Chapter Soundtrack: 'Magnificat Anima Mea' by John Rutter. I personally prefer the London Sinfonia/Cambridge Singers version: It's a beautiful celebratory work.
Last Time…
Hermione froze completely on stepping into the family room. There was someone already there! It was a young man, well dressed in crisp business attire, seated on her parents' sofa with a small array of texts and notebooks in front of him. She barely noticed as he looked up and smiled in greeting.
Hermione couldn't ever mistake those clear green eyes - though those square-cut, gold-framed glasses were new - or that dark, unruly hair, or that lightning scar that he wasn't trying so desperately to hide any longer.
"H-Harry!?"
Tuesday, 01 August 1995 - Crawley, West Sussex - Granger Home
Her incredulity was met with a smile. More gracefully than she had seen him move before, Harry rose from the seat and stepped to the side. Hermione darted forward, crossing the room at a sprint, and wrapped her friend in a clinging hug.
The analytical section of her mind was impressed at how sturdy he was; she had unthinkingly hit him with her full weight, and all he'd done was put a foot back and braced himself. Tears of relief escaped her eyes and spotted his shirt as they held each other. She clung tighter at the comforting hand that gently stroked her hair.
"Hey," he whispered. "I missed you."
"Harry," she repeated, giving him another ferocious hug. "You're really here."
"I'm really here," he confirmed. "No apparition, no seeming. It's me."
"Harry," she repeated again, in a much quieter tone. Harry felt the need to take a step back, but Hermione still had a tight hold on him and wasn't letting go. Her words were just short of a growl as she continued, "Where. Have. You. BEEN!?" She jumped, startled at herself for shouting that last word.
"Hermione! A little decorum, please," her mother chided. "And perhaps an introduction?" she hinted.
Hermione was a capable, creative, and intelligent witch. She wielded magic with enough elan to frighten a Death Eater. Her sorting had been the longest of her year, with the hat vacillating between Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. She had been given the personal attention of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Headmaster Dumbledore. At fifteen years of age she had twice been given co-author's credits in peer reviewed publications, beside Albus Dumbledore and Filius Flitwick.
She thought it vastly unfair that with a raised eyebrow and a few gentle words her mother could make her flush red and stammer. "O-of course," she squeaked, stepping back from Harry and composing herself.
"Harry, meet my father, Doctor Richard Alan Granger, Companion of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, and my mother, Doctor Dame Helen Margaret Granger, Dame Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire." Harry gave the Grangers an elegant, but shallow bow, prompting Hermione to raise her eyebrows in interest. Wherever he was, he learned formal manners, she thought.
"Mum, daddy, meet my best friend and classmate My Lord Harry James Potter, Magister Potter," she concluded, narrowing her eyes. "But you already knew that, or he wouldn't have been waiting for us in the house." Richard gave a nervous little cough.
"Actually, your mother hasn't met him yet," he admitted. "I did yesterday evening, and he sent us a note at the motel in London where we overnighted. I invited him to wait for us here." Helen rescued her husband from Hermione's ire by ushering everyone into seats. She sat Harry and Hermione on the davenport, and her husband in an easy chair.
"I'll just fix some tea, shall I?" she suggested. "I'm sure Lord Potter has a story we'd all like to hear," she emphasized, fixing Hermione with a stare.
"Of course, mum," Hermione relented. "No interrogations without tea."
"I'd really prefer that you call me 'Harry', ma'am, or 'Potter' if that's too informal," Harry requested. "Being called 'Lord Potter' by my best friend's parents feels too elitist."
"As you wish," Richard smiled agreeably.
"Thank you," Harry sighed in relief. "Now, Hermione, I'm sorry you ended up worried for me." He squeezed her hand earnestly. "We - by which I mean Susan, Neville, Daphne, and me - really thought that everyone had been notified of our absence. I actually have about two hundred letters for you that never got delivered," he grinned. Hermione pursed her lips in irritation as her mother poured out tea.
"Explain, please, Harry," Hermione smiled sweetly. Harry wasn't fooled by her quiet gentility; that was a demand that promised pain if not met immediately.
"The short answer is that I was in Avalon being trained to take headship of a Hogwarts house," Harry told her. "The much, much longer answer begins near the end of the sixth century, with the fall of Camelot."
01 August 1995 - Lindisfarne, Northumberland - Longbottom Hall
"Camelot," Augusta Longbottom repeated numbly.
Neville had greeted her less than an hour before, and she hadn't recognised her grandson at first. Since she had last seen him he had grown remarkably. He was now taller than she was with her hat on, and where he had been pudgy had become solidly muscled. His face had lengthened and broadened, he was now square-jawed with crisp lines and ruggedly handsome. She thought if he traded his robes for furs and mail he'd fit right in with his ancestors, whom legend said carried the blood of the jötnar.
She was proud of him, she was so very proud of him. He'd grown into a greater man than she had ever believed he would be, and he had met the anger that followed her clingy relief with a calmness that boded well, accepting the anger while denying any attempt to discipline him. He had grown so very well.
"Camelot," he repeated after her with a smile. "After Arthur's death, Guinevere held the kingdom together, but after her death it all started to fall apart. As Britannia collapsed into a collection of warring states, Merlin returned to Avalon, where Morgana held her throne. Not wanting to get involved in the burgeoning fractiousness, the two of them together worked a fantastic magic that took Avalon outside of time. Outside of reality.
"But Avalon is a tiny little country with a small population. Neither Merlin nor Morgana wanted to completely separate from the world; they knew that would lead to stagnation of both their society and their gene pools. So they left Avalon tethered to reality in seven places."
01 August 1995 - Arundel, West Sussex - Bountiful Fields
"I'd wager…" Magister Greengrass pursed his lips thoughtfully, "the crystal cave at Tintagel, the Tower in London, Merlin's Bridge, and Camelot itself."
Daphne Greengrass smiled at her father. Neither tall nor short, she was a comfortable middling height, and while she wasn't large, she proudly proclaimed she wasn't stick-thin either. Rather, she was fit, with just enough of a figure to put her on the 'feminine' side of 'androgynous'. She considered her body attractive but unremarkable. She was beautiful, though, with an oval face, sweeping cheekbones, kissable lips and lovely teeth, all seemingly designed for the express purpose of setting off her sky blue, Ruthenian eyes.
Daphne had expected the clinging hug she'd gotten from her sister and the gentle scolding from her mother, but she'd been shocked when her father had hugged her with the same ferocity as her sister. Perhaps it was his age - Ladon Greengrass set a medical record when he sired her - but her father had never been tactile in his affection. When he took her in his arms on her return was the first time he had done so that she could remember.
The discussion had been delayed long enough for her father to recover his dignity and the entire family to have tea, but now Daphne was explaining her absence.
"Very good, father," she praised. "Four of seven correct, none incorrect. The other three are the Mount at Snowdon, the Rock of Cashel, and Branwen's Font."
"Two locations in England, two in Wales, two in Ireland, and one unknown," Ladon remarked. "That's… not a coincidence."
"No, it's not," Daphne agreed, "and Camelot's in Scotland."
"But the only significant magical site in Scotland is…" her father trailed off, shaking his head slowly. "Oh. Oh, no, no, nonono. You're having me on," he accused.
Daphne grinned impishly, shaking her head in denial, "No, father, I'm not."
01 August 1995 - King's Lynn, Norfolk - Knochenhaus
"Hogwarts is Camelot," Amelia Bones said flatly, staring at her niece in disbelief.
"Well," Susan Bones tapped her chin thoughtfully, "since Camelot hasn't existed for about 1300 years, it would be more precise to say that Hogwarts was once Camelot."
Round-faced, with a slightly pointed chin, large blue eyes, and long brown hair, Susan Bones seemed soft. That impression was reinforced by her figure, with her large bust, wide hips, and slightly plump stomach.
Amelia Bones was Susan's hero and Susan's dearest ambition was to be just like her aunt, so Susan carefully cultivated that impression of softness. It led others to underestimate her skill, her power, and her viciousness.
She hadn't been surprised to be greeted by five different diagnostic spells and three security questions; Alastor Moody was one of her aunt's oldest friends. But with her identity confirmed, she had been surprised to witness Amelia give free rein to her emotions, hugging Susan tightly and letting tears of relief fall free. Susan was touched by the gesture of trust.
If their discussion afterwards resembled an interrogation more than anything else, Susan's only real reaction was to make notes on her aunt's technique.
"When Merlin learned of four friends who wanted to found a school for magic, he travelled from Avalon and met with them," Susan explained. "The Founders impressed him, and so he offered to host their school at Camelot and helped them convert the castle. In exchange, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would be Avalon's window into reality."
"And source of fresh genetic material?" suggested Amelia.
"Well, yes," Susan blushed. "Though always voluntarily," she hastened to add.
"I am familiar with the behavior of the teenaged human male, young lady," Amelia commented dryly. "Now tell me why I didn't know anything about this until today."
"Because in the early fourteenth century Hogwarts' entire administrative structure was shattered," answered Susan.
01 August 1995 - Granger Home
"The Sundering," Hermione whispered.
"The Sundering," confirmed Harry. "An ambitious but unscrupulous wizard sought to control the future of Britannia through her magical children, and insinuated himself into Hogwarts. His name has been thoroughly struck from history, although a few can still name his family: the House MacBethad.
"This wizard spent three years at Hogwarts teaching beginner potions and beginner combat magic and was, by all accounts, a skilled wizard and able teacher. No one really knows how, but one night he slew the headmaster and all four heads of house, leaving the four heirs to take the blame.
"The next morning, he 'discovered' the heirs had 'committed a terrible crime' and slew them all 'in righteous anger'."
Richard Granger interrupted, "Wait, wait just a moment. I've heard this story. You're having fun with us, right?"
"Well, daddy," Hermione answered, "A certain Elizabethan playwright may have taken the broad strokes of history, changed a few names, adjusted a few details-"
"-and turned the whole lot into a very famous play, yes," finished Harry (1).
The elder Grangers sat stunned for a short time, before Helen ventured, "In the balance, I suppose it's no less believable than the existence of magic at all."
Hermione dug her elbow into Harry's side, prompting a muted yelp. "Harry's superpower is turning worldviews on their ears. But he's good at that already; right now he should be practicing his storytelling," she growled.
"Yes dear," he agreed absently, rubbing at his side. "So the MacBethad took Hogwarts by force, holding the students hostage against the behavior of their parents. Eventually, Victoire Malfoy led the students in a countercoup and MacBethad was conquered.
"But because MacBethad was a usurper, Hogwarts' secrets were denied to him. Unfortunately he was thorough enough that all those who did hold those secrets were lost."
"So you're to restore the legacy of the past?" asked Helen skeptically.
"No," Harry shook his head, "our job is to make sure Hogwarts functions smoothly and that relations with Avalon are less…" Harry tapped his chin, pursing his lips as he tried to pick the right word for the situation. "Disjointed," he decided. "Less disjointed than they have been. With an eventual eye to reintegrating Avalon with the rest of Britain."
"The timing seems strange to me, Harry," Hermione frowned. "It's been almost seven hundred years since the Sundering, and things are only happening now."
"Ah, there's two reasons for that. First, because time in Avalon is weird. Sec-"
"Weird how, Harry?" Hermione interrupted. Harry rubbed the back of his neck and frowned.
"I don't understand it, so it's hard to explain. You should probably ask Daphne, it makes at least some kind of sense to her. But basically time in our world doesn't match up to time in Avalon. So it's been almost seven hundred years for us but only about a century over there."
"Why's that so hard to explain?" Hermione asked.
"Er, because I'm four years older now than I was when I left?" he ventured. Hermione winced and rubbed her temples.
"That doesn't make sense," she moaned.
"I said I didn't really understand," Harry said defensively. "I can read, solve, and create spell matrices, and I can analyze and break enchantments and wards, but that kind of arithmancy is beyond me. Really, you should ask Daphne when you see her, she can sort of explain it."
"Right," Richard dragged the conversation back on track. "You said there was another reason beyond that, Potter."
"Oh yeah. The second reason is that the requirements we had to meet were quite stringent. It took a long time for a match to show up."
"Really?" Hermione leaned forward eagerly. "What were they?"
"Ah," Harry stammered. "I think I remember them all, now…" he started counting on his fingers. "First, there had to be four candidates in the same cohort, each of whom had to have a fairly high minimum amount of magical power. The candidates had to be house-, gender-, and element-balanced. Each candidate had to be in direct-line descent from the Head of a Great House. And each candidate had to be willing to put the school's welfare above that of themselves and their families."
"You four aren't house-balanced, though," Hermione protested. "You and Neville are both Gryffindor."
"Ah…" Harry looked away and blushed pink. "I should have been a Slytherin but really wanted to be away from Malfoy," he mumbled.
Hermione looked aghast. "But… Slytherins are awful," she protested. "You're far too nice for Slytherin. And Slytherin was the original blood purist!"
"Only a small subset of Slytherins are actually awful," Harry argued. "And there are some in every house, really: look at McLaggen. The awful Slytherins are just the loudest.
"And do you remember what Binns actually said about Slytherin when you asked about the Chamber of Secrets?" he challenged.
Hermione closed her eyes and thought back. "'Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts,'" she recited. "'He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy.'" (2)
"Untrustworthy," Harry emphasized. "Not inferior. I did a lot of research when I found out I'd be Lord Slytherin, and Avalon's national archives still hold a lot of correspondence from the Founders. Salazar Slytherin believed that muggle families would either exploit or harm their children when they learned about magic. He had a fair amount of anecdotal evidence to support his position, too."
"Anecdotal evidence isn't really useful to defend a position," Helen pointed out.
Harry nodded in agreement, "Which is one of the reasons that Salazar lost that particular debate."
"Okay," Hermione said. "I think I can accept that. But if you should have been a Slytherin, why were you sorted into Gryffindor?"
"The Sorting Hat must consider more than just personality," Helen reasoned.
"It put me in Gryffindor when I asked not to be in Slytherin," Harry confirmed. The tea long since consumed, a comfortable silence descended as the four of them reflected on their discussion.
"So what's next for you and your friends, Harry?" Richard asked.
"I send a letter to Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry said. "We need to explain all this and make plans."
"Getting the headmaster onside will be essential," Hermione observed.
"Not precisely essential," Harry contradicted her, "but it will make everything much easier."
"Is a letter really the right format for that, though?" Helen asked them.
"No, which is why the letter is just a request for him to meet with me, Neville, Daphne and Susan. Like She-Of-The-Pointy-Elbows," Harry grunted as Hermione retaliated by grinding her elbow into his side again, "he's sure to have about a thousand questions; an epistolary back and forth would hardly be efficient."
"Where are you sleeping, Harry?" Hermione demanded.
"I have a room reserved at the Leaky until Saturday," Harry reassured her. "After that, we'll probably move into Hogwarts. That's where our responsibilities are."
Richard rose to his feet and handed his wife to her feet as well, "Thank you for taking the time to tell us all this, Harry, but we're for bed now."
"Don't stay up too late, Hermione," her mother admonished.
Harry had risen to his feet as the Grangers did, but once they departed he and Hermione cuddled back up on the davenport. "Tell me about Avalon, Harry. Tell me about the people. Tell me about the sky. Tell me… oh, everything."
The two best friends talked long into the night, until Hermione's yawns became too intrusive to ignore. Harry ushered her up to her bedroom and kissed her cheek. "Hermione, will you do me a big favor?"
"Ask," she told him.
"Will you tell the Weasleys what happened?" he asked. "I'll talk to them when I can, but there are a lot of things that have to be done before school starts, and not a lot of time to do them in."
Hermione smiled and kissed his cheek, "I will, Harry. Good night."
"Good night, Hermione. Dream sweet dreams."
Hermione vanished into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Harry stared after her for a moment, then turned on his heel, vanishing with a muffled crack.
01 August 1995 - Bountiful Fields
"Tell me how you expect this to affect the political landscape," Ladon Greengrass ordered his daughter. Daphne's posture, though quite good, lost the subtle air of relaxation as she considered her father's directive.
"Initially, not much," she began. "Five seats will be filled in the House: Emrys, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
"Emrys?" Lady Greengrass raised an eyebrow. "How is that?"
"In the absence of a Head of House Emrys, the Emrys regency is held by the Headmaster of Hogwarts. So Dumbledore will take a seat."
Ladon stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That could be useful. For all his eccentricity, Albus tends to have a sane head on his shoulders, if a bit uncompromising."
"Uncompromising?" Daphne echoed, mirroring her mother's expression as her eyebrow rose.
Lord Greengrass nodded decisively. "Headmaster Dumbledore is a bit soft, and perhaps too forgiving of youthful shenanigans, but that's with children and students. Albus Dumbledore in the adult and political realm is an entirely different beast. He's strictly moral, and disinclined to suffer even a small evil. It can make him difficult to work with, but he's at least predictable."
Daphne was mildly incredulous, but moved on. "Gryffindor is held by Neville Longbottom. He's a bit soft-hearted and tends to be unsure of himself. Outside of his areas of expertise, he can be overwhelmed with a forceful enough approach. His political views are tenuously Progressive with a strong Traditionalism bias."
"Like the Dowager Longbottom, then," Ladon mused. "Unsurprising. Hufflepuff?"
"Held by Susan Bones," Daphne answered. "She idolises her aunt, and acts like her in miniature. Expect her to champion justice politically and stringent legalism, and to be impossible to browbeat or intimidate.
"Ravenclaw is me," Daphne continued. "I favor transparency, logic, honesty, and fact-based legislation. Expect to defend your positions with logic if you want my support," she warned. Ladon smiled proudly at her.
"You're an excellent daughter," he praised. "It's a pity you can't remain Lordana Greengrass."
"Wait, why can't she? I don't want to be Lordana," Astoria whined.
Lady Greengrass clucked her tongue with disapproval, "Don't whine, daughter, it's unbecoming. And Daphne can't remain Lordana because one person cannot hold more than one headship, even in trust."
"Since I'll be Lady Ravenclaw tomorrow," Daphne clarified, "I'll be ineligible to become Lady Greengrass, so I'm out of the succession. You're the most obvious candidate for Lordana, but that's up to father."
"She's my first choice," Lord Greengrass confirmed.
Astoria slouched and sulked, "How troublesome."
"Deportment, dear," her mother reminded her.
Astoria rolled her eyes, "May I be excused to mourn my freedom?" She was released and left.
"By process of elimination, Lord Slytherin is Harry Potter," Lord Greengrass noted.
"Yes," Daphne confirmed, "and he's actually the most surprising. Harry Potter, Lord Slytherin is an Separationist."
Her father watched Daphne with sharpened interest. "Is he really? How unexpected. Isn't he muggle-raised?"
"By what he's shared, his former guardians are severely manaphobic (3). He's also noted that, corrected for population, a muggleborn child is eight times more likely to be abused than a pure- or half-blood child," Daphne told him.
"Thank you for giving me your words, daughter," Ladon rose from his seat and gave Daphne a formal bow.
Daphne curtseyed in reply, "Thank you for hearing my words, father. Good night, mother."
01 August 1995 - Longbottom Hall
Augusta took another sip of her tea, nibbling thoughtfully on a lemon biscuit as she looked her grandson up and down again. She was still having difficulty believing the changes in him. He sat corner-square to her, holding his tea, perfectly at ease in his seat and his skin.
"You are more serene than I've ever known you to be," she ventured.
"I thank you for the compliment," he smiled behind his cup. "As a genteel interrogatory gambit, I find it slightly transparent."
"It's ungentlemanly of you to point out your poor grandmother's faults," Augusta huffed. "And as I'm yet unacquainted with this Lordan Neville Longbottom, I still behave as though you were the one I knew."
Deliberately condescending, Neville patted her shoulder. Augusta scowled and smiled at the same time, knocking his hand away. She was thrilled that her grandson was comfortable enough to tease her. Not that she'd ever let him think he could get away with it; her chastisement came in the form of a stinging hex to the back of his hand.
"Weren't you shy before?" she asked him.
"I still am, with strangers or in highly formal situations," he admitted. "But this is me and my gran, taking tea in the family parlor. But I think you were asking about my calm? It's because the dominion of House Longbottom is battle.
"I no longer hold primacy of the Longbottom dominion, so the side effects are much ameliorated."
"I'm sorry," Augusta said quietly, hugging her grandson. "It didn't occur to me that you might hold the primacy. I thought Frank still did."
Neville returned the hug and kissed her on the forehead. "Don't be. Lineage magic has become somewhat taboo under the excessive egalitarianism of the last two centuries. It's one of the reasons Riddle was so successful; he exploited the backlash against that same egalitarianism."
"Now, what did you learn about Lineage Magic during your little sabbatical?"
"Well…" Neville's enthusiasm for the subject was obvious, and his excitement infectious. The two talked long into the night, and unnoticed, rebuilt their relationship as equals.
01 August 1995 - Knochenhaus
"You still haven't told me how this is going to work," Amelia remarked. "You know that one person can only hold one seat and one primacy."
Susan smoothed her skirts and looked directly at her aunt, "It's simple enough. Potter, Bones, and Longbottom have no surviving cadet branches close enough to mount a challenge for stewardship: Potter and I will abdicate in favor of our unborn children, naming regents to hold the seats until that time.
"Longbottom's going to be a mess, but at least it's Neville's mess and not mine. While Neville was Lord Longbottom magically, legally he was still Lordan, with his father Head of House and the Dowager Lady Longbottom regent. The two of them will have to sort their mess out together, not helped at all by the fact that House Longbottom has House Trevennan as a client house.
"Potter is planning to name Hermione Granger his regent-"
"I can't wait to see the reaction to that," Amelia laughed. "An underage muggleborn, regent to a Great House."
Susan snickered, "Yes. And since she's underage, the regent will have a regent; Potter took an absurd amount of enjoyment in that thought. I believe he was planning on offering Granger's regency to Professor McGonagall."
"Really?" Amelia raised her eyebrows. "I would have thought he'd choose Remus Lupin."
Susan shook her head, "Harry feels that Lupin's too passive for the job, and too willing to let public attitudes towards Lycanthropy influence him."
"And Bones?" Amelia prompted.
"I was expecting that you would resume the regency," Susan admitted.
"I would," Amelia said reluctantly, "but I can't."
Susan scowled. "Why not?"
"It's illegal for a Ministerial Director to accept a seat in the House of Magi (4). I'm suspended but I'm still the director of the DMLE."
"You had one before," Susan protested.
"Yes, well, I was Regent Bones before I was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, and it's not illegal for someone holding a seat to accept a Ministerial Directorship," Amelia waved airily. "Blame Byron Crouch for attempting to bring the executive and legislative apparatuses under his direct control in the eighteenth century."
"Ugh…" Susan groaned. "Okay… Finch-Fletchley has the background, and he's not actually in line for anything. I'll do as Harry will, and offer it to him with Professor Sprout being the regent's regent."
"Not Hannah?" Amelia prodded.
"Hannah's the Abbott heiress. Her grandfather's still healthy, but she could still end up Lordana Abbott any time and then I'd have to go through all this again," Susan explained. "Justin Finch-Fletchley is the third son of Baron Finch-Fletchley and now something like sixth in line for the Barony. He's even taken it upon himself to learn the differences between magical and mundane etiquette."
Amelia pursed her lips. "There's one complication you haven't thought of. Or more likely, weren't aware of."
Susan dropped her head into her hands with a groan, "Of course there is. Hit me."
"Harry Potter is Lordan Black."
Susan lifted her head to stare at her aunt in shock. "Well… bollocks."
Wednesday, 02 August 1995 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Headmaster's Office
Albus Dumbledore had too many names and too many titles. Being formally announced took almost two minutes. His legal signature was four lines long! He felt it was all quite ridiculous, but people kept burdening him with more: more titles, more responsibilities. It's a wonder I haven't cracked, he told himself, but if I had cracked, would I know it?
Many others certainly thought he had cracked. Albus hadn't been so unpopular since he had first declined to serve as Champion to the Allied Magical Forces in 1942. He had been dismissed by the Wizengamot, he had been withdrawn as the British representative to the International Confederation of Wizards, and he had been suspended as Supreme Mugwump of the same 'pending review of his recent actions'. He was surprisingly pleased by these developments; now he had much more time to devote to Hogwarts. Should my star wax again, I shall have to decline such appointments.
This morning he was dealing with, again, his perennial plague: the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship. Every applicant thus far was entirely unsuitable for one reason or another, and Dumbledore feared he was going to be saddled with a Ministerial stooge. With my luck, Fudge will send me Percy Weasley, he grumbled to himself. A sharp bark drew his attention from the paperwork and to the visiting owl perch. Coolly watching him from the perch was a snowy owl, one he thought he recognised. Hope flared in his chest as, with a trembling hand, he reached for the missive borne by the owl.
His eyes flew to the signature block and he let out an explosive sigh of relief. Lowering the letter to his desk, he stood and approached his sideboard, pouring himself a generous measure of gin. He tossed the drink back with ease, poured another measure, and returned to his desk.
31 July 1995
The Leaky Cauldron
Diagon Alley, London
Headmaster Dumbledore,
Good tidings to you, headmaster. We have learned since our return that our departure has caused a great deal of distress for many people throughout the British Isles. We apologize particularly to you, and convey the apologies of our hosts this past month.
Notification of where we would be, what we would be doing, and when we would return was in fact dispatched to you before we left, but we have since discovered that the channels of communication employed had been severed during the Sundering.
We have a great deal to discuss with you, and more yet that must be done. To that end, we request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. Please reply via Hedwig, as we four are under an owl mail interdict at present.
With Fondest Regards,
Neville Francis Longbottom, Lordan Gryffindor
Susan Amelia Bones, Lordana Hufflepuff
Daphne Isabella Greengrass, Lordana Ravenclaw
Harry James Potter, Lordan Slytherin
Dumbledore read the missive three times before grabbing a fresh piece of parchment and scrawling a response; he would be at their service at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade for the entire next day. Sealing his reply, he passed it to Hedwig, who rubbed her beak against his fingers reassuringly before departing in a feathery flurry.
Dumbledore watched the departure with bemusement, then dashed towards the staircase.
"Minerva! Minerva!"
Author's Note: Joyous reunions! And we finally meet all our main characters. And… a boatload of exposition. This chapter's necessary, yes. And it's almost the end of the introductory arc. But it's still irritating because talk and talk and talk and there's more talk next chapter too.
A shout-out to LeQuin, whose most EXCELLENT story Harry Potter and the Last Chance inspired me to place Bountiful Fields in Arundel.
1. The playwright in question would be William Shakespeare, and the play MacBeth.
2. J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Scholastic Trade paperback printing, p. 150
3. There doesn't seem to be a proper 'fear of magic' phobia; possibly because magic is held to be scientifically debunked. So I use the fanon conceit of 'manaphobia'.
4. The magical branch of Parliament. It's popular to attribute this role to the Wizengamot, but there's no evidence in the books that the Wizengamot is more than a judiciary.
Meneldur's help, advice, and eagle eyes much improve this chapter and this story. Thank them.