Fire

Dudley Dursley managed to graduate from school, even if his academic grades were far from stellar. However, around the year his cousin Harry Potter had saved his life, he had been developing into quite the athlete; especially when it came to combat sports. After that summer, once he got his head right, he started to take that direction much more seriously. The following summer, the old man with the withered hand said something most interesting; he said, as far as Dudley could work out, was that his mum and his dad had really been treating him even worse than all three of them had been treating Potter. It took the whole year for him to reason out how that made any sense at all; after all, they had been downright horrible to his cousin- or at least Dudley was able to see that plainly now.

The best he'd been able to come up with was, as much as they treated Potter like he was a waste of space, his mum and dad had allowed and even encouraged him, their Duddins, to become a waste of space. The truth was, Potter was not a waste at all; even as awful as he had been to his cousin, Potter saw fit to rescue him from whatever those wraith-like things were. That Potter would rescue even someone who'd dealt him nothing but misery his whole life told Dudley that Potter was just like all the heroes he saw on the television.

So that last summer that Potter was in number 4 Privet Drive, the year those Order People came to take them someplace safe before Harry's seventeenth birthday, Dudley did his best to make a kind of peace with Harry, and then made every effort to struggle through his last year at school. He made it through, albeit barely. He knew he wasn't exactly bright; but he was also aware of what he was good at. Straight after graduation, Dudley set to training in Mixed Martial Arts fighting. He quickly got very good at it, and was soon making loads of money; far more than Dad ever would have dared dream of selling drills. Before he even knew it, Dudley even had an in ring nickname: Dudley 'the Dynamo' Dursley, and he became quite popular. He even met the woman who would soon become his wife there; she was also a decently talented fighter in the women's division. Together they had a daughter which they named Daisy, and though he loved his little girl more than he loved his own life and would have given up everything he had to make sure his Daisy had nothing but the best, his little Daisy also terrified him.

By the time Daisy was two years old, strange things had started to happen; especially when she was distraught. Lights would flicker on and off and on again. One time, as she was trying to navigate a staircase, she started to take a tumble, and even before he or her mother could rush in to catch her, she was literally suspended in mid air, and then landed as gentle as could be done. These odd things kept happening through the years, and it reminded Dudley very much of his cousin. That was when he remembered the owls. He started to watch for them again; hoping he could use one to send a message to Harry to see if he could help. He didn't think Harry would help him, but he might be willing to help Daisy; all Dudley could do is hope that Potter would believe him that all he wanted was what was best for his little girl. What he didn't know was that right around the time Daisy saved herself from taking that nasty fall from the stairs, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall happened to be in a certain tower as the quill of acceptance wrote the name Daisy Dursley into the book of admissions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Headmistress gaped open mouthed at the name; she could hardly believe she was seeing it. She was, of course, well aware of the name Dursely and how it was connected to Harry Potter, but the Dursely's struck her as being the least magical and most terrible kind of Muggles she had ever seeing the name in the book, Minerva felt the need to contact Potter immediately; this was far too unlikely a thing to happen for her not to; besides, however awful that family was to Potter, it was still family.

Though Dudley did not know of this, the result was the same. There came a day, finally, that he answered a knock on the door to find his cousin, still skinny and with his still perpetually untidy hair and that odd scar on his forehead standing before him; his haunting green eyes behind those spectacles of his. For a moment, Dudley wondered if on top of all his other talents, could Potter read minds as well.

"Hello, Big D." Harry said.

"B-but how did you know?" Dudley sputtered. "I was watching for owls, but I saw none, and I thought it would be stupid and dangerous to send anything through normal Post."

Harry smiled kindly. "Well, you were right on that count, I reckon." He replied. "The truth of the matter is I'm very good friends with both the Minister for Magic and the Headmistress of Hogwarts. It was her who told me about your daughter – Daisy is her name?"

Shocked, Dudley only nodded silently and stood still for a moment before he came to his senses enough to step aside and let Harry in; this was not likely a conversation to be had outdoors, after all. Harry thanked him as Dudley led him to the sitting room where Harry sat himself in an armchair. Dudley wondered how this Headmistress could know about his daughter, but decided it might be best if he didn't ask; odds were on that any explanation Harry could give would be well beyond his capacity anyway. Instead he offered Harry a tea. Harry made a lighthearted joke about not leaving it on the floor, and Dudley went into his kitchen to get it all sorted.

"So as I was saying," Harry continued almost as if the conversation never broke. "Once Headmistress McGonagall told me, I checked with the Ministry, and sure enough Magic use was detected at your address. I came as soon as I could. Sorry for the delay, by the way, I have two sons and a daughter of my own, as you know."

Something in Dudley's head clicked in place. "Hang on," he said. "If your school already knows, does that mean she's bound to be accepted for enrollment?"

"Why do you ask?" Harry asked, his tone a little cross and somewhat wary. "Does she frighten you? Are hoping to get shut of her?"

Dudley recoiled, knowing he probably deserved that after the way his family treated him all those years. Besides, he was half right, anyway. Still, almost at once Harry's expression changed to one of remorse. "Sorry," he said truthfully. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

"S'Alright." Dudley said. "I reckon I'd earned it. Besides, you're half right. She does frighten me a little... well a lot honestly. Now before you get all indignant try to see it from my side, will you. It's eerie when your little girl starts floating her toys around the room and shuts lights on and off in the next room if her bottle is late or what have you. It's not only that, but what if the neighbors see something? No, not like Mum and Dad, so don't even think that. I mean they might go after her and try to hurt her. That's the part that terrifies me most of all. She's still my Daisy, even if she's got some...talent...that I can't possibly understand isn't she? I only want what's best for her. She needs to learn to use and control whatever it is she has, and I reckon your school is the place to sort all that out. I mean, you turned out alright, so..."

"I get your meaning, D." Harry said, waving off the rest of Dudley's speech. "And yes, you're quite right; Hogwarts can and will teach Daisy when the time comes. In fact, that's why I'm here. To help her understand what's happening. How old is she now?"

"She's four." Dudley replied proudly. "She just turned this past February."

"Then she's about the same age Albus." Harry said happily. "They'll be the same year." He finished his tea and stood up. "May I see her?"

Dudley led Harry to the playroom downstairs, where Daisy was once again floating one of her favourite stuffed animals; Dudley was relieved that she remembered to close all the drapes while she practiced this particular talent. When she saw that her Daddy had a guest she quickly let the stuffed lion drop and gazed at him, worried.

"It's alright, Daisy dear." Dudley reassured. "I want you meet someone." He stepped aside so she could see Harry more clearly. "This is your... Uncle Harry, and he's going to help you understand what it is that makes you so special. He's a lot like you, see?"

Harry stepped into the room and hunkered down beside Daisy. "Hi, Daisy," he said, and then the two of them talked at some length about their shared talent. He was even gracious enough to advise that her daddy was right to keep it secret from non-magical people (Muggles, he called them). After some talk, Harry set to leave, promising to keep in touch, and advising Dudley that her letter would come by Owl Post sometime around her eleventh birthday. Sure enough, they did stay in touch; it was mostly for birthday parties and Christmas and the like, but it was always civil. The kids all seemed to get along well enough, and their wives, too. Daisy was particularly taken in by Harry wife – Ginny her name was- and her accounts of this sport she played called Quiddage (at least that's what it sounded like to Dudley). Also as certain as could be, on February 15th, the day after Daisy turned eleven, an Owl dropped off her letter. By then, Harry and Ginny had helped the Dursleys set up an exchange account at a bank called Gringotts, and during the time between getting the letter and September 1st they were most helpful in getting the supplies Daisy would need, and getting her on the train to go to school. For his part, Dudley and his wife felt a bitter relief as their Daisy headed out; seeing her go, knowing she would be gone at least until Christmas stung bitterly, but there was relief in knowing she would be in the safest place possible for her to be.

Air

Most books say that our memories really start to take form and begin to be truly retained at age five. I suppose that's probably true for most people- or normal people, anyway, but not for me. My first clear memory was when I was three. It was the day that a policeman came to our door and told my mom and me that my dad was killed. It was most bizarre, they said, because the cause of death could not be determined. They simply found his body in a back alley behind Cambie Street near Pigeon Park. I also remember there being a big fuss about getting any sort of compensation because of that mystery; and that the whole mess left Mom and me in quite the tight corner. Mom got a job at a paper mill, though, and she did her best. Things were hard, but we did okay. One thing was sure; Mom did all she could to make sure I was happy and healthy. That was the year we moved into Eagle Gardens in Barnaby on King's Way where we live now. It was there that I met Hoots. Hoots is, I guess, what you might call an imaginary friend. I don't have many real friends; mom says it's because I spend too much time with my nose in some book or another. In any case, Hoots always has a way of showing up when I' scared or lonely sad. Usually I just start thinking about the happiest thing I can remember, and He shows up. He's a silvery owl.

Now I'm going to jump ahead a little bit. I started grade school the September before my fifth birthday, which is on Halloween. That caused quite a stir; I remember the school board doing all kinds of tests before letting me start, but they let me in, quite certain I'd be able to keep up. All of my fellow students were already five, you see; as I was about to turn five, they were all about to turn six. That was the way it was all through my school years; I was roughly a year younger than everybody, but somehow I was always near the top of my class. Needless to say I was not terribly popular; not unless someone wanted to copy off me. But at least I had Hoots. The thought that worked best to bring him around was of my Dad; I can still picture him in that woolly jacket of his, and the matching scarf and ski cap; they were blue and a kind of bronze colour, each with what I remember him calling a family crest- it was an eagle.

That brings us to this summer; I was on my way to turning eleven. Actually, I still am, as the summer isn't over yet; it's only the 28th of August. I have everything all packed up, and I know how to get the King's Cross train Station and I think I've worked out how to get onto the Platform for the Hogwarts Express. It's important that I make sure of these kinds of things; I have a terrible sense of direction, you see.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I should back up a little bit to earlier this summer. It was in July that it all started. I had just come in from collecting some sticks and twigs, and next I was planning on doing some research on the Solar System. I know, it's summertime and kids my age are supposed to be on vacation from that sort of thing, but it's what I like to do. As is so often the case, I couldn't find a pencil for notes; that's what the twigs and sticks were for. I opened my books up, and 'switched' one of the twigs into a pencil. I noticed I could do that when I was six. It wasn't so different than calling on Hoots. It was a trick that came in very handy, so long as nobody saw me do it. There are other things I can do, and I'll get to those in just a minute.

So I was doing my research, taking notes on the moons of Jupiter, when there was knock on the door, followed by my mom calling me to the front room. I came out, and sitting on the sofa was a tiny man whose clothes didn't seem quite right. He looked like a miniature symphony conductor. When I say this guy was tiny, I mean he was tiny. I'm not a big kid; in fact I might be the smallest (as well as youngest) in my class, but this guy was so tiny that his feet didn't even reach the floor as he sat on the sofa. In fact, if he wasn't sitting on the very edge of the seat, I'm not sure his legs would stretch out more than an inch over the edge. He was also very old, but he had eyes that twinkled like a little kids and a smile that was contagious; I couldn't help but smile back.

"Ah, you must be Richard Gavin!" the little man said with a squeaky voice. "Please, sit down."

I sat across from him. Mom brought us each a glass of water, and he squeaked out his thanks.

"Excuse me, sir," I said. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but who are you and why are you here?"

The little man chuckled. "Of course you'd want to know." He said. "I suppose that's more than fair, you've been in the dark far too long. I apologize for that, but the distance I had to travel alone made getting to you a challenge in itself, you see." That was when I noticed his accent; I couldn't quite place it for the squeak in his voice, but if I had to guess I would say British or Scottish. "Now in order to explain, I have to ask you a question, first. Tell me, Richard, have things happened around you that you can't explain, or maybe you can do things that other kids can't?"

He looked at me knowingly. It was clear that he already knew the answer; though I guess the look of shock on my face told him all he needed to know.

"Richie, be careful, son."Mom warned.

I knew what Mom meant; she was always worried that if other people saw what I could do they would get scared and maybe call the police or worse. I should say this now; mom is a good person; she just doesn't like or trust the police or the government. I don't know why, exactly, but then I never asked.

Since it was obvious to me that this man already knew, it was probably best if I just showed him. So for starters I held my hand out and open, and made the glass of water on the table float up into my hand so I could take a sip. Even though mom had seen it before, mom gasped. I think she thought the man was some kind of scientist or doctor, and was having visions of me being tested in a lab. The man, however, was delighted by what he saw. He clapped and cheered.

"That's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "You already have such wonderful control; much better than any of us could have expected! Is there anything else?"

I couldn't help but smile. This man was happy to see me do what I could do. I thought about showing him Hoots, but somehow I suspected that if I did that he might just explode with delight. Instead, I showed him the pencil I made which was stuffed into my back pocket. Then I changed it; first back into a stick, and then to a pencil again. Clapping, the man laughed.

"Absolutely brilliant" He shouted. "I bet that comes in very handy during your school term."

"Yeah, it does, so long as nobody sees me do it." I admitted. Then I asked, "Forgive me, sir, but who are you again?"

The man clapped his hand on his forehead. "Oh, of course, how silly of me; even a little rude I dare say. Her I barge into your home and I don't even introduce myself." He leaped off the sofa and worked his way over to me where I sat in my armchair with his tiny hand extended. "I am Professor Filius Flitwick; Deputy Headmaster and Charms Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He squeaked.

Slightly dumbfounded, I took his hand and shook it. "What's Hogwarts?" I asked. "I don't understand."

"You, Richard Gavin, are a wizard." Professor Flitwick explained. "And evidently a very good one, too, I'd venture; at least as good as your father. Yes, Richard, your father, David Gavin, was a wizard much as you are. Why, I imagine he would have told you if... well, I suppose you know what happened to him." When I nodded, fighting back tears, he allowed me time to process before continuing. "Well, anyway, before coming on to Canada for a special assignment, your father graduated from our school, and then took some extra training to become what is known to us as an Auror; I suppose you could think of that as being a sort soldier or specialized law officer. Now, normally a potential student like yourself who has an established parent or guardian within our community simply gets a letter, but your case is special since evidently he never quite got the chance to fill you in."

"Wait," I said. "So Hogwarts is a school for...for people like me and now you're here to see if I want go." I already knew that I did want to go. I rather liked this Flitwick.

"Yes, that's right." Flitwick confirmed.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Flitwick," Mom interjected. "All of this sounds wonderful, but where is this school?"

"Well, it's in Scotland, actually. But not worry about the commute. There's plenty of room for everybody in the dormitories, and the food there is nothing short of amazing."

Mom looked worried. I knew why. "It's a boarding school? That must be very expensive. And then there's whatever school supplies he would need."

"Oh, of course!" Flitwick exclaimed. "Please forgive me, the journey here has me all turned around in my head." He produced from his pockets an envelope, and a small package, which he handed to me. I opened the envelope first; inside was a letter telling me that I have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and a time and a place to catch the train to get there. This was in King's Cross Station at London, Platform 9&3/4, 11am. There was also a list of supplies that I would need for my first year. Then, in the package, there was key, it said it was to vault number 42 at a placed called Gringott's Bank in Diagon Alley. That's a funny name for a street, I thought. "I'm sure you'll find your father left you well funded for school." Flitwick said.

Mom still had some objections: That I would be so far away, when would see each other, would I be safe, all that sort of thing. To her credit, she wasn't saying no, she was just being a mother. Nor was she questioning the idea of me being taught magic; in fact I suspect she was glad to hear that I might get proper training for all the strange things I can do. Then Flitwick explained the school ran from September to June, and I could be home during the summer, Christmas, and Easter holidays. He also said that the school encouraged the students to stay in touch with their parents with letters. That seemed to put mom at ease, and she agreed that it would be alright; she could simply tell anyone that asked that I was away to a school for gifted students. That wouldn't even be lie, if you think about it.

"Wonderful" Flitwick squeaked happily. He then gave me an airline ticket to London, where I was to meet a man called Ruebeus Hagrid, or Hagrid for short, and that he would get me where I needed to go in order to purchase my equipment. "And I will see you on September the first." He said to me, and then he left.

Water

On January 2, the day after Rachael's eleventh birthday, Rachael's invitation to attend Hogwarts arrived to the North house at number 7 in Novak Drive, Coquitlam British Columbia. Upon receipt, Pansy North, formerly Pansy Parkinson, found herself reminiscing.

Her thoughts went back to her fifth year at Hogwarts, which was in her mind the best year. That was the year that she, along with several of her fellow Slytherins were a part of the Inquisitorial squad; it was just a shame that all fell apart because of Potter and his little gang. It was also the year that she and Draco really got close. Sure, he invited her to the Yule Ball the year before, but that only confirmed for her that she and Draco really had something going. It was fifth year that made it all but a certainty; especially that summer.

That was the summer that his Aunt Bellatrix, recently escaped from Azkaban, paid her, Pansy, a visit. It was approaching Midnight; she had just finished a letter she was intending to send to Draco before turning in for the night when she heard the unmistakable crack of someone apparating into the back yard. Mum and dad were fast asleep, so she grabbed her wand and broke for the window, ready to body bind whoever the intruder was.

"You're not of age yet, little girl!" The witch cried out from the middle of yard. Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco's Aunt from his mother's side was standing there, grinning almost maniacally and gazing up the window with her heavy-lidded eyes from under her long black hair. She tittered, "but then who am I to criticize if you break the rules?"

"Madame Lestrange!" Pansy called back with a hoarse whisper. "What brings you here at this late hour?"

"Come down, little flower, and find out." Bella replied. "Oh, don't worry; I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk about Draco."

Pansy went down the stairs and outside to the backyard. Bellatrix mentioned that Draco had been talking about her a great deal of late, and that she had been his thoughts even more so. How the Death-Eater had known that, Pansy had no idea, but she couldn't help but beam at his Aunt. Then Bellatrix asked if she was looking to have a real thing with her nephew, or if this was just a ploy to get into a good family and keep the bloodlines pure. In reality, both answers were true. Pansy thought about giving the Dark Lord's most loyal follower attitude for an answer, but quickly decided that would be stupid. Instead she said that she was after both. Bellatrix laughed; she seemed please with the answer.

"The little flower knows how the game is played! I think I like this one." She said to no one in particular. Then she looked down at Pansy with a scrutinizing gaze. Their eyes locked. "What about that North boy then? You know the one that's been following you around like a lost dog?"

Pansy knew. She meant the fourth year boy from Canada that seemed to fancy her or something. Even then, she could see him closely in drogue in the hallways between classes, and in the Common Room, and in the Great Hall at meals; always jockeying to get as close to her as possible. If he wasn't so useful it would be annoying. Still, Rigel North was quite clever, and if anything a bit ahead of his year in most classes –rivaled only perhaps by that Blood Traitor Weasley girl and very few others besides. He also came in handy if Pansy didn't want to carry her bags. Draco also didn't seem to mind, but then Rigel was a bit of a Malfoy fanboy; and several steps up from Crabbe and Goyle in the brains department. That was when Pansy realized she wasn't alone in her thoughts. Again, Bellatrix laughed.

"My nephew is developing a following, is he? The Foot of the Hunter has a little crush, does he?" Bella left Pansy's thoughts. "All is well with that, then. Enjoy your dog. Now, about Draco; I would encourage you to stay with him with my blessing. He's likely to need all the support he can get. Don't ask why, that doesn't concern you, little girl. If you want to be a part of something that matters, you will do as I say."

Pansy nodded. She was caught somewhere between elation and terror. "I will do whatever needs to be done." She finally managed to say.

"There's a good girl." Bellatrix cooed. "Oh I have one more thing for you." She reached into her robes and produced what looked like some sort of broach. "This is a very important family heirloom of the House of Black. My now deceased cousin Sirius had in mind to toss it away like rubbish, but the House Elf Kreacher nicked it just in time to see it safely where it belongs. I want you to hold on to it, keep it safe. No, you don't get to wear it, stupid girl!" She hissed at Pansy, and then her demeanor changed to a look that was almost pleasant. "You're not family yet, dear. If Draco chooses you, then perhaps..."

Clutching the broach, Pansy promised she would guard it well. And then, as abruptly as she appeared, Bellatrix Lestrange was gone.

Sixth year started off great with Draco, but quickly went bad. He suddenly got all aloof and secretive, and acting like he didn't want her around. That was how she and Rigel started get close. She, Pansy, learned a lot about Rigel that year, not the least of which was how he was certainly handsome enough to be seen spending time with him. What she learned, though, was that he was, in fact, a bastard descendant of the Gaunt family; who were now all but defunct, but were unquestionably purebloods and directly descended from Salazar Slytherin. The way Rigel told it, Marvolo Gaunt's son Morfin had a one night stand with a witch called Charity Desjardins, but completely rejected her when she became pregnant. Charity moved to Winnipeg, Canada to give birth to daughter she named Hope, who married a wizard of Ilevermorny stock called Orion North. Together they had a son, and that was Rigel. She also learned that he had been learning magic since was five from a mentor in British Columbia; he called the mentor, an houngan from Louisiana, Papa Zebub. He, Rigel, then asked her to give him her hand, pal up. She did. He quickly cut her hand with a small silver knife and let her blood drip into a clay cylinder filled about halfway with a white powder. As she grunted in pain and cursed at him, he put a lid on the cylinder and shook it violently. That was when she noticed the tattoo on the back of his left hand; a blue pentagram, drawn so that the single point was directed at his wrist. He opened the cylinder and smiled.

"This is warding powder." He explained, handing her the cylinder. "It's one of the first things Papa taught me. Sprinkle this so it forms a line at the threshold of your dormitory, and none that wish you harm can pass. Not even the house elves can remove it once it is in place. My year's dormitory has the same; all the Slytherin in my year thus protected when they sleep."

She also took note that all the Slytherins in his year seemed to be following his lead. That was how she started to think maybe Rigel North wasn't just an annoying but useful tag along after all. She asked him what other things this Papa Zebub had taught him, but Rigel wouldn't say; not until after the Dark Lord's fall the following year. After her failed attempt to cash in on the Dark Lord's offer, she was forced to lead the Slytherin house out of Hogwarts. On their way out, Rigel said something to his gang in Parstlemouth, and then managed to sneak back in. She asked one of his friends what he was doing, and he replied that he wanted to see how this all turned out; the end result might have implications in their war, as if he meant other than the one taking place there. Meanwhile, the rest of them were supposed to get out of the country to a place they could take refuge and prepare for the next level.

At the time, Pansy had no idea what they were talking about. She did now. Now, as surprising as it was that her eldest daughter Rachael had received an owl care of the Canada Ministry for Magic to attend Hogwarts, there it was. The envelope must have come to the CMM stationed in Victoria via Floo post- an innovation developed by Terry Boot – and sent by owl from there. Up until then, she had assumed that Rachael would have to go to Ilevermorny. It was that or she could continue to learn from Papa Zebub, who had indeed taught Rigel several amazing and frightening things; some of which Pansy knew now as well. Transmutation was especially handy; being basically immune to most potions and poisons certainly had its benefits.

Rachael was thrilled with the news. She wanted to jump on an aeroplane to London straight away and start getting ready. Rigel, however, thought it more efficient to arrange travel for all of that so it corresponded with his own journey to London for work. He was a reporter/international correspondent for the Daily Prophet; a very useful position for him to set things up for Papa Zebub's plans while at the same time covering their movements by directing everyone's attention elsewhere. For some reason, Pansy thought back to Bellatrix's broach; she thought to include it with Rachael's things, but then thought better of it. Though Bella was very much gone, Pansy still felt obligated to keep it safe.

Earth

Ernie Macmillan had barely stepped into his home after a particularly trying day at his shift in St Mungo's to find the house in a state of absolute pandemonium. Confetti and streamers were strewn all about the front hall, a Butterbeer bottle was rolling down the stairs, and there was a ruckus upstairs that rivaled that of the celebration after the fall of Lord Voldemort (even thinking the name still gave Ernie the creeps) at Hogwarts so long ago. Punky, the family House Elf, who had the distinctive bat-like ears, eyes the size of tennis balls, and a banana shaped nose came rushing down the stairs wearing his favorite T-shirt which bore on it the logo of the wizard rock band the Weird Sisters. His snow-white hair, usually spiked up in a Mohawk, was disheveled. The T-shirt meant, of course, that Punky was actually free to come and go as he pleased, but he always seemed happy enough to stay, and normally his work was nothing short of excellent.

"Punky is grievously sorry about the mess, sir." He said frantically, helping Ernie out of his shoes and into his slippers. "Punky has been trying to keep up all day, sir, but once Master Adam's Hogwarts letter came in, Mistress Romilda, Master Adam, and young Mistress Erin have been celebrating."

"What the- did I hear you right?" Ernie asked, clearly elated at the news. It was April the twenty-first; Adam's eleventh birthday was just the day before. If Punky's news was right that would certainly explain the colour scheme of the streamers and confetti; all yellow and black, the colours of Hufflepuff House and Scarlet and Gold, the colours of his Gryffindor, which was the House Romilda Vane was from.

"Yes, sir, his letter came in by Owl this morning an hour after Master left for work." Punky replied.

Ernie hurtled up the stairs, shouting to Punky to never mind the mess until tomorrow. His eyes were welling up with tears; a mix of pride in his son and a tinge of hurt that Romilda did not notify him right away. Of course, the answer was obvious. Lately St. Mungo's had been extremely busy, what with the number of Muggle attacks from that Harker Institute that had been taking place. It seemed they had developed some kind of technology that could detect and even counter a number of different kinds of magic. At the very least, they seemed also to be operating under a code of secrecy; likely to prevent a mass panic, which they apparently understood would endanger the very people they thought they were trying to protect. The Muggle news seemed to be doing a fair job of explaining any incidents that might otherwise be sticky without much help from the Ministry; which was still very much at a loss as to how the Harker Institute of Technology was doing it.

"Dad, I got it!" Adam shouted, nearly bowling Ernie over when he got to the top of the stairs. Adam, his son, had shoulder length curly black hair much like his mother's to match his dark complexion, but his features made him a spitting image of Ernie himself. Erin, their daughter, was just the opposite; she had Ernie's hair and complexion with Romilda's features. After giving him a bear-hug, Adam proudly presented his Hogwarts letter. Meanwhile, Erin, who was eight years old, was dancing in place and waving a toy Weasley wand which would only make multi-coloured bubbles. Ernie took the letter and read:

Dear Mr. Macmillan,
We are pleased to inform you that you are invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Please be advised that term shall begin on 1 September and that we await your reply by owl no later than 31 July.

Respectfully yours,
Filius Flitwick, Deputy Headmaster.

The letter, of course, was on the letterhead of Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of his and his wife's old Alma Mater. Tears of pride and joy welled up in his eyes again. Ernie knew all along this day would come, but now, holding the actual letter in his hands, it made the fact seem that much more real all of the sudden. He looked over to Romilda. They had gone to school together, her a year behind him, but because they were of different houses and different years they never really connected until after school, when Romilda started at St. Mungo's as well. They soon found they worked well together and got on quite fabulously. After they married and had Adam, they worked it out so they worked different days to ensure a parent was always at home.

"Well, this is it, then, isn't it?" He said, shaking with excitement. "It's really that time!"

"Yes, it most certainly is! Our son is growing up!" Romilda giggled with glee. "I just know he's going to be brilliant!"

"I wonder which House I'll be; Hufflepuff or Gryffindor." Adam said introspectively.

Ernie stopped dead. It only then occurred to him that Adam clearly felt that they had expectations in regards to his Sorting. He got down on one knee to look his son in the eye, holding him still firmly by the shoulders.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully, son." He said seriously. "Your mother and I would be no less proud of you whichever House you get Sorted into."

"Even if it turns out I'm a Slytherin?" Adam asked. The look of concern on his son's face was enough to break Ernie's heart.

"Even if you get sorted into Slytherin" Ernie said. "Slytherin House has a bit of a bad reputation, some of it earned, but that doesn't make them bad, does it? In fact, one of my favorite professors was a Slytherin." He meant Professor Slughorn, his Potions Master during his final two years; it was through Professor Horace Slughorn's referral that he landed his position at St. Mungo's.

"That's right, Adam" Romilda agreed, though Ernie caught just a hint of wariness in her voice; but then that might be simply because there has always been a certain amount of disdain between the Houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin.

"His reply has already been sent," she said to him. "All that's left is to get him ready."

"Well, then," Ernie said back, "with that all in place, let's continue the celebration, shall we?"

And so they did, long into the night. Eventually Erin wore herself out and fell asleep on the sofa, and Romilda carried her off to bed. By the time he, Romilda, and Adam decided it was about time to retire, the house was a shambles. Normally the Macmillan's liked to keep an orderly house, but tonight was a special occasion; order could be restored in the morning.