"We grew up round the corner from each other," Morag said cheerfully the next week, nestled cozily in the Potter's living room as if she belonged there, Alasdair a dark shadow beside her.
"Oh, that's lovely," Ginny said, cradling a cup of tea. She had grown up near to Luna, and their friendship stretched back to extreme youth before either of them could remember. Harry had no such experiences, having grown up in a neighbourhood that he disliked and that disliked him back, much like the Dursleys. He was, however, capable of drawing a parallel between the two of them and the children that his mother and teacher had been together.
"It was chance that we ended up at the same university," Alasdair interjected, perfectly friendly despite the faintly intimidating appearance. The fact that both Harry and Ginny found him to be a little ominous may well have been nothing to do with him or indeed his physical appearance, and in all fairness neither of them could describe his attitude as anything other than cordial, rather they would both admit that it was likely connected to the fact that he reminded them of Snape who had intimidated them both in a wide variety of ways many years ago.
"Lucky, then," Ginny commented breezily. Harry knew she was still uncertain how to feel about the entire situation, caught between sensible reluctance and mischievous curiosity.
"Known each other our whole lives, pretty much," Morag continued, "Our mums went to the same prenatal thingy as well as us living so close. And, we were born only a week apart, so Alasdair has literally known me his whole life,"
She looked slightly proud of this last fact. Ginny, who better understood childhood dynamics regarding age due to, unlike Harry, having actually had siblings and friends, realised that this was probably a point that had held a varying degree of status over the course of their lives.
"She's a whole week older," Alasdair echoed quietly, in a tone that suggested he had made plenty such statements throughout both of their lives, "But somehow she'd still stoop low enough to play with me in the burn,"
"That's lovely," Ginny cooed as Morag made a slight face at him. She rather liked cute stories of people having entirely happy childhoods. Hers had been mostly happy, but the incident with the diary as well as the whole issue with the war had made her keen to protect childhood innocence where possible.
"We've been to Scotland," Harry said, changing the subject awkwardly. He almost winced at the slightly incredulous look Ginny shot him. It wasn't necessarily the most intelligent statement he could have made. It was, however, true. They had both gone to school in Scotland, though Hogwarts was a distinctly isolated area and presumably not representative of the country as a whole.
"Beautiful scenery," Harry continued, hoping that Alasdair was more forgiving of idiocy than Snape had been, "Some lovely old castles and the like,"
He could almost picture the reaction he would have received had he made such a statement in Potions or Occlumency lessons. It was almost nostalgic, though he also did quite like not having every single aspect of his intelligence insulted in what was really an exceptionally creative manner. He had often thought that he would be willing to put up with sarcastic insults in return for Snape being alive and able to tell him about his mother. In some ways it was a sign of maturity. In other ways it was a sign of his unending curiosity.
The young adults nodded their agreement, presumably used to such statements, or at the very least willing to forgive them. In some ways though, while the transition was clunky and one that Harry was slightly embarrassed by, it served a purpose. He made a mental note to work more on his conversational skills, before ploughing onwards. He had planned and prepared, artfully arranging muggle photographs on the coffee table as if he had been going through the family photograph albums, rather than all of them having been gathered for the specific purpose of giving that impression.
Few of the photographs Harry actually owned were muggle ones, and acquiring muggle photographs was complicated by the way in which the muggle world had changed from analogue to digital while Harry wasn't looking. He had grown up with film cameras, even if his major exposure to them had been through Colin Creevey in the distinctly magical Hogwarts, but muggle progress marched on, and so the technology changed. Everything seemed to be digital now, and while a muggle film camera worked just as well as a magical one at Hogwarts, a digital camera he knew would not. But Harry had managed to get his hands on a number of muggle photographs of Hogwarts, and those were mixed in amongst the other, irrelevant ones.
He had no doubt that to Alasdair and Morag the scattered photographs seemed almost like relics from another time, as they were clearly used to modern muggle technology judging by the way they comfortably handled their glossy iPhones with sure gestures and flicks of their fingers. In some ways it was so similar to magic, and yet at the same time the absolute antithesis. It made him wonder if it was harder for muggle born or raised children going to Hogwarts now than it had been when he had been a child. He knew that in many ways he'd been a special case, and that really he should ask Hermione. He had had very little to actually bind him to the muggle world except the Dursleys, who he was glad to be free of. But now, with smart phones and broadband, all these new concepts that were still a little foreign to him, maybe it was more of a culture shock. The muggle world was charging off into the future, constantly developing new technologies. The wizarding world seemed almost frozen in place, a time capsule of an era long gone.
He reached a hand out, taking as if by complete random a photograph, though it was one he had intentionally procured and laid out. To his slight disappointment no one had noticed the photograph of Hogwarts that he obtained through greater lengths than he really wanted to admit to. He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting, and in some ways it seemed entirely pointless. An eerily accurate similarity to the long dead did not necessitate that either Alasdair or Morag would catch a glimpse of Hogwarts and immediately start talking about their time there. He knew that they hadn't attended, aside from the obvious fact that someone would have noticed the glaring similarities long before him. Minerva, who had taught both Harry's mother and Snape, would undoubtedly have taken note. He had, however, checked the student list for the past decade or so as a precaution. Minerva had been somewhat confused by his request, especially as he had given her no reason why he wanted to look at the names, but she had permitted him to do so anyway. A lot had happened since she had considered him to be just a disobedient student with a tendency towards wandering the hallways after curfew.
"No idea what it's called, but it's a lovely castle," he said, passing the photograph of Hogwarts towards the young couple. Ginny stood to refill the tea pot, an act that could easily have waited but he suspected it was connected to her mild embarrassment at him. It was not the first time she had decided he was acting like a bit of an idiot and opted to leave the room, as she had done it multiple times before. He appreciated her support nonetheless, as she never tried to prevent him from doing what he believed to be right. He suspected that in the kitchen she was rolling her eyes at the kettle and sighing over the tea leaves.
It was Alasdair who took the photographs with elegant fingers, holding it so that Morag could also see clearly. Harry knew that it was an excellent photograph of Hogwarts, showing the castle at its best angle. It was the same sight he had seen as a first year when he'd sailed across the Lake in that little boat with Hagrid, along with all the other pupils of his year. The memory had been burnt into his brain. It had been the start of so much.
"I don't suppose you know what it's called," he continued breezily, fully expecting the answer to be negative. It did seem unlikely that he would receive the answer of Hogwarts, though he had decided to try just in case. Voldemort wasn't defeated by him hesitating, but rather by him taking decisive action. By asking questions and investigating, even if sometimes he was wrong. He felt he had improved since then with regards to knowing when to ask questions, or at least he certainly hoped so.
Despite his assumptions, however, Alasdair was looking at the photograph with a strange, thoughtful look on his face. Harry wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but there seemed to be a slightest hint of recognition in the lines of his face, a slight impression of a memory the taste of which was almost on the tip of his tongue but just out of reach. Morag's attention seemed almost split, between Alasdair and the photograph, with a slightly curious glance towards Harry as well.
"Camelot?" Alasdair said, his voice so quiet that Harry wasn't entirely certain he caught the word clearly, a whisper that seemed far more like it was intended for the young woman beside him and no one else. He had a distant look to his eyes, almost as if for a moment he was looking beyond the photograph. Harry paused, unsure of how to react, the moment of uncertain silence broken by Ginny's return.
"It looks like the kind of castle that gets used for film sets," Morag said cheerfully, her expression switching instantly to a casual smile as if there had never been another expression on her face.
"Yeah," Alasdair agreed, handing the photograph back to Harry, all the contemplation of a few moments ago vanishing in favour of a bright smile, "Like Doune Castle, which was used in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. We grew up near there. There's some great castles all over the country,"
"And we always know we're nearly back home when we see Stirling Castle looming above us," Morag continued, sharing a smile with Alasdair.
Ginny shot Harry a curious look, knowing her husband well enough to recognise when there was something on his mind, but knowing that there was no way she could ask about it at that moment. He signalled to her with nothing more than his eyes that he'd explain later, a subtle glance that she understood in an instant.
"That sounds like a lovely area to grow up in," Harry said, making a mental note to look up Monty Python and the Holy Grail, "I grew up in Surrey,"
Both of them gave him sympathetic looks, partially based off his tone of voice that indicated a certain dissatisfaction with Surrey. He, and they, were almost certainly being unnecessarily harsh in their judgement of Surrey, but Harry had also spent the first ten or so years of his life living in a cupboard under the stairs in an incredibly bland neighbourhood, so he felt that he had a right to be dismissively rude about the entire county. There had been a reason he had chosen a place up north that was in many ways the utter antithesis of Privet Drive, though he knew that that was not the only reason. The similarities with Cokeworth, where Lily and Snape had lived as children, had also helped to draw him to the area. Ginny had been accepting of both reasons, adding in that it was a good place in general.
The conversation continued, drifting through normal everyday topics, before ending with a goodnatured promise of repeating it all the next week. Throughout it all, Harry found himself frustratedly running over their reactions to Hogwarts in his mind, something he continued all evening. Ginny left him to it, knowing through years of experience that often it was best to leave him to stew. He would tell her in good time, and if not she would prise it out of him. A part of him was annoyed at the way they had so casually dismissed Hogwarts, the way Alasdair had connected to it as if it were a fictional castle used as some kind of film set. Another part of him was bothered by the expression he had worn, the expression that kept Harry wondering if there hadn't maybe been a hint of recognition or if it was all in his imagination. But either way, the answer preyed on his mind.
