Heirs of the Founders
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 Fifteen
Harry, sitting at the bed's edge, was trying and failing to read while hoping two sisters would work through their differences. He had an inkling of what the younger witch might be feeling, thanks to his life with the Dursleys, but that's all it was 'an inkling'; after all, envy was an all too common emotion and compatriot while living at four Privet Drive: almost as common as fear and anger. Still, at least Danielle's mum loved her and showed it.
Unable to focus, Harry closed and returned the book to his satchel. Flopping back, he half laid on the bed and let his mind wander and sort through the memories and events of the last very busy twenty-four hours. The Grangers, Lord Malfoy and his now ex-wife Lady Granger-Black, Danielle and—to a far lesser extent—The Nation had been irrevocably altered by his inexperience and perhaps hasty actions. Still, except for Lord Malfoy and Draco's situations—not that he cared what happened to the big or little blonde ponces—what he had wrought looked positive but that was for historians and sociologists to decide; inthe future, he reminded himself. Harry smiled sadly; his thoughts weren't those of an arrogant and delusional narcissist, he knew: he'd had a year—sort of—to learn and accept being the vanguard of social evolution—or was that revolution?—depending on one's point of view. Nonetheless, nowhere did it say he had to like what Fate ordained but that didn't mean he wouldn't make the most of it; at least quietly.
"Harry," he heard Hermione's voice over a soft knock, "are you there? We're properly dressed now, you coming? I want to show you and Dani the rest of our home."
"Okay," he replied and rose from the bed.
Harry padded across the floor and opened the door to the sight of his witch and her sister wearing complimentary tank tops and hip hugging gym shorts that were scandalously tight. Harry, unlike a normal eleven-year-old boy, found his eyes roving over the budding contours of Hermione's body seen—for all intents—for the first time. He felt his ears and cheeks grow warm.
"See something you like, mister 'The Great' Harry Potter, sir?" Hermione said in a very good imitation of Dobby but he doubted the house-elf would ever smile at him like that; at least he hoped not: it would be too creepy.
"Th . . . That's a different look for you, Mione," he hesitantly said and tried to look away, "your . . . um . . . workout clothes at Hogwarts aren't . . ."
". . . As tight or revealing?" She interjected in a very casual, relaxed and—to Harry's even greater discomfort—sultry tone; unlike anything he'd yet heard.
"Well . . . yeah; I guess," he managed, finally tearing his eyes from his bushy-haired friend. Unfortunately, his gaze fell on a similarly clad Danielle and while she had yet begun to fill out it was easy to imagine; after all, Lady Granger-Black was an extremely attractive witch. At least the young blue-eyed girl had a modicum of modesty; she was as pink in the face as Harry was.
"Stop ogling my li'l sis," mocked Hermione.
"I . . . I wasn't ogling, I just couldn't get over how much you two look alike; despite the different hair and eye colors, not to mention mothers," he said in defensive recovery as Danielle fretfully nibbled her bottom lip.
"You expect me to believe that codswallop," she teased, "I'm glad Dani slept on my side of the house; her virtue . . ."
". . . would've faced less peril over here, I'm sure," Danielle muttered absently; Harry and Hermione heard her and burst out laughing, the younger witch responded, tersely, "I wasn't trying to be funny."
Recovering first, Harry said drolly, "I believe you, Dani, really I do; did Mione pick what you're wearing?"
"Y . . . yeah," she responded, "she said I'd look good in this but I kinda feel like a piece of meat—you know—in a butcher's window all trussed and dressed; I felt more decent earlier and I was only wearing a bathrobe."
Danielle's candid revelation elicited a giggle from Hermione as Harry said without thinking, "You do look good, Dani . . ."
"Are you calling me a butcher?" The hazel-eyed witch said, feigning indignation. "Still, you are a tasty looking bird, sis; don't you just want to help me eat her up, Harry?"
The green-eyed wizard and blonde witch blanched and then blushed anew as they tried to interpret the meaning behind Hermione's words.
". . . and just what are you two thinking?" asked the witch with the laughing hazel eyes.
"You're very different at Hogwarts, Mione," Harry stated matter-of-factly, "I doubt our classmates—especially Neville, who'd blow a gasket I'm sure—would believe me if I told them you're not nearly as staid, studious or proper as you appear. Actually, you've a naughty streak to make Rowena proud; I only suspected it before."
"Nit," Hermione teased.
"Who's Rowena," asked Danielle curiously, "a classmate?"
Danielle's simple question stunned Harry; he and Hermione exchanged concerned glances as they realized they'd allowed the blonde witch so close to the center of the circle developing around them.
"Um . . . no, she's kinda sorta like faculty, I guess," Harry replied cagily.
"You guess?" the blue-eyed witch drawled suspiciously: sounding a bit too much like Draco for their comfort; afterall, he was her half-brother, they had to share at least a few traits, didn't they? Harry and Hermione thought in unknown unison.
"Can we not talk of this now, Dani," Hermione asked, before. "It's . . . um . . . complicated and something best not spoken of, yet."
"It's okay, sis, I'll not pry but that doesn't mean I'm not curious."
"Thanks Dani," Harry and Hermione said in perfect sync.
Cocking an eyebrow, the younger witch asked, "Do you two do that often?"
"Do what?" again in harmony they questioned.
"I guess that answers my question," Danielle said with a sly smile. "So, sis, you gonna show us the rest of the house or what?"
"Ah, yeah, I suppose I was," Hermione responded. "Let's go."
Following the bushy-haired witch, Harry and Danielle were led to the basement of—for all intents, now—the Granger; Granger-Black Manor and for it was not as grand as the Malfoys', Danielle knew, it had something that that cold edifice never had: here, with a sister, a father and her two mums, it felt like home. The blonde witch glanced at the boy beside her and, surprisingly, found herself fighting an urge to take his hand. What's wrong with me? Thought the younger witch, worried her pounding heart might become audible.
"Hey, Mione," Harry began, "I see why you aren't affected by Draco's crass display of wealth and privilege but you never carried yourself like the rich-witch you are."
"Rich?" she replied thoughtfully, "Well I suppose, I guess—compared to others—but I've never really thought about it; it's not important to me, anyways, besides it isn't mine, now is it? It belongs to my parents."
"I've said it before, Mione; you're one weird witch and getting weirder all the time," teased the green-eyed wizard. "What do you think, Dani?"
"I don't think so, Harry," answered the witch with the blue eyes, "sis just has different priorities: more erudite than material."
"I'm here you know," Hermione said, "but I guess I understand; I'm like my parents, I see money as a means and not an end or a status symbol to flaunt or be envious of."
Harry started to laugh but quickly restrained himself; he said, "Don't let Ronald hear you, his world revolves around food and wealth he doesn't have but thinks he deserves. The way he sometimes looks at Neville and me—thinking we don't notice I'm sure—is . . . well . . . discombobulating, I'd say."
"You could've just said creepy, Harry," Hermione said with a smirk, "but I get your meaning; I've seen it too: you might want to invest in a chastity belt; I'll gladly hold your key."
"Sis!" Danielle exclaimed in surprise.
"What?" Hermione said innocently, "I'll hold yours too, Dani; I've got to protect my li'l sis from lecherous wizards, your virtue is mine . . ."
". . . yours?" Harry teased.
"You've got a dirty mind," she teased back, "I meant to protect; it's not like I'm planning to ravish Dani."
"Oh, I see," Harry said raising his eyebrows, "you've already planned your li'l sis' ravishment. That's my Mione; always proactive."
Danielle giggled and said, "I better sleep on Harry's . . ."
". . . What a naughty witch; maybe I should spank . . ." Aaurgh, I didn't just say that out loud, did I; in front of Dani and my Harry, The bushy-haired brunette's thoughts halting her ill-timed and unintentionally salacious words.
The blonde-haired witch turned crimson, slapped her hands over her mouth, and nibbled on her bottom lip. What am I saying! She silently screamed before mumbling through her hands in clarification, "His . . . his side of the h-house."
I feel funny, Danielle thought as her eyes refused to meet either Harry's or Hermione's. I'm gonna have to speak to mummy; I'm confused.
"Um . . . well, this is awkward," Hermione forced herself to speak; Harry and Danielle nodded in tense agreement as the older witch added, "More ancient magic, you suppose, Harry?"
"Maybe," he replied and snickered, "better that than the alternative: at least at our ages."
"Wha . . . what do you mean?" Danielle asked nervously. "What alternative?"
"That we're randy, barely pubescent miscreants looking for thrills," answered Hermione, hoping to be humorous before adding, "Let's go in here first; daddy built it for me."
They followed the bushy-haired witch into a room with a shiny hardwood floor. Floor to ceiling mirrors, accessorized by a wooden hand-rail about four feet from the floor, covered the length of one wall and in one corner stood an electronic baby-grand piano and bench.
"A dance studio, Mione?" Harry commented, "I didn't know you danced. Do you play as well?"
"Yeah, almost six years of ballet," answered Hermione, "about four for piano."
"I wouldn't think of you as a dancer, sis," Danielle said.
The older witch, taking it as a challenge, took an opening pose before gracefully pirouetting and leaping her way across the studio in a series of complex moves that ended with her on the floor near the piano. Her final position: a fore and aft leg split while bent forward; her chest resting on her fore leg, her arms spread and fingertips grazing the hardwood to either side. Her performance was so light-footed and graceful that there was nary a whisper but for the rustle of air against her clothes.
"Wow, you're really lithe and flexible, Mione," the emerald-eyed wizard complemented, "and so quiet; I didn't hear a step. It's like you were using magic to make yourself superlight."
Harry's words sparked a moment of reflection for Hermione as she stood; she said, "Maybe I do use magic, unintentionally, when I dance—I am a witch after all—but I'd never really thought about it. My ballet instructor, Madame Corinna, always told me I had the lightest feet she'd never heard; magic could explain that. She was really upset when I told her I was going to a boarding school this year, too; she wanted me to be her junior prima-ballerina."
"It's still surprising, sis, all the same," Danielle said, "but why ballet?"
"Mummy and daddy only ever insisted on two extracurricular activities for me," she replied, "swimming and either martial arts or ballet; ballet because it's important to know how to move fluidly and knowing how to swim is just—well—common sense. I didn't understand then but I do now, especially now Harry and me are under Professor Flitwick's extra tutorage; I'd have been in pretty sorry shape if it wasn't for ballet, I'm sure."
"Isn't Professor Flitwick the Charms' teacher, Mione?" asked the younger witch.
"He is," Harry answered for his witch, "but me and Mione . . ."
". . . Mione and I," Hermione correct casually without thinking.
"Fine, Mione and I," he continued with a smile, "are receiving some physical training from him, much to the confusion of most at Hogwarts."
"I can imagine," added Danielle, "the idea of Draco doing something intentionally that might make him sweat is pretty unbelievable. I think I understand why mum is always trying to get me to be less sedentary, though, and—come to think of it—mum exercises often, not that I understood it: I should've joined her I guess."
"It's never too late to start, Dani," stated Harry, "just don't ask the goblins to design your exercise routine, trust me."
"Trust you," the blue-eyed witch said with a smirk, "I'm a born Slytherin—like mum—trust is not something we're good at."
"Would these green eyes lie?" the young wizard said in wily innocence.
"Ha," Hermione chortled, "he's as Slytherin as Narcissa-mum, Dani, don't be fooled by those big puppy-dog eyes."
"You're one to talk; my sweet, little and innocuous feigning Slytherin witchling," he teased in riposte.
"What are you two Gryffindors going on about?" Danielle asked with playful distain.
"It's something we found out after the sorting, Dani," Hermione said as she lovingly ran a finger across her piano before sitting on the stool and lifting the keyboard cover; she continued. "Like I said earlier, the sorting hat really wanted to put us both in Slytherin but it was worried about my blood status and . . ."
". . . and, in my case," Harry continued. "It wasn't that I'm a half-blood—go figure, my parents were both magical but what do I know; after all, a blonde ponce told me not to question my betters—but because the hat was afraid I'd do something to a flaxen haired 'wait till my father hears about this' git . . . I mean Draco. The hat was probably right . . . I guess."
Harry finished with a facetious sigh for effect.
"Both . . . him; you, Slytherin, really," Danielle questioned with surprise.
"What can I say: we're both ambitious and fairly cunning, I think," Hermione said as her fingers absently began playing the opening bars to her favorite piece of music and despite being the host; she allowed herself to be drawn into the haunting refrain of what she was playing.
"Color me impressed, Mione," Harry said as the closing notes faded, "Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata? Your playing is enthralling; I think I'm gonna sneak your piano back to Hogwarts with me; so I can hear you play again."
"What . . . Oh . . . Sorry?" said the hazel-eyed witch as if she had just woken.
"Wow, sis, you were really into it," Danielle said, "it was very beautiful, though."
"I . . . I'm sorry; that was really impolite of me, please forgive me," Hermione apologized, "I must really have a lot on my mind and playing helps me sort my thoughts but that doesn't mean I can be rude or ignore my guests."
"It's fine, Mione, really; don't worry about it, a lot has happened," Harry soothed.
"So, well, yes this is the studio," Hermione rambled as she rose from the piano, "let me show you the gym."
"After you, maestro," the young wizard said with an exaggerated bow.
"Prat," Hermione said as she playfully slapped Harry's shoulder, "let's go."
Once more, Danielle and Harry followed the older witch through the basement. Passing a closed door, Hermione's pace faltered and Harry thought he heard her mutter, ". . . not the playroom, they'd freak, I'm sure . . ." Although curious, he thought not to pry and trailed Hermione to a room beyond that; Danielle was on his heels.
"Our gym," Hermione announced, unnecessarily; the room contained various types of exercise equipment, free weights and a few thin floor mats fronting a mirrored wall, like the studio's, with a handrail as well.
"Wow, your parents do take fitness seriously, Mione," commented the messy-haired wizard as he glanced about the exceptionally well-equipped room.
"What's all this stuff, sis," Danielle asked, looking at the unfamiliar equipment before humorously adding, "Muggle torture devices?"
"Those are in the other room," Harry quipped in echoed mirth; Hermione blanched.
Noticing her sister's sudden pallor, the blue-eyed witch asked with concern, "What's wrong Hermione?"
Unable to meet her sister's or Harry's eyes for that matter, she looked at the floor and mumbled, "nothing, sis; just suddenly feeling a little off."
"Is your tummy bothering you, Mione?" Harry asked superficially but Hermione caught a whiff of suspicion in his tone; his tenor freshened the rouge on her ashen face.
"I . . . I'm fine," she replied, "Anyway, Dani, before using any of this please ask mum or dad to show you how first; you could hurt yourself."
"I will, sis."
"Let me show you the room we were talking about yesterday," Hermione said as she turned from the gym.
Once more they followed the older witch and were led to a large, partially finished room with a large window that filled the room with a lot of sunlight through an oversized light-well with a sliding glass walkout.
"Wow, this will make a nice library, Hermione, and a great place to study," Danielle observed, "and tea and scones on the little patio would be absolutely divine on nice days. Too bad about winter though."
"Actually, it's not so bad, Dani," replied Hermione, "it's not heated—that's true—but it has a glass roof; it can get pretty warm, even in the winter."
"Where to next, Mione," Harry asked.
"Well, other than daddy's workshop—he likes to tinker and make things—the furnace and laundry rooms that's about it but for mums and dad's . . . um . . . retreat but that place is theirs and . . . and I don't go in."
"Why sis?"
"It . . . it's their place, Dani . . . their private place. Only them and sometimes friends g-go in: I . . . I'd rather not talk about it; it's really hard to explain."
"It has to do with your parents' . . . um—alternate, I guess you'd say—relationship, right?" Harry asked with discomfort.
"D-d-do y-you m-m-mean . . ." Danielle stuttered; Harry's words and understanding hit like a sucker-punch as the younger witch glowed red.
Blushing as deeply as her sister Hermione could only nod as awkward silence wound tendrils around the three children. Into the silent seconds that felt like minutes, Harry finally said, "I . . . I guess we're heading upstairs."
With merely another nod, the hazel-eyed witch turned and led Danielle and Harry back to the stairs and they climbed to the main floor. Hermione led them through the kitchen—now spic and span—and into the sunroom occupied by chatting adults enjoying steaming cups of coffee.
"Hi kids," Emma and Narcissa said as one when the trio entered.
"Wow," Harry said in awe as he gazed at the lush indoor garden; he neither saw nor heard the resident adults.
"Thanks Harry," Emma said proudly, "I'm glad you like my conservatory; I've spent an exorbitant amount of my free time with my plants but this little piece of paradise is worth all that effort."
Harry, his eyes glued to the incredible fauna surrounding him, suddenly cocked his eyebrow in surprise and suddenly asked, "Mrs. Granger, where did you get these plants? I barely recognize any of them and gardening was the only chore I actually liked living at the Dursley's."
"Actually, Harry," Emma said, "most of them were gifts from Narcissa; I never knew where she got such interesting plants: at least none have ever said 'feed me'. Nevertheless, I guess I know now why so few were in my gardening books or mags; next time I'm in Diagon Ally, I'll hav'ta pick up a few books on magical plants and flowers."
"It's kinda funny, Emma," Narcissa said, "I never had much luck with plants—magical or otherwise—and I'm a witch with seven years of Herbology at Hogwarts. If someone told me back then that a muggle could grow some of magic's most finicky plants, I'd have scoffed at them but you've done it; Pomona Sprout would get all Hufflepuff on you if she saw your garden."
"All Hufflepuff?" Emma asked in confusion.
"Yes, Hufflepuffs are usually quite free with their affection," said Narcissa, "shyness and inhibition aren't house traits either; I'm sure you'll meet her someday, she was one of my favorite teachers at Hogwarts but because I was a 'proper' Slytherin I couldn't act on it."
"To have lived such a privileged youth and harbor so much regret is a waste," Daniel said sadly, "at least, my pet, you can now act how you wish."
"And so I will," said Narcissa. "It begins with my eldest sister and her family, today."
"Let's hope for the best, Cissy," Emma encouraged. "By the way, how open about our family do you intend to be?"
The comely witch looked thoughtful and replied, "While there are things I don't necessarily intend to speak of, I've had enough of living a lie but what about you and Dan; not to mention our daughters and Harry?"
"I feel no shame in our life, dear, do you?" Emma stated bluntly, "Say as little or as much as you wish and regardless of your sister or her family's reaction, we'll be behind you. Besides, Dan and I don't give a damn what Wizarding society might make of us, which is why I openly wore Master's collar to our meeting at Gringotts."
"And you, Lord Potter-Black?" asked the elder witch.
"I'll decide what and how much of my business I'm willing to discuss once I meet them," Harry replied, "but suffice to say I intend to be quite guarded: hopefully, I'll not offend your family Lady Granger-Black if matters I wish not to discuss are brought up; if I do, I'm sorry."
"Andromeda will not have forgotten she is a Black and will understand the necessity of secrets, My Lord."
"I'd hoped we'd left behind the whole 'My Lord' thing, Lady Granger-Black?"
"Alas, in some things and times these cannot be dispensed with and as much as I'd like to see things remain informal; etiquette demands we follow her rules, every now and then."
"I know, my sweet Lady Granger-Black, but I really don't like such things as they do distract from what's truly important," Harry stated regally as he painted a blush upon Narcissa's usually pure ivory cheeks.
"Once more, Lord Potter-Black, you present and bear your nobility as want a Lord of yore and not like those pretenders who claim to be your peers," Narcissa said solemnly—with a hint of flushed maiden—before asking deferentially, "My Lord may I beseech thee of a matter of House?"
The formality of her words demanded a like response as Harry, uncomfortably, replied, "I suspect this relates to your sister being also a daughter of House Black?"
"It is my Lord," she replied with her head bowed.
"And the matter?"
"Please reveal yourself as the Lord Black to my sister and should she petition, please permit her re-admission to our Noble and Most Ancient House."
"While my standing as Head of House Black is a matter I do not want revealed; the fact that you are now Lady Granger-Black is matter that can't be hidden from your sister," Harry responded. "If I ask your sister and her family for a vow of secrecy would they be offended?"
"I can't speak for her husband or daughter but I know Andromeda will understand; as do I my Lord."
"Very well, I will consider your request but not decide till I meet them," he said.
"Thank you my Lord, I will respect your decision."
"Now that's done, can we lose all the bloody . . ."
". . . Dan!" Emma and Narcissa exclaimed; Hermione scowled.
"Sorry loves, I meant the . . . um, yes . . . unpleasant formality, that's it" he apologized before asking, "So, Hermione, have you finished showing them around?"
"You have a very nice home Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Harry said, "it feels very warm and welcoming."
"Thank you, Harry," Emma said with a smile, "we've tried to keep our house a home; not a self-serving pat-on-the-back or the pretentious one-upmanship so prevalent amongst our neighbors."
". . . Sounds like Privet Drive," Harry muttered.
"Sorry?" said the woman who shared Hermione's bushy brown hair.
"I was just thinking out loud, Mrs. Granger," he said, then added. "My neighborhood is like that too and the Dursley's were the worst; my Aunt and Uncle once threw out a tele that was not even six months old because our next-door neighbor brought home a bigger one."
"What horrible and wasteful people," Emma said.
"Horrible and wasteful describes my Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to a tee; my cousin too, he's even worse," stated the green-eyed wizard. "Dudley broke perfectly good toys and stuff, if he just got frustrated, to ensure they remained in the rubbish bin and out of my hands. Thankfully, his laziness extended even to his pettiness. When I got older, I could repair much of what he broke; I just had to keep things hidden afterwards."
"How awful," Danielle remarked, "even Draco's not petty like that."
Narcissa frowned as she quietly added, "Which is not to say he's not petty, unfortunately."
"Come now pet," soothed Dan, "don't beat yourself up; you told us how little influence you had over his rearing."
"I know but it doesn't make me feel better," she said, "he's still is my son."
"Perhaps he'll be given a second chance," Hermione commented, "because I'm sure—before all is said and done—Lord Malfoy is likely to cross someone who can't be bribed or bought, like Harry . . ."
"Hermione, enough; this is not the time to discuss such unpleasant matters," the green-eyed wizard interrupted, harsher than he had intended; especially in front of his witch's family.
"Sorry Mas . . . Harry," apologized the bushy-haired witch—realizing she was becoming a mite-bit too dangerously casual, even with family—and her eyes sought the floor. Dan, Emma and Narcissa, while understanding, were still surprised by her uncharacteristic behavior and deference to the boy: Danielle looked confused.
"I think we need to talk sooner rather than latter, son," Dan, with solemn firmness, said addressing Harry.
"Yes sir," Harry replied in a manner similar to Hermione's; he was finding the floor fascinating, now, too.
"Not today though, Harry, but when we have time for a proper conversation. Until then, be cautious and aware of the way you relate to our Hermione," he said sternly.
"Yes sir."
"The same goes for you young lady," added Emma, with as much gravity as she contemplated her daughter: Hermione only nodded in understanding.
The look of confusion remained with Danielle, even as Narcissa said, "While not as critical, Dani, the same goes for you; I think things will soon become rather confusing for you, if they're not already: you're as precocious as Hermione but lack her familiarity with things, which are quite common in our new home."
"Yes mom, I understand I think."
"Good girl," Daniel said affectionately before saying, "Now, why don't you three go watch a movie or something until lunch."
"Yes dad," Hermione and Danielle said in concert with Harry's, "Yes sir."
With the departure of the children, Dan turned to his wives and said, "I'd hoped we'd have had a couple of years before this but we can't deny what we saw and while I don't know Danielle, she does seem as precocious as Hermione."
"She is, master," Narcissa said openly, "but hasn't been exposed to what our Hermione has so I've not seen her leanings but I suspect they're similar to mine; she is as much my daughter as Hermione is Emma's. I think it's safe to assume the apples haven't fallen far from their trees."
"You know what they say about 'assume'," Dan added with a smile, "but you're likely right, pet. It's pretty obvious with Hermione and Harry is undoubtedly a nascent Dom, whether he knows it or not Hermione does and she's responding as her nature dictates."
"At least we're here to guide them through what would otherwise be a time fraught with confusion, uncertainty and self-doubt, my loves," Emma concluded then added off-the-cuff, "At least Harry's cute."
"Emma!" Narcissa and Dan exclaimed.
—}{—
The sound of a doorbell brought movie time to an end for Harry, Hermione and Danielle. Together they gathered the dishes, which Dobby had used for their lunch. They exited the family room and stepped into the kitchen; the three children were greeted by the sight of Hermione's mother arguing with Dobby again.
". . . But Dobby that's why we have a dishwasher," said Mrs. Granger.
"Dobby not trusting non-magic muggle thing to do proper job on Mistress' dishes," replied the flustered and hyperactive elf, "if it not do a good job, Dobby might be blamed and he'll have to punish himself, like bad-master would."
"You will do no such thing, Dobby!" Danielle ordered, "We're not at Malfoy Manor and we'll never see Lucius here; I forbid you from punishing yourself ever again."
"Punish himself?" Emma questioned in horror.
"Yes, it's sad but common, especially amongst the so called 'elite'," Narcissa answered, "and Lucius was a sadist of the worst kind; he taught Draco all the wrong lessons about being a master."
The doorbell rang again.
"May Dobby answer new mistress' door and welcome her guests, please or is Dobby not allowed to do that either?"
"Um . . ." Dan began, "that could create some issues; most of our guests are non-magical; they'd likely have issues with a house-elf."
Looking dejected, Dobby folded back his ears; Mr. Granger, seeing the creature's distress, felt like a heel and said apologetically, "I . . . I wouldn't mind if you didn't look so . . . um . . . well, alien I suppose but . . ."
". . . but if Dobby makes himself to look like a wizard; then Dobby could answer Master's door?"
"We'll, that might raise some questions, too, I'm sure," responded Dan; vexed, he scratched the back of his head and glanced at Narcissa.
"He means 'a man', Dan," said the witch with a little amused smile.
"Ooh, I see; well I suppose that's okay then, Dobby . . ."
". . . but he's only wearing one of my tea towels!" Emma exclaimed.
"When Dobby was little elf, Dobby was shown a picture of a non-house-elf house-elf called a 'butterler'; Dobby thinks it was: Dobby will make Dobby look like that, if it pleases house's Mistresses and Master," he replied and put magic to his words.
"A little severe don'cha think?" Hermione deadpanned; Dobby had changed himself to look so 'butleree' that it was more parody than accurate but if you knew the house-elf you'd still recognize him in this human form.
"We'll, I suppose that's . . ." Dan began.
"Thank-you Master," the house-elf said happily and popped away.
"But . . ." he began before turning to Narcissa and conceded defeat, "I do hope that's your sister and her family, Cissy."
The identity of their visitor was answered when they heard the loud, strong-willed and surprised voice of a woman say, "Is that you Dobby?"
"Mistress Andi!" squealed an ecstatic sounding house-elf; his voice still extremely loud, even in the kitchen: Hermione, Danielle, Harry and even Narcissa snickered; Emma and Dan looked nervous, they were meeting their wife's family for the first time after all.
"Why is there a house-elf in a muggle home?" they heard a young woman ask.
"Dobby is your aunt's elf; I should have expected him, Nymphadora," replied the woman with the strong voice.
"Mommm," the younger woman almost whined; sounding embarrassed.
"Nymphadora?" Dan said quietly.
Narcissa shrugged her shoulders and quietly replied, "For all that my sister was expelled from the family doesn't make her any less of a Black and a Black needs a fancier name."
Emma half-snickered and quietly chanted, "The naming of Blacks is a difficult matter . . ."
"Emma!" said the blonde witch, feigning insult; she recognized the verse from a musical Dan and Emma had once taken her to, "Nevertheless, you are correct '. . . it's not just one of your holiday games'."
"Does that mean you have two names we don't know about?" quipped Daniel.
"I'm not telling," Narcissa replied humorously but Emma and Dan could hear their lover's nervousness, clearly. "Anyway, let me meet them first, I don't really know what will happen: I met Ted Tonks at Hogwarts but that's about it, he's a muggle-born and I was a snobby bitch; I've seen but have never met my niece Nymphadora."
"We're here for you, pet," Dan and Emma said in encouraging unity.
"I know," she responded, unconsciously smoothed and straightened her clothes and then said formally as she left, "I'll have Dobby summon you to the formal sitting room in a few minutes . . . I think."
Her uncertainty was obvious—at least to her lovers she knew—but Narcissa, embracing her inner Gryffindor, took perhaps the second biggest step in her life and made her way to the foyer. Turning a corner, she stepped into the entry and saw her oldest sister and her family. Leaving the cold Lady Malfoy behind, Lady Granger-Black approached her sister—as a sister—for the first time in more than twenty years; their eyes met: gone now was the haughty pure-blooded princess of Black descent; replaced by the girl she had been, when 'big sister Andi' was the most important person in a young Narcissa's life. Tears, shared with Andromeda Tonks nee Black, flooded her eyes and she hastened her steps to the embrace she had missed the longest. Narcissa threw her arms around her sister and immediately began sobbing into her big sister's shoulder.
"I . . . I . . . I'm s-so s-sorry, Andi."
"There, there Cissy; it's okay now," Andromeda whispered and began gently stroking her baby sister's long—very un-Black family—blonde hair, "you're looking good and—for all your sobs—looking very healthy and happy, too."
"B-b-but I was such a b-bitch to you last time we sp-spoke."
"That wasn't you; that was the Black/Malfoy puppet our family made you into."
"B-but I was awful to you, I said awful things," Narcissa said; her sobs slowly fading from her words, "you should h-hate me."
"I could never hate my baby sister, silly," Andromeda said quietly in loving reassurance, "those words were Black words; the words you were taught almost as soon as you could say 'mummy' and 'daddy': they hurt but I never thought they were yours. You've left that behind you now."
Narcissa, breaking their embrace, stepped back and began wiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands; she was shaking her head slowly.
"N-no, I left that behind fourteen years ago; I just wasn't brave enough to take the final step," she said finally, "it took another to force me to take that."
"This 'Dan' person you mentioned, Cissy?"
"Uh-uh, to my lasting and undying shame," Narcissa replied; her voice once more gaining strength, "but please come in, we can talk in the sitting room. Dobby please take their jackets and then ask my husband and wife to join us."
"Yes Mistress," answered Dobby—once more looking like a house-elf now that the door was closed—as he snapped his fingers; vanishing himself and their guests' jackets with a pop.
Looking between them, the three Tonks thought in unknown but united confusion: Husband and wife? Saying nothing, they followed Narcissa through an elegant but homey feeling entry hall and into an elegant—but less homey feeling—formal sitting room. Their arrival was greeted with a loud pop, from near the sofas, and the appearance of a man and a woman who both looked rather shaken; Dobby had their sleeves in his grip.
"D . . . don't! E-ever! Do th-that! A-again! D-D-Dobby!" The woman said emphatically; a young pink-haired woman turned her head and snickered into her fist.
"Nymphadora . . ." Andromeda warned in her 'displeased' voice, which caused both the young-lady and—to her surprise, even after all these years—Narcissa to flinch: the house-elf folded his ears and apologized fervently, "Dobby is s-sorry, Mistress: Dobby will never elf-apparate Dobby's new mistress and Dobby's good-master ever again."
New mistress? New 'good-master'? Thought Andromeda Tonks as she glanced from her sister to the two adults that Dobby had brought with him; her eyes were radiating confusion.
"It's okay, Dobby," the man said kindly and with a touch of mirth, "just warn us the next time; before you pop us off."
"Dobby will remember, good-master; Dobby is a good elf," the elf zealously reassured as the man rolled his eyes: the usually staid Andromeda almost snickered herself; she vividly remembered dealing with Narcissa's exasperating and overly enthusiastic house-elf. Some things never change, she thought and smirked when she saw her sister's embarrassed little smile, which had always been common when Dobby was around.
"Um . . . well I guess introductions are in order," Narcissa began nervously, "These are my husband and wife, Danielle and Emma Granger: Dan and Emma, this is my sister Andromeda Tonks and her husband Theodore and my niece—who I've never met, myself, I can sadly say—Nymphadora."
"A pleasure," Dan said as he crossed the room and offered his hand to Andromeda.
"My sister looks and sounds very happy—even with the teary eyes and whatnot—I'm very glad to meet you Mr. Granger," she said as she took his hand in a firm grip that was returned by a man who oozed confidence and—oddly—the mien of an apex predator. Releasing his hand, she turned to Emma and took the woman's offered hand.
"I'm Emma," said Mrs. Granger as she shook Andromeda's hand in the same manner as Mr. Granger had: the older witch shivered on the inside. A Black shows no fear, Andromeda remembered an oft repeated mantra of her youth, but what—by Morgana's knickers—is up with these two.
"I'm honored," Andromeda replied, "but I admit your relationship to Narcissa is confusing but we can discuss it later. Anyway, this is my husband, Theodore Tonks."
"It's just 'Ted', Mr. and Mrs. Granger," he said as he shook first Dan's and then Emma's hands; he found himself supressing a shiver each time, "It's a pleasure to meet you and—and feels very strange saying this—it's nice to see you again Lady Malfoy."
"It's Granger-Black now, Ted; Andi," Narcissa said hesitantly before adding, "I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you, Ted, please forgive me . . ."
Andromeda Tonks turned her stern gaze on her sister and interrupted firmly, ". . . What do you mean 'Granger-Black', Narcissa?"
". . . um . . ." began Narcissa, falling victim to the same sisterly dynamics they had before marriages tore them apart and even after all these years; Andromeda easily cowed her sister.
"Mistress be now Lady Granger-Black, Mistress Andromeda," Dobby said in defense of his former bonded.
"Lady!" the three Tonks exclaimed with Andromeda then continuing, "As in Lady Granger-Black! Explain!"
The room grew chilled and what surprised the visitors was that it was a non-magical chill and that it seemed centered on two very upset looking muggles. Dobby popped from the room as the five older adults seemed locked in a battle of glares, which came to an abrupt end as a green-eyed black-haired youth stepped into the sitting room; directly behind and flanking him were two young witches who looked alike but for their hair and eye coloured. Upon seeing his arrival, Narcissa turned and immediately genuflected and bowed her head.
Andromeda and her family didn't know the youth but he looked very familiar and, knowing Narcissa was a Black before all else and wouldn't bow to just anyone, the elder sister knew that the young wizard was not someone to displease or trifle with; following her younger sister's example she too genuflected and immediately the rest of her family followed.
Dobby's urgent request was well founded, Harry knew, as he entered the sitting room; he felt the chill and saw the glaring adults. He also wasn't very happy when Narcissa immediately knelt when she saw him nor when the unknown guests followed suit but the unspoken request was obvious. Harry allowed his magic to briefly and obviously pulse to set the stage for the next act; before he formally introduced himself, "I am Lord Harry James of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter; it is a pleasure to meet members of Lady Granger-Black's family but sense a hint of hostility in the room: I hope I'm mistaken."
Hermione and Danielle almost swooned when Harry adopted his full mantle of lordship to stop things from turning even more uncomfortable, they weren't the only ones; the four women in the room felt it too and even Daniel Granger and Mr. Tonks were looking highly uncomfortable.
"My Lord," Narcissa began with her head still bowed, "I'm sorry if we caused you any discomfort but I've been estranged from my sister and her family for many years and I think they were overwhelmed with the change to my status and we allowed our emotions to run ahead of our manners."
"I understand, Lady Matriarch," Harry replied, "please introduce me to your family and please, all rise."
"As you command, Milord," Narcissa replied and rose while thinking, I'll have to reward Dobby later this was a very good anticipation on his part and should keep emotions from running too high. I wonder if Harry, Danielle and Hermione were aware of the way they looked when they came in; by Merlin that was one hell of a statement and show.
Andromeda, looking at the young lord and his obvious entourage suspiciously, followed her sister to her feet; her family rose as well.
"Lord Potter, may I introduce my sister Andromeda Tonks nee Black," Narcissa said.
Andromeda curtsied and said, "I'm honoured Lord Potter; this is my husband Theodore Tonks . . ."
Theodore Tonks bowed and said, "I too am honoured, Lord Potter . . ."
Andromeda continued and said, ". . . and our daughter, Nymphadora."
"Merlin's beard! You're Harry Potter!" the young woman almost shouted, much to her mother's dismay, and her hair began cycling through various shades of reds and yellows.
"Nymphadora!" Andromeda exclaimed in chastisement before Dan and Emma began laughing, much to the older witch's even further dismay.
Daniel Granger clapped his hands and said between laughs, "Welcome to our home mister, missus and miss Tonks; please allow me to introduce my daughter by Emma—on Harry's right—Hermione and my daughter by Narcissa—on Harry's left—Danielle: who just recently joined her mother where she belongs; here, with her family."
Saying to the confused looking Tonks family, Hermione said, "It's my pleasure to meet Narcissa-mum's family—beyond Lucius and his bratty son, Draco, that is—I hope we'll get along."
Take aback by the bushy-haired witch's cavalier attitude towards a Lord of the Wizengamot, Andromeda spoke for her family, "it's my pleasure but fear I need warn you . . ."
". : . About my brass attitude?" Hermione said almost as regally as Harry's self-introduction; Harry gave a little amused smile, which was echoed by the Grangers and Lady Granger-Black.
"Hermione is actually the Lady Matriarch of House Granger, Mrs. Tonks," Harry said to the witch's surprise.
"House Granger?" Andromeda half muttered.
"Yes, Aunt Andromeda," Danielle said very well, much to Narcissa's pleasure that her daughter had so quickly integrated with Harry and Hermione; turning the duo into a trio in such short order but it still was surprising. Danielle continued, "I'm Danielle Aphrodite Granger-Black nee—but not really—Malfoy, by the way; I've been very blessed this weekend to actually meet my real family and am very happy to meet you, my uncle and my cousin."
"Um . . . the pleasure is ours too, Danielle," spoke Theodore Tonks, "Please, you are more than welcome to call me Uncle Ted and I'm sure your aunt would prefer Aunt Andi, too."
The formidable looking woman, who was Danielle's aunt nodded.
"Let's go sit down," Emma said, "all this formal stuff is rather exhausting. Dobby?"
"Mistress Emma-mum?" the elf said with a bow as he appeared to the Tonks' amazement.
"Please lay out a tea for us," Mrs. Granger asked.
"Yes Mistress . . ." Dobby replied.
". . . and don't call me mistress," but it was too late, the house-elf had already popped away; Emma shook her head and rolled her eyes.
"I see Dobby hasn't changed, Cissy," Andromeda commented, her tone far more relaxed than it had been, "you've got to have one of the strangest house-elves I've ever met; he even responds to muggles."
Narcissa frowned, unhappy with her sister's well-engrained but understandable tone of pure-blooded etiquette, and said, "Actual Dobby is Danielle's elf; I bound him to her shortly after her birth as another layer of protection between mine and Black family secrets and Lucius."
"But muggles, Cissy?" said her sister.
"Please, Andi, I've come to dislike the term 'muggle' and in Dan and Emma's case it isn't true; at least anymore."
"What do you mean 'anymore'?"
"Cast the spell, Andi," Narcissa told her sister.
Andromeda took a few seconds before she knew what Narcissa was asking; she then incanted, "Ostendo Aurora."
Andromeda's spell flared to life and almost blinded them as the spell revealed the blazing glow that emanated from the three youngest magicals. Never, had any of the Tonks nor Narcissa seen such power from any but Albus Dumbledore and it was impossible to tell where each of the children's auras ended because they overlapped. As if such a revelation wasn't enough, Andromeda stared silently as she observed the interplay of magic's arcane tendrils that flowed between Dan and Emma Granger and her sister.
"What does it mean?" Hermione asked as she studied the aura of and between her mums and dad.
"They're squibs," Nymphadora commented, "I thought you said they were muggles . . . sorry non-magicals, mum?"
"But your Aunt said . . ."
"I know what I said, Andi," Narcissa said, "I hadn't checked my husband and wife's auras since before Hermione was born; it was most assuredly muggle then but now . . ."
"But how?" Andromeda asked before adding, "And that's not all . . ."
Narcissa just nodded.
"What?" Nymphadora asked into silence left hanging.
"They are, all three with each other that is, soul-bound," replied Andromeda.
"What!" Theodore Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks and Danielle Granger-Black exclaimed.
Puzzled, Hermione asked, "What does soul-bound mean?"
"Soul-bound is the highest form of marriage recognized by magic, Mione," Harry responded.
"Are you saying . . ." the hazel-eyed witch began, understanding the implications of her friend's answer.
Harry nodded.
"I'm surprised you knew that Lord Potter," Narcissa articulated, "that's a rather obscure bit of knowledge that usually only witches learn because they tend to be more romantic about such things—you know—every young witch's fantasy of being swept off her feet by the wizard of her dreams. You, Lord Potter, are likely the focus of much of this dreamscape ardour these days," Narcissa good-naturedly teased to everyone's surprise; Danielle and Nymphadora, to the older teen witch's utter mortification, grew flush.
"The goblins assigned quite a lot of reading to me through the latter half of the summer," he simply stated; figuring it was best not to comment on the last part of what Narcissa had said.
"The goblins did?" Nymphadora said in surprise.
"I must say, Harry, congratulations are in order," Daniel said with a smirk, "when I was your age I would've definitely fallen into Cissy's well-placed goading; probably would even today too, now that I think about it."
Daniel Granger's well placed levity provided a welcome, good-natured and well-timed chuckle at Harry's expense.
—}{—
Harry and Hermione's return to Hogwarts was unheralded as Harry's port-key deposited the two young magicals before the Hogsmead's gate. Night had begun to encroach upon the ancient edifice's Eastern balustrades and dusk merged with the castle's long stretching shadows; to the West, the valley's ridge top reached silently for the orange inferno that was the day's dying sun.
"Show off," Harry said in friendly sarcasm as he pushed the gate open, "You and your feathered feet of grace, Mione; perhaps I should take up ballet too, I might lose my practiced ungainly port-key arrivals."
"I think you'd look cute in tutu, Master," Hermione replied, having embraced her proclivity after her mums open declaration of themselves and dad before Gringotts. If they could do it, she could too, too bad Harry remained uncomfortable with the idea—for now.
"Please keep that toned down, Hermione; I've got enough attention focused on me now and the last think I need to read is headline like, 'Boy-Who-Lived Enslaving young witches?' in tomorrow's Daily Prophet. That would likely negate my desire to remain low-profile and it would piss off my lawyers."
"That was kinda surprising, Harry; I would've thought Gringotts could handle all such matters: why did you put Aunt Andi and Uncle Ted on retainer?"
"It seemed like a good idea, Mione," Harry explained as they began walking the Hogwarts/Hogmeads path towards the school, "I'll most assuredly require counsel when dealing with non-magical England and for that I need human counsel; I didn't care for who Gringotts suggested."
"How come?"
With his green eyes sparkling mirthfully, the young wizard simply replied, "Khuttpurce and Runn?"
Hermione snickered and said, "Can't blame you Harry; wizards really don't get irony, do they?"
"Tell me about it Mione; OWLs and NEWTs? Go figure, not to mention their grading systems: come off it, trolls? Really?"
The hazel-eyed witch nodded and the two, to the sound of the odd tweet from an unseen bird, continued up the way to Hogwarts' main doors. A relaxed yet pensive silence accompanied them as they strolled hand in hand through the lengthening shadows.
"Was it this far Saturday?" Harry mostly asked himself.
"I suppose," replied Hermione, "but then again, we had a lot on our minds didn't we? I'm pretty certain I wasn't paying much attention to the distance."
The messy-haired wizard nodded and said, "I guess; so what do you think, Mione?"
"About what?"
"Everything I reckon."
"That's pretty broad, Harry, but I would say it was . . . well . . . educational you might say. Pretty enlightening too; not to mention unexpected."
Harry chuckled before stating, with playful mockery, "Stepbrother Draco."
"Ewwww, don't remind me Harry and what's worse; under Wizarding Marriage Laws he is, too."
"I wonder how he took it?"
"Do you think he was told?"
The green-eyed wizard shook his head slightly and said, "I doubt it, at least not yet but I wouldn't be surprised if Draco is sporting a few bruises; there's really no way for him to get around it, it was his fault. Of that I'm most assuredly sure; Lucius would ensure his son knew, too, just to soothe his own inflated ego."
"I guess I'm grateful for that."
"What, his inflated ego?" Harry prompted.
Hermione nodded and said, "It was that ego that allowed Cissy-mum to explain Danielle: Lucius 'Merlin's gift to woman' Malfoy would never believe or even consider he was unable to satisfy his wife and his ego wouldn't let him see that Dani looks nothing like him but for a somewhat similar eye and hair color. We won't even mention temperament."
"He's likely still sleeping off a hangover somewhere," the young wizard mocked.
"I don't know about that, Harry, alcohol was a major factor in mum's grand deception."
"If Lucius wasn't an ass, I might think that Aunt Cissy was evil . . ."
". . . Slytherin, Harry; mum was Slytherin . . ."
". . . fine, fine Slytherin—better?—Mione," he corrected with a snort, "it was, after all, properly subtle and cunning. What else can you say about completely removing Little Willy Lucius' tolerance to alcohol, letting him pass out after a glass of wine, have Dobby pop him to bed and stripped and then waking—naked I might add—beside him before feigning insult when he tells you he can't remember what you claimed was the best sex you'd ever had? Actually, that's beyond subtle and cunning; that's downright diabolical."
"He deserved it," Hermione pretended a hurt; defensive tone on behalf of her second mother as they reached the castle's grand doors, which swung open as they approached.
Stepping into the gloom, which shrouded the Entry Hall until their eyes adjusted to torch light; they heard the cacophony of dinner echoing from the Great Hall. Still holding hands, Hermione and Harry turned towards the din and made their ways to it. Stepping over the threshold, only a few students really noticed their arrival but, except for one, they quickly lost interest and returned to their evening meal. Skirting the tables, they stayed near the wall and hastened their way to the head table. Under Professor McGonagall's contemplative eyes and Draco's baleful glare, they reached and stood before their head-of-house.
"Ah, good evening Ms. Granger; Mr. Potter welcome back," Professors McGonagall said, "have you eaten?"
"Yes Professor," the two replied in unison and in a manner that uncomfortably reminded the stern witch of the Weasley twins; Professor Snape, she noticed from the corner of her eye, seemed to share her discomfort.
"Very well then," she said, "are joining your table or heading to the dorm?"
Harry and Hermione glanced towards the Gryffindor table and immediately saw Ronald Weasley stuff his mouth with a fork loaded beyond human possibility; their Professor, following the same line if sight, scowled and felt her appetite fade.
"I think me and Hermione will return to the common room, Professor McGonagall," Harry replied for them.
"Very well then, Mr. Potter; Ms. Granger, I suppose I'll see you on the morrow. Good night," she said in dismissal.
"Good night Professor," they said in harmony before Harry turned and said by himself, "Good night Professor Snape."
"Potter," the surely professor said—almost amicably—with the briefest possible bow of his head.
Without ado, Harry and Hermione turned, made their way from the head table and towards the exit from the Great Hall. Neither the young witch nor wizard notice Draco's glare following them but Professor Snape did. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the Potions' Master watched his godson rise from the Slytherin table. Draco's bookends—Crabbe and Goyle—made to follow but, as Professor Snape watched, his godson leaned towards the two—not quite stellar examples of the pure-blooded creed—and say something. Draco's minions immediately settled back to one of the few things that would hold their attention: food.
"Damn," Professor Snape muttered and hastily excused himself as he watched his godson stride angrily towards the door that Potter and his witch had just stepped through.
Hermione and Harry, missing the preamble of an unfolding drama about to accost them, stepped from the Great Hall and headed to the stairs.
"Potter!" They heard an unwelcome voice say from behind them.
Exasperated, Harry and Hermione turned, knowingly, towards the voice; Harry asked icily, "What now, Malfoy?"
Ignoring Hermione completely, Draco walked up to Harry and growled, "You and those filthy goblins turned my mother into an obscene whore! What! Did! You! Do!"
Harry could smell Draco's dinner, pungently wafting from the boy's too close mouth, but before he could say anything about that—or the annoying spittle—the young Slytherin was violently yanked away by someone's magic. The blonde wizard slammed into the wall and remained stuck a few feet from the floor; near the doors to the Great Hall. Stunned, the green-eyed wizard plainly saw that his annoying nemesis was having difficulty breathing, almost as if a great weight was pushing on his chest, and his look of utter terror. To Harry's left there rose a loud crackle and the smell of ozone, which demanded his attention: what he saw was both frightening and exciting and called to his primal instincts. Awed, Harry stared at his witch, whose hair—now highlighted with arcing electric-blue sparks—whipped about as if blown by a strong wind and, in her fury, Hermione was beyond beautiful in the young wizard's eyes.
"You foul, disgusting, loathsome cockroach!" Hermione hissed; low, menacing and cold: chilled by her tone and his arrival ignored, Professor Snape shivered as he listened to the young witch, "How dare you speak of our mother in such a vile manner! I've got a good mind to squash you like the bug you are; give me one reason not to! One reason not to put you out of my or Dani's or Narcissa-mum's misery and don't give me that 'my father will hear of this' shit: I don't care what that emaciated, effeminate and bollock-less coward might think or threaten; he has been measured and found wanting and all his gold will not buy the respect, which he or you believe you are owed."
From his place on the wall, Draco responded with merely mouthed words as air remained squashed from his lungs. His eyes glowed with the abject dread; which, according to his father, his hero—the champion of the pure-blooded proper folk—could instill. But that was before the half-blooded whelp (standing beside the filthy mudblooded horror who didn't yet know her place) had cheated the great Lord of his destiny.
"Granger! Remove Mr. Malfoy from the wall this instance!" Professor Snape ordered; skillfully hiding the reverence he suddenly felt for the muggle-born witch with the brilliantly manifested magic.
Hermione's glare shifted from Draco to Professor Snape and then back to Draco before, with an angry swipe of her hand, the young Slytherin flew from his place on the wall: unfortunately for Draco, Hermione took Professor Snape at his words but with an added twist, sticking Draco to the ceiling instead; at least he could breathe again, which quickly became apparent and annoying.
"Wait till my father hears if this, mudblood!" Draco yelled with his whiney voice; his godfather shook his head in resigned defeat. Is he impossible to teach; not to mention an utter fool? Severus Snape thought, uncharitably.
"Silence, cur!" Hermione growled and cast—without intention—a wandless silencing spell; she and Harry turned and began to walk away.
"Granger, finite your spells on Mr. Malfoy immediately and don't you dare walk away until you are dismissed; that goes for you too Potter!" Professor Snape yelled as the senior faculty who were attending dinner—Professor Dumbledore included—arrived to investigate the huge magical disruption, which Hermione's rage had created; the young magicals just turned their heads and glared at the Potions' Master.
"Twenty-five points from Gryffindor each and detention, after dinner tomorrow, for both of you, Potter; Granger," Professor Snape said firmly but, surprising all, he didn't yell.
"Now, now Severus, I'm sure if Miss Granger just apologized to the young Scion Malfoy, he won't involve the Lord Malfoy and the little witch won't serve detention. After all, the girl's new to our world and not accustomed to our ways yet. Besides, a bit of youthful vitriol shouldn't be held against the young and ignorant or their future. She only needs proper guidance to learn her place and then she'll do well. We must be understanding in such things; don't you agree Professor Snape? After all, you of all my faculty must know what difficulties a young muggle-raised faces to embrace our time-honored ways," said Professor Dumbledore silkily—deaf to his patronizing tone and attitude—to Hermione's annoyance; she hadn't failed to notice the Headmaster stressing certain words like: Scion, Lord, Malfoy, ignorant, her place or—worst of all—little witch, which was absolutely infuriating to her.
"Headmaster," Hermione turned, stared into her Headmaster's twinkling eyes and addressed the elder wizard with measured cordiality and—to Harry's relief and amusement—political savvy, "I'm just an ignorant young muggle-born 'little witch' and I'm certain you didn't just threaten me in a subtle, cunning and veiled manner: or am I mistaken?"
"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said with a sharp intake of breath that drew the young lord's and lady's attention.
"With all due respect Professor McGonagall; Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, her tone stripping the heat from the air as she glared at the Headmaster, "I'll serve detention for the next three months rather than apologized to that . . . that repulsive cockroach whose lips I'd not allow near my boots: if I was wearing them. Let's go Harry."
Turning, the young witch and wizard reached and began ascending the stairs.
"Miss Granger; Mr. Potter you've not been dismissed, yet," Professor Dumbledore—his mask of the friendly grandfather slipping for the first time—said. Hermione and Harry stopped on the third step and turned to face the Headmaster; a cold flame danced in the eyes of emerald and hazel that fixed upon the many-titled old wizard.
"Professor Snape," Hermione said as she turned to look at the Potions' Master, "Shall Harry and I bring our homework or do you have some menial task in mind for our detention tomorrow evening?"
Stunned, Professor Snape hesitated before his surprising answer, "Bring your homework."
"Thank you Professor," Harry and Hermione said together before resuming their climb; they vanished on ascending the second flight.
Speechless, Professors Dumbledore and Sprout remained staring at the now vacant first landing as Professor McGonagall muttered, "Well, I never . . ."
"Perhaps we should attend to the young Mr. Malfoy's predicament before worrying about our young Miss Granger or her Patron's, the young Lord Potter, attitudes," Professor Flitwick said, succinctly reminding the others that—for all intents—both children were untouchable: Harry had his rank and Hermione had House Potter's protection; the fact that she now had 'The Lady Matriarch' prefacing her name needn't even be taken into account at this time, Filius knew and inwardly chuckled.
"What precisely happened at Gringotts, yesterday, Filius?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"I've told you all I could, Minerva," he replied cagily.
"Now Filius, we're just worried and don't want to see two youngsters taken advantage of," Albus Dumbledore coaxed, "and I am, after all, the Headmaster of Hogwarts; not to mention Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot: I must be kept abreast of some matters."
"My oaths prevent me from saying more, Albus; you should know that," the petite professor harshly reminded the man with the twinkling eyes.
"Fine, fine then," he replied and turned to Professor Snape and said, "So, Severus my boy; what did Lord Malfoy have to say when he visited you and young Draco yesterday evening."
"I'm sorry, Headmaster, Lucius spoke to me in confidence and much of what he said fell under my Godfather Oaths," he replied and glanced at Professor Flitwick; the half-goblin gave him an enigmatic smirk that said little but told a lot.
Quietly, Professor Sprout watched and listened to the interplay between her co-faculty and felt the first zephyrs of an advancing storm that, from what she could divine—for all she didn't like Divinity—was building around the two children; who had just departed in a rather spectacular array of verbiage.
"Come now, Severus, you should tell an old friend who has done so much for you," Dumbledore persisted.
"Headmaster," Professor Snape said with understandable ire as he glowered at his long-time protector, "did not Miss Granger look you straight in your eyes? Did you glean nothing?"
Shocked by this implied accusation, Professor McGonagall demanded sternly, "Just what do you mean, Severus?"
"It's fine Minerva, Severus didn't mean anything; you're just overwrought," the Headmaster soothed but inwardly he was feeling very uncomfortable: Professor Snape was right, he had tried to take a surreptitious peek into the young witch's mind but once again only saw a library; unfortunately—for him—the librarian seemed aware of his presence this time.
"Albus, we are forgetting about my house's Mr. Malfoy," said the Potions' Master irritably, "Filius, can you give me a hand, Mrs. Potter . . . I mean Miss Granger's accidental magic has very complex layering and authorship; if I didn't know better I'd think she had at least an OWL in Arithmacy."
"Now Severus, let's not ascribe such things to a mere bout of accidental magic," Professor Dumbledore urged but he hadn't seen it; Professor Snape had and he knew Miss Granger's 'accidental' magic was far more focused than it usually would be.
"Get me down," cried a whiny voice from the ceiling, followed by, "Wait till my father hears of this."
"Yes, well I suppose you and Filius should get Scion Malfoy unstuck from the ceiling before too many of his classmates finish their dinner," Dumbledore said pithily to Professor Snape before turning to the present female faculty, "Minerva; Pomona, might I interest you in a nightcap? I recently received a very fine bottle of firewhisky from Horace."
"I need to review tomorrow's classes, Albus," replied Professor Sprout, "Perhaps a rain check?"
"I was meaning to do the same," Professor McGonagall hastily added.
"What a pity," said Professor Dumbledore before he turned and departed; leaving his four House-heads exchanging glances, ranging from ire to befuddlement, and the unwelcome responsibility of unsticking Draco Malfoy from the ceiling.