Chapter Text
Harry and Hermione
“So…” he finally breaks the thoughtful silence they had fallen into, “You’ve finished packing then?” His sister shakes her head, no. ‘by Aslan, how he’s glad to finally acknowledge their familial relation’.
“Just about though. I was putting my stationary away when the owl came.” She held up her letter as if to emphasize its burden.
“An invitation?” he guesses.
Hermione shook her head no, again, “A notice from Helena. Apparently, a professor from the school is to visit sometime in the week.”
Without warning, Hermione jumped to her feet, tugging Harry along with her and into the school dormitories.
’Helena?’ Now why did that name sound so familiar… Harry raked his rather cluttered memory for an explanation, though, after a long minute of companionable silence, he opened his mouth, hopeful for a short brief, but resigned to a long-winded rant, “Helena? Is your family magical then?”
That- that hadn’t been what he had meant to ask, but now that the question had left his mouth, Harry contemplated the implications it had brought to light. He just couldn't believe his sister would keep this from him—even with no memory of their past lives, Potter was very much still a recognized and noble house—named most ancient in the intervening centuries that followed—made more prominent since the end of the most recent magical war.
Why wouldn’t she at least have mentioned the coincidence in his shared name and supposed appearance with the-boy-who-lived?
His tenseness and suspicion was alleviated with a familiar assuring squeeze and a soft smile, “Not my parents, no,” she fiddled with the parchment, “but, now that you mention it, I suspect a cousin of mine, Hector I think, may be. . . he has always been rather vague and shifty when he speaks of his occupation and he does tend to dress rather eccentric compared to what mudbloods seem to prefer nowadays.” Harry winced at the comment. “What now?” Hermione sighed in exasperation.
“Erm. . . my infant memory may not be at all reliable, all things considering, but I believe ‘mudblood’ to be a slur in the modern day, and refers to newbloods rather than our non-magical kin.”
They fell to a thoughtful silence as Hermione carefully navigated the halls back to her dorm room. She gave a signal as they turned into an alcove devoid of people and cameras. When she turned back from examining their surroundings to once more face Harry, a young lady, with hair of fiery red, stood in his place.
“Sally?” she poked at his-her cheek, “or would you prefer Harriet, maybe Edwina?”
“Hmm. . . Sallys’ good,” he—she agreed, twirling around in her newly transfigured skirt, “can be short for Salacia Lily, what my parents would have named me had I been born a girl.”
“Huh…” Hermione continued through the halls and up a set of stairs, “That reminds me, we now hold three names; I—Susan, then Rowena, and now Hermione. You—”
“Edmund, Salazar, and Harry.”
“Yes, yes,” she waved off, “As the heirs of ourselves and as society was back then, it had been a simple affair to reveal the truth of our rebirth. But from what I understand of the mundane world now, they are—by far—more ignorant of anything fantastical. More so than in our first life.”
“In my experience, while living with my entirely muggle aunt and uncle, those without are often jealous of what they can never have. So they choose instead to relegate the things they can't understand to simple fantasy and myth.”
“Of course, sister,” she squeezed her shoulder, “but back to my original point… names. How do we propose going about them in this life?”
“Like we’ve always done, I suppose,” Sally swung around a rail, “We call each other by our first names in private, and our new names in public.”
Hermione allowed a moment of silence as she drew her keys from a pocket and into the locks of her dorm room, “Hmm...but what of our second names?”
She summoned her magix and bid them gather her stray utensils and books.
At her side, Harry weaved a mist ensuring their magic use would not be discovered by any other.
“I dunno,” he jumped to lay on Hermione’s now bare bed, “I don’t see much use in them aside from our connections to the school. And we’ve all had heirs to take care of those responsibilities, they would have been passed on by now.”
“Don’t remind me. . .” she rolled her eyes, “If there’s one thing I can be glad of, born from common blood and all, no more arranged marriages.”
A bell tolled to mark noon.
“Now com’on, help me with my bags.” Harry weaved yet another magic obscuring mist, allowing Hermione to apply her own lightening charms. “You’ve got your’s?”
“Shrunken down in my pockets,” he pulled out a quid sized, rectangular cube.
They’ve signed out at the office, and waiting by the park near the school when the Granger parents drive up. Harry makes a production of hefting up Hermione’s book trunk as they make their way towards the car.
“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione giggles out as she releases her charms, making said boy stumble forward.
“Mum! Dad!” she rushed forward as they opened the doors, leaving Harry by their trunks.
“This is my best mate, Harry,” she soon introduces, “Harry, these are my parents,”
“Hello’ Missus Granger, Mister Granger,” Harry says sheepishly.
He doesn’t know how, but after what felt like a blink, Harry is buckled in the backseat next to Hermione and driving to McDonalds.
For the next half hour, they engage in mental conversation, scribbling back-and-forth on a notebook to disguise their silence. Occasionally, they draw an actual image and words.
**HP: we should tell your parents.
**HG: Tell them what? Our titles as Kings and Queens of an ancient and divine world? or of our positions as the founders of a magical pagan school where we taught and will be attending classes to ‘learn’ magic?
**HP: Narnia might be a bit much. And the founder's bit is sorta unnecessary. Besides, we shouldn’t be telling anyone about any of that without talking to the others’.
Hermione falters at that. Scribbling a rushed but still recognizable likeness of young Peter alongside that of another boy. Presumably that of his new incarnation. On the next page, she scribbles young Lucy, and her probable new self.
Harry hovers on the other boys' likeness. Squinting slightly.
**HP: He looks familiar. I might have met him when we were babies.
**HG: I think you did. You know… now that I know who I am, my dreams are finally starting to make sense. Both Peter’ an’ Lucy are of the old blooded families. I saw you and Peter at your namings and the swearing in of godparents. You’re mothers are each others’ godparent.
She falters again, halting and stumbling through the background of the Longbottom’s madness. Though not mentioning their names.
**HP: Oh…
Harry remains silent.
**HG: ...what you said about telling my parents. What do we tell them about, exactly?
**HP: hmm… we should at the very least tell them about magic. Existing an’ all. Me being a ‘half-blood’ born into the magical world. And how I recognized the magic in you the moment we met. What were your outbursts like, it could factor in how we form the explanation.
**HG: Yes, okay. So my ‘outbursts’ as you call them, weren’t as severe as your wording may suggest. They mostly involved me pulling books from shelves and making my rucksack lighter to carry.
In the little time that remained, the siblings formed their battle plan:
#1 - Sustenance: this conversation needed them at top form and for that, they needed food. While McDonalds wouldn’t provide much in protein they offered well enough in dopamine that would fuel their magic. Plead for ice cream while they're at it.
#2 - Confusion: bombard them with childish hyperactivity, until they just accept it. *use icecream as cover and explain away as a sugar rush.
#3 - Explanation: parents should be seated in their living room, completely out of their depth. Harry would the magical world and how he had felt magic in her when they met. Leave Hermione to explain the rest while Harry calls the Dursleys.
#4 - Leave: Allow everyone time to process and come back after the wards have charged up for the rest of the year.
Their plan went off almost perfectly, except when it came to #4.
The phone call to the Dursley’s ended in a shouting match and a smoking telephone. The Grangers, shook off their bewilderment and immediately started fussing with Harry’s soot stained vesage.
After the Grangers, “please call us Maia and Zack”, had finished fussing, they sat Harry down again and tiredly asked him to explain.
Before he could even have had time to process Petunia drivel, Harry found himself breaking down into the Granger’s arms; and spending the night in his sister's house.
When morning came, Maia and Zack were reluctant to let him go, but a look from Hermione made it obvious to him that she had spoken to them when Harry had already fallen asleep.
In seeming compromise, Maia had volunteered to drop Harry off. Hermione tagging along and distracting her mum from interrogating her best mate, and brother.
When it came to ten minutes from Number 4 Privet Drive, Maia had finally broken through her daughters’ word vomit; extracting a promise from the not so young man to visit soon amongst her own assurances of a safe space to stay.
Harry promised he would only be required to stay a week, and when that week was up, he would gladly phone for a pick up.
Six Da y s Later Hermione found a familiar crimson wax seal in the morning post. She immediately brought it to her parents as proof of their claims, and when they had relented, reached for the brand new telephone to inform her brother.
By noon tea came the knocking she had been warned of; Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, whose duty, according to the letter just received, was to introduce her magic and show her her options when it came to her magical education.
She spoke in depth of the importance of such an education, the consequences of disregarding it altogether; then briefly on the varied trade schools dotted about the country, the low cost but subpar in quality; of the costly ministry tutors one may acquire if a normal muggle education was wanted; and then she raved on Hogwarts, her Ulmamater, the varied courses offered, its expansive halls, and Quidditch.
Of all the things a magical school could have, Hermione’s parents had not expected a magical sport on brooms, “Hold on, hold on. Did you say brooms? A sport on brooms?”
The professor nodded, puffing her chest in pride, “Why it's the best sport out there! Played chaser for Gryffindor back when I attended.”
They turned to their daughter in bafflement, only at the last second remembering her friend's cover, “Had H-Sally mentioned that to you? Do they have a flying broom in that endless light weight trunk of theirs?”
“Sally?” McGonagall was curious.
“My best mate from boarding school,” Hermione eagerly offered, “they said they're half-blood, and that they could smell my magic from across the orientation room, we’ve been basically attached to the hip at every opportunity since!”
“Oh? If that's the case…” the professor seemed to drift off slightly in thought, “Well, as I have said before, I come primarily for the purpose of an introduction and guide into our world. My usual duties in this respect would consist of bringing you to our market for your school supplies and to help you learn to fit in.”
She paused to measure her retention, which Hermione obliged with an eager nod, “The muggleborns I have met with prior knowledge to our world, tend to prefer the guidance and company of their half-blood friends. We could organize that with your friends’ family if you so wish?” the professor looked almost wistful now.
Hermione allows herself to show her inward flinch, “I- I dont think that will be possible, ma’am,” she said, almost hesitantly, “Sally said their parents were killed in the war and that their guardians are entirely and boringly muggle.”
“War!”
“What war?!”
“Did you say their parents died?”
“-stuck with that rubbish excuse for an Aunt and Uncle?!”
“Yes, the War. Terrible business. Lost too many good men and women for my taste; and I must say, not a good topic for polite company. I shall leave the title of a few books if you wish to read up on some history; but we should really move on to business.”
She waved her wand about, muttering some nonsense incantation, and turning their table to a pig. She waved it again, and it was a table once more.
“What do we think then?”
“It's been Hogwarts since before I was born, Ma’am,” her eyes were piercing, and for a moment, for the slightest of a second, Minerva saw majesty only felt through Hogwarts’ Great Hall, and age only through walking climbing Ravenclaw’s tower.
Helga held her breath. Just her luck, alive still; virtually immortal since her bonding with Faux.
Why did Salazar have to hide his pet so far down? And how ever did she allow Edmund to grow so broody again? How could their other siblings?
Rowena; all logic and facts, and certainties would surely show sense with a well composed argument; Susan, their gentle queen.
Godric...
Helga shook the thought out of mind, of course. Even as High King—especially as High King—Peter cast a long shadow. And Edmund had always shown in the darkness, in the shadows of secrets, spies, and traitors.
And torches… where did her brother put the torches?
The gem of her staff glowed a soft yellow, “Lumos Maxima”
’Better, but could be brighter…’ She let loose a wave of magic; clearing the path, and lighting her way.
—
Susan roused from her deepest sleep, the first, most peaceful in weeks, the most quiet since she regained the memories of her past lives.
It was soon July 31st, the day after her brothers Neville’s birthday, a week since they had received their Hogwarts letters. If all went to plan, they would be meeting up to access their inner vaults at Gringotts… if all went to plan, they would be reunited with their gentle queen and just king.
Her early morning followed in a slight haze; strapped into her juvenile robes—the comfortable ones suited for a full day of tedious and uncomfortable heir business.
“Thank you, Bling. Is that all?” she frowned, spinning around her dressing platform, and getting a good feel for its comfortability… or lack of in any case.
“you’s veil, miss,” the stout house-elf held up a satin, greek style scarf, “you’s a young lady, miss, hogwarts age. Mistress-Madam Bonsie insisted.”
Inside Susan, Lucy let loose a sigh. ‘of course,’. She sat down in front her vanity, allowing her elf—Bling—to fiddle with her veil and her head in consequence.
“Anything else?”
“umm,” Bling fidgeted from side to side, “Bling is thinging Mistress-Madam Bonsie is stressing,”
Susan raised an eyebrow,
“Mistress bes wanting the mansion to be made clean and presentable for the Valiant Queen, Ma’msie Hufflypuff,”
She rubbed at her brow, “of course she is. . . Bling, please tell your siblings you lot don’t have to work that hard. Force Auntie to bed if you must, I shall speak with her shortly,”
“We’s be knowing, miss. Glimmer be putting mistriss-madam bonsie to sleep last night. We’s making her favorites for breakfast,” she held up a slim vial, “a calming draft, miss. us elvsie think you’s might be wanting it…”
The house-elf tilted her head as if hearing a sound, “breakfast is ready, miss. and Mistress-Madam Bonsie is twitching.”