Chapter Text
“Ah, Heir Potter.”
And there it was. Harry pauses, in the process of leaving the Great Hall as an older wizard and witch just so happen to… ‘bump’ into him so to speak. Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass, with the latter not quite hanging off the former’s arm, though it’s obvious from their respective body language that Draco wishes Daphne would show more interest in him.
The Dragon Prince and Ice Princess of Slytherin. Though those titles both did Draco too much credit, and Heiress Greengrass not enough. Harry had not been idle, since arriving at Hogwarts. He had not dragged his feet, in learning all he could about the movers and shakers within the Castle. Heir Draco Malfoy of House Malfoy was a smarmy, poncy git… and also very rich and very influential, thanks to his father.
Meanwhile, Heiress Greengrass was the one of the two who had actually been made Prefect. With raven-black hair and a killer body hidden behind an icy attitude and crunchy exterior, the beautiful Slytherin Ice Princess was certainly unforgettable. Right now, though, she was looking down on Harry. They both were, but Daphne was far more overt about it, clearly disdaining Draco’s attempt to get in good with a First Year, no matter who that First Year was.
Harry doesn’t mind. Being underestimated is rather the point, isn’t it? And so, he puts on the mask with ease, acting the part of the child he’s supposed to be as he smiles hesitantly at Draco and gives a slight, awkward bow.
“Heir Malfoy.”
His tone doesn’t waver, his voice doesn’t stammer, though he’s tempted to put in a stutter, he ultimately decides against it. Better to appear like he’s putting on quite the brave face. Indeed, this seems to be the right move, if Draco’s wolfish, slightly approving, but far more predatory smile is any indication.
“We were all so thrilled to here you were coming to Hogwarts this year, Heir Potter. Might I introduce you to Heiress Greengrass?”
Harry bows again, ever so slightly more with Daphne than he did with Draco. The Dragon Prince does not notice… the Ice Princess however, does. Her eyes narrow, her interest suddenly piqued as she barely falters in the step forward, she’s taking. The sigh coming out of her parted lips is twisted into words with ease, as she offers him her hand.
“Charmed, I’m sure.”
Harry takes the hand and gently kisses the back of it, more specifically kissing the left knuckle, where a ring would be if she were married. Given that she’s not married, the light touch of his lips upon that ring finger is more of a challenge, an aggression, than not. If he had no intentions upon her person, he would stay far away from that left knuckle. By doing as he did, one might think he was staking a claim on her.
… They would be right. Daphne Greengrass is a beauty, and even if she wasn’t, he would still be interested in her. After all, Harry can create beauty out of ugliness easily. He cannot, however, quite so easily accumulate power and influence without drawing the wrong sort of attention from the wrong sort of people. Heiress Greengrass is a witch that Harry eventually wants for himself, not just because he likes the look of her, but because of what she can offer him, once he has her under his thumb.
All of this, of course, plays out in his head as he pulls back from the kiss and makes eye contact with the raven-haired Pureblood Witch.
“It is an honor, Heiress Greengrass.”
His voice gives nothing away, still that ever so slightly nervous waver to it that he had when addressing Draco. On top of that, Harry applies the faintest blush to his cheeks, to make it abundantly clear to Draco and anyone else watching (like for instance, the Headmaster, seeing how the man is carefully studying their interaction even from all the way up on the High Table across the entire length of the great Hall) that he’s completely out of his depth.
Daphne however, who had stiffened up at the feel of his provocative kiss on her ring finger’s knuckle, is staring at him piercingly at this point. Harry can see the gears turning in the Ice Princess’ head, as the Slytherin Prefect tries to figure out if he did it on purpose or accident. Did he actually know all the correct forms, or did he know not what he did?
The indecision and uncertainty wafting off the Greengrass Heiress would be palpable, but she’s good at reining herself in, controlling herself. Harry’s eyes don’t quite twinkle as he pulls away from her entirely. That indecision, that uncertainty, are crucial to his plans. After all, if she were to think he knew exactly what he was doing in this moment, she would be forced to respond immediately, to rebuke his attempted claiming of her. But if she were to think the opposite, that he’d unequivocally made a mistake and it meant nothing more, than her curiosity and interest in him would die in the cradle and that just wouldn’t do.
No, he’d gotten everything he wanted out of this exchange already… all that was left, was to finish up the song and dance that Draco was forcing them through.
“You’ll soon find that the world does not quite operate the same way as Hogwarts, Heir Potter. Heir Greengrass and I might be of Slytherin, while you are of Gryffindor, but the enmity of our Houses will ultimately come to mean nothing in the greatest expanses of our lives. Plainly put… you’ll find that some wizards and witches are more worthy of your attentions then others. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. Luckily, I can help you there.”
Draco’s little speech, a bit long-winded for Harry’s tastes, has drawn plenty of attention their way. While Harry has plenty of time to speak up and respond if he wants to, he sees an opportunity to hesitate and takes it. As such, he never has to say a word… because before he can speak, Ronald Weasley steps in.
“Oi! Malfoy! Get your paws off our firstie! Harry Potter is a Gryffindor, not like one of you scheming snakes! He don’t need your filthy ‘connections’!”
It’s quite amusing, seeing the so-called Dragon Prince rapidly lose his cool in the face of the Weasel. Pale features coloring remarkably fast, Draco whirls around, hands clenching into fists as he snarls in the face of Ron’s interruption.
“This has NOTHING to do with you, Weasley! Heir Potter would do best not to hang out with riff-raff like your sort, no matter the House he was sorted into!”
“Say that again!”
Ron goes for his wand, but Draco is right behind him. Before either can draw though, in full view of the High Table filled with their teachers, another voice rings out, feminine and sharp and derisive as can be.
“What the hell is wrong with you both?! No dueling outside of class! Ten points from Slytherin and Gryffindor!”
Prefect Hermione Jane Granger steps in, and with the loss of points, both Draco and Ron turn on her with stiffened spines and glowers. Harry can see the instinctive desire to shy away in the muggleborn witch, but to her credit, she willfully ignores it, instead standing her ground. SHE was who Harry was truly waiting for. Ron was just the one to get there first, but Hermione had been priming to act even then.
Hiding his internal smile, Harry watches as things play out. Ultimately, Draco and Ron back down. They have to, in the face of Hermione’s authority. But of course, that doesn’t stop them both from getting off parting shots under their breaths.
“Fucking nosy little know-it-all…”
“Don’t let that temporary power go to your head, Granger. Won’t be long before you’re thrust out into the real world with the rest of us.”
Both speak loud enough for Hermione to hear them, but she reprimands neither of them. Instead, she flinches, her store of confidence clearly already spent. Her face looks drawn and tired, as she leaves the Great Hall moments later, trying very hard not to look like she’s fleeing. Harry, who has managed to be completely forgotten in all of this, slips out after her, his curiosity finally reaching a crescendo.
He was aware of who Ms. Granger was, by this point. He’d looked into her far more closely, after that incident with Parvati and Lavender. She’d caught them but done nothing about it. Why? Harry now knew why, as it so happened. He’d… looked into matters a bit more closely.
Despite being a Prefect, Hermione Jane Granger was a social pariah. The muggleborn witch had come to Hogwarts with a brilliant mind… and not a lick of wizarding sense instilled in her by her parents, due to their lack of magic. Muggleborns were naturally disadvantaged in the wizarding world. While there had been moves made in recent times to try to combat this effect, the insular nature of their world meant it was quite simply difficult for outsiders to find their bearings and create a foothold for themselves.
No amount of book reading could possibly makeup for a complete lack of foundational teaching that came from being raised in a wizarding household compared to a muggle one. Oh sure, you could learn all the magic in the world via books and extracurricular studying, and from what Harry had gleaned, Hermione had done precisely that.
However, it didn’t matter. Wizards and witches with too much personal power but not the political influence to back it up, usually ended up not lasting long. Some were labeled Dark Lords and Dark Ladies. Some had unfortunate ‘lab accidents’ while researching their chosen field. And plenty more were simply ground down by the apparatus that was the adult wizarding world.
Draco was right, in that at least. Hermione’s power WAS temporary, no matter how much she studied, no matter how hard she trained. Without the proper backing from someone higher up the food chain then herself, the beautiful brunette would end up in some minor clerk position within the Ministry, never finding the space for advancement. She would either waste away there or get pushed out of the wizarding world altogether. And if she made the choice to leave magic behind… well, her wand would be snapped, and her memories erased. And while that would be such a waste of such a beautiful, brilliant mind, those at the top could care less.
Harry though… Harry cared. Hermione was a social pariah, with no friends and more than a few bullies. Her primary tormentors had been Draco and Ron from what Harry knew, and only in recent years, after becoming a Prefect and growing into her more mature, beautiful body, had Hermione started to find the confidence to stand up for herself. Even still, it was clearly a work in progress.
This was no more evident then the state Harry found the older girl in when he finally tracked her down to an out of the way empty classroom. Hermione had left the Great Hall behind, and retreated here, where she was currently sniffling, wiping her eyes to try and get rid of the tears currently falling from them.
He watches her for a moment, but alas, it doesn’t seem like she’s inclined to stop crying before he would need to leave in order to make it to his next class. And so, Harry is forced to interrupt, clearing his throat and calling out to her as he steps into the room, the door closing shut behind him.
“Prefect Granger.”
Hermione stiffens, and to her credit, with her face still concealed from him and only her back profile available, surreptitiously goes for her wand. When she realizes a moment later that its him, likely finally recognizing his voice, she doesn’t attack, but instead uses her wand to cast a small cleaning charm on herself, likely to fix her no doubt blotchy face and red eyes.
Hm, she’s quite skilled. Silent magic is no small feat for one such as her, and if it wasn’t for Harry’s numerous advantages, he wouldn’t have been able to tell she was casting magic at all, from how tight and contained her wand movements were. Done, Hermione slips the wand back away like it was never out in the first place, before turning to face him a second later.
“Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?”
Her tone, brisk and no-nonsense, is a clear attempt at trying to give nothing away. However, Harry doesn’t fail to notice the way her gorgeous brown eyes flicker down to his crotch for the slightest of moments, no doubt in remembrance of what she’d caught him doing with two of her Year and House Mates.
Putting a soft, boyish smile on his face, Harry spreads his hands apart.
“I wanted to check on you, Prefect Granger. Make sure you were alright. Heir Malfoy and Mr. Weasley shouldn’t have said the things they did. They were quite rude.”
That provokes a half-scoff, half-laugh from Hermione, who shakes her head in response.
“People can be quite rude, when they think they can get away with it. I am fine, Mr. Potter. Sticks and stones might break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”
A muggle phrase, almost certainly. Harry can’t help himself. He peers at her silently for a moment, before responding.
“But magic’s entire basis is in words, Prefect Granger, and magic can be quite harmful indeed. While there are plenty of spells and enchantments that would defend against as primitive of weaponry as sticks and stones. Quite frankly, Prefect Granger, the phrase doesn’t hold up.”
Hermione stiffens at his matter of fact explanation, her lips thinning and her eyes narrowing for a moment. She’s clearly trying to decide if he’s bullying her or making fun of her or what. Harry leans into his childish attitude and youthful appearance, making his eyes wide and earnest as he stares up at her. In the end, Hermione decides he’s not so bad, if the burst of laughter from her lips is anything to go by.
“Hah! Precocious brat, aren’t you?”
Letting a slightly wicked smile spread across his face, Harry transitions things into the next stage of the conversation as smoothly as he possibly can.
“I think we both know I’m a bit more than that, Prefect Granger.”
As Hermione stiffens, Harry takes a step forward. Only the one though… he doesn’t want to scare her away.
“After all, we both know what you saw, the other day. Please don’t make me spell it out.”
That last part is tacked on when he sees her getting ready to deny it. Hermione’s shoulders slump at his words, and she looks much more guarded now as she gazes at him warily.
“… Yes, I saw you with Patil and Brown. I suppose I was right then, to think you the instigator, rather than the victim.”
Smiling coyly, Harry tilts his head back and forth.
“Well, yes and no. Lavender certainly instigated, back on the train. And she brought Parvati into things without my express permission by telling her about me. Still… I wouldn’t call myself a victim, by any stretch of the word.”
“No… you’ve been in complete control the entire time, haven’t you, Heir Potter?”
Its her first time using the title that Draco had used. Harry hadn’t bothered correcting Malfoy out in the Great Hall. Doing so, declaring himself Lord Potter rather than Heir, would have drawn EXACTLY the wrong sort of attention that he’d been trying to avoid. But here in private with Granger?
“Actually, it’s Lord Potter… but you can call me Harry.”
From the way Hermione’s eyes flash, it’s clear the muggleborn witch doesn’t know enough to know the true weight of what he just said. Which, fair. She’s clearly very well-learned book-wise, but the sort of things you needed to be taught to survive in the cut-throat, incredibly political wizarding world weren’t usually written down in places where muggleborns could get to them.
No, rather than her eyes widening in shock at his status, she’s more annoyed at him bandying it about. Which is why Harry allowed her the use of his given name immediately after correcting her, in order to take the sting away. Alas, even the impact of that offer seems to be somewhat lost on her.
“… What do you want with me?”
Hm, neither title nor given name. A good middle ground for her to strike. She had some instincts to her, perhaps beaten in over years and years of bullying. Still…
“I wish for you to answer a question of mine, and then, I wish to strike an accord.”
Silent for a moment, Hermione’s face twists and she scowls as she waves a hand through the air.
“Ask.”
Shrugging, Harry leans forward.
“Why did you not rat us out? Why did you not report our indiscretion to Professor McGonagall?”
At that, he gets a raised eyebrow.
“You did not already know? Hm, I figured since you seemed so informed…”
She trails off for a moment, before shaking her head and giving him the answer, he sought.
“Professor McGonagall gave all of us Gryffindor Prefects instructions the other night about you. We were to leave you alone, to your own devices, no matter what we saw.”
Wait, what? Harry can’t help the way his eyebrows raise at THAT. Hm, truly? Why would the Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor Head of House do such a thing? Was it some ploy of Dumbledore’s? She was supposedly his creature through and through, was she not?
The answer left Harry with more questions, but then, all the best answers always did. And these questions, he knows full well Hermione cannot provide further answers towards. Nodding his head in acceptance, he moves on, gracing the older girl with a broad smile.
“Secondly, the accord. You are muggleborn.”
Before Hermione can do more than bristle, his smile grows.
“So was my mother. Lady Lily Evans Potter, said to be the brightest witch of her age. She married my father, and they had me. That makes me a half-blood, on top of being a Wizard Lord. Suffice to say, I do not have the same prejudices as my Pureblood counterparts. I would be a hypocritical fool.”
Looking a fair bit more confused and off-balance, Hermione crosses her arms over her ample bust and frowns.
“Get to the point.”
Acquiescing, Harry bows his head.
“But of course. I wish to offer you a trade. I want you to tutor me in advanced magics. I am far beyond the First Year curriculum but cannot show it to those in charge. You alone will know what I am capable of… and have access to my resources in turn. For teaching me what you know, I will teach you what I know as well.”
He already has her. Oh, she does a great job of hiding it, but there’s a glint in her eyes from the moment he mentions access to his resources. A smart muggleborn witch like Granger has long since realized that she’s being held back by what she’s capable of getting her hands on. It’s not even a matter of money in most cases either, per say. Rather, the Wizarding Houses hoard knowledge as much as they hoard wealth. The Library here at Hogwarts is limited in its scope. Granger has probably already plumbed its depths and come to the realization that she needs the backing of a Wizarding House to progress further.
Backing that she would never get without subordinating herself to them, effectively entering indentured servitude and taking their table scraps. But Harry wasn’t offering that. And he was young enough that she could feel safe around him, despite what she’d seen. The mind was so very good at tricking itself into believing what it wanted to believe.
Still, Hermione has enough self-control to not immediately leap at his offer like a starving hyena. Shifting from foot to foot and feigning disinterest remarkably well, she sniffs haughtily, a clear attempt at emulating a certain Heiress Greengrass.
“And what do you think you know that I don’t?”
Grinning, Harry spreads his hands apart again.
“Quite a lot. And no, that’s not meant to be an insult, simply the truth. I will offer you my family’s knowledge, Prefect Granger. Both magical… and social in nature.”
Hermione was doing a bad job of hiding her excitement, but she pauses at that last bit and frowns again.
“Social?”
Letting out a sigh, Harry shakes his head.
“Prefect Granger, you are… clearly out of your depth when it comes to social interactions with both your peers… and those the wizarding world would consider your superiors.”
Hermione flushes at that, but he’s phrased it in such a way that she has nothing to argue with. In the end, all she can do is jerk her head up and down in a reluctant nod.
“I’m offering my assistance in learning to navigate the social and political minefield. Not just the one here at Hogwarts… but the one out in the real world, as well.”
He leaves off the other part that he wants to say. Just like my father did for my mother, all those years ago. Hermione isn’t ready to hear that just yet, for all that Harry intends to do EXACTLY as James Potter did for Lily Evans and bring Hermione closer and closer to him. The brunette muggleborn has drawn his attention.
Her mind is a true treasure, and her body can be whatever he wants to make of it. But first, he needs to get in nice and close with her. And after years of being tormented and tortured by those who could be considered ‘like him’, Hermione will take time to… mold and shape into the witch he wants her to be, and who she needs to become if she wants to survive in the greater wizarding world.
He doesn’t say that. He leaves it at what he’s already said, and watches as Hermione hesitates for only a moment more before doing what she’d wanted to do from practically the beginning.
“Deal.”
Harry smiles and opens his mouth, only for Hermione to cut him off.
“We can discuss details later. Right now, it’s time for you to get to class.”
Blinking, Harry takes a moment to mentally check the time and realizes, unfortunately, she’s right. He’s going to be a little late in fact. No matter, it’s Transfiguration and apparently, he has Professor McGonagall in his court, for some reason…
Giving Hermione a much fuller, lower bow then he gave either Draco or Daphne, Harry takes his leave, heading to Transfiguration with a smile on his face and some pep in his step. He did so love it when a plan came together…
-x-X-x-
“Detention, Mr. Potter.”
Walking into Transfigurations five minutes late, Harry is caught a little off-guard by Professor Minerva McGonagall’s immediate callout of his tardiness. Given what Hermione had said, he’d thought… but no matter. She doesn’t draw any further attention to it, and he’s not the kind of person to raise a fuss or make a protest. At least, the façade he’s constructed isn’t that kind of person.
She doesn’t ask for a reason why, or a note, and he doesn’t have a note anyways, so Harry just ducks his head and gets to his seat. Within moments, his fellow First Years have forgotten all about it and are focusing once more on Professor McGonagall’s lesson. Harry, meanwhile, spends most of the class plotting out his own lesson plans with Hermione Granger, as well as his OTHER plans for the brunette Prefect.
That’s not to say he’s not paying attention. He’s giving the Transfiguration Class precisely the amount of attention it requires of him, which is minimal, to say the least. Everything McGonagall is saying, he’s heard before. Everything she’s teaching, he already knows. When it comes time for the practical lesson, as is often the case with Transfiguration, Harry manages his in no time at all, earning some points for Gryffindor in the process.
And then the class is over, Harry goes about the rest of his day, until finally, later that night, he makes his way back to the classroom to meet with the Transfiguration Professor for his detention. Minerva McGonagall awaits him, looking as severe and wizened as she ever does, even as he approaches her desk, affecting wariness, curiosity, and contriteness all the while.
She watches him for a long moment, before drawing her wand and casting some spells in silence. Harry tenses, but she’s not casting at him, so he relaxes. He tenses up again, however, when he realizes she’s casting warding charms to lock down the classroom and keep nothing and no one from getting in or out. Seems a little overkill for a simple detention, and Harry has to keep his panic from his face, even as he starts assessing his chances of getting out. Is this a trap by Dumbledore? Is the Headmaster lurking nearby? Is he- why is McGonagall kneeling?
“Lord Potter… it is my greatest pleasure to once again serve the family in a direct capacity. What is your Will?”
For a moment, Harry just stares down at the old witch, nonplussed. This… surely not? McGonagall was supposed to be Dumbledore’s creature! None of the journals had mentioned THIS! But then, they wouldn’t… if she was what she seemed like. While this could be a trap, Harry… didn’t think it was. Reaching out with his magic, he begins to see what he had failed to notice before. The mark of House Potter was all over Minerva McGonagall. Not visible to anyone outside the House, but to someone like him? It was plain as day to see that she was one of theirs, through and through.
“Explain.”
Without raising her head, Minerva bobs it up and down in agreement.
“Of course, Lord Potter. It has been my great honor to serve two generations of Potters before you. I was initially taken in by your grandfather, Lord Charlus Potter, many decades ago. After, I had the pleasure of serving Lord James Potter in more subtle ways when he first came to Hogwarts. In all that time, I have been careful to keep the Headmaster in the dark. He knows not of my true loyalties, instead thinking me to be one of his closest friends, dearest confidantes… and stalwart sycophants.”
Here, Minerva finally raises her head and smiles softly.
“So much so, that he has no idea I informed the Potter House Elves of his plans to leave you at the Dursleys so they could spirit you away. To this day, he does not suspect me.”
That’s… wow. Harry understood why Minerva’s true loyalties hadn’t been written down… two could keep a secret if one was dead but write something on parchment and you might as well have left the secret out where anyone could find it. Even the greatest wards, even the greatest magical defenses, did not present the same level of informational security that was keeping things in your mind to be passed down by word of mouth.
But then…
“How many others?”
Minerva’s eyes widen and so does her smile, her gaze glittering as she grins at him.
“You are quick, Lord Potter. Even quicker than your father. There are others. Many of us who still live from your grandfather’s time work in the Ministry and present a decayed, but still lingering influence for House Potter there. Here at Hogwarts, meanwhile, there are three others. You will likely meet them in due time if they are loyal.”
He’d wondered but had never dwelled on it for too long. After reading his family’s diaries, he’d wondered where the people influenced by past generations had gotten to. He supposed he’d convinced himself that his father had been so in love with his mother that James limited the permanent influence to just Lily. But no… no, he had been a Potter Man through and through, just as Harry was.
Hm, this was good. This was more than good, this was great. But one thing was still bothering him. Peering down at McGonagall’s wizened, wrinkled, aged face, he frowns. She certainly looks prim and proper, and like she’s aged somewhat gracefully. But for a Potter witch…
“This is a guise, isn’t it?”
Minerva blinks, and then blushes.
“Oh, my apologies my Lord. Yes, o-of course it is. Self-transfiguration, applied every month by mine own magic to… keep up the ruse.”
Bringing her wand up, she taps it at several points on her face, neck, and chest… and the magic unravels. Self-transfiguration was a dangerous prospect at the best of times, but for a Transfiguration Mistress, Harry supposed it wasn’t out of the realm of question. A Transfiguration Mistress who was also a secret Potter witch, meanwhile…
The years almost seem to melt off of Minerva McGonagall. She goes from looking like an older lady, to a beautiful middle-aged witch in the prime of her life in mere moments. Potter Magic at work, of course. And not just in her suddenly smooth, pristine face either… the rest of her body has clearly been worked on by Potter men for quite a long while as well. Her tits fill out, until they’re very nearly each the size of her head. Her waist slims down an inch more, while her hips grow wider.
Yes, this is the body of a Potter witch. He can see his father’s influences in Minerva’s shaping, though he can also see the work of someone older than James… his grandfather Charlus, obviously. Nodding slowly, Harry walks around the kneeling witch, taking her all in and humming his appreciation. Then, he speaks.
“Strip.”
“Yes, my Lord!”
Minerva’s response is jubilant. She’s eager to please, and if Harry is being honest, he’s eager to BE pleased. Within moments, his Transfiguration Professor has bared her gorgeous, busty, voluptuous body to him, stripping out of her robes in record time and tossing aside her panties and bra just as quickly to be able to expose every last inch of her flesh.
Reaching out, Harry grabs hold of one of her tits, his young hand still small, especially in comparison to the massive mammary.
“Hm, you gave me detention.”
Minerva lowers her head in shame at that.
“I-I apologize, my Lord… it was the only way to get you alone that I could think of without drawing the Headmaster’s eye.”
Harry nods, silently agreeing with her. He didn’t actually mind… but he doesn’t say so. Rather, his mind is already whirling through the possibilities of this beautiful, gorgeous red head in front of him. This Potter witch, who had been molded and worked on by his grandfather and father before him… and now was all his, to do with as he pleased.
And one thing was certain. Harry wasn’t one to not take advantage when an opportunity, gift-wrapped and offering itself up to him, landed in his lap.