Author's Note: readers are requested to leave reviews. All reviews, constructive, critical or complimentary are welcome and appreciated.

When Hermione entered the dining area of The Black Marauder, that late morning, it appeared like everyone was trying to adapt to the changed time zone by opting for a late start of the day. Her father and Ted Tonks were sitting at the oval oak table, bleary eyed, helping themselves with generous amounts of hot coffee. Ted Tonks was a middle aged man, with a receding hairline and a slight paunch. He had a kind and jovial nature, and the laugh lines on his face spoke of an easy-going life. He had a presence which immediately put everyone at ease. A person you would expect your local paediatrician to be, Hermione had mused when she first met him.

The fragrance of fresh brewing coffee pulled her towards the kitchen area. She found Harry and Andromeda Tonks (who asked to be called Andy) preparing the brunch. While Andy used liberal amounts of magic to orchestrate knives and pans around, Harry was moving around gracefully, every movement purposeful and precise. They were chuckling good-humouredly at some anecdote that Harry was narrating excitedly in French. Hermione could only understand a few snippets of it. Written French she could handle easily, but spoken, especially at the speed they were using, not so much. But she gathered enough that Harry was telling her about something Dora did in New York.

Andy would occasionally ruffle his hair affectionately and drop a kiss on his forehead. Hermione was about to offer her help in preparing the meal, but it felt to her to be intruding into someone's personal space.

Andy seemed to be the polar opposite of what she remembered of Mrs. Weasley. Andy was, as Harry had described her, cool. Easy going and quick with a laugh like her husband, but almost always having a sarcastic quip on her tongue, she reminded her of her own mother somewhat. Self-made and well educated, she seemed to be a more-friendly-than-authoritarian kind of parent, who respected the personal space of the kids to spread their wings with experiments and failings, but knew where to draw the line. And watching both Harry and Andy bantering and teasing each other, she felt that after the neglect of his aunt and the smothering of Mrs. Weasley, Harry had finally found a balanced influence.

Standing there, unsure how to announce her presence, inexplicably her pattern-finding mind wandered to the large family portrait which held in a place of honour in the dining room. It had Charlus and Dorea Potter, standing behind a teenaged James Potter and Sirius. James Potter's features were exactly midway between his parents. Cheekbones and hairstyle of his father, jawline and hair colour of his mother, the Roman nose of the Blacks, eyes of the Potters. Sirius, on the other hand was a male version carbon-copy of Dorea. Looking at the portrait, no one could ever say that Sirius was born a Black whom the Potters took in.

It was almost poetic, Andy an almost perfect copy of Dorea Potter and Harry of James Potter, except of course his eyes, and looking at them together, no one could say that Harry was born a Potter, whom the Blacks took in. Really, these Ancient and Noble magical family genes were quite insistent.

She was broken out of her musings by Andy. "Good morning, Hermione dear." She said still chuckling, before mock-barking, "First mate Potter! Hand the wench some coffee, she is almost catatonic with sleep."

Harry, grinning, gave a mock salute to Andy, "Aye, Aye, Captain Tonks!" Then turning towards Hermione, he put on a different persona, and with exaggerated bows and gestures said, "Ah, Mademoiselle! A sight for the sore eyes, this fine morning! May I tempt you with this fresh brew of Peruvian Dragon-Roasted coffee?" bringing his mom's trusty Moka-pot from a shelf.

Hermione gave a slight chuckle at his antics, but nevertheless gave him a slight curtesy, "Why, Thank you, kind sir, that would be most appreciated."

Taking her coffee, she wandered off in search of her mother. She found her on the top deck talking to Professor Lupin…err, Remus, he asked to be called Remus when not in Hogwarts. Sirius was sprawled out near the stern, apparently asleep, in the sunlight.

Taking a moment to appreciate the view of the endless sea all around her, the spray, the salty warm morning breeze. She could see a couple of other ships, some small, some huge, visible in the distance now and then. It was really nice of Sirius to invite them over. He had changed the yacht's name again, on a whim, to The Black Marauder. It was a 2 complete bedroom, 4 single cabin luxury yacht whose class and particulars Sirius had mentioned but she couldn't remember.

When she had seen Remus after arriving on board, at first she had failed to recognise him. He was just climbing up a ladder, from a swim in the sea. His mop of sandy blonde hair obscuring his face, his body; with the textbook built of a swimmer, very tall height, broad shoulders, long limbs and a thin waist; was wet, tanned and toned, and Hermione had to stop herself from unconsciously licking her lips. When she had finally recognised him, she had nearly fainted from embarrassment.

She would never admit it, but she had a huge schoolgirl crush on the man. One of the best teachers she had ever studied from, warm and polite, he had a deep baritone, with that erudite charm and as if to add a cherry to the top, a tragic painful past. In her teenaged heart, despite his monthly problem, he was a huge improvement on her last crush, Flop-hart.

She was really glad for him that Harry's both gambles for him had worked. With him back with his old job and his new body, Hermione's hormone-laden teenage schoolgirl part of mind was squealing excitedly. Smacking herself mentally, she took a sip of her coffee and went to join her mom and Remus.

"Oh no, there never was a need for the feminist revolution in the magical world." Remus was saying, in his teaching voice, "You see, unlike the non-magical world, the social worth of a person in the magical world was not dependent on the physical strength, but on the magical strength. And in that aspect, witches have always been equal to wizards. Take for example, our only major sport, Quidditch, is unisex. Half the founders of Hogwarts were females. Even in the most conservative of the families, like Blacks, Sirius's mother was to become the head of the family had his grandfather died before her. And Dora will inherit the title after Sirius."

He seemed to be gathering his thoughts and Hermione too, tuned in, "This caused the witches to be much more outgoing and independent than their non-magical counterparts in the dark ages. Hence when the Witch-hunts started, the women who were particularly free thinking and rebellious were particularly targeted."

Wow, that was enlightening. Much more insightful that the month-long droning Professor Binns did on the topic. Her mother seemed to be impressed. Of course she was. They were two of her favourite topics. Feminism and, since discovering Hermione was a witch, the historical implications of magical world on the non-magical one. And she was surreptitiously checking him out. 'Shameless woman, you are married!' Her brain screamed. 'Hypocrite, he is old enough to be your father.' Her heart yelled back. Like daughter, like mother!

Remus smiled at her warmly, and her mother wrapped her up in a loose hug. They stood there watching the sea, talking about small things like Hermione's homework, the book about Defence against Dark Creatures that Remus was planning to write, when Harry approached them, apparently to call them for the brunch. But on seeing Sirius sprawled out, an evil grin came over his face.

"Oh dear, Lily's revenge-prank grin!" muttered Remus, under his breath, a nostalgic smile on his face.

Harry raised his finger to his lips, gesturing them to be quiet, waved his wand and conjured a small wooden stick. He bent down till his mouth was right next to the sleeping man's ears and yelled, "PADFOOT FETCH!"

As if shocked by an electric prod, 'Padfoot' jumped up on all fours, apparently unaware that he was in fact, a man. His eyes locked on the wooden stick Harry had thrown off the yacht, and without thinking jumped after it. Predictably his human body, unlike a canine's, not designed to leap on all fours, merely jerked ahead comically, before it realised that it was no longer on firm surface and plummeted. A shrill girlish scream rang off but was abruptly drowned out by a loud splash.

A moment later, when the sopping wet head of Sirius Black broke the surface, coughing and spluttering, it was welcomed by howls and roars of laughter.

Hermione's attention was grabbed by Remus Lupin raising his finger to his lips behind Harry's back. She got a feeling of déjà vu tickling her mind when Remus conjured a yellow ball of yarn and tapped Harry, who was still laughing his head off, on his shoulder.

"Hey cub, I found something of yours in my room." Before tossing the ball of yarn over-board. Almost as if hypnotised, Harry's eyes glued onto the ball, a faint 'Meow' escaped his mouth and his arms shot out to grab it. Remus' judgement had been precisely accurate. Harry's hands fumbled, his feet stumbled, his limbs jumbled and his body tumbled; right off the board, and with an loud splash, joined his godfather's.

After the godfather-godson duo had dried off and joined them on the lounge of the sun-deck for the brunch, Remus made a mental note to keep an eye on Harry, against the revenge prank which was sure to come his way.

So he watched sipping his orange juice, amused as Harry was trying to feed Hedwig. "You know I can't give you bacon, Hedwig. It's not healthy for you. It's all oily and fried."

Hedwig gave him a sharp look, before putting her wings on her hips, "Hoot, hoot, preck preck, hoot preck!"

Harry's eyes widened. "What? I never said you were getting fat! Whatever made you think so?"

Hedwig flapped her wings agitatedly, "Preck, hoot hoot, preck!"

"I know you love bacon, but you have to understand. It is human food. Like I can't eat owl treats, human food is not good for you."

Hedwig turned her head away, giving him a sad and dejected look, "Hoot, preck,…..bark."

"Hey! That's not true. I still love you. I still think you are the most beautiful girl on the boat." Harry retorted, his expressions affronted.

Hedwig turned her head back towards him, her eyes accusing, "Hoot?"

Harry was shocked, "What has Fleur got to do anything with all this?"

Hedwig flapped her wings, flew towards him angrily and stopped mere inches from his face, "Bark bark preck, hoot hoot!"

Harry got a sheepish look on his face, scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "Oh, you heard that?"

Hedwig elegantly rose one of her eye-feather as if to ask, "Well?"

Harry replied defensively, crossing his arms, "I know Gwaihir is a nice owl and all, but I don't like the way he looks at you!"

Hedwig folded her wings in front of her breast, mimicking Harry, tapped her talon and gave him a piercing glare, "Hoot, preck, bark."

Harry's face reddened abruptly, "What!" He chocked out, "I absolutely don't look towards Fleur in the same way."

"Bark!"

"Do not."

"Bark!"

"Do not."

"Bark!"

"Do not."

Their conversation was interrupted by a movement in the periphery.

With many a flirt and flutter,

In stepped a stately raven-black eagle owl,

Not the least obeisance made he,

Not a minute stopped or stayed he,

But with mein of a Lord of the winds, perched upon the headrest,

The headrest of Hermione's chair.

Surveying all those present, with the air of a noble,

He extended the letter on his talon towards,

its addressee, the human pet of his lady,

like a Lord would, his cloak to his elf.

And then, he glided,

Glided he, towards his Lady, the snow winged,

Angel among the owls.

Remus blinked. What? Where had that come from? Was he reading too much poetry, too late in night? Slowly bringing his orange juice glass near his nose, he sniffed. His nose tingled, his Marauder sense tickled, and his eyes met those of a a deviously grinning Sirius Black… Oh! The roundabout revenge, eh? Touché Mr. Padfoot.

This meant War,

Forth, and fear no detentions,

Arise!

Arise, Moony of Marauders!

Potions shall be brewed,

Hexes shall be stuck!

A Mischief day,

A pink and purple day,

Ride! Ride now!

To embarrassment and humiliation!

To mischief, malice and madness,

Forth, Marauders!

To…what in the heaven's name is this potion! God, this was some good stuff! Need to torture it's recipe out of the mangy dog.

Turning towards Harry he saw him reading the letter with that same googly eyed expression on his face, he had seen countless times on Lily's face in sixth year, when James had stopped asking her out at the drop of hat and actually become friends with her.

The black eagle owl, apparently named Gwaihir, and Hedwig, were staring at each other.

Hedwig was blushing,

Gwaihir had an embarrassed smile on his face.

Ah, young love!

And they flew off,

wing with wing,

into the horizon broad and bright,

beneath the azure coloured sky,

above the cerulean hued sea…...

Bloody hell. A flushing potion first, anything else later.

The rest couple of days passed with a predictable routine. They had anchored the yacht just off the southern coast of France. They would have gone in the harbour, but Hermione was appalled to learn that the Mediterranean European countries treated Lycanthropy like muggle countries did with Flu epidemics- ban any patient from entering. She had been sickened to learn that they had eradicated the lycanthropy in 18th century the same way muggles do in recent times with Flu- Culling the Source.

Remus had informed them about it with his usual stoic face and helpless shrugs. Conversely, in the Northern and the Eastern Europe, the Werewolves and the Berserkers, the Bear-people, had whole tribes and clans, having proper representation in the ruling bodies and having a distinct culture and educational system. The case of muggle-born's rights were entirely opposite to this in the Mediterranean and theNorth & East Europe.

The Grangers and the Tonkses travelled all over France sight-seeing or shopping, with Tonkses side along apparating them all over the country. Andy had started teaching Hermione in the basics of Occulumency, meditating and keeping the emotions in the background, various mental exercises to better compartmentalise her thought process, to detect if someone was using legillimency on her and how to avoid it.

Remus occupied most of his time lying out in sun on the deck, shuffling through his collected notes, writing drafts for his book, preparing his notes for the next year's classes, or pondering over the reams of parchment sheets with Sirius, making Rune charts to add enchantments to the yacht.

Sirius would spend most of his time either with them, or lying around on the beach, trying to chat up women, getting lucky more often than not. Andy would shake her head half disapproving, and half in fond affection of an elder sister, when he would appear in the wee hours of morning, with clothes ruffled, and a just-shagged ear to ear grin on his face.

Harry would accompany them on some days on their outings or lie around on beach or the sun deck, or on some days leave alone early and return late whistling and swaying to a happy tune.

Andy and her mom had helped her buy a new deep blue sundress, which looked casual and elegant at the same time for her meeting with Perenelle. Ted Tonks had talked her parents into letting him use magic to shrink her teeth to normal size, and aided by copious amount of her best puppy dog look, her parents had finally acquiesced. After all if their daughter was going to be offered apprenticeship under the person with most famous smile in the world, they could afford to be a bit less stubborn about it.

But the biggest change in her appearance were her hair. Late one night, when all else had gone to bed, he whisked her off to Paris, to a non-magical hair salon. A tiny bit of healthy teenage rebellion, as he put it. For a non-magical place, the work they had done was nothing less than magical. Gone were her long bushy mane of brown hair, which had got her stuck with a host of unflattering names in both magical and non-magical schools; to be replaced by a perky Pixie cut.

And it had transformed her, inside and outside. Never before had she felt such lightness on head and shoulders. Nor felt such gentle caress of breeze on her scalp and neck. Not having to battle her hair at every step; from waking up spitting hair, to keep brushing them out of her eyes while reading; it was so refreshing, so liberating that she wondered how in the world had she managed until now to live with that massive tangle on her head. Her now shorter haircut accentuated the angles of her face and her neck, and their colour had changed too, maybe due to long hours in the sun or due to different length, to deep golden. On Harry's insistence she had let some minor red hued colour be added on the fringes. And although sceptic at first, she had to admit that Harry had been right. Next morning her mother had not been pleased at first, but she too had to admit that she did look great. Hermione had never imagined what a simple haircut would do to her confidence level. She felt like a new person, a more rebellious, a more outgoing, and as Harry had put it, in light of her hair colour, a more Gryffindorish person.

Harry had told her that Perenelle was a practical and pretty informal person who had no patience for ostentatious customs or traditions, but she still had Andy give her a crash course on the manner and the protocols for greeting a person of her standing. Harry had given her only one advice, Think deeply before speaking and Speak loudly what you think. Apparently she had no patience for fools and cowards. And Hermione was determined to prove why she was a near Hat-stall between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor during her Sorting.

A much hated hook-in-the-navel sensation later, Harry, the Grangers and the Tonkses, materialised before a giant glass pyramid. 'Louvre?' Andy mused. 'For an apprenticeship interview? Perenelle certainly knows how to make a first impression! Or she has got something else, something big, planned.'

She spied a tall, willowy girl, rising from the elevators inside the Pyramid. Clad in dark jeans, black trekking boots, an oversized blue plaid shirt; which she could bet that she had seen Harry and Dora wearing interchangeably until recently; and her silver-golden hair tied in a French braid, she had a strong suspicion about the girl's identity. Stealing a glance towards Harry and seeing, what Remus personally called 'Lily's Lovesick Look' on his face, her suspicion was confirmed.

So this must be Fleur Delacour. The girl whom she knew Harry was spending nearly two-thirds of his summer time with. Her thoughts were confirmed when the the girl introduced herself. She kissed Harry on both cheeks in greeting, and Harry introduced the rest of the party.

As Andy's body moved on autopilot, exchanging pleasantries, her mind was running a mile a minute. To say that the girl was merely beautiful would be doing a great injustice to her. Her big, cerulean blue eyes, sparkling; a face of an angel, that could easily grace any of the numerous fashion magazines, and men's magazine too; moonlight like almost, luminous skin tone; a figure most women will kill or die for; and the grace with which she walked and carried herself, every movement a poetry, was almost ethereal. Chancing a look at her companions, she saw Ted, Homer and surprisingly Hermione looking awe struck.

And then it hit her. She had seen something similar in a World Cup Quidditch game she had gone with Harry, Dora and Sirius on complementary tickets from an new business contact of the Black-Potter family. Bulgarian team mascots, Veela! The Sirens as Ancient Greeks called them, or Light elves of the Norse! She gave Ted's hand a squeeze, and his glazed over expression cleared immediately, to be replaced by an apologetic one. Andy gave him a reassuring smile and saw Helen do the same to Homer, from the corner of her vision.

Looking carefully back towards the girl, who was by now chatting excitedly with Harry, Andy could deduce that she was not a full-blooded veela, maybe half, quarter most probably. While she did not have that unearthly perfection Andy had seen in the Bulgarian mascots, her human side only added to her, taking away nothing. Andy, born and raised a Black, a lawyer by occupation, and most importantly a mother of two young adult children, considered herself an excellent judge of human character. She knew that Harry was not a man who would be distracted by something like a Veela charm, au contraire, it would make him more careful about that person's feelings. Was that, oh….OH! So that's why he was hiding his feelings for her? Trying to hide, she corrected herself amused, looking at his expression. She felt a surge of pride for her surrogate son.

She narrowed her eyes, mentally picturing the girl in her crosshairs. While she did trust Harry's judgement, her motherly instincts would not be satisfied till she herself had not assessed her. Fleur led them expertly through various corridors and elevators, some open to magicals only, some closed to all but the authorised. Her eyes shone with obvious intelligence and passion, as she spoke skilfully, albeit in a slightly accented English, about various rooms, artefacts and great works of art as they passed them. Now and then her eyes would return towards Harry, almost mirroring Harry's own actions, and with a similar expression too. Oh Merlin! This is interesting!

Andy's eyes caught those of Helen's. While Helen appeared fascinated by all the things Fleur was speaking about, she too seemed to have caught on to the by play going on between the two young adults. Helen sent Andy a knowing smirk, to which Andy sent back an acknowledging nod. And once again Andy felt like a teenage schoolgirl, with a sudden desire to giggle and gossip.

Hermione's brain was working overtime. First her reaction to the beautiful girl. Then realising that this girl was Fleur Delacour, Harry's 'good' friend. Then with all the information Fleur seemed to be rattling off from memory, information she knew was not available in books. Apparently Fleur's mother was the Curator-in-Chief of the magical section of the museum. Underlying all her thoughts, was her slowly increasing anxiety of meeting Perenelle Flamel. Would she approve of her? Would she merely tell her that there was some mistake? Would she be disappointed? Or laugh outright at her?

As if reading her thought, Harry gave her a casual looking tight one armed hug. She immediately felt better, she had Harry with him. Everything will be fine. Fleur seemed to have noticed this gesture too, and gave her a reassuring smile.

They had climbed the stairs to an elaborate arch. It stood at the entry of a carpeted corridor, lit by a line of richly carved chandeliers. This part of the museum had a much more office like look to it, thick dark wooden doors, with name plates, lined the both sides and at the end was a simple door, with golden engraving,

Apolline Angelos Delacour

Commissaire en Chef

So Man created godkind, in his own image

This seemed an interesting thought, Hermione thought. Focus! This was the most important moment of her life. Wandering thoughts can wait.

Fleur turned towards them, and spoke, in her slightly accented English, "My mother has lend Grandmother Perry the use of her office for tonight. Only Harry and Miss Granger for now. The rest of us can meet her once the official business is done. Till then I can give you a special tour of the place. You guys ready?" She asked the last question more towards Hermione.

Hermione looked towards her parents, both of whom gave her a tight hugs and words of encouragement, which while made no sense but settled down the flare of anxiety in her stomach. She gulped, her hand rose to brush over the stubble of hair on her nape, and taking a deep breath, nodded.

Giving a sharp knock on the door, without waiting for any acknowledgement, Fleur swung the door open and ushered them inside.

Harry gave her a comforting squeeze on Hermione's shoulder, stretched to his full height and walked in confidently, while she followed him cautiously. It was a dimly lit room, tastefully decorated, exactly like the person Harry knew Apolline to be. Subtle, understated, high-brow. Intimidating yet reassuring. Various abstract paintings and family photographs hung on the right wall. The left wall was devoted to heavy tomes and old scrolls. Keeping in spirit of Apolline's theory of Left and Right Brain functions, books on her right side, art on left. The centre of the room was dominated by an large oak table, on which things were arranged in what could only be called Ordered Chaos. The farthest wall was made up of huge glass windows, overlooking the impressive skyline of the City of Paris.

And that is where he saw Perenelle. Silhouetted against the brightness of the city lights, her back towards them, looking over the City with the fondness of an old friend. Every time he met her, he had this urge to go down on his knees and bow to her presence. Her presence, her aura, seemed so youthful, yet so old; so much vital, yet carrying a deep sadness and melancholy; as warm and nurturing as a mother, yet unyielding and unforgiving as a goddess. Compared to her, he had found that Dumbledore's aura was as two dimensional as a child's scratches on a wall to the brushstrokes of Great Masters.

Quietly he walked and stood along with her, gazing out of the window. Hermione had stopped in front of the desk. They stood together in a companionable silence for sometime, before Perenelle let out a nostalgic sigh. "She has grown so much, since I was the Queen," she spoke very slowly with a deep rich voice. Kind of like, Harry had mused on meeting her first time, what the female version of Treebeard, the Ent should sound like.

"You never told me this tale of yours, Perry." Harry answered back quietly.

Letting out an amused chuckle, "It was a long time ago. Had a good thing going too, before Nicholas got jealous and led the damned Revolution against me," she replied in her same slow deep voice, as casually as if discussing the weather.

Harry couldn't stop an incredulous scoff. Typical, Immortal. Once again silence enveloped the room. He could sense Hermione's anxiety increasing, so turning slightly towards her, he gave her a smile, and asked Perenelle, "May I?"

Almost as if reluctant to be pulled out of her thought, she gave a small nod, and turned away from the window and walked into the light of the room.

Before meeting her, Harry had assumed her to look either like an old wrinkled woman in outrageously coloured flowing robe like a female version of Dumbledore, or a white coat wearing, heavy spectacled, wild haired mad scientist persona. His assumption, had proven to be wrong.

She didn't seem to have aged a single day, since he met her first, three years ago. Then she appeared to be near to Dora's age. Now Dora's look had matured more in these three years and Perry was the same. Her black hair were tied in a loose, messy braid, thrown over left shoulder. A smart, crisp black jacket, with the Medusa-head of Versace on the left breast pocket, thrown over a white t-shirt which said CERN, Nike's track pants and joggers. A medium sized silver Owl pendent hanging, by a long olive-leaves-shaped chain, from her neck was the extent of any accessories she wore.

In his opinion she looked more like an average absent-minded college student and not like a more-than-600-years-old being, who was the de-facto head of magical section of CERN and the AQUILA section of the Griffin Initiative and was worshipped as a pagan goddess in a dozen countries. A modern day Athena, Fleur had called her.

He had walked over to the photographs which hung on the wall. The Delacours. Gabrielle, on her broomstick, in her favourite Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. The kid had an excellent taste in Quidditch teams, he mused. Artemius Delacour, his sparkling, almost luminous blue eyes, inky black hair, an aquiline nose in his official uniform of Grandmaster of the Cursebreaker Guild, France. And Fleur….

Perenelle had sat on the chair, and motioned Hermione to do the same. Looking at her, with a calculating look, she fired her opening salvo, "Why are a Basilisk and a Phoenix gendered? What makes a hippogriff magical, and a platypus mundane?"

Harry crossed his fingers. Please don't start reciting textbook. Perry hated none more that swots. Hermione had opened her mouth to rattle out the answer, before closing it again. Good, he thought. She remembered his advice, think deeply before you speak, and speak loudly what you think.

"Man." Hermione's voice rang out, a bit too loudly. But she carried on undaunted, adjusting her volume, 'that determined' look coming over her face, "Man is the measure of all things."

Harry let out a sigh of relief, Perenelle looked pleased, Hermione eager.

And for the next half hour, they talked, from philosophy, to magical theory, from politics, to Quantum mechanics.

And finally Perenelle stopped, apparently satisfied. "Impressive, Miss Granger. The magical world needs great minds like yours, if it is to survive in the coming times. The Age of Pisces, the Age of Faith, is coming to an end. The Age of Aquarius, the Age of Logic bears upon us. Unless we come to a better understanding of the way our powers work, Magic will have no place in the Logic driven future. And for that purpose countless brains around the globe work tirelessly. A fraternity to which I would love to extend you invitation to in a few years.

As of now, I have heard great things about you, both from Albus, and from Harry. Polyjuice in your second year, remarkable! Wasting a valuable resource like my Time-Turner, just to attend classes, utterly foolish. Rebelling against the Rules, remaining within the Laws is something you must learn before I will accept you as my apprenticeship. Deviating from the established path, while retaining the control, is a quality which I admire greatly. Fortunately we have time. You are young. You have a great friend and mentor in Harry. And the apprentice Nicholas has taken, Miss Daphne Greengrass, seems both an expert at this and on friendly terms with you. I hope you two will learn to work together well. Our last apprentices, started on excellent terms together, but it culminated in the Battle of Berlin."

Hermione let out a horrified gasp. "Gellert Grindlewald was your last apprentice?"

"Hmmm, young Gellert, remarkable man. Highly idealistic, a bit hot headed, but an excellent orator. Blessed of the Hermes himself, he had the power to move millions by his passion." Perenelle replied, wistfully.

"But his action had millions of innocents die!" Hermione was indignant.

Perenelle seemed amused by her passion. Harry knew just how much this woman loved debating. "The Vatican has had many more killed in its history, Miss Granger, still people do not stop going to churches. As for the philosophy, your history books have got this Voldemort and Gellert's philosophy all mixed up. Harry can enlighten you better on a later time. Personally speaking, on the spectrum of the debate between The Professor and the German, you will find me to be slightly on Magneto's side."

And there it was, her Ace. Confound them into silence by speaking something so out of box yet appropriate, that the opponent's whole thinking process is derailed. Poor Hermione was gaping, predictably by the sudden pop cultural reference.

Using this moment of silence, Perenelle pulled a small dog-eared book out of her pocket and tossed it upon the table. 'The tales of Beedle the Bard' it read. Leaning back, putting her elbows on the armrests, her fingers together, she looked at them over her hands, "Now moving on to the second topic for discussion.

Harry, I need you to find me a long lost powerful magical artefact. Miss Granger are you familiar with The Tale of Three Brothers?"

Harry's head turned towards her sharply. Surely she couldn't mean…..

Receiving a negative answer from Hermione, she gave a small nod and pushing the book towards her, "If you don't mind, would you please read it aloud, so we may too refresh it?"

Harry was intrigued. "You know very well who has got the wand." He spoke quietly after Hermione had finished reading and had digested the story. He felt Hermione's eyes focused on him but he didn't waver his gaze from Perry's. He knew very well which Hallow she wanted, but he needed to hear her reasons.

"You mean to tell me that this tale is true?" Hermione enquired, excitement evident in her voice.

Harry did not answer her, still looking towards Perenelle, waiting for her to confirm it.

She stood up, walked to the windows and gazed out towards the city skyline, her eyes unseeing. "All great stories have a grain of truth hidden somewhere in them, Miss Granger." She began, her slow deep voice distant, grave,

"The eldest brother, Antioch Peverell, addicted to the power of his new Wand, gathered a band of vicious followers and began a reign of Death and Destruction. Legions of brave sorcerers and warlocks rose and opposed him, and were scattered and vanquished. But like all tyrants, the more he descended into darkness the more paranoid he became of meeting the The Reaper. His mind, twisted and contorted by the dark, concocted one dark ritual after another. In the end, either by some divination, or by delusions, he convinced himself that he needed to get his hands on the rest of the Deathly Hallows."

"Cadmus Peverell, the second brother, while a genius at his craft, was not in any sense of the word, a warrior. For a family, as familiar with the Death as the Peverells, he knew his end was nigh. But there was one treasure that he couldn't let fall in the hands of his brother. And hence, on a stormy and cold All Hallow's Eve, he arrived upon Godric's Hollow, tired and weary, with his elder brother on his heels, his younger brother in his hopes. His treasure in a warm bundle, on the doorstep of the third brother, Ignotus Peverell, he begged him to take this treasure somewhere safe."

"Ignotus Peverell, knowing that Death stalked all three brothers; and his due, the Death would reap, agreed albeit reluctantly. He parted his brother with a heavy heart, knowing that on this side of the Veil they shall meet again not."

"Robing himself in his courage, determination and his Cloak, holding onto that bundle, he rode on his trusty steed, the first-born of the Thestrals, across the lands and the sea, to the feet of Pyrenees, the home of the Priestess of that age. He knew his time was limited, before Antioch's forces were upon him. He had to return before the rising of the dawn. Hence, leaving behind a letter, he left in the twilight, bequeathing upon the Priestess, his brother's most treasured possession, his last legacy, his Newborn Daughter."

"Time passed and that child grew up, and with time came to be called, Perenelle Peverell, the Priestess of Pyrenees."

Everyone was silent for a moment. Perenelle gave a hollow laugh, "Wizards, and their preoccupation with alliteration."

"Later I found out, he had returned to find Godric's Hollow burnt down to ground. Cadmus had sat waiting comfortably in the village inn, talking to the spectre of his departed wife and waiting for his elder brother. When Antioch had arrived, Cadmus killed himself, not allowing his brother even this much satisfaction. Antioch had taken the Resurrection stone and in his anger had ordered the village to be burnt to ground.

Fires of vengeance burned in the heart of Ignotus, and the most humble and the wisest of the brothers put on his Cloak, and became what his brother feared most. Over the next few years, the Cloak was drenched in more blood that the Wand ever was.

The tide of the war turned.

Antioch ran;

driven mad by the phantom visions from the Stone;

paranoid of the greed of his own men for the Wand;

scared of his brother, stalking him under his Cloak;

and Antioch fell, at last, to envy his own son;

and the Three Deathly Hallows were lost,

In the fog of the War.

Taking a deep breath, "My first ever memory, in the deepest recesses of my mind, was of a tall and thin man, in a remarkable cloak, setting me down in the arms of a kind woman. I have forgotten his face, or his voice, but I remembered that Cloak. Like quicksilver woven into threads, like moonbeams strung together to create cloth, like the threads memories and dreams are made of.

I dreamed, as a child, that one day that man would come back and I would see that cloak again.

I asked, as an adolescent, of that man and his Cloak, and sitting me on her lap, the old Priestess told me of him and his magical cloak.

I searched, as an adult, and could never find it, but I knew in my heart that blood of Ignotus Peverell lived, growing sheltered beneath the protection of the Cloak of Death."

And then, more than 600 years later, an old fool came to my doorsteps, bearing that same Cloak, asking for its origins. He returned disappointed of course, but not before giving me something I had been searching for 6 centuries, a name. Name of the last owner of the Cloak." She had walked over to where Harry stood, her moist eyes looking in Harry's, and Harry felt his breath hitch. His left hand went unconsciously to the hidden pocket on his wand holster. In his heart he knew what her next words would be, "The Potters."

His hand tapped his wand holster in a particular pattern, and slowly withdrew the cloak from it and held it carefully. Perry extended her hands to caress it reverently.

Her gaze was fixed downwards on the cloak, "I was horrified. Ignotus had left one request in his letter to me, just one, 'Please remember your family', and I had promised myself that no matter what happens I will look out for the line of Ignotus Peverell.

And more than 600 years later, another mad man had come to Godric's Hollow on an All Hallow's Eve, seeking Invincibility, and had made another child orphan, the last of the Ignotus, the last of my family, and I was found wanting. I had failed.

Her eyes rose to meet his, tears slipping down her cheeks, and suddenly Harry became aware of the pain and burden of the ages those eyes had seen, "That is why I came seeking you, the moment I found you were out from under Albus's thumb. And that is why I offered to have you trained. This is not a war I can fight for you Harry, howsoever I may wish I could. But I would be damned to let you go at it alone."

They were all silent for a while.

"And I want you to find the Resurrection Stone for me."