Unofficial Portkey Archive

Grâce au Malfoys - Part 2

Title: Grâce au Malfoys

Author name: Romulus Lupin

Category: Romance

Sub Category: Humour

Keywords: Harry Hermione Ron

Rating: NC-17 for language and implied situations

Spoilers: Books 1-7

Summary: Five days after the final battle. A naked Ron Weasley awakes in a strange room to find himself spooned against an equally naked Hermione Granger. He thinks it is a dream until an elbow in his ribs disabuses him of the notion. Where's Harry? And why are the Malfoys rolling on the floor laughing out loud?

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and related characters are the property of JK Rowling, various publishing companies, Warner Brothers and whoever else. No monies are being made from this; I'm just indulging in playing in an alternate universe to real life.

Author's Notes: My eternal gratitude to everyone who reviewed, especially those whose insightful and thoughtful reviews have added depth, substance and `spice' to this tale. You know who you are … ;)

But also, special mention to broomstick flyer whose stories were the inspiration for this tale; Paracelsus who, as usual, gave me something to think about in terms of improving this tale; bingblot, for the years of friendship and MapleMountain and her family, for everything.

Thank you.

And back to the tale …

At the End of Part 1:

With a loud crack, Ronald Weasley successfully apparated away from an enraged Hermione Granger ...

There was only one conscious thought screaming in his mind - a single thought that spoke of comfort, of safety, of protection, of home:

"MUUUMMMMMMMYYYY!!!!!"

***

The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The buzz of conversation in the Great Hall had died down considerably as witches and wizards, either individually or in the company of friends or family, left the hall to go about their business for the day. Most would have wanted to stay and gossip - after all, the marriage of two of the main heroes of the recently-ended conflict was something worthy of dissection; at the same time, the rumours of the disappearance of those two from Hogwarts (apparently due to a planned elopement rather than foul play) only added spice to the tale. Plus, there was also the intriguing element of The-Boy-Who-Lived's actuations of the day before to consider - and many were the surreptitious glances cast at the corner table where Harry Potter and his group of friends were seated, the latter clustered protectively around a very distraught Harry.

The sudden crack of apparition again had most of the people in the Great Hall on their feet, wands glowing with unreleased spellfire as eyes tracked the Hall for the source of the sound - a few feet to the side of `Harry's Corner' (as the wags had dubbed that particular table) and right in front of the Hufflepuff table.

The sight of a tall, pasty-white, red haired naked person caught a second year female Hufflepuff by surprise and she let loose a panicked squeak / shout - "EXPELLIARMUS!" causing the frightening vision to dive for the floor.

That was all it took - a split second after the first syllable of the hex was shouted, wands all over the hall went off and, with loud shots and silent incantations, spellfire lit up the great hall - Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Reducto, Petrificus Totalis, Confundo, Stinging Hexes, Impedimentas and more were cast -

Shields shimmered as spells hit - some, cast by members of the DA, were strong enough to reflect the hexes and curses back, causing casters to either throw up their own shields or dive out of the way only to come up firing ... other curses and hexes hit the walls of the Great Hall which either absorbed the spells or threw them back ... one spell - possibly Sectumsempra - sliced a suit of armour in half, forcing a cursing Peeves the Poltergeist into the open which in turn caused several spells to be cast at him as he escaped out the open doors of the hall ...

As the spells flew, little Professor Flitwick hopped up on the teacher's table and cast a Sonorus on himself before bellowing "STOP!"

Before he could even blink, almost two dozen spells were headed in his direction - and the old duelling master moved. In an action that reminded the muggleborns in the hall of a much loved Jedi master, Filius Flitwick leaped high into the air, tucked himself into a ball and somersaulted behind a standing Hagrid. The latter had just arrived at the hall and was close to the Slytherin table when the firefight erupted - rather than draw a non-existent wand, he took the simple expedient of lifting the table and using it as a shield which protected those closest to him and also kept them from joining the fray...

Flitwick rolled to his feet beside Hagrid; the latter lifted a bushy eyebrow at him and said, "Tha's telling `em, ace!" to which the diminutive professor responded with a raised middle finger.

Surprisingly, it was the Fat Friar's roar that caused the combatants to drop their wands: "CEASE FIRE!" Again, dozens of spells lanced at him but the Hufflepuff ghost didn't even flinch - why should he, after all? - but the action turned him nearly opalescent in fury and he repeated his yell: "CEASE FIRE, I SAY!"

Wands dropped all over the hall in shock at the rage in the well-loved roly-poly ghost with his jolly manner and merry smile - and faces were soon flushing from shame as his amplified voice washed over them: "I am ASHAMED of you! The war is OVER ... many of you are here because of the school's hospitality and you repay it by trying to destroy the school!"

Into the sudden silence, newly-promoted Senior Auror Nymphadora Tonks stood up from behind their overturned table, handed a curious Teddy to her husband, and started barking orders: "DA! Check for casualties ... someone call in Pomfrey ... EVERYONE ELSE PUT AWAY YOUR WANDS!"

From one corner of the Gryffindor table, a small, frightened voice - probably deafened from the chaos - asked, "Did she say put away your wangs? OW!" as his mother or sister smacked his head.

Many in the hall couldn't help snickering - but all quickly fell silent as an angry Auror Tonks, her flowing mane of hair turned a fiery red that the Weasleys would have envied, stalked like a hungry tiger towards the naked, pasty-skinned, flat on the floor person whose unannounced arrival had started the pandemonium.

The visibly livid Tonks grabbed the intruder by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up, confirming her thoughts as the pale, freckled, wide-eyed, shell-shocked face of Ronald Weasley scanned his surroundings, opened his mouth and whimpered, "Mummy?"

That single word broke a surprised and shaken Molly Weasley out of her trance - with a loud wail of "Ronald!" she was charging towards her son with arms spread wide ... only to stop as the image in front of her registered and the wail turned into a screech - "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR CLOTHES?"

Before the wayward wizard could respond, a flabbergasted Hagrid inquired loudly, "Where's `ermione?"

To be immediately followed by an agitated Ginny Weasley's shriek: "WHERE'S HARRY?"

In the sudden silence of unanswerable for the moment questions, Fleur Delacour-Weasley's throaty voice sounded loud and clear. In a statement obviously meant for her husband alone but amplified in the silence of the hall, she looked at her youngest brother-in-law's naked form: "I always sed he wuz a leetle boy."

*

Malfoy Manor

The Malfoy family had composed themselves and were now lounging around their living room, champagne glasses filled from a second bottle that had been opened. An occasional snigger could be heard however as they looked at each other - more so whenever Lucius and Narcissa glanced at the other.

Lucius Malfoy raised his glass in a toast to his son. "I must admit, Draco, that your idea was utterly marvellous ... your grandfather would have been proud."

The younger Malfoy preened at the praise although he'd been well-trained not to let the occasional commendation from his oft-hard to please father get to his head. He raised his own glass in a toast to his father, who was sitting in his favourite armchair, Narcissa perched on the arm of the chair. "Thank you, father, but the honour should go to you - using polyjuice to impersonate Granger and the Weasel was a stroke of pure genius!"

Lucius Malfoy was just as well schooled in the art of flattery as he toasted his wife. "Ah ... but finding that forgery spell in the Malfoy Family Grimoire takes the cake, my dear. This whole charade would not have been successful if we were unable to sign those documents ... You deserve the applause and a bow."

She bent down and gave her husband a lingering kiss and `accidentally' fell into his lap; without a second thought, she proceeded to grind her bottom on him in an impromptu lap dance, causing her son to look away. "Do you mind?" Draco asked. "There are children here!"

The two adults roared in laughter, almost spilling their champagne on each other, but Narcissa didn't move from her husband's lap. Another lascivious grind caused Lucius' smirk to grow wider and she turned serious.

"I am so glad that this is all over, my love. I actually pity the mudblood being bonded to the blood traitor."

Draco's eyebrow rose almost to his hairline - his mother, the pureblood princess, actually pitying the mudblood? His other eyebrow rose to meet its counterpart at his hairline as he realized that his father was nodding in seeming agreement with his mother.

One glance at her clueless son and Narcissa Malfoy snickered and asked a seeming non sequitur: "You've sometimes called the blood traitors `carrot heads,' haven't you?"

When Draco nodded, she continued, "I wanted to give the photographer and that muggle minister a real show so I ... had my hands under your father's robes."

Lucius Malfoy's bark of laughter distracted the fleeting look of disgust on the younger Malfoy's face at the image created in his mind. Draco quickly schooled his face into seeming obliviousness as his mother continued, "Let's just say ... a baby carrot would be more substantial than Ronald Weasley's `assets'."

It took several moments for Draco to parse the statement - a look of pure disgust, followed by a moaned "Ewwww!" pushed the elder Malfoys into another round of hysterical laughter which led to them falling to the floor and rolling around holding their stomachs.

Draco's pinched face - so reminiscent of his mother's during the Quidditch World Cup in his fourth year- eventually morphed into an evil smirk so much like his father's as he said, "I wonder what Granger will think when she finds out."

*

The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)

Hermione's small fist slammed into the wall of the honeymoon suite and she stood there in shock, wondering - first of all - why her fist hadn't broken when it slammed against unyielding concrete; second, wondering where in hell Ronald Weasley had gone to; and finally, realizing, with a sense of wonder, that the immediate object of her insurmountable rage had disappeared.

There was nothing to vent her pain, anger and humiliation on.

Dazed, she looked around the large suite, absently noting the huge waterbed with its slightly mussed sheets with the Daily Prophet still laying on top of it, the lurid headline and insufferable photo face up and mocking her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimmer of movement - turning swiftly, she realized that she was looking straight at a large mirror, strategically positioned to reflect whatever activities took place on the bed - and she gaped as she realized that she'd been moving around for how long - had even been portkeyed from one location to another - without a stitch of clothing on.

There was nothing left for her to do - she stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, arms spread with hands fisted on either side … threw back her head and SCREAMED.

*

The Three Broomsticks (Dining Room)

Madam Rosmerta blinked as she realized that the chandelier in the middle of her pub's dining room was swaying. `Goodness,' she thought. `They must be using a lot of energy up there' - and she gave quiet thanks to whatever had inspired her to have the honeymoon suite built with heavy-duty silencing and cushioning charms. The release of energies when a magical couple consummated their marriage was the stuff of legends - while she herself never experienced it, the mere risk that a powerful couple coupling may destroy her pub had pushed her to spend the extra galleons in warding the room.

It was money well spent, she thought now, as she watched the swaying chandelier. Ron and Hermione … she shook herself from the thought. There had been little doubt in her mind that Hermione was one powerful witch - the few times she'd been able to serve her during Hogsmeade visits, Rosmerta would have sworn she saw the young lady's aura flicker on and off …

`Merlin's beard,' she thought to herself. `I wonder what would happen if Harry Potter completes his bonding? I hope he doesn't decide to have his honeymoon here … else I may not have a pub left!'

A second's thought and she dismissed the idea. Knowing the way boys' minds worked (she had, after all, been the pub's landlady for years beyond count), she knew that Harry Potter would never spend a honeymoon here, where his best friends consummated their bond. Especially if the young lad had feelings for the girl…

The chimes of the door opening signalled the arrival of a customer and she dismissed her thoughts to welcome the start of another day at the pub ...

*

The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)

The primal scream that Hermione let loose was both cleansing and calming. Head back, taking deep breaths, she opened her eyes slowly ... hoping that it had been nothing more than a bad dream - and saw the floating banner above the bed with its obnoxious, loathsome proclamation: "WELCOME AND CONGRATULATIONS MR. RONALD AND MRS. HERMIONE WEASLEY!"

It felt like a mallet had slammed into her gut - it was true, everything that had been happening since she woke up was true - and she fell on her knees as her stomach roiled, threatening to bring everything in it rushing out her throat. It was only pure luck that there was nothing there to expel but the sensation of wanting to throw up continued as her overloaded brain whirled...

Knowledge gained when she haunted the library in an effort to help Hagrid with Buckbeak's trial crowded her mind ... magical law, wizarding traditions, obscure facts and figures clamoured for attention as she rolled into a foetal ball -

"A magical marriage is for life - there is no divorce in the wizarding world ... The death of one spouse is the only way to break the enchantments of a magical bonding ... The use of Polyjuice potion is virtually undetectable, except when the potion expires thus revealing the impersonator ... Marriages between magical people in the muggle world are automatically recorded in the Magical Registrar of Births, Weddings and Deaths ... a copy of the marriage license is sent via magical means to the couple ..."

There was nothing she could do.

Married.

Married to Ronald Bilius Weasley.

She shuddered at the thought.

He was the polar opposite to her in everything that mattered - lazy where she was energetic, lacking in ambition and willing to go with the flow where she was driven and willing to challenge destiny, an academic sloth where she wanted to soar with the eagles. An intellectually stimulating time for her was discussing esoteric magical theory - for Ron, it was a game of chess. Something that required intelligence, yes - but what kind of conversation can be made in discussing something limited to a two-dimensional board with sixty-four squares?

She would die in such a limiting environment ... and she felt another spasm in her guts as she imagined herself married to Ron: frumpy, plump and domesticated, home-schooling two children unimaginatively named Rose and Hugo until they were ready to go to Hogwarts ... her Outstanding in OWL and NEWT Potions used to brew and prepare home remedies ... her top marks in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes useless because she didn't need them to catch and dispatch the garden gnomes ... her eleven OWLS and as many NEWTS nothing more than wall decorations for her room while she mourned the loss of opportunities ...

It was a life well-suited for others but it was not for her.

It was a major reason behind the yawning chasm between her and many of the girls in the Gryffindor female dormitories - a gulf quickly evident within weeks of starting at Hogwarts. They simply had different priorities from her - Lavender and Parvati, for example, would have been more than happy with that sort of life, a fact that she recognized as the years passed and they studied earnestly in Divination, did the best they could in Transfiguration, Charms and Potions and spent more time giggling and squealing than should be good for them.

True, they were charter members of the DA but then, they were Gryffindors, weren't they? Plus, it was their OWL year and they needed the training in DADA - only for everything to fall by the wayside in sixth year. They didn't respond to the call when the castle was attacked and Dumbledore killed ... she was surprised to see them during the final battle but they were Gryffindors, weren't they?

The bottom line was, she could easily picture them as domesticated housewives, sitting and cooking in the kitchen while waiting for Won-Won to come home, taking care of the children, reading Witch Weekly while recalling `the glory days' at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron ...

It wasn't the life she envisioned for herself.

Especially not with Ronald Bilius Weasley.

That had never been part of her equations or plans. She, like so many others, had her dreams of romance - but that had always been set aside because of the quest she had inadvertently joined when she was befriended by a thin, bespectacled boy who'd saved her from a troll. That had become the single driving obsession of her life, broken only by momentary flashes of a different life in fourth year with Krum and the Yule Ball - and sixth year when she oscillated between overprotective of Harry and acting all Shakespearean - not as Hermione from `A Winter's Tale' but as Katherina in `Taming of the Shrew.'

Even now, that school year stood out as a confusing one - she could never understand why she went all hormonal, alternating between overprotective and shrill with Harry, veering between pride at his accomplishments and angry over that infernal potions book and, deep down where only she could admit it, extremely depressed as she realized that she would never be more than a friend to him. In the end, it was all she was left with - finishing the quest to defeat Voldemort.

She had given up her dreams of romance in sixth year; despite what everyone thought, romance and Ronald Weasley were mutually exclusive - and Harry was both unattainable and with Ginny. She had resigned herself to a lonely life after the mission was accomplished. She'd go and bring back her parents - or perhaps opt to stay in Australia rather than come back here and watch Harry walk down the aisle with someone else…

While the memory of that singular, magical moment when all pretences were torn away, when hard truths and painful memories were exposed and exorcised and magic, real magic bloomed would be all that was left to sustain her.

Another spasm hit her and she heaved - dry heaves as the implications of what had happened once again struck her turbulent mind ... she whimpered with the aches of something much worse than the Cruciatus she underwent at Malfoy Manor ... and unknowingly sobbed out the mantra that had helped her through the pain: "Harry ... help me ... I need you, Harry ..."

She never saw or felt a tiny portion of her magic leaving her body ... forming into an iridescent mist that acquired a shimmering, ghostly form of a sleek animal on four legs. It sniffed at the air around briefly, as if hunting for a specific scent before shooting out of the room in a silvery blur, swiftly gaining speed as it ran for the castle in the distance ...

*

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

For the longest time, Harry Potter stood in the middle of the Headmaster's office, gaping at the once-familiar yet now-unfamiliar place where he had spent more time in than almost any other student in modern times, except for the legendary Marauders. He shook his head slowly, trying to shake off the dizziness and disorientation that often accompanied apparition ... and wondered, as his brain finally caught up with him, how - or even why - he found himself in this particular place at this particular time.

Why he was here ... his mind brought back the events of only minutes before - and he shut his eyes and gritted his teeth against the ache in his heart at seeing the picture of his best friends exchanging passionate kisses in the Daily Prophet. It was a pain even worse than any which Voldemort inflicted on him, worse even than when he'd been possessed by the Dark Lord...

He was about to crumple the newspaper up and burn it when the crack of apparition sounded in the Great Hall - it had taken only that split second as the body solidified for him to recognize who it was ... seven years of sharing a common shower and toilet makes it easy to recognize people from the back, especially if they were lanky and had red hair...

Seeing the back of a naked Ron Weasley unleashed a tidal wave of emotion - there was no way that he would be willing to stand there, smiling and congratulating Ron for marrying Hermione ... not after Ron had abandoned them to their fate for the second time only to come slinking back like the rat that he'd once kept as a pet ... not after having to watch Ron struggle with the horcrux and its maddened attempt to survive by trying to turn his `friend' against him once again, forcing him to lie through his teeth about his feelings for Hermione - pushing him, once again, to forego his own wishes and desires to keep the peace between his friends, to keep the mythical `Trio' intact, to once again sacrifice something he held dear for a still-nebulous `Greater Good'...

In that singular moment before the spells started flying, he knew he could not stay in the same place as Ronald Bilius Weasley - and without spell or incantation, without destination, deliberation or determination but simple, pure intent to be out of there - he felt the squeezed through a small tube sensation enveloping him and he opened his eyes to find himself here in the Headmaster's office.

He shrugged at what happened. He'd been experiencing bouts of accidental magic lately - wild, unfocused, untamed and powerful - all in the hours after the final battle. Or maybe it was during the final battle ... it was a prickling sensation along his skin which he first noticed when he `woke up' after Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at him ... he supposed it was his magic adapting after being freed from the leech that was the Horcrux within him...

He realized that he was still clutching the Daily Prophet and threw it away from him with a snarl, hitting one of the Headmaster's portraits around him and he cringed, waiting for the lambasting that was to follow and hoping like hell that it was neither the portrait of Dumbledore or Phineas Nigellus Black ...

He looked around sheepishly and blinked - all the portraits of past headmasters were empty, except for that of Severus Snape, who'd been Headmaster in the year under Voldemort. Snape was asleep, however, and he sighed in relief ... the portrait hadn't woken up yet and he was glad. He wasn't ready for a conversation with Snape just yet ... maybe not for a couple of years or decades...

Shaking his head, he collapsed on the floor, hands covering his face as the adrenalin rush of moments before dissipated and his tired mind tried to find the energy or even the will to move on…

Unbidden, his mind brought back that loathsome picture in the Daily Prophet and he bent over in pain ... after everything that he'd gone through, after all the aches and misery that Fate, Destiny or Sybil Trelawney had set in his path ... was it too much to ask for a break? Was it too much to wish for a moment of normalcy ... to be a young man in love with a pretty girl - one he was sure loved him back?

But why would she do this to him? Why go behind his back and elope with Ron? If she didn't feel that way about him, she could have talked with him ... told him the truth and walked out of his life. They'd gone through too much together for either to lie to the other ... they'd shared too much (and Harry's face turned a deep crimson shade) for her to do this to him!

If she really loved Ron, then why go behind his back? He'd be happy for her ... it was worth everything to him to see her happy and if her happiness was to be found in Ron's arms, who was he to tell her no?

That he had his own feelings for her was irrelevant ... it was her choice alone. He'd willingly accept it, swallow down his pain at that thought, smile and tease and dance with her at the wedding ... happily be Ron's best man and even buy them the rings as gifts ... give them the deeds to Grimmauld Place with Padfoot's money so they can re-decorate and improve it to whatever they wanted...

While he slunk away to try and rebuild his shattered life somewhere else far, far away.

There would never be another one for him after Hermione and he felt a momentary pang of pain for the children they would never have - a brood of raven-haired, bushy haired children with eyes of green, chocolate brown or hazel ... they'd play Quidditch in his own private pitch, Hermione would teach them to love books and potions while he taught them to prank Remus, Tonks and little Teddy ...

But it was not to be.

She'd chosen someone else.

"She would have made a perfect Slytherin, you know."

Finely honed reflexes kicked in and he was on his feet behind the chair, wand out and tip glowing, eyes scanning for the threat - dropping his wand and arm when he realized who had spoken to him. It took him a few moments to parse the words and he responded with all the force of his considerable intelligence: "WHAT? ARE YOU NUTS?"

Phineas Nigellus Black stared back at him impassively and sighed to himself. `How the mighty are fallen,' he thought. `After seven centuries, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is left to this ... this upstart of a Gryffindor. And he is not even of the line of Black ... adopted by Sirius through a blood adoption in the dead of night three Christmases ago in order to circumvent the family's laws...'

Unbidden, the memory of that night came to him ... Sirius had silenced his portrait after he'd railed endlessly at the perceived dilution of the family's line but found himself in grudging admiration of the shrewd and sneaky way that the last male bearing the name of Black had gone around the immutable family law. And he had to admit - after being carried around in that infernal Miss Granger's beaded bag for months - that his last true grandchild had a point in choosing the wizard below him to inherit the name, title and family rather than letting it go by default to that spineless, indolent and idiotic whelp of a Malfoy.

He thought at first that it was pure and simple sentimentality on the part of Sirius; well that and a means of making their ancestors spin in their graves (especially Walburga) but he hadn't truly appreciated the Slytherin cunning and far-sightedness of his descendant. For a brief moment his memories strayed to the weeks spent in that beaded bag - listening to their conversations, watching through the netted weave of the bag and forming his personal opinion of the teens.

He shook himself from his reverie, grateful to whatever kindly Deity kept watch over wizards and witches for having this portrait as a refuge to run to during those trying times ... it was here where he went when he just had to get away from his portrait in that infernal bag - times when he simply had to vent his frustration at the thickness of the boy and his male companion ... hours when he'd returned to vent his spleen at the interfering old coot in the other portrait in this room who'd brought them to this…

He turned back to the sputtering, ranting wizard below him, who was shouting, "What do you mean she'd make a perfect Slytherin? She's nothing like you!"

A single, sardonic eyebrow rose - a gesture that Snape would have envied and copied shamelessly were he still able - and the former Headmaster snickered. "Of course she's nothing like me ... she's a GURL, you fool - didn't you even know that?"

"Wha -" The old headmaster nearly fell off his chair as he tried to suppress his laughter at the gobsmacked wizard facing him. With an elegance and economy of motion that was a joy to behold, Phineas Black rose from his chair to stand behind it, the better to control the laughter engulfing him at the goggle-eyed teen.

"Well?" Phineas challenged.

"I know she's a girl, you twat! I've known she was a girl since before the Tournament ... I meant she cannot be like you, you ... The Sorting Hat said that she could have been Gryffindor or Ravenclaw - not Slytherin!"

As the words left his mouth, an echo of the last two words kept repeating in his mind: "Not Slytherin ... not Slytherin ..." He'd been repeating those words as a mantra while the Hat pondered on where to put him - and he remembered the words said to him when he was sorted, almost seven years before: "Are you sure? You would do well in Slytherin, you know ... you have it all there, you would do well in Slytherin..."

A deep raspy voice responded to one side and Harry spun around, gaping when he realized that the Sorting Hat was speaking from the shelf where it was laid, "Not true, Harry Potter. I don't know where Ms. Granger got that idea but I distinctly remember telling her that she was a most difficult choice ... any of the four houses would have suited her, Slytherin among them."

"WHAT!?! But-"

"Control yourself, Harry Potter," the Hat said and for a fleeting moment, Harry felt as if he were under the intense scrutiny of the magical artefact. He wouldn't be surprised if he saw eyes twinkling back at him and shuddered at the thought. That was the last thing he wanted right now - seeing the twinkling eyes of his last Headmaster looking back at him from the Hat.

The Hat continued, in a contemplative, ruminating tone, "Ms. Granger was most difficult, Harry Potter. She would have had the Four Founders coming to blows over her…"

Harry frowned, the words of the Sorting Hat fading into the background as his thoughts focused on his best friend.

Brave - there could be no doubt of that. She'd been beside him throughout much of his adventures - her courage even when things were going badly was something he'd come to rely on. Her intelligence, of course ... he'd often wondered why she was in Gryffindor and not in Ravenclaw - and he remembered her blushing admission that the Hat considered placing her in Ravenclaw, when she demonstrated the Protean charm on the Galleons for the DA.

But there was her undoubted loyalty and willingness - even eagerness - for hard work. Loyalty to him, she had shown in abundance - fourth year alone showed him that. And the willingness to work - Harry blinked as he remembered staying up till the wee hours of the morning, preparing for the First Task and the Summoning Charm. She never gave up on him, willingly sacrificing her sleep just so he would succeed...

Loyalty and hard work - attitudes prized by Hufflepuff.

But Slytherin? He vaguely heard the Hat talking about ambition ... ambition? The memory of his time under the Sorting Hat came to mind: "You have a thirst to prove yourself ... Slytherin can help you along the path to greatness ..."

Wasn't that Hermione Granger in a nutshell? She had the drive and the skill to prove herself ... to show everyone that she not only deserved to be in the wizarding world, but also to show that she was better than anyone else, especially those who looked down on her because of her muggle origins. Ambition in spades ... but, looking back at the years with her, he realized that being cunning and sly was her weak spot. She was too open, she wore her heart on her sleeve and would never go the route of slyness and cunning to achieve her goals ... S.P.E.W. for example. A Slytherin would not have gone about freeing the house elves in that way - although her efforts at knitting and leaving clothes around was just as Slytherin in its thinking, except that it wasn't refined enough to be workable.

She would always look forward and charge, taking the direct route to achieving her dreams and ambitions - backed up and supported by her knowledge and learning, her willingness to work and the courage of her beliefs.

Definitely not Slytherin traits.

"Maybe not, Potter." Harry blinked as Phineas' sardonic voice broke into his reverie - and he realized that he'd been speaking his thoughts out loud. He glanced at the former Headmaster in his portrait as the latter continued, "What some people forget" - and Phineas' eyes flickered for a moment to Dumbledore's portrait - "is that the Hat places people where their potentials are."

"You would have done well in Slytherin, Harry Potter," the Sorting Hat said, echoing its words from seven years before. "As would Ms. Granger. Being in Slytherin would have tempered her enthusiasms, taught both of you to think things through rather than charging in blindly. Ms. Granger's intellect, loyalty and partiality for hard work, combined with Slytherin shrewdness and calculation would have made her a force to reckon with."

A sigh. "Alas, but she was most adamant about not being sorted to Slytherin. She kept insisting, `Not Slytherin … not Slytherin'…"

The Hat paused, and Harry felt as if the Hat was staring - or was it glaring - at him. "Much like you did." A pregnant pause before the Hat continued, "I cannot help but wonder now if her thoughts - even then - were making their way to you."

Harry gulped - the Hat's words bringing back memories of the all-too-many times when he and Hermione seemed to be communicating at a level beyond words … something that started in their first year and had only grown more frequent since but had seeming been strained in their sixth year, only to come back fully in the last …

He didn't want to think about that and tried to change the conversation's direction, and he gave a small, forced laugh. "Hermione and myself in Slytherin - what a laugh! We'd never have survived with the greasy git in charge…"

"This is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are right about everything." Harry looked curiously at Phineas' portrait, remembering his first encounter with the insufferable Headmaster, who said, "What makes you think that everything that happened will have been the same had circumstances not been different? Severus' resentments would have been alleviated somewhat with the child of Lily Evans in his house rather than in James Potter's old house … he would have been a far better mentor to you and Ms. Granger rather than Minerva…"

He held up a hand at Harry's incipient protest. "I respect Minerva's abilities, Potter - although I have questioned the wisdom of having her hold both Deputy Headmistress and Head of House Gryffindor. Being Head of House means spending time with her charges - time that she unfortunately had to fritter away at handling tasks that the Headmaster" - the tone of utter contempt was unmistakable - "couldn't or wouldn't be bothered with because of his numerous positions as well as his constant pursuit of the `Greater Good'."

Harry thought he heard a snort from somewhere and spun around - he shook his head as he realized that all the portraits still remained blank, except for the still-sleeping Snape. He shrugged, thinking that it was the Sorting Hat which made the noise - and he turned back to Phineas, a sarcastic smirk on his face and a sardonic note in his voice, "Snape as mentor? Right - he mentored Malfoy for six years and we all know how well that turned out."

Phineas' rebuttal was stopped by the Hat's voice: "And what makes you think that Mr. Malfoy should have been Sorted into Slytherin, Harry Potter?"

Harry stared back at the Hat in surprise - where else would Malfoy have gone but to Slytherin? He could remember that Sorting - the Hat had barely touched Malfoy's head before shouting, "Slytherin!" and it was that memory which fuelled his indignant response: "He's a Malfoy!"

"Idiot boy!" The sarcasm and disdain was dripping from Phineas Black's portrait in gallons. "Since when did family have a bearing on your Hogwarts house, Potter? By that standard, your godfather should have been in Slytherin ... his lycanthropic friend should have sorted Ravenclaw ... and his mate should have gone to Slytherin also - Nymphadora is a Black, after all."

The Hat interrupted, its conciliatory tone seemingly derailing the former Headmaster's developing rant. "What you must remember, Harry Potter, is that family or bloodlines are the last consideration given to a proper Sorting - the Founders individually prized differing qualities for their Houses … unless you've been sleeping through every Sorting you've sat through, hmmm?"

Harry blushed as he realized that he'd missed three Sortings in his six years at Hogwarts; the embarrassment was tempered, however, as he recalled that the Hat's opening song never really changed … until fifth year, that is. His comment was stopped, however, as it seemed that the Hat had settled in for a good, old-fashioned rant -

"Consider your friends the Weasleys -"

Harry gaped as the Hat talked but found he could not really dispute it - Bill and Charlie sorted correctly because they had both courage and moral fibre to stand for their beliefs (Harry remembered Bill, in particular, opting to return to London to be closer to family and to assist the Order); Percy's driving ambitions and willingness to kiss ass pointing him to Slytherin but his anal retentiveness about rules and authority making him equally suitable for Ravenclaw; the Twins brilliance in inventing made them a shoo-in for Ravenclaw but their boisterous nature would have quickly alienated them from those serious, studious nerds - on the other hand, their compelling determination to own a joke shop implied an equally acceptable placement in Slytherin …Harry shuddered at the thought of Slytherin Weasley Twins - Filch would never have survived that …

He blinked at something the Hat said and jumped in without thinking: "What? Why should Crabbe and Goyle be in Hufflepuff of all places?"

For a moment he felt the need for a bath given the `look' the Hat seemed to give him and felt equal parts gratitude and anger when Phineas' sarcastic voice boomed: "And why not, Potter? What else have they shown in their years here but a slavish devotion to Draco Malfoy, the only one who seemed to grant them any respect? If they'd been in Hufflepuff, their loyalty and hard work would have been commended and guided properly …"

Harry looked at him curiously. There seemed to be a genuine regret in the former Headmaster's voice - not for the death of a Slytherin but for the loss of a student whose potentials, whatever they may have been, would never be realized now. Crabbe and Goyle in Hufflepuff was a jarring thought but then he had to wonder - would they have been the brutish thugs he'd learned to despise if they'd been in another house where a different sort of guidance was imposed? Could they have been - shocking as it may seem - friends to him if they hadn't been placed in close proximity to Malfoy and his ilk?

He shook his head and turned to the Hat as it said, in a sad and pained voice reflecting that of Phineas Black: "Indeed, Headmaster. So much potential wasted or left unfulfilled … only because someone interfered."

Again Harry found himself frowning at the dynamics in that room - a glance at both Hat and Phineas left him with the distinct impression that both were glaring at the portrait to one side of Snape's - still empty, he noted. Probably inhabiting one of his chocolate frog cards, he thought sardonically, but then he shook his head.

Something was niggling at his mind but he couldn't place it just yet and so voiced a concern that had been lost in the Hat's ranting: "And Draco Malfoy?"

There seemed to be a snort coming from two directions - and his head whiplashed around, only to focus on the Hat's moving mouth: "Draco Malfoy - Sorted into Slytherin but has he shown any of the traits of that house or others? Lacking in ambition or cunning" - Harry snorted at that, considering the numerous confrontations with Malfoy. The only time the blond ferret had shown any finesse was in sixth year, but Harry got the distinct impression that that happened only because someone (probably Bellatrix or Voldemort himself) wrote detailed instructions and made the ponce memorize it - "average in intelligence, gutless when it mattered and distinctly wanting in loyalty - none of the Founders would have wanted him but since his family were mostly Slytherins, that is where he went despite my better judgement."

A sigh. "There was nowhere else to place him … much like your friend Ronald Weasley."

Harry slumped back in a chair - one of the squashy ones that Dumbledore favoured, unwilling to dispute the Hat's words because he could see the grain of truth in it.

Ron, like Malfoy, would have been a distinctly unsavoury candidate for any of the Houses. Courage - Harry remembered Ron blubbering in fear far too many times, from the moment of seeing Fluffy in first year, to confronting Aragog in the Forbidden Forest; he had stood up to Sirius Black in third year but only after Hermione had pushed herself to the front to protect him … Loyalty - Harry shook his head, remembering fourth year and the Horcrux hunt when his supposed best friend had turned his back on them … Hard work? He rolled his eyes - when it involved eating or Quidditch, yes. Otherwise … he'd followed Ron's lead in his academics, choosing Divination and Care of Magical Creatures because they were guaranteed an easy pass … Intelligence - please! The less said, the better … Ambition? He snorted…

And realized with a pang that the same could be said of Ginny Weasley, except that he couldn't be sure … He didn't know enough about her, the workings of her inner mind to make an informed judgement, even after six years of knowing her. She'd always been on the fringes of his consciousness: part of the background, emerging only for brief moments before `sinking' back into the clutter …

Unlike Hermione who, he now realized, could have been (as Phineas said) `the perfect Slytherin' if he went past that House's reputation for blood purity. What could have happened, he wondered, if Phineas' pronouncement had come to pass - if he and Hermione had both sorted Slytherin but without the poisonous influence of Draco Malfoy or the debilitating affect of Ronald Weasley?

Would he have done things differently - thought things through more thoroughly before acting, been more calculating and wily, sought more information before charging in blindly … with Hermione still beside him, but her intellect, bravery and loyalty tempered by the innate shrewdness of Slytherin …

Voldemort wouldn't have a chance …so what the hell happened? Had the past seven years been an unneeded gauntlet of flawed decisions, unthinking courage and constant misdirection? It made for a heroic tale, true - but it was a tale rife more with inconsistency and holes rather than a well-thought out and well-planned narrative …

"Why are you telling me this? Why only now after everything that's happened?"

He lifted his head and looked around - the Hat sat on its shelf, seemingly as it always was while Phineas Nigellus Black stood away from his chair, looking into the distance and unwilling to meet his eyes … while Snape still sat silent, asleep in his portrait. He looked at each of them but was only met with silence and avoidance and he sighed.

"It doesn't matter, anyway … it's over now. It's done."

The defeated voice acted like a cattle prod to the distant former head of House Black: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S DONE, BOY? The battle with Riddle may be over but there are THINGS TO DO! NOW is the time to make a difference …"

"AND WHY SHOULD I?" He shouted back. "I'VE DONE MY PART - LET THEM TAKE UP THE SLACK!" He glared around the room with its mostly empty portraits and glanced inadvertently at the Prophet he'd thrown against the wall, its damning picture continually mocking him. He felt the pain of that photo slamming against his chest and gestured towards it as he whispered, "It's their world now … there's nothing for me here."

"Urrhhgghh." If Harry had looked up at that moment, he would have been treated to the sight of two former Slytherin Headmasters rolling their painted eyes in a gesture so reminiscent of a bushy-haired Gryffindor before Phineas bellowed once again, "USE YOUR HEAD, BOY! It is there for a purpose other than a resting place for a hat!"

Harry Potter glanced at the raving portrait with disinterest. "What's there to think about? They're married now…"

Phineas' eyes were looking to the heavens as if he couldn't believe the words coming from the teen wizard below him. "It's a MUGGLE wedding, you uneducated fool! Don't you know anything about the wizarding world…?"

Harry's eyes blazed at the continued sarcasm in the portrait's tone. "I know enough to know that wizards marrying in the Muggle world get automatically registered in the magical world!" He turned away, slumping as if his insides had turned to goo, muttering, "And I know there's no divorce in the wizarding world."

"And you're just going to sit there and TAKE IT? If you were Slytherin, BOY, you'd have known that not everything is as it seems - that, as the muggle-borns put it, it ain't over till Helga Hufflepuff sings!"

The Sorting Hat's shout of `Hey' in defence of the rather generously embodied Founder was lost as a streaking silver blur darted in - coalescing into the silvery form of a Patronus otter, which stood up on its hind legs and, staring at Harry's eyes, said, "Harry ... help me ... I need you, Harry ..."

It was the only thing which could have broken Harry from his funk.

"Hermione? What …where …" He spun around in a panic until his eyes lit on the otter below him. "Where are you? How do I…"

Phineas Black was readying himself for another sarcastic comment when he stopped, mesmerized by the seeming interaction between the Patronus otter and Potter who were looking each other in the eye - and blinked as the otter jumped into Harry's arms, followed by a soft `pop' as both wizard and otter disappeared.

Severus Snape lifted his painted head from its snoozing position and turned, a sardonic eyebrow aimed at Phineas Black. "Laying it on a bit thick at the end there, weren't you?"

Phineas Black gave an exasperated sigh as he ran his fingers through this hair, making it look - for the briefest of moments - like Harry's unruly mop. "I swear, Severus, the boy is uncommonly thick … If he didn't have Granger to think for him and provide guidance, I fear for the future of not just the House of Black but the House of Potter as well."

Snape stretched, rolled his neck and shoulders - for all the world like a man doing limbering exercises and his eyes inadvertently fell on the Daily Prophet below him. His face contorted into a grimace that generations of students had learned to hate as he said, "Unfortunately, he's right … there's nothing to be done now."

"Indeed." Phineas Black and Severus Snape turned at that extremely satisfied voice and watched Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore waltzed into his portrait and sat in his golden chair, a cheerful smile on his face and his eyes twinkling at full force. "And it is all to the good."

"The `Greater Good,' I suppose?" Phineas snapped and Dumbledore's twinkle increased even more as he gave a bow and smirk.

"You planned this, Dumbledore?" The three former Headmasters turned and realized that the other Headmaster portraits were now occupied; the question came from Dexter Fortescue whose normally red face was several degrees darker. "Even now, when he has fulfilled his destiny, you refuse to let him live his life? Are you never going to leave that young man alone?"

"It's for the Greater Good," Dumbledore replied, ignoring the snorts of the others as well as a raspberry blown by the Sorting Hat at him. "But planned it? No … I had hoped for it, prayed that it will come to pass … but planned for it? No."

He glanced down at the Prophet with its animated photograph and smiled. "I never knew that Ronald had it in him for such a bold action. But he is Gryffindor."

Snape snorted in his portrait. "Weasley? The only way that redheaded buffoon would find the courage to do something like that is if Foghorn Molly pushed him into doing it!"

Dumbledore shrugged, uninterested in the ranting of his former Potions professor and successor. He leaned back in his chair and beamed back at the others, and granted a patronizing smile at Dilys Derwent who'd asked, "But why? What's all this in aid of, Albus?"

"It's for the Greater Good, Dilys," portrait-Dumbledore repeated, but hurried on before the others could react. "It keeps young Harry safe from Ms. Granger's corrupting influence."

The old man's twinkling blue eyes narrowed, becoming points of sharp, focused light as he continued, "Can't any of you imagine the danger to our world when the Boy Who Lived, The Man Who Won, The Defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named is allied with and fully supports the radical, outlandish ideas of Ms. Granger? Her obsession with freeing the house elves is just the tip of the iceberg - what other bizarre ideas will she advocate? Bring the goblins into the Wizengamot? Ask the mer-people to participate in our councils?

"No! The world - our world must be kept safe for witches and wizards alone ... it is our world, brought into fruition through our hard work and toil ... why should we share it with non-humans and other abominations?

"With Ms. Granger married to Mr. Weasley, she will be contained - her flawed enthusiasms directed properly and guided appropriately. She will better appreciate our world rather than impose her peculiar ideas on us and our world will continue to be safe."

"And Mr. Potter?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "He is free to marry who he will … although a marriage with a proper Pureblood from a light family would be best." He glanced at Phineas with a smirk, "At the least, there will be no need to blast another name from your Family tapestry, Phineas … Harry Potter-Black married to a pureblood will more than satisfy your family's motto of `Toujours Pur'."

The look that Phineas Black gave Dumbledore was pure contempt, and his voice was not far behind. "You incompetent fool. What has being blood pure gotten my family except to be decimated and leaving us at the brink of extinction? Better if he married the Granger girl - the infusion of fresh blood and even fresher ideas would have revitalized the family … I had been hopeful that Potter would be able to change that motto from being seen as the epitome of blood purity but rather the purity of ideas and light."

Dumbledore's retort was interrupted by the Sorting Hat. "And what if Harry Potter leaves the wizarding world, Dumbledore? What if he chooses not to marry any of the candidates you have so assiduously chosen for him? You forget - I had a chance for a glimpse into his mind after the battle when some fool placed me on his head … his feelings for Ms. Granger are such that if he is denied her friendship and companionship, he would gladly leave us all … what then of your grand plan?"

Again the old man shrugged, apparently not interested. "If he leaves, he leaves - nothing changes. The important thing is that Ms. Granger's radical ideas are contained and kept in check - our world will be kept safe and secure and life goes on."

He looked around at the red and angry faces of the former Headmasters and gracefully got to his feet and gave an elegant bow. "If you will excuse me, I have places to visit that I haven't been to in some time."

The portraits watched as he disappeared before exploding in indignation and rage.

"The fool!" Dilys Derwent shouted. "Radical ideas indeed! Those ideas should have been in place a hundred years ago!"

"Indeed, Dilys," Dexter Fortescue said. "Slavery has been long abolished in the muggle world but we have kept it going - it matters not that the elves are seen as an inferior race … history has shown that slavery and abuse of others lead to a nation's eventual destruction!"

The others chimed in - but stopped at Armando Dippet's morose voice. "Be that as it may, my friends, but I am afraid that Mr. Potter and Dumbledore are correct. There is nothing to be done … it's over."

During the heated exchange, two portraits were silent - Severus Snape watched quietly, his head swivelling around as opinions were raised and keeping his own counsel. Phineas Nigellus Black, on the other hand, simply watched his colleagues with a smug expression on his face - which he quickly wiped off as he realized that Snape's eyes were on him.

"You know something, don't you?" The loud voice of Snape silenced the others and they all turned to stare at Black's portrait; the latter simply looked back at them with an angelic expression that none had seen in decades, even when he was alive and seated at the Headmaster's chair, as Snape continued, "You know something … all those months in Granger's beaded bag … listening and watching …"

"Me?" Phineas' face took on an innocent expression. "I don't know what you're talking about, Severus … all you wanted me to do was to keep an eye on them and tell you where they were."

Snape's look of disbelief was interrupted by Dilys Derwent's amused voice: "Of course he knows something, Severus … not unless he spent the whole time buried in Ms. Granger's underwear."

There was a collective `EWWWW!' from the portraits - broken only by a sight and sound not heard for the longest time in the Head's office: loud, raucous laughter coming from the Sorting Hat.

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