyed witch only nodded.

"Mums and dads have an interesting but playful sense aesthetics I suppose," said fairy Fiona.

"And Peeves?"

"The same," she replied before her tone turned shameless, "Let me tell you, Hermione, the sensations when gravity is no more than a tug to tell you where down is can't be described; it must be experienced. Me'n'Peeves have spent many a playful hour clad only in the zephyr of a midsummer's night. Perhaps, someday, you'll join us in such freedom."

"How . . . How could I do that?" Hermione muttered louder than she intended.

"How? Come now Hermione, you're a witch learning magic in a castle, which is a school for magic; remember?" Fiona teased, incredulously; it seemed the young witch had uncharacteristically forgotten that tiny fact. "Very little is impossible when magic is involved; even less so for you and Harry. By Merlin and Morgana, girl, you and he have power reminiscent of a Founder or First Patron: haven't you been listening to me, Peeves, mums and dads and what we've been saying since you met us?"

"B-but there are plenty powerful witches and wizards—like Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall—here," the young witch protested in denial.

The fairy, Fiona, shook her head in disbelief and said, "Perhaps we've not been succinct enough for you, Miss Granger, so let me state this as unequivocally as possible: you are the most powerful witch—aside from Harry's mom, who was at or near your equal I'm sure—I've ever met and I've met plenty over the centuries. Peeves would say the same."

"But . . . But what about the Founders, surely they're . . ."

"I never met the Founders, Hermione," she replied, shaking her head again, "Peeves and I were created, easily, a hundred or more years after the last Founder's passing. We were called into existence for the sole purpose of being aides to Hogwarts and her Founders' soul-copies to deal with the living; living within these walls and on the immediate grounds. Sure, we've changed since then—muggles would say we evolved I suppose—and have been imbued by more magic than you can possibly imagine over the centuries. We've become what you see now: eternally randy and essentially hormonal teens, who've yet to mature, and that we'll remain but it's a fun—albeit limited—existence, of which we make the most. So, let me turn around and you can wash my back, like you said you would."

Fiona spun lazily under the still cascading and comfortably hot water spewing from the showerhead and offered her back to Hermione. The young witch, with her mind mostly focused on the most recent and startling revelations provided by the fairy-like creation before her, automatically reached for her toiletries. Working the sandalwood scented soap in her hands into a frothy lather she began spreading the suds across Fiona's back and—not knowing how sensitive the area might be—carefully around the joints where the leaf-shape wings and shoulder blades met.

"Oh, that feels so nice," Fiona said indulgently, "a little higher please . . . yes, that's the spot; harder."

Hermione, having covered Fiona's back entirely in foam, gingerly began soaping the slowly flapping yet rapidly vibrating wings that—for some reason—reminded her of the indolent tail-tip flicks of a contented cat. So light as to be more caress than touch, she lathered her friend's wings but stopped when she heard Fiona's shallow, hiss-like inhale.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you Fiona?" she asked with concern.

"No . . . No, you didn't hurt me; it's just that . . . well . . . um, you see," she replied rather breathlessly, "my wings are . . . ah . . . you might say rather sensitive; especially to a gentle touch and . . . and your fingers are soft and light like downy feathers, Hermione."

"S-Sensitive?" Hermione asked cautiously, as she absently but gently stroked the pixie-like wings. "Sensitive h-how?"

"E-Erogenously s-so," Fiona almost whimpered.

Hermione, nearly panicking, lifted her fingers from the delicate and gossamer appendages and felt her body flush from head to toe. Stunned, the usually precocious witch realized that, for the first time, she had been touching another in a way that was—as she now knew—blatantly sexual in a way that the hug they had shared earlier, for all their nudity; wasn't. That embrace had been a rather passive—albeit unsettling—affair but this; this was active, Hermione's own actions had stoked Fiona's arousal and now the drenched and usually bushy-haired witch was very confused. I should've realised, she thought being unnecessarily hard on herself, as soon as I heard Fiona's tone when she invited me to touch her after she changed. 'D'ya like my wings? Y'wanna touch 'em?' Could it have been any more obvious! Aaurgh, I feel so weird now, uncertain . . . still? No, no, no! Get it together girl, you've just turned twelve . . . I need to talk to mums.

"Oh pooh!" Fiona exclaimed, impishly, as Hermione's fingers lifted from the soap covered wings, "and I was so enjoying that too; oh well, perhaps next time, eh?"

"Um . . . how about I finishing scrubbing your back," the young witch offered; putting on her Gryffindor face and tone, "You . . . um . . . can rinse off your own wings; afterwards."

"You're no fun, Hermione," she pouted but relented, "Oh very well then, I can do that but don't think you're gonna always get away with just teasing me; a witch needs to take responsibility, y'know."

"Th-thanks, Fiona," Hermione replied, as she wrung out her wash cloth and began scrubbing her friend's back; deliberately ignoring the latter part of what Fiona said and avoiding her friend's wings as best as possible. Suddenly, the hazel-eyed witch, in a flash of insight, asked, "Why am I washing your back anyways? You're a magical construct, all you have to do is dematerialise and any dirt on you will simply fall off; no scrubbing required."

"That's so cold, Hermione," Fiona sounded hurt.

"S-sorry," She apologized; feeling like a heel.

"Just teasing," The pixie-winged creature giggled; then said, "Besides, for all I may not need my back washed; doesn't mean it don't still feel good."

"'Don't still feel good'! Why you little . . ." Hermione exclaimed as Fiona faded to immaterial and floated towards the ceiling; before cackling—a la Peeves—and vanishing.

—}{—

Shower basket in hand and her hair and body dripping, Hermione escaped the shower room's hot and humid embrace and into the cold clammy fingers awaiting beyond. She padded across the floor, a trail of wet footprints marking her passage, and stopped before a mirror charmed too remain fog-free. Reaching for a stack of fresh towels, she grabbed one to dry and wrap her body with, for modesty's sake—her roommates', not hers—and another for a vain attempt to dry and tame her brunette mane of terminally bushy locks. Hermione soaked the first towel, grabbed another and wrapped her hair; her greatest regret, at this moment: no hair-drier.

"Learn a good drying charm, Miss Granger," she quietly suggested to her reflection; it winked in reply: a playful reminder of residing in a magical castle that, with each passing day, was becoming more responsive to her; Harry had mentioned he was experiencing the same thing. She tittered quietly, "Cheeky."

Turning from the mirror, Hermione put on her slippers and returned to the dorm; her reflection waved goodbye and vanished from the mirror as the towel-clad witch stepped from the washroom. With silent footsteps, she ghosted past her still slumbering dorm-mates and noticed something odd. Strange, she thought, I don't remember drawing the bed-curtains. I hope Fiona isn't lying in wait, or worse . . . Peeves. Cautiously, she completed the last few steps and reached for the closed curtains; expecting the worse, Hermione pulled the red velvet drapery open with a sudden tug and was very surprised.

"Missy Grangee!" Squeaked a startled house-elf wearing—resplendently—a pillowcase embroidered with the Hogwarts' crest, "Floozy's elf-heart be a thump thump'n with mistress' sudden arrival; Floozy is still just young elf but almost not be getting to be old elf."

"S-Sorry," Hermione mumbled in stunned apology before asking, "What happened to my bed?"

"Keep it down, Granger, some of us are still slee . . . ping," slurred a barely awake Lavender who—thankfully—just rolled over and went back to sleep.

Stepping into the space formerly occupied by her now absent bed, which had been replaced by a stool, dressing table and mirror; Hermione closed the curtain behind her, leaving her alone with the fretting little creature.

"Kindly explain yourself, Floozy was it?" Asked the young witch; now—at least somewhat—immune to house-elf eccentricities thanks to Tipzee and, especially, Dobby.

"Today be mistress's birthday but it also be Floozy's birthday and today Floozy's birthday be most important day in young elf's life; today be day that Floozy comes to her binding day. Floozy now be twenty-one in wizzy years and Hogwarts tells Floozy to make bind with Missy Grangee as gift since we be sharing birthdays," the elf explained.

Hermione frowned as her non-magical heritage reared its head, briefly, before giving way to her new life and circumstance; still she asked, "What if I don't want a house-elf?"

The house-elf's ears folded down in distress and it looked like the little creature was about to cry. Fidgeting and with her big blue eyes looking at the floor, the distraught little individual asked, "Floozy not good enough for Missy Grangee; Floozy un'erstan', Floozy will return to laundry and bind to Hogwarts like other elfs do's whens they not wanted by proper witch or wizard."

Overcome by the house-elf's poignant reply, Hermione hastily said, "I'm sorry Floozy, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that I'm still new to all this; getting an intelligent and caring being as a gift is outside my experience. It's not liking I'm getting a puppy or kitten, you're a sentient and self-determining person in your own right; you deserve the chance to choose your own destiny and master."

Floozy's ears began to unfold and she hesitantly looked at the hazel-eyed witch, "Floozy don't really un'erstan' Missy Grangee's words but Floozy is lucky that Hogwarts be wanting to give Floozy to Missy Lady Grangee; Floozy thinks Missy Grangee . . ."

". . . Please Floozy, that's Granger not Grangee," Hermione said with a hint of exasperation but knew from the 'Dobby Encounter' not to correct too much, too soon and further upset the little creature.

"Sorry Missy Granger," Floozy corrected and lit up when the hazel-eyed girl smiled at her. "Floozy was saying that Floozy thinks Missy Granger be good kind master for any elf; Floozy just be's lucky that Floozy is Hogwarts' choice although Floozy and other elfs know it strange that castle be making gift of one of us: last time was very long time ago by elf reckoning."

"Um . . . thank you, I suppose," Hermione replied and thought: Why does it feel like Hogwarts is trying to bribe me? She continued, "I'm only a student, Floozy, my needs are pretty simple and straightforward; I don't really want—let alone need—a servant."

"Floozy knows Missy Granger not have much yet for Floozy to do but Floozy still be helpful and elfs be good ears because we's always be keeping our master's secrets. Floozy can also be getting things that Missy Granger can't get for herself when Missy Granger not able to freely leave Hogwarts. Floozy also be's helpful by taking Missy to see Goblins if Missy Granger needs to sees them when Lord Potty," Hermione snickered as the elf continued her well-reasoned arguments, "can't go. Floozy can also help protect Missy and Missy's friends even when Missy's friends are in snake place. Floozy can also bring Missy snacks and books and stuff when Missy is studying but not wan'ing to stop. Floozy can also help Missy Granger to look her best at all times as befitting Missy's true status. Let Floozy show Missy Granger how good Missy can look with Floozy's help before deciding. Please take seat Missy and Floozy will start."

The house-elf gestured for Hermione to take the seat at the dressing table and, with a shrug of her shoulders, the young witch said quietly, "What the heck."

"Does Missy have any preferences?" Floozy asked as the hazel-eyed witch took the seat.

"I'll leave it to you Floozy," Hermione replied permissively; she knew if the house-elf did something she didn't like it would be corrected in the snap of a finger.

"Missy Granger should take a little rest; Floozy will make Missy look hot for her wizard," said the house-elf.

"Hot . . . right," Hermione snorted self-effacingly before closing her eyes to browse and organize the myriad shelves within the library of her mindscape: the visualization of her eidetic memory. Her first tome to edit, organize and cross-reference; the Monday following that first eventful weekend and, as if watching a movie, Hermione's memories played across the pages of her mental journal for that day.

—}{—

Our second week, Hermione vividly recalled, sure began under a cloud of swirling rumour and speculation about me'n'Harry and our relationship. Monday's gossip had also included, she remembered with amusement, the rather bizarre notion that a mudblood had used some ignoble dark curse against the noble scion of a noble house of the most noble blood. However, who outside of Slytherin—or inside for that matter, she chuckled silently at the thought—would believe a now uncommonly subdued Draco Malfoy. Nevertheless, we were at the heart of all the tittle-tattle but we attended breakfast without regard to the stares and whispers that had dogged our steps from the moment we had risen. We, she proudly reminisced, had—with verbal and mental agility, I think—reflected or refracted our house and dorm mates' sundry questions, without denial or deceit, and those few of other houses who had sought us out had fared no better.

All the same, Hermione lucidly recollected, the buzz in the Great Hall that morning had remained a chronic din; fueled by the enigmatic smirk of Hogwarts' favorite Charms' Professor and the scowl of her least favorite Potions' Master. In the end, she concluded silently, the only thing the student body had ascertained was that for some strange reason a young witch and wizard had spent a pre-breakfast hour or so with Professor Flitwick—to many a raven's confusion, a thought worthy of another mental smirk she reasoned—running around and practicing some strange dance moves. To those who had bothered to observe, the young witch silently but humbly conceded, Harry was more proficient than his dance-partner, me. It had been the arrival of Ron Weasley and his eating habits—better after a loud bit of correspondence but less bad doesn't really equate good—that had finally driven us from our house table, she recalled with distaste.

Like our first Monday and after brief stops at our respective lavatories, a rather pointless aide-mémoire—courteous of her eidetic memory she mentally chided—we made our way to greenhouse one, only to find Neville Longbottom already puttering about the flora.

"If you're whispering sweet nothings to Professor Sprout's sprouts, Neville," Hermione remembered Harry's playful tease, "we can come back in a few minutes."

Obviously startled, Neville had flinched and whirled to face us.

"Oh! It's you two. Do you want to head to breakfast with me?"

"Um . . . Neville," I said to our friend, "breakfast is over in about fifteen minutes; you better run if you hope to even get a crumb of toast, Ron arrived just before me and Harry left. We'll watch your book bag if you want."

"Merlin's beard, is it already that late! Thanks Hermione; Harry," He replied before running off in a rather ungainly manner, she remembered; Hermione 'tsked' herself over that relatively uncharitable thought. At least I'm not Malfoy, she reflected, his mouth turns on before his brain does; he would've said something caustic I'm sure.

"Ow!" Hermione exclaimed as Floozy's brush came to a sudden stop in the young witch's bushy hair.

"Floozy is a very very sorry elf, Mistress; Floozy need be more carefuller when brush'n Mistress's hair," apologized the very distressed elf, "Will Floozy be needing to punish Floozy for Mistress later?"

Aghast, Hermione turned her head dizzyingly fast. She ignored the extremely painful tug of the brush, which was pulled from the house-elf's grasp and lodged in her hair; she said, "Floozy! If you're my elf there are a few things you will agree to first: one, I am never to see you punish yourself nor am I ever to hear of you punishing yourself; two, you will never accept any order that might result in injury to yourself or others."

"Floozy agrees," the elf replied solemnly and suddenly an ethereal glow engulfed the diminutive creature and the young witch sitting before her.

"Bloody hell! What was that?" exclaimed the hazel-eyed girl but she still silently chided herself for her choice of language.

"Oh thank you, thank you Missy Granger; Floozy will be bestest Lady's Elf ever for Founders Four friend, Floozy be very very happy! Missy Granger be most bestest master an elf can be having!" squealed the little creature as she did a little happy dance atop the stool she was standing on.

Damn . . . Hermione thought ruefully, my very first Harry moment. I guess taking on a house-elf won't be all that bad, still, why must magic be so legalistically literal?

"So, Floozy," began the young witch, "um . . . I'm new to this whole house-elf thing—muggle raised and all—are there rules or whatnot that I need to know?"

"Yes master," Floozy replied, "good Lady's Elfs always be doing what Missy Granger be telling Floozy to do. Good Lady's Elfs always be keeping Missy Granger's secrets. Good Lady's Elfs always be keeping Missy Granger safe from harmsies."

"That not what be Missy . . . Aaurgh! I mean: what are the rules I need to follow?"

"Floozy no un'erstan'. Missy Granger be Floozy's master; Floozy obeys Missy Granger. Missy makes Floozy's rules; Floozy not make rules for Missy. Floozy be happiest when doing what Missy be telling Floozy to be doing. If Floozy do not be doing that then Missy Granger be giving Floozy clothes and Floozy be sents away as disgraced and shamed elf."

My brain is beginning to hurt, Hermione thought in exasperation. Perhaps I'll just talk to Tipzee, later . . . Geez! Tipzee and now Floozy: what's up with house-elf names? Dobby is no better really, although not has demeaning.

Seeing the distress ooze from 'her' house-elf made Hermione feel a bit—no, a lot; she reconsidered—like a heel; she said soothingly, "I'm sorry, Floozy I don't mean to upset you; like I said, I'm new to all this magic business. Please, if you see him, please tell Tipzee I'd like to . . . EEK!"

"Miss Granger wishes to speak with Tipzee?" Asked the house-elf whose sudden appearance had startled the young bushy-haired witch.

"Um . . ." she began, still catching her breath, "Well, yes I do but I didn't mean right away."

Floozy had bowed her head and said respectfully, "Good morning Seneschal Tipzee."

"What have you done, Floozy?" asked the older elf.

"Hogwarts told Floozy to make bind with Mistress Granger as birthday gift, Seneschal. Floozy is good elf and be doing what she be told."

"I know that, Floozy but we didn't mean today, necessarily," Tipzee stated with more than just a hint of exasperation; Floozy's ears folded back, "Such a troublesome young she-elf you are but what is done is done. Lady Granger . . ."

". . . Hermione please."

"As you wish, Hermione; let me explain and apologize for the rash actions of a young house-elf . . ."

"She's not in trouble, is she?" asked a suddenly concerned hazel-eyed witch.

"Not as such; it's just that Floozy is a rather strong-willed young elf and perhaps a little too headstrong and precocious for her own good: I blame it on Peeves and Fiona," Tipzee explained.

With a puzzled look on her face, Hermione said, "Um, okay but how is it . . ."

". . . Peeves and Fiona's fault?" Tipzee asked; Hermione nodded before he continued, "Well, you see, when Floozy was a little she-elf; Hogwarts' son and daughter took a shining to her and kind of took her under their wings. Unlike other elves her age—who tend to stay in the Elf-billets after Elf-School—she seemed far more inquisitive and adventurous: much to her parents' disconcertion, not to mention shame. They were worried that their little she-elf would end up before the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for Behavior Unbecoming a Domestic Beast and we all pretty much sadly agreed."

Hermione tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow before saying, "I still don't quite understand all this; are you trying to tell me that Floozy is a bad house-elf?"

"No!" wailed Floozy, "I'm a very good elf; please milady let me prove it to you! Give me an order; any order . . ."

"Floozy!" Tipzee exclaimed in great concern, "remember what you learned in Elf-School; be careful what you ask and be thankful that Lady Granger is who she is: what if she was a Malfoy or a Lestrange?"

"But mistress is good, she isn't like those dark families; she'd not ask me to do something bad, I can tell," Floozy argued.

Hermione smiled playfully and said, "Floozy, you do know that Draco Malfoy is sorta my step-brother, don't you?"

Suddenly the young house-elf looked very frightened as she shifted her weight nervously between her legs and the bushy-haired witch felt awful; Hermione hadn't thought Floozy would think she was like Draco. Bloody hell! She thought without self-censure this time. Just how bad is Cissy-mom and Danielle's former family that it would elicit such behavior in a house-elf? I'm so sorry Floozy. She silently concluded and did something a Malfoy would never do; Hermione wrapped her arms around the distressed house-elf, drew her into a tight hug and then kissed Floozy on the forehead before saying, "I'm very, very sorry Floozy, I was being foolish and ignorant; please, please forgive me? I beg you."

Stunned, the hugged house-elf said with confusion, "Missy Granger begs . . ."

"Floozy," Tipzee corrected softly, "her proper name is Lady Hermione of the Noble House of Granger, not Missy Granger; please remember that but it is a secret that's not to be shared with others until Lady Granger and Lord Patron Potter-Black so chooses."

"Floozy be sorry for being sloppily disrespectful, milady," she apologized as she wiggled from the young witch' embrace, and then connected to what the older elf had also said, "Lord Patron? Is Seneschal Tipzee telling me that there is a declared Patron in Hogwarts again? Does that mean a Founder Avatar, too?"

"Yes; not yet," the older elf replied quietly but sounded hopeful.

Suddenly, Floozy's ears stood up and her eyes seemed to grow even bigger than the house-elf norm, to Hermione's surprise. Floozy whispered in abrupt realization, "Missy . . . I mean Lady Hermione be Founder Tapped."

Tipzee nodded; Hermione looked away apprehensively: this idea remained quite distressing and unsettling to the hazel-eyed witch; only recently turned noble.

"That explains Floozy!" the young house-elf exclaimed happily and very relieved sounding, "And why Floozy is Floozy and not like other elves. Magic and Hogwarts, all this time, be making Floozy for Missy! Floozy feels betterer about herself than ever before; Floozy is Floozy for a reason! Floozy's mommy and daddy will finally be proud of Floozy!"

"Floozy, calm down," ordered Tipzee, "I understand how you must feel and I think you are right. Magic knew Lady Granger was coming all those years ago because I clearly remember how my niece—the ever so proper elfling that she was back then—suddenly became very different on her ninth birthday as wizards count."

"Floozy changed on the day I was born?" Hermione asked after some quick mental arithmetic: the result disturbed her. I think Harry was right, she silently concluded, destiny does kinda reek.

"She did," replied the older elf, "and it was quite startling at the time; almost as if preordained."

"I don't like preordination, Tipzee; I don't like what it implies," stated the young witch, "It begs the question: who or what is doing the preordaining and why?"

"All I can say, Lady Granger," Hermione scowled on hearing him use her formal title, "Magic sometimes takes an active role in our lives but I don't know why; perhaps we're on the cusp of an epoch? Who can say, perhaps the Founders Four know more."

"Perhaps," she replied rather stoically, "but I suppose it doesn't really make a difference, now, does it? Anyways, this has gotten needlessly transcendental and not why I wished to speak with you, Tipzee."

"And that reason is, Lady Granger?"

Vexed, the young witch rolled her eyes, shook her head and said, "I seemed to have acquired a house-elf. As a witch of non-magical descent, I have little experience in matters of wizarding tradition and know nothing of the responsibility, which comes with this . . . well . . . acquisition I suppose."

"Virtually none," replied the elf.

"None?"

"Floozy will do anything—well, almost anything—you order her to do but you must remember: you are wholly culpable and prosecutable, up to and including incarceration in Azkaban, for any action taken by Floozy or any elf or other magical creature in your possession."

"Almost anything?" she said before nibbling her bottom lip, fretfully.

Tipzee nodded; then said, "The only order she won't—actually can't—obey is to murder."

"She can't kill; I guess that's good," Hermione stated conclusively.

"Floozy can't murder, Lady . . ." the older elf began, then corrected, hastily; the honorific had the bushy-haired witch glowering, ". . . Hermione but she can still kill. It's about intent, after all. If she needs to protect her master or her master's loved ones, she'll do whatever needs doing; notwithstanding knowing such action might see her destroyed."

"That's not right!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What does 'right' got to do with anything when dealing with Wizard Law, especially when dealing with sub-creatures? Goblins excluded of course, you understand."

She shook her head and indignantly said, "I keep forgetting I'm part of an essentially feudal society; bloody hell, I even have my own, albeit small, fiefdom: what does that make me?"

"A vanguard of change, like Lord Potter, milady," Tipzee proudly stated, "and I'm glad to be—almost—in your service."

"How should I interpret that, Tipzee?" Hermione said and light-heartedly cocked her eyebrow.

"Hogwarts—for all you've yet to be formally invited; let alone achieved the actual ascension—sees you as a Founder's Avatar: this is unprecedented," said the older elf. "'She' seems to be in a hurry, too, but we are unable to divine 'her' urgency: again, this is unprecedented. What I do know is, as Seneschal, I get glimpses—visions you might say—of 'her' desires and 'she' desires you, Lady Granger; even unto attempted bribery: once again, this is unprecedented. That's why Floozy was groomed, as it now seems likely in hindsight, and told to bind herself to you. Unfortunately, Floozy was a tad bit hasty. She was just supposed to be an aid and friend at first; once you'd grown accustomed to her we were intending to broach the subject of binding: we do, after all, recognize your heritage and its modern aversion to what seems to be slavery."

"I'm beginning to feel like a pawn," sighed the young witch with undeniable disgruntlement.

"Not a pawn, of that I'm certain, milady, not a pawn but more; much more," Tipzee reassured with reverence before adding, "Perhaps even more than you've ever imagined."

"I . . . I think I've got a lot to think about, I should think; I think," Hermione whispered and frowned. Did I just use 'think' four times in one sentence? She silently chastised herself.

"Very well, Lady Granger; Tipzee will take his leave," the older house-elf said, "Please call if you need anything, milady."

In a blink, Tipzee elf-popped away; leaving Hermione sitting before the dressing table that now occupied the place her bed had been. Thankfully, the bed curtains remained to provide some privacy.

"Floozy be going too then, missy . . . I mean Lady Hermione."

"Please stay, Floozy," Hermione said quietly; her hazel eyes adding to her poignant request, "I like how it feels when you brush my hair; it's very relaxing."

"Thank you mistress, Floozy be happy when missy be happy."

"Um, Floozy . . ."

". . . Yes missy Hermione?"'

"I have another order for you."

"Floozy lives to serve missy Hermione. Missy Hermione be Floozy's master and Floozy is a good elf. What be missy Hermione's order?"

"Yes, you are a good elf," Hermione agreed and felt a wave of happiness radiate from the submissive little creature, "but please use proper diction when in my presence or at least when we're alone."

"Yes Lady Hermione," Floozy clearly replied, resumed brushing Hermione's hair and expertly teased out the knot, which had originally caused her new mistress grief.

Lulled by the gentle rhythm of her elf's effort, Hermione found herself gazing at the mirror but not really seeing her reflection. At least I'm not a narcissist; she idly thought when she realized she was staring blankly.

"Floozy?" she said softly.

"Yes milady?" the house-elf replied without the usual verbiage or trappings, which had colored their previous conversations.

"Other than the obvious and mundane things like grooming, dressing and whatnot," Hermione said respectfully and courteously, "what is traditionally expected of a she-elf in the service of a Lady? Should I think of you as a servant, a confidante or perhaps a handmaiden?"

"I will be what you want me to be, milady; nothing more, nothing less," Floozy replied. "I learned at my mommy-elf's knees and Elf-School the skills expected of a chamber-elf and Fiona and Peeves taught me other useful skills that few she-elfs are expected to know unless bound to a very old and traditional family. That makes me not just any elf but a High Lady's Elf; your High Lady's Elf."

"You received instruction from Fiona and Peeves? Oh yeah, Tipzee mentioned that in passing; whatever did you learn from them that you didn't learn in your . . . um . . . formal house-elf education, I guess you might say?"

"Fiona taught me the art of massage and other means of relieving a witch or wizard's stress," the elf replied with exceptional pride. "I practiced what Fiona and Peeves did to me—it feels very nice and is very relaxing . . . eventually—and each other on them; I became very good at it. We still practice regularly but Peeves' comments about gag reflexes are confusing; perhaps my mistress can explain."

Hermione had turned beet-red and she felt very squirmy. Wow, has this room become hot or what? She thought as she consciously tried to avoid the implications of her house-elf's unwitting confession: it didn't work.

"Mistress?" Floozy stopped brushing Hermione's hair and said with concern; her mistress' eyes looked oddly glazed and her breathing now seemed peculiar. "Are you feeling okay? Perhaps mistress is stressed; Floozy knows what to do, Floozy can help. Let Floozy get rid of nasty soggy wrapping towel and make mistress feel better."

"NO!" Hermione exclaimed in panic as she clutched the wet towel tightly to her body.

"Com'on Granger, keep it down; we're try'n' to sleep," the muffled and sleepy voice of Lavender said from beyond the still drawn bed-curtains of Hermione's bed.

"Mistress . . ."

". . . Floozy please; it's just Hermione, I insist."

"Floozy be . . ."

". . . Diction," the brown-haired witch interrupted with simplicity; she hoped to redirect the house-elf from her previous and unsettling offer of aid to something far more mundane: like language usage. I may be a hormonal and pubescent preteen but I most certainly don't need that sort of help . . . yet, she vigorously thought in self-reassurance; still, her ever-present and sometimes sneaky sense of curiosity refused to be denied. I'm just being inquisitive about time-honoured wizarding traditions, that's all; noth'n perverse in that . . . right? She silently syllogised. Regrettably, her premise sounded rather hollow, even to her. I suppose I should ask Cissy-mom, she's a Black and the Blacks are an old family, she wordlessly concluded, setting those gauche questions, harmlessly, on the proverbial back burner as Floozy resumed her interrupted task.

As before, Floozy's ministrations lulled the young witch, her eyes closed and her focus turned inwards. Once more, Hermione envisioned herself in her library and resumed the sometimes-frustrating chore of sorting and cataloguing her memories. She reopened the book, the visualized representation of her eidetic reminiscence, for her second Monday at school.

"Merlin's beard, is it already that late! Thanks Hermione; Harry," she resumed from the point of Floozy's accidental interruption but ignored her less than kind thoughts she had had for Neville.

Shortly following Neville's departure from greenhouse one, Hannah and Susan arrived; they were looking at me and Harry nervously.

"Good morning," Harry and I greeted and I felt my face grow warm when I realized we had spoken in harmony, again, and when I glanced at Harry, I noticed that his face had flushed. He looks cute when he's all nervous and floundering but, sensing the direction my thoughts were heading, I focused my attention on the two witches. "G'morning," I remember Susan replying. Hannah smiled timidly; she seemed unable to look at us, directly, and was certainly intent on studying the floor. "Are you feeling alright, Hannah?" Harry had asked softly and Hannah replied with little uneasy nod. "I don't bite," he had said and in a failed attempt at reassuring humor—at my expense—before adding, "Hermione might though." "Harry!" I exclaimed in feigned indignation before playfully slapping his arm but it seemed to make the young witch even more uncomfortable. "Hannah?" I voiced in concern, "is something wrong?" "She heard a bunch of rumours," Susan had said.

"What rumours?" Harry and I had both asked in concert and in an obviously disconcerting manner, if I read Susan's expression correctly; I sometimes miss subtle nuances of expression and inflection. "You know . . ." Susan began. "I do?" I remember Harry saying; he has the same problem I do and sometimes misses things too. "Well you were both gone for the weekend, which is pretty weird; especially for first-years. I mean, we all knew about Harry's summons, after all . . . DidyoureallyhaveabetrothalmeetingwithHermione'sparents?" Susan had sudden blurted. "Of course not!" Harry had exclaimed; stunned to silence, I found myself contemplating this implausibly backwards society I was part of, again: I was definitely not amused, I might add. "It was just some House business, nothing major and definitely not that," he clarified; in a rather sweet and flustered tone that belied his usual maturity.

"What about that business with Malfoy, then?" our Hufflepuffian friend asked in a surprisingly offhanded manner; it suggested an unexpected knowledge of interrogation tactics, which made sense once I learned who her aunt is but, at the time, I was caught by surprise and squeaked, "What business?" "It was you that hexed him?" Susan said with surprise; I couldn't meet her eyes. "Wow, I thought it was old family magic from House Potter, which would've explained why it took so long for Professors Snape and Flitwick to dispel it but it was you," she stated with awe, then added. "Accidental?" I nodded but Harry just had to answer, "Not precisely; too focused for accidental and Hermione's intent was pretty obvious; so was her power." "Harry!" I exclaimed. Boy, was I glad when the rest of our Herbology class began arriving; it allowed me to dodge this proverbial bullet—for the moment—but Susan sure looked like she should've been wearing silver and green that morning.

"Mistress?"

Hermione's eyes fluttered opened and saw familiar eyes in an unfamiliar reflection: especially in the hair department.

"Does milady approve?" Floozy hesitantly asked.

Hermione answered with a quick nod; her terminally bushy locks now fell in soft chocolate colored waves upon and beyond her shoulders. The young-witch's hair now framed her appearance, instead of dominating it, because Floozy had artfully shaped the mane to the contours of the young Gryffindor's face but it was more than a simple coiffing. Beyond the hairstyle, Hermione noticed, the she-elf had applied a subtle hint of eye shadow and a dash of rouge to highlight her cheekbones. These, plus the careful application of color to emphasize and make her lips look redder and fuller, was a whole new look for the muggle-born who had previously considered herself to be rather plain looking and had thought such things superficial at best.

"Um . . . Floozy?"

"Milady?"

"While I think you've done an excellent job; isn't it a bit much?" Hermione asked with measured words; she didn't want to upset 'her' elf, again. "After all, it's just another school day; not some fancy gala or whatnot."

"Fiona taught Floozy that her Lady must always look like a Lady," replied the elf, "except when her Lady is not to look like a Lady, like when her Lady is playing with her playmate or playmates."

"Did she now?" she said with suspicion and then asked worriedly, "And what, pray tell, did Fiona say your Lady should look like at play?"

"Fiona told Floozy—but Floozy never really un'erstood—that her Lady should look hungry, eager and willing and dressed or undressed according to her preferences; even if her Lady's preferences seem odd to Floozy."

Hermione's body or at least the parts reflected in the dressing table's mirror blazed red and—for all it was still rather cool in the dorm—she suddenly felt very hot beneath the towel wrapped around her body.

"Is milady feeling ill?" Floozy asked with concern and innocence, "You have become flush and look like you have a fever. Milady has also become very tense: did Floozy say or do something not to your liking? Floozy can also help milady's tension if need be."

Somewhere, Hermione swore she heard Fiona giggling; the young witch shook her head, vigorously, to answer 'her' elf's guileless and heartfelt question: Floozy looked puzzled and almost beside herself with worry over her mistress' apparent distress.

"Floozy be confused again; Floozy be calling for Tipzee, now: Tipzee can be helping Floozy with Floozy's Lady."

"No! No, Floozy, I be . . . Aaurgh . . . am fine," Hermione insisted, "you needn't bother him; he must be a very busy elf. Besides, I'm not sick; just . . . um . . . feeling a little off right now."

The hazel-eyed witch flinched as the house-elf suddenly snapped her fingers in understanding and exclaimed, "Floozy now understands! It be Milady's new-moon: Floozy be getting the Witch's Potion for mistress; the Witch's Potion be then taking away nasty new-moon crampsies and stuff."

Hermione's face and body remained flushed and glowing but her mortification had switched reasons; she stuttered hurriedly, "Th-th-that w-won't be n-necessary, Floozy, I'm not having m-my . . . um . . . new-moon; I . . . well, ah . . . haven't st-started to yet."

Watching Floozy's reflection, the young witch noticed her elf had folded her ears down and was looking at the floor, "Please forgive Floozy, mistress; I assumed and have brought undue embarrassment upon you: Floozy awaits punishment."

The sight of her elf's guilt-pained face and posture made Hermione feel like someone had took hold of her heart and had begun to squeeze. She spun on the stool and, as she turned the towel that still wrapped her body, pulled off. It fell into a messy heap and left the young witch attired by only the cool air of the dorm. Comfortable in her nudity, Hermione never considered it an issue as she reached for Floozy and drew the distressed elf into her embrace. With one hand stroking Floozy's head, the usually bushy-haired witch whispered soothingly, "It's fine Floozy, I was just surprised by what you said, that's all. Now, listen to me, you've done nothing to embarrass me because a witch's 'new-moon' is a natural part of any witch's life and while I might not need the Witch's Potion today; I will, in all likelihood, be wanting it by my final exams, if not sooner: maybe even as soon as Christmas."

"Well! I never," Hermione immediately recognized the tone of amused indignation that belonged to Fiona, "So that's how it is; spurned for a house-elf: that's kinda kinky Lady Granger; at least Floozy comes chamber-ready."

"Princess Hogwarts!" exclaimed the startled house-elf before popping from Hermione's arms, only to immediately reappear; she stood before Fiona, head bowed and said, "It not be being what it seems; mistress be only soothing Floozy because Floozy be thinking she needed punishment for embarrassing Mistress Hermione with her hasty and unthoughtful words."

"Princess?" Hermione commented and cocked an eyebrow once Floozy stopped to breath.

"Looking good Hermione," said the Founders' construct, "ya've got to hand it to house-elfs; they instinctually know how to make their masters look their best. I bet when Harry sees you, his boxers will get tight."

"Hey! How did you know Harry wears boxers?" asked an again flustered brown-haired witch. Good going girl, Hermione thought, I just had to say something that is guaranteed to be misinterpreted, especially by her.

"I do now," Fiona replied with a smirk.

"Are you teasing me?" questioned Hermione.

"A little," came an oddly flat and unemotional reply.

"Are you enjoying it?"

"A little," answered Fiona: in the same tone but her eyes were sparkling mirthfully.

"More than a little, I'd say," Hermione stated; she found this whole exchange mildly infuriating for some peculiar reason, her tone made that obvious.

"Oh, lighten up Hermione, don't be so dire; it's your birthday," she playfully rebuked, "Princess Hogwarts commands it."

"Princess huh; where does that come from?"

Fiona smiled and replied, "That's something the elves started ages ago and because me and Peeves—they call him a prince though—are sorta children of the school and the Founders: well their soul copies, that is. Anyways, Sal asked me to bring you your birthday gifts; the ones from him, anyways."

"Gifts?" said a surprised Hermione.

"Yep, here you go honey," Fiona said and passed a padded, green velvet covered jewellery box, which was embossed with a golden snake, to the young witch.

Hermione looked at the box with surprise as her hand unconsciously reached for it. Fiona gave her the small case, which was remarkably heavy, and for a moment the young witch just stared at it; jewellery, if that's what it was, was not really her thing but it would be rude to refuse a gift without looking first. She opened the box. Inside, on more pillowed green velvet, sat a pair of earrings and a torque. All three items shimmered like silver or white-gold and each was adorned by gemstones, which seemed aglow with an internal light. They shared a snake motif. The earrings; looked like cobras, their heads raised and poised to strike, and each snake was fashioned to look like it was protecting an emerald that rested on its coils. The torque's body, consisting of semi-rigid snake-links, would hug Hermione's neck—like a collar almost—when worn and, just below her Adam's-apple, two intertwining snakes with their heads risen, stared at each other with small ruby eyes. Set between the open mouths was another large and multi-faceted emerald. Awed by the meticulous artistry; the young witch wondered how a jewel-smith created the serpents, in metal and gems, and imbued each with an appearance of just stilled life.

Stunned, all Hermione could say was, "M-My ears h-haven't been pierced."

"Easy-peasy, sweetie," Fiona said and, without warning, the hazel-eyed witch felt a sharp jab, followed by a firm pinch and an unfamiliar weight tugging on her earlobes.

"Y-Ouch! You could've warned me first, at least."

"Would've hurt more."

"Says you," stated an angry Hermione.

"Says me," Fiona retorted playfully, "Anyways, it's done now."

"Couldn't you've asked first; what if I didn't want my ears pierced?" the young witch said somewhat petulantly, "Besides, wouldn't a—I don't know—sticking charm be just as effective and less permanent?"

"Sticking charms can fail—usually without warning—and a simple 'finite' removes them," said the daughter of Hogwarts. "A gift from a Founder—well Founder's aspect—is beyond precious; do you really want to risk losing one?"

"I . . . I suppose not, Fiona."

"Good girl; now put on the torque to complete the set. I'm sure it will look elegant on you."

Hermione handed the jewellery box to Floozy and then carefully withdrew the torque. She held the surprisingly light neck accessory before her, studied it for a moment and said, "No clasp; how do I put it on? My head is too big."

Fiona giggled.

"What?" asked the puzzled witch, "did I say something funny? Oh! Hah-hah, very droll."

"You said it, not me."

"Fiona!"

"Mistress only needs to bring Founder's gift to her head and it will grow," Floozy said, trying to defend her witch from further teasing.

"What, my head?" Hermione asked in a manner of amusement, which was totally unexpected, especially for her. Where did that come from? She asked herself, Fiona must be rubbing off on me.

Floozy's ears folded down in distress and the sight brought an epiphany to the young witch: A house-elf has no sense of irony; they're too literal for it. Hermione thought before saying, "I'm sorry Floozy, I shouldn't have said that in such a manner."

"Mistress is sorry, again?"

"I am," stated the witch firmly as she followed the intent of her elf's words and lifted the torque. It grew, as Floozy had said, allowing Hermione to easily slip it over her head; and, once she pulled her hair from the shiny metal hoop of snakes, the torque settled at her shoulders and constricted to a snug but not tight fit around her neck.

"Wow, Hermione," Fiona said with a hint of avarice not directed towards mere jewellery, "you look good clad only in baubles and really comfortable sitting like that. What will Harry think when he sees you?"

Fiona's comments reminded Hermione that she was casually sitting in the buff and chatting as if she were in her own home. Her body flushed and she hastily said, "Harry's still too young to see me like this."

Hermione's impromptu response had Fiona struggling to contain her giggles.

"Well, he is," the hazel-eyed witch parried weakly but she knew better than to try to correct the unintended intent her words could imply.

"I'm sure he is, Hermione," Fiona said. "Anyways, on to less fleshly affairs: the earrings are enchanted and if someone nearby is planning to harm you, you will hear a quiet hiss in the ear closest to the threat. If you follow the hisses, you should be able to narrow it down. The torque is also imbued; it will draw most offensive spell-fire, aimed at you, to itself and absorb it to a point but don't rely on it. In a pinch, it should be fine but it doesn't replace an ability to protect one's self properly and with their own magic."

Hermione felt stunned and said, "You make it sound like I could be attacked at any time; who'd want to do that? I'm just a young witch."

"Not 'just' a young witch, Hermione," Fiona said solemnly. "You are a young witch who is the Lady Matriarch of her own noble house. You are a young witch who is the most important person in the young Lord Potter's life. Those, in themselves, make you a target for nefarious individuals and groups. If that wasn't enough: your non-magical mother humbled the patriarch of a powerful and wealthy family, you humbled the scion of the same powerful and wealthy family and your best friend called both the patriarch and scion of that powerful and wealthy family to task in a rather humbling and public display of power. On the first of September, you were 'just' a young witch; by September the second, you were a new player in a very old game. If you wanted anonymity, you blew it as soon as you joined a green-eyed wizard—in too big clothes and tape-mended glasses—in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Anyways, it's time to get dressed; you don't want to keep your wizard waiting."

Floozy snapped her fingers and, accompanied by a bright flash, summoned fresh clothes, which were presented to Hermione. The house-elf said, "The attire for your day, Milady."

The hazel-eyed witch looked at the garments in Floozy's arms and said, "Um . . . Floozy, I don't think those are mine; they . . . well . . . look a little too fine for me."

"Floozy has been assured that Mistress' robes belong to Mistress; Floozy read the letter; it be signed by an RR."

"RR? Oh . . ." Hermione replied as her quick mind responded to the obvious. I'm going to have to thank Sal and Rowena later. She thought as she took the knickers from the top of the pile. Are these silk?

"Wow, those are some fancy robes and stuff; they look like acromantula silk," Fiona said with a feigned girly squeal, "Someone must really like you, Hermione."

"I suppose," replied the young witch and without further ado, she slipped on the briefs. Wow, silk feels really good against the skin, she thought as she the cool and slick feeling panties seemed to embrace her bottom.

—}{—

Harry, the ever-early riser, made his way across his dorm. His year and housemates were still asleep and too far in Morpheus' arms to notice his passing or anything else for that matter. He stepped into the hall, carefully closed the door and walked to the stairs. Looking into the common room, from the upper landing, Harry saw that the room was empty; he glanced at his watch.

"Must be at breakfast," Harry muttered as he descended the stairs; he stepped to the sofa, sat before the still glowing embers on the Gryffindor hearth and waited.

Harry had barely settled when he heard the sound of footsteps. He glanced over his left shoulder and spied Hermione on the landing, which lead to the girls' dorms; she looked different: older? He thought as he gazed at his best friend, well I suppose; it is Hermione's birthday after all. Still . . ?

The young wizard rose from the sofa, turned to face the hazel-eyed birthday witch and said, "G'morning, Hermione and happy birthday."

Hermione smiled warmly and replied, "Thanks Harry; have you been here for long?"

"Naw, even when I'm allowed to sleep in some; I find I get all antsy," he told her.

"I feel the same way," she stated and began walking down the stairs. She could feel as much as see, Harry's green eyes following her every step and inside, she basked in a warm self-satisfied glow that came from being seen as attractive.

"You . . . um . . . look different this morning, Hermione. Did you do something with your hair; it—I don't know—looks tamer, I guess. Itlooksveryniceonyou.

"Thank you for noticing, Harry," the hazel-eyed witch said with a sly smile, "It's a birthday gift."

Harry tilted his head and looked puzzled but his eyes followed her every step; he asked, "A birthday gift; from who?"

"From Hogwarts."

"From Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I was quite surprised."

As Hermione grew nearer, Harry noticed that she was wearing a new school uniform—custom tailored, from the looks of it—too. Malfoy is gonna be so jealous, Harry considered with facetious humor, hee, hee; he'll likely ask for her hair secrets, the ponce is the poster-boy for narcissism.

"Um, not to put a too fine a point on it, Hermione, but I'm not sure if I understand; how did you get a gift from a castle: even a magic castle?"

"The castle kinda gave me . . . um . . . well . . . a . . ." she replied but her voice tailed to a murmur and Harry couldn't hear.

". . . a what?"

"A house elf," she said in little more than a whisper.

"Did you say 'a house elf'?"

Hermione nodded quickly and as she drew nearer, Harry noticed that it looked like her face had more color than usual. He asked with surprise, "Hermione, are you wearing makeup?"

Another quick nod from his friend answered the question before she said, "Floozy . . ."

Pop!

"Mistress summons Floozy?" answered a squeaky voice; Harry and Hermione flinched as the elf appeared beside them and asked, "Does the Great Harry Potter approve of his witch's new look? Did Floozy do good in making mistress hot for her wizard."

"Um . . . well . . . yes . . . I suppose," Harry said as he felt the blood rising in his cheeks: this was the Hermione now seen by him, in his rapidly maturing dreams. Forcing his eyes from the witchling, who now stood before him, Harry looked away and scratched the back of his head.

"How . . . do I look . . . Harry," Hermione asked as she nibbled her lower lip, "silly?"

"No, of . . . of course not, Mione," he muttered as he stole a glance at his best friend.

"Harry, this getting silly; just look at me, please. This is kinda weird for me too: actually, my whole morning b'n kinda weird—so far. Please don't make it more weird for me." Did I just say 'more weird'? Aaurgh! She thought. Let's just butcher the Queen's English some more, why don't we?

"S-Sorry Mione, you're right; I'm just sorta surprised that's all," he replied. He forced down his discomfort and looked at his friend; his heart began beating faster but he managed to say, "You do look very beau . . . good."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat or two before she said, "Th-thank you Harry, I was w-worried," she replied in relief. "By the way; this is Floozy, she's my house elf."

"Hello Floozy, I'm Harry; it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The Great Harry Potter is pleased to meet Floozy?" the house-elf virtually squealed; her reaction was over-the-top and yet not wholly unexpected. Harry and Hermione's previous Dobby encounter had taught them: the young magicals rolled their eyes in resigned amusement.

"Yes, I am," Harry replied gently, attempting to calm the hyperactive creature, and then added, "You've done a very good job on Hermione's appearance, Floozy, she looks nigh on incredible. I'll be the envy of my classmates; I've got a hot, sexy witch beside me."

Harry's candid declaration arrived at his brain a fraction of a second after his tongue; Hermione turned red and began studying the floor before she managed to say, "I'm sure Malfoy will say something unpleasant though."

"He'll want hair tips," Harry muttered a bit caustically as he gave Hermione a thorough once over with his eyes. He said, "That's a rather Slytherin look isn't it, Mione; Ron Weasley's likely to say something nasty but that's just Weasley. I'd watch out for the twins too, I guess. They might take issue with the silver and green piping on your collar and cuffs; not to mention that silver snake jewelery set you're wearing but I doubt they'll do anything: after Malfoy the other Sunday . . ."

Hermione giggled and said, ". . . Please, don't remind me of that; I got my first detention because of him."

"First?"

"Of course my first, what do you think I am; some naughty girl who gets into all sorts of trouble?"

"Are you?"

"What? A naughty girl?" Hermione purred in a sultry tone that should be utterly alien to a normal twelve-year-old witch.

Harry nodded and his face felt warm.

"Just what are you thinking, good sir?" she teased.

"I'm thinking my witch might need a good spanking," he ribbed in reply.

Hermione fanned her face with mock Victorian indignation and said, "Well, I've never . . ."

". . . been spanked?" Harry stated perhaps a little too earnestly for his comfort; Hermione's grin offered beguilement and precocious promise in return.

"Mr. Potter, you're not suggesting an intent to flip my skirt and warm my behind in public I hope? At least have the decency of allowing your naughty witch some dignity and keep such behavior private."

"Um . . ." he began but found himself unable to offer a witty retort as the temperature rose despite the dying embers on the Gryffindor hearth.

"You're cute when you're flustered Harry besides you know I'm just joshing, right?"

"Of that, I'm not entirely certain sometimes, Mione," he replied. "Especially since we got back to Hogwarts the other Sunday. You've been much more open, playful and, seemingly, less rule-bound. Others have noticed too, principally one specific Slytherin by the name of Tracy Davis. She's watching you very carefully; she knows you're hiding something."

Hermione looked thoughtful and said, "Thank god she's a snake then; secrets are a Slytherin's stock in trade and boy does she know how to keep her mouth closed: I've yet to hear her slip—even a little—when it comes to Daphne but I know they are closer than two girls their age usually are."

"I'd say," Harry added, "more than once we've found them looking rather flushed in some out of the way corner in the castle. I asked Peeves about it the other day; he just cackled and flew off."

"Fiona is rather cagey too; she told me she can only report behaviour, which threatens either Hogwarts or her students. How about your friends, have they discovered anything yet? Daphne is hurting and I really want to help her; she seems to be bearing a burden unsuitable for an eleven-year-old."

"Rumors and innuendo only," he said to her, "and goblins never pass on anything other than reputable facts, which aren't wholly secret."

"Whatever happened must've been horridly traumatic for her and appears to require at least a modicum of physical reassurance from what I can tell."

Harry nodded in agreement and added wistfully, "I know it has something to do with men; she even seems wary of me and I've yet to see her really speak to any other guy but for teachers and even then she's very guarded."

"At least she doesn't look like she's on the verge of tears or about to flee when you're around, Harry."

"I guess that's some progress. At least her housemates are leaving them alone according to Peeves and Fiona."

"Thank heavens for small mercies," Hermione said, "Perhaps she might open up to us, someday, and allow us into that small circle she shares with Tracy."

"Perhaps," Harry agreed, "and speaking of trauma, Mione: you've been rather forthright since we got back from your moms and dad's place; Neville has become almost as bad with you as Daphne is with me. What happened to the little witch who wanted to change how others see and perceive her?"

The hazel-eyed witch tilted her head, raised her eyebrows and replied, "After seeing moms and dad's open behavior before Gringotts, Malfoy the elder . . . git, and Cissy-mom's sister's family I figured I should be true to myself too. If they're not concerned, why should I be? I like me and thinking I should change myself was rather naïve and immature. Sure, people are staring at me and I've heard my share of unpleasant mutters and gossip but if who I am disturbs them; then they're not worth my time. I'm table d'hôte not a la carte."

"My, my Mione and what a tasty meal you must be," Harry teased. "Can I have your appetizer now?"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Hermione!" he retorted impishly.

"You've changed too, Mister Potter."

"What can I say, you're contagious Lady Granger," taunted the green-eyed wizard, "but I have to agree with you: why hide, it's all gonna come out in the end. At least this way it shouldn't be as much of a surprise when it does. So, Mione, who's gonna comment on your new Slytherin look first, Malfoy or Weasley?"

"Probably Ron, Draco's been pretty reserved of late. Still, I wouldn't put a nasty comment past Parkinson but we'll have to see," Hermione responded. "With that being said, Lord Potter, am I being presumptuous by expecting an escort to breakfast?"

"It would be my pleasure, Lady Granger; shall we?" he said and, hooking Hermione's elbow, he led his witch to and through the portrait door.

—}{-

Severus Snape sat at the head table perusing the morning's Prophet while nibbling on some rapidly cooling toast. To one who did not know him, it might look as if he was totally oblivious to the bedlam, which accompanied a few hundred students—or so—enjoying breakfast under minimal supervision but the miscreants—i.e. the Weasley twins, mostly—in the gathered cacophony knew better. Popping a piece of crust into his mouth, he brushed the crumbs from his fingertips and turned the page; he raised his cup and sipped his now tepid tea.

I should read The Quibbler, it would be more informative; not to mention factual, he thought rather bitterly, The Prophet's little more than a gossipy, propaganda spouting, Ministry rag masquerading as a newspaper. One thing's for certain, though, he reasoned in half-amusement and half-distain, Lucius' purse is plainly seen; considering the lack of mention of his marriage or other matters: or is that Potter's purse I'm seeing? He's keeping a pretty tight vial-stopper on things, too, in the papers and in Hogwarts. Thankfully, my godson has mostly kept his mouth shut, especially in light of that little bit of family drama the other week: I've never seen Lucius so angry or humiliated for that matter. Now I see why Granger seemed a mite familiar and I'm sure Lucius is still suffering indigestion over that little tidbit; it's pretty obvious, now, when you look at her. Who'd think a daughter of the Most Ancient House of Black would cleave herself to muggles; Narcissa even bore a daughter by her shared lover: 'scandalous' will barely describe the reception that that little revelation will garner, once it comes to light. Potter better have thick skin and Granger's had better be rapidly thickening. At least Granger and Potter can defend themselves, handily, from what I've seen; pity that many in my own House will find out the hard way. I'd better start brewing up some extra potions for Poppy; I fear she'll be needing them sooner rather than later; before our resident Lord and Lady begin filling hospital beds with their detractors. I hope things blow over before Dani comes to Hogwarts; I'd hate to see my goddaughter in the midst of the coming firestorm. At least Narcissa is a gifted witch, she'll ensure her daughters are prepared and prepared in the old ways: the Black ways. Did I just think 'daughters'? Well—I suppose—Granger is now almost as much Narcissa's daughter as Dani is; that'll take some getting used to too, the two of them sharing a father and all. Lucky man, Severus pondered with more than a touch of envy, to think a muggle could attract and keep a witch like Narcissa while maintaining a relationship with one of his own kind. Filius did say that Granger's mother and father had enough presence to sit in the company of Ragnok as equals and that they both garnered a lot of attention from his youngest wives; Narcissa too according to our resident Charms' Master. I suppose I know where half-goblins come from now but I can't see the attraction a wizard or muggle might hold for a goblin; nope, can't see it at all.

The Potions' Master was pulled from his silent deliberations when the bustle in Great Hall paused, for an almost imperceptible moment, before resuming; Severus Snape lowered his newspaper and peered over the top. Of course, he thought caustically, the uncoroneted have graced us with their presence: do they realize—do their dunderheaded schoolmates?—just how much sway they already have? Maybe not but I've heard a few of the staff mention it but other than Filius; they're blind to the brief—no longer than a short breath, if even that—pause when those two enter a room. It's still there, just briefer, when they're alone. I've also noticed that they're not as glued at the hip as they were before; I suppose they've proven—after what happened to Draco—that it's unwise to challenge either of them. I've begun seeing them with other children: at least other children in their year. Quite the powerful bloc they're building, too; Longbottom, Bones and Greengrass—and their associated sycophants—but it shows how little contact they have within Ravenclaw, except for its Head of House.

He watched the two cross the Great Hall and gave a silent sniff of distain: not for them but for members of his own House. At least they're consistent; even late, they're early but why get out of bed so soon when they're allowed an authorized lie-in? Severus mused pithily. At least their punctuality extends to detentions and they never whined about fairness—how un-Gryffindor is that—as they sat doing their homework, they even asked a few questions when they were uncertain; it was their Transfiguration homework too. It was actually rather enjoyable too: rarely do I have students of any year sit detention with me and not be quivering blobs of irrational fear. Nevertheless, at least I had a chance to gain a different perspective into events, which Lucius' anger had colored when he showed up stinking of cheap firewhiskey, late, that evening. I honestly feel a little sorry for my not so Slytherin godson; he really bore the brunt of his daddy's anger: I hope he learned something, he thought cynically and without much optimism. I do hope Dani's father will allow me to—at least—visit her during breaks; I'd like to see and meet her real family. Filius told me that Granger is very much her mother and father's daughter.

Severus thought about what the Charms' Professor had told him about that. Merlin's bollocks, now that I know what I know, I can easily see Narcissa's teaching in Granger too. Obviously, she didn't withhold etiquette instruction from her co-wife's daughter; I've got to admit, Granger carries her newfound nobility with grace and poise: it will serve her well when she faces what is arrayed against her and she has Potter as a patron too. Change is coming and the vanguards are here, how it plays out is anyone's guess but my money is on Potter and Company and my goddaughter seems fated to stand on his left—as Granger stands on his right—as they burn away the chafe in his little reformation. I hope I'm alive to see what is wrought, when all's said and done; although I'm certain it will be neither the almighty and wise Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord's vision of 'The Greater Good'. No matter how delusional they chooses to be; Potter is not theirs and Granger and Granger-Black—I'm still not sure how that came about—are his, it appears, and so is the vision of the coming world.

Damn, Severus chastised himself wordlessly; I'm beginning to think like Twelawney. Bah, our resident seer's 'inner-eye' sure missed this one; she needs to polish her crystal ball better. Aaurgh! Thinking about Twelawney pisses me off; how can one with so little talent be the author of so much misery, consequence and chaos? Bloody hell, I was as much of a bollocking fool for bringing the prophecy to the Dark Lord as he was for following it; I can't even blame Twelawney for that, now can I? It was the Dark Lord and Dumbledore who lent the prophecy credibility; she never told them they had to believe in it.

Pulling himself from his rapt contemplation, Snape's hawk-like eyes surveyed the Great Hall: Granger and Potter had joined their older housemates at the Gryffindor table. Severus' eyes then drifted to his house's table. Figures, he thought without surprise, my stupid godson is glaring at his two nemeses; who—even if they noticed—wouldn't give a flobberworm's rectum for their wannabe rival's scorn. I see Parkinson is sitting further away from Draco too; obviously, she's not as dumb as the witless wonders of Slytherin House: dear godson, you're rapidly running out of toadies and Crabbe and Goyle are pretty useless minions. Morgana's festering quim, the only virtue those two have is their ability to follow blindly; too bad that their brawn was rendered useless by Filius' 'dance' lessons and our Golden Gryffindors are very astute students. I guess Granger takes after her mom in the 'dance' department, too, if what Filius said happened at Gringotts is to be believed and goblins—or half-goblins for that matter—don't lie. What a kick in the bloody bollocks for poor Lucius that must've been: humiliated and humbled by a muggle—a female no less—she even broke his wand, a wand that had survived years in the Dark Lord's service. By Nymue's forsaken wisdom, if Moody or an auror had broken it, at least there might've been some honor in its loss but to a muggle woman? How ever will he explain that to his drinking buddies at the next Death Eater reunion? At least Lucius is an accomplished liar, unlike his son. He mentally scowled as he considered the boy. Wonderful, Draco's standing now; I hope I don't have to save his sorry ass again but I fear his bruises have healed and he's likely forgotten why he got them in the first place, now. Mordred's saggy nut sack, I've grown weary of the dense headed bigotry, which runs rampant in my own House; perhaps I should retire and move to the muggle world because I don't think our world will survive much longer. Bloody hell, if the idiots in the Wizengamot don't open their eyes, soon, we're going to stumble into the abyss, which lies, gaping, before us.

The arrival of a white bundle of feathers drew Severus from his melancholic musings. Potter's snowy owl glided across the Great Hall and dropped an envelope it bore near the Granger witch, before landing by her owner. He saw the young Gryffindor say something and the bird answered with a brief hoot; it then turned its attention towards Potter—or, to be more precise, Potter's plate—and snagged the boy's bacon in her beak. 'Hedwig! I was just gonna eat that . . . bacon thief,' Professor Snape heard Lily's son exclaim before giving his owl an affectionate scratch on her head.

"Letter for Granger? Kinda early; what's up with that," the Potions' Master muttered absently.

"It's Miss Granger's birthday, Severus," stated Professor McGonagall with a faint and almost grandmotherly smile, which seemed tainted by something other than simple filial feelings. That's sort of creepy; Severus thought as he contemplated the look on the Transfiguration professor's face. She's never looked at anyone—let alone a student—like that: I wonder who's it for? Bah, too early for that mental image: I'm going to have to scourgify my brain now . . . still. What am I thinking? I'm old enough to be Hermione's father! He rebuked himself; feeling somewhat dirty after that thought. I'm a master Occlumens; I can't afford stray thoughts. How can two first years have such a profound impact on everyone around them?

—}{—

When Harry and Hermione entered the Great Hall that Thursday, breakfast was well advanced. As usual, their hands were linked as they headed to their table; oblivious of brief pause noted by Professor Snape. They found a couple of empty places and sat together. The Weasley twins and a few others—though Percy was, of course, far too self-involved to notice the duo of first years—smiled and nodded in greeting before returning to plot mayhem or, in the case of other students preparing for classes. Acknowledging the various greetings with a nod themselves, the young witch and wizard turned their attention towards the cornucopia that was a typical Hogwarts' breakfast. Each choosing their favorites, Hermione and Harry loaded their plates for a proper repast. They had barely consumed a few morsels before Hedwig flew into the Great Hall. The white owl drifted majestically over the heads of the staff and students eating their morning meal; garnering the odd 'oo' or 'ah' as the beautiful bird silently glided to her destination. She dropped an envelope by Hermione before alighting near Harry's plate.

"Thank you Hedwig; you're such a talented and pretty owl," Hermione said affectionately as she set down her fork and picked up the envelope.

"Hoo," Hedwig answered proudly and, in a moment of distraction, raided Harry's plate and captured her wizard's bacon.

"Hedwig! I was just gonna eat that," Harry tenderly reprimanded his owl, "bacon thief."

The snowy owl comically tilted its head and looked at Harry before uttering a quiet hoot from her bacon-filled beak. The green-eyed wizard scratched his familiar's head and said, "The rest is mine, so you'd best keep your beak away from what's left of my breakfast, girl."

Balefully, Hedwig stared at Harry plate as she devoured her captured bacon. The white feathered avian finished her last ill-begotten rasher, offered another soft hoot and launched herself from the table. She flew a couple of silent circles over Harry and Hermione heads before winging her way to the clearstory and out into the grey and wet late-summer morning sky.

"Who's it from, Mione?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked at the address' unfamiliar but neat writing and replied, "Sis, I think, Harry; I don't really recognize the writing so it must be Dani's."

Wasting no time, Hermione tore open the envelope and withdrew a few sheets of peach coloured stationary, covered with tidy but obviously girly looking cursive; she began to read.

Happy birthday big sis Mione,

Wow, I can't believe that this is the first opportunity I've had to write since you and Harry went back to Hogwarts but I have become unbelievably busy since then. First, me and mum had Doddy raid Malfoy Manor for the items and clothes we wanted; we were startled to find how little we actually wanted. Most of mom's stuff is in a couple of trunks in the basement, until she decides what will stay and what will go. My stuff has filled about three quarters of my new closet and I've taken over your library; it's a bedroom again. I don't got many posters or trinkets yet but I'm sure they'll come in time but I have filled my display shelf with my fairy statue collection and my book shelf is pretty full too. Your books (and many of mom's) have found a new home in the library that dad and Dobby built in that room you showed us. Dad and Dobby built one magical bookcase to hide some of mom's darker tomes and magical books. She really praised dad's carving skills; he artfully hid a bunch of runes (that mom charged) in a landscape scene he carved into the cabinet's hidden doors. Dad was gushing over the work they did over the course of a couple of evenings and wished that Doddy had been available when they renovated our house. He said the job would've been done in a tenth of the time and for a fraction of their budget but he understood why it had to be done the hard (muggle) way.

Of course, it's not just moving in and getting settled that is eating time. Mom has had to attend Gringotts almost every single day to help sort out Malfoy and Black assets and since dad and Emma-mum are working (I still don't quite get dentistry) I've been accompanying mom on her daily trips to Diagon Alley. I had originally thought I'd just be continuing the work mom sets out for me daily: boy, was I wrong. On my first day at Gringotts, a she-goblin (I now see what you mean, Mione; she-goblins are surprisingly attractive) named Silkenrobe (Harry's friend and teacher she told me) another but older she-goblin who refers to herself as Tomeminder-Prime and an old gnarly he-goblin called Casthand began assessing my knowledge and physical abilities. (Groan, I should've listened to mom and exercised more) After they finished poking, prodding and quizzing me, we met mom for lunch. Wow, was that a surprise! We went to the 'real' Gringotts (in the basement, if you catch my meaning) and went to the Overlord's table for a business luncheon, which was what they called it. I'm now spending my weekday mornings in Harry's 'special' chamber and learning lots of stuff (you'd love it, sis, I'm sure): I suppose that's why it feels so long since we saw each other, Mione. At least my afternoons are free (Mom's still really busy) so I'm allowed to wander, some, but must remain in Diagon Alley, which is alright by me: I've never liked Knockturn Alley, anyways, and I'd just get lost in muggle London. Actually, it was because of this that I made a friend.

Luna (that's her name) is a little strange. She's really really open with her feelings (perhaps too open for her own good) and doesn't have a bad bone in her body, or thought in her head for that matter, and she's real quirky smart. (I think you and Harry will really like her) Me and Luna met when I went to get some ice cream after my second 'morning' at Gringotts. She was sitting at a table, in front of Fortescue's, all by herself and looking really sad; so asked if I could sit with her. First, two of the biggest, bluest eyes I've ever seen were staring at me in surprise and then I was almost blinded by her smile. She just nodded. It took a bit (halfway through my bowl of ice cream) before she told me that her name was Luna Lovegood. I asked about her parents and she told me her daddy was working. When I asked about her mom she got really sad and just said 'mommy can't be here today'. I'm glad I didn't ask any more about that because mom later told me that Mrs. Lovegood had a really bad accident about a year ago and died. (Speaking of mom, she was a little surprised to see me with Luna in the first place) After we finished our second helping of ice cream (my treat), Luna and me walked about looking at the shops; didn't see anything we liked (well at least nothing we could afford) so we didn't buy anything. Me and Luna ended up meeting mom at Gringotts. Before we went home we met Luna's dad, he owns The Quibbler and writes almost all of it. (I can see why Luna's a bit odd after meeting her dad, he's even odder than she is but it's not a scary odd; almost like he's a big kid himself) Boy, was he surprised to Luna with mom and me. When me and mom got home, I asked if Luna could join me at Gringotts in the mornings; mom told me to ask the Goblins myself.

The next morning, I asked Griphook; he told me that if I could bring Luna and her dad to see him he might consider it. Mom told me to talk to them myself (something about it being good practice for later, Mom's like that sometimes) so I did. Mr. Lovegood was pretty surprised to see me so early in the morning. I told him that I had tutoring at Gringotts in the mornings: that surprised him even more than meeting mom the day before or my early arrival. He said he had a few minutes and would happily speak to Griphook. When we got back to Gringotts, Mr. Lovegood was taken aside by Griphook. I don't know what they talked about but it must have really shocked Luna's dad because he had a very thoughtful look on his face when they got back. He told Luna to be good, to do what she was told and that he'd be back at lunchtime. Mr. Lovegood got an even bigger shocker at lunch; I heard him muttering something about it all being worth it in the end and that it was really good for Luna to be with someone her age. (The girl she used to play with stopped coming over after her mom died; Luna doesn't know why but it really hurt her: her dad thinks it had something to do with the other girl's mom, though) Anyways, me and Luna are now spending our mornings together, she's really really happy too. Luna and her dad are coming over this weekend for my birthday (too bad we couldn't celebrate our first birthdays together, together, sis) I bet Emma-mom and dad are going to have an interesting time because Mr. Lovegood has got to be about the strangest person I've ever met.

Anyways, I've got to get to bed (I'm beat) because for all the Goblins are teaching us; they're still Goblins and Goblins don't got a lot of sympathy for anything they see as weak. Please give Uncle Sev my love and a big hug, too. I wouldn't mind you giving Harry a kiss for me while you're at it.

Love Dani.

PS: Moms and dad will be sending your birthday gifts by Dobby post sometime tomorrow.

PPS: We're trying to work out a way for Uncle Sev to come see me but mom says it's not as easy as just asking him to come over now. Hopefully, we can figure something out by Yule.

Looking a bit misty eyed but sporting a very happy grin, Hermione handed Harry the letter. He began to read as the hazel-eyed witch nibbled her toast and sipped her water.

Harry snickered a couple of minutes later and said, "So, Mione; you gonna give Uncle Sev a big hug later?"

"Of course not," the young witch replied with a very un-Hermione giggle, "it would make the other professors jealous and what about the teachers I don't know yet? I don't think they'd appreciate me hugging them out of the blue."

Sounding thoughtful, Harry replied in tease, "Hard to say I suppose but, for some reason, I don't think the Runes or Arithmacy teachers would mind—at least they're kinda young and fairly attractive—but that's just my opinion."

Harry's unexpected reply saw Hermione turned her eyes to the Head Table and glance at the teachers still eating their breakfasts. She teased back, "At least we share aesthetics, Harry, but perhaps I should wait awhile longer. Besides, if they're still here in third year; we'll likely have them both for teachers and three years isn't going to make that big of a difference I suspect: like you said, 'they're kinda young'."

With a humorous double take, Harry looked at his friend in her rather Slytherin attire and opened his mouth, only to close it again; he really had nothing to say or at least nothing to say, which wouldn't garner him a slap from any other witch but his. Hermione just smiled at him.

"So, we don't have any classes till this afternoon; what do you want to do until lunch time, Harry?" Asked his brown-haired friend.

"I thought I might head to the chamber, it's quiet and private; I'd like to finish my Charms homework. What about you, Hermione?"

"Sounds good. Too bad about our library though, we should probably start organizing that soon; it's going to take a long time I suspect," she replied.

"I'll say but it'll be worth the effort. From what I've seen, the books on those selves are better than the ones we've seen in the Library; having them in some semblance of order would be very helpful."

Hermione nodded and said quietly, "I agree, Harry, but some of those books are really dark stuff; I don't think you'd find some of them even in the Restricted Section."

"Probably not," Harry replied, mentally shuddering as he thought about a couple of titles he had browsed in curiosity. He quietly added, "I'm pretty certain some are even banned titles; especially some of those older ones."

Hermione paled, slightly, remembering. She shivered and virtually whispered, "Tell me about it: I'm actually glad my Latin isn't near good enough to even try and read that one about Necromancy. Who knows what might be in some of those books written in Greek or some other ancient language; I'm not sure I want to find out either."

Harry nodded again as he absently reached for a piece of suddenly absent toast. He looked at the table: his plate was absent too; he stated, "I guess breakfast's over. That kinda sucks, I'm still a bit hungry."

Resigned to the same fate as Harry, Hermione said, "We'll see if we can get a bite or two brought to us in the Chamber, Harry; let's go. No point sitting around here."

Harry rose from the table and offered a gentlemanly hand to Hermione.

Smiling, she accepted his offer and said playfully, "What a proper young man you are, Lord Potter."

"It's my honour, Lady Granger," he replied; he whispered the last two words but still managed to, somehow, emphasize them. Hermione stuck out her tongue in a rather unladylike fashion; Harry feigned shock.

"Prat," said the young witch, light-heartedly. "Let's go, Harry."

Holding hands, the two stepped away from the Gryffindor table and headed to the exit; they didn't notice that Draco and his cronies were still loitering by the exit: Professor Snape did.

Damn, Severus thought acridly as he excused himself from the Head table, I'm far too Slytherin to think that's a coincident. I had better go rescue my Godson, again. And damn Filius too; why must he smirk so, he thought; his Slytherin eyes had caught a fleeting glimpse of Professor Flitwick's momentary lack of Goblinly decorum. At least I'm not the only one who finds those two at least slightly disconcerting; how, by Merlin's beard, can the rest of the staff be so unobservant about what's happening around Potter and Granger. Even Albus seems unaware; unless he's keeping his thoughts as he usually does, abstract and close to his chest. After all, he's the only one clever enough to notice things around here. Severus was a little surprised by the venom garnishing his thoughts as he quickly crossed the Great Hall.

Hermione and Harry casually walked to the exit. Just as they reached the door, the young witch heard a soft hiss in her ears. She briefly stopped Harry and put a finger over her lips. The green-eyed wizard tilted his head and gave her a quizzical stare. Seconds later, the two Gryffindors stepped over the threshold: Draco Malfoy and his ever-present underlings were waiting just beyond the Great Hall. The two Gryffindors shared a silent chuckle as Hermione's sort of stepbrother's face flashed a sudden and comically confused expression when he didn't surprise them like planned.

"Good morning, Draco dear," Hermione said, her tone dripping sarcasm.

The young Malfoy and company flinched and whirled to face the familiar voice. Stunned, the young Slytherins couldn't help but notice how Hermione was dressed. Bloody hell, Draco silently exclaimed once his brain could register a cognizant thought again. Mordred's bollocks' sack, why is Granger wearing snake jewelry—expensive looking stuff too—and what's with the silver and green on her robes? She's a Gryffindor for Merlin sakes . . . damn, she looks pretty good. Aaurgh, what am I thinking! She's a mudblood and a stinking lion, too, not to mention Potter's whore.

"Come now Draco, close your mouth; you look like a fish out of water: what would mother say if she saw such an open expression on her little snake's face?" the young witch goadingly said.

Her comments were bristling and definitely intentional but, other than Potter, only Crabbe and Goyle were close enough to hear them and thankfully too stupid to put one and one together. Draco was thankful that Parkinson might've been too far away to hear Granger's taunt.

"The mudblood wants to be a Slytherin; feeling some house envy, there, Granger?" Draco snarled ineffectively; Hermione just smiled, mockingly: she even acknowledged Pansy's with a subtle nod. "Too bad you're not good enough; even Crabbe and Goyle are good enough.

Draco's two sidekicks snickered; they didn't catch their blonde housemate's veiled insult but a quiet gasp from Pansy indicated that she did. She looked between her three associates, Granger and Potter. Potter's beautiful green eyes were sparkling mirthfully and the young Slytherin witch suddenly felt quit envious of the muggle-born with the sarcastic smile and noble mien. Granger's really lucky, she thought as jealously reared its unexpected head, at least Potter's attentive; he heard Draco's insult: I don't think Draco did and he said it. Greengrass and the half-blood were right, not getting Potter and Granger was a major loss for the house of ambition and cunning; it was my betrothed's fault, too, and he's too blind to even see how some older housemates look at him: with barely disguised disgust. It's because Draco is Heir Malfoy that keeps their ire at bay, for now, but daddy wrote me the other day and mentioned that something is weakening House Malfoy and House Parkinson by association. Thank Merlin, Professor Snape has arrived; your butt has been saved again Draco.

Hermione, unfazed by Malfoy's insults or Professor Snape's convenient arrival, said with derision, "You and your ilk, young Malfoy, have wrought ruination upon our ancient and once great house founded by Salazar Slytherin. Corrupted by self-serving, narrow-minded fools, who thought graft and corruption equaled ambition and cunning, the House of Silver and Green has fallen so far now that many of her members only believe what they've been told and not what they see: even when it's blatant and before their very eyes. They scorn the ambition of the half-blood and deny the cunning of the mudblood." Using just her tone, Hermione had turned 'mudblood' into an insult, which was aimed at Draco. "You have called Harry's family blood-traitors but by the action of your so called 'noble' protectors of Wizarding culture; great lines are now extinct and many are facing extinction. Tell me, Heir Draco to the Noble House of Malfoy, does 'Bad Faith' end when you die? Does daddy have means to provide a new heir or are his bollocks too shriveled to fire more than blanks? The Malfoy line usually only shoots once when it comes to Successors; or didn't you know that? You should reread your family history, Draco dear; I found it quite informative but sadly amusing."

Draco was stunned to silence but Hermione's questions surprised Pansy by their very implications. Does Granger know about Draco's mother and sister? The young Slytherin witch anxiously thought, her worldview rapidly becoming undone. Daddy told me that Lady Narcissa was expelled from House Malfoy for some reason and that when she left, she took Danielle with her. They've virtually disappeared but for a couple of unconfirmed reports of them entering Gringotts a few times lately. Come to think of it. Pansy realized; her mind assembling bits of information she had overheard or was told. Whatever happened to House Malfoy came to light just after Potter and Granger went to Gringotts the other weekend. I remember Draco loudly boasting that his Father was going to put the half-blooded spawn of the blood-traitor Potter in his place and that his father was going to bring him a new plaything: Draco wasn't talking about a toy either; my betrothed's avarice tainted expression made that obvious. She realized, as her usually hidden intellect connected the dots and, for the first time, Pansy actually looked at Hermione Granger with eyes unclouded by bigotry; she almost gasped aloud. Morgana! Granger looks almost like a brunette, hazel-eyed Danielle Malfoy, who's a little older! Why didn't I, or Draco, see that? Does that mean that Granger has some connection to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and, if she does, how? I wonder where the jewellery and robes she's wearing came from? It looks really good on her. Pansy thought as her mind shifted to simpler topics; it needed to digest the rather rich meal of information it had concluded and dined on.

"You . . . you filthy mudblood," was Draco's response to Hermione's verbal assault; he was too angry to see Harry's smirk when he resorted to his favorite taunt, "Wait till my father hears about this!"

"Mister Malfoy," Professor Snape said to make his formerly unnoticed presence known to his godson, "is there a problem here; is that why you are blocking the exit?"

"Its G-Granger, sir," he stammered.

"Miss Granger?" the Potions' Master asked.

"Draco and I were just discussing the foibles associated with not paying history its proper due and the ability that some people have to ignore what is plainly before their very eyes, Professor Snape," Hermione replied politely.

"Indeed," Severus drawled before adding, "Please keep such philosophical discussion from cluttering the hallways in future, Miss Granger."

"Yes sir," the witch answered with courtesy and a shallow curtsy; Professor Snape almost smiled, he then looked back at his godson and sneered.

"Mr. Malfoy, should you not be heading to class or can I expect a note telling me that four of my students were late this morning?"

"L-look at what G-Granger is w-wearing, uncle," Draco sputtered, his godson's thoughtless address bringing ire to his head of house.

Severus Snape glanced at the young witch. What the Hell? He thought as he noticed the young witch's new appearance. Where did she get the formal uniform—she wears it really well—and where did she get her neck and ear accessories? Is she wearing the fabled 'Consort of Slytherin' set? No, that's impossible; she's a mudblood, Severus mentally kicked himself for his unthinking use of that foul word and then chastised himself for the feelings that had begun to stir when he looked at the young witch. She's only a child! His inner self exclaimed, only to be countered by the unwelcome correction of, she's only a child now. Severus Snape was beginning to feel like he need to take a shower, a cold one; he didn't like it.

"I see nothing against Hogwarts' dress code, in what Miss Granger is wearing, Mr. Malfoy," he dryly stated.

"You're telling me that that's okay, Uncle? Look at her uniform," Professor Snape scowled at Draco again.

With another glance at Hermione, the Head of Slytherin said smoothly, "Your accessories and uniform piping clash, some, with your red and gold ascot and house badge, Miss Granger."

That's it! That's all Professor Snape has to say! Pansy's mind screamed in disbelief and absurdity. I better write daddy before today is done because when this gets back to the dorm, Draco's standing is going to fall even further. I think I'm going to spend more time with Greengrass and Davis; I hope they're not too petty.

"Thank you sir, I'll keep that in mind for the future," Hermione replied sweetly, her response making all the gathered Slytherins uncomfortable.

"Indeed, Miss Granger," Severus retorted from his state of uncomfortable befuddlement; everything about this conversation with this first year student felt wrong to him. Collecting himself, he faced his young snakes and dismissed them, "Off with the four of you now."

"Yes sir," the four said in poorly timed unison.

With the departure of his young wards, Professor Snape turned his attention to the young Gryffindors, remaining. He asked, "Do you two have somewhere else to be?"

"Not really, sir," Harry replied innocently; the professor glowered at the young wizard.

"If you two have nothing to do then go back to your tower or head to the library," he said in dismissal. The two students, which he had caught himself calling—in private of course—the Noble Duo turned but then Granger turned back.

"Professor Snape?" She said; her eyes were a little shifty.

"Yes Miss Granger."

"I just want to tell you that Dani sends her love but I suspect you'd be as uncomfortable as I if I hugged you like she asked," Hermione said quietly; Harry smirked as the Potions' Master's usually rigid mask slipped for a second and showed surprise.

"Thank you Hermio . . . Miss Granger; is my goddaughter and her mother well? Are they safe?" He asked with a tone of concern that few have heard; a tone reserved for only Dani and Narcissa now that Lily was gone.

"Yes to both, Professor Snape; House Potter has become their Patron and they are under its protection," replied the young witch.

Astounded, Severus Snape turned and looked into Lily's green eyes and said, "Thank you Lord Potter."

"Your welcome, sir; becoming their patron brings honor to House Potter," Harry replied nobly and, without waiting for him to respond, Harry and Hermione turned and walked away. Severus, his eyes misting in surprise, watched the young witch and wizard make their way down the hall.

"How could I've been so wrong," Severus said quietly.

"Wrong about what, my boy?" The unwelcome sound of the Headmaster's voice reached the Potions' Master's ears. "Oh look, it's Mr. Potter and Miss Granger; such studious students in need of guidance for the Greater Good."

Dumbledore's 'The Greater Good' comment made Severus Snape shiver inside as he looked at the Headmaster. Maybe the dementors wouldn't have been so bad after all, he thought viciously from behind his Occlumency shields.

"Every witch and wizard needs to be mindful of their proper place; don't you agree Severus? It's never good to see people aspiring to thoughts or positions that are above them. Tradition must be maintained after all; that's to ensure the Greater Good and we mustn't forget that, my boy."

Another inner shiver preceded Professor Snapes's reply, "Excuse me, Headmaster, I have classes to teach and must be off."

"Of course, of course you do. We shan't be found shirking in our duty to show our students their proper place in society, now shall we? I'll see you at lunch, Severus, my boy.

"Yes Headmaster," he replied before turning on his heel and heading towards the dungeons.