Harry Potter and the Four Founders

A Fanfiction Story by Darth Marrs

Description:

Powerful Harry, Multi-Ship. Post OOTP. No Slash. Rated M.

Disclaimer:

Yeah, you get it. I'm poor. JKR is rich. I didn't come up with any of this, and JKR did. So I don't begrudge her riches, and she by her own good grace and an understanding heart has not begrudged us playing with her characters. So long as we don't try to publish anything from it for profit, of course. ;)

Author's Note:

The basic premise of this story was inspired by Gryffindor's Harry Potter, The Heir of Magic, which was put up for adoption by the author, however everything beyond the most basic start is my own creation. .

Important Notice 06/05/2012—After an announcement by fanfiction dot net that the rating policies will be strictly enforced, I've determined that large parts of this story did not meet the guidelines given in the ratings system. Therefore, this story has been heavily edited for content to comply with the newly enforced rating. The original, unedited version is available in my yahoo group.

Harry Potter and the Four Founders

"You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

-Albus Dumbledore,

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Chapter One: In Which Hogwarts Does Harry

"You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

Harry stood trembling in the Headmaster's office. Around them lay the remains of Dumbledore's many instruments, shattered by Harry's rage. Their argument continued; Dumbledore calm and sad, Harry yelling at the top of his lungs in a storm of anger more powerful than anything he had ever felt before.

"It is my fault that Sirius died," Dumbledore finally said. And he explained. He explained how it was his fault for not being open with Harry. He explained just how thoroughly the trap had been sprung on Harry, and how thoroughly he fell into it with all his friends.

He explained how he knew exactly what he was doing when he gave Harry to the Dursleys. How he was knowingly condemning Harry to ten long, dark and difficult years. He explained how he had formulated a brilliant plan, only to see it fall apart because of his supposed care for Harry.

And then he spoke of the prophecy.

The one with the power to vanquish the- Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.

The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mist of the pensieve. The silence within the office was absolute. Dumbledore stood as still as any statue, while Harry stared down into the pensieve.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry spoke at last. He did not look up from the cauldron that showed the memory. "It... did that mean … what did that mean?"

"It meant," said Dumbledore, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breath caught in his throat and it took willpower to force it through his lungs. "It means - me?"

Dumbledore merely stared at him, providing his answer to deafening silence. "The odd thing Harry," he said at last, "is that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll's Prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then … but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?"

"The official record was re-labeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Dumbledore. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring."

"Then it might not be me?" said Harry

"I am afraid," said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "that there is no doubt that it is you."

"But you said - Neville was born at the end of July, too - and his mum and dad..."

"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort … Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. And so he did, Harry He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"But he might have chosen wrong!" said Harry. "He might have marked the wrong person!"

"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him," said Dumbledore. "And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pureblood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far - something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

"Why did he do it, then?" said Harry, who felt numb and cold. "Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then"

'That might, indeed, have been the more practical course," said Dumbledore, "except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assure you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My - our - one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."

"This eavesdropper only heard part of it?"

"He heard only the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you; that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not"

"But I don't!" said Harry, in a strangled voice. "I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or - or kill them –"

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," interrupted Dumbledore, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you."

Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died… More to stave off the moment when he would have to think of Sirius again, Harry asked, without caring much about the answer, "The end of the prophecy… it was something about… neither can live…"

"… while the other survives," finished Dumbledore.

"So," said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him,

"So does that mean that… that one of us has got to kill the other one… in the end?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, Harry could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone for ever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already; even now a part of Harry still believed that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking back at him, greeting him, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark…

"I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry," said Dumbledore hesitantly. "You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess… that I rather thought…you had enough responsibility to be going on with."

Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard.

Harry stumbled out of the office without any idea of a destination. Without any idea of a reason. His legs moved because otherwise he would have fallen forward. His eyes looked everywhere but he saw nothing.

Finally, his legs did stop moving. His body continued forward, and Harry fell to the stone floor with a sob. "I can't do this," he whispered as tears pooled on the inside of his glasses and made the stones glisten. "I can't. I'm so tired. I need help. I can't do this alone."

He felt sudden warmth and weight across his back. A comforting arm. "Her…" he started, looking up. The tears ran down the interior of his glasses onto his cheeks, leaving streaks of distortion in his vision that faded quickly under the water-repelling charms on his lenses. Even so, there was no mistaking the features looking down at him now.

"Mo…mum?"

"Come with me, my son," Lily Potter said. Her voice sounded at once distant and immediate; warm and yet cold. It seemed to echo through the halls even as it whispered directly into his mind. "Come with me."

He rose to his feet. At some instinctive level he knew this had to be another trick. Voldemort was trying to rape his mind again. He was being led to his death. Yet, he was so very tired. It felt as if watching Sirius fall through the veil had stolen from him his will to do fight. To live.

If the Mirror of Erised were there, he would have gladly lost himself to it. Just so, he gave himself up now to this beautiful vision of his mother. He rose to his feet, conscious of her arm across his back guiding him to the third floor.

It was the Room of Requirement. The door was already open, waiting for him. She guided him inside and the door sealed behind him. He did not look over his shoulder. He saw nothing but a bed laying in the center of the chamber, surrounded by a circle of light that made the rest of the room fall into darkness.

They paused before the bed, and comforting hands began pulling Harry's shirt from his shoulders. He simply stared at the bed, so mentally and physically exhausted that he could not really focus on what was happening.

That changed when the hands started working on his belt. "Mum?" he said, confused.

It was not his mother. He looked around, and she was gone. Before him stood another figure, familiar and loved. "You were injured," he whispered as he stared into her warm brown eyes. "You're in the hospital wing."

"Hush now, Harry," Hermione whispered as she undid the latch of his belt.

His hands came up to stop her. She looked up and smiled at him. He found himself staring back in confusion. It was a look of love and adoration, but there was something ancient in her eyes. This wasn't the expression of a teenager in love. Hers was the expression of a woman staring at a lover. Yet, it was still Hermione's face. Still Hermione's hands that placed one finger against his lips, while with the other hand she finished unbuckling his belt.

Only then did he realize what she was wearing. Or wasn't. It was a white gauze gown that flowed down around her. He could see her body clearly through the flimsy material.

"I don't understand," he said, choking.

"I've been waiting for you," she said to him. He knew he should be backing away from her. He loved Hermione so much, but seeing her like this was wrong.

Yet, he could feel his body responding to the sight of her. "Hermione, please don't…"

He looked up, mortified, but Hermione was gone.

Luna Lovegood now stood before him, clad in the same shimmering gown. "I've been waiting for you for so long, my love," she said. With two shrugs of her shoulders, the gown fell away. Hers was not the body of a teenager. Hers was the body of a woman full grown, like right out of the magazines his cousin Dudley hid under his mattress.

"I don't understand," Harry said, almost begging. Luna leaned over him. Her breath smelled of apricots. He struggled and fought to keep his eyes on her face. "Luna, what is happening?"

She smiled at him and leaned down until her lips brushed against his chest and the small down of hair that had begun just in the past year or so to grow there. He shivered under the electric contact even as his body responded with near painful force. She looked up at him, and he choked.

The blonde hair was gone, shifted to a rich, raven black. Silver-gray eyes turned cobalt blue, and somehow he found himself staring into the face of Daphne Greengrass. "I have waited to love you," she said.

He was so confused and excited that he could no longer frame any type of protest. He felt cool, slender fingers trace their way down his chest, down further and further until…he gasped aloud at where the hand stopped. "I don't understand," he said again. "What's happening? Who are you?"

His breath caught and he stared in surprise, pleasure and shock at beautiful woman straddling him. Only, the black hair was gone, replaced by honey blonde locks framing an oval face

"Susan?" he gasped. Is this it? Is this what making love is like? He asked himself.

She reached down and grabbed his hands, and pulled them to her chest. As he ripped his eyes up, it was once again Hermione Granger making love to him with gentle, rocking motions. "I have waited a thousand years to love you," she said to him. Once more, her voice sounded as if it were both whispering in his ear and pounding into his head from the very walls. "A thousand years have my halls waited for the Chosen one. A thousand years have I longed for the seed to make us whole. I have waited long enough. I will love you, Harry Potter. You are the Chosen One. You are the Heir. I am for you."

Harry's breath rasped now as raw sensation burned through his body. All thoughts of guilt, of pain and of memory bled away under the blissful feeling he was experiencing. Once again it was Luna, then Daphne, then Susan. Their faces blurred before his eyes even as the body remained the same, until they settled into the features of a new face. A face at once beautiful, young, vibrant, and undeniably ancient. Still their movements grew frenzied as Harry's body took over where his stunned and confused mind left off.

She kissed him—the kiss was as intense as the lovemaking. It felt as if she were stealing his breath, but he gave it wholly, so consumed by these new sensations he did not even need to breathe any more. At last their lips parted and he found himself staring into eyes that shifted colors from brown to blue to green.

"You belong to me now," she whispered. "The heir has returned. The lines will be restored. The prophecy will be fulfilled. Take this, my love."

He found something in his hand. It was an amulet, a circle of gold with a large amethyst in the center. The stone appeared quartered, and one of the four house banners was engraved into the stone at each of the corners. As he stared, the amethyst grew suddenly hot to the touch. He cried out in pain as it burned into his palm, then through his palm. He watched in horror as it literally burned down through the skin.

Yet, a moment later he stared at his unblemished palm. He stared back up at the woman. "What is happening? Why are you doing this to me? Who are you?"

She smiled down at him, beautiful and mysterious. "I am Hogwarts," she said. Her voice reverberated from the walls itself. "This room is my heart. And with your sacrament of life and love, I have bonded with you."

"Buy why?"

"Because you are the heir. You are the final hope. The last of the bloodlines. In you flows the magic and blood of Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff."

Harry shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. I'm just Harry Potter. And what about Slytherin! I can't be related to him."

She leaned forward, and once again he felt fire as her body brushed against his. She continued leaning forward until her lips touched his scar. This time, the fire felt real and burned as badly as when Voldemort attacked him.

"You are the heir of Slytherin's magic by that mark," she whispered into his ear. "The old Heir of Slytherin marked you as his equal, and with the destruction of his body, transferred the magic of Slytherin into you. Thus you became the child of the prophecy. And thus you became the heir of the Four Founders. It is through you, Harry Potter, that the Four Lines will continue. And it is through you that light will be restored. You are the heir of the founders. You are the heir of magic. Know that I shall always love you, and you shall always be welcome within me."

Then it all ended, abruptly.

He found himself laying naked on the cold flagstones of the Room of Requirement. There was no woman; there was no bed. Just a naked Harry and a pile of clothes nearby.

He stood, confused and even a little hurt. "Hello?" he asked.

The room did not answer. He stood and without any alternative, began pulling his clothes on. "It must have been a dream," he said to himself. Then he shook his head with a wry grin. "Some dream."

If he had been older, or more experienced, he would have questioned why there was no mess on his body, no evidence of his activity. But he was only fifteen, and never thought to wonder why the only evidence of his dream was the distinct smell of a woman's sex.

He left the room, and as the door closed, the room behind him suddenly flashed with pink light and the tinkle of a woman's warm laugh in the distance.

Hogwarts was happy.