A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.
PROLOGUE
Imperial Britannian Embassy
Madrid, Kingdom of Spain
June 18, 2006
The silence that had echoed around the fifty feet hallway that separated the office of the ambassador from the rest of the embassy complex was broken by the sound of footsteps.
Light as they may be, the sound made when the soles of the shoes stepped upon the hardwood floor of the second floor of the embassy echoed around the relatively narrow passageway, reflected back to where it came from by the specially designed hall, the features of which had allowed a speaker speaking from one side of the hall to be heard by a listener on the other side without the speaker raising his voice.
Unique amongst the embassies maintained by the Golden Throne, the Embassy of the Holy Empire in the Kingdom of Spain is a castle in all but name, and that was mostly because only Spanish nobility can own castles in the Kingdom. This veritable fortress had housed the representatives of the Holy Empire to the Iberian Peninsula since the end of the Napoleonic Wars, and had never been breached, even during the Spanish Civil War.
For the young woman who walked alone along the relatively narrow hallway, however, those are facts that she is not interested in right now. There are stories behind those times of changes that she admits she wishes to know, but as with everything there is a time for everything.
With a start and with a small smile on her face that was most likely directed toward herself, the young woman stopped. She turned her attention not toward her left hand side and toward the impressive collection of stained glasses that are one of the reasons why this building has been considered as a work of art in itself, but toward her right hand side, toward a wall filled with portraits that, while expertly done, are no more than replicas of the originals that hang in a similar hallway – albeit larger and without the design that made this hallway unique – back at the capital.
There is a time for everything, and the young woman knew, as she stared at a particular portrait that hangs before her, that she was early. As if she was not sure with her conclusions, she glanced at the gold and silver wristwatch – a present for her last birthday from her parents – that she wore upon her left wrist to check the time, and she grimaced – perhaps uncomfortably for her – when the two hands of her wristwatch told her that she was right.
She fought the urge to sigh, and the urge to wish that time would go faster. She was in the business of realities, not wishes, and she knew that there is no spell, no magic in the world, that could speed up time. The young lady knew that she could simulate the sensation of speeding up time, but unlike slowing down time, for one reason or another, speeding up time is impossible, even for magic.
The frown on the face of the young woman turned into a small smile as she patted the manila envelope that she had with her. She knew the contents of the envelope like the back of her hand, but that was because she was the one who had caused the preparation of the report inside, and she was the one who read the report after it was finished prior to presenting it to the Ambassador. The time that she has right now would not be spent wisely on rereading the report because she already knew what the report would say.
Instead, she refocused her attention upon the portrait in front of her. She knew that all Britannian embassies around the world – and all castles and palaces back home, plus the headquarters of the different government agencies, ministries, and departments – has a hallway dedicated specifically to these portraits. Copies they might be, but the history and the implication that they present to subject of the Emperor or to a foreigner visiting the hallowed hallways could not be denied.
This is the Wall of History, a wall within a hallway dedicated specifically to show the visitor the history of the Holy Empire of Britannia through portraits that showcase important world events, events that had brought the Holy Empire from its humble beginnings, a defeated nation that was forced to flee its homeland, to the world power that the Empire is today.
It is an Empire that could rightly claim that the sun never sets upon its territory.
Mentally, the young lady shook her head as she turned her attention toward the first portrait in the series. It was of a middle aged, slightly chubby and balding man as he stood in front of an assembled congress. It was obvious that he was addressing the gathering of men, and from the clothes that they wore, it was obvious that this was sometime during the Age of Revolutions.
'Benjamin Franklin and the Estates-General,' the young woman thought to herself, naming that particular piece of artwork.
'Sent to France by the Continental Congress after the start of hostilities that would later become known as the Continental Rebellion, for some reason or another, instead of soliciting assistance from France, he insulted the Estates-General and was expelled from the country,' she continued, closing her eyes as she recalled the history lessons that she had been taught when she was younger, 'Six months later, he died a broken man not ten kilometers away from where I am standing right now. In a sense, however, he is lucky, for he never got to see the end of the rebellion that he dedicated his life to a year later. I wonder, how different would history be if he had actually managed to convince France?'
A smile came across the face of the young lady even as she shook her head. She is not the history major that her fiancée is, but she was familiar with history, if only because of the fact that her fiancée loved to speculate about how different the world would be today if the things that had happened in the past, happened differently.
She knew, however, that she has no time to reminisce about those days. She had to finish this meeting with the ambassador as soon as possible and return home because he is waiting for her to come back home.
Unfortunately, there is still no way for her to speed up time, so she instead turned her attention toward a second portrait. It was not the second in the series, but for her, the events that had come between the first portrait in the series and this one are unimportant events that she could skip.
The new portrait had a martial tone in it, but that was hardly surprising. The center of the portrait was occupied by a man in uniform as he directed red-coated soldiers towards position, while at the background; blue-coated infantry storm the beach that he was trying his best to defend.
'The Defense and Fall of Kent,' she thought to herself, and as with the first portrait, that is the title of this particular work of art.
'After the British Royal Navy's success in Trafalgar in 1805, the threat of invasion was said to have disappeared, but that assessment was wrong,' the young woman thought, 'Now bereft of protection for his barges, the French Emperor – whether by genius or by luck – decided that if he could not go through the waters of the English Channel, he would go underneath it.'
She returned her attention toward the portrait, and a sigh escaped from her lips, 'Caught by surprise, the Duke of Kent could do little against the Grandee Armee of Napoleon and within weeks after the fall of Kent, the rest of the United Kingdom followed.'
The young lady knew that the French Emperor had no need to march his army from Kent to the mountains of Northern Scotland; she knew that he only needed one thing, and he got that one thing.
Fighting the urge to curse under her breath, she turned her attention toward the next portrait, and this one is directly beside the previous portrait. The French Emperor cut a distinctive swath across the canvass, and the painter managed to impress the French Emperor upon the work of art as both arrogant and victorious, a combination that she had not seen in many other pictures. There was, however, a reason why the French Emperor looked smug in this portrait, and it had something to do with what the other man in the portrait with him was doing.
'The Humiliation of Buckingham,' the young lady thought to herself as she focused her attention on the painting.
King George of the United Kingdom was literally sweating as the French Emperor and his marshals surrounded him and dictated the peace treaty that the British monarch was forced to sign to stop the rampaging French legion. Little did the last king of the Hanover line knew, however, instead of stopping the rampage; his signature at the end of a stack of paper legalized the rampage.
'An unequal peace treaty that a King at the end of his wits was forced to sign, believing that this would end the war on the British Isles,' the young lady thought, she shook her head before she added, 'He lived long enough to regret affixing his signature at the bottom of that paper.'
Every Britannian child – even for those who were born in the British Isles following the reconquest of the Isles like her – knew of the horrors that had happened even before that treaty was signed. Every Britannian child also knew what happened next, if only because they swore every time that they sing their national anthem that they would never allow it to happen again.
With her fist clenched unconsciously, the young woman turned her attention to the next portrait. This next portrait was also the next in the series following the previous painting, but it is by far the more famous portrait, perhaps, even more well-known than the portrait that showed the founding of the Holy Empire.
'The Passage of Tears,' the young lady thought as she focused her gaze upon the canvas that stood in front of her.
'The United Kingdom had fallen, and with its fall came the marauding invaders,' she thought, 'A small army – the Peninsular Army that had campaigned in the very land where I stand right now – held Cornwall and Southern Wales long enough to allow four thousand ships laden with refugees to cross the Atlantic, to the New World, but it was not enough.'
She turned her attention toward the lower left hand corner of the portrait. It was a small portion, she knew, but it had become more powerful than the burning ships, the men fighting, and the march of civilians that occupied the rest of the painting. That scene where she focused all of her attention to was that of a mother as she handed her children to a strange in the hopes that the children would make it out of the burning United Kingdom.
That scene, the young lady knew, was based on reality. While the ever dwindling number of British soldiers and sailors delayed the French, civilians swarmed every ship that they could find, and when it became clear that the ships could not take everyone, mothers began handing their children to crews and to those lucky few who had passage.
It was hardly surprising that this is the most powerful portrait in the series. Unlike the rest of the portraits that hang upon the walls, the original copy of this portrait does not rest inside the Imperial National Museum in the capital. The original of this portrait rests within the personal apartments of the Imperial Family within the Crystal Palace where it serves as a reminder to those who rule the Holy Empire, 'Never Again.'.
The young lady closed her eyes as she forced herself to take three deep breaths. She knew that she needed to calm down, and she knew the exact portrait that she needed to see in order to calm down.
Skipping several years and a multitude of events later, the portrait that she stopped in front of was a festive one. Purple banners decorated the battlements of the castle that stood at the distance as people dance on the streets, but the real attention stealer in the portrait was the man who was at the center of it.
The smile on his face was deceptive, and the look of steel upon his dark blue eyes only served to highlight that all the more. The crown that rested upon his brow was new, but would soon become old; the scepter on his right hand would be destroyed in the numerous battles that it would be taken to, while the golden orb on his left would be shattered as it witnessed the rise of the Holy Empire.
'September 18, 1822,' she thought, and a smile came across her face. More than a name of a painting, the date is symbolical, for it is the date of the founding of the Holy Empire of Britannia.
'Emperor George I of York, the first Holy Emperor of Britannia,' the young lady thought as she stared at the likeness of the first Emperor forevermore painted upon the canvas, 'A survivor of the Passage of Tears, fervent diplomat, soldier, and politician, and founder of the Holy Empire of Britannia.'
She knew the histories, of course. Emperor George vowed that he would retake the British Isles and make the Empire the most powerful nation in the world right after the crown was laid to rest upon his brow. That vow was fulfilled a few years later, but by that time, the founder, the first Emperor of Britannia had been long gone, his body resting behind a great stone where a statue of him rested.
She turned her attention to the next portrait in her series, once more skipping a few and jumping many years from where she last left off. The next portrait again had a martial tone.
'The Launch of HMS Dreadnought,' the young lady thought to herself. How apt it was that this event be included amongst the events that had changed the course of the Holy Empire. This was an event, however, that changed not only the Empire, but the whole world.
'Moments after her launch in 1906, this battleship turned the number of first rate capital ships in the world to one,' she thought, and with a smile, she remembered that that was exactly how her liege lord had explained the importance of the launch, 'The first warship of the skies, she both destroyed and created nations.'
HMS Dreadnought was the first warship in the world that could take to the skies through a combination of reactors and electric currents that flow through her hull. For the first time ever, man could take to the skies in a craft heavier-than-air without having to resort to magic.
The power and prestige that she brought to the Holy Empire was immeasurable, but that is not the reason why the launching of a ship was amongst those events included in the defining moments of the Holy Empire. The reason that this launching was included was the fact that the first generation of dreadnought warships – as every ship that came after her was called – were too expensive.
At least four nations went bankrupt and became extinct because of costs associated with building dreadnoughts, and at least two nations were born because of the costs associated with building dreadnoughts.
The investment in these weapons, however, proved to be the right choice, and as the young woman turned her attention toward the next portrait in the series, she could not help but smile. The events portrayed in this portrait were important to her because she knew that had this not happened, chances are, she would not be here today, she would either be a citizen of France or a subject of the Prussian Kaiser, but most importantly for her, had this event not happened, she would not have met the man that she had grown to love far more than she had thought possible.
'Operation Righteous Dawn,' the young woman thought as she fixed the next portrait in the series – among the last five that hang from the Wall of History – her undivided attention.
As with the previous portrait, this painting also had a martial tone. Unlike the previous portrait, however, this one showed an actual military operation, albeit romanticized by the painter to show an event during that battle that might not have even occurred in real life.
'The Holy Empire returns like the dawn upon the land where her founders were born,' the young woman thought. She did not even realize that a smile had blossomed upon her face as her thoughts ran from her, 'While busily fighting a war against the expanding Prussian Empire to her east, the French had to contend with the Britannian invasion to their west.'
In less than four months, the British Isles were again under control of the descendants of William the Conqueror. As for the French Empire, it was the last straw, it disappeared six years later, gobbled up whole by the Prussian Empire.
A sigh escaped from within the young woman though her lips. She turned her attention toward the last portrait in the series, an event that had happened within her lifetime, but before she could focus her attention toward this portrait, the door at the end of the long and narrow hall creaked.
She turned her attention toward it just in time to see a party of men exit the office of the ambassador, and once more, a sigh escaped from within her. She fixed the portrait one look that did not even last for two seconds before she returned her attention toward the door to the office of the official representative of the Golden Throne to the Iberian Peninsula.
She knew that the sooner that she finished her meeting with the Ambassador, the sooner that she could get home. A smile graced her face as she told herself that she could not wait, she had no doubt that the man that she loves was already home waiting for her, and she could not wait to be in his arms. If she was lucky, she could catch him preparing their dinner for the evening, after all, he promised her that he would take care of dinner tonight.
ONE
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Near Inverness
Scotland, British Isles, Holy Empire of Britannia
October 16, 1995
The impressive castle stood alone against the backdrop of darkness, its lights seemingly a beacon for a wanderer lost amidst the giant trees that surrounded the grounds around the citadel.
The castle is the location of the premier magical school in the whole of the British Isles, a school that claimed that they are the best magical school in the whole world, but despite the limited capacity of thought that the winged creature had as it cut through the air toward an open window at the central tower of the castle, even the feathered avian knew that that claim was obsolete.
There was a time when Hogwarts could rightly claim that they are the best school, but today, the school that was housed inside this impressive castle that could not stand without magic could only claim that they are the oldest formal magical school in the world. Almost all of the magical schools around the world had completely overtaken Hogwarts when it comes to quality of education.
The big brown barn owl flapped its wings twice, considerably slowing its speed. The big yellow eyes of the creatures narrowed as it instinctually homed in on a particular source of light within the highest tower of the school. It did not even need to think twice before it darted toward that source of light.
Inside his office, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, hummed slightly to himself as he marked the page on the book that he was reading. At one hundred fourteen years of age, the Headmaster of Hogwarts found that he could not sleep through the night anymore without having read at least a hundred pages of text, and that was exactly what he was doing.
He wondered if he could engage one of his more talented student in an intellectual discussion about the latest theories of transfiguration that seem to straddle muggle physics, but realized that there are very few students in Hogwarts that could actually understand the things that are written in the book that he was reading, most of them muggle-born.
His eyesight – still clear even after more than a century of use – caught the approaching barn owl before it actually entered his office, but he did nothing to stop it because he also caught sight of the letter that the owl held on its clawed toes.
The Headmaster was neither surprised nor worried when the barn owl darted through his open window to drop a letter on the surface of his desk. He was also not surprised or worried when that same barn owl flew through the same window that it had used to enter his office right after it had dropped the letter. It was not unheard of for owls to have instructions against letting the recipient know who the sender was.
Of course, given the position of the Headmaster, it was also possible that this was actually a trap, and because one could not be too careful, the Headmaster actually drew his wand from his left sleeve in order to cast an uncommon detection charm that he was sure few people had even heard of, let alone capable of casting.
The white envelope that the Headmaster was sure contained the letter glowed a faint pink hue for a few moments before the hue turned white, informing the Headmaster that the letter was clean. A soft smile came across the face of the Headmaster as he considered what the reaction of most of his staff would have been should they see him casting a detection charm on his letters, but this same vigilance had saved his life more times than he could care to count. Besides, one could never be too careful.
A sigh escaped through the lips of the Headmaster as he snapped his finger. The white envelope floated from the table before it darted at a relatively slow speed toward the Headmaster who realized that he was already too lazy to actually walk the five feet difference between him and his desk.
The first thing that the Headmaster noticed about the letter was that there was no return address. That in itself was not unusual, the owls that deliver these letters are well aware of where they had came from and if the letter could not be delivered, the owls would just return home. The letter, however, was also devoid of any markings that would have given the Headmaster a clue as to where it came from.
Albus also knew that the letter was prepared without magic. His detection charm had glowed white after he cast it, meaning there was not even the slightest residue of magic in the paper. If this was prepared with magic, then there would have been residue, but the detection charm that he had cast confirmed the absence of that.
'Curious,' the Headmaster thought to himself as he opened the letter. Even the letters that came from the parents of muggle-born students have magical residue, because their letters are routed toward a central location operated by the Ministry.
That the letter came from someone magical was not in doubt, because the letter was delivered by owl, though for the life of him, the Headmaster could not remember a magical acquaintance – or even anyone magical for that matter – who would not use magic in sealing their letter.
The seal on this letter was wax, and upon the red wax was embossed a coat of arms that the Headmaster in his more than one hundred years had never seen before. The stag on the upper right hand corner of the shield, however, caused the Headmaster to momentarily pause. There was a significance in that stag, the Headmaster knew, but for the life of him, he could not figure out the significance.
Shrugging indifferently, however, Albus Dumbledore told himself that it must not be that important if he could not remember it, so instead of focusing his admittedly impressive brainpower to solving that mystery, he opened the envelope containing the letter.
For a brief few moments, the Headmaster actually thought that the envelope would explode on him, never mind the fact that his detection charm had assured him that everything was safe. The man who is widely acknowledged as the most powerful mage alive today actually breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened after he opened the envelope.
There were two folded white pieces of paper inside the envelope, and the Headmaster need not pull them out to know that whoever had written them, had written them using a modern pen rather than the traditional quill and parchment that the magical world is still using today.
A soft frown appeared across the face of the headmaster at that, when he realized that the person who wrote this letter was actually thumping his nose at the traditions of the magical world. Albus might not agree with many of the traditions of the magical world, but there are those that he does agree with, and it was because in his opinion, things are better off if everyone would follow that tradition.
Parchment and quill are just two of the traditions that the Headmaster followed.
A sigh escaped from within the Headmaster through his lips as he focused his attention upon the letter in front of him. The neat arrangement of the letters – and the controlled way that they were etched upon the surface of the paper – reminded him of a student who had graduated more than a decade ago, but with a start, the Headmaster shook his head as he reminded himself that that student had disappeared from the magical world, and despite repeated attempts from the Headmaster to find them, they had not been seen since.
The Headmaster fought a second sigh that threatened to come out of him through his lips as he thought about his failure to protect that family. In a sense, the Headmaster knew that he was partly at fault for the reason why that family – one of the brightest, richest, and oldest in the magical world – had left the land of their birth, but with a start, the Headmaster reminded himself that right now is not the proper time to be feeling guilty about something.
The same coat of arms that was embossed upon the wax that had sealed the envelope was printed at the top and center of the paper, and once more, the Headmaster forced himself to ignore the features of the shield.
The moment that he saw the first line of the letter, however, he quickly realized what the significance of the stag on the shield was.
He actually had to prevent himself from banging his head at the nearest surface that he could find, preferably, a hard surface. Now that he realized what the stag signifies, he realized that he should have known. The stag was the patronus form of James Potter, after all.
'Why now, though?' the Headmaster asked himself. James, Lily, and their son Harry had been missing since 1981, since the day that magic had proven they had fought against the Dark Lord Voldemort – 'Another student that I had failed,' the Headmaster thought to himself, 'How different would history be had he not turned out the way that he did?' – so the Headmaster was understandable curious as to why James would initiate contact with him, especially considering the fact that the Headmaster had spent a considerable amount in both time and fortune to find the family without success.
Albus mentally shook his head; however, as he told himself that there would be a time to consider that later. Right now, he needed to find out what is the reason that the Potter patriarch had sent this letter, and considering the fact that the letter was sealed with red wax and embossed with the coat-of-arms of an ennobled family – the silver crown at the left hand side of the shield was allowed only on coat of arms of ennobled families – he realized that it might not be to his liking at all.
The chill that ran through the spine of the Headmaster was pointedly ignored as the one hundred fourteen year old focused his attention upon the letters that were written on the surface of the paper.
'Esteemed Headmaster, Albus Percivial Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
I realize that it had been nearly fifteen years since the last time that you and I have talked. I also realized that it had been nearly fifteen years since the last time that you and I had met. I am sure that as you read this letter, you are wondering why I had initiated this contact despite the fact that for the last fifteen years I had shown neither hide nor hair to either you or those that you had sent around the Empire and the world in an attempt to find us'
The Headmaster fought the urge to grimace at that point. Not even his closest advisors and colleagues are aware that he had been searching for the Potter family. It ranked him that not only was James aware of the search, from the way that the message was written, the elder Potter was probably watching the search as well.
'This letter, however, was not sent to beg for your forgiveness, Headmaster, not when it is clear to me and my wife that the ones who should be apologizing is you rather than us, after all, it was you who suggested that sniveling traitor of a rat as our Secret-Keeper rather than allowing us to go through with our original plan.'
Once more, the Headmaster grimaced. The original plan of James and Lily the moment that they had heard the prophecy was to go into hiding under the fidelius charm with Sirius Black – James's best friend and godfather to their son – as their Secret-Keeper. Sirius was set to go into hiding as well and the Headmaster was sure that the heir of House Black had a number of bolt holes that he could hide under without resorting to the charm.
The Headmaster, however, managed to convince Lily, then James, to use their other friend, Peter Pettigrew, as Secret-Keeper. It was a good plan, since everyone assumed that Sirius would be the Secret-Keeper and because Peter was the weakest of the four Marauders – the gang that James and Sirius had created during their time at Hogwarts – no one would assume that Peter was the Secret-Keeper. At that time, Albus assumed that there was a spy within the ranks of the Order, but he just could not root out that spy.
Less than a week after the Potter family went into hiding, they were finally able to identify the spy, and he was none other than Peter Pettigrew. The only reason that they were able to identify the rat, however, was because he led Lord Voldemort into the house where the Potter family was in hiding.
Details were sketchy even after more than a decade of trying to find answers, but mostly everyone agreed that the Dark Lord attempted to kill James and Lily, only for the most feared Dark Lord in history to discover that not only were James and Lily not afraid of him, they were somehow prepared. Exactly how is known only to three people – James, Lily, and the Dark Lord – but the results are undeniable, Lord Voldemort was defeated. Some say he was killed, others say he was only banished, whatever the truth was, however, that night, the Blood War ended.
James, Lily, and their one year old son Harry disappeared. Sirius Black, having went into hiding himself as per the original plan, also disappeared. For fifteen years, the Headmaster had attempted to locate them, only for James to up and send this letter.
'The Potter family had been fortunate, Headmaster, in the years since we had left the land of our birth, and we are now part of the Imperial aristocracy through the good graces of the newly named Prince of Wales and Prince of Scotland. I and my wife had sworn oath to the Prince and it was in his request that I send this letter to you, not to beg for a resumption of our relationship, but as a warning and as a notice to you as Headmaster of Hogwarts.'
The Headmaster paused at that. Clearly, whatever it is that James – or his liege lord – had wanted to warn Albus about, it had something to do with the school, and because Albus is the Headmaster, that was his business.
'Imperial Intelligence is worried about the almost exponential growth of extremist separatist in Northern Scotland, and as Prince of Scotland, it is the duty of my liege lord to ensure peace and security within his realms. Toward this end, His Highness, the Prince of Scotland had authorized the deployment of an infantry division – the 22nd Infantry Division currently based in Cornwall – to Scotland.'
Normally, that would not have been a concern to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. As far as he was concerned, the Prince could redeploy his military as much as he want, but the fact that James had seen fit to warn him – or the Headmaster of Hogwarts – of this deployment meant that Hogwarts would be affected by this deployment – either directly or indirectly.
'The 22nd Infantry Division would be redeployed to Inverness, but one brigade of the division – specifically 'C' Brigade – would move northward for an exercise. The area chosen for the location of the exercise, Headmaster, is a wooded area located reasonably far away from any major population centers. You know this area as the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts.'
Albus fought the urge to slam the letter of James against the nearest hard surface that he could reach. The head of the Potter family had warned him that muggles are coming to his school. Usually, he would not have been worried, as the Headmaster knew that the muggles could not even see the school, but he had a feeling that because of the fact that these muggles serve the Golden Throne, they would see the school.
'This is happening right now, Headmaster, there is nothing that you could do. Your cooperation in this movement is expected, and His Highness had asked me to remind you of the fact that you and your government had sworn an oath to follow the instructions of the Golden Throne or its authorized representatives. I need not remind you that my liege lord is a representative of the Golden Throne and grandson of the Empress.'
It was just as the Headmaster had thought, and with an almost violent shake of his head, the Headmaster told himself that there is nothing that he could do about it. James was right, he had sworn an oath, and it was a magical oath, an oath that would not only suck the magic out of him should he disobey it, given his age, it would actually kill him.
The letter of James, however, was not yet finished. With a growing sense of trepidation, Albus returned his attention to the letter, but the news that James was yet to deliver was actually the first good news that the Headmaster has had today – considering that the day had already ended for some people, that was saying something.
'In a lighter note, Headmaster, my son, Harry James Potter, would be part of this deployment,'
The Headmaster blinked at that. Had he read that right? As far as the Headmaster was concerned, Harry is only fifteen years old. At that age, he would only be a fifth year student at Hogwarts, about to take his OWL's, and it will only be after that that he would be considered an adult who could actually perform magic outside the school provided that no muggle could witness him performing. Now James is telling him that his son is joining the deployment, and that meant only one thing in the mind of the Headmaster. The boy could not be a soldier already, so what is James playing at?
'Now fifteen year old, Harry had fought tooth and nail to earn his recommendation for the Imperial Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. My son had graduated first in his class from the Olympia Magical Academy, and his instructors are most impressed by his abilities as a wizard and as a leader. It was not exactly a secret to either me or my wife that he would take this path.'
Albus grimaced at that. Few people are even aware of the real reason that the Dark Lord Voldemort had chosen to make a visit to the Potter family that fateful Halloween. Most assumed that the target of the Dark Lord was James and Lily, but Albus Dumbledore knew better, mostly because he had heard the prophecy that had sent the Dark Lord to Godric's Hallow – where the Potter Family had gone into hiding – in the first place. The target of the Dark Lord was Harry Potter, and because Albus knew that his former student had not been killed that fateful Halloween, Harry is important.
Toward that end, the Headmaster had gone to extreme lengths to find James and Lily. He had designed courses at Hogwarts that would allow Harry the chance to kill Lord Voldemort, but all that appears to be for naught now, since it was clear that not only is Harry already proficient in magic, he is now under protection by the Golden Throne.
'Harry and ten of his classmates from the Imperial Naval Academy would accompany the deploying 'C' Brigade of the 22nd Infantry Division. All ten of them are magical, Headmaster, and aside from the fact that they would be observing the exercises of 'C' Brigade, they are also going to be observing classes at Hogwarts as part of the plans of His Highness to curb the growing decline of education within the British Isles.'
Albus actually managed to look hurt at the statement that James had written on the paper. Although the Headmaster was more than aware of the decline of the quality of Hogwarts education, he was of the opinion that Hogwarts is still the best school in the world. The decline had only served to allow the other schools to catch up – rather than overtake – with the quality of Hogwarts education.
'Headmaster, once more, your cooperation is expected,
Lord James Charles Potter'
Albus finished reading the letter before he allowed the sigh that he had been holding back to truly escape him. He turned his attention toward the perch that was inside his office, but his familiar had not yet returned, and besides, there was little that Fawkes could do in this matter, the phoenix could not speak with Albus and lately, the bird had been avoiding him altogether.
That muggles are coming to Hogwarts alarmed the Headmaster, but unlike what James had claimed, there was something that the Headmaster could do, though to go down that road would perhaps create more problems for the Headmaster, Hogwarts, and quite possibly the magical world, than it would solve. In any case, the Headmaster is not convinced that they could take on even just a brigade of heavily armed, highly trained muggle soldiers with just fifty active members of the Order of the Phoenix.
The laziness of the Headmaster was completely forgotten as the white-bearded man jumped from where he was seated and toward the fireplace. This far north, it was always cold, and even the fireplace burning continuously could do nothing against that, but that was not the reason why there is a fireplace in the office of the Headmaster – for one thing, the Headmaster is quite proficient with warming charms, and they are more efficient.
The Headmaster grabbed a handful of green powder from a container that rested above the hearth here the fire burned and threw that handful of green powder into the burning fire. The effect was almost instantaneous as the red flames turned green. Moments ago, the fire that burned within the hearth would have scorched the long white beard of the Headmaster, but because the flames had turned green, Albus knew that it would not hurt him.
"Minerva, are you there?" the Headmaster asked as soon as his head was swallowed by the green flames.
"Headmaster," came the reply, "Why are you still up?"
"There is something that I need to discuss with you," the Headmaster replied, "Would you mind stepping through to my office?"
The Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts did not bother to reply. The Headmaster removed his head from the green flames and quickly took a seat behind his desk. He had barely rested on the soft cushion of his rather impressive looking high-backed chair before the green flames in his fireplace erupted, throwing flames as high as ten feet high into the stone and brick chimney above the flames burned.
A figure stepped out of the towering flames, her expression one that clearly showed that she did not appreciate having to be asked to step into the office of the Headmaster at this late hour. Against her stern expression that promised pain and humiliation for all those who would dare stand up against her, the Headmaster of Hogwarts could only offer a grandfatherly smile.
"Lemon Drop?" the Headmaster asked. It was his usual opening for any conversation that was set in his office, but in the nearly forty years that he had been Headmaster of Hogwarts – and the many years before that since he had become a professor in the school – none had actually taken his offer.
"No, thank you, Headmaster," Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, professor of transfiguration, and one of only two people in the school who could actually stand up against the Headmaster, replied with a slight upturning of her lips, "Is this the reason that you had asked for me at this time in the evening Headmaster?" she asked, though before the Headmaster could reply, she quickly added, "I have an early class tomorrow."
Albus actually fidgeted as his Deputy affixed him with a stare that many students would have not only found intimidating, but downright scary. Albus Dumbledore, however, is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and while intimidating, Minerva is not only Deputy Headmistress, she was also a student of Albus when she was younger.
"Not quite, Minerva," Albus replied at the same time that he picked a sour candy and propped it into his mouth. He motioned for his deputy to take a seat at the same time that he silently summoned the letter of James Potter to his desk.
Minerva was not impressed with the silent summoning charm of the Headmaster, but that was mostly because she had seen it before and was actually capable of doing the exact same thing that the Headmaster had done. She was also not happy with the fact that the Headmaster had asked for her this late in the evening, but because she had been invited to take her seat that, she followed his instructions and did exactly as she had asked.
"Minerva," Albus began as he set the letter of James before her, "I have received this letter from James Potter this evening."
The look on the face of Minerva instantly changed when she heard the name and she could not get the paper fast enough. Without the Headmaster even telling her, Minerva dove – figuratively, of course – into the letter and read the contents, her brows furrowing as she digested the information in the letter.
Albus actually thanked himself as he watched her. He had the presence of mind to inform her about everything that was written in the letter regarding the affair that saw James and Lily leave the British Isles. The Headmaster of Hogwarts actually shuddered as he asked himself how Minerva would have reacted if she had not known. He knew that it would not be a pretty sight.
Minerva is Head of Gryffindor House, and James, Lily, Sirius, and Peter are all in Gryffindor. Much like the mascot animal of her house, Minerva is a lioness ready to protect her cubs, despite the fact that she is very strict with them.
"This explains why Harry Potter did not appear in the foyer of Hogwarts in 1991, despite the letter that he had been sent," Minerva replied dryly as she pushed the letter back to the Headmaster. She did not even give the old man a chance to say something before she added, "It also explains where James had taken his family following the attack."
Albus had suspected that the Potter family would be at the mainland, truth to be told, but because he had not shared the fact that he had been searching for the Potter's to his Deputy, he thought it best not to reveal that tiny tidbit of information.
"That is not the only reason that I asked for you, Minerva," the Headmaster revealed as he theatrically sighed, "I would have asked for Filius as well, but seeing that he is not here…," he let the thought go unfinished.
Minerva nodded. Filius Flitwick is the resident charms professor and the only other person in Hogwarts aside from Minerva who could stand up against the Headmaster. Unfortunately, the ever-jolly professor had asked to be excused for the evening to visit an old acquaintance that is on the verge of crossing the veil.
"I would advise you to cooperate with their demands, Albus," Minerva replied, surprising the Headmaster, not because of her opinion, but of the fact that she already knew what he was going to ask without him even asking her.
"You truly think that that would be in the best interest of the school and the students, Minerva?" the Headmaster asked, "The international community…"
Minerva interrupted him, "We swore an oath," the Deputy Headmistress reminded her immediate superior. She fixed him a gaze that clearly told him that she is very serious, "You could lose your life should your magic flee your body, Headmaster."
Albus let out a sigh. Of course, Minerva was well aware of the possible consequences a broken magical oath could have on him. Minerva, quite possibly, could suffer the same consequences should she break the magical oath.
"I trust that I would have your backing when I present this to the rest of the staff tomorrow?" Albus asked. He knew that he need not ask, of course, Minerva would have his back, as would the rest of the staff.
The rest of the staff, after all, are also aware of the oath, and even someone who despise muggles like Severus Snape – the resident potions master and a member of the batch that included James and Lily – are aware of the oath. While Severus would complain and harp about, there is truly nothing that he could do since he also swore the oath.
"I fear that Severus would be hard to deal with in the coming days," Minerva opined a few moments later. Albus watched as she sighed before she added, "I fear that it would be the students who would be at the receiving end of his wrath."
Albus nodded, "I shall speak with Severus regarding his behavior after the meeting tomorrow," the Headmaster promised his deputy. The Headmaster knew that Minerva was out looking for her Gryffindor students who – more likely than not – are at the brunt of the ire of the potions master, but if the Headmaster was honest, he shared the opinion of Minerva. It was a surprise that Severus had not that many complaint regarding his behavior, but Albus feared that if the muggles would truly come to Hogwarts, then that might change.
"Headmaster," Minerva suddenly said, forcing the Headmaster to return his attention toward his Deputy, a questioning look on his face, "James Potter had mentioned the growing decline of education, what are you going to do about it?"
Albus fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat as this topic was brought up. Minerva had been complaining about the quality of education at Hogwarts for a long time now, but the Headmaster could do little about it not only because of his personal beliefs but also because of the administrators at the Department of Magical Education.
The Headmaster turned his attention toward his Deputy and saw that she was waiting for an answer from him, and with a sigh, the Headmaster replied, "At this moment, there is nothing that I could do about it, Minerva," he said, and before the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts could rally against him, the Headmaster quickly added, "We would discuss this as well tomorrow, Minerva."
Minerva looked at the Headmaster, debating with herself whether or not she should tell him that she had seen through the lie that he had given her, but after a few moments, she realized that even if she told him that, nothing would change, and besides, she has an early class tomorrow, so with a nod, she stood from her seat.
Albus watched as his Deputy returned to the fireplace, and once she was gone, he sighed before he returned his attention to the letter that was in front of him. Things are certainly beginning to get interesting, though the Headmaster found himself wishing that it would not be that interesting.
Aboard HMS Empire Dawn, Approaching Richardsburg Naval Air Station, Inverness
Scotland, British Isles, Holy Empire of Britannia
October 16, 1995
The lights of the nearby city had stolen the attention of the young man who stood by the side of the railings at the highest deck of the transport ship. A sigh escaped from his lips as he heard the footsteps behind him, though he did not turn his attention toward the direction where the sound came from because he already knew who was approaching him.
This near to the debarkation point, the soldiers and officers who make up 'C' Brigade of the 22nd Infantry Division are already aboard the trucks that would carry them to the spot where they had been ordered to deploy. This close to the debarkation point, the only ones who are not yet aboard their designated transports are the highest ranking officers of the brigade – who are still in the planning room with the officers of the ship – and the special guests of the brigade for this operation, the ten first year cadets from the Imperial Naval Academy who somehow managed to find their names amongst those slated to be deployed to Northern Scotland.
The presence of the cadets was not unusual for the three thousand soldiers and officers who make up 'C' Brigade. What is unusual is the fact that the cadets that would be accompanying this exercise are naval cadets from Annapolis rather than army cadets from West Point. The fact that there are only ten of them was also considered unusual – usually, an entire class would accompany a brigade for deployment – but was not commented upon by the junior or field officers.
There was a reason why there are ten naval cadets in the deployment roster of 'C' Brigade, and if the commanders of the brigade had not seen fit to inform the rest of the brigade, then that was their prerogative.
The sound that the horn of the ship made tore the young naval cadet who stood at the highest deck of the transport ship out of his reverie. Without him truly meaning it, he turned his attention away from the lights of the city and toward the direction where the sound came from. Even in this dark night, the dark smoke that is the byproduct of a diesel engine was clearly visible as it escaped into the atmosphere through the smokestack.
Harry James Potter, highest ranking naval cadet of the ten cadets that found their names amongst those who are slated for deployment to Northern Scotland, fought the urge to sigh. The lights of the city of Inverness grew larger as the transport ship approached the dock north of it where they would disembark, and the young naval cadet turned his attention toward the sound of the footprints that he heard moments ago.
As Harry had expected, he knew the person who had approached him. Clad in the same dark blue coveralls as Harry, the other person was obviously a naval cadet like Harry for he does not look a day older than fifteen. Unlike Harry, however, he had light brown eyes and his dark brown hair was not nearly as messy as the bird's nest that is the hair of Harry.
The smile on the face of the other cadet could be taken as insubordination, but Harry knew better. Cadet Fourth Class Edward Brooke meant no disrespect to Harry – either as his temporary superior officer or a fellow cadet of the Imperial Naval Academy – it was just that most of the time, the young man is smiling. Like the untidy hair of Harry, the easy smile of Cadet Brooke had landed him in hot water amongst the cadet first class seniors. Unlike most cadets in the Academy, however, Edward is magical.
"All cadets report ready for disembarkation, commander," Edward reported. He did not bother to salute, because that was not needed. Although Harry has been assigned commander of the ten man contingent by virtue of seniority – his cadet number is the lowest because amongst the ten, he was the first go get into the Academy – they are still the same rank. Harry had not been given a temporary rank for this deployment, so he is also cadet fourth class.
Harry nodded, "Acknowledged," he replied. Edward had been assigned as his executive officer for the deployment because he was second senior, the fact that he and Harry are bunkmates and are number four and five – respectively – in their class had nothing to do with how authority was delegated.
"You still do not agree with this assignment, Harry?" Edward asked as he fell in beside his temporary commanding officer – making sure to fall in to the left of Harry, since the right hand side is the position of honor.
Harry paused in his steps – they were on their way to the stairs that would take them to the cavernous hold of the ship where their designated transports are waiting for them – before he turned his attention toward his old friend. With a sigh, he said, "Ours is not the question the wisdom behind the decision of our commanding officers."
Harry was sure that had it been someone who ranked higher than him who had said that, Edward would have stopped asking question. As it was, however, he and Edward are not only the same rank, they had been friends for quite some time now, "You did not answer the question, Harry," he observed.
"Fine," Harry replied as he resumed walking, his executive officer following him. A sigh escaped the lips of Harry before he continued, "Yes, I do not agree with this deployment."
A chuckle escaped from the lips of Edward as he opened the door for his temporary superior, revealing a set of stairs that lead downwards, "You better not let anyone hear you say that," he warned, though from the mirth that colored his tone, it was obvious that he truly does not care.
Harry shook his head, "My objections to this deployment are on record with my liege lord," he replied. It was true that he had met with his liege lord in order to present his opinion, but it was not the deployment that Harry has a problem with, it was the location where the deployment was supposed to happen.
In the humble opinion of Harry, it was better to camp on the other side of the Forbidden Forest. The mission was to hunt for separatist and extremist, and Harry knew that most of those, he could find inside the walls of Hogwarts. It made no sense to him that they would deploy beside the very people that they are supposed to be hunting, and even more, it made no absolute sense to Harry that his father actually sent a letter to the Headmaster informing said Headmaster of not only their imminent arrival, but implied on their mission.
Everything that Harry had been taught since he had entered Annapolis – and since his first year in Olympia Academy – had always said that the element of surprise is very important, but his father – presumably under orders from their liege lord – had thrown away that surprise.
"There must be a reason why we had received instructions to deploy where we were ordered to deploy, Harry," Edward said. He paused for a few moments before he asked in a serious tone, "You've already considered that, haven't you?"
Harry nodded, "Yes," he admitted, "but I cannot figure out what the hidden order is, Edward," he shook his head before he added, "By this time, I should have already figured it out, if I was supposed to figure it out."
"So maybe you are not supposed to figure it out?" Edward suggested. Harry looked at him incredulously, but before the black-haired cadet could say anything, Edward quickly added, "Look, you've always been the brighter between the two of us, have you realized that perhaps you were sent here because you've always been one to dissect your instructions?"
"And that is bad?" Harry asked.
"Not necessarily," Edward replied before Harry could say anything. There was a brief pause before the brown-haired cadet added, "Look, Harry, unlike me, your family is ennobled, so your chances of becoming a staff-rank or even a flag-rank officer is very high, maybe they are trying to teach you to stick to your orders because when it is your turn to give orders and we are at war, your subordinates would have no time to dissect your instructions to them?"
For a few moments, Harry did not say anything, "They could have just told me directly," he commented under his breath.
"What good would that do?" Edward asked, "We both know that that would not work."
For a few moments, the only sound that echoed around the two men came from the sound of their footsteps as they descended the metal stairs. Harry was the first to break the silence with a chuckle as he realized that what his bunkmate was saying is true.
"Which truck do you want?" Harry asked a few moments later, "The first or the second?"
Unlike the soldiers of 'C' Brigade, 22nd Infantry Division, the naval cadets under the command of Harry had been assigned to travel to the deployment area aboard stretched Land Rovers. The soldiers would travel to the deployment area aboard armored personnel carriers, though the highest ranking officers would have staff cars and a few stretched Land Rovers as well.
"I'll take the first truck," Edward replied as he opened the door at the very bottom of the stairwell. Behind the door that the cadet opened, a cavernous interior waited. The cargo hold of the vessel was big enough to carry the men and equipment of an entire infantry brigade – though not necessarily an armored brigade.
"It won't be a race," Harry reminded his executive officer as they stepped into the interior of the cargo hold. The temperature in the cargo hold was several degrees higher than outside of it, but that was because of the fact that the engine of every single vehicle inside the cargo hold was turned on.
Edward smirked toward Harry, "That attitude is the reason why you lost Victoria," he said knowingly.
A sigh escaped through the lips of Harry before he smirked toward his executive officer, "If I had not gracefully bowed out of that competition, my friend, you would not have a girlfriend," he said knowingly.
Edward, however, merely smiled back toward Harry, "Even if you were in that race, my friend, I still would have won," he shook his head before he added, "In a way, I wish you were in the race, that would have made my victory all that much sweeter."
Harry shook his head as he watched his executive officer climb into the first Land Rover that was assigned to them, though before Edward could close the door, Harry quickly shouted toward the direction of his friend, "Your attitude, Ed, makes me wonder exactly what Victoria saw in you."
17 Clarence Way, London
England, British Isles, Holy Empire of Britannia
October 16, 1995
The uniformed servant bowed once toward the general direction of the occupants of the room before he walked backward and retreated out of the meeting room. He had no illusion that whatever it was that was about to be discussed inside the room was a secret, and aside from the fact that he had signed a non-disclosure agreement regarding the things that he may or may not hear in this job, he also knew that if the enemies of the Holy Empire were to suspect that he knew something, they would not hesitate to extract that information from his brain using whatever method that they would find efficient.
Of the three occupants inside the meeting room, it was the sole female who had paid attention – albeit scant – at the uniformed servant as he retreated from the room. She fought the urge to smirk as she noted the intimidated stance of the man, though in hindsight, she realized that she should have seen that coming.
Lily Marie Evans-Potter allowed herself one last look at the door as it was closing before she returned her attention toward the two other people inside the room with her.
She watched in silence as her husband took one of the tea cups that the servant had brought in and a small smile graced the face of Lily as she did so. She was well aware that if someone had told her when she was eleven years old that James Potter would someday be her husband; she would have laughed at the face of whoever that person is and claim that that is impossible. Destiny, however, would not be denied and as soon as James stopped bullying people just because he was bored – and stopped acting like a child in general – Lily fell hard for him. They married less than a year after they graduated from Hogwarts, and from their happy union came two children.
Of those two children, one is currently still studying at Olympia, but the elder one – Harry – is already doing his duty to the Holy Empire, and is actually the reason for this impromptu meeting that their liege lord had called for despite the fact that it was nearing twelve midnight.
Lily felt the hand of her husband over hers, prompting her to turn her attention toward him, a questioning look evident on her face. James smiled at her before he carefully handed her the tea that he was preparing, and against that, Lily could do nothing but smile widely in thanks before she took the cup.
James watched his wife for a few moments before he turned his attention toward the only other person in the room with him, his surprise evident on his face, though his surprise was more the result of the fact that the other person is alone, rather than with his partner.
Appearances could be deceiving, James knew, and as he stared at the man to whom he owe his loyalty to, he could not help but be struck by just how real that is when it comes to this man.
At just over twenty five years of age, he is younger than both James and Lily by a good ten years, but one needs only to look at him once to sense the power that flows within him, a power that has nothing to do with magic, but with his blood.
One of the twelve grandchildren of Empress Elizabeth, Lord High Admiral Duke Sir Alexander Charles York is the eldest York of his generation. That distinction would normally someday see him seated at the Golden Throne, but because Lord Alexander is the son of the third child of the Empress, Lord Alexander could never legally inherit. In a way, however, that knowledge proved more boon than bane, for it was precisely that knowledge that the young lord had used to better himself.
A graduate of Olympia Academy, second in his batch, he entered the Imperial Naval Academy at the age of fifteen and graduated at the head of his class at the age of nineteen. At twenty five, he is in command of one of the four standing fleets of the Holy Empire and is ranked High Admiral, OF-11, the second highest rank in the Holy Empire, and he attained that rank through a combination of politics and actual military contribution – he served with the Home Fleet during the conflict with the Confederate States of the Amazons and with the Colonial Fleet during the Gulf War, distinguishing himself in both regional conflicts. Nowadays, no one would dare question his appointment as commander of the Grand Fleet.
He had also been recently named Prince of Wales and Prince of Scotland, a birthday present from his grandmother who was most pleased with his accomplishments.
"Lord James," Lord Alexander said, loud enough that his voice alone was enough to tear the Viscount of Lisbourne from his reverie and make him turn his full attention toward his liege lord, "Is something the matter?"
"Forgive me, Your Grace," James replied as he politely inclined his head toward the direction of the Duke of New York – the preferred title of Lord Alexander, James knew. He fixed his attention toward the Duke before James continued, "I was surprised that Lady Emma is not with you."
A smile graced the features of Lord Alexander – a smile that Lily was well aware would never fail to make an appearance whenever Lady Emma is mentioned – before he replied, "She sends her regrets, but her illness had progressed to the point that our physician had ordered her confined to bed," the Duke seemed distraught before he added, "I hope I don't catch it."
"Forgive me, Your Grace," Lily spoke, "Why not just sleep in a different bed?"
"Lady Emma and I had been sleeping in the same bed since we were eleven years old, Lady Lily," Lord Alexander replied, his tone amused and devoid of any indication that he had taken offense at the suggestion of Lily, "The four years that I had spent in the Academy was more than enough for us to never want to sleep in different beds ever again," he paused before he sighed theatrically and said, "but entertaining and informative our sleeping arrangements may be, my Lord and Lady, it is not the reason that I had asked for your presence."
Both James and Lily turned serious in response to the words of Lord Alexander. This was the man whom they swore their loyalty to nearly ten years ago. The man that both James and Lily swore they would follow, their liege lord.
"I imagine that Harry is still unhappy with the orders that he had received?" he asked rhetorically, before he turned his attention toward both James and Lily, "And as his parents, I imagine that you are also unhappy with the fact that your son had been sent to Hogwarts?"
The first question, both James and Lily knew, was rhetorical. The objections of Harry to the deployment orders that he had received, after all, was actually in written format and in the hands of Lord Alexander. The second question, however, was not.
Lord Alexander had noted the objections of Harry over the deployment order, but he was yet to ask either James or Lily for their opinion regarding the order. It appears that that day had come.
The silence that descended around the room was deafening, but James soon remedied the situation when he said, "No, Your Grace, we are both not unhappy with the orders that Harry had been given."
"Yet, your use of the negative suggests to me that you have reservations regarding this movement," Lord Alexander said. It was not a question, and though James looked ready to answer, Lord Alexander prevented him from saying anything when he raised his hand and motioned for James to stop, "You are not unhappy with this move because you both know the reason that I had asked Harry to go to that school, my Lord James."
James and Lily nodded, "If only we could have told him, Your Grace, then he would probably be enthusiastic about this order," Lily replied.
For a few moments, the Duke of New York stared at his two subordinates. The look of steel in the eyes of the Duke could unnerve the toughest of men, and both James and Lily knew, the Duke could intimidate even the two of them should he want to, but it was obvious that that is not the goal of the Duke today.
Once more, silence descended across the room, an uncomfortable silence that made James fidget uncomfortably. Lord Alexander caught the action of James and the young Duke smiled in amusement at that, before he shook his head and said, "Lord James, you have my permission to inform your son of the real reason that he and his classmates had been sent to Hogwarts."
"My Lord?" James asked, he blinked, twice, before he continued, "It might not be easy for Harry and his classmates to gain access to the castle, would it not be better if we are to inform them of the reason when you visit at the end of the week?"
Lord Alexander shook his head, "The sooner that they start, the sooner that they would find that accursed object, Lord James," he said. He paused for a few moments before a sigh escaped from his lips and he added, "You were the one who convinced me of the importance of locating this item, my Lord, surely, you know better than anyone how important it is to find it."
For a few moments, James could only stare at his liege lord. He turned his attention toward his wife a few moments later, and she gave him a nod. That was all that James needed, he turned his attention toward Lord Alexander and said, "With your permission, Your Grace, I would send a letter by secure owl post to my son, informing him of the real reason that he had been sent to Hogwarts."
Lord Alexander nodded, "You have my permission, Lord James," he replied formally, "and let us all hope that he finds that item as soon as possible."