March of the Black Queen

Interlude One: Friendship in Magic

Summary: Even the greatest of hard workers need a vacation, and the holidays between now and the start of her second year seem like a perfectly good time for Harry to have hers.

Grimmauld Place.

Old. Fortified. Brimming with the magic of wards strengthened immeasurably with age. Harry wondered if it would be a more welcoming place if it didn't have the smell of old that permeated everything. Kreacher just wasn't capable of removing the incredibly annoying smell that clung to everything from the curtains to the rugs to the carpetting in every room. Tearing it apart and refurbishing it was a laughably implausible idea. Harry huffed at the reminder that the wards in her own home rejected her attempts at gaining master access.

Her aunt Walburga had explained that they just recognized adults, a witch or wizard above seventeen years of age, as a master, and until she hit that age she could not alter the wards no matter how much she tried. Without that access, she could alter precious little. Kreacher himself could do little more than keep it clean. Walburga had held onto the wards as long as she could and with her dying breaths she had cursed it into being unhinabitable to her son and whoever he brought with him, all as a final act of revenge against the rebellious child that had so vexed her that would be more annoying than genuinely damaging.

The portrait put in the entrance hall was from before Walburga had gone absolutely nuts, which meant she just couldn't fathom the idea of doing such a thing to her own home. At most, she would've locked Sirius out permanently. Or brought the mansion down altogether.

Sirius himself had made very little in the ways of modification, as he had not cared enough to go into a renovating spree. Simple things, such as recoloring the master bedroom in Gryffindor reds and golds instead of Slytherin green and silver, as well as destroying the bed he had been conceived in and most of his parents' furniture. Walburga had pitched a screaming fit over it, but she usually did sweat the small stuff, so neither of the last Blacks living in Grimmauld Place paid her much attention.

There was not much to do in Grimmauld Place.

Most of the books that she had access to required a more thorough basis in the education she was to receive in Hogwarts. Everything that was within her academic reach had already been thoroughly perused, and the more advanced tomes the Black Family possessed were simply useless to her until she grew knowledgeable enough to make use of them.

This left her in a quandary. This was not the first time she was bored in her own home. In fact, it was common. But it had never bothered her before. Not this much. Had a year of being surrounded by people changed her so much? Had it truly affected her so deeply that she was longing to return to Hogwarts merely a day after arriving back at her home?

She had no owl. This was a problem, as she found herself with a strangely insistent need to contact her friends. She wished to give them her regards. She wished to contact Hermione and Lilith, in particular. And perhaps even Neville. She wanted to check on them to make sure that everything was going as it should, but she also wanted to talk to them... because she enjoyed doing so? It was an unanticipated experience, but not an unwelcome one. It would be so much easier to continue hanging around her friends if she genuinelly liked them.

Even Neville had become someone she looked forward to meeting, at least if only to see whether or not their victory against Quirrel had been enough to give him the boost in confidence he so desperately needed.

"... Kreacher, can you deliver mail?" asked Harry, once the boredom got too heavy for her to continue ignoring it as she busied herself with her homework for the summer (which, considering she'd had one of the smartest witches in the school as a study partner the entire year, or most of it anyway, came to be distressingly easy).

"If mistress wishes," Kreacher said, clearly uncomfortable with being used as a glorified Owl service.

"Excellent," Harry said, smiling widely for the first time since she'd arrived, tapping her fingers together as she did, unsure of why she did so. "I have a letter for you to carry for me to the Greengrass estate. Would you be a dear and fetch me a quill, ink and some parchment?"

One would ask why she needed such things, when she had been doing her homework mere moments ago. And one would then be informed that she was merely reading through the assigned reading that McGonagall had indicated would help with the homework they'd been assigned. For a third time. She was VERY bored.

Kreacher popped away, and shortly after came back with the requested items. Harry smiled at the elf's strange eagerness to please. Usually, he was a lot more surly. "Here you go, mistress. Will there be anything else?"

"No, that will be all, I will call you when I need you to make the delivery" Harry said, and then the elf had gone away, muttering something about cleaning toilets with a toothbrush.

"So she wants to use you as a courier service?" Daphne's mother asked, raising a delicately manicured eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over her blandly decorated sitting room to come upon her daughter.

"It's not like I can say no, is it?" Daphne herself replied, leaning back against the couch she'd been in when the strange, elderly house elf delivered the letter sent to her by the girl who had become simultaneously one of her best friends and her worst nightmare.

"Huh? Why's that?" asked a much smaller girl, looking genuinelly perplexed as to why Daphne wouldn't be able to say no to such a thing.

"Astoria, it's one of those things that I have to deal with since I'm the heiress and you don't," Daphne said, waving her hand indulgently, as if that would work to get the little girl to stop her train of questioning. It, obviously, didn't work. Daphne sighed. Her and her sister were like night and day. She was cold, calculative and, when offended, highly likely to respond with violence. By contrast, Astoria was peppy, cheerful and lively. When offended, she was more likely to get upset but otherwise fail to respond. Even their coloration was different, Daphne being blond and pale while Astoria was dark haired and pale.

"Explain!" Astoria demanded, pouting and crossing her arms.

"It's like this. Imagine that you have this friend, and everyone likes her," Daphne explained, trying to dumb down the explanation so that her sister who, unlike her, hadn't been raised to become a politician (she was most likely to wind up a trophy wife, unfortunately, which didn't necessitate her being very bright), could understand it, "so when you hang out with her, you get to meet all sorts of people you wouldn't normally meet, and since you're friends with someone they all really like, they all like you, too," Daphne continued, doing her best to put it in terms as simple as possible.

Her sister wouldn't understand anything about the political capital that Black's family commanded. She wouldn't understand why it was to their best benefit to be on the good side of one of the few families that could call so many favors from so many people, including other powerful families like the Malfoys and the Notts. The Greengrasses hadn't enjoyed much in the way of influence or power in the last two centuries, and Daphne saw a connection to Harry Black as the way to remedy that problem.

"But then they don't really like you, do they? They just hang out with you because you're with the cool friend everyone likes," Astoria reasoned.

"That's why I told you that being heiress is bad, 'Stori," their mother gently chided. "Daphne can't really stop to make real friends, so she has to make do with what she's got. She doesn't have to just think of herself. She has to think of what's best for you, and even for me and your father, so she can't do what she'd like to do or hang out with the people she would like to hang out."

"I did get pretty lucky. It was either Black or Malfoy, and only one of them is a spoiled brat," Daphne said. "Black seems to be content with letting me call the shots so long as it benefits her. Having to go along with her opinions is really annoying, though, particularly since she's so fond of defending muggleborns. I suppose magic is magic, no matter what blood carries it, but to think that such a family would produce someone like that..."

"Her father was worse," her mother said, sighing. "Sirius was a right down handsome bastard, but he and his blood traitor friend Potter were thick as thieves. I would say that they were brothers in all but name," she continued, almost oblivious to her surroundings. "A pity. Either of them would've made an excellent husband. At least Harry has an idea of decorum. Sirius acted like a dog."

"Well, it IS the dog star. I think he might have done it entirely to annoy his parents," a new, male voice came in as a mildly overweight man with a grave appearance walked into the room. He was as blond as his firstborn daughter, contrasting with his wife and second born, both of which had rather dark hair. "Is there any reason we talk about Blacks?"

"Good afternoon, father," Daphne said, nodding to the portly man as he took a seat near the magical fire that lit up the room and spread open a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Hi, daddy!" Astoria spoke. "Daphne received a letter and she was telling me about how her friend is cool and everybody likes her," the little girl shrugged.

"Harry Black knows I own an owl and wants to use me as a courier. I was trying to explain to Astoria why I can't say no," Daphne said, shaking her head. "I don't think she's quite got it."

The man laughed. "It's not a worry. I'm content with you knowing how to play, Daphne. Just to sate my curiosity, what is Black doing that requires your services as a courier?"

Daphne blinked as she recalled what the request had been. "She seems to want to organize a sleepover, apparently with an option to bring our parents along. This is an invitation open to ourselves, the Davis family, the Moon family, unlikely as that one is, the Bulstrode family and the family of a muggleborn named Hermione Granger. I think it might very well be the first time a Muggle set foot inside Grimmauld Place," she said, dryly. "I believe she is more bored than she wishes to let on, and I am guessing she's new to the concept of having friends."

"So are you," her father countered. "Don't attempt to stop yourself from forming attachment, Daphne. It only makes it worse and more painful when you do, and it might lead you to inadvisable behavior. Concentrate on growing attached to the correct folks, and you should be well enough. I suppose that this event can be called a rather good opportunity for me to finally get a real read on the heiress of the Blacks. I am not really sure where she stands, though I did not see eye to eye with her father. If she's another Narcissa in the making, I'd rather stay in her good graces."

Daphne sighed, but nodded. "I suppose I am, and it is," she said.

"Don't you think you are treating this a little too coldly?" her mother asked. "You don't seem to dislike Black."

"I don't actively like her, either," Daphne admitted. "I've walked on eggshells around her for the entire year. It's hard to become friends with someone when you're hoping your next word won't offend them and cut you off from the majority of your in-house backing."

"You're doing it again. This doesn't make sense. Why do you even need her? You're all charming and charismatic and stuff all on your own!" Astoria said, frowning at her parents. "Isn't she? Big sis is the best, daddy's training her, right?"

"I'm working with what I have, Astoria, and what I have right now is Black backing me up," Daphne corrected. "Some of us have disadvantages and there's nothing I can really do about it. Both Black and Malfoy started the game on advantageous positions. You could say they're cheating by starting out much ahead of everyone else."

"That's not fair!" Astoria whined.

"Life hardly ever is," her father said, patting her head. "That's why we've got to work with what we have to make it a tiny bit better every day. Me and your big sister are doing this so in the future, your children can start out ahead of everyone else instead."

Astoria continued pouting, however, and didn't seem likely to listen to reason any time soon.

"You'll soon learn, 'Stori, that the only unfair advantage is the one you don't have," her mother chided, causing Astoria to pout harder.

Daphne wished she would remain innocent and blissfully unaware of how the world didn't care about such notions as fairness and equality. But it was a sad fact that her sister would have to outgrow her innocence in order to not be trampled by reality and left to rot as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Huh. Her imagination had turned rather morbid there.

She guessed she had better get to work on fulfilling Black's request. At least she wasn't having her do this out of laziness, as Black was the kind to prefer doing such a thing by herself, it was most likely entirely because Daphne owned an Owl that could magically find the people that Black's house elf most likely wouldn't be able to. She mused that it was likely that the Blacks had kept tabs on the Greengrasses, given how easily Kreacher had been able to wander into their house.

Then she blinked, it was a sobering thought.

Black's House Elf had walked into their house with nary a care in the world. "Father. We have house elf wards, do we not?"

"Of course we do," the man said, frowning.

"... I think Black's elf might be a bit more dangerous than we gave it any credit for, then, because it just apparated right in."

At this, both of the elder Greengrasses blinked as the shock settled in. "Then... Oh dear, I just realized. Daphne, it sure is a good thing that you're in Black's good graces."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "You mean besides the fact that she could probably have her house elf assassinate us in our sleep with ease?" she asked.

"Yes. Because Arcturus Black the First was the one to design the wardscheme on this house, now that I recall. Which means that, more likely than not, our wards wouldn't even hinder your friend if she decided to go to hostilities. It's probable she does not know this, Daphne, so please don't mention it to her. Let's just hope she doesn't realize that her house elf appeared within our home instead of at the gates," the Greengrass patriarch spoke, somewhat frightened and showing it.

Daphne frowned. "It always comes back to that family, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately, yes. They had their hands in too many pies and their females in too many families. Ever wondered why they became so powerful and their position became so unassailable? I'm pretty sure you have Black blood in you, Daphne, as do I and your mother. Few realize how much power a wife has in a household, am I right, dear?"

The man's wife smiled prettily. "You should be glad you didn't marry a chronic backstabber, then."

Hermione blinked. She'd never expected to get an invitation from Daphne Greengrass of all people. She was vaguely aware of how her best friend's circle of friends worked, and Daphne hadn't ever seemed like someone who wished to get acquainted with a muggleborn in the least. Hermione didn't think Daphne was like Malfoy, who considered muggles and muggleborns to not even be worthy of licking the soles of his feet. Rather, Daphne simply had no interest whatsoever in them. Or so Hermione reasoned. After all, Harry was her friend, and she didn't seem like a pureblood supremacist in the least, which meant Daphne had to at least be open minded enough to accept muggleborns.

Speaking about Harry, further reading the letter of invitation that Daphne had sent her revealed where this was going. She didn't have an owl to reply, but the great horned owl that had delivered this letter was clearly waiting for her to reply to it. She smiled at the ridiculously intelligent animal and wished she had dedicated some time to learning what these creatures ate so she could give it a treat as a reward for its hard work.

Unfortunately, she had no idea what to feed it, and thus, had to focus on not making it wait further than it had to.

"Mum, dad," Hermione called, moving from her room (which seemed more like a library than it did a young girl's room) to her kitchen, where it was clear her parents had just been busy acting like teenagers. Hermione ignored that entirely, lest her mind go dwell in disturbing places. The least she knew about her parents' mating habits, the better.

"What is it, honey?" her mother asked, a tone of frustration to her voice that led Hermione to the conclusion that there might be a younger sibling in her future. She tried not to shiver in disgust at the thought of what they'd have to do to conceive another child. Stupid biology books. She'd be having nightmares for WEEKS.

Hermione tried to smile, but it was hard with the thoughts swimming around her head. "One of my friends from school," the one friend she'd actually call as much, but her parents didn't need to know that, "Harry, invited me and a couple others for a sleepover in her house, and she also invited us to bring our families along. Something about getting to know her friends' families," she said. "Harry is very politically minded," she added as an afterthought.

"So it seems," her father replied, frowning. "Don't you think she might be using you, Hermione? I mean, you have the best grades in school, she might just be using you so you can do her homework for her or something..."

Hermione didn't mind that he was looking out for her, even though she was mildly offended on Harry's behalf. It wasn't the first time someone had pretended to be her friend to get her to do their homework for them. Hermione had clung to those so called friendships because, even if she was used and discarded, it was still better than to be alone with nothing but taunts about your appearance and habits. "She's not. Not that way, at least," Hermione said, shaking her head. "She's very smart, and really doesn't have any trouble with her homework. And she does better in the practicals than I do. The only reason I consistently beat her is because I think she doesn't like writing essays very much."

"If you say so, dear," her mother said, silencing her father's protest. "You talked a lot about her in your letters. She's your first actual friend, isn't she?"

Hermione nodded. She had told her parents of how she'd met Harry, and they had expressed their concern for the girl that had faced a Troll in single combat. Particularly when Hermione mentioned how big trolls tended to be. That she had gotten injured had scared her parents and Hermione told them that it was a freak occurrence. She had heard something about Quirrel's disappearance before the last few days of school, but as she had not been involved, she didn't know the truth and thus hadn't told her parents much about it.

"You said the wizards are very old fashioned, in one of your letters. She probably wants to have a dinner party of some sort, and her parents probably wish to meet the families of their child's friends..." her father mused.

"That'd be unlikely. She's an orphan," Hermione mentioned off handedly. "I thought I'd told you that."

"Probably," her father amended. "It probably just slipped my mind," he said, shrugging.

"She lives alone. I think she's just lonely. Even I could tell she was as new to the concept of having friends as I was, and half the time, she doesn't know what to do. I don't think she's ever thought she'd find friends," Hermione admitted, frowning. "I like her a lot, and I don't want her to be alone the whole summer."

"Nobody deserves to be all alone," her mother said, nodding approvingly. "The least we can do is thank her for making sure you didn't forget to eat personally, yes?"

Hermione smiled, even though she was less than happy about the dig at her responsibility. She wasn't that bad. She'd only forgotten to eat once! "She invited everyone on saturday, to stay over through sunday. She's from a really old and really rich family, so I'm betting her house is probably really big... I can't wait to see it!"

"Kreacher, have you gotten what I asked for?" Harry asked, her eyes narrowed as she looked down upon her house elf.

"Yes, Mistress," the elf said, putting a rather massive muggle plastic bag on top of the large table in the dinner hall in Grimmauld Place.

"Excellent!" she said, smiling. "Do be a dear and set up rooms for all of my guests. You know the number," she said, pointing her wand at the plastic bag. "Wingardium Leviosa," she spoke, and the bag lifted into the air.

Kreacher stayed there for a few more seconds, but then he popped away, muttering something about disemboweling rats with a spoon, making Harry giggle as she walked to the kitchen. She hated rats and Grimmauld Place had been infested for a while. "Muggles are so inventive. The things they can do without magic are just amazing, wouldn't you agree, Grandpa Alphard?" asked Harry conversationally as she walked into the kitchen, where a portrait of Alphard Black, her great grand uncle, had been put in place after Sirius had reinstated the man into the family. Alphard Black had been the sole member of the Black family in recent history who'd learned how to cook. He just liked to do it.

"Indeed. Especially in the kitchen," the man said, approvingly. "Don't let Walburga hear you saying such things, though. She still thinks you're her darling pureblood princess."

"Aren't I?" Harry asked, tilting her head, curtseying to the portrait in an effort to seem cute.

"I wouldn't call you any stretch of the word 'darling', Harry," Alphard said, mirth in the aged face that clearly had a problem with facial hair. "Nevertheless, I assume you've got everything I asked you to get?"

"Of course. Kreacher was most reticent to visit muggle stores, but he can't deny a direct order," she said, smiling.

"Good! Then, let me teach you the glory of muggle cuisine!"

It was a pity Kreacher couldn't cook worth crap, though. If he could, Harry wouldn't have needed to get Alphard to teach her how to cook a large meal for more than a dozen people in a mere four days. Fortunately for Harry, Alphard did not in any way, shape or form expect her to cook the muggle way. On the flipside, she was getting plenty of practice for her charms, the way she had to repeat some of the spells so many times. Apparently, Flitwick had been less strict than was the norm for charm teachers, and that was despite reminding them at every turn about the dangers of improper movements or pronunciations.

Even knowing that the slightest thing could provoke a catastrophic mistake, she was still mystified when she somehow managed to make a strange brown, sticky sustance out of milk. She was entirely too classy to make a poop joke. And it didn't help that whatever it was actually tasted pretty good, even though it was a little too sweet for her tastes.

As the fourth and last day of her improvised cooking lessons came to an end, Harry decided to go with plan B and just hire a catering service. "We tried, Grandpa Alphard, but it seems I was too hopeful on learning to cook too fast."

"You've made massive improvements in just four days, and you're still young. You might want to develop your abilities a little more. You never know when it comes in useful. The wife was always happy when I greeted her with a personally cooked meal, at any rate," Alphard explained, smiling. "Plus, I don't see Kreacher learning how to cook any day soon."

Harry smiled. "It's not something I'd do every day, but... I can't say it's not an enjoyable activity. A bit messy, though... I suppose Kreacher does come in handy at times like this, even in the kitchen."

Kreacher could be heard grumbling. At least he liked that brown thing she made from milk. Maybe she'd have to try and recreate it at some point.

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place. Nevermind that it's number twelve despite having been the first house built in the place that is now London," Walburga Black intoned, as she welcomed everyone into her house. Okay, her granddaughter's house now, but she still called it hers to anyone who would ask. She wanted, desperately, to chew out the two halfbloods, Lilith Moon and Tracey Davis, but Harry had made it no secret that she would set her portrait on fire if she offended any of her friends. Darling pureblood princess or not, Harry Black was a Black and as such vicious to any that threatened the things she cared about. There was another portrait she could use to obtain advice from her, one that was in storage, and even though she couldn't be removed, it didn't mean she couldn't be destroyed.

It helped her nerves to think that Davis was magically stronger than her pureblood mother and Moon had saved her family from an entire generation of squibdom. She understood the value of fresh blood, but usually, the Blacks only added second generation witches or wizards when they had to freshen the blood. Their children would've been purebloods, after all.

"Hello everyone," her granddaughter said, warmly and cheerfully, exactly the way Walburga had taught her to greet people.

Walburga smiled at the sight of her granddaughter. For all of her flaws, and some had remained from the time she had spent with her father, that girl would be the future of the Blacks. Narcissa, Andromeda and Bellatrix had been such disappointments that Druella had nearly died from grief after Andromeda ran off with a muggleborn, Bellatrix went insane and Narcissa went against her father's wishes and married Lucius (originally Andromeda's bethroted).

One would wonder why the perfect pureblood Narcissa would be a disappointment, and Walburga had gone at length on why that was so. For all that she spoke about pure blood, what Walburga had truly cared about had been her family, same as her husband. That was the all important thing that she gave everything for. And Narcissa had chosen the Malfoys over the Blacks. Narcissa, on whom Walburga had spent so much effort, so much work, to turn into her heiress, into the schemer that would play her husband and the Wizengamot like a fiddle... had betrayed the Blacks to side with the Malfoys.

And that was unforgivable.

Sirius might have escaped to live with the Potters, but he was a Black to the end. Regulus might have joined the Dark Lord's forces directly against her wishes, but he had been a Black to the end. Schewed ideas and priorities aside, Sirius and Regulus Black both had been present for their father's funeral.

Narcissa had betrayed Walburga, and even worse, the Black family. And for that, she would pay. That was why Walburga indulged her granddaughter. That was why she tolerated mudbloods and outright muggles in her home. If she had to endure this so her granddaughter would one day carry out her heart's desire, then so be it. The girl was as much of a genius as Narcissa had been, and Walburga was willing to entrust the future of the Blacks to her, for the time being.

Time would tell whether her trust was misplaced or not, as several families walked through the entrance hall. But she had high hopes for Harry Black.

For now, it was time to wait and see, and perhaps keep an eye on her granddaughter and her friends.

Walburga still kept some secrets close to the vest she wasn't wearing, and one of them was how tightly tied to the wards her portrait was.

Besides, she was certain that the girl who'd never had a friend had absolutely no idea how to relate to one.

This sleepover was just bound to be hilariously awkward.

Lilith Moon knew that the Blacks were wealthy. She also knew that calling them wealthy was like calling an ocean wet. So the size and state of Grimmauld Place, the Blacks' ancestral manor, was not a surprise. But that didn't prepare her for the sheer power that she felt as she passed through the wards. The sheer power that overcharged the air of the house was enough to lift her mood and even her health. She understood that the reason her health problems weren't worse was that her magic was counteracting them as best as it could, and that it was also the reason she was so weak, magically speaking.

Now that her magic had a secondary fuel source that wasn't being shared by two hundred other people, however, it was clearly doing a much better job of it. It was in even greater concentration than in the Slytherin Common Room, and there weren't a dozen others leeching off the same power source.

She just wished her parents had been able to come. Unfortunately, neither of them had found the time with running their businesses to spend an entire weekend at someone else's home. A shame, since she thought they would benefit greatly from a little time breathing in the magic around Grimmauld Place. The house itself was impeccable, and clearly a House Elf or a few had put a lot of effort into fixing it up.

But she hadn't paid very much attention to that, as her eyes sought out their host, who was standing in front of the contingent of visitors as she lead them to the dinning room. She understood that the pair of muggles that even now remained attached to their daughter's sides had never visited a magical home before, but she still thought that their blatant staring was rude. Tracey Davis' muggleborn father was also quite clearly enthused by the display of wealth and power that the Black Family put on for them. Including, but not limited to, several portraits with golden plaques under them explaining just who they were, and what they did.

Lilith counted them as they passed, noting that most of them were named after constellations, stars or variations of them, and most of them were figures she could vaguely recognize from Binns' lectures. Most because the Black family was usually composed mostly of warriors and it showed during the Goblin Rebellions. Many of them were war heroes from those times, usually for massacring entire hordes of the rude little blighters. Serpentarius Black had been the one who pushed the Goblins of Clan Gringotts so far down their own caves that he'd made them sign the treaty that had turned them into what they were today, and Lilith was certain that the Goblins hated the Blacks for it even to this day.

The fact that Serpentarius' portrait was still and it depicted him standing atop a mountain of goblin corpses only marginally fazed Lilith, but she'd seen how spooked the muggles and muggleborn in the group had been at the ghastly image.

There were also several figures that hadn't come out of the Goblin Rebellions in the entirely too long hallway. Cassiopeia Black, who was credited with the creation of modern Broom making techniques, Arcturus Black, the man who had led the British resistance to Grindelwald's rule before Dumbledore took the helm. There were many females whose names were still listed as Black despite being married, and Lilith wondered if it'd be the same for Harry. If she'd still be called 'Black' first and foremost... or if she'd even have to change her name. She would have to find a husband who'd take the name Black and was also of appropriate breeding for her family, unlikely though such a find might be.

"Harry," the despicably clingy Granger asked, interrupting the tour of Grimmauld Place.

"Yes, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"... Is your family really this... violent?" she asked, gesturing behind herself. And she'd be right in describing the Blacks as violent, for their most famous members had become famous for their feats in combat.

"Violent?" Harry asked, blinking. "I suppose you could say that much," she spoke, shaking her head. Lilith pouted. If it'd been anyone but Granger, Harry would've been offended, Lilith mused. She was way too tolerant of the disrespectful muggleborn chit. Okay, so she was smart and not that bad once you could get her to relax and stop trying to shove a textbook down your throat, but Lilith didn't have to like her. And so she didn't. Even though Harry did and wanted them to get along, Lilith didn't tolerate the chit trying to monopolize their host's attentions. "But were we not the warriors that we were, you can be certain that we would be trampled under the heels of the Goblin Nation," Harry said, smiling at the girl. "We did what we thought best, each and every time, for the Wizarding World."

"Everyone does what they think is best," one of the two muggles stated, voice guarded. "Even people like Hitler and Mussolini..."

"Perhaps," Harry said, nodding.

Lilith wanted to just hex the muggle that had just compared some of the great heroes of the Wizarding World to some muggle. And the way he said it meant that they were probably famous muggle villains of some kind. She didn't like it one bit, but knew that she'd have to hold her tongue. She didn't know how to word her retort in such a way that wouldn't end with Harry disapproving of her.

"If I may, I'd suggest against disrespecting someone in their own home," a blond man who Lilith assumed was most likely Daphne Greengrass' father, given his family was clustered around said girl, spoke, "I understand that you might not know our ways and customs, but most families would not let a slight of this kind go."

The muggle man who had spoke before seemed put off by that.

"Well, dear, you are comparing her ancestors to Hitler. You're doing your best to be the worst stereotype for them," the woman he'd come with, most likely Granger's mother, spoke. Lilith rolled her eyes at finally finding SOME sense in that family. A pity she was surrounded by people without common sense.

"I see."

Then a third man, whose size rivalling that of trolls meant that he was most likely Milicent Bulstrode's father, put a hand on Granger's Father's Shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Some of us are more tolerant than Greengrass, and we understand that you don't mean ill by it," the man said, smiling jovially. He reminded Lilith of the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. "If you've ever got problems, just talk to me and I'll set you straight. Don't worry, considering how much snobs like Greengrass there insult me on a daily basis, I know just about every faux pas you can possibly make."

"Of course you would, Bulstrode," Greengrass said, rolling his eyes. "You commit every single one of them every time you open your mouth, after all," the blond man continued.

Their wives, both looking distressed, sighed. "We married children," they agreed in unison.

"I know the feeling," the only adult muggleborn in the room stated, dryly, as he pointed at where his wife was egging the two pureblooded men who were now trading insults. Lilith knew that man to be Davis' father, because they both had the same, vaguely reddish tint to their hair and he was so effeminate that Lilith now knew where Tracey got her looks from. Her mother was certainly no looker.

Their children all looked at Harry, who seemed to be confused by the strange turn of events. "It's just like Slytherin's common room," she said. "Well, except there's no blood purity debate like every tuesday..."

"You really have a blood purity debate every tuesday? I thought that was a joke!" Davis' father asked.

"You really did?" Tracey asked, raising an eyebrow. "I told you that it wasn't!"

"I thought you just wanted me to make a fool of myself in public," her father argued. "It does sound like something your cousins would do!"

"I am surrounded by idiots," Daphne Greengrass stated, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"And you love every second of it," Lilith said, smiling at her, knowing that it annoyed Greengrass more than anything else. Hey, she didn't like being called an idiot more than any other person.

"I so do not," Daphne countered, angrily turning to face Lilith, and both of them lost themselves to arguing about mostly pointless things.

While this was going on, Harry and Hermione at the front of the pack had been left utterly confused by the way the situation had developed, though Harry mastered her features in practically a nanosecond, it had still been visible how shocked she had been.

Hermione still looked confused as the argument began to wind down. "All of this because I asked a single question?" she asked.

"It does look like a Black Family reunion, though," Harry said, smiling at her and shaking her head. "Don't worry, I took the scenic route because Kreacher is setting up dinner as we speak, so this is just giving him a little more time to get everything ready."

"Kreacher? Is that the name of your butler?" asked Hermione.

"I do have a lot to explain to you, Hermione, so you might as well wait for dinner. I suppose I can explain to you, and your folks, what a house elf is on our way to dinner."

Hermione was torn as she sat for dinner. She couldn't condone slavery in any way, shape or form. And she wouldn't, ever, accept it. But her best friend owned a slave. Her best friend, who cared about her and who was a nice girl that Hermione saw as a predominantly good person... owned a slave, of all things. At least, that's what she'd thought when Harry had first explained it. But... it couldn't be like that. House elves could clearly think for themselves, and yet they were forced to work for Wizards and Witches. Like Goblins.

The Black family had enslaved the Goblins too, hadn't they? At least, she'd read that the Blacks were responsible for the creation of Gringotts and the subjugation of the Goblins to the ministry of magic. They'd cut down Goblin after Goblin until a smarter one rose to the head, and together they worked on the terms that would allow the goblins a place in society, below humans. Gringott was at once reviled and respected for this, as he had saved the Goblin Nation by forcing them to bend when they would not.

But was that a bad thing? According to Binns, until that happened, the Goblins kept rising up again and again, causing untold deaths and mayhem, as well as putting the statute of secrecy in danger each and every time. So... what was better? Enslaving them but allowing them to live, or genociding them so they were no longer a constant problem?

There was no middle ground to that answer. Peace could not be reached with the goblins, even after the wizards defeated their insurrections time and time again, they still kept rising up to the challenge and getting smacked all the way back to the depths of their tunnels. This explanation had lead the Granger family to separate themselves from the group to have a more private conversation, just outside the dinning room.

"Is it okay?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed. "How can it be okay?"

"From what she explained, it sounded like a symbiotic relationship to me," Hermione's father commented, frowning. "But I don't know if that's enough to justify having a slave..."

"It's not okay," her mother countered, "slavery is not, and will never be, okay no matter the circumstances."

"What right do you have to judge?" a new voice suddenly cut through the Granger family's argument. Hermione recognized the man who interrupted their talk as Tracey Davis' father, who was a muggleborn who had married a pureblood. Perhaps he would have a greater insight? Still, what he said was incredibly rude and it had caused her parents to bristle. "You're coming into a culture that isn't yours and immediately judging their practices as morally bankrupt," the man lectured, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, so you're telling me it's okay to own slaves now?" the sole muggle female in the house asked, glaring at the adult muggleborn wizard.

"Harry's explanation of house elves was only a bare bones version of the truth. House Elves absolutely need to belong to a wizarding house such as this in order to survive. They've become so addicted to our magic that they can hardly survive without it. They need to either live in a place with an extremely high concentration of magic, such as Hogwarts or even here, or to be bound to a witch or wizard family, in order to survive. They also absolutely love to do household chores. They were named house elves for this reason. Some magical creatures have really weird habits that even confuse me sometimes, and I've lived in this world exclusively for a little over fifteen years now," Davis explained, shaking his head with a chuckle. "What I'm saying is, you're jumping to conclusions too fast. The elves are not slaves, because they made a choice. Newborn elves aren't bound to a master. They must consciously make the choice to become bound to a wizard or witch. And the number of abused elves is extremelly low because few are stupid enough to make an enemy of the being doing your laundry and cooking your food."

"You could've just said that, no need to be rude," Hermione's mother said with a sniff of disdain.

"Eh. When you deal with a bunch of pompous assholes every single day in your life whom you can't make fun of because your marriage's continued survival depends on their whims, you'll notice how cathartic it is to be an asshole yourself every once in a while," Davis said, waving his hand. "I'm just hoping Tracey doesn't do something stupid and break off her friendship with our host."

Hermione's father frowned. "So you see Harry as merely a stepping stone on your way up in society?"

"Pfft, no," Davis replied, laughing. "I see Harry as a stepping stone in Tracey's way up in society. I'm a muggleborn. I started Hogwarts at the bottom rung on the ladder, married a pureblood and produced a halfblood girl that started halfway there. Harriet Black puts Tracey near the top merely by association. Same as your daughter, really. Have you had to deal with many blood purist snobs, Hermione?"

Seeing the expression of confusion on their daughter's face, both of the Granger parents surmised that Hermione hadn't had to deal with the less savory members of Wizarding society for very long periods of time. "You mean like Malfoy?" she asked.

Davis nodded. "Had my own Malfoy. Thankfully he was two years above me so I didn't have to survive him for too long. My condolences on sharing a year with one."

"I think only Malfoy's really been like that. I've heard snide comments from Zabini and Nott once or twice, but not much more than that," Hermione confirmed, nodding.

"And now you know why. This society seems really simple at first glance, but there are a lot of nuances and subtleties that you'll miss if you're not careful. You were lucky, Hermione," said Davis, frowning slightly. "Anyway, if you've got doubts on anything, I'm always open and I can give you a muggleborn's perspective on things that the others just can't give you. And yes, I'm always open because I'm a househusband, since my wife runs her family's store."

"Thank you," Hermione said, nodding at the man. She hadn't asked for such information, and honestly didn't really care.

"That goes for you two, too," he said, gesturing to Hermione's parents. "I would've loved to have someone who could tell me what to do and what not to do, and trust me, it's a really, really long list. I'll help you out as much as I can. I've got a muggle address if you need to mail me. Also, sorry about being a prick earlier, but it's really cathartic. I wasn't kidding about that."

The two muggles in attendance looked at each other. "We'd be thankful for any clarification you could provide. Starting with table manners to not embarrass Hermione here..."

"Oh, that's simple! Just don't chew with your mouth open. Just look around you to see which fork you're supposed to be using at the moment, though you should also try to keep your looks discrete. And of course, don't interrupt the host if she's talking. If I've pegged her right, she won't until we're done with dinner, at which point she'll serve us dessert and then we can talk freely. She doesn't seem to be a stickler for the old rules and I doubt she'll be as stuffy as other pompous gits like Malfoy or Nott. You lucked out here, even if you are extremely rude, Harry seems to like your daughter a lot, so she'll probably let just about anything slide. Greengrass might be an ass about it, but from how amused his wife and children were, I think he's just putting on an act. If my wife were here, she'd make a fuss about it, but she's not, so... Anyway, this is a casual event, so don't worry too much about it. If it weren't such a casual event, neither Greengrass nor Bulstrode would've spoken to either of you and we'd all be wearing really stuffy robes that are hard to move in. Also, my ball and chain would be here., but I digress. Beyond what I've told you? There's not much else to say. I'm just really going to stress the fact that you should not confront Harry outright, if you absolutely have to, then bring it up to her attention in private and don't make a big fuss about it. She looks like a nice gal, and again, she seems to like your daughter a lot, so you've probably got a lot more leeway than say, I do, but you shouldn't push it."

Hermione's father blinked. "You know, that sounds like the first time I met my in-laws," he said, wearing across between a frown and an amused smile.

"It's sort of like that, except that you could potentially ruin your daughter's future by offending one of the most important figures in our world, one that could make her life hell with impunity. The virtues and benefits of being rich, pretty and powerful, eh?" the effeminate man finished with a grin.

"Okay... I guess," Hermione's mother said. "I'm still not convinced about house elves."

"If you don't like it, you just have to accept it as an unfortunate fact of life. You're just never going to convince old pureblood families to part with their elves, or the elves to part from their families. Just about the only kind of elf that would like being free would be one that's physically abused. Or insane," Davis commented. "Anyway... have fun. I have to find Tracey and talk to her for a bit. See you in a minute or so," he said, cheerfully.

Hermione frowned, as did her parents. Did she really want to live in a society that aided and abetted slavery? Did she really want to be friends with someone who owned a slave? But... Harry was nice, and kind... and she was her first friend... was it so bad to own an elf if Harry did? Harry wouldn't own an elf if it was a bad thing to own an elf, right?

It needed more thinking, Hermione mused.

Dinner passed without much incident, and soon, it was time for the parents to depart and the girls to settle into their rooms for the night. That is, until Tracey protested that it wasn't really a sleepover unless they all slept in the same room.

Kreacher swiftly prepared the master bedroom to allow more people than it usually did, and made mention of something related to the old use of the room, but none of the girls paid much attention to him, and his comment only earned raised eyebrows.

Once they were all settled in, Harry looked at her friends. "Ah... I'm quite embarrassed to find myself in this situation, but as you can tell, I am not very experienced in this. Perhaps you might enligthen me on what it is we should continue the night with?"

Tracey smiled. "Well... how about scary stories? I know a reeeally good one! It's even real! It all happened some years back, in a summer camp called Crystal Lake..."

Lilith spent the night buried under her pillows and covers, shaking from head to toe. Millicent thought about the fact that she had cousins with a name similar, if not identical, she'd have to check the spelling, to the story's 'villain', so to speak. Daphne believed the story silly, and she scoffed at the thought of a deranged mother accidentaly turning her son into an inferius or something along those lines ("It's just something you can't do on accident! It just doesn't happen!"). Hermione thought she recognized the tale, but couldn't quite remember from where and Harry wondered what about it was supposed to be scary (indeed, old war stories her auror father had told her as bedtime stories were scarier than that... particularly since he could show her the scars he got when he barely escaped).

She went on to tell a few of those, remembering such moments, when sleep would not come and her father soothed her nerves, with fondness. The stories themselves weren't anything too great, and they lost a great deal of impact when they were told second hand, but she supposed that the fact that she could attest that they were real was enough.

Milicent told of the story of where the rumors of the troll blood in her family came forth. It was a silly thing, as Barnabas Bulstrode had never, in fact, lain with a female troll in his life. He much preferred the males.

Lilith was still too scared by Tracey's ice breaker to tell her own story.

Hermione found herself grinning evily. "I have a story to tell you, a story about a man and a woman who loved each other very much..." she heard, more than anything, the disappointment expressed by Daphne and Tracey, who'd expected a fun, funny story like the one Milicent had told, but then Hermione shushed them, surprising herself with her bravery at doing so. "... And they loved their job very much, for it was their pride and joy. They had gone to school to learn their trade, and they did so with great haste and conviction. Indeed, they obtained their license to perform their favored activity."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow.

Smiling sweetly, far too sweetly, Hermione began to describe the details of her parents' job. Everything she had seen and heard was narrated to her suddenly captivated friends. Everything, from the harmless, painless explorations... to the much more painful and disturbing details, such as drilling into teeth, or even forcefully pulling them out. About that one time the drill had malfunctioned and caused a great shower of blood. About the time her mother had to reconstruct a man's jaw in an extremely long, difficult and complex surgery.

And at last, she finished, explaining their unholy glee at the creation of their spawn.

"Hot damn, Granger, muggles have some of the scariest people I've heard about... And those are supposed to be healers!?" Milicent asked, clearly shocked.

"Want to know the best part?" Hermione asked, smiling once more.

"... The two you spoke about... they're your parents, right? That's how you know the story," Harry hazarded, though she was clearly trying to hide behind her pillows.

"Yes!" Hermione confirmed, crowing in victory as they all flinched at the thought of having such people in the house.

Sleep would be troubled for all but the muggleborn, that night.

"... I have practically unlimited wealth at my fingertips, but no knowledge of how the other half lives," Harry informed her party as they descended to the kitchen to have breakfast (this one offered by Harry, as simple things she could manage with ease, even if she wasn't ready for a formal dinner or even close to it). "So yes, what I am suggesting is exactly what you think I am suggesting."

Hermione's smile looked like it would split her face in half.

Seeing Harry smile in return made Hermione feel warm and fuzzy, as if all was right with the world.

Hermione was not a frequent visitor to busy London, but unfortunately, neither were her parents. Still, they had acceded to accompany the children, along with Mr. Davis, on their trip to London, as it was not a good idea to leave children unsupervised on the entirely-too-gray city. Particularly when four of those children were entirely too naive to the muggle world and its complexities, and all six were armed with lethal weapons that might just go off without their consent if things went south.

Still, the adults believed Lakeside to be a safe enough place for them to leave the children unattended long enough to get a cup of tea and rest after being dragged around London for the better part of three hours by a group of overly energetic, overly enthusiastic girls just entering puberty. It was just as well, as the girls had entered a clothing store not too long ago to change their out-of-fashion clothes with something more... up to date.

All on Harry's money, of course. The Granger parents' eyes had nearly been ejected from their skulls when they'd learned that for a 'fun' shopping trip, Harry had brought along no less than fifty thousand pounds. Obscene by any account, but what made it worse was that Harry was legitimately surprised when they defined it as overkill. They were walking around, trailing behind her and the group... and they felt like commoners attending to a naive noble on a shopping trip. Technically, there was a noble title attached to the name Black, but Harry hadn't made a big deal of it so they supposed it was just for ceremonial purposes.

The children had begun to make use of Black's super hard earned money almost immediately. Ice cream had been sampled and deemed similar, yet different, from its magical counterpart, fast food of several different kinds had been tasted, trips to trinket stores had been made and magazines purchased. Harry even encouraged the Grangers themselves to benefit, and Davis cautioned against rejecting such a gift.

After all, it wouldn't make a dent in Black's balance, and she was offering. It would be rude to say no. Most rude, in fact.

Still, they were glad for some peace and quiet while the girls set about dressing Harry in the most bizarre way possible. Daphne, Milicent and Lilith had no idea how muggle fashion went, and were just mystified by the skirts they were shown. Some could've even passed as belts! How a self respecting adult would ever wear such a thing, they didn't know.

Harry was just glad they hadn't tried to put those on her.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Know Nothing Know-It-All herself!" a smug sounding, irritating voice spoke, suddenly cutting the fun off. Harry pouted when the jumper she was trying to put on refused to remove itself from the tangle of limbs that had trapped it in place, with no one to help her.

Hermione groaned. "Josie," she said, her tone flat and annoyed in the extreme.

Interrupting their merrymaking was a girl that could be described as pretty, in a plain way. There was nothing about her that truly stuck out, and she was basically generically cute. It was strange, but contrasting with the witches that Hermione found herself surrounded with on a daily basis, she really was just plain, if still in an aesthetically pleasing way, she supposed. Contrasting with the beautiful Daphne, who would clearly grow up to become a stunner, or even the frail and sickly Lilith, who even in her pallor looked almost unnaturaly pretty... and that wasn't even mentioning Harry, whose eyes were too bright to be real, her smile too nice and warm...

Once, Hermione had been jealous of how pretty Josie was, and wished she could get her bushy hair to look like that girl's wavy locks... but now? Daphne's hair was so much nicer that Hermione had something else to strive to and envy.

"Oh, is that some hostility I'm picking up?" she asked, and the two twits behind her, both as plain as plain could be, laughed.

"As a matter of fact, yes, yes it is. I dislike you. Intensely. I would rather like it if you would kindly leave us alone," Hermione said, flatly, crossing her arms over her newly bought black top.

"Oh, come on, surely you can introduce me to your friends! I assume they're for that boarding school of yours, Herms?" Josie suggested.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you insist. Harry, Daphne, Lilith, Milicent, Tracey," she said, gesturing to each girl in turn, lingering slightly on Harry, who was yet to dominate her jumper, but who just barely managed to push her face through the hole it was meant to go through. "These are Josephine Crawford and her friends... I... can't seem to remember their names," she admitted sheepishly.

"Why would we give our names to a bookworm like you?" one of them asked, hotly, clearly offended by the perceived slight.

"Ah... What is going on here?" Harry asked, somewhat confused. "Do you know these girls, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed. "Unfortunately," she confirmed.

"Really, I have to wonder what it is you girls see in the bookworm. All she ever does is read her books," Josephine stated, shrugging.

Harry sighed. "I'm afraid we will have to cut this reunion short. I really do need to use the restroom. Let's pay for our purchases and depart," Harry said, gesturing towards the cashier.

"So it happens, as do I," Daphne mentioned. A very, very subtle elbow to the side forced Tracey to attention, and she barked an agreement herself.

Milicent didn't require such prodding, and neither did Lilith.

"If you're ever around, and need someone more interesting to talk to, I'm always open to some conversation," Josephine offered, gesturing with her hand towards herself before offering it to Harry.

Harry frowned, then looked at Hermione.

Josephine retracted her hand. "Ah. I see," she said, frowning slightly herself. "Regardless..."

It took a while, but finally, they cleared the shop and Hermione turned to Harry and the others, who trailed behind her as they headed in a seemingly random direction. "Thank you, that would've probably gotten awkward fast."

Harry shook her head. "I wasn't lying to get us out of an awkward situation. I really do need to use the restroom," she admitted.

"Coincidence of coincidences, I wasn't lying either," Daphne admitted freely. "I had no idea how to bring it up without making myself look like a fool, though," she continued.

Daphne felt, more than heard, the palms that, almost as one, struck Tracey, Milicent, Lilith and Hermione's foreheads. "The future of the wizarding world, folks," Tracey commented.

Both Harry and Daphne pouted in retort.

"Are you looking forward to another year?"

"Of course I am, grandmother," Harry said, to a seemingly empty room, looking at the door though she was focusing her attention on the portrait behind her. "I'll start on that little sidetask of yours this year. My target happens to have intelligence comparable to that of a flobberworm, so it should not be too complicated, but still..."

"I bid you good luck, child," Walburga Black said, an almost imperceptible nod accompanying her words, "and thank you for doing this old crone one last favor."

"Always, grandmother," Harry said, though even the most blind, deaf and stupid man could tell that she didn't mean it.

"I suppose I am lucky this happens to line up with your own objectives. Nevertheless, I will take what I can," Walburga admitted. "Do not disappoint me, this I beg of you."

"Never," Harry said, and if Walburga could see her face, she would've seen the fire burning in her eyes. "I can't allow failure. Not now, not ever."

Not a single further word was spoken.

Grimmauld Place was lonely, silent and grim as ever.