10: Margaery I

Two primal feminine forces of sex and beauty clashed. Red and white. Smoldering embers of fervor and zeal. White-hot sparks of obsession and passion that burned hot enough to blind. They circled around each other. Around and around, seemingly agreeing with each other only to snap and bite a moment later. They centered on a single point. A man exasperated and just about done putting up with their shit.

Like everyone else, Margaery could only watch. Like watching a bird travel back and forth between branches. Her head swiveled from one woman to the other. Willas' head did the same. Grandmother seemed bafflingly able and willing to ignore them. As did their hosts. As if they were used to this impossibly… unique scene. As if they'd suffered it over and over again to the point it had grown stale.

The red-headed Melisandre — Priestess of an Essosi god — practically burned with seduction. The blonde, almost Valyrian-silver-haired Fleur — Witch of Hogwarts and the White Coven — seemed to exist on a whole other level from any other woman in the room except for her sister, the much more reasonable Gabrielle. Both of the women — and the sister — were simply gorgeous. Unfairly so. Almost inhumanly and unnaturally so. They were the Maiden made flesh. An ironic comparison in Margaery's mind, considering neither of them seemed at all concerned with the Faith of the Seven.

"There is only one true god…"

"Oui. On this, we are agreed."

"We all burn in his flames…"

"His divine passion~! His love~! And we exalt him in return~!"

"He plants the seeds of life."

"Oh~! Oh, how I wish~…"

"You even bear his flames. Your Veela nature, as you have told me. Surely, you cannot deny R'hllor," Melisandre argued.

At that, Fleur scoffed, "I very well can! As if I would let some flaming foreign 'divine' touch my heart, soul, and mind! Never! My perfect, sensual form belongs to my beloved Atlas and he alone~! Only he makes me burn so~!"

"Then you truly cannot deny R'hllor," Melisandre asserted. "Your Atlas is Azor Ahai, R'hllor's chosen."

"Ah, what shame~… You recognize his greatness but you are deluded," Fleur swooned dramatically.

"As if you're one to talk… And I see I'm back to being Azor Ahai now. Damn bird…" Atlas muttered to himself. Closest to him at the table, Margaery and Willas couldn't help but laugh. Farther down the table, Fleur and Melisandre continued clashing and bickering.

Margaery noted several things in the exchange. At first, she couldn't help but balk at the blasphemy of it all. But she'd never been the most faithful adherent of the Seven, not like Mother or Garlan. And recent personal changes had made her much less quick to jump to declaring heresy. Though she wouldn't have 'declared' that anyway. Grandmother had raised her to be smarter and shrewder than that.

But there was also the way Fleur said 'divine' that caught Margaery's perceptive interest. Not as if she didn't believe in them. But as if she knew something more about the subject than even the devoted priestess. Another thing caught Margaery's ear as well.

"Does this… argument happen often, Lord Atlas?" She asked Atlas.

Heather laughed across from Margaery, "You could say that, yeah."

"They haven't let it rest since they met," Atlas explained, flashing Margaery a rather charming smile. "And call me Atlas. We're still getting used to the constant use of titles."

Margaery nodded, forcing herself to remain composed before that smile, "Then I must insist you call me Margaery as well. Do your people not have noble titles?"

"We do," Narcissa nodded at her from a little way down the table. "We simply don't use them as often as Westerosi Highborn."

"How fascinating…" Margaery mused. "You all have my condolences, of course. I couldn't imagine being ripped from my home as you have been. Truly, magic can be as terrifying as some of the stories say…"

"It can be," Atlas nodded. "It can also be brilliant. As I'm sure your brother will see tomorrow."

"You can truly heal my leg?" Willas asked, a touch of understandable but unseemly anxiety entering his voice.

"For sure," Heather assured. "Madam Pomfrey is very good at her job. Ask her to tell you about the time she regrew all of the bones in my arm if you're feeling nervous."

"All of them?" Willas looked both disturbed and fascinated by that story. Margaery couldn't blame him, feeling a touch green herself.

"It's a rather simple procedure," Hermione explained studiously. "We even have a potion for it. Well, for growing bones back in general. But that comes in handy when bones up and disappear."

"Dis-…? Disappear?" Willas' mixed feelings only grew with that.

"The skeleton can be an ungrateful bugger, can't it~?" Heather jested.

"Oh, can't they~?" Luna chimed, somehow sounding as if she wasn't joking… "So uncooperative. The bone robots inside us should really be nicer to us. We're the ones piloting them and all. But then, I suppose we should be nicer to them as well~…"

"Alright, girls," Atlas chuckled. "That's enough of that for the dinner table."

"Ah, t-thank you," Willas stuttered ever so slightly and nodded to Atlas.

A brief silence settled over their section of the table as Margaery and Willas came to terms with the amazing and unsettling realities of magic. Or perhaps that should be their hosts' eccentricities, Margaery thought. Lady Luna in particular seemed to be an expert in putting people off their stride. And the others worked around her rather well. An impressive familiarity, Margaery nodded to herself, on slightly more familiar ground.

"There is only R'hllor!" Meanwhile, in the background, Melisandre continued her clash with Fleur.

"Non! Atlas! There is only mon amour~! Mon bien-aimé~! And I shall see that he never blesses you with his divine attention, Hérétique!" Fleur shot back, the air practically alight with her words.

"You, You dare?!" Melisandre gasped and hissed.

"Who else but I~?! Few others are worthy! Only my sisters in love~! Certainly not you!" Fleur held herself with arrogant, fanatical pride.

Atlas sighed in exasperation. Margaery watched as he turned a stern gaze onto both of the divinely beautiful women. Something unseen pulsed. Something that made Margaery nearly gape and gasp herself. A near physical weight settled with his gaze. His very will loomed over the clashing women. Commanding and unswayable, it was a Lordly presence. To feel such made so real… it set something inside Margaery aflutter.

"Fleur. Polite company," Atlas chastised.

"Melisandre. Watch it," Atlas warned.

Melisandre instantly reined herself in. So much so that she suddenly seemed like a different person, bowing her head in shame, "Yes, my Prince. My apologies."

Fleur swooned, "Ah, of course, beloved~. And thank you for showing the Red Heretic her place~…"

Atlas rolled his eyes and ignored them, addressing the rest of the table, "Sorry about them. I hope they didn't ruin anyone's appetite."

"Most of us are quite used to them by now," Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes quite literally twinkling as far as Margaery could tell.

"You keep a lively court, Albus," Grandmother sniped.

"Better to be lively than to be dead, Olenna," Dumbledore quipped back. "Something I'm sure you feel all too intently."

Margaery blinked. When had the two of them gotten onto a first-name basis? She knew they'd exchanged letters but surely there still should have been distance between them. Yet they got on like men after a fight. Margaery knew her Grandmother. She could tell when she was enjoying herself, the little tells that most would never see. And now, Olenna Tyrell was very much enjoying herself.

Grandmother sniffed, "If I am feeling it, then you must already have a foot in the grave."

"Certainly," Dumbledore smiled sardonically. "I've already picked out the most comfortable coffin for myself. And when I am gone onto that next great adventure, my portrait will keep young Atlas from getting too big in the head."

"Hmm, portrait, you say?" Grandmother hummed. "Who is your artist? I may have to see about commissioning a piece for myself."

"Twofold," Dumbledore happily explained. "Filius there takes care of the charms and magic in the final product. And our castle Caretaker Argus Filch paints the portrait itself. He is a man of many talents, all required to keep this storied castle up and running, though also a man of difficult interactions."

Atlas groaned to himself, "Merlin, his portrait is going to be insufferable…"

Margaery blinked, "Do you find your Headmaster's visage so disagreeable, Atlas?"

"No, it's more about suffering his quips and particular brand of humor. It'll be even worse than it already is when he's just a frame on the wall," Atlas answered.

Margaery blinked again, as did Willas, "I don't… understand…?"

"Oh, it's truly fascinating!" Hermione happily explained. "Wizards and Witches have portraits that are given magical life. Not actual life, of course. There are no souls involved as far as anyone can tell. But impressions of the subject are stored within the painting and from that, they can talk and interact with the outside world and even other magical paintings! Hogwarts has many examples. I'll have to introduce you-…"

Margaery listened as the young woman rambled but she'd be the first to admit most of it went over her head. As far as she could tell, the topic was as fascinating as Hermione said. Magical paintings? A way to communicate with the memories of those dead and gone? Truly incredible. But when Hermione went into the specifics, citing learned men and women Margaery had never heard of… well, Margaery found herself rather lost.

Heather smirked at the impression that must have been on Margaery's face, "You get used to it. It's part of what makes Hermione so lovable. Our resident bookworm."

Heather's interruption brought Hermione up short and she blushed, "Ah, I'm sorry. You have no real frame of reference for anything I'm talking — rambling — about, do you?"

"I… do not…" Margaery shook her head, slightly hesitant but mostly in awe. "But it warms my heart to hear a woman so learned speak so passionately."

"You're a learned woman as well, aren't you, Lady Margaery?" Narcissa asked, gently and perhaps slightly leadingly, as she bounced a babe in her arms.

"Not in the same manner," Margaery replied, returning to familiar conversational territory. "I have been trained and taught as the only daughter of a Great House, not with studies that would make even an Archmaester envious. As well, I believe congratulations are in order, Lady Narcissa. Your son, how old is he?"

Narcissa smiled, the expression slightly knowing, "Nearly a year now. He is a blessing. As was Draco, my firstborn. But after so long, I'd almost forgotten what it meant to be a mother."

"And the babe's name?" Willas asked as well.

"Aries," Atlas answered. "Aries Black. The first Wizard to be born in Westeros. An honor, as I'm sure you'd expect."

Willas raised his glass in a semi-casual toast, "Here's to many more then."

"Hear, hear!" Sirius — Lord Black — joined the toast to his… nephew if Margaery understood the relation there correctly. "Atlas may not agree at the moment but I aim to give Aries, Celeste, and 'Delirious' as much of a family as I can!"

"You are not naming our child 'Delirious'," Lady Amelia growled, unladylike but understandable in Margaery's mind.

"But Amy~…" Sirius whined, putting on a petulant mummer's farce in good humor. "It rhymes!"

"I will have you neutered, mutt," Amelia threatened. "Even if I have to do it myself."

Sirius practically jumped in his seat at the unfamiliar word, "Yes, dear!"

"Now, Amelia," Lady Phoebe smiled indulgently. "I think I would be rather put out if you had our dear husband rendered so useless in the bedroom."

"Yeah, yeah! What she said!" Sirius nodded frantically.

"I don't think I'll get used to that any time soon," Margaery consciously mused aloud. "Of course, I wouldn't expect a foreign people to match my culture. Nor would I expect you to adhere to it in your own castle. Yet still, I find your covens as strange as they are intriguing."

Through everything she'd learned of the Wizards, that remained perhaps the strangest. Easily next to magic, in Margaery's mind. Yet there was a thrilling taboo to it. These covens. Sharing a powerful, proven man of presence with sisters who she knew she could rely on…

Margaery had no illusions that she would ever explore the idea. Some things simply weren't done in Westeros. And she was a daughter of a Great House. But she did look forward to learning more about it — to getting some of the womenfolk alone and asking how they truly felt. From what she could tell with eyes well-trained for social situations, they were actually happy with the custom, the unique take on relationships.

'But then, don't the women have most of the power in the covens?' Margaery mused. 'Not merely in numbers. The succession laws and customs in place favor the women of covens as well. And the first child goes to the House of birth. If one gets over the cultural shock, it's an appealing system…'

Margaery knew her Grandmother took a pragmatic and slightly cynical stance on the covens. That, like all noble marriages, they were political first. She saw them as simply the most efficient way to gather allies for the founding of a new House. And to tie together existing Houses, as well, in the process. The Witches of a coven did not suddenly lose connection to their Houses of birth. In fact, they even kept their names. All told, Margaery felt that Grandmother was more than a bit impressed by the system, though she would never admit it aloud.

Margaery… wasn't so sure about her Grandmother's stance. She felt that the covens were formed from love more often than not. Perhaps always. After all, they had that opportunity, didn't they? Even a coven of minor Houses — when joined together — would form a not-insignificant alliance bloc and powerbase. Then there was the newly founded House on top. To Margaery's mind, those in a coven had the chance to 'marry' for love. And they would be fools to not take it.

And hadn't she seen as much as she read — and reread and reread again — 'Hogwarts, A History'? The Hogwarts Founders and their coven was certainly a love match. They could be nothing else, with everything that Margaery had seen in that wonderful, sinful experience of a book. Even now, she could feel her face growing hot and her womanhood clench as she remembered the sheer smut that'd been — thankfully — included in a history book.

It was *ahem*… educational. And not merely for things that Mother deemed improper for Margaery to learn, see, and experience. For, with the colorful moving images and the poetic waxing of sensations and pleasures to accompany them, there was key information about the newest players in the game of Westeros.

The Wizards were a free people, Margaery learned. And not merely in how they loved. It infiltrated everything they did. Likely a consequence of having such power at each individual fingertip. For Wizards, it seemed, could truly do anything if they set their mind to it. They wielded magic, taming it even more so than the Valyrians did to Dragons. Their numbers were historically limited — something that hadn't changed upon being inserted into Westeros — but they made up for that with the power to make armies balk and break out of hand.

That unimaginable power brought a sort of historical arrogance with it, from what Margaery had read. But at the same time, having peers who could do the same tempered the arrogance decently well. So far, she hadn't met any Wizards who were any more arrogant or full of themselves than the Lords of Westeros, low bar though that was.

Father was rather quick to jump to fear and damnation. As were Mother and Garlan. Perhaps for good reason, it began to seem. While Lord Stark gave his word and backing for the Wizards in his Kingdom and King Robert followed his old friend by enforcing his elevation of Hogwarts' Houses to nobility, that only went so far. The Wizards of Hogwarts were unknown to Westeros. Unknowns could be exceedingly dangerous in the Highborn games of the Seven Kingdoms.

Additionally, in the year since their introductory letter went out to every castle and keep of note, strange events began to spread across the land. Rumors and whispers and even confirmations of magic returning. Eventually, the Citadel was forced to admit that magic was indeed back to stay. Their Black Candles were lit, brighter than even at the height of Targaryen rule.

Old Blood was reawakening. Miracles in Sevens happened freely across the land. The Smallfolk knew what was happening. Some of them were even in the center of it. Yet Margaery had also heard rumors of Highborn Heirs and Ladies and Young Lords doing things that would have been impossible only a year ago. If the older generation was experiencing the same thing, they knew well to keep such things to themselves.

Grandmother shared tales and reports from King's Landing. Information and developments that would utterly change the game. A golden tongue charmed the court. And beside it, a storm god descended… The board was in flux. Chaos ran rampant, and with it, ambitions were shining through. To it all, Margaery herself was not immune.

There was only one word to describe Margaery's awakened power: Magical. It truly was. Trees, flowers, and crops answered her call. They practically leaped to do her bidding. She was the second coming of Garth Greenhand, the King of the First Men who made the Reach bloom.

Since 'awakening', as Margaery had taken to calling it, there wasn't a morning that she hadn't spent in the gardens of Highgarden, weaving flowers as a seamstress would weave thread. Or the hedge maze, carving out secret tunnels and sanctuaries for herself with glee. She hadn't had the chance to venture beyond the castle's walls yet, but when she did, Margaery was sure she could make the Reach blossom and bloom more beautiful and fruitful than ever.

It was a valuable magic Margaery had awakened, doubly so in the Reach. She didn't even spare a single thought to keeping it secret from her family. While Father, Mother, and Garlan feared and fretted over the Wizards, magic, and the changes being wrought upon the Seven Kingdoms like Wildfire, Margaery, Willas, and Grandmother counter-balanced them.

And when it seemed fear would get the better of her parents and second brother, Margaery didn't worry. House Tyrell would never split. Grandmother wouldn't allow it. Mother, Father, and Garlan didn't embrace magic as Margaery did. Nor did they eagerly anticipate what it could do as Willas did. But under Grandmother's ever-guiding hand, they were softening. They were coming to accept that this was simply the world they now all lived in. And that no matter what happened, House Tyrell would continue Growing Strong.

"And how would you have us do it?"

Margaery blinked, suddenly pulled from her runaway thoughts. A Witch, perhaps only a year older than Margaery — as were Heather and Hermione, the incomprehensible Lady Luna seemed to be her age exactly — stared at her from across the table. Lady Daphne, Margaery realized. Like all of the Witches, she was beautiful and comely. She fashioned herself in a uniquely dark manner, with shadowed, almost languid eyes and a color palette heavy in black.

Her face was beautifully inexpressive. Icy, even. Yet Margaery could see the intense intelligence in those cold and flat eyes. Margaery couldn't help but find Daphne rather fetching. Not in the sense that she would share her bed for Margaery wasn't like Loras in that sense. But she could see how the icy young woman had earned her place in the venerable White Coven.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I was miles away for a moment there. What is it you ask?" Margaery quickly regained enough of her bearing to reply.

"How would you have us do it? Hogwarts and Westeros are bound to intermingle and intermarry. To integrate. In an ideal world, how would you have that happen?" Daphne reiterated.

Those around them grew quieter with interest. They wanted to see how she would answer. Margaery didn't waver under the attention. Instead, she pondered the question. It was a bit much for polite dinner conversation. But that was the point, wasn't it? Lady Daphne was testing her, probing her.

"I think…" Margaery answered thoughtfully. "That is something that will have to be taken on a case-to-case basis. I agree that it's inevitable. People will fall in love. Or seek advantage and alliance through marriage. But I also know that most if not all of Westeros' Houses would… hesitate, to put it lightly. They will not readily join a coven where they would potentially gain less than in an individual match."

From down the table beside Lady Narcissa and little Lord Aries, Lord Draco spoke up, "It's not as if monogamy is entirely foreign to us. It's still the most common form of relationship. Myself and Svetlana, for example."

"Da," The statuesque woman beside him nodded. "My Little Dragon will not take another. Nor will I. He can be… protective of his 'greatest treasure'. Adorable."

"What is a dragon without his hoard?" Lord Draco asked rhetorically, holding his head high and without shame even as a light blush crept over his cheeks.

"Some will surely still see the advantages outweigh the unfamiliarity of the situation," Grandmother shrewdly reminded, a certain glint in her eye that was privy only to Margaery and Willas.

Margaery slowly nodded, noting her Grandmother's point and what she wasn't saying, "Yes, I would think so. But only the most bold would leap feetfirst into a coven. I don't imagine it will be common. Such norms are not so easily overcome."

She shot her Grandmother a pointed look with her words. The only sign Olenna saw it was a slight quirking twitch of her lips. Instead of pressing the topic of conversation, Grandmother turned to Dumbledore.

"Tell me, Albus, how are you and yours settling in Westeros? The North? Has Lord Stark been an agreeable ally? Have you realized you hold the favor of the current King through him? And have the Citadel and Faith sent a dozen letters each to damn and condemn you as I predicted?"

"We've been establishing ourselves rather well," Dumbledore chuckled. "The North has been kind to us and our town is growing quicker and quicker by the day. And the letters! Oh, Olenna, let me tell you about the glorious, written tears I've received!"

His reply was agreeable and even amused. But something in his tone told Margaery that he was playing along with Olenna's inquiry and that he saw it for the information gathering that it was. He shifted the course away from telling internal information a touch too well. Still, Olenna's eyes lit up with acknowledgment and wicked amusement at Dumbledore's casual retelling of the 'righteous indignation' he'd experienced from some of the most powerful organizations in Westeros.

Dinner continued apace. Margaery relaxed slightly, allowing herself to forget about that potentially worrying idea she saw forming in her Grandmother's eye. She entertained the women of the younger generation, easily settling into her element there. Willas laughed and jested with the men. There at the head table, the Lords Atlas, Sirius, Victor, Cedric, and Neville showed themselves to be the primary Lords of Hogwarts. Willas acquainted himself with them well. Margaery did the same with the Ladies. And Grandmother got along with the older generation — particularly Dumbledore — like a castle on fire.

IIIII

"I-I can walk… H-Haha! I can walk!"

Margaery would never forget the awe, the excitement, the relief in those words for as long as she lived. She would never forget the sheer joy on her eldest brother's face. More than anything, she would never forget the laughter and love as he swept her into a spin without a hint of pain.

She could dance with her brother. For the first time in either of their lives. Margaery had been young when he was injured. She'd never gotten the chance to frolic with him as brother and sister should. Yet now, Willas led her in a courtly dance. Not a wince or limp in sight.

The scene couldn't be described. It was simply magical. Her brother — healthy and hale. Practically prancing on two feet for the first time in years. Happiness leaped and laughed in her heart. Seeing Willas move without pain was too much, a miracle if Margaery hadn't known better.

But she did. And she'd never forget what made it possible. The magic. The Wizards and Witches. And Grandmother's willingness to take a chance, something that paid off more than they could've possibly realized. They couldn't even begin to repay Madam Pomfrey and Hogwarts for what they returned to them, to House Tyrell.

Their Heir was whole again. No longer would he cringe when it rained and his bad knee acted up. No longer would he rely on a cane. No longer would he be seen with scorn, behind his back or even to his face. He could run with his hounds and ride his beloved horses again. Why, Willas must have felt like he could fly like his hawks at that moment.

Things blurred together in Margaery's joy after that, sympathetic and selfish alike. Willas declared Hogwarts to be an undying friend. Of himself and House Tyrell. He swore they would always find support in him. Just as Grandmother knew he would. Seven Hells, Margaery was tempted to do the same. But she held her tongue with a wide, genuine smile, knowing that such a declaration from her would only diminish Willas'.

After that, Margaery found herself sitting at a table that'd been seemingly conjured from thin air. It had to be so to fit in the courtyard. Yet, the thing that took the majority of her attention was the spar everyone at the table was watching.

Willas had a sword in hand again. He'd almost leaped at the chance. The young Wizards of Hogwarts joined him, smiles and good cheer to go around. Willas' joy was infectious, it seemed. So the menfolk bonded in their manly way of things, fighting and laughing and helping each other back up. Willas was getting utterly trounced. He didn't seem to mind one bit.

Margaery, Grandmother, and the Witches of Hogwarts sat around the conjured table. Along with Dumbledore for some reason… — "While far from feeble, I'm much more at home here than smacking the youth on the head with a staff". Tea had been served, along with little biscuits and cakes. It was a pleasant affair. Margaery couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she watched Willas enjoy himself — truly have fun — as he hadn't in years.

Even Grandmother had a smile on her face, soft and small though it was. It only grew when Lady McGonagall offered a little something to spice up their tea.

"I think this is cause enough for celebration," Lady McGonagall said, pouring a healthy helping of something into her drink.

Grandmother nodded, "Yes, I do believe you're right."

Margaery then bore witness to the ever-composed Queen of Thorns choking on her drink for the first time, "By the gods, woman! What's in that?!"

Lady McGonagall smirked and simply said, "My good scotch."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to poison me," Grandmother grumbled. Despite her words, she went back for another sip. "… I suppose I could see this growing on me though."

"Feel the burn," Lady McGonagall advised. "It means you're still alive."

"What will you do now, Olenna?" Dumbledore asked.

"Pay our debts," Grandmother grunted. "We may not be Lannisters but House Tyrell won't let this gift and blessing go unanswered."

She sounded as if 'paying up' was the last thing she wanted to do. Margaery knew that wasn't the case. Grandmother was just as happy and grateful for Hogwarts' aid as she was. But Grandmother had a reputation to uphold. The Queen of Thorns couldn't be seen parting with favors easily.

That worrying glint of an idea came back into Olenna's eye, "Tell me, Albus, how would you feel about a betrothal? My darling Margaery would be quite the match for anybody. Your successor, perchance? Wouldn't you want to set up a connection between him and Westeros? The strongest Kingdom in Westeros, at that?"

Margaery forcibly tore her attention from Willas in the yard, "Grandmother, Father would never allow it. You overstep."

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed. "And that's simply not how we do things here. I would never impose my authority to demand a marriage for one of my charges."

"Let's not be so hasty now…" Narcissa cautioned.

Dumbledore looked at him with a dangerous warning in his eyes, "Narcissa. If such an agreement is reached, it will be between young Atlas and young Margaery and no others. Am I understood?"

Narcissa nodded deferentially, "Of course, my apologies. I simply think the idea has more merit than to just be dismissed out of hand."

"Indeed," Grandmother grinned. "The White Coven is a powerful bloc. Along with the Reach, it would be unstoppable. And my Margaery is not without personal benefit. Especially if her awakened magic is passed onto any children as I expect…"

"Grandmother…" Margaery frowned fiercely. "This is perhaps too much. What would the other Great Houses think? About me joining a coven, no less!"

Grandmother asked a question that cut to the core of Margaery's protests — as always, "Would they matter?"

"I-I-…" Margaery hesitated as she truly put her mind to the idea. "Would they…?"

Grandmother forged on, "Magic — and covens in particular — will be a power unmatched in this rapidly changing world, my dear. Tying ourselves to each other further — and much more concretely than a declaration of friendship — would be a move most bold, yes. But also one with unimaginable profit to be gained. We have a chance here and now to be the first of Westeros to join the charge."

"And furthermore," Olenna finished with a vicious and wicked grin. "If any of the bannermen or Great Houses wish to complain, Willas has suddenly become the most eligible bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms again. Their disgruntlement will only give us more leverage with him."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore shook his head. "I will not force Atlas — nor anyone else under my protection — to marry. If they wish to do so, they can arrange it for themselves."

Grandmother tutted, "That's simply not how it works in Westeros, Albus. Adults they may be, the Highborn will expect someone to speak for them. You're the only one in any position to do so."

"Well then, they can 'expect' to choke on my wrinkly old balls," Dumbledore deadpanned.

Margaery suddenly choked and coughed on her tea, the sheer surprise of frankness and impropriety causing it to go down the wrong pipe. Even Grandmother was brought up short in shock, "Good gods, man…"

"Ye get used tae it," Lady McGonagall casually sipped from her scotch-spiked tea.

Dumbledore shrugged without an ounce of shame, "That is simply how it will be. I won't be forced or coaxed or tempted to marry off my charges. They will marry because they want to, or not at all."

Narcissa cleared her throat, "Ahem. Perhaps a compromise can be reached here. While I can't speak for the whole coven, I can represent it. As can Daphne, though I don't think Heather and Hermione are all that interested in the politics of all of this. And Fleur…"

"She must prove herself worthy before I will even consider it!" Fleur declared, her aura stealing Margaery's breath away. "I would see her tested! Yes, tested~! She shall swim the seas, hike the land, and climb the sky to prove herself to the coven~! She shall give her all, or she will have nothing!"

"Yes, Fleur," Daphne said flatly, her tone summing up the uniquely, beautifully mad woman entirely. "Anyway. Compromise. Let us get to know each other. Don't force this. It won't endear yourselves to Atlas or Septima or any of the rest of us. My connection with Atlas was originally arranged as well. But it wasn't set in stone. If you wish for a match, it'll have to happen at least semi-naturally."

"F-For what it's worth," Hermione spoke up hesitantly. "I've enjoyed Margaery's company so far."

Grandmother scowled. Mostly for show. Margaery knew that her mind was hard at work behind the expression, "Very well. A compromise. When Willas returns to the Reach, Margaery and I shall stay in Hogwarts. For a year and not a moon more. In that time, Margaery will court the White Coven and we shall see how the relationship develops."

Margaery couldn't help but giggle, sending a light verbal jab at her Grandmother, "You'd have me court a whole coven, Grandmother~? How bold. Quite the disadvantaged start but then I've never been one to back down from a challenge."

Grandmother ignored her, "Meanwhile, send one of your charges to foster at Highgarden, Albus. Or better yet, to squire for Willas. No matter the outcome of our stay here, relations between our two factions will deepen that way."

"Hmm, it is about time we begin making those arrangements," Dumbledore hummed in consideration, plans that Margaery and Olenna weren't privy to passing between glances at the Ladies Narcissa and McGonagall. "But who?"

"Not Draco," Narcissa shook her head. "I have plans for my son."

"Most of the others have already made their decisions or expressed their preferences," McGonagall said. "All that's left is the arrangements."

"Ron and Ginny," Heather put in, her suggestion surprisingly thoughtful and well-considered from what Margaery knew of her. "Ron's changed. But he still feels a driving need to prove himself. More than before, actually. He'll jump at the chance to squire for someone. And Ginny will keep him in line. She needs more stimulation than she's currently getting. Hell, I'd say send all of the Weasleys if the Twins weren't so essential at home. As they are, it might be tough to send them so far away."

"Well, technically…" Hermione began before stopping herself. She shot 'subtle' glances at Margaery and Olenna. She was a terrible liar.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore nodded. "'Technically', they would still be able to fulfill their essential roles at Hogwarts via 'remote correspondence'. And sending the whole family would present a united yet familiarly approachable front… In the end, however, the decision will be up to them."

There was something the others weren't telling them, Margaery noted. She was sure her Grandmother noticed the same thing. Yet they didn't pry. If Grandmother's arrangement went through, they'd have plenty of chances to sniff out secrets over the coming year. Still, Grandmother seemed quite content with the prospect of gaining an entire House to foster instead of only a squire as she'd suggested.

Olenna nodded, "I'll have Willas make the offer to House Weasley then. They will be welcomed as guests and friends of House Tyrell. Willas will take good care of them. I ask that you take good care of myself and my Margaery in turn."

"That was never in doubt, Olenna," Dumbledore smiled. "In fact, I'm sure this stay at Hogwarts will be good for more than just your ambitions. I haven't forgotten your request. This stay will allow us an abundance of time to train and acquaint ourselves with young Margaery's magic."

"Your magic!" Hermione abruptly perked up and almost threw herself at Margaery to ask. "You've awakened a bloodline? What is it? What can you do? How difficult do you find it? Who are your noteworthy ancestors? We've studied several awakened magicks already but only one or two knew enough about their lineage for us to discover where they came from!"

Margaery jumped slightly at the passionate curiosity, then slowly nodded, "I-I believe I share an ability with the legendary first King of the Reach, Garth Greenhand. But the Tyrells only descend from him matrilineally so I'm unsure… Still, plants answer my call as they were said to answer his."

"Magic doesn't care for the gender of your ancestors like that," Hermione waved dismissively and somewhat rudely. "You're of his bloodline, it shined through with you, and that's that."

"So it truly is magick of the blood…" Grandmother muttered to herself.

Margaery demonstrated her magic as Hermione had asked. Since awakening, she'd taken to incorporating flowers into her clothes and outfits. She took the circlet of roses from her hair and willed it to grow. It did so easily. Margaery coaxed it into an ornate mask, a face of petals and buds to match any showpiece.

"Marvelous!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Truly impressive," Lady McGonagall complimented with a teacher's eye. "Especially for one so untrained. Slightly different from my specialty but we'll see you harness your gift all the same."

"You flatter me," Margaery demurred.

"Oh, Professor!" Hermione lit up with an idea. "Do you think books on Transfiguration would help her?"

"Perhaps," The older woman nodded sternly. "They certainly wouldn't hurt."

The mention of books brought to mind Margaery's latest lasting obsession. Another book from Hogwarts, so kindly gifted and very… well-used by Margaery since. She flushed, "T-These books wouldn't happen to be similar to Hogwarts, A History, would they…?"

"Huh?" Hermione tilted her head in confusion. "They're textbooks."

Fortunately (or perhaps, unfortunately) the other younger Witches seemed to catch Margaery's unspoken question. Heather cackled mischievously, "Oh, my sweet summer child, ask and you shall receive~!"

"Oho~?!" Fleur gasped as if challenged. "You aim to impress me already~? Very well! I shall set you against the most deliciously depraved and thrillingly degenerate smut Hogwarts has to offer~!"

"W-Wait, what-?!" Margaery squeaked.

It was already too late. Fleur sprung from her seat and practically snatched up Margaery from the table. Daphne's flat voice followed them, "You'll have to excuse us. It seems we have a curious young woman to educate."

As she was bodily dragged away to fates unknown, Margaery heard her Grandmother say, "Albus, I don't know whether I should thank or curse you for setting my darling granddaughter's corruption in motion…"

Dumbledore chuckled, "Why, I can hardly be blamed for the vigors of youth, can I~?"

"You sent the damn book that started it all."

The rest of Margaery's day was filled with wonderful, mortifying, thrilling things. Moving pictures and flowery words that left her dripping with passion. 'Lesson' after 'lesson' to teach her of the pleasures a man could give as the Witches shared their own experiences.

Heather was never slow to tease. Daphne's bluntness set Margaery's cheek alight. Even Hermione's more clinical descriptions were exciting in their own unique way. And Fleur… Fleur's passionate recountings and exalting praise for her 'god' could have killed a Septa outright and left even the Maiden weak in the knees.

By dinner that evening, Margaery couldn't look at the man she was intended to court — and who she'd heard so, so much about that she practically knew him intimately already — without rubbing her thighs together as inspired fantasies soaked her core. She made for very poor conversation that night… But the worst of it was the knowing smirk on Grandmother's lips and the smug satisfaction of her 'teachers'.

She would get them back for this, Margaery swore. Just, um… Just as soon as she explored some of the ideas from today's 'lessons'. And thoroughly ruined the sheets of her bed in the process…