Author's Notes:
Let's see: Firstly, thank you to monzziiee for taking the time to help proof-read and offer advice about the formation of this chapter; it was a great help as she knows far more about the Harry Potter series then I ever could.
Secondly, obviously I do not own Harry Potter or any asset attached to the book series written by J.K Rowling. What a nice disclaimer.
Thirdly, while any creative criticism and feedback is really appreciated, you don't need to stab me in the eye because you think I retconned a specific plot line or character detail in a way you didn't like it; it's my story.
Thank you.

England wasn't as hot in the summer as Samuel Flinter had imagined it.
His uncle's family in Newcastle had responded to his email, complaining about the blistering hot weather and the scorching winds, but Samuel found it rather pleasant; he was used to far hotter temperatures then these Englishmen, and didn't even bother taking his ever-present blue-black jacket off. He flipped his rather fancy sunglasses up, over his shoulder-length dark brown hair and yawned, stretching his arms. He had been in England for less then two days and was already bored with the sights, having finished his official business.

Samuel had been attending the Bahamutia School of Sorcery Mastery down in Queensland, near the north-east coast of Australia, when he had received news that his grandfather back in England had passed away, and that he was mentioned in the will. So Samuel had packed his bags and taken the first flight to Newcastle, where he had been greeted by his uncle's family. Samuel Flinter was a wizard, and he hadn't confided in anyone but his non-magical parents about his attendance to Bahamutia; even his old friends had no idea, and merely thought he was attending a private school in Brisbane. Samuel had been driven to the offices of a prominent law firm, and had sat in a musty dark room with his whole extended family, some of whom he had never even met before, while the old lawyer had played the footage of Samuel's grandfather's last will.
Grandpa Robert looked the same as ever, even though Samuel hadn't seen him in almost four years, the last time his grandfather had come down to Australia to visit them; his heavily-wrinkled face grinned weakly at the camera, and his twinkling blue eyes, still youthful, but full of pain looking straight at Samuel from the afterlife. Although they had lived a world away, Samuel had always kept in contact with his grandfather, sending letters monthly, and receiving them in turn. His grandfather had been a wealth of knowledge and experiences for Samuel, and they had discussed everything from the birth of democracy to the Battle of Algiers, and now, looking at his grandfather's face, Samuel could feel tears begin to roll down his face. He listened as his grandfather listed the resources and assets he left his immediate family; Samuel's uncle gaining the family home down in Marseilles while another uncle got to keep the large yacht docked down near Southampton, until it was finally Samuel's turn.

"-and to my dear grandson, Samuel, whom I love very dearly, and has kept me very happy during my final years of life with his correspondence, I wish to leave him an apartment in Edinburgh, the very first property I had ever bought. While I understand you might not want to leave your friends and live up here in old England, Samuel, I hope at least you'll make use of it, and the library of books I have left there, whenever you come and visit your family up here.
I also have left a number of assets in your name: stocks in several blue-chip companies, totaling approximately twenty-five thousand pounds, a similar amount in the trust-fund that will become available to you upon your eighteenth birthday, a black '72 Porsche 911-" A photograph of the car in question popped onto the screen, and Samuel couldn't help but get excited.
"-which I'm sure you'll be happy with, and finally, a final instruction I'd wish you to follow; as per my request, please greet Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour, who should be in attendance at the presentation of my final will, if not, then the codger's been a bad friend," laughed Grandpa Robert weakly. "If he's not there, then he'll probably find you soon enough. I've left you several more things in his care. Good luck Samuel, you've been a great friend to an old man in the twilight of his life." The screen turned black, and the old lawyer stood and flicked on the lights. Samuel was glad to see he that there wasn't a single dry eye in the room, even the lawyer, who had known Grandpa Robert and was a dear friend, had to blow his nose. Several of the older women sobbed while many of the men regaled each other and the younglings with stories about Robert Flinter, how he had built up a fortune after returning from the Second World War as a captain in the army. Captain Flinter and Joker Squad were a great source of inspiration and bravery for anyone; first in the breach, last to leave, Joker Squad had been party to many a daring rescue mission deep into Nazi lines, and the entire Flinter family were proud to have such an inspirational man in their family. Even now, more then half a century on, the still-living men of Joker Squad were here at the will, each paying their last respects to a man who would fight at the gates of Hell itself for his men.

When Robert Flinter had returned home, a war hero, decorated many times over for his part in the war, he had framed each Iron Cross he had taken from the enemy dead and written the time, date and circumstances he was in when he had taken them. Robert was a proud man, and although modest, he took pride in his accomplishments during the war. Using the money he had gained after selling several trinkets he had 'found' while fighting in France, North Africa and Germany, and bought stock in several companies. He had struck the pot of gold, the companies he had chosen had boomed, rising stronger and stronger as the recession ended. Robert had then bought more and more stock, then began investing in the property market, buying several apartments in various cities. Now, almost fifty years since the war had ended and Robert had come home a hero, he was leaving his family a vast fortune numbering in the hundreds of millions, with property and assets spanning from England to France.

Arnold Carpenter, an old former-Sergeant who had served with Robert in Joker Squad came to shake Samuel's hand; he had heard a lot about Samuel from Robert, and wanted him to know that his grandfather had always thought very highly of him. Carpenter handed a dusty envelope to Samuel. Inside was an old black-and-white photograph, in which six original members of Joker Squad were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of a landing boat on a French beach. Written neatly were the words 'Jokers at Omaha, Two Days after landing', and standing right in front, holding his rifle over his shoulder, his shock of dark hair being tousled, was Captain Robert Flinter himself. Joker Squad was one of the first squads to land on the beach on that day, losing several members to the deathtrap that had awaited them. Robert had a bloody bandage wrapped around his chest, where according to Carpenter shrapnel had almost put him out of action.
"You see, if the good Captain hadn't pushed me down, I wouldn't be standing here before you today, he saved my life, and got chunk of shrapnel in return, and if that wasn't enough, he just jumped on up after wrapping the wound with his shirt, and kept on fighting, until we captured the beach!"

Samuel was introduced to several more surviving members of Joker Squad, and each told him of those times when Captain 'Iron-Guts' Flinter had saved them from death and enemy fire. Each had brought along some form of memorabilia for Robert's favorite grandson, which included Carpenter's photograph, a piece of the shrapnel taken out of Robert's chest in a medical tent in France, Robert's old combat knife which he had pilfered from a dead German major he had killed personally in hand-to-hand combat and the butt of his old M1 Garand that Robert had used to crack open the hatch of a Panzer tank. Each former-member of the Jokers was in tears as they handed their token to Samuel, each had Robert dearly.

At last the gathering was over and each member of the family who had received something in the will went to arrange appointments with their accountants and lawyers in order to discuss the transaction of assets, and Samuel was approached by a tall, slightly-limping middle-aged man, with a mane of tawny hair streaked with grey. But the feature that most strongly stood out to Samuel was that behind the wire-rimmed spectacles was a pair of sharp, yellowish eyes that seemed to bore into Samuel. He wore a red velvet suit, quite a strange fashion to wear in this weather and age. The man extended a hand.
"Rufus Scrimgeour, I understand you are Samuel Flinter?"
"Yes," replied Samuel, surprised at Scrimgeour's appearance. The man looked as if he hadn't slept in week; and the yellow eyes just freaked him out. "I understand my grandpa gave you something to hold onto for me?"
Scrimgeour rummaged through his pockets, and then looked around quickly, as if making sure no one was watching. Satisfied, he pulled out a small, black pouch made of silk and a long, rectangular wooden box. He set them upon one of the desks in the lawyer's office.
"Don't open the box until you are alone, do you understand me? It's something the muggles shouldn't ever see." Samuel was taken aback for a moment. Scrimgeour mentioned the word 'muggle', and although the word was even used in the non-magical world, Samuel wasn't too sure if Scrimgeour actually meant non-magical people, or whatever the muggles used the word for.
"The pouch contains your grandfather's key at Gringotts, the bank. Make sure you go and transfer everything to your own account soon, as his account will be closed within two weeks' time." Again Samuel was confused at what Gringotts was, but he just assumed it was a bank chain in England.
"How did you know my grandpa," asked Samuel, curious of this yellow-eyed man.
"My mother married his best friend, so you could say he was a constant presence in my life as I grew up. He was also a sort of teacher to me growing up; I learnt a lot from him. Now, I must be leaving, I've urgent business to attend to at the Ministry, please, come by and visit sometime, your grandfather was well-liked there." With that, Scrimgeour shook Samuel's hand once more, and departed the office.

That had all taken place during Samuel's first day in England, and by the time he had greeted all his relatives and been introduced to the ones he had never met, he was deathly tired and plopped straight to sleep in the guest room of his uncle's townhouse. Samuel had dreamt well that night, the first time in months, dreaming of his grandfather and Joker Squad, about the heroic actions he had taken part in. He dreamt of being part of the Jokers, running up the beach at Omaha, firing at the German entrenchments while shells exploded around him. He could smell the beach air; full of salt and blood, and could hear the rumble of men running through trenches. It was only when he awoke when he realized that the sounds weren't just in his dreams.

He had been woken up to the sounds of busy footsteps running around downstairs; it was the day of the burial, and apparently his grandfather's best friend was school had gone missing overnight; his house completely burnt to the foundations.

However, the show must go on, and after the police had come by and asked anyone for any details they may have, which they had none, Samuel was whisked away to the cemetery, where a sizable crowd were waiting, along with a television crew. As Samuel walked up the path through the cemetery, to the site of his grandfather's gravesite, he noticed that there was a crowd of people slightly detached from the rest, numbering about fifty, if Samuel was counting correctly. This group was dressed in the most absurd combination of clothes, ranging from those wearing suit jackets with summer shorts, to those wearing jeans with snow jackets. Among the group Samuel spied Rufus Scrimgeour, who alone was wearing a normal outfit, a black suit which contrasted the red velvet one he wore yesterday. Scrimgeour caught Samuel's eye and nodded, and gestured for Samuel to come speak with him after the funeral.

But it was a teenager with fiery red hair that attracted Samuel's attention at that point; forcing all thoughts of Scrimgeour out of his head. She was about fifteen to sixteen, as far as Samuel could tell; fairly small, her hair kept long and loose and her bright brown eyes flashing at she turned and saw Samuel staring at her. The girl was dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark, red jumper that really matched her hair well, and although it wasn't the right kind of attire one would expect at a funeral, she had better sense than those who had come wearing shorts. She blushed suddenly, and Samuel averted his gaze; he hadn't meant to embarrass the girl. She was here with her family, all very tall and all red-haired with freckles, and as she blushed one of her brothers, a particularly tall and lanky brother with a longish nose, saw what his sister had been staring at and gave Samuel an angry glare. Samuel turned away and just kept on walking up the path to the gravesite.

Samuel was joined by his younger, blonde-haired cousin, Samantha, who asked him if he knew who those people were. He shook his head, and stated he only knew one of them, Scrimgeour, who knew their grandfather. The young fifteen-year old angel chuckled, her curls bouncing. This was the first time Samuel had seen her even smile since he had arrived, and he was glad that even amidst this family tragedy, she could still find humor in the strange garb worn by Scrimgeour's group.

Samuel hadn't seen Samantha since she had come down to Australia with her family four years ago, but even though they hadn't seen each other for so long, they quickly bonded again. They were only separated by one year of age, and found they had many things in common, like a love of history and philosophy, as well as the odd war-game or two.

"That man, Scrimgeour? His eyes don't look right from here," stated Samantha, trying not to stare, but failing miserably.

"Yeah, Scrimgeour, his eyes are pretty weird, they looked yellow to me."

"I wonder if he's a vampire, the Quibbler said he was," asked Samantha absently, twirling a finger through her hair.

"What's that?"

"A vampire, you know, blood-sucking undead-"started Samantha.

"I meant Quibbler, what's that?"

But Samantha didn't have time to answer, they had reached the gravesite proper and were now ushered to sit down on the front row of seats, and to be quiet. A mournful tune was played out, and six pall-bearers began their march down the pathway from the hearse, accompanied by the Joker Squad veterans, wearing their old uniforms and each holding a box in their old, wrinkled hands, containing one of Robert Flinter's medals. Sergeant Arnold Carpenter was leading the way, trying to set his face in stone, but he failed, and soon tears were running down his face as he accompanied his comrade to the grave.
After the veterans went past, a group of men and women wearing long, black robes, each carrying what appeared to a thick, leather-bound book. Each of the robed people couldn't be younger then his grandfather and Samuel figured they were probably classmates paying their respects.

Samantha burst into tears next to him, clutching his arm and sobbing into his side; Samuel put an arm around her and held her close. He himself felt like crying; it seemed their grandfather was a very well-loved man, and soon, just like at the reading of the will, there wasn't a single dry eye at the funeral, except the priest, who was waiting at the lectern set up in front of the grave.

The rest of the funeral proceeded without a hitch, the priest making the last rites while several men and women, among them Arnold Carpenter, Scrimgeour and Samuel's uncle, came up to make speeches.

Then, with a final mournful goodbye, the crowd said goodbye to the coffin containing Grandpa Robert as it was lowered into the grave. Samantha hugged Samuel once and went to her mum, who dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. The crowd parted and some left while others remained to comfort loved ones, Samuel's eyes traveled up from the now-filled grave to the tombstone, where it was written:

Here Lies Robert Flinter
March 21st, 1916 – August 14th, 1996

Much Loved by his children and grand-children

A Joker to the end

Missed greatly by everyone he knew

Rest in Peace

"He was a great man, your grandfather."

Samuel turned. It was Rufus Scrimgeour, who was accompanied by a tall, gangly red-haired man with horn-rimmed glasses.

"Samuel Flinter, Percy Weasley, my personal secretary," introduced Scrimgeour. Samuel and Percy shook hands, greeting each other.

"How do you do? I'm sorry about the loss of your grandfather, as the Minister just said, he was a great man," offered Percy, who was clutching a piece of parchment and what appeared to be a quill, quite old-fashioned indeed.

"Thank you, although I kept in contact with him since I learnt to write, there are so many things about him I never knew about."

Percy glanced at Scrimgeour, who pulled out a piece of cloth and took off his glasses to clean them, his eyes peering thoughtfully at Samuel.

"I have the feeling you don't really know who I am, do you?"

"Not really," answered Samuel honestly. Maybe he'd finally get some answers. Scrimgeour looked at Percy, who snapped to attention.

"I have the honor of presenting Rufus Scrimgeour, former Head of the Auror Department and current Minister of Magic."

Samuel stood silent for a moment, his mind racing. Wizards? Wizards at his grandfather's funeral? Why? How? Scrimgeour noticed the confused look on Samuel's face, and arched his eyebrows in a concerned fashion.

"Didn't you know?"

"Know what?"

"You're a wizard, Samuel," said Scrimgeour, almost ominously.

Silence.

"Yeah, I know, I'm wondering how come you wizards came to my grandfather's funeral?" Asked Samuel, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," Scrimgeour chuckled softly, replacing his glasses on his face. "I assumed you knew; your grandfather was a wizard. Didn't you know?"

"No…"

"Like most muggle families, yours contained a strain of wizarding blood from somewhere up the road, and it manifested as muggle-births in your family," explained Scrimgeour, Percy nodding at every word uttered. But Samuel couldn't be silent anymore, his mind would explode.

"How come I was never told my grandfather was a wizard?"

Percy answered this time. "Your grandfather specifically requested that his identity not to be revealed to anyone, including fellow wizards in his family. He claimed he didn't want to hand you a crutch in the Wizarding world, that you should make your own start."

"Why would it be a crutch? I was so confused with everything going on, he could have helped me understand, I was scared when my powers first manifested. I thought he cared about me."

The Minister's eyes narrowed at this last question. "Your grandfather knew what was best for you, leave it at that. Don't speak ill of the dead, certainly not one as knowledgeable as your grandfather."

"It's fine, sorry I brought it up, I didn't mean to insult his memory. Anyways, what can I do for you two now? I'm guessing this is about something a bit less personal then offering your condolences?

Scrimgeour rummaged through his pockets, searching one pocket after another, until Percy put down his parchment and quill, and pulled out an envelope from his own pocket. He handed it to Scrimgeour, who then handed it to Samuel, who after seeing it was addressed to him, tore it open.

Dear Mr. Flinter,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wish to offer my deepest sympathies for your loss, your grandfather was a fine man, and I knew him well. I apologize for my absence at his funeral, but unfortunately I am currently out of the country, and unable to attend, however I'm sure the Minister, who I've entrusted this letter to, has explained the situation to you. I myself will come and visit you as soon as I get back from my trip, I'll send you an owl beforehand to arrange a time and date. The reason for my visit is that I wish to offer you a place at my school, Hogwarts, as a sixth-year student; however, I'll need to test you on your ability to determine your grade-level at casting spells, mixing potions and enchanting objects. I will be back within the week, so please spend your time celebrating your grandfather's life.

Warmest Regards,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Samuel read the letter thoroughly, amazed at the contents, then read it again. He was being offered a place at the world's most famous magical school, Hogwarts, by the Headmaster himself. It was almost too good to be true. He tucked the letter back into the envelope and slid it into his back-pocket. Scrimgeour smiled wearily, and clasped a hand onto Samuel's shoulder.

"A lot of dark things are happening in the country right now, I assume you've heard about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the darkest wizard of our time returning?"
Samuel nodded. He had heard a bit about the situation here in England from his teachers back in Australia, several of whom had fled England during the last war.

"You-Know-Who is back, and has gathered his Death Eaters and built up his army once more; dark wizards, giants, trolls, all of them have flocked to his cause. He's being causing havoc to both the wizarding and muggle world, killing indiscriminately. William Bellows, your grandfather's best friend, the one who disappeared last night, was attacked by Death Eaters, who burnt his home to the ground and took him to their master. We've got our best aurors on it.
In the meantime get some rest, spend time with your family, mail your folks back home and decide whether to take Professor Dumbledore up on his offer, but may I ask you a favor?" Scrimgeour had a strange look on his face. Well, stranger, as it was already strange having a set of yellow eyes. Samuel nodded.

Scrimegour continued. "If you do happen to take up Dumbledore on his offer, would you mind keeping me up to date with news from school? For example, if Dumbledore takes a leave of absence, or disappears without warning, then maybe you can find the time to message me?"

Now Samuel found this strange, and tried to appraise the motives behind Scrimgeour's eyes. It wasn't too hard to figure out; Scrimgeour has been having many sleepless nights over the whole deal with the big dark wizard, and he was hoping Albus Dumbledore, rumored to be the most powerful wizard of our time, was actively doing something to fight.
"I guess there's no harm in it, alright, I'll keep you updated, but I don't have a way of messaging you."

Scrimgeour produced a photograph from his pocket, which he handed to Samuel. On it was a Thick-Billed Raven, a sub-species of the Raven family of birds; it was possibly twenty-four inches in length, completely black apart from a white stripe on its neck. Scrawled on the bottom of the photo was the name 'Raistlin'.

"He's yours, your grandfather sent him to me, telling me that he had a feeling he didn't have much longer to live, and to hold onto the bird until you arrived. I'll send him to you first thing in the morning."

Scrimgeour and Percy bid Samuel goodbye, and left, both walking further into the cemetery, probably to find a safe place to apparate away. Samuel stared after them, almost blankly. Things had turned out strangely; his grandfather had died, left him a whole bunch of things including stocks, a car and an apartment, then it turned out his grandfather was a wizard, and now he was probably going to get into the world's most prestigious Wizarding school. There was something on his mind though, something niggling at the back of his head, something someone had said to him over the last two days.

Walking back to the carpark, where he found his uncle and Samantha waiting, he hugged them both and hopped into the black Bentley. It was only when the car turned the corner of Cornwall road did Samuel realized he had yet to open the wooden box he had received from Scrimgeour the other day. Resolving to remember tonight, he sat back comfortably in the seat as the car rolled into the garage of his uncle's townhouse.

It was past midnight before all the guests his uncle had invited had left, and a great many had offered to keep his uncle company if he ever needed it; Samuel's uncle had lost his wife almost a decade ago to cancer, and usually it was just him and Samantha alone. He shut the front door and walked through the carpeted hallway, flicking off several lights as he went along. On the wall, near the entrance of the den, a diploma hung there, recognizing that Mr. Maurice Flinter was an accredited lawyer who could operate his own firm; and indeed he did, Mr. Flinter was a successful barrister and owner of his own private firm, who had worked on many a large case in order to further the family name.

Maurice was proud of the family name; he took pride in the accomplishments of his father, and wanted to live up to his name fully. Each year brought in more and more clients, and each year he could see himself one day semi-retiring, allowing all the other solicitors and barristers working for him to take over the running of the firm, so he could just concentrate on management.

His brother, Samuel's father, had also been a lawyer down in Australia. The two had been very competitive, vying for their father's attention and praise, right from childhood and into adulthood. Of course, that all had changed when his brother, Owen, had been involved in a car crash with his wife, Margaret, in the family car, on the way to the hospital to deliver their unborn second child. His brother had died in the impact, but Margaret had survived long enough to get to the hospital, but died overnight from internal bleeding, and unfortunately the baby was lost. This had happened only four years ago, and immediately their father had scheduled a flight to go down there, along with Maurice and Samantha. They had found Samuel in the care of his maternal grandparents, and although he had been offered to come live with them in England, he had declined to.

Now, four years later, it looked like Samuel was finally coming back to the family home.

Stepping into the lit kitchen, Maurice beamed at the sight that welcomed him; Samuel and his daughter were sitting next to each other at the kitchen table, and it had seemed that they had fallen asleep as one; Samantha's head was lying on Samuel's shoulder, her blonde hair covering her face like a waterfall while Samuel's head was lying against her head. Maurice didn't have the heart to wake them, but he knew that their necks would ache the next day, so we woke them up and quietly escorted both of the half-asleep teens up to their rooms, then went down to his den to enjoy a glass of whiskey.

But Samuel hadn't fallen back to sleep so easily, and now awake, sat up in bed. Staring across his wide room at the mahogany desk, he quietly tiptoed out of bed and walked over to the desk. Taking the box in both hands, he looked at it curiously; for some reason he had an almost maniacal urge to open the box quickly, something that made him feel uncomfortable

Opening the box, he found precisely what he thought he would: a wand. Looking at the card that came with it, he recognized his grandfather's handwriting, 'Blackthorn, fourteen inches, flexible, dragon heartstring."

Samuel picked up his new wand, and felt a surge of warmth flow through his fingers.

"Thanks grandpa."