Samuel Flinter was lost.
It had been only a few days since he had settled into his uncle's home in Newcastle, and after spending the day after the funeral in a state of amazement and shock, he had come to a strange conclusion: technically, he wasn't a muggle-born. Since his grandfather was a wizard, any of his children would be either wizards or squibs, and in this case, both Samuel's uncle and late father were squibs, and since his father was a squib, theoretically he didn't count as a muggle-born. It still made Samuel's head hurt.
He had roused the thick-billed raven that he had found dozing on the perch outside his window, and had let it in. Scrimgeour had fulfilled his promise, and Raistlin was now Samuel's, and the first thing he did was to quickly compose a letter to the Ministry of Magic in London, asking them for any information they had on his family regarding his blood-status, and whether he was still officially a muggle-born. He had received an answer that evening, as well as a guide to the Wizarding community in England, including all the sights and attractions a wizard may find interesting. Samuel had decided to visit Diagon Alley, which according to the guide 'contained virtually everything of importance to the average wizard or witch'.
And of course, Samuel had gotten lost.
He had taken the train and arrived at Kings Cross Station after a few hours, the hopped into a taxi and been dropped off at Charing Cross Road, just outside a muggle record shop. Sure enough, just as the guide said, the magical inn was indeed visible to Samuel's eye, although it seemed the muggles around him had no idea it existed at all.
Samuel had walked into the Leaky Cauldron and gained access to the back courtyard, where he followed the guide's steps and tapped the brick wall in the right pattern, allowing him access into Diagon Alley. However, it was somewhere at this point Samuel was sure he had lost the guide.
He had been so amazed by the sight that lay before him, he had forgotten his guide in the courtyard, and had just wandered right through the magical doorway and into the bowels of Diagon Alley. Squashed together on the narrow street were Wizarding shops as far as Samuel's eye could see; owleries, bookshops, wandmakers and magical joke shops, just for starters. But Samuel could see something was up; many of the shops were closed, and Samuel could even see a few that had been completely boarded up. Only a few wizards and witches peppered the streets, moving in large groups and anxiously looking over their shoulders every few seconds.
Samuel felt fairly out of place in this strange street. Back in Australia there were no Wizarding districts on this scale; usually every student just bought their books straight from school. He kept taking a few steps in one direction, then biting his lip and glancing around, hoping to find some sort of information booth.
"Are you lost?"
Turning around, standing before Samuel was a brunette witch dressed in jeans and a sweater; her hair was fairly long and worn loose, Samuel was sure that she would have been scouted out by a modeling agency in the muggle world. She didn't look that old either, just about Samuel's own age.
"Uh, yeah. I'm new here," answered Samuel uncertainly. The girl extended a hand.
"My name's Hermione Granger, a sixth-year student at Hogwarts. My parents are muggles, so when I got my letter to Hogwarts, I was also really lost."
Sixth-year student. Samuel decided to do something he wasn't used to. He was going to try making a friend. He reached out and shook her hand.
"Samuel Flinter, Second-year senior at Bahamutia School of Sorcery Mastery, pleased to meet you."
Hermione seemed to grow excited at the mention of his school. "But Bahamutia is the best Wizarding School in the Southern Hemisphere, why have you come to London?"
Samuel explained to Hermione about his coming to England because of the death of his grandfather, how he inherited a small fortune in assets and how he was being offered a place at Hogwarts if he wished it.
"Your grandfather, he wouldn't happen to have been Mr. Robert Flinter, the Junior Minister of the Department of International Magical Cooperation?" Hermione was literally rocking on the balls of her feet now.
"Well, yeah, he was I guess. Did you know him?" asked Samuel, feeling foolish all of a sudden, his cheeks turning red from the attention, but Hermione was thrilled.
"I studied some of the regulations he drafted while he was Head of the Department, did you know he was the Head? He stood down a few years ago and semi-retired into the role of Junior Minister. It was actually because of him that the Ministry got hold of a Ukrainian Ironbelly for study in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, therefore allowing-"
Samuel learnt very quickly that Hermione Granger liked to study a lot. He listened to her speak about his grandfather and some of the things he had done for the Ministry, and it felt kind of nice to know that even students at school appreciated his late-grandfather's efforts. Samuel told her a bit about his schooling down in Bahamutia, something she seemed very interested in.
"-and we all officially enter the school proper after a long and boring screening process, where the examiners filter the most-gifted from the rest." Samuel was saying as he and Hermione were sitting in Madame Carmella's Caramel Bakehaven; a small, cozy little café that stood not too far from the entrance to Diagon Alley. They had both bought Danish pastries and ordered a cup of tea each; Hermione sipping Earl Grey while Samuel enjoyed Green Tea with Lemon.
"But don't take that the wrong way, just because I've been classified as 'gifted', doesn't mean I really am, I'm sure your far more skilled at magic then me, after all your school's Headmaster is Albus Dumbledore after all," said Samuel, bringing the tea to his mouth. It was still piping hot, and he burnt his tongue as a few drops slid down his throat.
Hermione looked rather pleased at the compliment.
"But you've already mastered non-verbal magic, haven't you? I'll admit I've studied it quite a bit, and it looks really difficult, all I've managed to master are the real basics."
Samuel nodded. "Right from the start of our education our teachers start instilling the basics into us as we learn; they push us as hard as possible it seems. Coming to England has been such a delight so far, seeing the difference in magical culture."
He and Hermione chatted further, finishing their tea while taking bites of their delicious pastries, while every now and then waving a hand to a passing student who she knew. Hermione was very gifted, in Samuel's opinion, judging by the way that Hermione was able to relate any fact she had studied so easily. When he asked about how wizards had established such a strong community in London, Hermione was able to supply him with names and dates as if she had just read about them. Samuel was genuinely interested in what she had to say; he had always loved history and while it was true he mostly studied muggle history, he had always excelled at his History of Magic classes at Bahamutia.
Samuel excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he came back, he saw the tall gangly red-head he had seen at his grandfather's funeral, the one who had glared at him. He was sitting on Samuel's vacant spot, his back towards Samuel. As Samuel started to walk back to the table, Hermione noticed him, her eyes widening very slightly, but the red-head had noticed, and turned around.
"Something you want, mate?" Asked the red-head. It looked as if he hadn't recognized Samuel from the funeral.
Samuel stopped at the empty third seat and grasped it tightly with one hand, while offering his other. "I'm sorry, I'm Samuel Flinter, I was just having a spot of tea with Hermione, I take it you know each other?" The red-head's ears turned red, and looked as if he was trying to stop the urge of biting Samuel's head off. Funnily enough, the red-head didn't bother to introduce himself, and just shook Samuel's hand awkwardly, before turning back to Hermione, who rolled her eyes.
"Samuel, this is Ronald Weasley, a friend of mine," explained Hermione. Something clicked in Samuel's head.
"Weasley? Are you related to Percy Weasley? I think he's an aide to Scrimgeour," asked Samuel, thinking carefully. Here was a chance to find out who that girl was at the funeral. However, Ron just grunted, his face turning slightly red from anger, but Hermione intervened.
"Yes, Percy is one of Ron's older brothers."
Samuel took a seat, and signaled over the waitress to order another round of tea and pastries for the trio. Although Ron didn't really want to speak to Samuel because of some idiotic sense of protecting his territory, he loosed up after awhile, possibly after he realizing that Hermione had no intention of leaving yet. Some people were just too easy to work out. After asking a few questions about Hogwarts to Ron, who could barely form entire coherent sentences it seemed, Samuel nudged the conversation back onto family.
"Do either one of you have any brothers or sisters at Hogwarts?"
Hermione shook her head, and explained how she was an only child, but Ron started to count off all his siblings one-by-one. The way Ron put it, it sounded to Samuel like the Weasley parents were quite enthusiastic indeed.
"-and then Fred and George left Hogwarts last year, and started up a joke shop business. My parents weren't too pleased, but if you've seen some of the things they've been buying with those piles of galleons; dragon-skin jackets and boots, premises on Diagon Alley, it's brilliant!"
"So that just leaves you in Hogwarts?"
Ron jammed a pastry into his mouth. "Me and Ginny, yeah."
Ginny Weasley. Samuel would remember that name. He finished his tea and stood, before realizing he had made a very stupid mistake. It wasn't like Samuel at all to forget something like money, and he had yet to withdraw his grandfather's funds from his account. His face flushed, Samuel explained the problem to Ron and Hermione; Ron looked slightly pleased at the turn of events, while Hermione just shook off Samuel's apology and pulled out her own purse.
"It's alright; let's just stop by Gringotts so you can see how the bank works. I'll show you to one of the managers, and then I and Ron will be hanging around Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes for awhile, so drop by, okay?"
Samuel was touched; he had met such a kind person who was willing to go out of her way to help him and show him around, and he asked her why.
"Because no one really helped me when I first came here."
It was almost two hours later until Samuel had sorted out his grandfather's account in Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. The goblins had scurried quickly from filing cabinet to cabinet, accessing records and files. Snorglak, the old goblin in charge of his grandfather's account finally handed Samuel a piece of parchment which contained the exact amount in his new account and all the recent transfers.
Noticing a transfer of funds made just the day before, Samuel asked Snorglak what they meant.
"Mister Flinter's prior transfers are strictly private and not accessible by any persons other than those included in the transfer. All we may say is that according to your grandfather's will, one other person had benefited financially from his will."
Samuel had thanked the old goblin and left the giant complex, carrying a bag of galleons he had withdrawn. He was amazed at the amount left for him; his grandfather had also been a rich man in the Wizarding world, as well as the muggle world. He had owned almost a quarter of Diagon Alley, renting out the shops to different businesses, and had also been involved in the importation of various alchemical ingredients from different countries. One of the richest men in England's Wizarding community had passed away and left a fortune of gold and assets for Samuel, and he still couldn't understand why his grandfather had entrusted so much to him.
Robert Flinter had no way of knowing Samuel would want to stay in England, and owning all this property from overseas would create many inconveniences for him to manage from so far away. He began to suspect that perhaps his grandfather had indeed known. But while Samuel was walking out of the bank, walking to where Hermione and Ron had said to meet him, he wasn't paying too much attention to what was in his path, and had walked right into a tall, blonde-haired girl who was crouching, doing up the straps on her flats. Samuel tripped on the girl stupidly, and fell down on the now-sprawling teenager. Samuel stared right down into her clear green eyes, and marveled at her softly chiseled features. She looked very delicate, Samuel had decided, delicate and soft. They lay there for a moment, before the girl laughed musically.
"Tha' was quite a tumble, your eyes ah pretty, I like the color, green an' brown." The girl spoke is a lilting, Irish accent, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Do you mind helpin' me up."
Samuel blushed. He had almost said something along the lines of 'so are yours'. He quickly stood and offered the girl a hand, hoisting her up lightly. She stood tall, taller than even Samuel, and shook the dirt off her green floral dress, and finished fixing up the straps on her shoes, before standing up and laughing again at Samuel's blushing face. Samuel's brain raced quickly.
"Are you alright? I'm really sorry about that," he said, his hand gripping his bag of galleons nervously.
"I'm alright, I ain't as weak as I look." Samuel couldn't get enough of her accent. She pronounced her vowels very softly, while she was hitting the consonants much harder. It didn't sound like she'd been in England for long.
Offering his hand, Samuel introduced himself. "My name is Samuel Flinter, at your service."
"Bail ó Dhia ort. Taryn O'Laighin is my name, pleased t' make your acquaintance." The girl pronounced her name 'Tare-in' and, rather then shaking his hand, clasped it with both delicate hands.
"Same, where are you from? That's Gaelic, isn't it?"
Taryn seemed pleased at him recognizing her language. "Donegal, it's in Northern Ireland. How'd you know it was Gaelic?"
Samuel explained to her how he had a keen interest in history, and the old Gaelic tales were just one area he loved to read about. She seemed interested, and found it almost impossible not to laugh at his pronunciations of several names. He told of about how he had grown up wishing he was a particular knight of Ireland that was rather well-known.
"Culann, not Culen! Fancy yourself bein' Cuchulainn? Come t' slay the hound with you' spear? Of course, it be no hound here in England, but ah terrible dark wizard," she said, almost mockingly, but Samuel could see it was in good humor. Samuel didn't exactly give much thought to the apparent war that was brewing in England; sure, this self-styled 'Dark Lord' was supposed to be the most-powerful wizard after Albus Dumbledore, but that wasn't exactly a very profound claim. Dozens of wizards and witches around the world claimed to be the top, to be capable of things others could only dream of, so Samuel didn't really give a damn if people said Dumbledore was the only thing stopping 'You-Know-Who' from achieving world domination. What was his name anyways? No one had bothered to inform Samuel; some ignored the question while others simply whimpered and attempted some sort of facial jig. How was he supposed to be scared of someone who wouldn't even be publically named, just made it sort of ridiculous in Samuel's opinion.
"Well I'm actually ah student at Hogwarts, you see, seventh-year already, and what ah year to finish in, with all the chaos and the like. How about you, I've never see you before," asked Taryn, taking out her wand and dexterously balancing it on her fingers before flipping it over and over again around the ends of her long fingers.
Samuel spoke to her about his interest in attending Hogwarts, and how he was to be tested soon by Albus Dumbledore himself. Taryn seemed mildly interested, but was far more interested in Samuel himself, and fired question after question at him about his home. She laughed as he told her about the time he had charmed a fellow student's hair to tie itself in knots, and how in the end the wizard had to get his hair shaved off. She grinned mischievously as Samuel told her about the time he stole a broom from the school's storage lockers and flew into a tree, but her eyes filled with tears when she heard about his grandfather and how much he meant to Samuel.
"I too lost someone recently," started Taryn, her eyes downcast. "M'mam died last year, and I still can hear her voice sometimes, singin' t' me in my dreams." Then Taryn grinned and wiped the tears from her eyes. "But I know that she wouldn't want me to grieve like this, so it's okay. Now, it's been nice meetin' you, and I hope we can speak again soon, Samuel Flinter. I'll drop you an owl."
Samuel waved to the departing Irish lass, grinning inwardly. It had been a strange conversation, flying from topic to topic, but Samuel felt he would indeed like knowing Taryn more. Even if he didn't get into Hogwarts, maybe becoming pen-pals would be fun. Not to mention that Samuel thought she was absolutely gorgeous. He had only been in England for less than a week and had already seen three different beautiful girls.
When Samuel had finally located Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, he nearly just did an about-turn right in the doorway. This was the one shop that seemed to actually be booming with business; masses of teenagers and their younger siblings were rifling through the store, buying Puking Pastilles and Nosebleed Nougats by the armful. Ducks flew through the air, singing the national anthem while a sinister pumpkin sprouted vines for legs and began dancing wildly, entangling a first-year in its hold and tangoing further into the shop with the panicking child. Samuel recognized one of the managers as being a red-head he had seen at his grandfather's funeral; tall, but not as gangly-looking as Ron had been. If he was remembering correctly, this would be either Fred or George. Samuel sidled his way through a clump of girls giggling over an advertisement about love potions, and locked eyes with the Weasley twin.
"I'm looking for Hermione Granger, or your brother, Ron."
The Weasley raised a single eyebrow and grinned, then motioned to the back room. Thanking him, Samuel pushed past the heavy curtain which hung open the door and walked into a room slightly smaller than the store's front. Of course, with no kids to crowd him, Samuel felt better already, and stared at his surroundings. Boxes were piled up back here, cartons of different Weasley products just waiting to be marketed. Here, wearing matching magenta robes were Ron and Hermione, picking up boxes and sorting out one type of Skiving Snackbox from another. Hermione's hair was now mussed, and sweat dripped from both of their faces. It was Ron who first noticed Samuel standing there, and tapped Hermione, who went pink and mumbled about going to freshen up, leaving the boys together.
"So…" started Ron, looking very comfortable in the present circumstances, and frankly, Samuel couldn't blame him. "Do you follow a Quidditch team?"
"Uh, yeah, the Woolongong Warriors, you?"
Ron looked suddenly looked very proud, his face taking on a seriousness that didn't exactly look right. "The Chudley Cannons."
Samuel stared at him, then burst into laughter. The Chudley Cannon's haven't won in the English League in almost a hundred years, and even down south in the Australian League many of the teams fear earning a similar reputation, even coining the phrase 'pulling a Chudley' amongst themselves. It was almost twenty minutes of throwing insults about the other's teams until Hermione finally rejoined the boys, freshly showered and wearing a pair of jeans and a pink-and-white horizontally striped polo shirt, her hair tied into a low pony-tail. Ron's eyes were glued to her, and Samuel couldn't help but smirk at the infatuated red-head; as if it wasn't obvious to Hermione where her friend's eyes were staring at.
It was at that moment a common barn owl flew through an open window near Samuel, and landed neatly, perched atop a box of the Weasley's products, hooting a greeting to Samuel, who took the piece of parchment attached to the owl's leg, which then promptly took off once more and left. Samuel unraveled the parchment, and a small pouch fell out. Ignoring the pouch for now, Samuel began to read aloud.
Good Afternoon Mr. Flinter,
I hope this letter finds you well, and that you have already begun to waddle through all the bureaucratic-tape attached to your grandfather's will. I am currently sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, enjoying a drink with a fellow professor at Hogwarts. I would be glad to see you here if you can make it. Inside the enclosed pouch is a portkey that should be able to take you directly here if you choose to accept.
Best Wishes,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Well," said Samuel, rolling up the parchment. "I guess I better get going. Thank you both very much." Samuel shook both their hands, despite their offer to join him, which he refused, on the grounds that he didn't want to inconvenience either one of them, but he noticed Hermione seemed slightly put out. Samuel mentally made a note to send her a letter as soon as possible.
Emptying out the pouch onto a bench outside the store, a piece of candy known as a Fizzing Whizbee rolled out. Samuel grabbed hold of the portkey carefully. He hated portkeys. Immediately the sensation of being hooked behind the navel and being flung forward through time and space, landing dizzily in front of a pair of wizards seated in a booth in the Leaky Cauldron. The same barn owl that had delivered him the letter had already beaten him here, and was now perched on the shoulder of a ancient wizard wearing half-moon spectacles, his long purple robes trimmed with gold with stars patterned over it. He had a nose that looked as if it had been broken several times, and a long, white beard that was at least a foot in length, and Samuel knew that this must be Dumbledore. While he looked rather kindly, his brilliant blue eyes pierced Samuel, and made him feel rather uncomfortable, however, not as much as his drinking partner's did.
The man sitting hunched over his drink opposite Dumbledore was sallow-looking, with a long, hooked nose and greasy black hair. He was packing something into a case underneath the table, working several containers into yet smaller containers. When he was done, he looked down his nose at Samuel, a cold look in his eyes. The man sipped his firewhiskey while Dumbledore stood and clasped his hands on Samuel's shoulders.
"Your grandfather was a great man, Samuel," said Dumbledore, his voice low and peaceful. "This is Professor Severus Snape, who was, until very recently, our Potion Master at Hogwarts, and now is our teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Professor Snape narrowed his eyes and nodded his head to Samuel, but didn't say anything.
"I hope your getting used to life here in England. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I am in my right to both accept and deny any wizard or witch from entering Hogwarts as a student, and while it is not often a student from out of the country wishes to transfer, your grandfather asked me to offer you the chance should you come to England." Dumbledore continued, pushing his butterbeer away. "I am just waiting for a reply from a friend in the Ministry, it shouldn't take long." He tied a piece of parchment to the barn owl's leg, and it flew off.
Snape stood up, his black robes swirling around him. "While it may be the Headmaster's duty to inspect a new student, it is not mine. Farewell," said Snape in his smooth monotone, and departed the Leaky Cauldron.
"Would you like to sit down, and perhaps share a butterbeer or two with me while we wait?"
Dumbledore offered Samuel the now-vacant seat, and as Samuel sat, he produced a newspaper and a magazine, and offered either to Samuel, who chose the newspaper. Dumbledore signaled to Tom, and ordered a round of butterbeer for them both. Flipping open the Daily Prophet, Samuel immediately saw on page two the article devoted to his grandfather, a image of him sitting at his desk; drinking a coffee and winking to the camera.
Wizarding Entrepreneur Passes Away Peacefully
On Sunday night, magical businessman and entrepreneur Robert Flinter, Order of Merlin Second-Class, passed away in his sleep late in the night at the age of eighty. Mr. Flinter, one of the richest men in the wizarding world, owning properties scattered all around the world, including a good portion of our own Diagon Alley, has left most of his assets and fortune in the name of one Samuel Flinter, Mr. Flinter's grandson.
Mr. Eldric Hassle, the lawyer who handled the reading of the will, and who was Mr. Flinter's friend for many years, stated this for the muggle new on Monday:
"A great man has left us last night; an honest, hard-working man who built up his fortune and companies from nothing, who took the ashes of recession and helped build one of the strongest market booms England has ever seen. He has left behind a loving family, and a legacy to be passed down to his children and his children's children."
Following the funeral service held on Tuesday, the Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, who attended the funeral with a small party of attendants, offered the grieving family his condolences, and spoke to Mr. Flinter's grandson about his future in England.
Samuel kept on reading; there was an article about some basic home safety, some dribble about some witch singer getting married to a quidditch player, stuff that he, more or less, didn't really care too much about. Dumbledore however was enjoying himself immensely indeed, reading a magazine with the photograph of a monkey brandishing a wand on it. Captioned below the picture were the words 'Hit Monkey on the Loose!' At the top of the front Samuel read out the name of the magazine, and suddenly a thought struck him.
"Professor Dumbledore, is that a Wizarding magazine? Or a one from the muggle world?" Asked Samuel, curious now, his brain working very quickly.
"The Quibbler? This is indeed a magazine printed by a wizard, one Xenophilius Lovegood. They usually print the most humorous articles."
Samuel's History of Magic teacher back in Bahamutia once set a special exam for Samuel. He had bet Samuel a gold galleon that there was no way he could pass that exam with anything higher than a B-grade, and Samuel had accepted the challenge. The exam had consisted of thirty double-sided pages, testing him of his knowledge of magical history, covering everything from the Goblin Wars to instances of Witch-Burning in medieval times. Samuel had to remember times, dates, names and locations, writing madly for almost four hours before finishing. He had succeeded, and his reputation as having a brilliant memory was well-founded when he was awarded an A+.
In this case, his question had been founded by something he had heard at the funeral, something that made absolutely perfect sense in his mind.
A wizard wearing a set of plain, brown robes apparated less than five feet from where Samuel and Dumbledore were seated, and after carefully re-positioning his glasses, he leaned over to Dumbledore's ear and whispered something, before standing straight again and disapparating.
Rising from his chair, Dumbledore motioned for Samuel to join him outside the Leaky Cauldron, in the back courtyard. Once out on the cobblestones, Samuel retrieved the guide he had left earlier that day. Dumbledore asked Samuel to grab onto his arm, and immediately Samuel was transported by side-along apparition with Dumbledore to a meadow. It was a grassy plain, with a few fruit trees scattered around, the sun blazing overhead. A small lake was situated to Samuel's left, maybe twenty meters or so away, where he spied several horses drinking from the water's edge. Dumbledore conjured several plush cushions in a pile, as well as an old tinderbox and a plain wooden table.
Placing the tinderbox on the table, he asked Samuel to transfigure the tinderbox into a trophy. Samuel took it one step further, and transfigured the tinderbox into a replica of the Australian League's Qudditch Cup from two years previous when the Wollongong Warriors had defeated the Adelaide Aurors with a two-point difference. Dumbledore smiled at this display, and then asked Samuel to demonstrate the proper casting of the Reductor Curse. Within a second, the table was turned to debris.
Next he was asked to shield himself while Dumbledore magicked several cushions to fly at him; a powerful Protego spell easily repelled the cushions.
After half an hour of casting several Transfiguration, Charms and Defense spells, Dumbledore finally stopped, and handed Samuel a letter.
"In this you shall find a list of all your books, and the date and time for the departure of the Hogwarts Express from Kings Cross. I shall bring you back to the Leaky Cauldron, and from there you can begin shopping straightaway."
Within moments Samuel was back in Diagon Alley, on his way back to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in order to tell Hermione the good news, if she was still there. Samuel had been officially accepted into Hogwarts, and he couldn't wait to start there.
It was the next day when Samuel walked through the door at his uncle's townhouse, weighed down with stacks of books and a small lake's worth of ink to write with. His uncle had been very understanding, and had even as gone so far as to clean up the other spare bedroom, converting it into a study in which Samuel could study while he was still living there. His uncle was a freak for mahogany, and had gone all out, buying another mahogany desk just like the one in Samuel's bedroom, on which Samuel dumped all his books on. Several of the books he had marked for reading, especially Bathilda Bagshot's A History of Magic, as well as Neil McKirk's On the Premises of Charm-work, an extra book he had decided to pick up.
But he had one very important objective that day, that wouldn't take too long to complete. Samuel left everything in the study and walked back to his room, fidgeting with his wand. Raistlin croaked a greeting to him, before Samuel went and opened the window for him. It was early in the morning, but he already knew his uncle and cousin were up, as their respective bedroom doors were both open.
Going back downstairs, Samuel grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen and sat, drinking his glass of orange juice and the Daily Prophet he had borrowed from Dumbledore. He re-read the article on his grandfather twice for no apparent reason, then stood up and went to the sliding door that led to the backyard. Sure enough, both Maurice and Samantha were there, both wearing the same identical white gi and practicing a series of movements and stances. Samuel was never one for Yoga, but he respected it, and waited patiently for them to come inside.
When Samantha finished her exercise early, and asked her father if she could go shower first, the last thing she expected was Samuel at the dining table, a piece of toast jammed in his mouth, jumping up and asking, "Argfhh flou argh whitchh?"
She responded by doubling over and laughing, and hitting the now-choking Samuel on the back, who somehow swallowed the mass of bread and asked again, panting.
"Are you a witch?"
Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I am. Just because daddy is a squib doesn't mean I am."
Samuel's suspicions were right; she had mentioned the Quibbler at the funeral, and that was why he questioned Dumbledore over it.
"So, we'll be going to school together then I guess. Do you like Hogwarts?" Asked Samuel, quite pleased with himself.
Samantha told him she did, and told him about several of her experiences there and about some of the professors who had taught there in the past, as well as the ones still currently there; apparently a man who had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in her second year was her favorite. She began telling him about some of her friends in her house, Ravenclaw, before a thought popped into Samuel's head. He wondered about how to carefully phrase the question, but he was impatient so just simply asked Samantha if she knew a girl called Ginny Weasley, who should be in her year-level.
"Yeah I do, she's in Gryffindor, and it's actually kind of funny you should mention her."
"Why," asked Samuel, happy that his cousin hadn't suspected his reason for asking.
"Because she's coming over tomorrow for lunch."