A.N.: Please don't kill me! I got hooked on the idea of rewriting this *again* so it's more streamlined, believable etc., and I can work on George and Maia's relationship more.

The Eldest of the Pleiades

01

Maia

The shimmering figure that glimmered in the corner of her eye made Maia's heart sink to her stomach, the extra weight pressing down on her already stooped figure – stooped, because her entire body seeming to echo the emotional exhaustion she endured. She clenched her jaw, her face tired, stiff, her skin scratchy from salt-tears, and she sniffed and wiped her dripping chin on the back of her arm as she got stuck in, turning the vegetable-patch for new-potatoes. Down the lane, the tall figure wandered idly toward her, and she knew by the cut of the robes and the richness of the embroidery, the glittering silver beard tucked into his belt, exactly who it was.

She shouldn't have been surprised – but she let out a choked sigh and kept turning the earth. Visitors weren't a rarity – though a Squib, her great-aunt had been a celebrity in the wizarding community, the leading biographer in the world, and one of her greatest delights was inviting guests to afternoon-tea. Carved into gentle hills in the middle of nowhere, amongst picturesque meadows speckled with wildflowers, sweeping green lawns and swans gliding idly by on delicately-gurgling streams tracing through the countryside like ribbons flashing like silver in the sunshine, untouched by modernity, the panelled warren Maia had grown up in, her home, the spread of meadows and woods, now seemed desolate without the woman who had made it home.

Maia hadn't put makeup on in days, had only just this week started wearing a bra, leaving her TARDIS even just to venture to the orchard to tend her bees. She hadn't brushed her hair in two days. And Maia was obsessed, took delight in the creativity and challenge of developing her own magical cosmetics – that said something. It didn't matter – Uncle Albus had known her since her earliest infancy; Diane had teased that Maia had spit up chocolate-cake and cheesy broccoli all over his robes. So he could handle a fifteen-year-old with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks and her hair in tangles.

For heaven's sake, he was headmaster of a school. He'd seen it all. She was sure he had seen a few girls turn their boyfriends into animals in a fit of annoyance and hurt feelings. What was an owl from the Improper Use of Magic office, when he had probably handed out detentions for the same magic? Maia had never been to Hogwarts, Uncle Albus was not her headmaster. And she hadn't even been using her wand! But he had been one of Diane's oldest friends, Maia had grown up with the eccentric, mesmerising old wizard dropping in for tea with Diane and Uncle Septimus. Uncle Albus was the awing figure Maia remembered from her childhood, always appearing with sweets and making dazzling, beautiful things with his wand, miniature fireworks, working models of unicorns and griffins, pretty things that twinkled and smelled beautiful and sounded like glass church-bells, sweets so sumptuous she could remember every detail of them to this day, sometimes bringing a toy or, more usually as she got older, a book, a hard-to-obtain potions ingredient, a piece of magical equipment. Diane used to tease him as one might a much-younger brother she had doted on. Especially after Septimus had died, and Diane had realised…she was the last one left, the last of her siblings – the last of Maia's family.

Uncle Albus had arrived at the polished Hobbit-hole just in time to say goodbye, the evening before Diane had died. But not in the room, like Maia had been, holding her aunt's freshly-manicured hand as the light had left her aunt's luminous, mercurial eyes. Great Aunt Diane had been ancient all Maia's young life; and at fifteen Maia had always expected that Diane would continue on long after she herself was grown, with children of her own for Diane to teach and cuddle. That was how it was supposed to be. Not this.

Diane was never supposed to die.

But she had. The unthinkable had happened – what was she supposed to do now?

She was still waiting for Aunt Diane to come wandering into her room at an absurd hour, wanting to read tea-leaves, or else rescuing them all from a "conflagration" of Diane's making as she tried to toast her own crumpets, dawdling around the house with her crochet-hook and her classical records, lovingly polishing the photograph-frames she had collected for decades. Her pictures, her treasures.

The person Maia loved dearest in the entire world, was gone – she didn't know what to do without Diane. Maia's entire life had been dedicated to the eccentric, mercurial, ancient woman who seemed to transcend time's influence. The woman who had made Maia's life extraordinary. Gone. Her eyes burned, and she wished he hadn't come. Uncle Albus was a great wizard, and a good man; she knew the constraints on his time. He never did anything without purpose. Had her magical outburst been enough to draw him here?

"Dashy!" she called scratchily, clearing her throat and wishing her eyes weren't burning so much. "Put the kettle on, please! Uncle Albus is here." There was an excitable squeak from inside the polished warren, and the free elf Maia, Septimus and Diane had tucked into their tiny family nearly fourteen years ago was rushing around the Hobbit-hole putting tea together.

Of all the ancient people Maia wanted to see dawdling up her garden-path, Uncle Albus wasn't in the top slot. And she knew it was because of that that he was here. Had he taken her brief preoccupation with cephalopods as a cry for help?

That had been the first time in a very long time that Maia had used magic without intending to – without her wand. As a little girl her temper had usually gotten the better of her, only encouraged by mad Uncle Septimus, and she had become notorious at her Muggle primary-school for the weird and wonderful things she had got up to. Even at sixth-form college she had indulged in naughtiness for the sake of having some fun and pushing boundaries. Diane used to say Maia had been born with two witches' talents – her own, and Diane's: as a Squib, Diane had been born with no innate magical ability that could be quantified by the use of a wand. She had had her own mysticism, though. But Diane had always been exceptionally proud of how self-motivated and driven Maia was in her independent study of magic. She had always believed people learned far more when they wanted to learn – and Maia was voracious as an academic, as an inventor and someone who enjoyed more than anything experiments, and meticulous research. And all for the sake of fun. She would spend weeks working on something that would end up a disguised jinx she would send to her best-friend Elsa's older-sister at Hogwarts, knowing the moment Etherly shared out that cake half the Hufflepuff common-room would come down with incredibly unusual – and highly embarrassing – boils on their backsides; she would never see the results herself, but the thought of the reaction in the Hufflepuff common-room made Maia's stomach hurt from laughing about it with Elsa.

She wasn't a "trouble-maker" per se, in fact when Maia was enthralled by learning, she was an exceptional student – but she had a sense of humour and an uncanny ability with Charms and Potions; mixed with an appreciation of baking and her own unique pursuits, this made quite a hilarious combination. She was for the most part self-taught, except for a few rare spur-of-the-moment lectures from Sluggy when he came to tea, and Uncle Septimus' influence when she was still very small. There had been a few hair-raising situations she was glad to have come through unscathed; Diane had always believed experience was as vitally important as learning from books, so as Maia researched, Septimus and Diane had organised foreign holidays.

Maia could have gone to Hogwarts if she'd put her foot down and demanded it – but Diane had raised her the way she believed would be most beneficial to Maia in the long-run, and after Septimus had died Maia couldn't handle the thought of leaving Diane alone: this meant attending a Muggle school – then being bumped up two years due to an incredible mind and an unusual work-ethic in someone of her age: she had just sat her A-Levels at fifteen, and while sometimes the experience had been lonely, learning alongside eighteen-year-olds and sailing through sometimes treble their workload, ultimately Maia enjoyed her life. Attending lessons during the week, visiting Elsa on days off, and going out dancing in Diagon Alley – she could've gone dancing every night if she'd wanted: she enjoyed having the freedom to study exactly what she wanted to the level she expected of her own research, when she wasn't in her workshop her stomach ached with yearning to pore over her punishingly-detailed notes, experimenting, inventing, being creative, listening to her records out of Diane's way, in her own space.

She wasn't upset that she had never attended Hogwarts: and she was in a unique position amongst witches her age, for she experienced the best of both cultures, and at least had an appreciation and understanding of the worse parts. Her knowledge of Muggle culture was exceptional: she had learned Muggle history, the cultures of different nations; she socialised with Muggles on a daily basis, they were her friends, they had fun together. And in the wizard world, she enjoyed dancing with Elsa at the Griffin's Roost in Diagon Alley, meeting Elsa every month for a Butterbeer; she appreciated having been able to visit the most awe-inspiring monuments and cultures in the wizard world. Diane may have not been a witch, but she was exceptionally well-connected in the wizard world, both domestically and with a vast network of contacts abroad. Maia had grown up travelling whenever her Muggle school was out for holidays: she had learned foreign wizard cultures – European, Russian, Middle-Eastern, even African and some Far Eastern traditions. She was culturally and politically aware of the world around her.

The wizards from the Improper Use of Magic Office hadn't realised Maia didn't attend Hogwarts. They had taken it for granted that Maia was enrolled there; her impatience reaching new highs, she had explained that special circumstances had been arranged for her to study magic at home. And her wand had proven she hadn't used it to Transfigure William into that octopus, it had just happened. But her legal guardian had been contacted. And here he was, Uncle Albus, his rich robes shimmering in the intense sunshine… This summer threatened to be a heat-wave.

Until Maia turned seventeen, Professor "Uncle Albus" Dumbledore was in charge of her wellbeing.

But Diane had left Maia to the care of the greatest wizard of the age – he had a lot of things to do in his day; and Maia was not used to being taken care of, in any case. All Maia knew was helping Dashy take care of Diane, and once upon a time indulging chronically-boisterous Uncle Septimus in playtime. Now Dashy didn't know what to do any more than Maia did. Dashy took solace in trying to coddle Maia: Maia usually tried to hide with Simba, her exceptionally beautiful true Siamese beauty, a blue tabby point with the most exceptional markings and a soft gradient of colouring to her paws and tail, slender and elegant. But Simba – her female Siamese – didn't know where Diane had gone, either. She had left them all discombobulated – she would enjoy that, discombobulate… Diane, who spouted Virgil and Keats at breakfast, who pilfered trinkets and got into all sorts of naughtiness and stole cakes from the pantry, the wondrous lady who had grown up in another world whose eyes would suddenly go faraway, whispering about her parents, her brothers, telling stories about Maia's beautiful aunts, murdered too young, and about the tricks Septimus used to play on their parents, the great-hearted woman who had taken in abandoned, banished house-elves.

The last time he had been to the Hobbit-hole, Uncle Albus had been just as he always had been, unchanged, still as stately and uncompromisingly kind as ever. A sense of foreboding settled in Maia's stomach, suddenly chilled, setting back on her booted heels, frowning as she watched the professor dawdle down the lane toward her. Why was he here? The issue with the octoboyfriend had been resolved; she had accepted her warning with a roll of her eyes. She had taken her A-Levels, and sixth-form had broken up. She was free.

Not quite. Uncle Albus's half-moon spectacles flashed in the sunshine as he paused in front of her; he shook his long sleeves back, snapping a pea-pod from the curling orange-specked vines growing all over a cane obelisk, and that feeling returned, the ominous one that weighed on her stomach.

"Good evening, Maia," he said politely, when he had finished munching delightedly on the fat, sweet peas. Maia checked her watch – it was nearly six p.m. She nodded.

"Hello, Uncle Albus," she said quietly, squinting behind her sunglasses. "We weren't expecting you." Uncle Albus gave her a peculiar look.

"After the warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office?" he asked, and Maia crinkled her nose. She was becoming increasingly more irritated with the Ministry of Magic, even more so with the restrictions on underage witches and wizards – especially those who did not attend a magical school, or have any supervising adult present capable of magic. And those who were suffering through a massive emotional upheaval; how was she supposed to control her magic, when she had lost the only grounding influence she had had since Uncle Septimus, Dumbledore's oldest friend?

"He deserved it," was all she would say on the matter. She sighed softly, "Would you like to come in for some tea?"

"Thank you," Uncle Albus nodded graciously.

"There might be some cake, too," she said dubiously. Diane had always been a cake-fiend, could, well past her hundredth birthday (Maia had never been quite sure which) demolish an entire cake to herself if Maia and Dashy didn't hide them properly. She was tenacious in her search for those hidden cakes, though, and Maia would frequently sneak to the cake-tin at midnight and find crumbs. Maia had noticed the abundance of cakes in the larder – Dashy kept making them, well into the night. Nobody made cakes like Dashy – and no-one had consumed them like Diane. The idea of cake now made Maia's stomach hurt, and she winced, wrinkling her nose at the spread Dashy had set out on the little round table in the parlour under the deep round window. Sunlight illuminated the room with a golden glow, glinting off crystal vases full of wildflowers, the glass panels of photograph-frames, the trinkets littered about. The Hobbit-hole was meticulously clean but comfortably cluttered with trinkets and books collected over an extremely long lifetime, by an eccentric with lots of different interests and a Gringott's account that let her indulge in an appreciation for – and the accumulation of – beautiful things.

"Cake? Do you know, in my long history of visiting this warren, I have never before expected to receive cake with tea," Uncle Albus mused, and for a moment, his ancient face was a mask of misery, pain flashing in those too-bright blue eyes. He let out a long sigh, and Maia fidgeted. His expression turned kindly and sorrowful at the same time, eyeing her indulgently like the adopted grandfather-figure Maia had always thought of him as. "I am truly very sorry, my dear."

"For what?"

"I left you alone, after losing the person dearest to you in the world," he said softly. He gave her a kind smile that did not quite reach his saddened eyes. "I can only apologise." Maia shrugged, not knowing how to respond. Aunt Diane's empty armchair seemed ten times larger than normal, standing by the little round fireplace. Diane had always teased Professor Dumbledore about his unusual appreciation for Muggle sweets – a small dish of milk-bottle sweets sat on the hand-embroidered tablecloth amongst the teacups and little plates of treats.

"It's not – You don't…" Maia wanted to say You don't have to look after me, but that was exactly what Diane had intended: she had made Uncle Albus her legal guardian until Maia turned seventeen. "Dashy and I are fine."

"Mm," Uncle Albus said, giving Maia a look over the top of his flashing half-moon spectacles, sipping his tea. "I am well aware that you are a fiercely independent-minded young woman. And had I not gone into teaching myself, I would perhaps have become a firm advocate for self-education, something I believe you yourself place in high value. Diane was always most proud of your passion for learning."

She was a hard-worker, and Maia had always loved to learn. Diane had never had any patience for the limitations of a standard curriculum – and knowing the personality of her great-niece, she had never wanted to subject Maia to such restrictions. Maia didn't think she had ever lacked from not going to Hogwarts. She knew many witches and wizards – definitely more than a few purebloods – would be aghast that she preferred attending a Muggle school and learning magic by herself to being blockaded up in a Scottish fortress nine months out of the year… Her education was an anomaly and one few witches had the luxury of indulging in; her magical studies were an extra, dangerous area of study for her, where no-one could clean up any messes. So Maia was reckless, but also incredibly thoughtful about her actions.

"The last time we spoke, you had just sat a series of examinations," Uncle Albus prompted. Though not yet even sixteen, Maia's teachers had all banded together when she was in Year 8 and told Septimus she needed to be put ahead at school. Maia was too clever, she got bored too easily; and when she was bored, she became mischievous. So she would receive her A-Level results just shy of her sixteenth birthday, in August. It was the equivalent of sitting her N.E.W.T. exams two years prematurely. And she had taken triple the number of classes expected of an A-Level student. Her classmates thought of her as intense, to the point of scariness when it came to her cleverness, and if they thought her standoffish, this was offset by her sense of adventure and a mischievous streak. One of her friends compared her to the actress Jennifer Lawrence, a compliment of very high order – she could only have been more flattered if Sarah had said 'Emma Watson'.

She nodded; Maia's last exam had been her Late History A-Level, the morning after Diane had died. She hadn't known what to do, so she had just turned up at college, ready to take the exam: she would rather write about Henry VII's frugality than try to make sense of the fact that Diane was gone. And she was still doing that, still spending her time researching, experimenting with her magic, focusing on anything but the fact the other rooms in the Hobbit-hole were empty of her humming, luminous-eyed eccentric aunt; Dashy was traipsing around with swimming eyes and drooping ears; Simba kept mewling, sitting on Diane's chaise…

"Mm," Uncle Albus mused, and gave her a measuring look, then seemed to come to a decision. "As we have discussed already, Diane left you to my care until your seventeenth birthday. I know you have been keeping up with your magical studies alongside attending your Muggle school." Maia was, in fact, incredibly self-disciplined when it came to school, to learning. She had to be; there was no one to clean up after her. Elsa called her Spencer, after Ms Hastings of Pretty Little Liars fame. And Uncle Albus would know better than anyone how self-motivated she was when it came to her magical education: frequently he allowed her to send him essays she had written on eccentric subjects. Elsa had dubbed him an "enabler", often giving Maia incredibly obscure volumes on varied subjects. He liked to challenge her.

"Diane always was wise," Uncle Albus sighed sadly. "Batty, too, but take it from me, this develops with age."

"I don't think age could quite account for all Diane's foibles," Maia remarked, and Uncle Albus chuckled softly.

"Perhaps not," he smiled. "I was always curious about your Muggle education, but as Diane anticipated, it has done you good. And as for constantly travelling with Septimus while you are so young… I never did my Tour, you know? I had great plans for it – and later in life I managed to visit everywhere I had always dreamed of. But it would have made a difference, engrossing myself in those different cultures so young."

There were few things Maia loved more than travelling – learning foreign cultures: she adored Muggle literature, music, languages, fashion and culture. Every wizard culture across the world was different, and Diane and Septimus had nurtured in Maia a deep lust for travelling, for exploring. She looked forward to every school holiday. Uncle Albus continued, "As it stands, I believe you would make an exceptional addition to the fifth-year class at Hogwarts."

Maia blinked. He spoke gently, but with a dreadful sense of finality, and she bristled, anger flaring as she realised what he meant. He wanted her to go to Hogwarts. Maia wondered if he realised how high-handed he was being; and if he really knew her at all. Her, limited to Hogwarts? Locked within stone walls in the Highlands? If she wanted to live in Scotland, she would move in with Elsa. But she and Elsa both agreed their friendship benefited from space.

She let her anger simmer down, counting, before she ground her jaw and spoke, "You want…me to go to Hogwarts?"

"I think the situation would become highly beneficial," Uncle Albus said mildly. "Coincidentally, your name had been down for enrolment at Hogwarts since the moment of your birth – I know the decision to forfeit your place was not made lightly, however, I think it high time you had full access to the Hogwarts library… As it happens, I also managed to find some information regarding your paternity." Maia's eyes snapped up to Uncle Albus' ancient face.

"My father?" Like Gandalf and the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, her father was a fleeting idea, difficult to prove its existence; only the fact she was alive was testament that she had one, that he had once lived. Maia knew two things about her father: that his name was Regulus, and that he was dead.

She had been a baby during the War that had wiped out her entire family – her mother, three aunts, an uncle, her grandparents; she, Septimus and Diane were the last of a once-vast and flourishing pureblood family held in high regard the world over. Maia had never even seen a photograph of her father; her mother had never told Diane anything about Maia's father beyond the fact his family traditionally named their children after stars and constellations. Maia knew that Regulus was the brightest star in the constellation Leo, known as the 'heart of the lion'. Maia was a blue giant star in the constellation Pleiades. In Greek mythology, Maia was the mother of Hermes by Zeus, immortalised as a star by the god-king to comfort her father, Atlas, who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. There had been a Roman consul, Marcus Atilius Regulus, who was tortured to death, and later seen as the model of self-sacrifice and civic virtue.

Even if Maia saw his face in a photograph, she wouldn't know him anyway. She had no idea what he looked like. Or even his surname. "Did you know him?"

"He was a very gifted student of our friend Horace Slughorn's," Uncle Albus said, and Maia frowned. She doubted Sluggy had known. "I believe he was one of Horace's favourites." Maia's lips twitched then, giving Uncle Albus a not-impressed look.

"My dad was a member of the Slug Club?" She sighed, shaking her head; she had seen Horace's collection of photographs – and wondered with a jolt which face she had overlooked, her father's face, presented like trophies in polished frames. Horace kept pestering her to have her photograph taken.

"And Regulus was outlived by his elder brother," Uncle Albus said, snapping Maia to attention again. She found it difficult to swallow, suddenly. She… Her uncle was…alive? She had an uncle? Where…where had he been? Why hadn't Diane told her? Had Diane even known? She had a real, live uncle. "I am assuming Diane never knew, in fact I was highly surprised myself when I discovered the truth." Maia frowned slightly. Why should he be surprised?

"Did… Does my…uncle know about me?" Uncle Albus gave her a thoughtful look.

"Do you know, I don't believe he would ever make the connection," he said. "Certainly he knew you, when you were just a baby. He never knew you were his niece by blood. Balian certainly never told any of us… You were her treasure, her secret."

"Did you know my mother?" They never talked about Maia's mother, any of her family, really; Diane couldn't bear it.

"Oh, yes," Uncle Albus nodded. "Your mother was a singularly driven member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"The what?" Maia asked sharply; she had never heard of it. Uncle Albus gave her a saddened smile.

"The Order of the Phoenix was started by myself, comprising the bravest few individuals who were determined to do all they could to fight Lord Voldemort, and his followers, during the War," he said. "It was a secret society. And just a week ago I had your uncle reinstate the Order, contacting those witches and wizards who would hear the truth." Maia frowned. She had read things in the Prophet – but aside from the Entertainment section, she took the rest of the articles with a pinch of salt. She had heard things from Ailith just the other night when they had met at the Weeping Sunflower to watch the Puffskeins play, but none of it had been reported: all they had written about the Triwizard Tournament was that Cedric Diggory had joint-won the Triwizard Cup with Harry Potter. Diane had always thought that boy got far more trouble than anyone could ever deserve. That scar on his forehead must have been cursed.

"What kind of truth?" Maia asked. Uncle Albus' eyes were clear and calculating as he observed her.

"Lord Voldemort almost succeeded in returning to power," he said quietly, and Maia didn't wince or jump at the sound of the name. She was more afraid of being boiled alive; and perhaps she wasn't properly scared of the Dark wizard, but she was respectfully cautious, and that helped her keep her head clear when she felt like she should be afraid of the possibility he might return. Now, sitting in her sun-soaked parlour, the idea of Lord Voldemort returning to power seemed utterly absurd. But she knew that it was absolutely possible that it could happen at any time.

"Almost?" she frowned.

"Our young hero Mr Potter succeeded in thwarting his attempts, yet again," Uncle Albus said, with an indulgent smile: Maia knew all about Harry Potter. He regularly came up in conversation whenever Uncle Albus came for tea. Diane had liked his parents.

"I've heard some whispers," Maia admitted, "about what really happened at the Third Task, things Fudge is keen for people not to know." She pursed her lips; she didn't have any patience for the bloated tool whatsoever.

"Well, if the true version of events is filtering into wider Wizarding society, that is a start," Uncle Albus sighed softly. "One way or another the truth will always come out, no matter how hard Cornelius is leaning on Barnabas to keep things quiet."

"He doesn't want people knowing how close we were to Voldemort returning?" Maia frowned. "But – he can't be that short-sighted; things need to start happening. He needs to sack that Undersecretary of his, pushing through all those vile laws against other magical races. Take control of Azkaban back – they'd be the first to join his side… The werewolves!" Uncle Albus' eyes were twinkling – they often got into heated discussions, with Diane too, discussing politics. Half her childhood memories comprised Uncle Septimus, Albus and Diane sharing a few bottles of oak-matured mead, smoking and arguing good-naturedly about politics. Elsa thought Maia should aim to become Minister for Magic – Maia knew better: with her temper, she would most likely hex everyone she disagreed with. And considering the current political climate, she might have to Imperius half the Ministry to get things moving.

"With Lord Voldemort's latest attempt to return to power thwarted, we who acknowledge the danger are in a unique position to start using our influence as a positive force to push our society in a direction that could help prevent Lord Voldemort ever gaining a foothold as he did before," Uncle Albus mused. His eyes glittered. "Those of us who were part of the Order during the War have now turned their efforts to helping spread the word to other persons who might be brought in. To forge connections." Maia glanced shrewdly at Uncle Albus. Thanks to Diane, Maia herself was highly connected. Yes, she had received a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office, but if she had truly wanted to make some noise, she could have had the entire thing written off with a personal apology from Madam Bones for causing her inconvenience.

"What do you want from me?" Maia sighed, feeling her shoulders slumping.

"I know you are not keen on the idea of attending Hogwarts," Uncle Albus said quietly. Maia sighed heavily, gritting her teeth to prevent an outburst – she at least sounded polite when she said, "I have things to do. I can't do them if I'm locked in a tower."

"You refer, I believe, to Alexander Tueri's school," Uncle Albus smiled warmly. Maia glanced at him. Of course he would know! she thought irritably. Her friend Alexander wanted to open a special, enlightened school for primary-aged wizard children, focusing on an altered perspective on most aspects of Wizarding society that Maia thought backwards, and an appreciation for Muggle culture. She and Diane had been helping Alexander put together a curriculum, and Maia had been working on a project for the last eighteen months that Alexander was very keen on. And with her A-Levels under her belt, and a friendship with an eccentric five-year-old, she was in a unique position to reach absorbing young minds, to encourage them to fall in love with learning as they learned about the best of both worlds. There were other things she was working on, too, things she was absolutely devoted to…but most of all, she wanted her evenings and weekends free, to enjoy the way she had for the past eighteen months – she didn't want to have to forfeit the only things that tempted her to get out of bed. "I am sure Alexander would not wish you to reject this opportunity presented to you." Maia gritted her teeth, willing herself not to get angry. It wasn't an opportunity. She saw no benefit in it for her, attending Hogwarts. Nurturing her intellectually would only go so far – how was secluding her from the parts of her life she enjoyed going to help her emotionally?

"If, next August, you decide not to return to the school, that will be entirely your decision," Uncle Albus said. And Maia knew; she had absolutely no say in the matter. She was going to Hogwarts. "However, Diane left you to my care. I cannot very well leave you here by yourself when you incur warnings from the Improper Use of Magic Office." Here, Maia had to scoff.

And she added, "I'm not by myself – Dashy's here."

"Yes," Uncle Albus nodded. "But Dashy and I are in agreement, it is not doing you any good being here. I cannot give you the time you deserve… However, your uncle has unlimited leisure-time and has recently taken possession of a very large, very empty house. Now… I shall get you all packed, and we can be going."

Maia blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Didn't Dashy mention? Perhaps she thought it best not to give you any chance to run away to Phuket or French Polynesia or any one of the numerous exotic places Septimus took you to visit," Uncle Albus said, giving her an indulgent smile. "However, I truly believe this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Meeting Sirius, the last living member of your family."

Again, Maia had no choice, but this time, he sugar-coated the fact with a bribe. Her family.

How could she put up a struggle against that?

"Sirius?" she said quietly. Though it wasn't a rare name amongst wizards, it had fallen out of fashion generations ago. Nowadays, she had only ever heard that name in connection to one wizard. She knew the reputation behind the name, too – though Diane had never put any stock in the stories. She had refused, point-blank, to believe that Sirius Black had ever betrayed his best-friend to Voldemort. It wasn't in his character, she used to say. And Diane always put more stock in character than reputation.

If this was the same Sirius who was her uncle, the reason he had had no impact on her life was because he had spent eleven years in Azkaban – and two years on the run, as the first escapee from the wizard prison ever.

"Yes, Sirius Black," Professor Dumbledore said, probably guessing where her thoughts were, just by her tone. She glanced at Professor Dumbledore, measuring his expression before she commented.

"Sirius Black is my uncle?"

"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore nodded. She had read that Dementors had been stationed outside Hogwarts School; that they had also been given permission to perform the Kiss on Black should he be caught. Despite all she had learned of the wider magical world, Maia loathed and feared Dementors more than anything else. What they were capable of made her stomach evaporate. Sirius Black hadn't been caught, and Diane had told her a story she had heard from Uncle Albus a few years ago, about a Hippogriff, a rat, and Harry Potter. "If Sirius had not been incarcerated, your mother's will stipulated that guardianship of you would have passed to him."

Maia blinked. She had never known that. Diane had never told her – had Maia been dropped on Diane and Septimus' doorstep simply because there had been no-one else? She pushed the unpleasant feeling she got from that thought aside, and said, "I thought he was still on the run? How can he invite me to live with him?"

"Sirius' father was paranoid about security and privacy, he placed numerous spells and charms on the house to keep unwanted visitors away," Uncle Albus said. "Therefore Sirius is protected while he remains within its confines. However, not wishing him to take unnecessary risks, I suggested I collect you, rather than he."

"Collect me?"

"Yes. Sirius has offered you houseroom with him until the start of term," Uncle Albus said, and again, Maia's anger skyrocketed. He was a test of willpower, at the very least; she would probably have a handle on her temper by the time she had sat her N.E.W.T.s if that was what he intended her to do.

"What about Dashy?" she asked forcefully.

"Dashy is more than welcome to come with you," Professor Dumbledore smiled. "In fact, I am certain I will have several tasks only she may be able to carry out, if you don't mind."

"Dashy's a free elf," Maia said, more calmly. "I'd only take issue if she was forced to do something she's anxious about." Maia had been a baby when Dashy had been trying to find work, dismissed by her shitty pureblood family: both being ancient when Maia's mother had been a baby, Septimus and Diane had seen the prudence in taking on a house-elf to help raise Maia, more of a nanny than a housekeeper like the other elves under their employ, and over time Dashy had helped take care of Diane herself. Dashy was part of their tiny family, and Maia disliked the attitude of many wizards who treated her or the other house-elves poorly when they saw the elves wore clothes. It had taken a long time, but Dashy and the others – Thistletack, Wipple, Snodgrass and Flox – kept their wardrobes pristine, and now wore their clothes with pride. Dashy lived in the Hobbit-hole with Maia and Diane; the others lived in the Big House and tended the abandoned village on her family's expansive, magically-concealed estate. They were more than capable of caring for themselves but Maia didn't like the idea of leaving Dashy, who had been so attached to Diane, left alone.

Uncle Albus' eyes twinkled. Maia's aunt was gone – how on earth had Sirius Black handled eleven years in Azkaban, his best-friends murdered? And alone, on the run, for the last two years? The story Diane had told her… She couldn't imagine how he was handling things. How lonely he must be.

"Excellent," he said, nodding. "Well, as that is all settled – perhaps I could speed up the process and – Pack!" he commanded, giving his wand a little flick, and Maia jumped out of her seat, feeling dizzy – the entire Hobbit-hole had started packing itself up. Trinkets, furniture, the multitude of books Maia and her great-aunt had been collecting, the pianoforte, Diane's delicate writing-desk, everything. Seeing Diane's study clearing itself away gave Maia an odd, nauseous feeling she didn't like, and quickly turned away, feeling shivery and lightheaded, the way she did whenever William's mother had been watching 24 Hours in A&E.

The larger pieces of furniture – sideboards, tables, the sinuous, inbuilt shelving, mirrors and cubbies around fireplaces, tucked into nooks and crannies – all remained in place, draped with white dustsheets, but without Diane's clutter, the Hobbit-hole somehow seemed bigger. And the panelled warren under the hill had always been so cosy…when she had reached 5'10" at fourteen, her home had suddenly seemed very small.

She glanced around – suddenly, her stomach was in her throat, anxious about her new baby goats – Grieg, Hasufel and Sumo – and the fluffy Bantam chickens, Golly, Posh, Ida, Monica Joan and Pookie – as well as the rescued hippogriffs tended and bred by Flox.

"I wouldn't worry about the animals," Uncle Albus said. "I shall leave the gardens as they are, I am certain they shall come of use, all those wonderful vegetables. If there is anything you wish to keep close to hand from your bedchamber, I would go and grab it now." Disconcerted, feeling slightly nauseous, Maia sped down the warren-like corridor to her own bedroom. It was a very small room, with just a single bed, an old dresser, and what looked like a battered old trunk. When Maia had been old enough and her interests had caused the room to become too cramped, Maia had utilised magic to create her own retreat. She picked up the small box-clutch on the dresser, withdrew her wand and twisted it, the trunk removing itself into the clutch. Maia had long ago Extended the clutch with undetectable charms, for ease when she and Diane wandered foreign markets, especially if Diane had Maia carrying everything.

Whenever she and Diane travelled, they packed lightly; and they usually returned with far too much – trinkets, books, ceramics, plants, furniture, a lot of recipes and memories. The books they hadn't acquired on their travels had mostly come from the "Big House", their family's ancestral home, but Maia and Diane had always lived in the Hobbit-hole – for Diane, the Big House was too full of memories of people long lost. She stopped in front of the mirror over the fireplace and winced. But Uncle Albus was waiting, and there was little to be done – hastily, she withdrew a little pot of red lip-lacquer and a brush and carefully applied a coat of lipstick. It was astonishing what a little red lipstick could do. And she was meeting her uncle for the first time, after all; she could have asked for some time to shower and do her hair, put on something nice, but as it was, she just sprayed her hair with a Muggle canister of cherry-scented dry shampoo and tousled it into a messy knot on top of her head, straightening her t-shirt on her shoulders and dusting the worst of the earth from the vegetable-garden off her shorts. Maia noticed, as she walked through the corridors of the Hobbit-hole, it didn't feel like her home, with everything packed away. It felt different to seeing Diane's much-beloved writing desk de-cluttering itself, when she had felt nauseous, almost lurching out of her chair to pin everything in place the way Diane had left it.

Seeing the Hobbit-hole so sparse, so clean and organised, the furniture draped in dustsheets, Maia felt…an overwhelming sense of relief. And that made her eyes burn. But it was better than the feeling that had overwhelmed her seeing Diane's things being altered.

Dashy had been having a quiet word with Professor Dumbledore, and she was nodding sombrely when Maia returned to the parlour. Together, Professor Dumbledore and Dashy set up some very complicated protective enchantments on the property, including the meadows and woods, the fields and little rivers, the Big House and the famous gardens, the abandoned village, but Professor Dumbledore assured her Maia could return whenever she liked. Professor Dumbledore offered her and Dashy his arms. Knowing he intended to Apparate with them, Maia tucked her sunglasses down over her eyes, tentatively latching onto his proffered wrist. If she had to choose, Maia would have taken travel by broomstick; Septimus had always spoiled her with his flying carriage, but since his death, she and Diane had had to rely on Dashy's peculiar, strong magic.

"Ready? Ah, excellent," Uncle Albus smiled sanguinely. "Dashy has gone on ahead; I know you find Apparition distasteful, but we must be cautious about the Floo Network, Grimmauld Place being so heavily protected magically." Without even an attempt to smile, Maia gripped Uncle Albus' forearm, and winced as with a crack, they Disapparated.

A.N.: I had to start rewriting it. I know, kill me! But you may like the alterations – more George, earlier on! So you won't have to wait forty-odd chapters for a little Maiorge-time.