September 1994

Two weeks later, Hermione found herself walking through the school, lost in thought. She still couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was coming.

Maybe it was Hagrid's new pets: Blast-Ended Skrewts, which Hermione would not have minded quite so much if it weren't for the fact that she couldn't find any mention of the damn things anywhere in the library.

Maybe it was the house-elves - she had yet to find anything about them in the library either, it seemed to be one of those gaps left by the assumption that 'everyone knows so we don't need to put it in a book'.

Maybe it was Professor Moody, who had spent their first lesson teaching them about the Unforgivable Curses (and she had expected Bethany's distress, but Neville's had come out of the blue).

Maybe it was the Tournament, she reasoned. Maybe she was still caught up in the 'death toll'. But the rules had been changed; none of her friends were going to get caught up in it.

Even the twins weren't seventeen until the next April, so weren't eligible to enter (much to their frustration).

And the Tournament had been cancelled for so long - surely the various Ministries would never have agreed to restart it unless measures were taken to make it safer.

But the prize …

It wasn't the money.

It was the cup.

Touch of cup brings respite's end.

Was that the cup the prophecy had been speaking about?

Hermione …

Hermione started as her name echoed through the corridor, her eyes darting around her, looking for any sign of movement.

There didn't seem to be anyone there.

What was more, she didn't recognise the corridor she was in.

Tentatively, she kept walking, still peering around for whoever had called her name.

She would have blamed the twins - except she knew their style.

They didn't go for the 'spooky' pranks.

At the very end of the corridor was a door standing open and she very tentatively peered around it.

Four people were standing in front of her, shimmering like ghosts but in technicolour.

Something drew her through the door, as though in a trance, but she snapped out of that quickly when a gust of wind flew the door shut behind her.

"Hermione Jane," one of the men greeted solemnly, before she could panic. "Welcome."

Hermione curtsied automatically. "Thank you, sir. May I enquire as to who you are and why I'm here?"

The four smiled at her, instantly putting her at ease.

"You may," the man said. "Please, have a seat."

Hermione was about to ask where, when a chair appeared silently behind her. "Thank you." She seated herself, and took a good look at the people in front of her, under the cover of adjusting her robes.

The man who had spoken had wild red hair and a beard. He reminded her a little of the lion Aslan in the Narnia stories; there was an air of strength about him that made one respect him, and yet he seemed kind and gentle.

The other man was bald, with a long beard that almost reached the floor. He had green eyes, like Bethany, but they seemed to be paler - whether because of the ghost-like quality, Hermione didn't know.

Of the two women, one was short and plump with tightly curled red hair. She had a very friendly smile that emitted warmth and put Hermione in mind rather of Professor Sprout.

The other was tall and willowy with long dark hair, part of it braided into a circlet around her head. She seemed far more stately than the first woman, but there was something in her smile that put Hermione at ease at once.

"As to our identities," the dark-haired woman began, "you know of us, but have never met us."

And suddenly, Hermione did know who they were, as though she had known all along. "Lady Ravenclaw … Lady Hufflepuff. Lord Gryffindor. Lord Slytherin. May I enquire as to why you are appearing to me, of all people?"

"You may," Ravenclaw said with a smile. "But you can drop the formality, my dear. We wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?" Hermione repeated.

"You are an Empath," Slytherin said, with none of the disgust she had assumed with be there when speaking to someone like her. "More importantly, you're the first pure-of-heart Empath to pass through these doors in many, many years. You'll be more sensitive to the magic of the castle, because we put some of ourselves into her. Unlike your Empathy, you can't shut this out."

Hermione flinched, remembering the first night back at school. Had that been why it was so much worse than at the World Cup? Because the castle was protesting as well?

"Hogwarts needs someone to listen to her," Hufflepuff continued. "We Sorted students because there were certain qualities we knew how to nurture, not to create such a huge divide among them."

"I don't think I can unite the houses on my own," Hermione said.

"Of course you can't," Gryffindor said. "No one can do a thing on their own. But to hear Hogwarts, you need one of two traits - you must be one of our Heirs or you must be an Empath. And even then, she may decide to withhold her contact."

Hermione wondered whether Tom Riddle had ever spoken to the castle. She decided not to ask.

"We will give you a took to deal with the pain of listening to Hogwarts," Slytherin said. "But first of all, I believe Rowena had a prophecy for you."

Helga smiled faintly at Hermione, who knew she looked surprised. "Yes, Rowena's a Seer. Thankfully, it was a gift never passed down to her descendants."

Ravenclaw had gone very rigid, her eyes wide, and when she spoke her voice was flat: "The true leader of the light is hidden … her mind is locked away but her gift is not … she will guide the Chosen One and destroy the vestiges of Evil … the answer will be revealed in the place where the fire maid almost met her doom …" She began coughing, the trance broken, and Hermione hurried to scribble down the prophecy.

"Won't the Ministry have a copy of this now?"

"I'm dead, remember?" Ravenclaw said with a wink. "What they don't know can't hurt anyone."

Hermione couldn't help smiling. "I don't suppose you know what all of that meant?"

Helga laughed. "Oh, I like this one. No, dearie, you'll have to figure that one out yourself. Now I'm sure you're wondering how we're here …"

Hermione nodded.

"… and the answer is basically that we put so much magic into the school that we cannot really leave it. We're not ghosts, so we may only be seen by Empaths and our Heirs, if we choose to appear to them. You're the first, actually, now that I come to think about it."

"That was a mistake," Slytherin said. "Maybe I could have knocked some sense into Riddle."

"But …" Hermione faltered. "Sir, everyone says that you hated Muggle-borns and that he's continuing your work."

Slytherin sighed heavily. "I never hated Muggle-borns, Hermione. Given the circumstances at the time, I did suggest that maybe Muggle-borns should be taught in a different school for the first year or a year earlier to introduce them to the Wizarding world without putting the rest of the school at risk."

"We disagreed because there was already tension between purebloods and Muggle-borns," Gryffindor said. "We thought it would cause more of a problem. One young girl ran away after one term because she was being bullied. She was a very bright girl, and was outperforming quite a few of her male classmates - rather a big thing in those days."

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. She knew how lonely that had could be; she had contemplated running away herself in her first year, before she had made friends with Bethany and Ron.

"Her family formed a mob and came after us," Hufflepuff continued, resting a gentle hand on Slytherin's shoulder. "They couldn't get through the wards, of course, but Salazar's Muggle-born wife was returning from a trip and they killed her, and their unborn child."

Hermione gasped in horror, any sympathy dissipating in an instant. "That's awful!"

"I know," Ravenclaw agreed heavily. "We were all shocked. Elizabeth was a wonderful young woman, and it was an honour to have known her. That was when we developed the Memory Charm to use on students who decided to leave. Immoral, maybe, but we had the other students to think about. After that, Salazar left the school to travel the world."

"Wait, so there was no great argument?" Hermione asked, remembering the story Professor Binns had told them.

Slytherin chuckled. "My dear girl, I have argued no more with my friends and colleagues than any other wizard. I assure you that any reports of any altercation have been grossly exaggerated."

Hermione was now very confused. "But … what about the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Saoirse was my familiar," Slytherin answered. "She was there to protect the students, never to harm them. I never dreamed that one of my descendants would force her to act in such a way."

"I'm sorry she's dead," Hermione said softly.

Slytherin waved her off. "She was over a thousand years old, Hermione. And there was nothing else young Miss Potter could have done. Now I do believe we promised you a way of dealing with the pain. The wards will need to be lowered for the Tournament, and you're going to hear about it."

"Won't Occlumency help?" Hermione asked. She had read through the book Madam Pomfrey had led her twice, but meditation had told her that all of the exercises the book recommended she was already doing.

Madam Pomfrey had been very impressed when she returned the book with that information, and told her that the best person to speak to about further study was Professor Snape.

Hermione certainly wasn't that desperate.

"You can't block out the castle in that way," Hufflepuff said gently. "But you do know of another way to make emotions less … loud, shall we say."

Hermione frowned, thinking. "Do I?"

"Someone who maybe coped with very bad memories without going mad," Ravenclaw said with a smile.

"Sirius?" Hermione asked, because of course they knew he was innocent; she doubted there was anything that had happened at Hogwarts since their deaths that they weren't aware of. "But he did it because he was an Animagus. I can't become an Animagus, I'm not even fifteen yet. Not to mention I wouldn't be able to do it before October."

"No," Gryffindor agreed. "Were it not for the Tournament, we would have suggested the transformation process and studying your way through it, but we're going to have to give you a bit of help. Stand up, my dear." He waved his hand, and Hermione felt warmth flow through her. "Now think the words Animagus Verto."

Hermione did as she was told, and suddenly her body was twisting; it felt like she should be in pain, but everything felt numb. There was a 'pop', similar to the noise Sirius made when he turned into Padfoot, and then she seemed to be crouched on all fours.

A full-length mirror appeared in front of her, and Hermione saw - not herself - but a dark brown lioness with chocolate-brown eyes. When she tried to speak, a soft growl came out.

"Focus on your human form," Hufflepuff instructed gently.

With another soft pop, Hermione was human once more. "Thank you."

"Now you've transformed once, you won't need the incantation next time," Ravenclaw said, looking like she was trying to hide a smile. "I would advise you to read up on the transformation process, however, just so you can be aware of any potential issues. And don't register until you're seventeen."

Hermione nodded. "I will. And I won't, thank you."

The air around her began to shimmer.

"A warning. We've kept you long enough, my dear," Ravenclaw said softly. "Tell only those you trust of this."

"Of course," Hermione agreed shakily.

The room brightened for a moment, making her shield her eyes. When the light vanished, so had the four founders.

Hermione picked up her bag and left the room, almost in a daze. Had that just been a figment of her imagination?

When she looked back at the room, the door had vanished, leaving nothing but a bare stone wall, not even a scratch or an indentation to suggest there had ever been an opening there.

"Mya?"

Hermione started, turning to see Fred and George at the other end of the corridor. "Oh. Hi."

"What brings you all the way down here?" Fred asked.

"Got lost in my thoughts," Hermione said, shouldering her bag.

"House-elves again?" George asked. "They're happy, Mya. Just ask them."

"I would," Hermione said, catching up with them. "But I can't find any."

Fred and George exchanged a loaded glance.

"You know where they are, don't you?" Hermione asked.

"Do you promise not to start talking about freeing them? George asked seriously. "Because that would really, really upset them. And I know you think they're brainwashed, but even if they are, telling them that's not going to make a difference."

He had a point.

"I promise," Hermione said. "I just want to ask them some questions."

"Well then," Fred said pompously, offering her his arm. "Onwards, dear lady!"

They led her down a few more corridors, up a small flight of stairs, along another corridor, down another flight of steps, and into stone corridor towards a painting of a fruit bowl.

"Forge, if you would?"

"Certainly, Gred." George reached out and tickled the pear. The pear giggled and turned into a handle, which George seized and pulled, opening a door into a large kitchen.

They appeared to be directly below the Great Hall, with five tables placed exactly below each of the house and staff tables; Hermione assumed that the food was placed on them down here and then sent up.

All around them, house-elves bustled about busily, but one of them came racing over with a squeal.

"Miss Hermininny!"

Hermione blinked. "Sorry? Don't you dare," she added to Fred, who looked like he was about to burst out laughing.

"Miss Bethany Potter Miss is telling Dobby all about her Miss Hermininny!"

"Oh, you're Dobby," Hermione said. "It's very nice to meet you, Dobby. I didn't know you were here."

Dobby shook his head, his great ears flapping about. "Oh, no Miss Hermininny. Miss Bethany Potter Miss is not knowing. But Dobby is coming here for work, Miss, because no one is wanting to hire Dobby, Miss, because Dobby is wanting to be paid."

Several nearby house-elves gave him a very dirty look, and Fred swiftly put a hand over Hermione's mouth.

"Just wait," he whispered in her ear.

"House-elves," George called. "Could I have your attention please?"

The chatter and noise in the kitchen quietened, and all eyes turned to them.

"Thank you. Now Miss Granger here doesn't quite understand the wizarding tradition of house-elves."

Hermione pushed Fred's hand away. "I grew up in the Muggle world. In the Muggle world, the idea of having … well, servants who you don't pay is considered … well, slavery. And that's not okay in the Muggle world."

"It is not being okay in the magical world either, Miss," one of the house-elves said tentatively.

"Your problem, Mya," Fred said gently, "is that you're thinking about them as if they're human. And they're not."

"Does Miss have an owl?" The house-elf asked.

"Um, no," Hermione answered, letting Fred guide her to one of the benches. "I have a cat. My best friend has an owl though."

"And is Miss's best friend paying her owl?" The house-elf asked a little slyly.

"Well, no," Hermione admitted. "But Hedwig can't talk."

"Doesn't mean she's not intelligent," Fred said gently. "Dogs can't talk, but we consider them working animals. The payment they receive is just … different."

"Miss looks confused," the house-elf said. "Kady will explain."

Hermione was confused.

"House-elves is magic," Kady said. "We is needing magic. We is not needing food. Master bond gives us magic. House-elves is happy."

"So when you have a … master," Hermione said slowly. "When you bond with a wizard, it gives you magic and you use that to sustain yourself, therefore you have no need for money because you don't need to buy anything."

Kady nodded. "Exactly Miss."

"But what if your master forces you to do something you don't like or that scares you?" Hermione asked. "Doesn't the bond mean you can't refuse?"

Kady exchanged a dark look with some of her fellows. "Only with a bad bond, Miss. Some wizards is very cruel and bond their elves in the wrong way. These elves be growing up wrong, like Dobby, wanting to be paid. But good masters is like family."

"And you're all treated well here, aren't you?" Fred asked.

There was a flurry of nods, and Hermione sighed in relief. "Good, I'm glad to hear it." She did wonder why, given all of that, Dobby wanted to be paid.

"Dobby is not bonding with Professor Dumbledore sir," Dobby said, as though he'd read her mind. "So Dobby is not getting same benefits."

Hermione frowned. "Why didn't you bond, Dobby?"

"Because Dobby is being silly," Kady said. "Dobby is having another bond and pretending he doesn't."

"Another …" Hermione trailed off. "Dobby, did you bond with Bethany without telling her?"

Dobby pulled on his ears a little. "Dobby might be."

"And because she doesn't know, is that causing you problems?" Hermione asked gently.

"A little bit, Miss," Dobby admitted. "But Dobby was not meaning to bond with Miss Bethany Potter Miss and Dobby is not wanting her to be upset."

Hermione sighed. "She won't be upset, Dobby. Is it okay if I tell her?"

Dobby tugged on his ears some more. "Does Miss Hermininny think Miss Bethany Potter Miss would let him wear clothes?"

Hermione frowned. "I thought that was firing you?"

"Not quite, Miss," Kady said wearily. "If our masters be giving us clothes, we be being fired. If we is picking up clothes, we is not."

"So if your master said, for example," George said, "I'm not too keen on the tea towels - there's a pile of clothes, pick something out to wear as a uniform, would that be okay?"

"Dobby would be loving that," Dobby said.

Kady frowned at him. "That would be being okay, sir, but most elves do be liking the tea towel."

Well, to each their own.

"Bethany would definitely let you wear clothes if you wanted to," Hermione told Dobby.

"With lots of pockets?!"

Hermione tried not to laugh. It was like talking to a small toddler. "With all the pockets you like. I'll speak to Bethany this evening, okay?"