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

10. Chapter 10

Heirs of the Founders

Author's note:

I actually don't have a lot to say but thanks for everyone's interest. I appreciate most of your reviews, although with most of the negative ones I try not to be overly reactionary. I'd like to promise I'm stepping up the pace but last time I said that I was most definitely wrong as I kept finding that the world I envisioned required more construction that my outline suggested.

On a lessor note to many of my detractors: Harry may be officially eleven but he's actually twelve, once you add up his time with the goblins, and Hermione is almost twelve herself. I'm tired of the 'they're only eleven' rants and wish to remind everyone-whether you like it or not-that the age of consent is an arbitrary line drawn by society; it's there to protect our kids but has no real root in our natures: I've seen some very precocious pre-teens (I was one myself and it had nothing to do with abuse) and some very naive adults. (Grab your torches and pitchforks, if you're so inclined at this point) I also grow weary of the idea that children just wake up one morning as sexual beings: the wiring is there from the very beginning; it's only the plumbing that needs upgrading.

Animekitty2

Obligatory blah blah blah:

I do not now, nor have I ever and only will if I'm the last person on Earth (at which point the whole concept of rights, royalties and responsibility, etc. . . becomes moot, to say the least) own Harry Potter or the characters therein, they belong to J. K. Rowling; I'm just playing with them.

Chapter Ten

A narrow sliver of light, liked a jagged tear across the night sky, grew across the hilltops that gave shape to the Eastern horizon; as seen from the many turrets, towers and battlements that defined the dark silhouette, which was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Unseen behind an unlit window, emerald eyes greeted the new day. The owner of the eyes turned, stretched and yawned before quietly crossing the still sleeping dorm as he made his way to the washroom. Stepping into the corridor, sparsely lit by a few ever-burning candles, long shadows—leading and following—accompanied Harry's morning pilgrimage. Reaching the lavatory, he pushed open the door. The bright light that poured through the opening blinded him momentarily before his eyes quickly adjusted. He crossed the white tiled floor and stood in front of a sink; his silent reflection studied him with bloodshot eyes, openly questioning the collective wisdom of wizards in general.

What the heck are they thinking, Harry thought as he watched himself yawn again, it's friggen Friday morning and I still haven't recovered from my first Astrology, masquerading as astronomy, class. Bloody hell, who holds a class for children at midnight? Oh, that's right, he thought with a mental face-palm, witches and wizards do. Someone needs to tell them about planetariums; it shouldn't be too hard to make something like that—hell, they should be able to make something even better with magic. It was such a useless class too. Here we are, near the end of the twentieth century and I'm expected to ascribe mystical powers to constellations, which are at best a subjective and tenuous collection of random stars, which bear absolutely no true relation to one another; not to mention, separated by cosmic distances: give me a break. Bah, to think I'll be upsetting my circadian rhythm every week—for at least five years—for what; superstition?

With mental rant aside, Harry returned his attention to hygiene issues. After a quick wash—he'd shower later—he brushed his teeth and then went to the washroom; once more realizing he'd reversed the order of things. Another quick stop to wash his hands, again, he returned to his dorm room and quietly made his way to the wardrobe by his bed. With an annoyingly loud squeak—made double so, or so sound seems, when one tries to be quiet—Harry opened the door, took out his gym clothes and runners. Quickly dressed and shod, he ghosted across the dorm; leaving his sleeping bunkmates to their slumber and exited the room. He quickened his step and reached the top of his stairs at almost the same time his bushy-haired best friend reached hers.

"Good morning, Harry," greeted the young witch, quietly.

"G'morn . . ." his reply interrupted by another unwelcome yawn, "Sorry Mione."

Harry and Hermione smiled at each other, descended the stairs and crossed the common room hand in hand. Passing to the corridor, the Fat Lady's portrait swung closed behind them.

"Another early morning, you two?" the portrait said in passing.

"Well you know, early bird and all," Hermione replied with a smile.

"Sorry?" the Fat Lady said, "Is that some old muggle saying?"

"Pretty much," Harry replied.

"I guess you'll be back in about an hour all sweaty and breathing hard?"

"Most likely," replied Hermione.

"Just what are you two up to together; you seem very young to be doing that . . ."

". . . Doing what?" the children asked with feigned innocence.

"You know."

"We do?" they replied together.

"I only know one thing, which witches and wizards do together that leaves them sweaty and breathing hard," said the portrait. "Such behavior will get you two in trouble; maybe even expelled if the faculty finds out."

"It will?" asked Harry, naïvely.

"Most assuredly," replied the Fat Lady rather pompously.

"Well," Hermione began sweetly, "I guess it's a good thing Professor Flitwick is watching us—you know, making sure we do it right."

The image opened her mouth before closing it again; she said nothing, her face now the same color as her dress. With hands linked, Hermione and Harry skipped down the corridor and left her behind. Descending the stairs together, they met the aforesaid diminutive giant—now retired—of the professional duel circuit waiting for them in the entrance hall.

"Once more, Milord and Lady, I arrived before you here," he commented with a toothy grin.

"Slowed down by the rapidly becoming ritualistic morning conversation with the Fat Lady, professor," Hermione replied apologetically.

"I wasn't serious Miss Granger," he replied, "let's getting started by running to the quidditch pitch; followed with an easy jog of two or three laps."

"Yes professor," they answered in unison.

"By the way, I'm adding some mild incentive to our morning run," Professor Flitwick told them; neither Hermione nor Harry liked the half-goblin's smile when he said that.

"Mild incentive?" Hermione said, nervously.

"Yes, minor stinging hexes if I think you're not putting full effort into it," he answered; Hermione turned to Harry, he smiled and mouthed something that looked very much like 'told you so'.

"St . . . stinging hexes?" Hermione asked; to be certain she heard him correctly.

"Relax, Miss Granger; I'll use human ones—today."

Harry giggled.

"Do you find something funny, Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick challenged before following with a wordless version of the hex.

"Ye . . . ouch!" the young wizard exclaimed; the professor then hit Hermione with the same spell.

"Eek!" the young witch squeaked, rubbing her behind, "Wh . . . what was that for Professor?"

"Wanted you to know I wasn't joking or playing favorites," he replied, "Now let's get moving, 'wasted time; wasted profit'. Now, hop to it."

As if on cue, the castle's doors swung open to a clear, but tad cool, Friday morning: Hermione, Harry and Professor Flitwick ran into the dawning day.

—}{—

An hour later, the castles doors swung open again and admitted three somewhat winded and sweaty people.

"Good work you two," praised Professor Flitwick.

"Thank you professor," Harry and Hermione replied.

"I wish more students took pride in their physicality—that is—beyond just looking good," he said.

"Why is that, professor?" Hermione asked.

"Remember what I said about fat witches and wizards, Miss Granger?"

Hermione and Harry nodded.

"Well, while there are very few fat magicals that doesn't mean the rest of us are in good shape," he stated bluntly, "and with potions and spells warding off the rewards of inactivity they don't think they need to worry about such things. I saw it all the time while dueling, especially amongst the young and new to the sport. They might be quick with their wands and spells but they had no stamina to back them up; in a battle of attrition, which many duels become, the last participant standing usually wins. Now off with you; I'll see you at breakfast."

"Thank you again, professor," Hermione said.

"Any time, Lady Hermione," Professor Flitwick said with a smile.

"Please professor . . ." the young witch rolled her eyes with resignation at the playful banter and took Harry's hand—unconsciously; she lead him to the stairs: Professor Flitwick smiled as the two began to climb.

"I hope they'll always be at least this close," the small professor muttered as he watched them climb away, "Overlord Ragnok will be happy too, I'm sure; I'll have to send him an update this weekend."

Turning himself, Professor Flitwick made his way from the Entry Hall and to his quarters.

—}{—

Down damp, narrow and dimly lit stairs, Harry and Hermione navigated to their first potions class. On their heels followed Neville and Ron; whose eating habits had slightly improved after receiving a thing called a howler Thursday morning. Harry's dorm mates were nervous because Fred and George had spun horrific tales depicting Professor Snape's excesses with non-Slytherins. It can't be that bad—he's a Hogwarts' professor, they all remembered Hermione trying to counter the twins' assuredly over-exaggerated claims; she wasn't successful: all the older Gryffindors—except Percy—agreed with them. After a short final flight, they traversed a sputtering torch lit corridor, which lead to the Potions' class and Professor Snape's domain. Entering the foreboding classroom, they had the displeasure of joining Draco Malfoy and his ever present minions, Crabbe and Goyle. I bet they even sleep in the same bed; Harry thought quite nastily and shuddered at the unwelcome image, which popped into his head.

"To think, we'll hafta smell that all morning," Draco—thinking himself humorous—sneered when he looked Hermione, "how're we gonna smell a bad potion or ingredient in this stench?"

Hermione was about to speak but stopped when she felt Harry's firm grip on her forearm.

"Scion Malfoy," Harry began with sarcastic formality, "you must spend exorbitant amounts of free time thinking up such intellectual quips. (Do Crabbe and Goyle help; I'm sure their intellectual input is unrivalled.) It's not surprising that you've yet to match Hermione in any class yet; you're too busy brainstorming to do your homework. You might want to consider your priorities a little more, lest you embarrass yourself and your grandiose delusions of superiority."

Someone snickered in the class; Draco turned red, spun and glared at another student: a student wearing a green and silver ascot. He growled at her, "Watch it Davis, I can't believe I'm housed with a mongrel like you; the Sorting Hat must've made a mistake."

"Scion Malfoy," Harry said angrily, "it's bad enough that you disparage members of other houses but to do so in your own: Slytherin is supposed to be the House of cunning and ambition. You seem sorely lacking in cunning and your ambition seems to be riding your daddy's coattails; it's rather sad if you ask me. Why don't you prove you're worthy of you future title and apologize to Miss Davis; you know, show some lordly decorum. Besides, such behavior does not support House unity and with Slytherin being disliked by almost three quarters of the student body; House solidarity is all you have."

"How dare a half-blood like you speak to your betters so rudely, Potter!" Draco raged like a six-year-old, "Wait till my . . ."

". . . father hears about this." Hermione said, unable to contain herself in the face of the boy's stupidly: Harry frowned; Hermione looked at the floor, "I'm sorry Harry, I couldn't help it."

"At least you've trained your pet, Potter," Draco said haughtily.

"Scion Malfoy, I grow weary of you; close your mouth, lest you further insult the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter," Harry said, not hiding his distain or exasperation, "I'm sure your daddy would love to hear about that; perhaps I should write him myself. It's a pity that Slytherin's noble house became the dumping ground for one such as you, I feel sorry for your housemates—I really do."

"Why you . . ." the blond wizard began but was interrupted when Professor Snape—his robes billowing majestically—entered the classroom.

"Take your seats," he commanded and scowled when he looked at Draco. Is the boy unteachable, he thought as soon as he saw his godson, he's on the losing end of yet another argument with Potter and Granger, I can tell. Must've been bad this time, even his fellow Slytherins—except Crabbe and Goyle but they're only appendages of Draco; they don't count—are looking awfully displeased with my godson. I wonder if Minerva will be willing to trade? The hat was right, those two are more Slytherin than either Draco or Parkinson (I'm not even going to think about Crabbe and Goyle); a lot more: what am I thinking; Lucius would kill me if I ever suggested that, even in jest.

As the students sat, Professor Snape strode to the front of the class, turned and glowered before taking attendance.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter; our new—celebrity," he drawled with acrimony when he reached Harry's name; Draco and his cronies sniggered but their revelry was short lived and ended with a glare from the Potions' Master. Professor Snape concluded the roll and then looked out over the class: he began a well-rehearsed introduction to the subtleties of potion brewing, not to mention, how useless most of the class would be at his art.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Hmm . . . While I don't recall that from our first-year textbook," Harry began cautiously; subtly stressing 'first-year' to the professor's displeasure, "I do recall reading somewhere that—when brewed by a master such as you—it would produce what I believe is called the Draught of Living Death, if I'm not mistaken. An interesting potion, which is suggested at in a muggle fairytale called Snow White."

Professor Snape scowled—he hadn't expected a correct answer or the added bit of irrelevance—he then said harshly, "Let's try again—shall we Potter: where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Hmm . . ." Harry began, insufferably polite, "let me think, a bezoar you say? Well, I guess since we don't have any goats to slaughter for their stomach contents, in the classroom; I'd find one in either your desk or storeroom. After all, with so many dunderheads in your class; you must constantly worry about us stupidly poisoning ourselves. Thankfully, bezoars counteract most poisons and are relatively common."

Definitely more Slytherin, Snape thought bitterly, learn something from you betters, godson, before you become the house's pariah; your daddy would love that, I'm sure.

With another scowl, the Potions' Master asked, "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Excuse me sir but why not let Hermione answer, she's had her hand up this entire time," he suggested; again very politely.

"That will be five points from Gryffindor; for cheek Mr. Potter," Snape barked snidely. "Do you dare to question how I run my class or chose who answers my questions?"

Fighting his temper, Harry replied with forced civility, "No sir; as for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant; it's also known as aconite."

Professor Snape frowned, "Well?—why aren't you writing that down!"

With that last bit of hubris aside, Potions' class properly began in earnest. Professor Snape tapped his wand against a blackboard on which hand written scrawl, detailing directions for a boil cure potion, appeared. He said with another wand tap, accenting his instructions, "Brew that."

The class divided into pairs and the students began to work. Harry drew water for the cauldron he was sharing with Hermione as his friend retrieved the necessary ingredients. Setting the flame to low, he placed the cauldron above it and turned his attention to the ingredients his bushy-haired friend provided. The green-eyed wizard began preparing them; the young witch watched, fascinated, by Harry's calm, confident and fast knife work.

"You're really good at that Harry," she quietly said, obviously impressed with his skill.

"Good at what . . . oh, you mean the prep work," he replied, "well you know, it's just one of those things that comes from practice. I guess I can thank the Dursleys for something besides my table-manners: my aunt was quite particular when I prepared food; she would get angry if I was sloppy in either preparation or presentation—pity, I rarely got to eat what I cooked, though; if I could've tasted it I might've been able to make it better for them."

"Harry, they expected you to cook but wouldn't let you eat?" asked Hermione.

"Well, yeah, I guess; I'd get the leftovers though—if there were any that is: didn't I mention that, Mione? Not that it's really important one way or another."

For what was the first time in her life, Hermione just watched her partner work; instead of taking over in frustration: it was the reason Hermione rarely had partners for group projects at her old school. Feeling a little like a dead weight—another first for the young witch—she glanced around the class and plainly observed that none of the students came close to Harry's abilities and most seemed inclined to mangle their ingredients rather than to prepare them. Especially glad she was partnered with Harry, she looked back at her friend; he was finished and had laid out the ingredients in the order they'd be added to their cauldron. With a quick glance at the steam rising from their caldron, Harry adjusted the flame and sat back; he looked very relaxed.

"Potter; Granger, why aren't you working on your potion?" Snape snarled at the two and stomped towards them; he frowned when he saw the carefully prepared and neatly ordered ingredients on the lions' workbench.

"Why is everything already prepared Potter?" he sneered, a few benches away someone snickered.

"Well you see, sir, with everything ready we don't need to rush at a critical stage—not that this potion is really affected by such things," Harry politely replied.

"Don't you realize that some potion ingredients must go into your caldron as soon as they are prepared or they lose potency?" Professor Snape growled and then heard another snicker; he looked towards the source and saw his godson's smirk. Frowning in displeasure, he turned from Draco and refocused on the two Slythindors, as the Sorting Hat had rightly called them.

"I do sir," Harry began respectfully, "and if any of these ingredients were those types I would've waited and prepared them when they were needed."

"And how do you know which are subject to this, Potter?"

"Well Professor Snape," Harry began, "I have this book . . ."

"What book?" he asked unpleasantly.

"Potions' Ingredients and Their Properties, sir," Harry replied with a polite smile as Professor Snape blanched, "it's by a Potions' Master called Evans Severs and is really quite informative—I wonder why it isn't part of the course syllabus?—professor. I have another book by the same author called The Advanced Cauldron, it's really good too. By the way, sir, you wouldn't happen to know the author would you? I'd really like to tell him I found his books very helpful; not to mention, a good read too."

"Back to work, Potter, your cauldron looks to be at the correct temperature," the professor said flatly, "and that will be another five points from Gryffindor for using a book not required by this class."

"Yes sir," the young wizard replied in apparent submission but his green eyes—so much like another's—seemed aglow with mirth.

Turning his attention back to their brewing, as the professor slinked away, Harry noticed that the Potions' Master was right about the temperature. He smiled at Hermione and said, "Your turn."

"Okay Harry," Hermione replied and carefully began adding the ingredients as the writing on the blackboard instructed.

The remainder of the class saw Professor Snape staying away from Harry and Hermione but the rest of their fellow Gryffindors weren't so lucky. This was particularly apparent for Neville, who seemed to fall apart whenever the Potions' Master barely glanced in his direction. His nervousness caused him to melt the cauldron he shared with Seamus; Professor Snape sent Neville—now covered in angry red and painful boils—to the hospital wing.

"Time's up, bottle a sample and bring it to me," Professor Snape growled.

"Harry, what will we do; it isn't fully brewed yet," Hermione said in an almost blind panic.

"Hermione, relax," Harry almost ordered with a whisper, "there was no way we were going to finish—no matter how hard we tried—we didn't have enough time; Snape . . ."

". . . Professor Snape," she corrected.

"Whatever . . . Professor Snape," Harry stressed 'professor', "knew there wasn't enough time but had us do it anyways. I fear our potions' instruction is going to be poor even though I know his knowledge is exemplary; at least we can practice in the Founders' Chambers."

"I know that but it's not fair," Hermione said quietly.

"What does fair have to do with anything, Mione?" he asked sadly, "especially for us. I'm a half-blood and you're a muggle-born."

"But you're Harry Potter," she virtually hissed in frustration.

"Of that, Professor Snape is most assuredly aware, Mione," he replied.

"But . . ."

"Let it go Mione," Harry insisted, "our Potions' Master seems to hate me and you as well, he's never going to treat either of us any better than he did today; besides, it won't matter in the end. Let him be the overindulged idiot he appears to be . . ."

"But Harry," she pressed, "he's our teacher and can fail us; how can that not matter?"

Harry smiled and replied very quietly, "Hermione, the only test results that count in the end are our OWLs and NEWTs; Snape doesn't administer or score those, the Ministry does: it's a pity, it's about the only thing they get right. Let Snape bluster and continue to think he's important while we practice and learn without him; remember, we have four very good tutors to help us: we don't need him although—before all is said and done—he'll likely need us; we're titled nobility. His future is in our hands; not the other way around."

Hermione scowled, she still didn't like her title; and replied, "If we do things like that then we're no better than Malfoy."

"Of course we are dear, do you intend to use your position to bully or escape trouble earned by your foolishness?"

The brown-eyed witch's heart skipped a beat or two when Harry called her 'dear'; she shook her head.

"Very well then; as long as we don't act in anger when Professor Snape is brought to task for his behavior we'll be acting for justice," Harry said with a smile while stressing 'Professor' again and suggested, "Let's clean up and hand in our sample; I'm curious to find out just how biased he might really be."

Carefully ladling out a sample of their potion, Hermione bottled and capped it. With a discrete bit of 'foolish wand-waving', Harry vanished the remaining example of 'the subtle science and exact art of potion-making' left in their cauldron.

"Harry, how did you do that?" quietly, the young witch asked.

"Just a simple vanishing spell, I'll teach it to you later if you want, Mione." She smiled her thanks.

With their books and supplies packed away, Hermione and Harry joined the queue of classmates waiting for their professor to grade the potions. Rudely, Crabbe and Goyle butted into the line immediately ahead of the two Gryffindors and twittered at their cleverness; Harry stopped his friend before she said anything, which would undoubtedly cause them trouble and reward the two idiots. With his eyes and a quick nod, he drew Hermione's attention to the vial held by Goyle; she almost laughed out-loud when she saw their sample: an oddly undulating and ugly green-black blob that seemed to be trying to escape from the vial. Reaching Professor Snape's desk, they handed him the bottle.

Snape grimaced before saying, "Put it on my desk; don't hand that to me."

Harry and Hermione heard the professor accentuate 'that' and had to fight the giggles, themselves; the Potions' Master actually managed to not say something unpleasant to the two, although he knew they wanted to laugh at his less than brilliant house members.

"Acceptable," he muttered then hastily vanished the vial, contents and all, before saying "next."

Hermione was about to set their sample on the teacher's desk when he reached out and took it from her. He barely glanced at it, then silently vanished its contents; he handed the vial back to the witch and said emotionlessly, "Acceptable; next."

Hermione couldn't help herself; she actually glared at Snape.

"Is there a problem, Granger?" He glared back.

The young witch was about to open her mouth and say something; luckily Harry intercepted her and replied on her behalf, "No sir."

"Then why the look, Miss Granger?"

"She's just hungry, sir; Hermione was so excited about learning potions from a master such as yourself that she barely ate any breakfast." The young wizard hurriedly replied before his friend could answer; Hermione now glared at Harry. Better for her to be mad at me instead of saying something to Snape, Harry thought in his defense.

"You expect me to believe that fantasy you just brewed, Potter?" the professor asked crossly.

'Yes sir; it's true sir," the green-eyed youth replied in his politest tone.

"That'll be ten points from Gryffindor for that cockamamie story, Potter," growled Snape, "and another ten points from Miss Granger for not coming to my class prepared: next time, make sure your witch eats, Potter, or I'll dock you even more points."

"Yes sir," Harry and Hermione answered in sync; for some reason, it really disturbed the professor.

"Potter?"

"Sir?"

"Those two books you mentioned."

"Yes sir?"

"Lend them to Miss Granger; I'm sure her meagre skills will improve, greatly, by sponging up Evans Severs knowledge."

"I will sir," Harry replied with a polite but still mocking smile.

"Now, get out of my class—the two of you—and make sure Miss Granger eats a proper lunch. Next."

Dismissed, Harry took Hermione's hand and led her from the class. As soon as they were in the hall, the young witch—with angry tears in her eyes—turned to the young wizard and said, "You lost Gryffindor twenty points just now; what were you thinking Harry?"

"A lot more than you were, Granger," said a girl in Slytherin colors, just stepping from the classroom herself; another Slytherin girl followed, she seemed very demure. "If Potter hadn't caught your almost outburst; things would've gone much worse for you Gryffindors and you'd likely find yourself and likely Potter too in detention. I'm told lions don't do well in Professor Snape's detentions, you should be thanking Potter; not giving him a hard time over preventing you from putting your foot in your mouth."

"But that's . . ."

". . . not fair? Face facts, Granger, things aren't fair and never will be," said the girl that Draco had called Davis, "at least not for you and not for me; Potter—even though a half-blood—will fare better but his family is rich and powerful."

"But . . ." Hermione began again.

"Enough, Mione," Harry said with more force than he intended, his friend's eyes went to the floor; like any vigilant snake, the Davis girl noticed and began wondering how to use it to her advantage: it made her consider Professor Snape's 'your witch' thing a little deeper, and its added implications

"Listen Granger," Davis said a touch gentler than before, "you are muggle-born and I'm a half-blood; we need to be a lot cagier than our 'betters' like Malfoy, Parkinson or even—Merlin forbid—Crabbe and Goyle: that's just the way things are. I know Gryffindors are poor at subtly but you'd best learn some quick; some discretion won't hurt either."

"Th . . . thank you, Miss Davis, I should've known better," Hermione politely conceded before dropping a bomb, "the Sorting Hat said I was a natural Slytherin, actually—to be precise—a Slytherin of the Founders' era that is. I shouldn't need you to remind me how to behave; I thank you for your considerate reminder: the Hat will be quite disappointed in me and how I acted."

"The hat told you that," the Davis girl said incredulously; she noticed Harry smiled when he heard 'his witch's' confession: her head-of-house had called that dead on. She added, "Come to think about it, your sorting took almost as much time as Potter's"

"Call him Harry," Hermione said politely.

"Not in public; I ain't stupid you know," she said with almost roguish banter; it surprised even her. "By the way, Potter?"

"Miss Davis?" he responded.

"Why would a goody goody Gryffindor stand up for a snake, especially against Malfoy?" she asked.

Harry tossed his grenade, "If things hadda bin different, we might've been housemates; I'm not going to stand by and let my 'almost housemate' be insulted by that little blonde ponce."

"What!" the young witch wearing a green and silver ascot exclaimed, "A Potter in Slytherin; is the world coming to an end?"

"Maybe," the Davis witch heard Harry murmured reply; oddly, it didn't sound like a joke. He then said, "The hat told me I'd do well in Slytherin, too."

She asked, "The Hat again? Then why aren't you in Slytherin, Harry . . . I mean Potter?"

"Me and Hermione met Malfoy on the train—he didn't impress; no not even in the slightest," he replied before mumbling, "besides the Hat was worried I'd hurt him or worse if he put us in the same House."

"Did you say something, Potter?"

"Just mumbling; a bad habit, I know."

"You need to fix that, Potter," Davis advised and then in sudden recollection said, "Oh, I just remembered: I heard you and Malfoy caused a little ruckus on the Express. It sounded kinda unreal so I ignored the rumors; come on, wandless magic, what a joke. It sounded like something out of one of those dreadful Harry Potter's Adventures books."

"It . . . it really hap . . . happened, I . . . I was there: I could feel his ma . . . magic. It's . . . it's like he filled m . . . me; I . . . I could feel him in . . . inside m . . . me."

"That's enough, Hermione," Harry quietly ordered—with a mien both domineering and powerful; the change in his bushy-haired friend's demeanor said more than he was comfortable with.

Hermione's head immediately bowed and her eyes studied the floor again; for a moment, the Davis girl thought the female Gryffindor was about to kneel. Very interesting, she thought, very interesting indeed. With quick glance to share a conspiratorial wink, she turned to her housemate and friend; Tracy was stunned: Daphne looked almost like Granger except her breathing wasn't quite as noticeable nor did she share the glazed eyes—to the same extent, anyways. What the hell! Her mind screamed as she looked back and forth between Greengrass and Granger, with the occasional glance at Potter for good measure. There's something off here, Tracy Davis thought, really off. What's with Granger, she doesn't seem the type. I mean, I get Daphne but she can't help it, it's the curse, but Granger? Morgana's sodden quim, Granger looks eagerly—no, almost hungrily—submissive to Potter and Potter knows it; I can tell—I wonder how far she goes? Aaurgh, what am I think'n! At least Potter is sorta cute and has one hell of a commanding presence, I can feel it, so can Daph—she's got it almost as bad as Granger does; he seems oddly older somehow—kinda looks it too, come to think of it.

"Anyways," Harry said, "let me properly introduce myself; I'm Harry, Harry Potter. My friend, as you know, is Hermione Granger. We're pleased to meet you Miss Davis; Miss Greengrass."

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Potter; Miss Granger," the Slytherin countered with an extended hand to Harry, which he shook without hesitation, "I'm Tracy, Tracy Davis. My friend is Daphne Greengrass. We're pleased to meet you too."

Harry extended his hand to Daphne but the girl quickly positioned herself behind Tracy; he drew back his hand and looked at the girl trying to hide in Tracy's hair—she had haunted fear ridden eyes that were filled with suspicion.

"I'm sorry, Daphne is really shy around guys," Tracy explained for her friend.

"I see more than shy but that's her business not mine," Harry said acutely and with surprising warmth as he said it; Hermione with grace, agility and surprising speed stepped from behind Harry, around Tracey and took Daphne's hand.

"Hi, I'm Hermione; I hope we can get along: house and background aside," she said to the shy but surprised Slytherin. Harry watched as the two seemed to instantly forge some unspoken bond of kinship; Tracy saw it too but this brief moment of insight came to an abrupt end when Draco Malfoy stepped from the classroom.

"Have you not been polluted enough Greengrass? I can't believe you'd lower yourself further and actually let a mudblood touch you," Draco sneered; his cronies, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson tittered.

Harry and Hermione both whirled to face Draco Malfoy. A sudden unnatural silence filled the corridor and the temperature seemed to fall several degrees as Hermione—glaring at Malfoy—began manifesting magic, visibly, as electric blue static danced and crackled through her hair. Draco stumbled backwards and glanced at Harry; he wished he hadn't: Harry's green eyes seemed aglow with absolute loathing and ire; into this standoff Professor Snape stepped. The Potions' Master took one look at Gryffindors and immediately intervened; he didn't want to try and explain what happened to Draco or his godson's three companions if this showdown wasn't averted.

"Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson; in my class now."

Draco whined, "But uncle . . ."

"I said now," he actually roared at his four charges; they moved.

"Professor Snape," Harry began in a very metered voice.

"Lord Potter," he replied, hating being cowed by a mere student—a first year, no less—but Snape had no choice; the presence of Davis and Greengrass just made matters worse but he had no reason to dismiss them.

"I grow increasingly angry with Scion Malfoy and his dunderheaded minions," Harry said quietly although it seemed very loud. "Not only does he continue to mock me and my friend Lady . . . I mean Miss Granger—a vassal to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter I might add—he feels he may do the same to our new friends Tracy and Daphne. Miss Davis and Miss Greengrass, I'm sure you remember, are members of the noble house you head; I'd suggest you begin to act like the head of the whole house and not just to a select few. Another thing, professor, if Malfoy's behavior does not change, I'll be forced to turn this from an issue between schoolboys to an issue between Houses; I'm sure you'd prefer to stay out of the midst of that—am I right?—Professor Snape?"

"Yes Lord Potter, most assuredly I would."

"On a final note, professor?"

"Milord?"

"We've yet to complete the first week of the first term of our first year at Hogwarts and I'm already very annoyed; I don't like being annoyed: do you understand me?"

"Yes Lord Potter, I will endeavor to reign in my godson and his friends' excesses."

"I'm glad to hear that, Professor Snape, and while you are at it; I expect apologies for Miss Davis and Miss Greengrass as well," Harry said.

"As you wish Milord and—for what's it worth—I'm sorry Miss Davis; I'm sorry Miss Greengrass neither of you should suffer such abuse at the hands of a housemate."

"Um . . . thank you Professor Snape," Tracy said, so stunned by her head's magnanimous apology that she was surprised she could speak.

"I thank you too, professor," Harry said, "let's hope your godson listens this time."

It sounded like a dismissal and after a quick bow of his head, the Potions' Master turned and stormed into his classroom—robes abillow—and slammed the door closed. From the hallway, they heard Professor Snape roar, "Of all the stupid dumbass things you could do you just had to go and anger House Potter again! But no, that's not enough for you, you just had to alienated House Greengrass as well; isn't your father working on an alliance between your two houses, Draco? When Lord Greengrass hears about this—and he will—he may well turn up in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter's court when it's time to decide sides and it will be your fault. Wait till your father hears about this!"

In the hall, Harry, Hermione and Tracy began laughing; it seemed that even the quiet and shy Daphne shared in the amusement.

"Harry, I can't believe you just tore a strip off a Hogwarts' teacher," Hermione said, suddenly composed and sounding worried; this was a serious bit of teacher/student dichotomy and she was passively a party to it.

"He got away with it though," Tracy said matter-of-factly; then cautiously added, "Lord Potter?"

Realizing he erred in anger, he faced Tracy—hoping she didn't catch that Lady bit—and said, "Um . . . about that, Tracy—may I call you Tracy?—I'd appreciate if you and Daphne could keep quiet about that. It's not really a secret—you know—being an emancipated minor and all, but I'd like to try and make a few friends before it's common knowledge; if you understand my meaning."

"We . . . we do, Lord Potter," came the almost whispered reply from the up-until-then silent Daphne Greengrass who seemed able to look at Hermione but not Harry.

"Shall we head to lunch, now," Tracy said with a sly smile, "I'm sure Miss Granger must be very hungry after not eating much in the way of breakfast."

"You heard that, eh?" Hermione said as a touch of pink tinted her cheeks.

"How could we miss it, we were right behind you when Harry out-Slytherined our head-of-house quite masterfully," Tracy said in respectful amusement.

Without thinking, two Slytherins and two Gryffindors left the dungeons together and while remaining quiet, herself, even Daphne Greengrass was part of the playful chitchat shared by her accompanying and louder three companions. Unknown to Harry and Hermione it was the first time, in a very long time that Daphne had felt like smiling; Tracy knew and was glad for her friend. Soon, after plenty of stares and humorous double takes from the students they passed in the halls, the quartet reached the Great Hall. When Harry and Hermione entered holding hands, the hall went quiet but not for them—everyone had pretty much come to expect that—but because they entered with Tracy Davis and Daphne Greengrass and on obviously friendly terms, no less.

At the head table Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout looked up when the hall went quiet; they were stunned, too, when they saw these four, unlikely, companions by the entrance.

"I think we've got some unwelcome attention, guys," Hermione commented offhandedly as the sudden silence assaulted them.

The four looked around and saw many of their fellow snakes and lions glowering at them while the ravens looked pensive; the badgers only smiled and respectfully nodded the Hufflepuff display of unity the four managed when they faced the student body, openly and in concert.

"This might get ugly," Tracy said, looking at the Slytherin table.

"One sec, Trace; Daph, take these," Harry said and offered them two embroidered badges, "If your housemates becomes unbearably unpleasant or worse because of me, put those on your sleeves; I'm sure Professor Snape will gladly explain their significance to your dorm-mates: hopefully most are smarter than Malfoy and company."

Tracy and Daphne looked at the crests; each bore Potter heraldry—like Hermione's but slightly different: hers was trimmed in gold, theirs in silver

"Are you sure, Lord Potter?" Daphne quietly asked, "And for all I'd be honored to wear this; I must speak to my father first."

"You do?" Harry asked, "Why? Hermione didn't speak to anyone; not that I gave her a chance, really."

"My Father is Lord Greengrass, Lord Potter," Daphne said very quietly and it was obvious talking to Harry was very hard for her. "If I were to suddenly start sporting Potter heraldry I'd be essentially declaring an alliance between the Noble House of Greengrass and The Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter: only my father can do that."

She tried to hand back the crest; Harry refused to accept and said firmly, "Keep it and if things become too difficult speak to your father. This crest is the symbol of my desire to protect you; no strings attached, my friend. It is a physical sign of our new and hopefully long lasting affinity and friendship; I won't let you return it and my offer stands, even if you don't wear my mark."

Daphne wiped a tear from her eye and sadly smiled, she said, "Thank you Lord Potter; I will speak to my father."

"You're welcome, Daphne," he said then turned to Tracy, "I don't mean to be rude, Tracy, but have you got the same problem?"

"Are you teasing me Harry? I'm from a very minor family and considering my father's ambition he'd more than welcome an alliance with House Potter, I'm sure; at worse he'd refuse and disown me—then you'd have to take care of me." Tracy tittered a bit and, from the corner of her eye, noticed how Hermione looked at her; Granger is sending some major mixed signals there, she thought before saying, "Hell, Harry, you can plaster that crest on my sleeve right now if you want—I'm the house pariah anyways—I've got noth'n to lose."

"Fine then," Harry said and turned to Hermione and asked with a smirk "Would you do the honors, Mione, I don't want to make a mistake."

"Are you sure Harry?" She asked, her eyes almost twinkling like Dumbledore's over a shared but unspoken joke.

The green-eyed wizard nodded.

"Okay then," she said with a touch of forbearance and turned to Tracy, "I, Hermione Jean Granger, nobly vested as vassal of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter do offer fealty and protection in the name of Lord Harry James Potter to Tracy—sorry, I should've asked first, I need your full name Tracy."

"Tracy Deidre Davis," the young Slytherin replied; she was beginning to feel overwhelmed: this was for real and bound by their magics—she hadn't expected that; she had thought it no more than a friendly offer.

"Do offer fealty and protection in the name of Lord Harry James Potter to Tracy Deidre Davis. So mote it be."

Tracy shivered and felt a wash of magic shower her and felt her right sleeve rustle; she looked at it. Where once it was unadorned; it now sported a crest baring Potter heraldry but below that was a second and smaller badge of unknown heraldry: it bore a sword superimposed on an open book and in House Potter's colors.

"That was quite impressive, Mione," said Harry.

"I've done a little reading," she replied, the green-eyed wizard softly chuckled.

Tracy curtsied to Harry and then Hermione and was about to head to her house table with Daphne when she hear heard Harry's quiet voice. "I will protect you Tracy and you too Daphne to the best of my ability and power but you must let me know if Malfoy or his ilk give you a hard time. I will also set my eyes to watch out for you."

"Thank you Milord," said Tracy as she bowed her head. Eyes? What eyes? She thought.

"Attention members of Salazar's most noble house," Harry addressed his friend's table but his voice carried to the rest of the Great Hall, "Tracy Deidre Davis is Friend of and protected by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter; any actions taken against her or my friend Hermione Jean Granger will be seen as actions against House Potter."

A stunned cacophony raced through the Great Hall and reached the head table where Professor Dumbledore looked troubled—the ever twinkle in his eyes extinguished—but Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were smiling; they'd just seen something marvelous: hands across the House chasm. Meanwhile, ignoring their housemates' scowls, Tracy and Daphne took their seats and dished up lunch just as Professor Snape swept past the table. Following behind him, Draco and associates—red faced and berated—discreetly joined their house for lunch. The Potions' Master ever-watchful eye spied Tracy's new sleeve adornments as he neared the girl; who was sitting and ignoring the glares directed at her and her diffident friend.

"What is on your arm, Miss Davis?" he growled.

Tracy, always a bit more Gryffindor that most Slytherins—Malfoy aside—wisecracked in response, "My sleeve Professor Snape."

Her housemates, who were not glaring before, were now.

"You . . . know . . . what . . . I . . . meant, Miss Davis," the professor said in contained and measured fury. "What sort of Slytherin wears a Gryffindor's heraldry so boldly?"

"The ambitious and cunning kind, sir," she replied simply.

"Explain yourself to me and your insulted housemates this instant."

"I'm surprised you'd wish to air house matters in public but if you insist, Professor Snape," Tracy Davis began with surprising resolve. "As my illustrious housemates know and have constantly reminded me—as if I'd forget my heritage—I am a half-blood. As a witch of 'lowly' birth, I know that I must seek out someone powerful to protect me, not to mention my virtue. No one in Slytherin extended his or her protection to me, even at the cost of my virtue as payment when I got—hopefully—older. If I'm offered the protection of a Noble and Most Ancient House, the most Slytherin thing I can do is accept his protection: at least he's cute, should he ever demand the payment a half-blooded Slytherin witch like me should expect in return for protection. Furthermore, as it's unlikely I'll ever marry into nobility; the thought of becoming a consort to a noble has its appeals, especially if that noble allows me to pursue my ambitions. When Lord Potter offered me his House's protection—openly and without me resorting to playing the fool or the seductress to gain his favor—I took it; I'd be a fool to turn it down, wouldn't I?"

Some of her housemates, of less than noble birth, found themselves nodding in agreement with the first year's explanation; quite a few were young witches that now looked a tad envious as they stole quick glances at the young Gryffindor's now standing by his house table.

"We, that is Daphne and I, also discovered something very unfortunate for our house; just before lunch," Tracy teased.

"Do, pray-tell, illuminate us further, Miss Davis," Snape snarled sarcastically.

"If circumstances had been different," it was, surprisingly, Daphne Greengrass who provided the answer and even loud enough for many to hear, "our house would've benefited; when Potter and Granger were sorted into Slytherin."

"And that would be good, why?" an outraged older male said from somewhere down the table.

"Yeah, Potter's a half-blooded blood traitor and Granger is a mudblood; Slytherin would be forever sullied by such lowly members," Draco sneered pompously from his seat.

"Close your mouth, Malfoy," again Daphne surprised everyone but as a Scion to a Noble House and Draco's peer; she could get away with it, almost, "you are the reason we didn't get Potter. You and your 'I'm your better' card, which you just had to pull on the train and on the Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House—no less—and a witch who may well be as smart as Ravenclaw. Every first year sitting at this table has shared classes with those two and know—whether they like, hate or are totally indifferent to them—that Potter and Granger are already the top students in our year and the year isn't even a week old yet. Lord Potter also offered his family's protection to me; I intend to speak to my father at Christmas and ask him to at least meet with Harry about this offer."

"Harry! Already on a first name basis with the blood-traitor and you're kissing up to his mudblood whore too: I know! You can be the Handmaiden of the Brown Hanky to that filth, Greengrass," Draco said cruelly and added, "Why don't you just write your daddy, Greengrass? Are you worried that his howler reply would further diminish your worth to him and his house?"

A collective hiss rose from the table and most Slytherins glared at Draco; his words were out of line, particularly against another scion: Daphne collapsed in tears and hurriedly Tracy put her arm around her distraught friend; she glowered at Draco.

"What?" Draco answered the table's glare nonchalantly and turned to Tracy and said. "Well, miss high and mighty friend of House Potter, need I remind you that your protector resides in another house, what can he do?"

Standing by the Gryffindor table, having not taken a seat, Harry watched the drama unfold on the other side of the Great Hall; when he saw Daphne collapse into tears, he was incensed. Turning from his table, he angrily began striding to the Slytherin table—magic oozing from his body—and even those at Head table felt the young wizard's ire affecting the castle's magic and could see static rippling in the enchanted ceiling above where Harry walked. Almost leaping from their places, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick sped across the Great Hall and reached the Slytherin table just as Harry—with Hermione just behind him—did.

"What are you and your mudblood doing here, Potter?" Draco imperiously drawled, proudly displaying his inability to learn.

"Mister Malfoy you will close your mouth now and you will keep it closed; lest you find my foot assisting you—repetitively—on a journey to the school's gate!" Professor Snape actually yelled at his godson; he was fearfully aware—as where the other faculty members now present—of the power now arrayed against his godson

"Now, now Severus," Professor Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes, "let's not blow a childish row out of proportion with such talk."

"Childish row . . ." Professor Snape and Harry said harmoniously; even to the point of mimicking each other's incredulous tones.

"Of course my old friend, this is merely a schoolboy spat; I'm sure—given time—young Harry and young Draco will become fast friends," Dumbledore said earnestly.

"Are you insane!" An unlikely voice exclaimed.

"Miss Granger, I'm stunned by your outburst; that will be twenty points from my own house, for blatant disrespect—I'm very disappointed in you," Professor McGonagall hated herself for doing it—after all, she had at least thought the same thing—but her hand was forced. I'll just make it up to her by giving her an extra point here and there, she thought and silently kicked herself for having to resort to Slytherin type tactics.

"Sorry professor," Hermione said meekly.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry began, his voice edged with anger.

"Yes my boy," he replied, wrongly, through twinkling eyes that seemed oblivious to the glow in his student's green ones. Crabbe and Goyle, displaying great intellectual prowess, guffawed; at least Pansy Parkinson knew when to keep her mouth shut. Can't those fools feel how cold it's become, Potter is sucking magic from the air, at least what remains after Granger has taken her fill. Pansy thought and shivered as her instincts screamed, judiciously; RUN! I'm going to have to write my father, if Draco doesn't wise up I'm gonna be betrothed to pile of ash, she thought and glanced at the young Gryffindors standing near the Headmaster, or less.

"I am not your boy, Albus," Harry said dumbfounding those nearby for using the Headmaster's first name so casually, "I am Harry James Potter and the Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House; you may call me either Mister Potter or Lord Potter—your choice—you will not address me as 'boy'."

"Harry my lad," Is the so called leader of the light—not to mention Chief Warlock—this dim? Harry thought when the Headmaster's spoke.

"I don't believe you know me well enough to call me Harry and I am not your lad, Headmaster," the green-eyed wizard said pointedly.

Despite his fury at Potter for just being a 'Potter' and his godson for being an extremely accomplished idiot, Severus Snape enjoyed the pageant being played out in the Great Hall; even a hint of amusement was in the eye of the typically staid Minerva McGonagall—usually Albus' biggest supporter at Hogwarts.

"It seemed appropriate, Harry; after all you used my first name."

"That was for effect, Headmaster; I apologize for being so familiar—it was wrong of me," Harry replied. What a gloriously Slytherin thing to say, Professor Snape thoughtfully conceded, I hope you're paying attention Draco; even your daddy wouldn't go toe to toe with Dumbledore like this—how quintessentially Gryffindor of Potter. Snape glanced at Potter's witch—what else could he call Miss Granger; besides insufferable know-it-all—she stood just behind her Lord and wasn't batting an eye. Was Lily this confident at eleven, no, definitely not; that was later, Professor Snape silently concluded. I wonder what she'd think if she knew her son was already collecting witches: I can't really disparage Davis for her actions either; she opted for the most Slytherin solution of all: align with the obviously most powerful person she could find.

"Very well, then; that solves everything," Professor Dumbledore chirped, "let's get back to lunch—see Severus, just some boyish harangue between rivals."

Everyone who had heard now stared at the Headmaster dubiously; many whispers echoing Hermione's earlier question—just not as loudly.

"Actual, Headmaster nothing is solved, nothing at all," Harry stated, correcting Dumbledore openly, before turning his glare to the Slytherin table; one particular blonde wizard singled out, "but I'll be quick: Draco, Scion of the Noble House of Malfoy, I hear by name you Enemy to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. As of today, you will not approach me, or my friends, unless you are fully prepared to escalate our differences to a higher level. If you wish to speak to me, you will do so through an acceptable intermediary: do you understand?"

"HOW DARE A HALF-BLOODED MUTT AND MUDBLOOD SPAWN SPEAK TO ME IN THIS MANNER!" Draco screamed with enraged defiance, "MY FATHER WILL HEAR OF THIS!"

"I will be summoning your father on the morrow, Malfoy; speak not to me again." Harry said coldly.

"I'LL SHOW YOU . . ."

"Expelliarmus!" Severus Snape said loud and firmly; Draco's half-drawn wand flew to the Potions' Master's hand as Malfoy flew in the opposite direction. "Crabbe; Goyle take Malfoy from this place and return him to his quarters: Parkinson, help them with their task."

"Thank you Professor Snape," Harry said formally and with a quick bow of his head, "it is most unfortunate that your godson is uneducable, he has brought great shame to your house."

"Thank you for your understanding words, Lord Potter, and I'm sorry Draco has affronted you and your associates."

"It is not the place of a noble man to stand in place of the ignoble, nor should you dishonor yourself with blame earned by another, Professor Snape," Harry said elegantly.

"That's very mature of you, Harry my boy . . ."

"Professor Dumbledore, why do you persist to my utter displeasure?" The green-eyed wizard asked as he turned from the Slytherin table and looked at the Headmaster and the sea of intently staring eyes behind the older man, "Headmaster, may I address the hall?"

"If you wish, Harry," Dumbledore replied; Harry shook his head in annoyed forbearance.

"Students and faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry said, his voice carrying well and regally, "I apologize for disrupting your lunches with such a loud display of unsightly politics and tomfoolery. I had hoped to keep my status, as low profile as possible but others seemed intent on being hammered by it—hence, the now absent Scion Malfoy and his associates. Please understand, I do not like lording over others but neither am I afraid to exercise my position if I must. Thank you."

Harry turned and looked at Hermione with a sad smile and said, "Mione, I have lost my appetite for lunch and think I'll retire somewhere peaceful and quiet."

"I've lost my appetite too, Harry," the young witch replied softly, "can I tag along."

"Of course, Mione, let's go," the two young mages started for the exit but were intercepted by a large eagle that landed before them. It bobbed its head at Harry and extended a talon-gripped envelope to the young wizard. With a muttered 'now what', Harry took the envelope, broke the Gringotts' seal and read the unexpected missive.

"Professor McGonagall, I'm being summoned to Gringotts for some House business, may I have your permission to leave the school, tomorrow?" Harry asked his head-of-house politely.

"I'm sorry Lord Potter, the Hogwarts charter does not permit underage students to leave the school unless they are accompanied by their head-of-house or other acceptable faculty," Professor McGonagall answered, "I'm unable to leave the school tomorrow because I have numerous things—relating to the new school year—that must be completed this weekend, I'm sorry."

"Minerva?"

"Yes Filius?" answered the stern professor.

"I'm free tomorrow and since its only first week, I'm not running House tutorials yet; I can accompany Lord Potter on your behalf," offered the charms professor.

"Thank you Professor Flitwick," Harry said; then asked, "Is that acceptable Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes that is acceptable, I expect you back by Saturday evening, Mr. Potter," she replied with a smile.

"Professor, Gringotts has requested that Hermione accompany me."

"I'm sorry; I can't allow that without her parents' written permission, Lord Potter."

Harry handed the professor a sheet of paper that had come with the envelope; she looked at and said, "Very well then, I expect both of you back by tomorrow evening then."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall; thank you Professor Flitwick," Hermione and Harry replied in perfect sync.

"One moment, I've yet to allow this," Professor Dumbledore intervened.

"Albus, you know as well as I that such permissions are the prerogative of a student's head-of-house," Professor McGonagall uncomfortably reminded the Headmaster.

"Yes, yes of course; how silly of me, Minerva," Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes. "You know what, I've nothing urgent for tomorrow; why don't I take Lord Potter and Lady . . . Miss Granger instead of Filius."

Professor Snape heard the Headmaster distinctly say 'Lady' and he couldn't miss the clumsy correction to Miss; it was highly suspicious and suggested there was a lot more going on than he knew or had been told. Even Professor Flitwick escorting two lions to Gringotts no less—everyone in the castle was aware of Filius' uncommon heritage—smelled fishy. On top of that, the diminutive teacher seemed to spend an exorbitant amount of time with two students who were not from his house and Severus had seen their morning routine, which had begun on the third day of the term. Whatever the reason, Snape was very aware that there was a lot of behind-the-scenes maneuvering that related to a certain young wizard and his bushy-haired companion. I wonder if Lucius is aware but I think not—he's not going to be happy about tomorrow's summons either, thought the Potions' Master, the sorting hat was right: the two most Slytherin are not in Slytherin at all—at least not directly but rapidly making inroads. He thought with a scowl as he considered two of his snakes. Davis isn't important in the grand scheme but Greengrass is—her tragic recent past notwithstanding.

"Headmaster," Potter's voice drew Severus from his thoughts. The boy continued politely, "I think it would be unwise for you to escort me and Miss Granger and I'm certain the Goblins would not welcome a visit from the Supreme Mugwump, without prior notice."

"Come now Harry, I'm sure they'd be happy to see me."

"No sir, they wouldn't be, and our escort isn't up to you," Harry said stiffly, "Our head-of-house, Professor McGonagall, is fine with Professor Flitwick who is fine with escorting me and Hermione to Gringotts, which is fine with me; perhaps next time Headmaster."

"Very well then, perhaps next time," Dumbledore conceded.

Hoping to escape from further scrutiny by either Dumbledore or the rest of the school, Harry took Hermione's hand and—ignoring the wolf whistles of the Weasley twins—said, "Let's go, Mione."

"Okay Harry," she said with a little smile and allowed him to lead her from the Great Hall.

Tracy watched the two Gryffindors exit and then turned to her still distraught friend—still quietly sobbing but not wanting the attention she'd gain by walking out of the hall mid-lunch—and said, "Let's go Daph, I don't want to eat right now and it's pretty obvious you don't want to either. To hell with the rest of them, let's catch up to Potter and Granger."

Daphne's response came as a little nod and a little sad smile seen only by Tracy. The two rose from their table and headed for the exit; their every step scrutinized by their Housemates and quite a few others. Stepping from the Great Hall, they looked around for their new friends but couldn't see them.

"I can't believe they'd run; they were both too composed to act like that I'm sure," Tracy said to her friend; Daphne shrugged her shoulders and looked a little sadder. "Oh well, we missed them somehow—who'd expect they could move so fast—let's go outside, Daph, it's a sunny day and pretty warm still; it's not like we'll miss anything important: it's just the first Friday of the term, anyways, and it's only our first year."

Leading her meek friend across the Entry Hall and down a couple short corridors, Tracy pushed open the door and stepped into the rear gardens. As the door swung closed behind them, Tracy gathered Daphne into her arms and gave her friend a kiss that most eleven year-olds would never experience. Their parents were fully aware of their daughters' precocious relationship but they understood the why of it and even quietly supported them—as long as they were discreet; it brought both families into a very tight alignment.

—}{—

Harry and Hermione had left the Great Hall behind them and crossed the Entry Hall to the Hogwarts' crest. With a quick glance to ensure no one would see them, Harry stepped through the shimmering logo and entered The Patrons and Founders' Chambers; Hermione followed. As soon as they were inside, the young witch closed the distance between her and her wizard and wrapped her arms around Harry; embracing him from behind, she rested her head on his shoulder. Her hug helped Harry reign in his temper but it wasn't relaxing; feeling Hermione pressing against his back reminded him that his best friend was a girl; a girl very aware of herself and her desires that lay far beyond the ken of their year-mates.

"Harry," she said softly, her warm breath tickling his ear.

"Bloody hell, Mione, I couldn't even make it through one friggen week without having to show my hand," a very disappointed Harry said; it sounded like he wanted to cry from frustration. "I know I can never expect a 'normal' life but I hoped to keep things simple for a while. Hell, we've not even been here a week and I've already elevated one person to nobility, verbally thrashed the Scion of another noble house, tore strips off a Hogwarts' professor and lambasted the bloody Headmaster—in front of the whole school, no less. Added to that, I not only have to worry about you, Mione, but Tracy Davis—who I essentially made another vassal—and Daphne Greengrass as well; just because their head-of-house and housemates are a collection of bigoted jerks. I guess we'd better ask Fiona and Peeves to pay extra attention to our two Slytherins for a while and be our eyes and ears until we can finally drill the 'leave Davis and Greengrass alone' message through the thick skulls of the snakes they're housed with."

"Harry," Hermione said and the young wizard shivered in the wake of his witch's zephyr against his neck, "do you regret helping me or Tracy or Daphne?"

"No, of course not; how could I, especially in Daphne's case: I can tell something awful happened to her and I heard Malfoy's snide comments to that affect," he replied, "I can't imagine you missed it either, Mione."

"No, I heard him and I definitely felt it Harry," she concurred, "It's much like the feelings I get from mum and Aunt Nancy but with an added sense of defeat and self-loathing: it's not attractive at all but it does make me want to hug her."

"I think I'll discreetly have my friends look into Daphne's history, perhaps the answer is there, Mione, because—like you—I want to reach out and hold her but I don't think she likes guys," Harry commented in manner uncommonly astute even for an older than his age eleven year old. "By the way, Mione, what do you find attractive in a girl?"

"Confidence, self-awareness and self-honesty; she'd have to share my interests and embrace her explorative nature too plus have that special spark, like my mum or Aunt Nancy do." Hermione replied.

"Wow you've actually given it some serious thought, Hermione; is there something else you're not telling me?" Harry teased.

Releasing her embrace on Harry, the young witch stepped back as her face took on a very pink hue; Harry thought it was quite fetching when he turned and saw it.

"Pr . . . prat," Hermione said and gave her wizard a playful slap on his chest, "and of course I've given it some serious thought—my playmates must be compatible with my wants and desires and limits."

Hermione's not entirely facetious sounding riposte caught Harry by surprise; it sent his imagination down very unchaste pathways and his face grew increasingly red. Putting his hands up he said, "I surrender, I'm not even going try to top that or offer a counter tease, Mione."

"I should hope not, Lord Potter," the hazel-eyed witch replied and to Harry it sounded like a purr. Can't wait till I'm older; not just older than my age, Harry thought in a rather mature manner when he looked at his witch.

"I'm a little surprised though, Mione," Harry said.

"Of what?"

"Of your openness, especially with that sort of admission and what it implies," he replied.

"Blame it on my parents and my aunt, I suppose; they never hid their rather—umm . . . unique—lifestyle from me and they've always been openly affectionate with each other when we're at home," Hermione explained. "The unguarded relationship my mum and Aunt Nancy share—not to mention openly act upon—has always been part of my life: to me it's natural; I only learned it was different when I went to school. Thankfully, I was really, really shy those first years in primary school and didn't talk much except to answer questions. It wasn't until I was older that I discovered that none of my classmates had two mummies and a daddy. I thought that was kinda weird, too, and I felt sorry for them; you know, having just one mum and dad—I thought they'd been cheated somehow."

"I guess that's why you asked me if I had an open mind the other day" the young wizard commented.

"Definitely part of it, Harry," the hazel-eyed witch casually replied. "I'm glad you didn't freak-out when I told you about my three parents."

"Who am I to judge another's relationship; what with the Dursley's being my only example," he said, "what little affection I saw between my Aunt and Uncle always seemed—I don't know—forced and fake; their affection for my cousin was just sickeningly sweet. The only thing I learned from them regarding relationships was 'there must be something better'; I envy you, Mione, it sounds like your family is great: who cares about the oddities; I've got an example to aspire to now."

"Harry, do you really mean that?"

"Well yeah; I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, now would I, Mione," the young wizard answered.

"Thank you Harry," Hermione squealed and knocked the young wizard on his back as she hugged him; the bushy-haired witch landed on top and in a way that Harry's knee firmly pressed into the V between her legs. Unconsciously, the young witch pressed against Harry her hazel eyes met the greens of the wizard beneath her. They gazed at each other and felt the tickling caress of warm, shallow breaths on their faces as they lay together for an extremely intimate moment that concluded with Harry receiving an impulsive peck on his lips before Hermione almost leapt to her feet and coyly looked away.

"Um . . . well . . . ah . . . that was kinda sorta unexpected," Harry said bashfully as he rose to his unsteady feet; he was finding it hard to look at Hermione, just as Hermione was finding it hard to look at him.

"I . . . I'm sorry," they said together and then broke out laughing as they finally were able to look at each other again.

"Thanks Mione, I feel much better but now I'm feeling really hungry; I definitely don't want to go back to the Great Hall though," Harry said, "weren't we told we could have food brought to us?"

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, "but I wonder how; I'm sure it can't be as simple as saying 'I'd like something to eat' though."

With a surprising pop, a small leathery-skinned creature with batwing-like ears appeared before them wearing what looked like a Hogwarts' crested tea towel. A squeaky voice that could be either male or female asked, "Whatz can I getz me Lordzy and Ladyzy?"

"Wha . . . what—I mean who are you?" Hermione asked.

"I beez Tipzee the house-elf, Miladyzy, I is very honored to beez first elfzy to attendz a Patronz and an avatarzy in a very long time; what can Tipzee getz for Hogwartsziz new masterz?"

"New masters?" the hazel-eyed witch asked.

"Youz beez the castlez new masterz, youz and the young patron, mizz," the house-elf replied, "whoz voice be youz, whiz founderz markzy youz bearz?"

"Voice . . .? Mark . . .?" questioned Hermione. "I don't understand what you mean, Tipzee."

"Youz beez herez meanz youz beez eizer a Patronz—like the young lordz, herez—or youz beez a avatarzy," the elf tried explained. "Tipzee knowz youz notz patron, soz Tipzee knowz youz muz beez avatarzy, mizz—sorry, Tipzee doez'n knowz mizz's name."

"I beez . . . Aaugh! Your horrid inflection and grammar is contagious," said the exasperated witch, "remind me to teach you how speak and annunciate properly, someday."

"Sorry, Milady, I speak in the manner expected of me by my masters," Tipzee said clearly, "I will speak like this from now on, if you'd prefer."

"Yes, please do, Tipzee," she almost sighed with relief. "My name is Hermione, I'm just a first year student but my friend, Harry, here is a patron."

"So, Miss Hermione, I take it you're not bearing a Founder's mark then."

She shook her head, then asked, "Why would your masters want you to speak so poorly?"

"Because house-elves are nonhuman servants—actually slaves but there's a good reason . . ."

"Slaves! How utterly barbaric—slavery is wrong, there's never a good reason for it!" Hermione exploded.

"You misunderstand me, Miss Hermione, 'slaves' is kinda a misnomer, I guess," the elf explained. "A long time ago, the creatures that are now known as house-elves were stricken by a magical malady that stripped us of our ability to connect to the world's Ignoble Magic. As magical creatures, this was a death sentence for my race, so we turned to a witch—who we knew to be sympathetic to other magical races—for help. Try as she might, she was unable to reconnect us but offered a compromise to tide my people over until she figured out how. My people were rapidly dying off so we didn't have a choice but to accept the compromise—at least temporarily—that she offered."

"She offered you slavery to save you?"

"No, Miss Hermione . . ."

"Just Hermione please, Tipzee."

"Very well, Hermione," Tipzee agreed and continued, "but you still misunderstand the circumstances."

"Proceed," the witch said stiffly, the word 'slave' still dominating her understanding.

The house-elf resumed, saying, "Gathering the weakened remains of my ancestors at Hogwarts; Helga Hufflepuff, with Rowena Ravenclaw's help, performed a ritual that created a symbiotic link between my people and magical humans: we basically became parasites, leeching a very small amount of Noble Magic from our hosts to sustain ourselves with. With our extinction averted, the remaining proto-house-elves—and there weren't very many of us left—moved into Hogwarts so we could remain near our hosts. In exchange for saving and giving us a place to live, we began performing sundry tasks—cooking, cleaning, etc. . . .—around Hogwarts. Over time, our numbers increased, young elves met young witches and wizards and formed new symbiotic bonds that resulted in the spread of house-elves—still needing the proximity of hosts to sustain us—into magical homes as our new hosts graduated."

"Okay, you're not really slaves," Hermione conceded, "but that doesn't explain your corrupted diction or why you feel it's expected of you."

"Your muggle-born aren't you Hermione?" he asked and the witch nodded; Tipzee continued, "Many witches and wizards are intolerant—especially in families many years distant from their first magic manifesting ancestor—self-promoting and paranoid to the point of seeing threat in any intelligent creature; human (especially muggle-borne witches or wizards) or otherwise. The fact that many of the older families are growing weaker with each passing generation has really amped up the paranoia and given rise to wizards like he-who-must-not-be-named."

"You mean Voldemort so say Voldemort," Harry said and Tipzee shivered, "Give me a break, Lord Voldemort is just a stupid acronym created from Tom Marvollo Riddle. He was nothing more than a jealous half-blooded orphan who wanted to be better than everyone else and thought he should because his great, great and then some—put the emphasis on the 'then some' too—granddaddy was Salazar Slytherin. Pretty pathetic overall and it cost me and a lot of others their families. If you have trouble with saying Voldemort, just say Tom Riddle."

"Is this true . . .? I'm sorry; I don't know your name either," Tipzee said.

"Yes, it's true and I, Harry James of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter and Hogwarts' Patron swear it's true," Harry said and then was enveloped in a flash of green.

"A word of advice . . ." Harry, Hermione and Tipzee snapped in the direction of the new voice; Peeves was casually bobbing in the air by the fireplace. "Be careful of what you say and how you say it Lord Potter; Lady Granger, you just unintentionally uttered an oath Lord Potter; magic takes oaths very seriously but it isn't very discerning when it does, especially when spoken by the titled."

"Thank you Peeves, I'll have to keep that in mind," Harry said a little red-faced; Hermione nodded in agreement. "Oh, by the way?"

"Yes Lord Pot . . . I mean Harry?" Peeves replied.

The young wizard ginned in amusement and then asked, "Could you and Fiona please keep your eyes on two Slytherin first years named Tracy Davis and Daphne Greengrass and tell me if they are in trouble? Tracy is wearing House Potter Heraldry on her sleeve; she is to be treated accordingly and while Daphne isn't, please treat her the same way. Now that I think about it, didn't I see a second and smaller crest on Tracy's sleeve, Mione?"

"Yes, it looked like another's heraldry and bore a sword superimposed on an open book in—what looked like—House Potter colors; I didn't really think about it, though," Hermione replied.

"Hmm . . . something to look into later, I suppose," Harry said offhandedly; his stomach growled loudly.

"Should I bring some sandwiches?" Tipzee offered, "it's why I appeared in the first place, as you know."

"Yes please," Hermione replied, "and something to drink that isn't pumpkin juice, pleassssse."

"As you wish," he replied and with a pop and was gone.

"Do you need anything else from me, Harry?" Peeves asked.

"Not at this time, Peeves," Harry replied, "Oh, one thing before you go; why are you here?"

"A little while ago, I felt the magic of Hogwarts grow unsteady but couldn't find out what caused it; I came to tell the Founders since they lack awareness beyond these chambers, they might know why," replied Peeves.

"How long ago?" Hermione asked.

"I'd say fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago, Hermione."

"Harry, do you think it was you? You were pretty angry earlier," the witch asked.

"Well, yeah, I suppose I was pretty angry—Malfoy seems to really enjoy pissing me off—but I'm sure I couldn't do something like that, I mean I'm just one wizard, Mione."

"You're one very powerful wizard, Lord Potter," Fiona said, as she faded in and bobbed next to Peeves, "just as Lady Granger is a very powerful witch; the disruption you felt, Peeves, was our two young friends—I was sitting at the Slytherin table when it happened . . ."

". . . You were? Why didn't I see you," Hermione interjected.

"You were passively ignoring the plain looking sixth year witch about six places from where Tracy Davis sat," Fiona said with a smile, "Anyways, what is important is that you two must learn to control yourselves and your magic when you are angry. There is a lot more latent magic at Hogwarts than you two were exposed to growing up; accidental magic here can be multiplied multifold and—in your cases—to dangerous levels. If they haven't yet, the faculty—at least—will soon realize just how powerful you two are; please reign yourselves in before it causes serious trouble for you or our plans."

"Believe you me, I want to keep my head down but circumstances seem hell-bent on messing with my quiet school-life," Harry said with resignation.

"Perhaps, Lord Potter; who can truly say," Fiona replied, "all the same, you and Hermione must consciously exercise constraint. Since, I was going to speak to the Founders about this; perhaps they can offer a simple solution. Adieu, Milord; Lady, Peeves lets go talk to mums and dads."

Fiona and Peeves drifted across the room and through the door leading to the Founders' boardroom just as Tipzee popped—literally—back with a heaping plate of sandwiches and a jug of water.

"May I get you anything else?" asked the house-elf as he sat the sandwiches and water on the table.

"No thanks, Tipzee," Hermione replied, smiling at the elf.

"I'm just call away if you need anything," Tipzee said and popped away.

Harry and Hermione sat at the table and grabbed a couple of sandwiches each.

"What do you want to do Harry?" the young witch asked between bites.

"I dunno, I was thinking about those memory marbles I got a the other day but right now I don't think I could focus on them," he answered, "what about you?"

"I may as well knock of our potions' homework and then maybe read something; after I eat a few more sandwiches that is; these are really yummy," she said.

"As good as any other idea, I suppose," Harry said but his mind seemed elsewhere.

"Harry, I'm kinda nervous about tomorrow."

"You'll be find, just be yourself; goblins may seem gruff but the actually have a wicked sense of humor," he said in reassurance, "and you're right about these sandwiches."

—}{—

Evening, having advanced to night found Severus Snape brooding in his chambers, lit only by the inferno he had raging in his fireplace. Emptying the contents of a tumbler down his throat, he refilled it from the convenient bottle of firewhisky he had sitting on his side-table. At least Draco lived through dinner, he sullenly grumbled in thought as he took another gulp from his glass, and hopefully reading the riot act to all but two of my snakes will have the desired effect. Ah yes, the old Slytherin standby: when reason won't work; scare the shite out of them. A loud rap upon his chamber door interrupted the professor's contented state of melancholy.

"Better not be a raven, the feathered kind," he grumbled quietly before calling out, "Enter."

His door swung open and in walked Dumbledore and his damnable twinkling eyes.

"What can I do for you Albus?" He asked in mere acceptance; he had expected the Headmaster's visit, after all.

"You can offer me a glass of firewhisky, first off," the older man said.

"Help yourself; it's the cheap stuff mind you and likely below your pallet but it's strong at least."

"Fine, fine," the Headmaster said as he crossed the Potion Master's sitting room and sat in one of Severus' chairs. Reaching for a glass and the bottle, he tipped himself a generous measure.

"So, Albus, what brings you to my chambers this late?"

"Harry Potter."

"You don't say," scowled Severus.

"What do you think of him and that friend of his, Miss Granger?"

"You mean Lady Granger, don't you?"

"Whatever do you mean, old friend?"

"I'm not a fool, Albus, or whatever else you might think I am; I heard your hasty correction and have seen how differential Minerva and Filius treat them: what is going on? How did a mudblood . . ."

". . . now, now Severus . . ."

". . . of no standing—in our world—suddenly become the daughter of nobility."

"Ah, well, there you are mistaken my old friend; she not suddenly the daughter of a noble house," the Headmaster said.

"Then what the hell is she! And don't tell me that Potter's not responsible somehow," Professor Snape demanded.

"Well, you see, Severus, Miss Granger is actual the Lady Matriarch of House Granger."

"She's the what! And what the hell is House Granger, I've never heard of it."

"Of course you never heard of it, it's new," Albus said—his eyes weren't twinkling any longer, "It hasn't even been presented to the Wizengamot and yet it has already been vetted."

Severus Snape looked dumbfounded but managed to say, "Do I want to know how that happened?"

"Do you?"

"I think I must, considering that Potter's tentacles have begun encroaching upon the house I'm head of," Severus answered with a well-practiced scowl, "not to mention my godson's continuing and rampant stupidity; I'm so not looking forward to Lucius's floo call tomorrow evening."

"Now, now Severus; I'm sure Lord Malfoy will be understanding: boys will be boys you know."

"Albus, I'm beginning to think that Miss . . . I mean the Lady Granger's lunchtime declaration wasn't far from the mark: are you insane?"

"Severus, I'm surprised at you; Miss Granger is only a child."

"Yes, she's only a child and Potter is only a child," Snape exploded, "but these two children have the power to summon—not ask, summon—the Lord of a Noble house to appear before them—well Potter does anyways—and Lucius must present himself. At least he'll be summoned to Gringotts and not here; I'd rather not face his immediate wrath once he's dismissed by a half-blood and his mud . . . muggle-born witch."

"Whatever do you mean his witch?"

"Do you walk around Hogwarts with your eyes closed and your ears plugged, Albus?" Severus angrily asked. "Haven't you noticed that you never see Granger without Potter or vice versa; if one is present, so is the other and you can't tell me you somehow missed that tiny disruption in the castle's magic at lunch: by Merlin's right bollock, man; you were standing right there. Hell, I was half expecting the redheaded menaces to start booking odds on who was going to fry Draco first, Granger or Potter; thankfully, they can mostly contain themselves when they're angry."

"Now, now—old friend—you make things sound so ominous; I assure you, things are not that dire," Dumbledore said soothingly. "What can two underaged; undertrained children possible do?"

"Albus, I don't understand you; are those lemon drops you pawn off on people rotting your brain instead of your teeth?" Professor Snape asked in sarcastic forbearance. "Can you just give me straight answer for a change; what is going on?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I'm not entirely sure, Severus; all I can say is I'm looking into it," the Headmaster said then added, "but I sense a new player in the game—how that will play out is anyone's guess."

"Obviously the goblins are involved," Snape observed, "I've never seen a student get so many priority eagles and Filius' involvement is suspicious; have you thought to ask him."

"Of course and he told me a lot; without telling me a thing," Albus said with disappointment, "and while Goblin involvement is obvious, I fear they're hiding a very big stick behind their backs; while sending some very clear messages. That is why I thought to offer young Harry my time tomorrow, even though I'm a busy man; I wonder why he didn't accept?"

Severus shook his head and asked, "What do you think of your timid, unassuming and polite young man now, Albus?"

"Well, he is polite."

"Infuriatingly so and yet he seems to be laughing at us; I can see it in those damn green eyes of his."

"Yes, Lily's eyes . . ." Dumbledore muttered then said, "but 'laughing at us'? He's a boy and barely even eleven, I'm sure you're mistaken; how can you even think that?"

"He has copies of 'Potions' Ingredients and Their Properties' and 'The Advanced Cauldron' and basically hit me over the head with them; I'm sure he knows I wrote them, I could see it in the smirk in his eyes."

"Come now Severus, that just makes him well prepared," Albus said nonchalantly.

"Too well prepared, if you ask me, old man; how does that sit with your much vaunted 'Greater Good'?" the Potions' Master almost demanded. "Potter is definitely a major piece in the game and Granger seems poised to become one but Potter isn't yours and Granger is his. On top of that, Davis has declared her alliance in a very Slytherin manner and if I'm not mistaken Greengrass will follow her friend, maybe even at the risk of being disowned; it depends on timing. I know Lord Greengrass is dragging his heels in Lord Malfoy's proposed alliance and I suspect he suspects that Lucius had something to do with what happened to his daughter but he can't openly accuse him, yet. If he meets Potter before signing a pact with Lucius, he's gonna jump; believe you me."

"Severus, old friend, I never took you for a conspiracist; that is so unbecoming, where's your faith in people. Even the worst will come back to the light if we reach out to them," the Headmaster said piously.

"Granger got it right at lunch," Severus Snape muttered but Albus Dumbledore heard nothing. The problem with clever people, he thought, is they think they're too clever for someone to be cleverer.