Heirs of the Founders

Authors ramblings:

Not dead; just lacking motivation.

Wow, 2016 was my last post but life sorta got in the way.

Anyways, I was poking about my One Drive and found this. Until I had re-read it, I'd forgotten it was complete but for editing: I hope you enjoy, especially those of you who had come across it after a significantly long and unintentional hiatus. I am trying to get back to writing but I can make no promises. Just so you all know, I've not written anything beyond this chapter for this story. Like I said, I'm trying to reacquire a writing habit but again . . . no promises.

Obligatory blah blah blah:

I do not now, nor have I ever and only will if I'm the last person on Earth (at which point the whole concept of rights, royalties and responsibility, etc... becomes moot, to say the least) own Harry Potter or the characters therein, they belong to J. K. Rowling; I'm just playing with them.

Chapter Twenty-Two

December Twenty-first dawned with icy rain falling from dark grey clouds that hung over the parapets and towers of a castle housing an ancient school for witchcraft and wizardry. Hogwarts, easily larger than Edenborough's famous edifice had, for centuries, hidden her true glory behind a gauntlet of forced perspective and compression magics that she now began to unravel. She could have done this quicker, but she wished to shroud sudden changes, which would draw unwelcome or unfriendly eyes. So, with a heightened ceiling here or an enlarged room there, Hogwarts slowly rebuilt herself while areas, closed and forgotten for generations, reappeared. Of these, an entire wing now sprouted from a densely shadow-shrouded nook and would soon be noticed. With a melancholic sigh, like a breeze through her unused corridors, Hogwarts continued reshaping herself to the fortified edifice her parents had created.

Now, with the ascension of Hufflepuff's Avatar, on the heels of Slytherin's and two declared Patrons in residence her reemergence had been called. Time and tide would—at last—reveal her hidden glory and remind all that she was both a repository and a sanctuary; harboring and protecting magic from an increasingly hostile world.

Meanwhile, Hogwarts wasn't the only one mired in melancholy; Albus Dumbledore had risen to the same grey morning and the day reflected his feelings. He felt—in every bone and fiber—that his connections to his beloved school were growing tenuous. It felt odd too, since his command of the castle and her wards were the same as ever but, with December's appearance of 'Hufflepuff's Throne', the Headmaster knew a new power had taken residence in his treasured Hogwarts. A power obviously focused on Harry Potter and his growing cabal of witches.

With these suspicions in mind, Dumbledore had discreetly inquired into the lad's recent history but had learned nothing other than during August, Harry had left his home each morning and returned—sometimes late—in the evening. Even his eyes and ears, which monitored his young ward, hadn't offered anything helpful: although, Mrs. Figg had said Albus looked quite dapper when they had met for tea. Tea aside, the lad's neighbors offered peculiar and strangely conflicting opinions. Where one neighbor described Harry as quiet and unassuming lad; another, Mrs. Polkat or Potkiss (or something like that) had venomously replied: 'That freak! Be noth'n but a ne'er-do-well tak'n a'vantage of the Dursleys' good Christian charity.'

Albus returned to Hogwarts with more questions than answers after that, yet he wasn't worried; he had the whole Yule Break to get to know young Harry. He would become the boy's wise grandfatherly mentor, minus the interfering and growing clique of distracting witchlings that now surrounded his protégé. To encourage, Dumbledore had even arranged (and even paid for) a trip, so Arthur and Molly Weasley and their (eight or nine-year-old? He couldn't remember) daughter might visit the Dragon Reserve where their son worked. With this arranged—yet insufficiently funded—the Weasley lads would now spend Christmas at Hogwarts.

Albus gave himself a pat on his back for a well-thought-out plan that forced Harry to associate with his one remaining dorm-mate and Leader-of-the-Light sycophant, Ronald. By next semester, he was certain the boy and the youngest Weasley would be fast friends; thus, forgetting all about those catty and controlling creatures known as witches.

Content in his plans; knowing that Harry would no longer be infected by witches, the Headmaster looked over the students gathered for breakfast. He noticed that Harry and the annoying Granger witch were dressed 'muggle' but didn't consider the implications beyond comfort and familiarity.

—}{—

"Do you think the Headmaster suspects?" Hermione asked as they exited the Great Hall.

"I doubt it." Harry replied, "Professor McGonagall only added my name to the list after curfew. I doubt he'll check before noticing that I'm not at lunch. I know he'll check when he doesn't see me at dinner but, by then, we'll be at or near 'Granger Manor' and safely out-of-reach."

"I wish you wouldn't call our home 'Granger Manor' Harry," the bushy-haired Gryffindor playfully whined, "If others hear that, they'll begin to think I'm not just a know-it-all but a muggle Malfoy riding on her family's coat-tails: 'my father will hear about this, Potter!'"

Harry teased with a snicker, "Shouldn't that be, 'My mother will hear about this, Potter!' The Noble House of Granger is matriarchal, don'cha know?"

"Prat," she said, accompanied by a playful shoulder slap, "Either way, let's hope we're right but I suspect we'll be seeing Dumbledore before Christmas, once he realizes you aren't with your aunt and uncle."

"Uncle Vernon is in for a surprise," he added with a half-chuckle, "the list shows, 'staying with family'. Dumbledore doesn't know that I know Aunt Cissy is family . . . to both of us. Still, I'm sure once he discovers I'm not at the Dursleys' he'll make the mental leap and show up at your front door. Boy, will those wards be a surprise but I'm sure he'll still rail about my safety, even at half-magic; though, he just may have an aneurism once he sees Aunt Cissy. Thankfully, I doubt he'll convince anyone—even if he says something about it—that she's unable to protect us. I'm sure it'll be quite entertaining when he discovers I'm 'being influenced' by muggles and a 'Malfoy/Black' too."

Hermione frowned, "I still hope we don't have to deal with him but—like you say—it's unlikely. After all, I'd rather he not discover how unique my family is either. Thankfully, mums and dad made contingency plans but those won't stop Professor Dumbledore from discovering more than we're comfortable with."

"We'll manage, Mione," Harry said as he draped his arm over her shoulder to give her a reassuring hug, "Irregardless . . ."

". . . Harry!"

"Just teasing," the messy-haired wizard interjected. "Either way, we know it must happen eventually; we just need to minimize how much he learns: what else can we do? Let's just think about all the fun we'll have. Daphne will be bunking with you come boxing day and Su will be spending a few days after Christmas too; it's too bad about Tracy's trip to Switzerland. Still, I'm sure your mums and dad have some great 'muggle' plans for their visit. This is going to be the bestest," Hermione rolled her eyes, again, "Christmas I've ever had. I bet it'll be the bestest you've ever had too. Now, let's get back to our dorms and get our stuff; I want to get to the Express early and hold a compartment. I do hope we'll have room for everyone."

"I think we'll be okay, we're all still pretty small. It might be a little tight, but I don't think we'll be overly uncomfortable," she said, "We might have some trouble on the way back, though; Danielle and Luna will be joining us. I'll talk to Cissy-mum; she might know a way to get ten first-years into a single compartment that won't see us sitting on each others' lap."

"I don't know Mione, I think I can manage a pretty witch sitting on my lap; especially one . . . um, traditionally attired?"

"Hey! I'll not be going knickerless any time soon, oh noble and pervy one . . . unless I get hot," Hermione blurted out, perhaps louder than intended. She heard a few conspiratorial titters and blushed; down the hall, she saw two of Gryffindor's chasers looking at her. At least it's not Lavender or Parvati, she thought with a modicum of relief, but how I interpret Spinnet's wink is another matter altogether.

"I'd be hot too, Granger," Angelina whispered in tease as the first-year witch passed, "Potter's pretty cute already and you're not half-bad yourself. After the break, maybe you can spend some time with your Gryffindor big sisters. We know how much you love to learn; I'm sure there's lots we can teach a firsty."

Sporting a precocious smirk, she passed the third-years and murmured in playful retort, "I doubt that."

Leaving her sorority of older and flabbergasted house-mates in her wake, Hermione followed Harry into the common room.

"I'm going to freshen up and brush my teeth, Harry. I'll see you in about ten minutes."

"Okay," he replied and headed to his dorm.

—}{—

With book-bags over their shoulders, Harry and Hermione casually strolled through the corridors and down the stairs that took them to the castle's doors. With an inner sigh of relief, the two Gryffindors were thankful that only Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape were checking the departing students.

"Will you be able to attend on Boxing Day, Professors?" Hermione asked.

"As long as we return by dinner," the Head of Gryffindor replied, "it's unlikely our absence will be noticed, Miss Granger. I'm sure Professor Sprout will be surprised where our post-Yule gathering will be held." She paused before adding, "Are you sure about Pomana . . . I mean Professor Sprout. She only knows you as studious students; I'm unsure what she'll make of 'the secret'."

"It seems proper, Professor," Harry replied, "and we're certain she'll understand our need for discretion. Besides, me and Hermione feel that since you three know, she should too. We're not hiding; just keeping a low-profile. Additionally, this will make it easier for you, Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick too. We're sure you've not liked the self-censorship, which may slip during casual conversation: especially once the festive drinks start flowing. Besides, by allowing Professor Sprout to learn; Hermione and I have another person and point of view to call upon."

"How very Slytherin of you, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape drawled, controlling the smirk his lips wanted to form.

"Well, the Sorting Hat wanted to put us in Slytherin," Hermione said softly with surprising candor, "but what self-respecting Slytherin allows herself to be sorted into the House of Cunning—not that the Hat would, considering what the House has become—when options not screaming 'cunning and ambitious' are available. Isn't a sorting into Slytherin the very antithesis of actual cunning?"

Unable to contain it this time, Professor Snape smirked. He knew, somehow, that Slytherin's future rested with this young witch. He even wished that Miss Granger's looming reformation had come before his time at Hogwarts. If it had, Severus thought sadly, Lily and I would've been housemates. After all, beyond intelligent, Lily was cunning and ambitious—not to mention sly—and she had a vicious-streak that could put a Malfoy or Black to shame; he'd seen it, and he wasn't the only one: Voldemort had seen it too.

Of all those who had opposed the Dark Lord; Lily Potter nee Evans was, perhaps, second only to Dumbledore with an acute ability to send Voldemort into a Death-Eater torturing frenzy. Such a response—Severus amusingly considered—was almost flattery; not that Voldemort would recognize that trait in himself, but others had. Unfortunately, Bellatrix Lestrange had; that insane witch had very much wanted to get her hands, at least, on Lily Evans and never acknowledged the muggle-bourn's marriage to, as Severus recalled Bella's raging more than once: 'a worthless blood-traitor unable to see the true greatness under his nose'.

Whether Bellatrix wanted to torture and/or kill the 'flaming-haired succubus tease' she sometimes called Lily or fuck her was anyone's guess: Severus firmly believed it was the latter. After all, power attracted Bellatrix and Lily was undoubtedly and extremely powerful. Knowing that, it wasn't surprising to see Bella's jealousy towards Potters' marriage was focused on Potter and not Lily. He even recalled a few rather curious mumbles: honestly, how does one interpret quiet whispers such as: 'foolish boy-wizard doesn't know how to treat a treasure that should be mine?'

Admittedly, the potions-master had had a few less-than-chaste thoughts of a Bellatrix/Lily alliance; although he was sure he wouldn't have wanted to live in their witches' coven-based society. Being bound, viewed as a toy, and reduced to being a stud—in an animal-husbandry sort of way—wasn't a goal he had ever entertained: it was all rather . . . emasculating. Still, it likely would've been better than what I got, he concluded sourly.

"Indeed," Professor Snape agreed; his brief bout of remorse clad self-reflection noticed only by Filius. Minerva was stunned; her two favorite lions had nearly been snakes and would've been if the current Slytherin faithfully represented Salazar's ideals.

Hermione smiled at the Potions Master's response as Filius said, "We'll try to keep Albus' attention on other things, but I fear his obsession with Mr. Potter will not be deterred for long. By Merlin, his fixation makes me queasy, and I grew up 'goblin'; take what you will from that."

"Sadly, I must agree Mrs. Potter," the Deputy Headmistress added, without realizing it. "I really must ask you to keep your eyes on each other and, please, don't stray too far from populated places, like Diagon Ally, unless Lady Mal . . . I mean Miss Granger's . . . um, other-mother is with you. I suppose Xeno's fine too; he's far more dangerous than his eccentricities suggest . . ."

". . . just ask Dolohov," Severus muttered caustically.

Filius' goblin ears heard it as clearly as Minerva's cat ears did; he said, "Sorry?"

Professor Snape paused reflectively, "During the war, Antonin Dolohov and two others were sent to silence the Lovegoods; they underestimated them . . . seriously. In the end, Dolohov used an emergency portkey to return to the Dark Lord's side. It was too late for his comrades. His accompanying second-string Deatheaters returned as pathetic, drooling morons with incontinence issues. The Dark Lord summarily executed both and nearly Dolohov too—just out of spite—after he was told they had only tried a bit of Legilimency on them. I'm not sure if the changes in Antonin, afterwards, were from the prolonged exposer to the Dark Lord's cruciatus or whatever the Lovegoods did . . . which wasn't Occlumency; at least not as I know it, when he had tried to enter their minds. Either way, Antonin never led another mission before winding up in Azkaban."

Harry and Hermione, knowing the Lovegood's heritage, exchanged glances but remained silent. Griphook had written about the rather abortive attempt to train Luna in Occlumency, since Danielle had already been taught by Narcissa. In Luna's case, though, it had been an utter failure and had left the young she-goblin Legilimens with a three-day-long migraine and a passion for pudding.

When she recovered, Silvervail reported that Luna's mind was so chaotic that even the most skilled legilimens would never glean more than disjointed thoughts or images. Unfortunately, the she-goblin had been so 'damaged' by the experience that she couldn't function in her previous position.

In the end, Ragnok re-assigned Silvervail and she joined Silkenrobe as one of Danielle's but—primarily—Luna's tutor. Griphook had later written that Luna and Silvervail had grown remarkably close, and both tended towards some strange tangents, which they jointly investigated. Only Xenophilius seemed able to follow their conversations. Thankfully, Ragnok found it amusing; his father—Ragnok the Fourth—would've killed her or, at the very least, banished the now very eccentric she-goblin. 'All's well that ends well' as the non-magical say and The Overlord now had a goblin who could deal with the Lovegoods' peculiar idiosyncrasies and not go mad in the process. Ragnok, being the wise and ever pragmatic goblin, reassigned Silvervail—too many an older he-goblin's dismay—to the Lovegood/Quibbler accounts. Ultimately, Silvervail's 'in-goblin' mind made her a very shrewd manager. She had already grown the Lovegood/Quibbler portfolio by nearly two percent and that looked good on Vaultlord Goldenfang's—now overseeing the Lovegoods' accounts—bottom line.

Silvervail's pudding passion persisted; much to Griphook's most non-goblinesque amusement.

The brief silence of introspection was interrupted once other students began arriving in the Entrance Hall.

"Off with you two," Professor McGonagall said as her attention shifted to the arriving merry-makers wanting to begin their Yule break sooner rather than later.

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione began, "Harry and I will be near the rear of the Express . . ."

". . . I'll pass it on, Miss Granger; now you'd best get yourself and your wizard to the train before all the good compartments are taken," Minerva said with a thin smile that could never be interpreted as giving preference to one of her own; except by Filius or Severus of course.

Holding hands, Hermione and Harry left their teachers and made their way to the waiting 'horseless' carriages. Climbing into the first buggy in the queue, Hermione said as they settled beneath the provided carriage blanket, "I wish I could see thestrals; the drawings don't do them proper justice, I'm sure."

"Neither the drawings nor their reputation does," Harry added, "they're actually gentle and intelligent creatures: too bad about that callous association with death, though; it's quite undeserving."

With a quiet 'neigh', that seemed too well timed, the carriage lurched forward and began rolling down the path. Holding hands beneath the landau-quilt, Harry and Hermione quietly gazed at the landscaping that bordered the laneway leading and wondered if it was part of Hagrid's job as Hogwarts' 'Keeper of Keys and Grounds'. Even for the exceptionally large man it would be a lot of work, Harry knew; having been the 'keeper of grounds' at the Dursleys'? And that had kept him terribly busy; terribly busy indeed.

—}{—

Headmaster Dumbledore spent his afternoon intently prowling Hogwarts, on the off chance he might accidently bump into his wayward ward. He'd not seen the lad since breakfast, and nobody mentioned seeing him at lunch but with the relaxed meal schedules during Yule; it was easy to miss someone.

Perhaps he's exploring the castle and found the mirror already, Albus thought, an early encounter with the artifact would allow me to place it at the end of the gauntlet sooner rather than later. I wish I could move Fluffy—Fluffy! Honestly, who names a Cerberus Fluffy? Leave it to Hagrid to see a vicious creature—for all it is fluffy—as a mere puppy. At least we've only had to heal and obliviate a half-dozen students or so, so far. Still, I just don't understand that Weasley lad; Ronald has been a repeat offender and I fear another obliviation just might permanently damage him. Thank Merlin, he's a sixth son and not expected to amount to much, so it's no great loss. I'm sure the mudblood will be a suitable reward for the boy; she isn't going to amount to much either and by binding her to a good light family she'll learn her proper place. Eventually her spawn will take a useful place in our world after proper training and guidance as fertilizer.

Dumbledore strolled down another corridor.

Turning his thoughts back to his purpose, he tried to place himself in the first-year's shoes, unsuccessfully. None of his well thought out expectations were bearing out, concerning young Harry and unless he found a way into the lad's confidence, he feared that his Greater Good—his wonderful legacy—would wither afore fruition. He was certain he had laid the correct foundation by leaving a young Mr. Potter with his filthy relatives. Hagrid had even assured him of Harry's ignorance, but before arriving at Hogwarts; the lad had gained (far more than he should've in the allotted time) knowledge about wizarding society and his exalted position therein.

I fear goblins subversion, Albus reasoned bitterly; Filius is far too involved in young Harry's education to suspect otherwise but I don't understand my Severus' actions: I thought he hated the lad. I suppose I get Minerva; she's always been protective of her cubs.

And what about those witches?

I'm worried about the boy's growing cabal of witchlings. His thoughts churned with animosity. Two already bear Potter heraldry and one is in Slytherin no less. I fear two more may well return with new sleeve adornments. Cursed Morgana, I lack pull with either Greengrass or that Chinese witch's family; I don't see how I can easily prevent young Harry's expanding circle of alliances. On top of that, I need to discover whose ancillary heraldries decorate Granger's and Davis' sleeves; I fear they might be foreign because I recognize neither. At least they're not Delacour's, that annoying Frenchman's been a constant pain with his annual 'diplomatic' queries into young Harry's wellbeing. Bah, I never knew the Potters entertained dalliances with foreign wizards; especially scandal riddled ones who marry beneath their station and to creatures too.

Suddenly, Albus stopped dead in his tracks and looked around: he didn't recognize the T-junction he found himself at. In fact, as he recalled, it was normally a shadow-swathed nook but not today; today it was an unfamiliar corridor.

He looked down the unexpected hallway and saw a young witch walking towards him. She looked vaguely familiar and appeared to be a sixth or seventh year he recognized but didn't know. I thought she was a Hufflepuff, but she's a Ravenclaw. I suppose I'm mistaken, after all, I've been here for well over fifty years; even sometimes mudbloods remind me of a proper witch or wizard I once taught. Still, I feel I've seen her recently and I'm certain she was wearing badger black and yellow. That's it, he snapped his figurative fingers, she was talking to Harry earlier this week. I have a lot on my mind and such unimportant matters are easy to mistake; it was just a quick glance after all.

Once the Ravanclaw drew near, Albus asked, "Excuse me, miss . . ."

". . . Bhunaitheoirí, Headmaster," the witch stopped and replied, "Fiona Iníonó Bhunaitheoirí*. How may I help you, sir?"

"I was just wondering if you might've seen Harry Potter around."

"Why would I pay attention to Harry Potter, Headmaster? He's a firsty and a Gryff after all. I mean he's kinda cute, I guess, but he's gonna need a few more years before he stirs my cauldron. Besides, doesn't he hang with a bunch of firsty witches? Now that's a peer group I actively avoid, bubblegum and chocolate frog cards don't interest me: thank you very much. I have more . . . mature tastes and shotacon isn't amongst them. Besides, I'm more of a lolicon."

Shotocon? Lolicon? I really don't understand young witches these days, he thought and then said, "Very well then Miss Bhunaitheoirí, thank you for your time and if you happen to see young Harry; please let him know I'd like to talk to him."

Fiona smiled insincerely, not that Albus noticed, and replied with surprising dismissiveness, "If I see him, Headmaster."

"Thank you my dear," Albus responded with eyes a-twinkle before carefully phrasing, "You know, it's odd seeing students in this area of Hogwarts, I doubt many even know about it: actually, I can't recall when it was last used. Did you see anything interesting?"

"I didn't know the school had such large Dueling Chambers," Fiona commented, "It's a shame they're not used. I heard Professor Flitwick was once very active on the Professional Circuit, perhaps he could head up a club or something?"

"A brilliant idea my dear, maybe you could ask him; if I do, he'll think I'm trying to give him extra work," Dumbledore said with a gentle chuckle, "Although, I must agree, leaving such chambers unused is a waste but dueling has fallen out of fashion in these parts. Hogwarts hasn't offered it since I was a student and that was a very long time ago indeed. Well, my dear, I really must get on with my school inspection. Off with you now and have a good Yule."

"I will Headmaster; thankyou Headmaster and if I don't speak to you sooner, Merry Christmas," said the plain looking sixth-year Ravenclaw who turned to walk away.

"Obliviate," Dumbledore whispered. The spell exited his wand and splashed over the witch, who barely twitched and never looked back. If she had, Albus would have seen Princess Hogwarts roll her eyes in derision and a surreptitious smirk.

Albus watched the witch reach the corridor's end and then she was gone. Must've turned the corner, he thought absently, although somewhere—deep in his mind—alarm bells rang, which were subsequently ignored. The smile on the headmaster's face, once the non-descript Ravenclaw was gone, was not benevolent in the slightest and an element of worry etched his face.

Snoopy little witch, what was she doing down this way; this area is rarely visited since it didn't lead anywhere . . . until now. I'm certain this was a blank wall, but I haven't been down here for ages. I suppose I should take a look, I may need to seal it off for the Greater Good; I really don't want students asking for dueling instruction, if what that little witch wastelling me wasn't a mistake.

Dumbledore walked down the a surprisingly dust free corridor and pushed open the first set of doors. The room was initially dark but as the doors swung open, a diffused light flared within. Upon entry, he noticed how large the chamber was—surprisingly large—but he also noticed a rack of knobbly staves mounted on the far wall. Curious, he crossed a room too large for a simple Dueling Hall and reached for a rod.

"This is a Battlemage Staff," he gasped when he saw the wand receiver in one end. "Why are these here and why so many? I thought only a few had survived and, of those, most are now gathering dust in a few old manors. I can't allow the students to find these; particularly those Weasley twins, they don't need wand amplifiers to create more mayhem. I don't want to see one in young Harry's, or his witches—especially that mudblood's—hands either; he's already too powerful."

Keeping the staff he had liberated, Albus exited the room and checked the others; he didn't like what he found. Each chamber appeared engineered for specific training purposes. One simulated a forest; while another reminded him of the crags, cliffs, and rugged hills around the Hogsvale. There was even one reminiscent of Hogsmeade, albeit an abandoned Hogsmeade. Beyond that, those chambers, like the first, were bigger than they should be and, to add even greater depth, theme-matching illusions covered the walls and roofs; much like the Great Hall's ceiling.

"Tempus," the headmaster evoked and the numbers before his eyes startled him. "Morgana's cauldron, I've been here for more than four hours. Well, it did take nearly an hour to get out of that Forest Chamber and who in their right mind puts mosquitos in a Hogswarts chamber? I'm sealing this area but how could I not know about it? This isn't some non-descript, long-forgotten broom closet. Merlin's Wand, it's a whole bleeding wing and it doesn't fit the school's footprint either."

Albus stepped from the unfamiliar section and cast a complex concealing spell over the entrance. Satisfied with his cleverness, he headed to his office: he had some paperwork to check before dinner. He also had to sign the list of students leaving for the break; he should've reviewed it sooner, but he had had other things to do.

Peeves and Fiona faded into view as Dumbledore stepped from sight. Fiona turned to her poltergeist-portraying co-construct—aka, her brother—and, fighting an urge to snicker, asked sternly, "Did you really need to add the mosquito golems?"

"Come on sis, it was funny; you were laughing as hard as I was," Peeves snorted in defense. "So, what should we do about Albus' little blockade?"

"Hmm, I suppose we should leave it for now and talk to mums and dads. Nevertheless, I'm surprised Hogwarts has unpacked her Bootcamp Wing; I didn't think things were that dire. Forewarned is forearmed, I suppose, and the reappearance of the Battle School is a worrying. Obviously, Hogwarts suspects trying times are upon us and we're anything but prepared. It's not going to be like ten years ago either; there aren't enough Oblivators in the world to hide us this time and the non-magic folk won't be overly welcoming once their friends and loved ones start becoming collateral damage, I'm sure."

"No kidding, sis; let's head to the Chamber; it's not like Harry, Hermione or Daphne can't get past Albus' 'clever' conjuring and, if they want, they can key their friends through as quickly as we can."

—}{—

Evening had settled over Greater London as the Hogwarts' Express sped—silently and unseen—towards Kings Cross Station. Through the window, Harry watched fleeting images of countless homes and businesses pass, as if they were in motion rather than him. Briefly, he pondered the ingenious magic that dampened his sense of inertia and created this illusion but, in the end, those thoughts were as fleeting as the buildings beyond the window. He turned and glanced at the witch at his side. She seemed as spellbound as he and as lost in happy thoughts. For Harry and Hermione this Christmas would be the best they ever had and in Harry's case—for all intents—his first since he had been a baby. After all, the Dursleys tended to further ignore or make miserable their unwanted fourth quarter during this festive time. The 'make miserable' part being, of course, the annual arrival of Aunt Marge and her dog for the Christmas feast. A feast that Harry would prepare but not be allowed to eat.

Unlike a certain green-eyed wizard, Hermione had always enjoyed Christmas but this year her family was bigger and so would be their celebrations. That aside, for the bushy-haired witch, Christmas had come early—September the first no less—and in the most unlikely of places: a certain compartment shared with a certain green-eyed wizard. The gifts kept coming too; Santa had already brought her a sister and then a series of friends who liked Hermione for just being Hermione. Unfortunately, you can't have 'good' without some bad in the mix: the bad came in the form of a stepbrother, of sorts, named Draco. And if there was anything that might sour Hermione's festive mood, it was the thought of her 'dear', sort of brother Draco.

Lucius Malfoy's 'mini-me' was everything that was wrong with the Wizarding World and he was that in spades. The son of her other mother, the bigoted and brash first year was about as Slytherin as Ronald Weasley but far better connected. In the end, she mostly ignored Ron and his deplorable eating habits, general insensitivity, and overall laziness. And his brothers? She really had no issues with Fred and George or, for that matter, the ever-indefatigable triple 'P' (Perfect Prefect Percy), the stick-in-the-mud fifth-year. She had watched the brothers, from time to time, and it was hard to believe Fred or George were even distantly related to their siblings. Where they took nothing seriously, Percy took everything too seriously and Ronald; well Ronald really didn't seem to care one way or the other, unless food was involved.

Actually, when she had thought about it, she had found the older Weasley disturbing. In him, she saw what she might've been if not for Harry. Thankfully, through her wizard, Hermione was becoming very much her mothers' daughter; minus the risk of becoming entangled in an abusive relationship, which—for a young awakening sub—was a distinct, terrifying, and far too common prospect. Luckily, for her, her wizard already had tacit parental approval, and in letters her parents had teased Hermione about a betrothal contract to a certain green-eyed wizard. As surreal as that might sound, to a modern girl at the end of the twentieth century; her parents playfully included her sister (by her other mother) Danielle in their teasing remarks. Truthfully, the idea of betrothal contracts bothered her; but for all they were anachronistic, Hermione understood that they conferred a protection, which her parents found comforting: especially once Cissy-mum had thoroughly explained it. That she didn't need that protection now remained a secret and would remain such; until they decided to go public with her true status that is.

Ideas of betrothals aside, Hermione was far more concerned with her immediate future as the Hogwarts Express arrived at Kings Cross.

Gathering their belongings, two Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs, three Gryffindors and a lone Ravenclaw opened their compartment door and watched the stampede of older students pass by. As the last of the Hogwarts herd passed, they made their way from their compartment, stepped from the carriage, and glanced across the sea of adults, students, and younger children in joyful reunions. Su, Susan, Hannah and Neville broke from the group, vanishing into the throng, in search of their respective guardians

"Over here, Sis," a young girl's voice called over the crowd, drawing the remaining four's attention. Daphne was the first to spot the girl, her little sister Astoria, and the once disconsolate witch's face ignited with an almost blinding grin.

Stunned, Lady Igraine Greengrass looked at her eldest and saw the Daphne she had thought lost, now returned to her. Her eyes then fell upon the two witches, flanking her 'damaged' daughter and considered them. On Daphne's right stood Tracey, looking as irreverent as ever. On her daughter's left stood an unfamiliar bushy-haired brunette who, she guessed, was the muggle-born Hermione Granger that Hiram mentioned. Beside Miss Granger, stood a wizard everyone in Magical England instantly recognized, Harry Potter.

Instinctually, Igraine's 'witch-nous' (that mysterious power all fertile witches possess) 'tasted' the magic surrounding the young wizard and recoiled as if touching something hot. It also left her feeling dirty as she responded, quite inappropriately she might add, to one of Harry's age. If that wasn't unsettling enough, when her 'nous' sought out and 'tasted' the competition, the young witch beside him, things became downright embarrassing; especially once their magic touched and brilliant hazel eyes snapped to Igraine's.

Instantly, Lady Greengrass felt the 'nous' feedback crackle along the magical tendril and impact in a manner that was nearly physical. She felt lightheaded and stumbled against Hiram as her nipples hardened and her body flushed as magic—so Slytherin and intoxicating—coursed an aphrodisiac torrent through her being. Hermione looked at Igraine and smiled knowingly, although she looked a little surprised too. All the same, the young witch's smile, Lady Igraine realized, radiated knowledge a witch her daughter's age usually didn't possess, but unlike Daphne or Tracey, Hermione appeared to have come by that knowledge—as oddly as it seemed—innocently.

"Are you feeling okay, dear?" Hiram asked; thankfully, it broke the link between his wife and the young witch.

"F-Fine Hiram, just feeling a little . . . er . . . overwhelmed. By the way, I thought you said Daphne's new friend was twelve; she looks—I don't know—fourteen maybe."

Hiram glanced at Hermione and said, "I'm told she's twelve and I didn't think otherwise when I met her and the young Lord Potter last month, but Hogwarts' robes are deceiving. I don't know . . . maybe it's the air or food at Hogwarts—or something—because Miss Granger isn't the only witch looking older; both Daphne and Tracey look older too but it's hard to say for sure."

Igraine playfully elbowed her husband and said, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to notice such things about your daughter or her friend, who's almost your daughter, but I think you're right. Still, I can't say I expected such a change; I know you said Daphne seemed better but, well . . ."

Lord and Lady Greengrass' quiet conversation was interrupted when Harry approached and said, "Well met, Lord Greengrass, you're looking well and who are your lovely companions?"

Igraine and Astoria's very fair faces reddened as the young green-eyed wizard turned on the charm.

"Well met Lord Potter/Miss Granger," Hiram replied, "Allow me to introduce my wife, the Lady Igraine and my daughter Astoria."

"My pleasure, My Lady," Harry replied, with a kiss to the back of the witch's hand.

"I'm honored, Lord Potter," Igraine replied properly, regardless of how squirmy she felt. "It is good to see the return of House Potter."

"Thank you, Lady Greengrass; I shall endeavor to see my house in good standing once more."

Harry then glanced and smiled at the adorable little witch, properly curtseying, by Lady Greengrass' side. "Hello Astoria, Daphne told me about you, but she utterly failed in describing how pretty you were. I can see why; words don't do justice for a witchling such as you."

"Harry don't embarrass her like that," Hermione playfully reprimanded; Astoria turned a deeper shade of red and looked at her sister. Daphne grinned as the bushy-haired witch extended her hand and continued with a smile, "Hello Astoria, I'm Hermione."

The youngest Greengrass hesitated before reaching for the offered hand and said rather impulsively, "Y-You're m-muggle-born . . ."

". . . Astoria!" Igraine interjected brusquely.

Astoria, properly chastised and face afire, said diffidently, "S-Sorry Miss Granger, I spoke without thought; I didn't mean to offend . . ."

". . . Oh, pish-posh, I am muggle-born; why should I be offended?" Hermione interrupted, then winked at the younger witch and added with a grin, "Mind you, I'd prefer new-blood over muggle-born—not that I think such designations are important—but that's better than that other epithet favoured by a few of our more unsavory classmates . . ."

". . . Draco Malfoy," Tracey coughed into the back of her hand, masking her cheeky smirk.

Hermione's eyes shifted to the Avatar's Consort and then slid back to Daphne's sister and said, "Indeed, to name but one. Regardless of such nonsense, I'd prefer being called Hermione and please drop the 'Miss', Astoria: I can call you Astoria, can't I?"

Astoria nodded. Hermione replied with a supportive grin before focusing her attention on the witch introduced as the Lady Igraine. Extending her hand, the hazel-eyed witch introduced herself, "Lady Greengrass, I'm Hermione Granger; it's an honour to make your acquaintance."

"Miss Granger . . ." Daphne's mother managed, nearly gasping as she shook the young witch's hand. This feels so wrong, she thought in near panic as youthful and nearly forgotten hormones surged through her body, what is happening to me; I feel like a dirty old pervert. Get it together, Igraine, she's the same age as your daughter for Morgana's sake! Shaking free of her surprising response, Lady Greengrass recovered and said, ". . . it is a pleasure to make yours. Thank you for supporting my daughter and thank you Lord Potter for doing the same after learning . . . you know. I'm glad you've extended your house's protection to my daughter and to Tracey as well; an alliance, even unofficial, with such an esteemed ancient and most noble house has definitely improved their lot in the . . . um . . . rank sensitive common room of House Slytherin."

"My good Lady Igraine," Harry said, "I have a great dislike for bullying, even when subtle, of any sort. That, in itself, is reason enough to support Daphne and Tracey from unfavourable . . . elements, who think themselves important due to the mere accident of their births. Besides, I've grown quite attached to them and see us being involved—the lovely Miss Granger permitting—for a very long time, indeed."

"Harry . . ." Hermione nearly whined but it was humorous instead of petulant and an endearing blush accompanied it.

"Harry; Hermione," called a familiar voice. The Gryffindor duo's attention shifted to a stern looking witch walking with Susan Bones. As they approached Susan said, "I want you to meet my Aunt Amelia. She's also House Bones' regent and proxy; not to mention head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

The formidable woman's intense gaze studied Hermione and Harry, before acknowledging, "Lord Potter; it brings me great pleasure to see the return of your Ancient and Most Noble House. I'm glad to find you well and wish to extend my long-held condolences; the loss of your parents, whom I knew very well, was a serious blow to our world."

"Thank you, Lady Bones, I appreciate that," Harry replied, "but I'd rather not live in the past; allow me to introduce my companion, Hermione Granger."

"Lady Bones, I'm honoured to make your acquaintance," the hazel-eyed witch said as she curtsied before the current regent of Susan's Ancient and Most Noble House.

"I'm also honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger; Susan has written some wonderful things about you: top of your year in near all your subjects is quite the accomplishment for one new to our world," Amelia enthused.

Hermione blushed prettily and replied, "Thank you Lady Bones."

Amelia smiled at the young witch before turning to face a couple she'd not expected to see in the company of a young muggle-born witch; she said, "Lord and Lady Greengrass, I'm surprised to see you; you are both looking well as are your daughters . . ."

". . . Thank you, Lady Bones," replied Hiram, "but why are you surprised? Both my eldest and her friend are attending Hogwarts this year."

Looking a tad self-conscious, Amelia began, "Well, I never expected to. . ."

". . . see my wife and I in the company of a new-blood?" Lord Greengrass interjected, "How long have you known us, Amelia; did we ever do anything to suggest we're narrow-minded or bigoted? Igraine and I might have 'traditionalist' leanings but we both know that change comes no matter how hard you fight it. Besides, for all Miss Granger—and Mr. Potter, for that matter—are new to our society both seem well versed in the manners peculiar to our more conservative peers and have been quite respectful of our traditions."

"Well, I . . . you know, Lucius Malfoy said . . ." she started.

". . . Oh that," Hiram stopped her, "Lucius likely thought if he leaked that we were in betrothal negotiations it might force my hand. Do you honestly believe I'd take his offer seriously? I'd sooner give my daughters to centaurs than see them with that worm, which calls itself Lucius' son."

Hermione glanced at Daphne and noted how uncomfortable she looked. She reached for her friend's hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze as Tracey leaned in and whispered to the hazel-eyed witch, "What happened was kept private and was dealt with by non-magical agents, known to Daph's dad . . . most efficiently. We know Malfoy was behind it but can't prove it. Unlike his son, Lucius is discrete and far more cunning. That he is 'best friends' with Minister Fudge—who is as deep in Malfoy's council as he is in his pocket—makes him virtually untouchable. Draco thinks he is too; even after his amusing attempts to assert himself beyond Slytherin House, as both you and Harry have displayed during your encounters with the louse. Speaking of louses . . ."

Harry and Hermione glanced around and spotted Tracey's object of vitriol: strutting self-importantly with his son, Lucius approached their group. Draco smirked as his father noted, with condescension, the company that Greengrass and Bones were keeping; the first year Slytherin was looking forward to seeing the jumped-up half-blood and his mudblooded wench taken to task for how they had embarrassed him in front of his housemates and lesser born of Hogwarts.

"My, my," Lucius drawled in his oily voice, "I'd never suspect that a noble member of the Wizengamot would allow his daughter to associate with . . . such people. I'm disappointed Hiram, I understand our illustrious Director of the DMLE sullying herself with such . . . folk but you? Does the lovely Lady Igraine know who you are associating with . . ."?

". . . Associating with who, Lord Little Willy?" Came a familiar and mocking voice.

Lucius' eyes snapped to the source of the humiliating words and scowled as Emma Granger stepped into view.

"YOU!" he exclaimed angrily.

He reached for his wand before hastily looking around. Immediately, he realized the people surrounding the muggle wench were far too powerful—either magically or politically—to want angered or provoked. It wouldn't have mattered one way or another; almost as hastily as he had tried to draw, he felt another's hand solidly holding his wrist. He noticed Emma's sudden proximity and it frightened him; he hadn't seen her move. Lucius turned his head and commanded in little more than a hiss, "M-Madame Bones, I demand that you arrest . . ."

". . . You?" Amelia asked as her mind reeled with: What the! Followed by Morgana! I wish my Aurors had reflexes like that! Who is she? Recognition set in; the woman had to be the mother of the young witch she had just met: the bushy hair a dead giveaway.

"N-not me, you obstinate f-fool," Lucius hissed, "I d-demand you arrest the f-filthy creature, it assaulted me: it's, it's not the first time . . ."

A camera flashed, blinding everyone nearby.

Amelia glanced towards the flash and scowled; it was the wizard usually seen with Rita Skeeter; a second later the unwelcome reporter stepped into view. Damn, she thought, knowing what tomorrow's front page was going to be but she had a situation to handle first; she'd deal with Fudge's inevitable call tomorrow.

"You want li'l'ol me arrested? I thought we were friends, Little Willy," Hermione's mother derided. Off to the side, an eager and feral smile appeared on Rita Skeeter's face: not that Emma cared.

It was the odd yet oddly familiar exchange, a confused Lady Bones realised almost at once but foremost, she had her duty to discharge. She stated, "Yes, Lord Malfoy, I did see what happened. I saw you try to draw on an obviously unwanded woman, with the merest provocation no less. If I were you, Lucius, I'd be thankful she's non-magical because if she was . . . well, I don't think we'd be having this conversation and I'd hate to see young Draco lose another parent."

"Wh-what do you know of that?" Lord Malfoy demanded.

"Come now, Lucius," the Director replied scornfully, "we both sail the same gossip rivers; I know you expelled Narcissa although I don't know why. Still, why do I suddenly feel like this woman you accosted had some part in that little drama?" With that, Amelia turned and addressed Emma, "Mrs. Granger I presume?"

Hermione's mother nodded with a smirk.

"I believe this snake has been suitably defanged; please release him," Amelia asked, barely masking her own mocking tone. "I doubt that Lord Malfoy will attack you, there are far too many wands present and he's a bit of a coward. Especially when some of those wands might be a little too eager . . . Lucius is rather unliked, if you understand my meaning."

Emma glanced at Susan's aunt and relaxed before leaning forward; she whispered into Lucius' ear, "Too bad, Little Willy; we could have so much fun but—alas—my crop is at home, and it is rather public here."

Humbled and embarrassed by both the mud-blood's mother and his own body's response to the warm caress of Emma whispers, Lucius scowled at his supposed peers and allies; he found no support. His eyes eventually fell upon his useless son: Draco stood, a dumb look on his face, as his arms hung limply at his sides.

"Damned mudbloods and the blood-traitors who support them," Lucius muttered, well aware there was nothing here he could win.

"Lord Malfoy," Harry growled, "be thankful I'm neither petty nor vindictive but this is the second time you thought to assault someone I consider a friend; did your son not tell you that Hermione and, by extension, all the Grangers are under my aegis? Others might think your faded tattoo intimidates; I do not. Consider this a warning . . . Lucius," the green-eyed wizard drawled in fair imitation of Draco, "if you attempt to or actually injure someone House Potter considers a friend, I will see to your head and body becoming pen-pals."

Harry turned to walk away but stopped and looked back.

"By the way," he added mockingly, "how are the finances these days; has your charitable donation habit been curbed yet?"

"What are you implying, Potter?" Lucius challenged, doing his best to intimidate the young wizard; it didn't work. "Should I to take what you said as threat or childish bluster?"

"I threaten nothing, as you and I well know. Besides, I was being direct like any good Gryffindor. So, take my words however you wish but do try to be intelligent about it; like Lady Bones said earlier: I'd hate to see Draco become an orphan by circumstance. As for your blood-traitor comment? Perhaps one day we should sit down and discuss which side did the most damage to your much-vaunted 'Pureblood' society. I'm not the only one who stands as the last of a once noble line and many other great families are now extinct: you must be so proud."

Lord Malfoy scowled but held his tongue, he turned sharply on his heel and said, "Draco, let's go; I wish to bathe, I reek of filth."

With that, Lucius took Draco's arm and pushed him towards the apparition point. As they walked, Rita Skeeter—the Daily Prophet's première gossip monger—appeared ala quick-quotes quill and parchment at the ready.

"Out of my way, witch," Lord Malfoy hissed as he roughly shoved her aside. As he walked away, Harry and company heard him murmur sullenly, "When the Wizengamot hears about this."

Hermione, Daphne and Tracey fought to contain their giggles and failed.

"I fear you are playing a dangerous game, Lord Potter," Amelia said sternly before adding, "as are you Mrs. Granger."

"A game that, perhaps, more should've played, Lady Bones and long before now," a cultured voice rose above the din of voices, "If more had acted as decisively, your country might not have had that bout of unpleasantness a decade ago; things which left our young Lord, and many others, orphans."

"Ambassador Li," Amelia bowed, acknowledging a rather tall Oriental Wizard and the young witch known as Su to Harry and his friends, "I hadn't expected to see you here."

"And miss my first daughter's first return from Hogwarts?" he replied without a discernible accent, "Besides, should I not at least meet the young witches and wizard Su has come to call friends?"

The stately wizard turned to his daughter and asked, "Are you going to introduce your companions?"

Blushing appealingly, Su Li replied nervously, "of course father; allow me to introduce you to Rord . . . sorry, Lord Harry of Ancient and Most Honorable . . . I mean Noble House Potter."

"Heir Potter," the Ambassador said with a formal bow, "I'm honoured; Su has written a number of positive things about you, and you comported yourself quite admirably despite Amelia's misgivings."

"Ambassador Li, I am honoured as well," Harry replied, bowing responsively.

"And who are these striking young witches?" He asked with a smile.

Still nervous, since, in many ways, this was Su's first foray into diplomacy; she answered, "She Her-Hermione Granger; I not know woman but think her mother."

With another smile and bow, he addressed Hermione with a curious tone, "It's an honour to meet a friend of my daughter; I'm told you are at the top of your classes, that is quite the accomplishment for a witch new to our world."

"Thank you, Ambassador Li," Hermione said with a bow, her cheeks a faint pink.

"Mrs. Granger," he turned and acknowledged with another bow, "You are quite intriguing; it is rare to see one hold one's self as you do with such aplomb and—as I understand it—without magic. I've only seen such abilities in a few magical monks from my homeland, where did you train; your movement are near cat-like and beyond fast?"

Emma smiled and replied, "While I trained some as a youth, my skills and abilities are the result of time spent as a dental assistant to the man who later became our husband; we were posted at Hereford."

As the consummate diplomat, which the ambassador was, he recognized Emma's 'our' as more than a pronoun slip, but focused on her military history, "Yes, I see, quite the honourable regiment and quite unexpected, I might add. It goes far to explain your skill but not your ability. Few can move as you do; I doubt good Lucius saw more than a blur."

"I keep myself in shape and—as odd as it may seem—I've grown faster with age," she replied modestly, "My . . . spouse has a few theories, but we tend not to worry about it."

"Indeed," he said, fairly certain the suspicious pause before 'spouse' implied someone other than Mr. Granger, "I too try to avoid worrying about things I have little control over or aren't overly important. May I speak with you in private, or as privately as our circumstances permit, Mrs. Granger?"

"Emma please, Ambassador Li," she replied, then said, "I assume this is about Hermione's invitation for her after Christmas sleepover? As you're a diplomat I understand your concerns but, rest assured, our home is quite well protected; thanks to generous gifts arranged by Lord Potter and others."

The ambassador smiled, "In part Emma but I've something else I'd like to speak to you about and—when formalities needn't be observed—please, my honourable lady, call me Lionel . . ."

". . . Lionel?" She repeated in surprise; not noticing the Ambassador's subtle expertise at maneuvering her away from the group and the silent casting of a 'diplomatic level' privacy bubble.

He chuckled and replied, "Indeed, I was born in England and was educated at Hogwarts. Hiram was my dorm-mate all through to our NEWTs. I am, by birth, a citizen of both Magical England and the Free Eastern Magical Alliance. My father opted for a name that worked well in both societies. Being born and educated in England is why I succeeded my father as FEMA's ambassador and why I don't have much of an accent; although, according to my grandmother, my Cantonese, Mandarin and Japanese sound abhorrent.

"So, Lady Regent," Lionel asked quietly, although his charm prevented eavesdropping, "has Gringotts arranged for your daughter's appearance before Her Majesty?"

"Excuse me?" Emma responded, sounding blasé.

"Now, now my lady," the Ambassador began, "we both know what 'Ambassador' really means. It's just a fancy name for a Regional Intelligence Supervisor," he added with a friendly chuckle. "It's all part of the grand game of diplomacy and during times of peace; such manoeuvrings keep us amused. Still, I must say, by far the most amusing is England's own Ministry, which I believe is the only ministry in this part of the world unaware of your daughter and who she associates with. By Merlin—to use a UK aphorism—even no-mags in certain rather discrete executive departments know."

Sounding as uncomfortable as she looked, Emma said, "Yes . . . well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised but, admittedly, I'm not enjoying being under a microscope."

"Undoubtedly, Emma my dear," Lionel retorted with an understanding smile, "but your daughter became friends with the one wizard who guarantees the microscope. Skeeter and company prove that. I suspect we can expect a rather interesting picture and companion caustic commentary in tomorrow's Prophet: whether about you, Lord Malfoy or our young lord is anyone's guess. Have you retained Magical counsel?"

She smiled and replied, "Of course and our allies are not to be trifled with."

"I'm sure," he replied knowingly, "A storm is brewing, and your family stands near its centre, your daughter perhaps at its centre. Now, if you'll excuse me; I have a daughter to get home."

"As do I," Emma said with a smile, "I look forward to seeing you and your daughter after Christmas."

Lionel grinned, "Perhaps sooner, I'd like to review your wards and the appropriateness of the chaperones. I don't mean to sound distrusting but . . ."

". . . Say no more; I understand your concerns," she said casually, "and I assure you; between the wards and residents, your daughter will be quite safe."

"I'm sure," he replied, "and it will be quite educational for her; your family is rather unique after all and challenges many, especially no-mag . . . conventions, rather loudly. But I'm sure this is a conversation better suited to a private venue and, as the old muggle saying goes, we can kill two birds with one stone if I come by tomorrow afternoon: if that's not an inconvenience.

"Oh, where are my manners? I just invited myself to your house, didn't I, and we've only become acquainted; that is rather rude of me. Still, I do hope you understand; my time is not always mine to dictate."

Emma smiled and said, "I can understand; our surgery is booked all day tomorrow and I doubt we'll be home before dinner time. Thankfully, our . . . um . . . friend will be home with the kids, so you can still drop by to check our wards if you want. Well, anyways, we really must get going, Lionel, I'm sure you understand."

"I do my Lady," he smiled, "Su and I best get moving too; her siblings, mother and . . . aunts are waiting to hear about our daughter's adventures at Hogwarts."

"One moment, Ambassador," Emma said while drawing something from her purse, which she handed to him. "A ward pass; you'll likely be rather uncomfortable without one."

"Thank you," Ambassador Li replied as he dispelled his wards and he and Emma returned to their children.

"Time to go, Su," he told his daughter and held out his hand.

"Yes father," the petite witch dutifully replied before saying to Hermione, "I see you and Harry and Daphne after, we have much fun then. I rook . . . pardon, look forward meeting sister and friend Runa too; she sound different."

Hermione smiled, "Different barely describes Luna, you'll see. That aside, we're looking forward to your visit; my parents have arranged several non-magical and educating outings I'm told. It'll be great!"

As Su and her father departed, Amelia and Susan offered their farewells as well before heading to the King's Cross Floo platform. They deposited their sickles and vanished into the green flames.

"Emma dear," Hiram began, "do you need a hand wrestling Hermione's and Harry's luggage to your vehicle?"

"We're good Hiram, but thanks anyways; they only packed book bags, so it's not like we have all that much. Besides, I didn't drive, I got a portkey; parking can be such a hassle, especially around here. Another positive for Hermione's and Harry's friendship, hurray for portkeys," Emma said with playful smile.

"Very well then, we shall see you and your family on the twenty-sixth," he said with a grin before turning to his charges, "Let's go girls."

"Mrs. Granger . . ." Igraine began, having quietly watched—like a good little Slytherin—the preceding dramas.

". . . Emma please," invited the woman, easily mistaken for Hermione's more 'adult'—and sultry—doppelgänger.

"Emma then," she started again, "I'm looking forward to getting to know you and your husband and it'll be nice to see Narcissa again, away from that wizard who was her husband."

"Were you friends at Hogwarts?"

"Not friends, per se, but rather close associates, I'd say. Friendship is an elusive thing in Slytherin's House, especially with a witch holding a 'Princess of the Black' pedigree. Nonetheless, she treated me well; considering my family's status the year I started Hogwarts."

Emma smiled and said, "Social class division only reared their hideous heads when I began college and I saw a bit between the 'coms' and 'noncoms' at Hereford. It was usually little more than a turned-up nose, but those candidates tended not to make it through the selection process. Anyways, Igraine, I need to get my magicals moving; I've got to collect the rest of my mini-mages from Gringotts and then head home."

"The rest?"

"Yep," Emma said with a smile, "Narcissa is busy attending to some business with my husband so I'm picking up Danielle and Luna."

"Luna . . . as in Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter?" she muttered with a bit of a negative tone, "How do you know them; aren't they kind of . . . um . . . eccentric?"

Emma shrugged and replied with a grin, "What of it? Luna's a doll, our very own little faery princess you might say. Danielle and she met in Diagon Ally; they've been pretty much inseparable since. And for all Xeno's a good guy and wizard and all; he's sort of out of his depth when it comes to his daughter, so me and Cissy have, sort of, became surrogate mothers of sorts for the dear girl. Anyways, I'd love to chat longer but really must get moving."

"As must we," she agreed.

With farewells exchanged, the Greengrass family and Tracey Davis headed to floo station.

"Come along Hermione; Harry," Emma said, guiding the two to the portkey zones. Crossing the departure demarcation line, Hermione's mother adjusted her wristwatch, offered her elbows and said with a smile, "link arms."

The children took their places at Mrs. Granger's sides and, following a quick countdown from three, found themselves hooked behind their navels and spun towards their destination. The short trip ended with the three arriving in Gringotts' VIP portkey lounge. Unfortunately for Harry, not equipped, as it where in the 'dancer toes' department (like certain female companions); his landing was a little rough, leading to an ungainly introduction to the floor.

"I hate portkeys," Harry mumbled as he stood and dusted himself off; Hermione and Emma giggled.

"Well met my noble ladies and Harry," Griphook said with an amazing amount of control, but it was obvious his laughter was barely contained, "I hope the day finds you well with gold added to your vaults."

"As do we and to yours," Emma and Harry both replied with practiced response.

Griphook smiled, he had developed more than a passing fancy for Mrs. Granger, which was surprising for a goblin, but he was in good company; the Overlord and his youngest wives seemed rather enamoured with her as well.

Realizing his thoughts were wandering down distracting tunnels, he refocused himself and said, "I know your three wants to get home, but could I borrow Emma for a bit; I need her to review and sign some papers, which Dan and Narcissa dropped off earlier. Harry why don't you and Hermione meet up with Danielle and Luna; they're using the Potter Chambers for some pre-Yule practice. We can meet back here in an hour or so."

"I suppose that works for me; Hermione?" Harry replied.

"I'm good," she replied, "besides, I'm looking forward to seeing what they've been learning; I can't help but be a touch envious though: what an opportunity! Bye mum; let's go Harry."

Emma and Griphook watched the two leave and, as the green-eyed wizard led his young witch from the arrival chamber, the goblin turned to Mrs. Granger and asked, "Do you think they know just how connected they are and appear? It's something one rarely sees, especially in those so young."

"I think they are very aware of their connection, but I don't think they've put a name to it yet," was her thoughtful reply.

—}{—

Taking Hermione's hand, Harry led her through the labyrinthine corridors that was Gringotts, below its banking gallery. Although semi-public, the lower level saw very few witches or wizards beyond its VIP floo reception. Of those rare encounters, most were scurrying to and from their business with The Nation; never wanting to remain longer than necessary in the company of the lesser creatures entrusted to protect their wealth. To Harry it was all rather ironic but, except for a very few individuals, logic and common sense seemed woefully lacking in wizarding England. Unable to help himself, Harry smirked.

"What has you simpering?" Hermione teased.

"Middling mage madness," he nearly snickered in reply.

"Middling mage . . . sorry, whatever do you mean?"

"It's how most witches and wizards see goblins," he answered in a grim tone, "They think nothing about how 'our' economy rests in the hands of 'dirty sub-beings' and habitually put-on airs because . . . well, the average witch or wizard is just so much better than their gold guardians. Most have no common sense, let alone a strategic mind and have no idea what would happen if Gringotts closed its doors. Of course, you can blame a lot, if not most, of that on Binns and his incessant prattle about great wizarding victories in all those so-called goblin rebellions; in which wizards were not nearly as victorious as they believed. Just a simple thought; a simple flash of insight, indeed, and they might realize who is really in charge: he who controls the coin; controls the realm. I'm not holding my breath, Mione."

"I suppose I understand but that's pretty damning; not to mention cynical," she stated, "You know, Harry, Professor McGonagall really gave us a pretty abridged version of magical society, but I guess I'll learn in time; maybe I'll even learn how to navigate down here: how do you know where you're going? I'm completely turned around."

"I understand how you feel; I was sure glad when Griphook showed me the trick," he replied and came to a stop. He looked about and spotted a dimly glowing crystal, partially embedded in the wall. Harry grinned and added, "Ah, here we go."

Hermione looked at the nondescript, colorless gem. "What's that?" the bushy-haired witch asked.

"It's a Gringotts' keystone, Hermione; let me show you," Harry replied as he guided her hand to the warm surface of the stone. On contact, he quietly intoned, "Potter's Suite."

Hermione giggle out, "I agree, Potter is sweet; he's cute too."

Harry blushed but said, "Um . . . thanks, now watch, Mione."

As he spoke, a braided ribbon of blue magic sprung from the crystal and began wending its way down the corridor. As the ribbon's head disappeared around a corner, Harry said, "We need to follow, or it will fade from view. It's a really neat system and can lead you to any public or permitted location and on duty goblin; providing they're not 'busy'."

"Wow, that does make navigation easier, but can't it get cluttered and confusing," she asked, "I mean, how would you know which ribbon is the right ribbon to follow if more than one person is using the system?"

"That's easy," Harry said with a smile, "only you and I can see our ribbon since we co-called it. That's why I left my hand against yours when I asked. Now let's go and find out what Dani and Luna have been learning; Griphook's fleeting mentions of their syllabus has me thinking he left something—actually, a lot of somethings—out. Truthfully, Hermione, I'm a little worried about it; now that I mention it: goblins don't 'get' offhanded or wistful remarks and tend to be uncompromisingly literal. Remember what I said about my 'Goblin' education during August?"

Hermione nodded; then squeaked, "Oh dear . . ."

Holding each other's hand, so they didn't get separated, Harry and Hermione scurried through the ways beneath the common banking and administration level. Soon, they reached an ornate set of doors, which bore Potter heraldry. They swung open as a Son of the House approached. Harry led her into the suite and escorted her to a rather plain looking door. Beside the door were two gems and floating within each was a glowing number: a three and a seven respectively.

"Oh good, we don't have to wait," Harry said.

"Wait . . . wait for what?" asked the bushy-haired witch.

"To get inside," he replied, "The space behind this door can operate under a time dilation field. The numbers in the crystals display the ratio between the inside and outside time streams; in this case three hours outside equals seven hours inside. It's really handy when you have a lot to learn but not a lot of time; I spent days inside during August and sometimes I compounded the time differential with a time-turner."

"It's a time chamber," Hermione whispered in awe; she remembered Harry mentioning his training during August but to see the means to that end was enthralling; so enthralling that the bushy-haired bibliophile never noticed the packed bookshelves that dominated the walls.

"Yeah, I guess so and more," Harry said with a nonchalant shrug, "Anyways, if the numbers are flashing, we have to wait or get a Gringotts' MOM—that's a Magical Operations' Manager—to deactivate the dilation. You need a damn good reason to interrupt one too, because there can be all kinds of serious consequences if you do; or so I'm told."

"I suppose we're lucky then," she said, "since the number aren't flashing, we can go in."

"Sure can," Harry said with a nod.

The green-eyed wizard gripped the door knob and gave it a turn. There was a resounding click and then he pushed the door open. It swung away from them and, as it opened, hot and almost tropically humid air poured from the interior. As both young magicals remained donned in winter coats, the oppressive heat forced them to remove their outer garments. Once removed, Hermione and Harry stepped over the threshold and into the near blinding glare, lighting the chamber. Once their eyes grew accustomed to the harsh light, they were able to see what lay inside.

"Harry," Hermione began, "why is there a jungle in here?"

"This room is a lot like that area in the Patrons' and Founders' Chamber; it can be set to different environments, which makes it an especially useful learning aid. As for the jungle theme, I suppose either Dani of Luna programed it that way, but I don't know why."

"I see," Hermione began with an odd tone, "but can you tell me what the pastel pink and lilac giant bunny-unicorn-thingies, over by that pond, are? You know, the ones with the crumpled horns?"

"How should I know," he replied shaking his head, "Me, I'm kinda puzzled 'bout those bubble-like winged thingies, floating about and humming like hummingbirds: any ideas, Mione?"

The bushy-haired witch shook her head as she nibbled her bottom lip. She looked rather disturbed and almost affronted by the sight of such strange creatures; almost as if they didn't fit her world view. They didn't fit Harry's either, but he was more inured to Wizarding World's oddities than Hermione was and tended not to let such things bother him anymore.

"The trees look kinda off too, don'cha think?" She deadpanned.

"You think?" he said, "they've got blue and red leaves and have purple trunks. I think Luna's rather unique mind commanded this scenario because I'm sure Dani wouldn't dream it up; at least I hope not. Luna's mind-bending enough and I'd rather not deal with another like her; thank you very much."

As Hermione and Harry fell to dumbfounded silence, they heard a girly squeal from somewhere above and behind them. Looking around, they both spotted what appeared to be a blurry ball of gold and red tumbling from the sky. The ball hit the chamber floor a short distance from where they stood; before it bounced entirely unnaturally off the orange carpet of grass beneath their feet. With the orb once more in the air, Harry and Hermione watched as the sphere unfolded into a human-shaped winged figure, which gracefully landed on its toes. The figure, obviously female and naked, placed her hands on her hips and radiated annoyance; an annoyance clearly displayed by the flutter of her wings, much like an irritated cat flicking its tail.

"Luna!" exclaimed a voice that could only be Danielle Granger-Black's, "Will you please stop with the annoying vacuum thingy around my wings! And don't you dare blame nargles because you and I both know there aren't any here, right now"

"Silly Dani," Luna's aerie voice came from the direction of the odd-looking forest, "I keep telling you: magic gives you flight; wings give you control. They make you look pretty too; but you don't believe me. You fall because you think you're gonna fall and just so you know, we've got some visiting wrackspurts or perhaps that's visitors with wrackspurts? Hello Harry Potter. Hello Hermione Granger."

With Luna announcing the arrival of Harry and her sister, Danielle spun to face the recent arrivals. It was then that she remembered she was standing naked before a boy. Her skin seemed to ignite, as she flushed from her head and to her toes. Harry did much the same, although only his face was visible. The young wizard collapsed to his knees, but it took a moment for the girls to noticed him clutching his sides; Harry Potter was trying to contain his laughter.

With one arm across her chest and her hand covering a rather private area, Danielle exclaimed, "Wh-what's so funny!"

"What did I say about offhanded remarks around goblins?" Harry answered between barely managed guffaws but being a gentleman, he fought to avert his eye; it was rather hard, though, after all he was a boy on the cusp of puberty.

"Yeah . . . well how was I to know?" she countered, her hands on her waist and her foot tapping in annoyance as she stared into him with gold flecked ruby eyes, "besides, it's not bad just . . . different."

"Not putting too fine of a point on things," he sputtered, "but could you and Luna please put on some clothes? This must be as uncomfortable for you as it is for me."

"Do you not find us attractive, Harry Potter?" Luna asked as she fluttered to a landing beside Danielle, her nakedness a non-concern to her, "but if you insist."

Luna and Dani each tapped a winged pendant that hung from a short and intricately linked gold chain worn around their necks. Instantly, shiny black fabric grew from their necklaces. It flowed, almost liquid like, covering their chests and then around their waists; finally stopping once the material flared over their hips to create very short skirts.

Once clad, Luna turned her uncovered back towards Hermione and displayed her two languidly flapping wings. She looked over her shoulder and, with a rather unchildlike smile, teasingly asked, "do you like my wings; ya'wanna touch them?"

"Luna!" Danielle exclaimed, "what have I told you about flirting?"

"Oh pooh!" she replied as she stamped her foot, "I thought that was just with Uncle Griphook or Uncle Dan, but I can't flirt with your sister either; that's not fair."

As they spoke, Hermione found herself studying her now 'be-faed' sister. I should be freaking out about now, she thought, have I really gotten that used to bizarre stuff. I suppose as things go, it's not a bad look for Danielle . . . What am I thinking!

At last, the bushy-haired witch found her voice and firmly stated, "I hope you've told mums and dad about this."

Danielle Granger-Black blanched.

—}{—

Danielle's debut as Luna's red and gold faery sister, after dinner, went unexpectantly well. Sure, it began with the expected shouting. Even Dan and Narcissa telling Danielle how foolish and impulsive she'd been had been expected. Thankfully though, the conversation quickly evolved to quiet displeasure and an exchange of promises about open minds and dialogue: before future body modifications. Through all, Harry and Hermione sat in silent discomfort, exchanging the odd and awkward glance. For Hermione it was mostly about embarrassment, which came with any loud parental disapproval, but there was also an underlying sense of happiness that came from being part of her recently expanded family. In Harry's case, aside from discomfort, there was an odd sense of surrealism that came from the Granger/Granger-Black adults insisting he remain during this rather strange family crisis.

Luna, of course, appeared indifferent since her Fae sensibilities tended to consider such mundane matters (like changing one's genus) as inconsequential; being, as it were, her greater concerns with the aethereal. Oddly and to a lesser degree, Danielle exhibited a similar mien of indifference and she was the focus of her parents' ire. She never shouted and her now aery voice quickly soothed her mother and father's anger. Sitting wordlessly, Emma Granger's feelings on her new daughter's rather major makeover vacillated between disturbed and curious, wildly; even as her gaze remained fixed on Danielle's comely and indolently flapping wings.

Eventually, the blue and gold faery broke the heavy silence dominating the room and everyone's spirits.

"Aunty Em," Luna began both unexpectedly and nonchalantly, "I can pretty much hear your thoughts and your cryptic smile says a lot, but I think you should speak with Uncle Dan and Aunt Cissy before you really consider what you're considering. You should probably speak with Hermione too. It is, after all, a rather radical rearrangement of everyone's life. If it's not influenced by the nargles or wrackspurts; I'd be happy to donate a bit of my essence. If, after all, you all decide on this and if The Nation thinks it's doable; I'd gleefully welcome you as my second sister Faery Godmother, Aunty Em."

"Emma, what are . . ." Dan started but stopped when he noticed the gleam of determination in his wife's eyes. I forgot how she sometimes got, that sense of resolve. It's what saw her become one of the few women to be part of my old regiment. Sure, it was mostly in a support role, but it still required an iron will; not to mention an iron fist to deter the more amorous candidates.

"Dan, Cissy," Emma stated, "I'll not be impulsive, like our daughter but I'm still going to think about it. A lot of little girls dream about having fairy wings and being able to fly; I know I did. Should I embrace that dream at this point in my life, I can't honestly say. Either way, today is not the day for that discussion and that discussion is only part of a bigger conversation regarding the direction our lives have taken since September. Let's table all that for now and just be a family gathered to enjoy the holidays."

"And speaking of family," Narcissa picked up, "we've got something for you Harry; an early Yule gift shall we say."

With that, Narcissa silently summoned three scrolls. She gave one to Harry and said, "Go ahead Harry, break the seal and unroll your future."

He looked at the item in his hand and knew immediately that it was an official piece of Gringotts legalese, the embossed wax blob sealing it said it all.

"What's this?" He asked.

"Open it and see son," Dan replied on the family's behalf.

Harry slid a finger beneath the end of the parchment scroll and broke the seal. He unfurled the document and began to read, his eyes misting by the moment until, at last, he reached the bottom. Removing his glasses, Harry hastily brushed away the tears and looked at his hosts.

He asked emotionally, "I-I never have to go back to my aunt and uncle's . . . e-ever?"

"Never ever," Emma replied, "but . . ."

"But?" Harry said nervously.

"We're sorry Harry," Narcissa answered, "Originally, we were going to let you decide about where to go, after the Dursleys but . . . well . . . after a little legilimency we decided to act immediately: those muggles are despicable. Thankfully, Griphook helped us with the documents so if you want to go somewhere else all you'll have to do is ask. I really hope you'll stay; Dan and Emma have always wanted a son and I would very much like the chance to be a positive influence in a young man's life: I had so little involvement with the raising of Draco after he was weaned."

"I-I don't know what to-to say," Harry managed.

"You don't have to say anything son," Daniel said, "at least not yet. It's all legal like and you can take your time deciding and no-one—not even a certain Chief Warlock—can overturn the legally assigned guardianship of a young magical living in non-magical England."

"And that's not all," Narcissa added as she handed one of the remaining scrolls to Hermione and the other to Harry.

As if timed, Harry and Hermione broke the seals on the gifted scrolls together. Immediately upon reading, Hermione jumped to her feet and, as if having apparated, threw her arms around Narcissa.

"Thank-you, Cissy-mum," the bushy-haired witch said, her arm so tight around her other mother that Narcissa was finding it hard to breath.

"We understand," Narcissa managed once she was able to breathe again, "That, technically, neither of you require magical guardians because of your statuses but we thought a little misdirection might be convenient, until you both decide to fully declare yourselves before the Wizengamot. Keeping a certain warlock ignorant of such things will likely be best for all intents."

—}{—

Albus Dumbledore had not thought he'd be visiting Little Whinging so soon. Sure, he'd made plans to visit the Dursleys and speak to them before Harry returned home after his first year but here, he was now and likely facing an awkward conversation. He'd hoped to have the opportunity to tell the boy's guardians, privately, about under-aged magic use and magic—generally—being used in and about muggle areas. Unfortunately, the young wizard's surprising decision to go home for Yule had ruined Albus' plans. Nevertheless, he still needed to speak to the Dursleys, and the boy's presence would need to be accounted for; especially as it related to Harry's contact with the magical side of things. After all, there were still Death Eaters out there who'd love to harm the boy and—more importantly—he needed to limit the amount of damage the lad's gaggle of witches might do to his Greater Good.

"Mummy," Albus heard a young girl's voice, "shouldn't Father Christmas be too busy right now to be here? And why is he wearing his nightshirt?"

The headmaster turned towards the young girl—no more than seven or eight—just as her mother replied with a quiet hiss, "That's not Father Christmas honey; now let's get home and I'll make you some hot cocoa, you must be cold by now."

"Yay, cocoa, yummy!" the girl said with a happy squeal.

Dumbledore watched as the girl's mother took her daughter's hand and then lifted her into her arms. The woman turned quickly and began walking away at a brisk pace. Occasionally, she glanced back at Albus with suspicion as she hurriedly increased the distance between herself and the oddly attired old-man.

"Poor misguided muggles; they truly need my guidance," the headmaster muttered, patronizingly, as the woman rounded a corner. "Well, first things first I suppose."

Maintaining a steady gait, Albus made his way towards number four Privet Drive. He reached the cookie-cutter built house—no different than its neighbours—and casually strolled up the walk. With no more than a cursory glance at the shiny new automobile parked in the drive, the headmaster made his way to the front door and knocked. He heard a shuffling sound from the other side of the door and the peephole darkened.

"W-What do you want?" he heard a woman's nervous voice through the door.

"Who is it, Pet?" Albus heard a gruff voice yell, "and what the devil are they doing knocking at our door at this hour? If it's some salesmen or one of those god-awful Hare Krishna's tell them to bugger off."

Dumbledore checked his pocket watch and frowned; it was a little after eight, which he'd never consider qualifying as an 'at this hour'.

"It's . . . it's one of them, V-Vernon; I'm s-sure.

"What do you mean 'one of them'?" the headmaster heard, "You don't mean one of those freaks, like the boy, do you?"

"I . . . I think s-so," Albus heard the woman reply, he didn't like what he was hearing but from the other side of the door the thump-thump of heavy footsteps grew closer.

"What do you want with us," Vernon Dursley blustered, without opening the door, "be off with you; we don't want your kind 'round here so leave us decent normal folk alone."

"Mr. Dursley," Dumbledore crooned in his most soothing voice, "I really must speak to you about your nephew, Harry. He has left the school, without me providing sufficient security; there are dark witches and wizards about who'd do him and your family harm if he's followed home."

"He's gone, I tell you, we're finally rid of the freak: he's not here and not welcome and neither are you!" Vernon shouted.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I really must insist and what I have to say is not meant to be discussed with loud voices talking through a door."

"Go away and darken someone else's door," Mr. Dursley growled, "we've had it with you and your type; now good riddance to you, sir!"

"My, my such poor manners," Dumbledore said as he drew his wand, "Alohomora."

The lock clicked and with a gentle magical nudge the door swung open as the Dursleys scurried away from the opening. Vernon and Petunia stood, arms around each other, as Albus stepped into the house. The door swung closed behind the headmaster and he regarded, disparagingly, the two frightened muggles before him.

Faking courage, he didn't have, Vernon managed, "Y-You sir are breaking and entering, and I demand that you leave, im-immediately. I-I already told you the boy is not here, and with any luck, we'll n-never see him again. He's with your k-kind now; now l-leave us alone!"

"Dursley!" Dumbledore roared, "What have you done!?"

Vernon Dursley, barely maintaining bladder control, cowered with his wife but replied shakily, "y-yesterday, a man and a woman—your kind—were here; can't remember any names. Can't really r-remember w-what they looked l-like either. They told . . . demanded really, we sign documents, which reassigned the boy's guardianship; of course, we signed them. Th-they even offered us a hundred-thousand quid; they could've had him for nothing, if it meant we were shot of him, forever: the hundred-thou was just a-a windfall, why shouldn't we take it."

"You sold your nephew," Albus growled, "even muggles aren't usually this despicable; let me see the documents . . . Now!"

Terrified, Petunia scurried to an end-table, retrieved a simple manila scroll and hurried back to Dumbledore. Having no patience for the muggle female he snatched it from her hand and broke the seal; in his anger, he ignored the embossed wax signet of Gringotts. He unrolled the scroll and began to read the dry legalese lawyers were so fond of. Scowling, Albus soon realized that the scroll was written as a protective assignment and only showed Harry's and his Aunt's names. On the lines that named his new guardians or their address, he saw was a meaningless string of letters, since he wasn't a signatory. Like a Fidelius charm, it protected the document's contents, so he couldn't pluck the information from the minds of either Petunia or her fat husband.

Albus took a deep, hopefully calming, breath and asked, "Do you know what you've done?"

"We're rid of the freak you saddled us with ten years ago, without even a 'by your leave' from either you or the other freaks. We never wanted him and now I say 'good riddance'; besides I'm sure the feelings between us and the freak are mutual; we both want him with his own kind, where he belongs. Now that he's gone, we can forget about all this magic nonsense and live good, proper lives."

"Foolish muggle," Dumbledore vilified, "While this was your nephew's home; none of his enemies could find him and by extension you. By signing away his guardianship, you signed away the only protection you had and when Voldemort's Death Eaters come—and they will come—they will not hesitate to torture you and use your family as bait; hoping Harry will come to your rescue. Why do I get the distinct impression Harry will not care what happens to those he left behind on Privet Drive? You've only yourselves to blame for this and, if I were you, I'd be thinking that Northern Canada or the Australia Outback was a great place to raise a family. Adieu Dursley, I'd make haste to leave if I were you; there are people who've spent ten years looking for Harry and now they'll be able to find him quite quickly: well, this house anyways. Best not be in it when they come."

Without regards to proper wizarding courtesy or manners for that matter, Albus turned on his heel and noisily apparated from the Dursley's front hall. His loud departure shattered some of Petunia's finer glass and crystal wares but Dumbledore was too livid to care. Either way, the muggles should be thankful that Albus' anger was only felt by their things as opposed to their physical or mental selves.

*Fiona Iníonó Bhunaitheoirí (Irish 'daughter from founders')