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

19. Chapter 19

Heirs of the Founders

Author's Notes:

I'm ignoring the canon Thursday scheduled since I have a problem with expecting first years to attend a 9:45am class when they had Astronomy between 12:00am and 1:00am the night (morning) before.

With this chapter, I step into dangerous territory. If you are still with me at this point, I'm sure I've left enough foreshadowing hints so that none of this or the next chapter's content will comes as a surprise. Hopefully, by this point, those who have taken offense to some of my earlier content; have gone on to stories that don't offend their sensibilities. Regardless, I do offer this warning; Daphne Greengrass is rather messed up; the how and why are explored in this and chapter 20.

Thank you all for reading, reviewing and following Heirs; I really appreciate you offering me your time.

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 Nineteen

September had rolled to October and October had nearly become November and the weeks following Hermione and Danielle's birthdays settled into a comfortable cadence. At Hogwarts, Hermione and Harry had incontrovertibly clinched the top-of-their-year spots for all their subjects but Herbology, where Neville had narrowly squeaked out Hermione by half a point. That dropped her and Harry to the second and third places, respectively, which had been a new experience for the bushy-haired witch. She wasn't that upset, for not being the top-of-her-grade that is, and took it in stride; her mum had the Granger green thumb, not her, and the Longbottom heir was undeniably knowledgeable and experienced in all things plant related: especially the magical ones. Official classes aside, the three morning a week routine with Filius Flitwick continued but had become significantly more intense but somewhat divergent, though. It changed when the professor had learned that Hermione had studied ballet, which saw him catering her self-defense training more towards speed and agility versus Harry's focus on stamina and strength. Meanwhile, the remainder of their classes carried on as always and had yet to present a substantial challenge, except for Astronomy. Of course, it wasn't the subject matter and content that proved challenging but its disruptive effect on their circadian rhythm that left them both feeling foggy and groggy come Thursday morning but this Thursday was different and not just because it was Halloween. Today's change, though, planted on September the second, had born fruit following their midnight class.

Hermione and Harry's Astronomy Class had just ended and, as Percy Weasley led the first years back to their Gryffindor Tower, Peeves created a series of diversions that had the fifth year prefect running around, much like a chicken with its head cut off. Alternating between some choice words describing the castle's resident poltergeist and his twin brothers (to cover his bases just in case) Percy had become distracted. In his distraction, Harry and Hermione slipped away from the rest of their housemates and into the concealing shadows of a nearby alcove. The young witch and wizard watched as their 'roomies' vanished around a corner and once they were gone, Fiona faded in beside them.

"Are you sure about this, Hermione?" The Founders' construct and daughter had asked.

The hazel-eyed witch nodded but her nervousness was evident as she fought the urge to throw up; she didn't want to speak for fear that more than words would come from her mouth if she tried.

"And you, Lord Potter?" Fiona enquired.

"I'm obviously concerned, Fiona," Harry responded, "but it's Hermione's choice in the end, it's her life after all. Either way, I think it's an awesome opportunity: it should help disseminate the fact that Hermione is not just a 'Jenny-come-lately' aspiring to positions beyond her station. Considering who she'll represent, it's a swift kick to the ole bollocks of the hidebound fossils squatting in the Wizengamot; who, as of yet, haven't even earned a public potty seat by their own merit, at least from what I've heard and seen so far."

"While mostly true, Hermione still faces a hostile Wizengamot without the benefit of having at least half of an acceptable family lineage; this will only increase the pressure brought on by ignorance and historic prejudices," stated the female construct, "once she becomes an avatar, there's no turning back."

"I-I know it's going to be hard, Fiona," said the young witch, "but I'll have my friends and family supporting me and I think Luna will have it worse, once others find out about her."

Fiona shook her head, "Being a witch with fae blood might at most raise a few eyebrows but won't be all that surprising; both sides of her family are known for their eccentricities and most will just smile and say 'well, that explains a lot' and leave it there. In the end, it won't matter once Luna has taken Rowena's mantle and becomes Ravenclaw's Avatar."

"You do remember we're talking more than just some pointier ears and bigger than average eyes, right?" Harry stated.

"Of course, how could I forget?" she replied, "Especially after your description; I can't wait. Luna's going to be so much fun! I love new playmates."

"She's only eleven," Hermione interjected protectively.

"Didn't stop you or your she-goblin friend, Silkenrobe, from what I heard," Fiona teased.

Hermione blushed.

"Lighten up, Hermione," said the Founder's daughter, "you can't ascribe or impose human ethos or ethics on other races and for all that bit about goblins was a surprise, your two cultures have definitely diverged . . . a lot. Now, let's get you two to the Chamber before one of the portraits snitch on us."

Through the night-darkened castles, they walked; easily avoiding Dumbledore's extended eyes and ears, as Hogwarts put the pictures to sleep long before the three would pass them. They reached the Entry Hall, without being seen by unwelcome witnesses and stood before Hogwarts' crest; thanks to Peeves' earlier distractions. The three stepped into the Patrons' and Founders' Chamber.

Fiona stopped, turned and face her young charges and asked, "Last chance, you two; once this is done it's done for life and will define you forevermore, Hermione."

"Thus quoth the raven: nevermore," Hermione mumbled abstractly.

"Sorry?" Harry asked.

"Oh, just thinking about The Raven and seeing it in a different light, I suppose," replied the young witch.

"How so?"

"In many interpretations of the poem, the Raven is the tormentor sent to remind the protagonist that his departed love, Lenore, is gone," replied the witch with the hazel eyes. "Much of the concluding narrative revolves about how the lead has anthropomorphized the raven's response of 'nevermore' to his question: 'Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenne. It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore' (1). Since the protagonist seems unable to move beyond the loss of his beloved, the raven's response appears to take aim at the belief they'll be together in the afterlife, forever. One could even argue that the raven's 'nevermore' also takes aim at the subject's fundamental beliefs as a Christian, when Poe presents the line 'Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!' (2). If one places the emphasis on the latter part of the line, it suggests that the raven is the embodiment of an unforgivable sin, which comes from denying God's Word and by extension God himself; a sin the protagonist may have unwittingly committed. By interpreting the raven's 'nevermore', in this manner, suggests a viewing of belief through the eyes of rationality; as opposed to the eyes of faith, which many Christian scholars of yore espoused as being the only way to read scripture or gain one's admission to Heaven."

"Okay . . . I'm not sure I completely follow, Mione, but I'll take your word for it. So, what's your interpretation then?" Harry said a little exasperated but he understood that Hermione behaved this way when she was worried or nervous and he sympathized; he was feeling pretty nervous himself.

Hermione continued, barely breaking step, "I purport that the raven's 'nevermore' addresses the protagonist's inability to move on from his loss. The raven is telling him that whatever he thought his life would've been or his life with Lenore might've been is irrelevant now or quoth the raven 'nevermore'. Lenore has died and for all that is sad; it doesn't mean his life is over too. The protagonist needs to move beyond his obsessive sorrow, which keeps him living in the past and in his dreams of yesteryear. He needs to accept that there is more than a sole road in one's life; he needs to accept that each incident or fork if you wish to be poetic on this road represents a different potential. Whether this potential is good or bad is irrelevant, it is making the choice to move on that's important.

"For example: when I was little," continued the young witch, "it seemed obvious that I'd become a doctor or a dentist like my parents or something like that. When Professor McGonagall told us that I was a witch, it put a definite and very big fork in my path. Granted, it wasn't a difficult choice to make but when I look back and see myself as a ten-year-old, I realize that my earlier thoughts about the future were very undefined; it was as if something prevented me from ever really imagining myself as a doctor or a dentist beyond just a vague and misty 'I suppose I'll be a . . .'. I suspect, even before I knew I was magical, I had an inkling of it. That it was that, which tempered my ability to view my future the way my non-magical peers might, even when such thoughts are, more often than not, whimsical rather than achievable. I think I unconsciously knew that my future didn't lie along the type of path, which had led my birth parents to where they are now and learning I was a witch gave name, shape and form to the vagaries I had felt when I contemplated my future. Sure, I always knew I was different; my atypical family, alone, ensured my dissimilarity from my classmates and my significantly higher intelligence compounded that disparity but it was obviously more than just that. Like I said, discovering that I am a witch clarified and brought focus to my view about my future."

Harry smiled. If anybody other than Hermione had said, 'my significantly higher intelligence', it would've made him think it was boasting but when Hermione said it; it was as if she had just said 'the sky is blue': no more, no less. Unfortunately, for his witch, who neither downplayed her intellect nor purposefully highlighted it, people without a self-incorporated 'self' (those whose 'self' is generated by an amalgamation of external perceptions and prejudices) almost instinctively and universally disliked her. Unlike her peers, Hermione was not a mirror; she didn't need an outside source 'to be' and Harry was fine with that. After all, he had too many things on his plate, now, to add a cadre of sycophants unable to exercise simple commonsense due to excessive kowtowing. Harry wasn't Draco Malfoy and his loud and proud amour-propre; he didn't need to lord over others, he had amour de soi: like Hermione, his 'self' was self-incorporated; his life at the Dursley's had guaranteed it because they were anything but supportive or nurturing.

"While all this is wonderfully interesting," Fiona interceded, "it needs to be reined in so we can get on with our reason for being here. So, one last time Hermione; is this what you want and are you ready to accept what it will mean?"

"I do," Hermione stated firmly

"Well, I suppose that's the appropriate response," Peeves bemusedly said, as he appeared from the æther, "since, for all intents, she's about to wed Hogwarts."

The young witch blanched, she hadn't thought about it this way but the poltergeist was correct; she was making a lifelong commitment and that was precisely what she thought marriage was and should be. Thankfully, from Hermione's experience and perspective; marriage didn't exclude unions beyond the traditional one woman and one man concept.

"Well then, Hermione," added the Founders' son with a smirk, "if you're ready; let us head to the Ritual Chamber, or the wedding chapel if you'd prefer, my dear; you coming dad? Someone needs to give the bride away."

Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances, looked back at Peeves and asked as one, "Dad?"

"I suppose that's you, Harry," Fiona replied with a smile, "after all, you are her Patron and it's only proper that you are Hermione's presenter."

"I'm Patron Potter; I thought Hermione was intended as Slytherin's Avatar?" said the green-eyed wizard.

"While it's true that you evoked your office as head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, Harry," answered Fiona, "you could've also evoked it under House Black, what with you also being that Ancient Family's de facto head as well. It's not really a big deal, one way or the other, since the role of presenter is merely ceremonial. We set it up that way to 'officially' separate the offices of acadamenia and administration, when we adopted the Board of Governors. Patrons represent the administrators of Hogwarts; Avatars represent the students and, to a lesser extent, the teaching faculty. Truthfully, it's really just a legislative fiction designed to keep the Ministry's Department of Education from running roughshod over Hogwarts. Unfortunately, since neither Patrons nor Avatars have occupied their offices of late, we've had a lot of politics and interference intended to make our students good little peons of the status quo; correcting this and re-initializing the idea of 'free thinking' will likely be one of the hardest and longest jobs you both will have. We have stagnated for far too long and we've lost far too many of our smartest and most powerful new and mixed bloods to other governments, here and abroad; our survival in the UK is seriously threatened because of this, as you both know very well. We need magical citizens of England; not citizens of Magical England."

"Geez, Fiona," Peeves interrupted, "I've not heard you 'soap-box' like this for years but we really need to get on with the show; Harry and Hermione look exhausted and we don't want to blow up Hogwarts because Hermione fell asleep in the middle of her ascension ritual."

Hermione paled and stammered, "I-I didn't th-think it was s-so d-dangerous, maybe we . . ."

". . . Peeves!" Fiona exclaimed, "Stop teasing our young witchling. Relax, you two, this is one of the simplest and safest rites there is; it's just blissfully exhausting."

"Blissfully exhausting?" queried the young magicals.

Fiona offered a sly smile and said, "Like my brother said earlier, let's get on with the show."

Fiona and Peeves turned, led Hermione and Harry to the stairs and the four then descended to the lower antechamber. They glanced at the pond and waterfall painting and saw Helga Hufflepuff standing on the rock in the midst of the pool. With precocious awe, Hermione gazed at the Founder wearing a gossamer shift of yellow; embroidered with black Celtic knots on the hems, collar and plunging neckline that barely covered the Founder's bosom. The sight of the obviously well-proportioned Founder, wearing a chemise that was virtually transparent, was another reminder of how much Hermione shared with her mothers. Harry, on the other hand, looked down: after allowing himself an expedient eyeful of a nearly naked Helga, which was certain to fuel a few adolescent fantasies in the future.

"Good morning, Hermione; Harry," greeted the Founder, "it's good to see that my visage can still entice; are you two really just eleven and twelve? It's okay to ogle, Harry, considering how old I am it is quite a compliment and I'm glad Hermione didn't spend an exorbitant amount of time denying her nature or lying to herself. So, eyes up then, my little wizardling; you're going to see a lot more of me and everyone else in a few minutes and I'm sure averting your eyes might even be construed as an insult; it's not like any of us are hard on the eyes and all that."

"You mean?" Harry said but he did stop looking at the floor.

"All rituals are conducted naked, Harry," Hermione answered with a hint of exasperation; the Founder nodded in agreement, "I know you read the same books I did, how could you miss that little fact?"

"I-I think I just sorta skipped over that," he replied, "The Dursleys have a pretty conservative view regarding nudity and sexuality, which they instilled in my cousin and me. My Aunt and Uncle are very much the 'lights out' type, if you know what I mean; I'm not even sure if they've ever seen the other naked, intentionally. Even after spending time with Silkenrobe in the pool and seeing Luna in your library, it's still sometimes hard wrapping my head around being naked let alone being naked around another. I'm getting better though."

"Oh ho, has someone developed a case of hormones?" Helga teased playfully. "And what's this I hear? Rowena's prospect and granddaughter has been less than ladylike in your presence; I shall have to speak to her about young Luna's propriety."

"Luna and propriety are two words I'd find hard using in the same sentence," Hermione said with a nervous giggle, "she had no trouble showing Harry her . . . er . . . wings . . . and other bits. She is obviously far more fae than witch and has a very different perspective on things, I think even Rowena might find her great, great granddaughter a little too open for her own good. My mom, Cissy-mum and Danielle are trying to teach her about 'time and place' you might say; even Silkenrobe is a little exasperated with Luna, when it comes to that. At least they all feel reasonably certain she'll not disrobe in the middle of Diagon Alley, now, if the mood struck her. I really feel sorry for Mr. Lovegood; he'd have had no idea how to handle his daughter if Luna's mannerisms had come to light without them knowing my parents and sister. By Morgana, she's already adopted my family's preference regarding attire when she stays, more often than not, with Danielle; my mums have even abandoned trying to put her in her own bed: not that I think Dani really minds, it just took a bit for her to get used to. Luna's 'almost' addition to my family has also helped my sister grow more comfortable in the casual nature that permeates our home. About the only thing, that has kinda unnerved my moms and dad was when they got home earlier than expected, one day, and found Luna fluttering about the entry area of the house. Dani wrote that when they asked what she was doing, Luna just giggled and said, 'I'm flying, Aunties Emma-Cissy and Uncle Dan; this is the only area big and tall enough to practice in when I'm home. Please don't tell daddy about my wings; it'll make him sad.'"

"I'm a little surprised how quick that came out, Mione," Harry said, "and your parents are fine with it?"

"After being told I was witch, finding out Cissy-mum is a witch and about my sister, I suppose my parents just . . . well . . . accepted Luna's . . . um . . . physical and . . . er . . . conceptual eccentricities as par for the course," Hermione replied. "I'm told that mum and dad just shrugged their shoulders and accepted it with a little resignation; Cissy-mum was a little more reserved: she said there was more 'odd' magic happening in a muggle home than she ever would've imagined and then giggled about it, is what Dani wrote in her last letter. I'm glad my parents are who they are; they're okay with Luna being . . . well . . . Luna, I suppose and okay with the time she and Dani spend together. I think they understand why Luna is worried about telling her dad, though, and have promised not to say anything until Luna is ready to talk about it."

"You're parents are odd, Hermione," Helga said nonjudgmentally, "few magicals can accept what they have and they've done it so easily; I hope we can meet someday. Anyways, you and Harry are looking tired: why they opted to teach Astronomy to children in the middle of the night, outside and on a windswept tower especially once winter settles in no less, is beyond any of us."

Hermione looked puzzled and said, "How else would they teach it?"

"When we, well our sources that is, opened Hogwarts Astronomy was taught in the Great Hall using the ceiling," replied the Founder, "we never needed to worry about the weather and it was a lot more comfortable, not to mention more flexible. After all, the ceiling can be set to depict the night-sky in any season and anywhere in the, then, known world. More's the pity too, these days, muggles know so much more about the sky than we ever did that what is taught now is essentially irrelevant. Actually, when I think about it, I don't even understand the purpose of the Astronomy they teach these days."

"Then why are my sleep cycles being messed with?" Harry asked, cynically, and then yawned.

"I don't know Harry," Helga replied, "originally Astronomy was a final year option to teach navigational skills to young witches and wizards who were about to make their way into a mostly unmapped world. Knowing what the season is: is rather useful too, I suppose, harvest and planting and all that. At some point, Astrology came into it and no sane 'true' magical ever believed in that, even back then; honestly, the stars able to influence you when you're born? That doesn't make a lick of sense; even less sense than suggesting that they 'might' have an effect on you at conception, the timing of which can be a bit dodgy to pin down at the best of times."

Scandalized, Hermione stammered, "W-We're t-taking an essentially p-pointless subject!"

"Yep, sorry about that Hermione," Fiona piped in uninvited, "but this is not the time for your well-deserved sense of outrage . . ."

". . . outrage," the bushy-haired witch unconsciously corrected before saying, "I . . . I'm horrified, we're wasting precious academic time on a less important subject and I have to wait till third year for something useful like Ancient Runes or Arithmancy or Muggle Studies."

Harry, Fiona and Peeves snickered; the image of Helga smiled.

"While I'm not so sure about Muggle Studies, I definitely get where Mione is coming from," Harry said, "but, like Fiona said; this is not the time for righteous indignation, Hermione, we've other things to do if we want to get any sleep tonight."

"Fine," the young witch said in a huff as she shucked her Hogwarts' robe thoughtlessly. Harry turned very red, seeing Hermione now was not the same as seeing her then and in his parents' 'Outside', the young wizard quickly realized. The hazel-eyed witch glanced at her friend and said, "What?"

Peeves snorted in amusement and said, "Boy, eleven; naked pretty witch. A rather disconcerting set of parameters I'd imagine, for any pre-teen wizard; what more is there to say?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Harry," Hermione said in sudden empathy, "I . . . I forgot; this isn't normal for you but you seemed fine in your mum and dad's Outside the other day."

"Th-that's sorta d-different," he stuttered, "W-we're not really th-there, we're . . . well . . . Outside, Mione."

"Goodness sakes, Harry; you're far more naked Outside than you'll ever be while merely unclothed," she said, confused by her wizard's reticence.

"Well . . . um," he tried to reply.

"This is getting us nowhere; Fiona, if you don't mind," said the image of the Founder, with a hint of frustration, and the female construct snapped her fingers; Harry's clothes vanished, exposing him to the eyes of his companions and, to him, one very special witch. He didn't notice that Helga, Fiona and Peeves were now also nude.

Hermione glanced at the now naked Harry and looked away; she didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he already was but, from what she saw, she thought he looked pretty good. I'm going to have to find a way to make him feel more comfortable around the idea of nudity; his own and others, Hermione thought. I suppose exposer is the only answer; I'll talk to Fiona and the others later. I have a feeling he's going to be seeing a lot of skin, especially once the Founders start teaching us about rituals and Ritual Magic.

"You're a Gryffindor, Harry," Peeves said firmly, "you've got a pair, use them."

"Peeves! Don't be so crude," Fiona chastised, and then looked at the green-eyed wizard with sympathy, "but my brother does have a point, Harry, all the same; let me summon a calming draught for you, it'll help relax you."

A vial appeared in the construct's hand, she offered it to the young wizard; he said, "Th-thanks Fiona."

"No problem, Harry; now bottoms up," she said, "and drink all of it."

Harry glance at the vial and said, a little contritely, "Yes ma'am."

He swallowed the contents in one gulp and felt himself grow a little warm as the potion took affect; making the awkward bashfulness he had felt earlier seem rather silly. He looked, really looked at Hermione for the first time and smiled shyly before saying, "I was right, Mione; you do look good in your preferred attire, you're very beautiful, but I'm sure it'll take me a while to get used to it all the same."

"Th-thanks Harry," it was Hermione's turn to feel a touch bashful but it wasn't because she was naked; no, it was because she wasn't used to boys saying she was pretty, other than her daddy of course but he didn't really count. After all, he was daddy and daddies always compliment their daughter's appearance; it's part of their job.

"Harry, if you keep looking at Hermione like that, she's gonna get pregnant," Peeves teased inappropriately; he received a loud and resounding smack from Fiona and, red handprint on cheek, he said, "Wha . . ."

"Enough, children," Helga said sternly to the two rather non-descript looking sixth years.

"Sorry mum," Fiona and Peeves apologized, almost petulantly; Hermione and Harry began to giggle into their hands.

"I'll see you inside," the Founder said and stepped from the picture she had been occupying.

Peeves clapped his hands, startled the young magicals and said, "Let me explain what is about to happen. First, I approach the doors and knock three times; the doors will swing open. Second, the Founders will invite us inside. Hermione will go first, followed by Harry and then Fiona and I will bring up the rear; we'll close the doors behind us. Hermione will go to the center of the room and bow to Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. She'll then face Slytherin and genuflect, please keep your head bowed until you've been addressed and told to raise your head. Her Founder will then ask her a set of questions than can be answered, generally, with an 'I will', an 'I do' or an 'I am'. If you answer any question in the negative, it's all over and there is no second chance. Do you understand, Hermione?"

"I do," she replied, Peeves and Fiona smiled.

"Okay, Harry," Peeves continued, "you're part is simple and more ceremonial than anything else but they'll still expect a reply when the question: 'Who is the patron of this supplicant?'. A simple 'I am' will suffice. Are we ready then?"

"We are," answered Hermione and Harry in unison. Peeves and Fiona smiled.

"Very well then, on with the show!" said Peeves.

Turning from the two young Gryffindors, Peeves crossed the anteroom's floor, knocked firmly on the door and stepped back. The doors swung wide and from the Ritual Chamber, the sparkling fog that was magic made visible spilled through the opening and crept across the floor. It clung at ankle depth, as before, and when the mist reached Hermione and Harry's bare feet; there was no sense of its presence beyond visibility.

"Enter my child; come before us and be known," rose the voice of Salazar Slytherin, sounding far more majestic than they were accustomed to, "bring forth your willingness and desire to serve. You will be our voice and our face, our shield and our sword. Present yourself and be renewed."

As instructed, Hermione entered first followed by Harry, Fiona and Peeves came after; they closed the doors as they entered. The bushy-haired witch stepped to the center of the room, bowed to the other Founders and then faced Slytherin; Hermione genuflected and the sight of her submission generated a response that made Harry feel very self-conscious. Thankfully, Peeves and Fiona knew the occasion was too solemn to pass any sort of off-colored comment but their smirks told him that he'd hear about it later. I better, maybe, write a letter to Mr. Granger, Harry thought uncomfortably, I'm pretty sure he'll understand, I hope; he did say he would talk to me about things. Hopefully his rifle won't be part of the conversation. I'm never going to get this image of Mione out of my head; she looks so . . . so . . . Aaugh! Control yourself Harry!

Harry, through his hormone driven angst, heard a familiar voice resonate—seemingly—in his mind and ears as Salazar asked, "Who presents this child, now before me?"

"We do," Fiona and Peeves replied in unison.

"And how be this child named?" he asked again.

"This child's is named, the Lady Matriarch Hermione Jean of the Noble House of Granger," Fiona replied formally.

"Has young Lady Hermione Jean Granger been vetted and shown to be neither an agent of evil nor an enemy of Hogwarts?"

"She has," Peeves replied this time.

"Has young Lady Hermione come before us aware of the office she seeks?"

"She is," the constructs replied.

"Does young Lady Hermione Jean Granger present herself or has she a Patron?"

"Lady Hermione Jean Granger is offered by the Patron's Office of House Potter, now standing forth also as Patron, undeclared, of House Black, as well," Peeves replied.

"Patron of House Potter and unassumed of House Black present yourself," Salazar commanded.

"I am the Lord Harry James of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter and the implicit Lord Regent and Heir Presumptive of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Harry formally replied.

"Young Lady Hermione Jean of the Noble House of Granger, look upon your Founder," Slytherin's soul copy commanded.

Hermione nervously raised her head and looked at the Founder's image.

"Young Lady Hermione, do you come before us of your own free will and unhindered by any form of coercion, known or unknown?"

"I do," she replied steadily; Harry smiled at her proudly.

"Are you prepared to be tested for substances or magics intended to subvert your will or being?"

"I am."

Brilliant light, without a direct or observable source but somehow focused on Hermione, began filling the Ritual Chamber and as it grew brighter, Harry found himself needing to avert and shield his eyes from the glare; neither Fiona nor Peeves were affected. Moments later the light faded and the green-eyed wizard began blinking away the annoying case of spots he was suffering from.

"The supplicant is free of controlling substances and magics but for a tendril, which connects her to her Patron," reported Ravenclaw's image.

"Has this tendril been imposed or have you willing gifted it to your Patron, my postulant?" Slytherin asked.

The Founder's question caught Hermione off guard since it couldn't be answered by two simple words. Taking her eyes from Salazar's image, she glanced over her shoulder at Harry. The sight of him made her feel warm and induced corresponding tingles in areas now inexorably marching towards maturity.

"It is my gift and given freely to Harry as my mothers' gave freely unto my father," she replied, "but this tendril is more braid than a filament, I believe; I've been told I have at least one nascent and as of yet unconnected tendril to another and likely two connected tendrils to my probable bond-mates. Such bonds, if existent, are also freely given and received by me."

The image of Slytherin appeared thoughtful and then asked, "Rowena, can you verify young Lady Hermione's reasoning?"

"I can," said the raven-haired founder.

Again, the chamber filled with eye-stinging light, which diminished rapidly. The image of Ravenclaw said, "It is as young Lady Granger says; she holds three connections of various strengths, the strongest of which connects her to Lord Potter, and to two that are distant and unrecognized. Of these two unknowns, one feels familiar. Of the fourth, it is also as she said and remains unconnected but definitely reaching, just as her magic is reaching for the others. It is likely, though, that this connection will occur shortly based on the attraction between their tendrils that I perceive."

"Could any of these connections disrupt the duty-bond between young Lady Hermione Jean Granger and Hogwarts?" he asked.

"I think not," Rowena replied with a smile that was anything but chaste, "but if I'm reading the strands correctly I sense a connection between future Avatars that will rival our sources and in time their connections will not just be to their personnel Founder but to their bond-mates' Founders as well. It is unprecedented at Avatar inception but has been recorded arising amongst long standing Avatars. They will be very powerful and influential amongst their peers if their bonds are allowed to grow as the strands suggest and nearly command. Unfortunately, such connections might be tampered with if those who seek control over destiny discover them too soon. If I were to be asked for advice, I'd suggest that these bondings be accepted and acted upon as quickly as possible; awkwardness, uncertainty and maturity notwithstanding."

"Very well then, I see no reason not to continue with young Lady Hermione's induction to the Office of Avatar. Do we all agree?" Salazar asked his associates; they nodded. He turned back to Hermione and asked, "Have you the names of your potential bond mates, young Lady Granger?"

The hazel-eyed witch paused momentarily before answering, "I am connected to Lord Potter, to my half-sister Danielle Aphrodite Granger-Black and to Luna Selene Lovegood at this time. The fourth bond is uncertain but it may be to a she-goblin of Gringotts called Silkenrobe."

"A pity a goblin can't stand as an Avatar, if such is the case and nature of your final bond, but I see nothing to bar your ascension; unless my fellow Founders express concerns," he stated; the three other Founders shook their heads. Salazar smiled before asking, "Young Lady Hermione Jean Granger; do you understand the history, conditions and responsibilities of an Avatar of a Founder?"

"I do," she replied.

"Will you openly protect Hogwarts and her students?"

"I will."

"Will you openly promote academic achievement before for political gain?"

"I will."

"Will you openly be the voice of the voiceless and the persecuted within these hallowed halls?"

"I will."

"Will you openly promote all students of all houses equally, showing neither favor nor bias to any who come before you?"

Hermione frowned, this question forced her think before answering; she had more than a few unpleasant memories of Draco Malfoy, which appeared in the forefront of her mind. After a moment of self-reflection she replied the only way, she honestly could, "I will do my best."

Salazar's eyes, after she had answered, seemed to peer into her mind and for a moment, Hermione thought that her honest answer would end her aspirations of becoming an Avatar but she refused to lie. The four images of the Founders seemed to converse amongst themselves for a few seconds before Salazar said. "We understand the foibles of humanity and will not deny your petition based on your answer but, in exchange, we ask that you remain as objective as your nature permits or, if that is not possible, that you defer such matters as might arise to an impartial third party and abide by their decision. Can you do this young Lady Hermione Jean Granger?"

"I can," she answered, her relief obvious in her tone.

"When the Office of Avatar was instituted it was the embodiment of all that the Founders thought to be vital for the world's magical children," stated the image of Slytherin. "It was created to give voice to our students and, to a lesser extent, give voice to Hogwarts' teaching faculty to ensure that our children receive an impartial and inclusive education in an environment that promotes harmony and respect. Hogwarts was also created to protect young magicals from the hostile non-magical majority, which automatically—for the most—viewed witches and wizards as evil and agents of non-magical society's collapse or subjugation. Furthermore, we intended Hogwarts to be a seat for non-bias research, a non-bias archive and a place where adults might come to renew, refresh or learn new things in an environment conducive to such endeavors. Moreover, Hogwarts is a sanctuary for witches, wizards and magical creatures facing prejudice or unjust persecution. As an Avatar, Lady Hermione Jean Granger, you may be called upon to adjudicate such matters and then openly protect those who have sought for and then subsequently granted asylum to the best of your abilities.

"To this end, Hogwarts has never fallen under the auspices of the Wizengamot or the body that has come to be known as the Ministry for Magic, although most have forgotten this. Hogwarts' charter—forged in the fires of ancient magics—establishes, maintains and guarantees independence from any who might seek to impose their will through legislation, interference or coercion in any form. For all intents, Hogwarts' is sovereign territory and need only answer to the Crown, which has also confirmed upon the school's Avatars certain but primary ceremonial offices that legitimize our actions. As such, the school's charter allows for the raising and support of a Hogwarts' Militia, tasked with the defense—and only the defense—of the school and Hogsmeade, students or faculty from forces that threaten it; whether mundane or magical. Lady Hermione Jean of House Granger, do you understand and accept the duties and responsibilities that assuming the office of Avatar brings?"

"I do," Hermione replied proudly.

"Very well then," Salazar said regally, "as I and my fellow Founders see no basis to bar your ascension to the Office of Avatar, we do present unto you the Mantle of Slytherin; are you prepared to accept, Lady Hermione Jean of House Granger?"

"I am," came her firm reply.

"Lady Hermione Jean of House Granger," Slytherin proclaimed, "henceforth you shall be known as; the Lady Matriarch Hermione Jean Granger, the Duchess of Slytherin."

They never told us about that little detail, Harry thought in surprise, which was soon replaced by concerned awe as ethereal chains shot from the Ritual Chamber's ceiling. The chains sought for and found Hermione's wrists. Bound, her arms were drawn over her head as a second set of spectral shackles clinched about her ankles. The upper chains became taunt and Hermione became virtually immobile as an arcane wind rose in the chamber and began buffeting the hazel-eyed witch from all angles.

Heard and smelled before being seen, magic manifested about the young witch's body and as the energy crackled across bare skin and an ozone-like smell filled the room; Hermione threw back her head and opened her mouth. At first, Harry thought Hermione was in pain but on second glance, he couldn't relate her facial expression with pain; at least not pain as he had experienced it. His assumptions were verified by the whimper he heard over the magical maelstrom engulfing his witch's body and his maturing body responded in embarrassing synchrony, which he was certain drew snickers from Fiona and Peeves. His thoughts spun less than innocent images of his witch as he concluded; she's beautiful. That thought echoed through his barely coherent mind, which fought to suppress his more hormonal thoughts but some slipped through. Once more, Harry's thoughts drifted to Hermione's father and he mentally began composing a very difficult letter that he knew he'd have to send on the morrow.

The sensual haze he had occasionally felt while swimming with Silkenrobe soon supplanted his momentary lapse to clarity and, as Hermione's whimpers evolved into sounds unusually known or voiced by a twelve year old, it had a far more powerful affect than the sight of an attractive nubile and wet she-goblin. Harry felt a new form of turmoil in his body and mind as both reached for an experience that he was still too nascent to be properly perceive, let alone attained. It was still indisputably and robustly frustrating for a young wizard on the cusp of adolescence though. At some conscious level, as his heart palpitated and his breathing remained less than regular he knew what he felt was barely on the periphery of what Hermione must be feeling; he could tell by the way her body moved while she remained bound in the glowing translucent shackles.

Thankfully, the magics that had acted upon Harry's witch, began to weaken and soon the manacles began to fade. Without their support Hermione collapsed; he rushed forwards but realized he hadn't needed to as the bushy-haired witch seemed to fall through a gelatinous liquid before crumpling to the fog-shrouded floor. A cursory glance, when he reached her side and knelt, showed no apparent injuries and while her breathing was a little raspy, it was the raspy of healthy exertion. Relieved, Harry carefully rolled Hermione on to her back and carefully placed a conveniently appearing pillow behind her head. The green-eyed wizard glanced at her and for a moment remained transfixed by the beauty, he saw gracing her sleeping face.

Within his chest, he felt that squirrelly sensation he'd come to associate with certain witches, (with Hermione being the most common cause these days) and now that feeling vacillated between modesty and curiosity; curiosity won. Harry's eyes, of their own accord, drifted from the safety of her slumbering but somewhat flushed face and lead his sight to areas that generally determined the difference between boys and girls. The first of these, forbidden, areas arrived as his sight fell upon the slowly rising and falling contours of Hermione's chest. I don't remember her being that noticeably developed when we first entered, Harry thought as he tried to sync his before and after images of the hazel-eyed witch before him. As his eyes drifted from the contours of Hermione's chest, he notice the Mark of Slytherin in a place that made him feel even more uncomfortable in more ways than one. Upon her flesh, upon the soft rise of her pubis, the green and silver snake motif of House Slytherin was clearly visible.

Fiona and Peeves snickered as Harry's eyes lingered; his attention was distracted when Fiona teasingly said, "Honestly Harry, do you intend to stare—not that I thinks she'd really minds—at the Avatar of Slytherin's bumpy bits and other parts all night?"

"Wh-what's wrong with Hermione?" he, at last, managed to ask the female construct.

"Fret not, Harry," Peeves replied, "Hermione is just emotionally, physically and magically exhausted; a good night's sleep—for what's left of it anyways—will see her right as rain come morning. Let's get her to her room; it'll be far more comfortable sleeping in a bed than lying on the floor."

"I-I don't really want to leave her," Harry stammered, "but I supposed that would be for the best. I can carry her to Gryffindor but Fiona, will you be able to get her in bed without being noticed? I can't enter witches' dorms, as you well know."

"Um . . . Harry," Peeves began, "Hermione is Salazar's Avatar, she now has full access and use of the Slytherin suite within the Patrons and Founders' Chamber. She only needs to return to the Gryffindor dorms if she wants to, which she probably will regularly since she is cunning after all. The same applies to you too, Harry; there is a Potter suite after all but I'd recommend that you sleep mostly in your dorm as well, for all we can provide a simulacrum if need be. As for tonight, staying here makes more sense than risk being caught out after curfew," he then snickered before continuing, "while holding a witch whose appearance and aroma suggest post coital exhaustion."

"Thanks Peeves, like I need that thought in my head right now but your undoubtedly correct, Professor McGonagall would have kittens if she saw us like this," said the green-eyed wizard, "er . . . another thing."

"Yes Lord Potter?" Peeves said, garnering a sneer from Harry.

"Well . . . um . . . ah, is just me or does . . . um . . . Hermione look different?"

"Hmm . . ." Fiona took a good look at the young witch and the gleam in her eyes suggested more than a casual appraisal, "I'd say she looks about a year or so older, thirteen—maybe fourteen—if you ask me, but that's just the ascension; she'll age like everyone else from here on. Anyways, we really need to get you and Hermione off to bed, it is late; early . . . whatever and you two need to sleep. Are you sure you can carry her, Harry, but don't let her know I asked that; she was powerful before but now she has Hogwarts' magic supporting her too: I'd rather her not be angry with me, thanks to an out of context comment about her weight. She may not be able to banish me, per se, but by Merlin, her ire could hurt a whole lot. I pity the next sod who really pisses her off; it took Professors Snape and Flitwick nigh on forty-five minutes to unstick the Malfoy boy last time."

"At least it kept his tongue from flapping too much, these days; I fear it won't last," Peeves commented, "but for now let's get you two into bed; if you would Lord Potter."

Harry followed Peeves' prompting and carefully scooped Hermione into his arms and lifted her; she felt far lighter than he thought she should, more like one of Mrs. Figgs' heavier cats (which he had discovered were actually kneazles and not some weird breed of domestic felines he originally thought they were). Remaining asleep, as he held her in his arms, Hermione snuggled into his still bare chest, uttered a cute little whimper before her lips lifted into a little smile. Skinny-dipping Dursleys . . . Skinny-dipping Dursleys, Harry's silent mantra repeated over and over, to little affect; especially when Hermione's more noticeable and mature breasts rubbed against his chest and for it was unconsciously salacious as opposed to intentionally salacious, it still made the journey to Salazar's Suite rather hazy and timeless. The door to the suite swung open and inside Harry spied Floozy preparing the bed for her mistress.

"Master Harry, please take my Mistress to bed," said the she-elf, innocently, but her request triggered a round of giggles from Fiona and Peeves; Harry turned red, well redder as it were, but he did as Floozy asked. Crossing the floor, he carefully laid his witch upon a bed both decorated by and structured using intricately carved snakes, some of which looked like they could move at any time. He made sure that a pillow, covered with silvery colored silk, was properly behind her head.

"Um . . . aren't there any sheets or blankets," Harry asked.

"Salazar kept his rooms significantly warmer than most like; we rarely would find him clothed, unless he was coming or going, while here," Rowena, wearing a simple pale blue shift, said as she entered the portrait above the suite's hearth, "so I doubt Hermione will be cold."

"What about modesty?" Harry asked chivalrously.

"Whose," the Founder teased "yours or hers?"

Harry stared blankly at the Founder's image, causing Rowena Ravenclaw to chuckle before she said, "Harry, come now; you must know your witch by now, she's been anything but bashful in your presence, since second week. Just how often have you come to the Patrons and Founders' Chamber and found her in either your parents' Matrimonial Outside or Lady Lily's Outside."

"But . . . but . . ."

"Harry, I created that system and, if anything, what happens in 'the Outside' is as real—if not realer—in some ways than what happens when you're 'Inside'; minus the stickiness that comes from such behaviors. Hermione has willingly told you about her open home and life and—from the sounds of it—my great-granddaughter Luna is thriving there. I think you and Hermione's sister, Danielle, are still caught by societal conventions that shouldn't be applied to you and to the lives you two are now part of. If you were to ask me, I'd say that while you and Hermione are in these chambers that you, Harry, should try to adapt to the lifestyle found within your witch's home. This would be best accomplished by wearing fewer and fewer clothes while together, as time goes by."

"Luna came equipped with a rather different set of societal mores and ethos; it makes things much easier for her since it relates closely to the Granger/Granger-Blacks' . . . um . . . alternate lifestyle," Harry countered in weak self-defense.

"Indeed, it does Harry but think of the culture shock Luna will experience when she enters Hogwarts' with its associated cliques, its house-centric structure or its nearly stratified and caste based culture," Rowena pointed out. "Luna is innocent and inexperienced with guile; she'll be very alone at first—I'm sure—since I can't see her sorting anywhere other than my house. She'll need someone in her own house just to talk to and maybe even protect her from dorm-mates who'll have a near instinctual dislike for her; even when she doesn't have her wings on shall we say."

"I know we'll all be there for her, Rowena, but I fear you may be correct about her position in Ravenclaw," he agreed, "she'll have the protection of three noble houses but she'll still need some kind of social first-responder within her dorms I'm sure. I wish Hermione and I had more classes with our Ravenclaw year mates; we barely know any of their names and virtually nothing about who they are personally. I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

"Gryff," Rowena called out and soon the sorting hat sparkled into appearance on a bedside table. The hat squirmed about to get his baring and then settled his attention on Harry and Ravenclaw.

"Lord Potter; Lady Founder, how may I help you this early morning?" asked the hat.

"My Avatar will be arriving at the beginning of next term and, from what I know of her, she is a premiere candidate for house Ravenclaw; she's also a little odd according to Harry and Slytherin's Avatar," she told the sorting hat."

"How odd?" Gryff asked.

"She possess the gifts of a full Faerie," Rowena answered, "but she usually remains in her witch form from what I've been told. Nevertheless, she has an atypical personality and the manifestations of some of her gifts will likely unnerve her housemates. Can you think of any first or second year Ravenclaws who might accept her oddities and help keep her from being a total outcast? They'll need to know how to hold their tongue as well."

"Hmm . . . let me think," Gryff began. "Yes, there are two first year Ravens that come to mind: the first is Padma Patil, her twin sister Parvati is in Gryffindor; the second is Su Li, who hasn't formed more than 'polite' associations with any of her Ravenclaw brothers and sisters. If you are searching for a companion, Su Li, looks to be the best fit from what I gleaned during her sorting; she has embryonic Occlumency shields, thanks to martial arts training and is a rather well regarded young sword's woman by her family. Is that helpful?"

"I suppose Hermione and I should introduce ourselves to her and see if anything 'clicks'," Harry said, "she might even join us in our training if we get a good vibe from her, Professor Flitwick is her Head of House after all."

Harry yawned and essentially collapsed into an overstuffed green leather armchair.

"I think that's enough for tonight, our Patron needs his rest as much as Sal's Avatar does," Helga said as she joined Rowena in the picture frame. "Should we sent Floozy to prepare the Potter Suite or are you going to stay here for the night, Harry . . . Harry?"

"I think he's asleep, Rowena observed, Helga nodded as she glanced at the chair Harry was in, "We'll leave him here for the night. Floozy?"

"Lady Ravenclaw?" replied the she-elf.

"Please ensure they remain comfortable and bring them some food and fresh clothes when they wake," Helga instructed, "Peeves; Fiona?"

"Yes mum," replied the constructs.

"Please set simulacrums in their beds and notice-me-nots as well," Rowena asked.

"On it mum," Fiona and Peeves replied, turned incorporeal and passed through the ceiling.

"Well, let's get back to the rest, Helga, and start making plans; now that we have our first Avatar," Rowena said, "Do you think Albus felt the quarter loss of the Hogwarts' Ward Matrix's allegiance?"

"I think not," Gryff replied in Helga's stead, "Lady Hogwarts told me that instead of taking control from Dumbledore she gave Hermione a new executive level, which can override Albus if need be. She intends to give the same to each Avatar upon their ascension. It appears that Hogwarts wishes to keep Dumbledore in the dark as the school begins to return to original charter, which will be overseen by your returning Avatars. Furthermore, since we now have a resident Avatar of Slytherin, we can reform the Security, Protection and Intelligence Team but we have to find candidates for the SPaIT and get them trained somehow. And yes, I see it in your faces Helga and Rowena, Lady Hogwarts is shifting to a war footing, just in case. That obviously doesn't bode well for our magical communities in the UK if she feels the need to enact that part of her Charter."

"Without a doubt," Rowena said as she took Helga's hand and just before she left the frame she said, "Goodnight Gryff."

"Goodnight Ladies," He replied and in a sparkling array of lights, he vanished, leaving Floozy to oversee her two young charges.

"Master Harry will be having a stiff neck tomorrow if I be letting him sleep like that," Floozy said softly and snapped her fingers. She levitated Harry to the bed, settled him beside her mistress, and then put his glasses on the bedside table. Not waking, he just rolled to his side and without realizing it and began using Hermione's shoulder as a pillow. Floozy smiled, she knew Master Harry was the bestest match her Mistress could ever have.

—}{—

Breakfast at Hogwarts was served with an uncommon level of bedlam, which even being a Halloween's morn was insignificant to generate. The first to experience this encroaching chaos were Professors Flitwick and Snape—the perennial early risers that they were—as the two arrived at nearly the same time just outside the Great Hall. Upon exchanging morning pleasantries, the two entered for their repast and almost immediately spotted an ornate, almost throne-like chair at the end of the Slytherin table. This seat, facing the Head table, placidly denied explanation and attempts to pull it out, let alone sit in, failed. For those who tried, student or faculty, the usual reward was little more than an annoying stinging hex, but for one. Not surprisingly, Draco Malfoy (having regained some of the swagger he had lost when his challenge of impromptu duels with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had been met by their very public laughter and the laughter of several upper-year Slytherins) thought himself worthy of the Throne of Slytherin (as the chair was quickly called): the throne thought otherwise.

The young scion's rejection was by far the most extreme; before he even touched the chair, a bright electric-blue spark intercepted his reach and sent him viciously flying. Unfortunately for Draco, several older Slytherins were on hand to witness this futile attempt and his subsequently but amusing failure. Adding to his reputation's misfortune, many of these witnesses had been present when he had challenged Potter and Granger. It hadn't helped when Granger advised him, quit succinctly and in traditional wording no less, that a mere scion could not challenge the Head of a Noble House or one his vassals to a duel, except those of a competitive nature and conducted under rules sanctioned by the International League of Dueling. Enraged and humiliated, Draco's 'when my father hears about this' comment was met by disdain or fell on the deaf ears of his older peers; all of Slytherin (and many in other houses) already knew—although not how or why—that Lord Malfoy had been neutered and that there was no Lady Malfoy anymore.

This chaos greeted Albus Dumbledore as the Headmaster arrived for his own breakfast. It had taken him a moment to discover the source of the hullabaloo and barely a second longer to feel his morning hunger wane and then replaced by gnawing worry. The sparkle in his eyes blinked out, as he considered the lone chair at the end of the Slytherin table; he knew what it represented. No, he thought anxiously, it can't be. Who would know about such things? I'm sure I eliminated all references to that many years ago. I need to find out who that chair belongs to; they'll need my guidance. I have to ensure that they understand all I've done for the Greater Good; I can't let them undo the years I've put into it. I can't let someone just waltz in and undermine my position at Hogwarts either but which of the older and dark families fielded the heir? Who else is in my castle? I'll check with Severus, maybe he's heard something; he doesn't really looked surprised but he's a master at hiding his true feelings.

From the Head Table, Filius and Severus had watched as Albus discovered the Great Hall's new addition and both silently commended the Headmaster for his ability to marshal his feelings and hide how the sight of that seat made him squirm. The Headmaster's concerns or fears notwithstanding, the two professors had quietly conferred when they discovered the throne and neither knew exactly what it meant; the only thing that they both agreed upon, silently as it were, was that the chair likely had something to do with Harry Potter. Well then, Albus my boy, Professor Snape thought with sarcastic cynicism, I get the distinct impression that your long years without hindrance or difficult questions are finally coming to an end. It couldn't happen to a nicer wizard.

—}{—

Hermione woke feeling well rested and comfortable, almost like she was at home, and opened her eyes to the new day and her new life. She blinked her eyes into focus and noticed the bed she was on could only be described as Slytherin. Quintessentially Slytherin that is, since nearly every inch of the dark and lustrous wood was covered by intricately carved snakes. These wooden serpents appeared so lifelike that the young witch half expected them to move or begin hissing at her, which the Hermione of a couple of months ago would have found highly unnerving; this morning they just made her feel safe. Intrigued but not really surprised by her new outlook, the bushy-haired witch studied one of the snakes carved into an upright of the four-poster bed and marveled at the artistry displayed, even down to the very scales of the serpent's head. Entranced, Hermione neither noticed nor cared that she was comfortably naked until she felt movement on the bed. She glance towards the motion and was very surprised to find Harry, as naked as she, and sleeping peacefully beside her.

"Harry," she said and gave her friend a little shake; his eyes opened.

"H-Hermione?" he stammered, barely half awake, "W-What are you doing in my bed?"

His witch smiled at him and replied, "This isn't your bed silly, it's . . . actually I don't know whose bed it is but we're definitely not in the Gryffindor dorms; that I can assure you, this bed is covered with snake carvings. By the way, what happened after the ritual; it's all rather hazy and I have no idea how I got here . . . wherever here is."

Hermione's mention of the ritual blew the fog from his mind with a gale force wind, leaving him fully awake and very aware of his close proximity to a very naked witch who definitely didn't have the body of a twelve year old. Adding to this awkwardness was Harry's sudden realization that he was attired in the same manner and that he was in the same bed as his best friend. His body flushed and he leapt from the mattress. In vain, he tried to cover himself but by this point; there was really little point to such inane efforts towards modesty or averting his eyes from the visage of sublime beauty, kneeling on the bed. Adding to his discomfort was the casual calmness that Hermione radiated despite being wholly on display for her young wizard to see.

"I-I don't know h-how . . . I-I feel asleep in the chair, I-I s-swear . . . w-we only s-slept together!"

"Harry, calm down," Hermione tried to soothe but, as these things regularly do, it had the opposite result. Keeping her voice calm, although seeing her Harry in such a cute and delectable manner was having the opposite effect on her, she continued, "The operative word here is 'slept' and usually it's the girl who gets all panicky when she wakes up with someone she has no memory of going to bed with. Honestly, I'm okay with it and you should be too; your virtue is still intact Harry, my green-eyed satyr," she said playfully, "this nymph didn't take advantage of you while you were sleeping."

It was the wrong thing to say and Hermione immediately regretted it when Harry paled and looked like he was about to curl into a ball; it wasn't like her to tease about things, which another found uncomfortable. She had to fight and conquer her temptation to give the young wizard a reassuring hug; it wouldn't help this morning and in her concern, Hermione didn't notice that Floozy was there and had witnessed their exchange: a vial appeared in her hand.

"Master Harry's be drinking this potion," said the she-elf as she offered the vial to the green-eyed magical, "it be a calming draught that Princess Hogwarts be telling Floozy Master Harry be needing when he woke. Does Master Harry not like sleeping with Floozy's mistress? He be very comfortable looking snuggling into his witch, Floozy be thinking when she looked in earlier."

Robotically, Harry took the vial and downed the contents; immediately he felt it seeping through his mind and body, allowing him to once again view things beyond the specter overshadowing his upbringing with the Dursleys.

"Thank you Floozy," Harry said, happily, now that he was calm enough to look Hermione in her beautiful hazel eyes—and other places—again; the not so young looking witch smiled: her wizard was looking at her appreciatively and he obviously liked what he saw; it made her feel all 'tingley' as Luna would say. Reveling under his gaze, Hermione moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Floozy . . ." the she-elf began but stopped when her mistress shot her a disapproving glance, ". . . I am glad that Master Harry is feeling better but I don't understand his discomfort. Mistress Hermione is a beautiful witch who deserves to be seen; I am awaiting the time when my 'Lady's Elf' training allows me to make her feel better and relieve her tension; especially the type of tension Miss Hermione is currently feeling."

"Floozy!" Hermione exclaimed, "My master . . . I mean Harry, doesn't need to hear about such things."

"Hear about what things, Mione?" he asked with a smirk, obviously having learned a little more about a she-elves and their mistresses; his answer was Hermione's playful indignation, which saw the young witch stand, step towards Harry and slap him good-naturedly on his shoulder.

"That's a discussion for another time, Harry," she replied but inside she felt her unspoken desire to do more than just talk about it. Come on, Hermione, she thought, you know you're not ready for that, yet. His penetrating green eyes, intently looking at her, made it hard to banish the mature images that danced—unwelcome—through her mind. She pulled herself from his entrancing gaze and looked about the room they were in; she saw a lot of green, silver and snake motifs decorating the room. This was Slytherin's room, she finally realized before thinking, I suppose it's my room now, being Salazar's Avatar and all. If someone had told me, when we first explored the Patrons and Founders' Chambers, that this room would be mine before the end of the year I'd have laughed at them. Still, I'm looking forward to seeing my step-brother's face when he finds out that a 'mudblood' is the voice of Slytherin. She had to fight a desire to giggle but suddenly her attention was grabbed by the floor to ceiling mirror beside the chamber's door and the reflection therein; she had—she realized—had a bit of a growth spurt overnight and the image looking back at her did not belong to a twelve-year-old witch. Is . . . is that me? She asked herself. I guess that explains Harry's reaction, it wasn't just embarrassment. She looked away from her reflection and found herself staring blankly at the serpents carved into the arms and legs of a nearby chair.

"Um . . . what happened to me last night, Harry?" she asked; a hazy memory of the ritual and the feelings she had had during it stirred faintly.

Harry glanced down, dug his bare toe into the floor and replied, "After the ritual you passed out from mental, emotional, physical and magical exhaustion. I picked you up—you were really really light too—and I carried you here. I put you in bed and—I swear—I sat in a chair and promptly fell asleep. I don't know how I ended up sleeping beside you, honestly."

"Mistress Hermione?" Floozy asked hesitantly, knowing that only a bad she-elf would interrupt a conversation between a witch and a wizard.

"Yes Floozy," the young witch asked. Thankfully, she didn't sound upset by her elf's somewhat forward and forthright manner.

"Floozy be wondering why Mistress Hermione and Master Harry be hissing at each other?"

"What!" Harry and Hermione exclaimed in unison.

They heard a familiar giggle and turned to see Fiona appear from the thin air, the Founders' daughter said as she grew corporeal, "That Lady Hermione is a Parsalmouth is not a surprise, it is—after all—one of the many gifts bestowed upon the Avatar of Slytherin but to hear Lord Potter speaking Parsaltongue is a surprise. Did you know you could speak to snakes Lord Potter?"

"Can we drop that Lord Potter thing, Fiona, thank you very much," he said with displeasure, "and as too speaking to snakes; I accidentally sort of sicced a boa on my cousin when he was being a git—actually he's always a git—when we are at the zoo on his birthday. It was rather surprising, now that I think about it; I wonder why I never thought about it afterwards? Still, my uncle was mighty angry with me and locked me in my cupboard when we got home so perhaps I put it out of my mind unintentionally to avoid further repercussions, I guess. I suppose it's just one of those things to expect; witches and wizards can do all kinds of amazing things."

"Um . . . Harry," Hermione began skittishly "Parsaltongue is a very rare gift, even in the Wizarding World; the last recorded Parsalmouth in Britain was Voldemort. Most witches and wizards think an ability to speak to snakes automatically makes one a Dark Lord or Lady."

"Balderdash!" Fiona exclaimed, "It was the encroachment of Christianity, and its belief that snakes are servants of the Devil that foisted that belief upon us. Before then, the most powerful of Druidic Healers were all Parsalmouths and it wasn't just the Celts who thought that way; Ancient Greece recognized it as well. Have you ever really looked at the Caduceus that has come to symbolize both muggle doctors and magical healers? It's by far the most blatant and oldest overlap between our cultures. Nevertheless, Hermione is correct, it's best that others don't find out about this gift; most have forgotten this thanks to the likes of Voldemort or Morgana and Mordred, who were both well-known Parsalmouths in their day."

"Point taken, no hissing in public," Hermione said with a smile, "we have to remember that. Now, we've got a more pressing issue; I can't speak for Harry but I know I'm hungry. I suppose it would be highly inappropriate to attend breakfast in our current attire. I don't mind informal dinning but I don't think Harry, nor the rest of the school, would appreciate this level of informality. Professor McGonagall, at the very least, might take issue—and points—if we were to arrive dressed like this."

Hermione's upfront acknowledgment reminded Harry—in a physically embarrassing manner—that he was in a room with a very naked and very attractive young witch; he was very thankful for the earlier calming draught but his witch had a point, which his body refused to deny.

"It be nearer to lunch, Mistress," Floozy said before snapping her fingers and providing clothes for both Hermione and Harry. For Hermione her best robes and accessories, which she had received on her birthday: for Harry the clothes he had left in the Patrons and Founder Chamber, although cleaned and pressed. With the arrival of their clothes came an issue that had not been mentioned, both the young witch and wizard felt wrong about putting on clothes before they had bathed. Another snap of Floozy's fingers remedied the hygiene issue but neither Harry nor Hermione felt as clean as when they washed themselves but it would suffice for now. Unknown to the other, each thought; perhaps I'll have time for a shower before the Halloween feast. With issues of cleanliness aside, for the time being, Hermione and Harry donned the provided clothes as they cast surreptitious glances at each other. When they regularly caught the other's eyes they smiled coyly at the other and blushed; Harry far more noticeably than Hermione, for all her paler complexion.

At last clothed and accessorized—in the bushy-haired witch's case—the duo left Slytherin's bedroom. Holding hands, they made their way from there to the Chamber's main entrance. The wall grew transparent and they watched a few older students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor pass the Hogwarts' crest, looking as if they were making their ways to lunch; none the wiser their passage had been watched. With the last visible student vanishing into the Great Hall, Harry and Hermione stepped through the school's crest and turned towards the scents of lunch that had both of their stomachs growling. Entering the Great Hall—again unaware of the brief pause in hubbub that always accompanied their arrival—the young witch and wizard made their way to the Gryffindor table. Even having slept all morning, Hermione and Harry were the first first-year Gryffindors to arrive for lunch. With no more than a sidelong glance, they noticed the additional chair at Slytherin's table. They were soon joined by Neville, Lavender and Parvati and exchanged pleasantries; none of the three had noticed or made comment that Harry and Hermione had not been in the dorms the previous night. Sometime later, the rest of the first year Gryffindors arrived; thankfully Hermione and Harry had finished eating before Ron Weasley—and his abysmal table manners—was able to load his plate. Excusing themselves, the prince and princess of Gryffindor headed to their dorms to collect their Charms and Transfiguration books needed for their classes.

—}{—

Afternoon classes were nearly a waste of time for the first year Gryffindors as the excitement leading up to the Halloween Feast seemed to interfere with classroom decorum and the ability of either Professors McGonagall or Flitwick to maintain discipline was thoroughly put to the test. Of the two classes they had on Halloween, Transfiguration had been mostly theory but Charms had introduced the levitation charm. Professor Flitwick provided feathers to the class and demonstrated the charm. Both Harry and Hermione, with a well enunciated 'Wingardium Leviosa' accompanied by a crisp swish and flick of their wands, were the first to levitate their feathers; earning Gryffindor six points between them. They practiced the charm a few more times but Professor Flitwick kindly asked them to stop distracting the class when he observed they had their feathers slowly waltzing around each other while they hovered.

"I'm sorry Professor Flitwick," Hermione humbly apologized; neither she nor Harry had meant to distract or show off, they had been curious and wanted to see if they could make their feathers do more than just float. They canceled their spells and the two feathers slowly fluttered back to their desktops.

"Thank you Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," he said, trying not to smile too obviously; it had been an amazing piece of control by two first-years but the rest of the class needed to focus on their own feathers and not watch what others could do with theirs.

The reason for such necessary focus arrived in the form of Seamus Finnigan, who somehow managed to incinerate his feather rather spectacularly. The young Irish wizard was not the only student having trouble, Ronald Weasley's swish and flick was so vicious and lacking control that Hermione became worried he'd take someone's eye out; namely hers. The redhead was sitting beside her in a poorly disguised attempt to cozy up to Harry through Hermione. He was emphasizing the wrong syllable too but he didn't take kindly to a muggle-born correcting a wizard of his family's long history. Making a few off-colored remarks about Hermione at the end of the class, which only Seamus and Dean half-listened to, saw Ron storming off as if he were the aggrieved party and the target of his insults. The remaining Gryffindors shrugged their shoulders and ignored yet another of the redheaded wizard's all too frequent and jealous outbursts. For the rest of the day, time was spent with a rather subdued Ronald Weasley staring daggers at Hermione. The youngest Weasley could not figure out why a wizard would want to spent so much time with a know-it-all muggle-born and not with him.

Ronald Weasley's feelings on this matter were not universal or even common but he didn't see it. All he saw was Harry Potter hanging around with someone else.

While it was true that the orbit about which the young witch and wizard circled each other was rather exclusive, it didn't mean that they were ignorant of those around them. In every case, if someone asked for help they'd help, without being self-congratulatory about it and both were very good at explaining difficult things whether by word or action. Of the first-year Gryffindors, Neville was the closest to the young wizard and Hermione; whose dorm-mates were all too different, whether by drive or in background, that any common ground from whence deep friendships grew was rather sparse and infertile. Her well-known status, as vassal to House Potter, was another factor that made it difficult for her dorm-mates to relate to her on a casual level; unlike Hermione, the other student wearing Potter heraldry at Hogwarts was having the opposite problem but that was life in Slytherin.

Being a half-blood and sorted into Slytherin, Tracey Davis started Hogwarts at a distinct disadvantage from her housemates; her only protective factor was being classified—more or less—as Daphne Greengrass' handmaiden. Being named 'Protected by Potter' severely altered her social standing, within the rank sensitive house of silver and green, by the end of her first week. When Harry Potter stood at the Slytherin table and publicly declared his protection for the unwelcomely outspoken (for the house of the cunning and ambitious) witch, he unintentionally formed a new faction around Tracey. While small, it was growing quite influential, especially in light of the fact that it contained most of House Slytherin's brightest pre-NEWT students and a handful of its sixth and seventh years too. This suited the normally withdrawn Greengrass heiress, since attention was focused on her best friend; it allowed her to fade—anonymously—into the background. With Draco Malfoy and his junior Death Eater faction being virtually defanged in Slytherin's common room, the house of snakes had grown surprisingly tolerant; for the house of snakes that is. The oddest thing about Tracy's faction was that it was more social than political but it was enough for a few Slytherins, with friends beyond the serpent's den, to be seen publicly and without prejudice with classmates and members of other Houses. Even those in the generally disdained—at the best—House of Gryffindor, also known as 'the House of the brash and reckless yet highly predictable fools'.

Another oddity about Davis' faction was it received whole-hearted support from their Head of House even when the Headmaster apparently held the group in derision. Albus Dumbledore, privately, told Professor Snape he thought that Tracey Davis was walking the path of a Dark Witch, what with her growing following amongst the House of Ambition's usually more marginalized members; otherwise known as those not of noble descent. The Headmaster had also gone as far as to suggest that the Davis witch might lead the young and impressionable Harry Potter and that Granger witch—who the Headmaster did not like personally—away from the Light. When he had suggested this one evening, Severus Snape nearly choked on his Saturday evening dram of firewhisky, which he drank as he and Albus discussed the previous week happenings. He mentioned this in private, one afternoon, to Hermione when he saw her in the Library with Tracey and Daphne; she just smiled and said thank you for telling her. It seemed that Harry thought that 'his witch deserved some 'girl-time'', which was what the green-eyed wizard had called it when the Potions' Master casually mentioned it.

The way the perpetually messy-haired wizard had said 'his-witch', 'deserved' and 'girl-time' suggested that there might be more happening than the Head of Slytherin might think or want to know. Severus knew about Narcissa's uncommon—for the daughter of a Noble House—and somewhat obscene proclivities but Hermione's father appeared able to fulfill those needs for his, in essence, two wives; since both seemed exceptionally satisfied when he had met them. He was a little worried about his goddaughter, she was living in a completely alien environment now; better, he had to admit, but still alien. In the end, it didn't mean Severus wanted to talk about it; especially with an underage witch or wizard.

With Granger's family in mind, Severus felt reasonably certain that the Lady Matriarch of House Granger and the Lord of House Potter's relationship was developing in a similar direction. He also wondered what the Great Albus Dumbledore might think of that and its effect on his much vaunted 'Greater Good', if the meddlesome magician grew aware of it. He wasn't sure what he thought about it himself but it wasn't the Potions Professor's job to dictate 'acceptable' relationship norms to the students of Hogwarts. It was with these thoughts—buzzing in his mind—that accompanied Professor Snape as he took his place at the head-table for the Halloween Feast; a feast that was interrupted some two-thirds into its course by a rather bazaar and unexpected turn in the form of the turban wearing defense teacher.

"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know," Professor Quirrell, proclaimed before falling into the most fake faint Severus Snape had ever witnessed. For Merlin's sake, Severus thought sarcastically; he needs to attend a muggle acting school; no one will believe this. What is he up to, though? Is he after the Stone but this is too obvious. I think I'll head to the third floor and see what's up.

Amidst the turmoil that followed the Defense Professor's declaration, Dumbledore rose to the moment like any good savior would. He cast several purple firecracker charms from his wand, to garner attention, and then proceeded to instruct his wards, "Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

No one, professor included thought to mention that both the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dorms were in the dungeons. None thought to mention that the Headmaster was sending students into danger with only the protection of some older students known as prefects, either. Nor did anyone think to remind anyone that a troll was a creature usually handled by at least two qualified witches and/or wizards with their NEWT level qualifications at least.

Of course, the brightest witch of her age wasn't so encumbered with an average witch or wizards lack of common sense, although she was worried that her continued exposure to the magical world might have a long term and negative effect on her reasoning skills. With a huff of frustration she stood and cast a 'Sonorus' on herself (thankful that it worked: it was the first time she had tried the spell) and said, as politely as possible but in an amplified voice, "Professors, both the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dorms are located in the dungeons."

Professors McGonagall and Sprout blanched. Without thinking, they were sending students into peril and it had taken a first year witch to point it out.

"Slytherin and Hufflepuff students are to remain in the Great hall," Professor McGonagall countermanded the Headmaster before saying, "Five points to Gryffindor for pointing out what should have been obvious, Miss Granger . . ."

". . . and another five points for using a charm well above your grade level, Miss Granger," added a relieved sounding Professor Sprout, who was quite angry herself.

"Very well then," the headmaster said, reasserting himself, "Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout—where is Professor Snape?—and I will deal with the troll as our Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students return to their dorms."

The three professors and the Headmaster made their way through the throng by the Great Hall's door. As they exited, Tracey Davis shouted, "Granger! Potter! Daphne's in the washroom, she's been there all afternoon thanks to Malfoy being a git; she doesn't know about the troll!"

Harry and Hermione somehow heard Tracy over the cacophony of frightened students. They separated from the chaos, which was half of the school returning hurriedly to their dorms and went the opposite direction. Carefully picking their way through empty hallways, Hermione and Harry approached the girls' washroom. Suddenly, their sense of smell was assaulted by a foul odor and their sense of hearing by the terrified screams of a young witch. They rushed to the washroom and found that the doors had been torn from their hinges. Carefully sticking their heads through the opening, the young witch and wizard witnessed the troll swinging a tree-trunk sized club at their introverted and quiet friend. It missed but the creature managed to shatter the row of sinks within the arch of its swing; it drew its club back for another attempt.

Shocked, Harry and Hermione noticed that Daphne didn't look like she was even going to try and evade the troll's next swing. She stood, resigned and distraught looking and appeared as if being crushed by a troll's club was preferable to whatever she had been experiencing, recently. The young Gryffindors were not so quick to give up on theirs or Tracey's troubled friend.

"What do we do Harry?" Hermione asked fearfully, "we're not ready to face a troll yet and it looks like Daphne is terrified and has given up. We have to do something; I don't want to see my friend crushed by a troll. Please, there must be something you can do!"

Harry thought for a second and then drew his wand. Whispering 'Reducio' he pointed his wand at the shards of the sinks, Hermione watched as the ceramic debris was reduced to no bigger than dust-sized particles. The green-eyed wizard followed with a whispered 'Ventus' and the bushy-haired witch watched a funnel-like cloud appear. The narrow end sucked up the shrunken sink fragments, while Harry somehow managed to place the broad end of the funnel in front of the troll's face. It tried to bash the cone away to no effect. Harry's mini-tornado exhausted the vacuumed sink debris into the troll's face. It began sneezing and coughing as it inhaled the powder blasted into its face; it dropped its club. At least Daphne was no longer at the center of the trolls attention but the young Slytherin seemed almost disappointed that the final swing didn't arrive.

"Now what, Harry?" Hermione whispered.

"Just wait, Mione; my 'Reducio' never lasts very long," Harry replied, worried that his generally poor luck would see the spell lasting longer than usual. He was wrong.

"Wha . . ." the young witch began but stopped as blood beginning trickling from the troll's eyes, nose and mouth. The trickle grew to a torrent and the troll roared in agony. The creature dropped to its knees and then to its side as the ichor of its blood began staining the washroom's tiles. As the creature lay spasming on the floor, Daphne Greengrass collapsed into a heap as her consciousness fled.

"Damn," Fiona said, entering the washroom, "I don't think we want Dumbledore and company finding us here with a dead troll on the floor of the girls' loo. An interesting way of dispatching it, Harry, but effective nonetheless; now, please grab our young Slytherin friend and let's get out of here, the professors are just down the hall: Slytherin."

The last was spoken as Fiona placed her hand on the full-height mirror by the washroom door. It shimmered for a second and then was no longer reflecting the girls' washroom; instead, the image became Slytherin's chamber. Harry rushed to Daphne—stepping around the growing pool of troll blood—scooped the young witch into his arms and scurried back to Hermione and Fiona. He followed the two through the mirror and into the bedroom they had awoken in this morning. The green-eyed wizard carried—princess style—the Greengrass heiress to the snake embossed bed and laid her on it carefully, Hermione and Fiona followed to the bedside.

"Now what?" Harry asked.

"We take care of her, of course, silly," Hermione spouted then looked aghast because of her disrespectful address towards her wizard.

"Well, this is interesting," said Founders Rowena and Slytherin from the portrait over the fireplace.

"Who have we got here, Hermione," Rowena asked salaciously, "a new playmate perhaps? She's looking pretty rough at the moment; I don't think she'll be up to any more play this evening, you're hard on your toys Miss Granger. Poor girl too, nothing beats a bit of after-feast nooky."

"Rowena!" Harry and Hermione exclaimed.

"I see she's a member of my house," Salazar observed, "who is she? It's nice meeting young, corruptible members of my own house. I'm sure Missy Ravenclaw agrees."

"Sal!" the young witch and wizard exclaimed.

"Hermione," Helga began, joining her fellow Founders in painting, "I'd like you to cast a diagnostic spell on our young guest. Something is bothering me about her and her aura. You must sense it too Rowena; Sal."

The two images nodded.

"What spell," the young Gryffindor asked.

"It's called 'Magicae Revelare' and it will tell us if she's under any form of lingering magic or curse," Helga advised, "Like I said; something is off about her and it doesn't seem natural."

After instructing Hermione how to proceed, they asked the young witch to cast the spell; she did and Daphne glowed red for a few seconds.

"What do you think, Rowena?" Founder Hufflepuff asked.

"Disturbingly familiar," Rowena Ravenclaw spat; she sounded extremely angry.

"I agree," Salazar added.

"What are you three talking about?" Hermione asked as Harry took a backseat to the proceedings.

Rowen Ravenclaw looked deep into Hermione's soul and replied, "Our young friend is under a simplified variation of the curse that Morgana cast on me. Like mine, it's encrypted and only the caster has the key to lift it. I'd say she's been suffering from it for between six and nine months; I'm actually surprised she's still sane: she must have a helper alleviating her symptoms, it's the only thing that can help."

"Tracey!" Harry exclaimed, "That explains a lot; I was always puzzled by their relationship. It's weird and very private."

"I think I agree, Harry," Hermione replied, "Daphne always seems to defer to Tracey too. Harry, do you mind if I talk with only Fiona, Helga and Rowena present?"

"Sure Mione; Daphne is my friend too for all I don't know her very well," the green-eyed wizard replied, "Please do whatever you can for her; she's obviously suffering and—from the way she acted in the loo—I think she's suicidal, too; I don't think she intended to dodge the troll's next swing."

"Thanks Harry," the bushy-haired witch replied, sounding troubled, "I'll try to find out what's happening and help her."

"I'll be in the Founder's Library if you need me, Mione," he said and left Slytherin's—now Hermione's—boudoir.

"Thanks Harry," she said offhandedly as her wizard left the room, as did the image of Salazar; her focus was on the attractive first-year Slytherin named Daphne Greengrass She then ordered without realizing it, "Fiona, can you find Tracy Davis and tell her that Daphne is safe but that she will not be back in her dorm tonight?"

"Yes, Avatar, I will," she replied and faded from the room.

"Hermione," Rowena said softly, "do you know what you may have to do? Our young witch may wake soon but after what happened her needs might be nigh on insatiable."

The hazel-eyed witch blushed and asked, knowing the answer, "What do you mean Rowena?"

"If this curse is like the one I suffer from, tension always elevated my yearnings," the Ravenclaw Founder advised, "When Daphne wakes up she may need more than a gentle touch and an open ear to see her over this night's horrors. Are you prepared for what that might entail and are you willing?"

"I'll do what I must. Daphne's my friend and I like her a lot," Hermione replied, "I feel—I don't know—connected to her; like I feel connected to Danielle and—surprisingly—Luna, for all I barely know either of them."

"Interesting," Rowena observed, "I think we know who the fourth connection is, now; what do you think Helga?"

"I think you're right ," the Founder of Hufflepuff said.

"What are you two going on about," the hazel-eyed witch asked.

"Remember last night—or early this morning, whatever—during your ascension ritual, Hermione," Rowena began, "we detected a fourth—as of yet—unconnected connection to you?"

Hermione nodded.

"We speculated it might be your she-goblin friend," Helga added.

Hermione nodded again.

"I think we were wrong," Founder Ravenclaw stated, "I think that connection is to the young witch currently lying on your bed. Unfortunately, considering the curse she seems to be suffering under, a simple friend is not enough to satisfy what will likely be her needs on waking. We know that your home is . . . atypical, Hermione; but are you prepared for the responsibilities that Daphne's condition will likely warrant? You may very well need to act as your father does towards your mothers; this is a heavy burden for a twelve-year-old, do you think you can fulfill that role?"

"I . . . I'm not sure; I need to speak to my parents, they'll understand this better than I," replied the young witch, "but I have to do something now. Can either of you help me? I never really thought of myself as a switch but then again I never thought it would be an issue before I graduated from school . . . magical or mundane."

"At least your open to what might be required and I'm sure Harry will eventually satisfy yours and perhaps Daphne's—which will likely be extreme—submissive leanings and yearnings," Helga said, "but for now it'll be up to you, Hermione. For now, thankfully, I think you may get by with only needing to bring Daphne to a rather intense climax or climaxes, which few—if any—of her age are ready for. We can teach you a spell that will help, if you're not ready to do it physically."

"What spell?" The hazel-eyed witch asked softly.

"It's called the 'Gaudens Extrema' curse," Rowena replied, "and it's the flip side of the 'Cruciatus' curse. The two, once known as the 'Diabolic Duo', were used regularly to torture others into submission or condition future whores and concubines. If it hadn't been forgotten, it would've been classified as the fourth 'Unforgivable' since it bypasses shields in the manner the torture cures does and has few—if any—uses beyond mental and emotional conditioning. It is also highly addictive and has been known to bring witches and wizards to within a hairs-breath of death because addicts forgo eating and drinking as they cast it upon themselves, repetitively. Rather nasty, when all's said and done but likely the best way to keep Miss Greengrass sated enough to function as student and a witch. From what I can tell, whatever was done prior to today to keep her sane and performing adequately was nearing the end of its usefulness. Hopefully, this spell will be enough to see her through a few years; that is if you are prepared to take this responsibility Hermione. If you are, then be prepared to become very close and very intimate with Daphne and maybe her friend Tracey too."

The young witch glanced at her bed and noticed that Daphne was beginning to writhe uncomfortably on her way to consciousness; Hermione said, "Teach me the spell; Daph, Harry and I will work things out later. I hope she'll be okay with this, it's unbelievable private and intimate; I hope she won't think me too forward either."

"Well, if you are decided," Rowena began, "Please pay attention."

What followed was a half-hour of extremely difficult magical instruction taught by two Founders. The curse, not overly difficult in its casting was still hard for the first-year witch to perform consistently since the Gauden Extrema required a substantial amount of magic and focus behind it. Once Helga and Rowena were satisfied that Hermione could reliably cast the spell—on demand and consistently—they asked her to cast it upon herself so that she might understand the warnings that both Founders had continually stressed.

"Gauden Extrema," Hermione evoked with her wand pointed at herself.

Promptly, the bushy-haired witch dropped to the floor and began twitching in an orgasm of a type not meant to be experienced by a witch her age. Unconsciously, she was glad that Harry wasn't witnessing it, or here for that matter; she wasn't sure she could've controlled herself if he was present and Harry was not ready for the demands, which now filled her thoughts. Once the last rapturous paroxysm faded, Hermione's mind slowly cleared and she rose to her knees, panting.

"Wow," was all she could say, weakly, as Helga and Rowena fought to control their snickers.

With her respiration and heartbeat finally slowing, Hermione rose to her feet and wished she had a spare pair of panties handy. She was also chuckle-inducing red faced, to her current companions in paint, but she tried—steadfastly—to ignore the image of Helena Ravenclaw looking at her with an intensity that bordered on obscene. Regaining most of her pre-rapture focus, the bushy-hair witch glanced towards her Slytherin classmate now waking on her bed. Daphne's actions, before she was fully awake, were anything but what would be expected of a witch not even twelve.

Semi-conscious, Daphne moaned, "Please Tracy, I need it . . . I need it b-bad; please make me feel good. Do whatever you want, I-I don't c-care, d-don't hold back; I'm ready . . . j-just t-touch me. I'll d-do you after . . . I p-promise, I'll lick you and everything; just . . . just use me . . . p-please."

Stunned, Hermione stared at her classmate in silver and green and felt a rather strong twinge of pubescent hunger, which coursed through parts of her body, now fully woken by her ascension ritual. She wanted to touch the young Slytherin, divest her of her uniform and take pleasure from Daphne's very being as she gave reciprocating pleasure to the young witch. From the sensual haze, filling the young Gryffindors mind before it truly should, Hermione's magic began weaving her magic into a focused burst that saw both Hermione and Daphne deprived of their uniforms. The warmth of the chamber prevented any environmental discomfort, for either, but even if it had Hermione would not have noticed nor would've her guest. Daphne continued to squirm in a manner that was not innocent and invited the hazel-eyed witch's very amatory gaze.

"Hermione . . . Hermione," Helga said from the portrait incessantly, "please control yourself; Daphne might not appreciate your advances—yet—and I think she'd make an excellent Avatar for me: don't scare her away before I can make an offer that we can convince her to accept."

Helga's plea actually penetrated the shell of arousal, which surrounded Hermione and somehow reached the young witch's usually rational mind long enough for her to act. She pointed her wand.

"Guaden Extrema!" the Gryffindor witch invoked.

The young Slytherin arched her back as the curse washed over her body and penetrated her essence. It looked so enticing but Hermione fought the urge to join the witch on the bed and experience such things without magic as the conduit. Spellbound, the brunette stood entranced as the Greengrass Heiress' impassioned screams and delighted moans echoed through Slytherin's bedchamber and Hermione's body alike. She lifted the curse for a second then recast it —nearly sadistically—on the hapless witch, who began thrashing and screaming in something that was not pain or agony. Hermione, not anticipating the draw on her magical core or the potential for backlash, held the curse until the world went black. She collapsed into a panting, pheromone oozing sweaty heap that brought snickers to the Female Founders, and a desire to disappear from this portrait and appear in one better suited to such needs.

"Well, I suppose that soothed Daphne's restless soul and fed her curse," Rowena said as she looked between the post coital looking witch on the bed and the post coital looking witch on the floor, sighed and then said facetiously. "It looks like it was good for both of them but we should probably get Hermione off the floor; otherwise she'll be stiff and achy come tomorrow, Floozy."

At the Founder's call, Floozy appeared in her mistress' private chambers and noticed the young witch—naked again—lying on the floor and panting. For the second time in as many days, the young she-elf found herself with an exhausted witch, who had yet another naked companion in her private chambers. Not questioning the situation—like any good house-elf—she levitated her Lady to the bed and laid her beside the other witch. As soon as Hermione was on the bed, the nude blonde—obviously asleep—snuggled into Floozy's also naked mistress and smiled contentedly. Since both appeared to be rather comfortable in their current arrangement, the she-elf opted to leave them as they were but ensured that a couple of bath-robes were within easy reach should they wake and become uncomfortable in the presence of the other, lying so intimately beside them. With her duties to her mistress complete, Helga asked Floozy to tell Master Harry that Hermione would not be returning to the dorms that night. The image of Hufflepuff also asked the she-elf to put a simulacrum of Hermione in her mistress' bed once more, just in case one of her dorm-mates chanced a look at Hermione's empty bed over the course of the night.

1) . . . The Raven, sixteenth stanza: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

2) . . . The Raven, seventeenth stanza: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)