Well, this should be interesting. It answers a few questions, and poses even more.
Balrog: Uh-huh. I'll pretend I understand.
"What?" Valerie asked softly. "A Mage? The last Mage was… were… those two Mages, the Chinese fellow and that Russian fellow. They're myths though… And Merlin, and Mordred, and, and, the Horned Lord that Muggles used to worship… Horace can't be a Mage, Victor. Mages are a lost breed! They're—"
"Valerie," Victor snapped softly. His outside may have been smoothed over quite a bit, however he still had that ridiculous paranoia, Valerie thought absently as she lost herself in his pale silver-blue eyes. "Valerie, are you listening to me?"
"Oh! Yes, of course I am, Victor. It's just that I can't…"
"Think of Horace as simply a powerful child then, Val. Don't worry." Victor smiled and enfolded her in his arms. "I'm sure everything will work out."
"Yes. Raising a Mage can't be much different from raising a Wizard."
"A rather precocious one though," Victor smiled, touching the very tip of her nose.
"Go on, you two! Snog somewhere else!" Horace snapped at the two of them. Victor scowled at him, and Valerie smiled, tugging Victor's arm to get him up the stairs and into their shared bedroom.
Sheik used the air currents to mask his progress as he glided softly over the French countryside. The town of Domrémy-la-Pucellewas small, and though visitors often flocked to the town, especially tourists, none of them were interested in the old man in the small home half the town away from the fabled Joan of Arc. The owl perched on the roof of the ancient Frenchman, looking over the entire village while he waited. Then, the old man flung open the window, and Sheik flew inside. "Bonsoir. Maintenant qui pourrait m'envoyer le poste entièrement de l'Angleterre ? J'ai cru que ma maison était sûre! Donnez-moi cette lettre, l'oiseau! Avancez! Continuez maintenant, je ne veux pas que vous restiez ici! Je ne vais pas donner une réponse! Allez maintenant!" (Good evening. Now who could be sending me post all the way from England? I thought that my home was secure! Give me that letter, bird! Come on! Now go on, I don't want you to stay here! I'm not going to give a response! Now go!) the Frenchman growled at Sheik. The owl hooted defiantly and hissed at the old man. The letter was opened, and the old man read it. "Bloody bleeding Hell! Albus! Damnit, you idiot!" the man snarled in a thick French accent. "It's that Kelly. He's got to be behind this! Come here, bird." The man held out his arm for the Sheik, who hopped on it. Then, the man pirouetted swiftly, Apparating to the edge of the Hogwarts wards. Still cursing in five or six different languages, the man stalked up to the gates and blasted them open with raw elemental power. As he stormed in, he boosted Sheik into the air. Sheik rounded a curve and flew down the stairs into his aerie, the nest that he and his human shared. He flapped at the wall, landing on a statue of a brooding gargoyle, and shrieked at the closed wall. When it didn't open for him, he hissed, and then the wall opened as his human stepped out. "Sheik, you're back," his human said, holding open the wall for the mighty owl to fly in. He perched on his block perch, and then saw the three live mice below it, a containment charm keeping them from fleeing. After eating, Sheik settled down on his block perch, lifted one of his legs, and snuggled down in his feathers to sleep. Dumbledore awoke slowly, his head pounding. He saw his friend Nicholas Flamel over him, pushing his Elemental Magyk into him. "Wh—where am I?" he croaked. "Hogwarts, my friend," Flamel assured him. "What happened?" Albus tried to sit up, and groaned from his weakness. "We were hoping you could tell us," Poppy said, coming into Albus' field of vision. "You were entertaining another Elemental, a Kelly from what I heard—" "Kelly?!" Flamel gasped. "Merde. Baiser, Dieu fichu cela! Merde," the ancient alchemist cursed. "Kelly has his hooks in you, mon ami. He will use you like a puppeteer, and then throw you away. Mon ami, you are caler merde. (Merde—Shit. Baiser—Fuck. Dieu fichu cela!—God damn it! Mon ami—my friend. Caler merde—in deep shit) Poppy's eyes had gone wide with the pronouncement of what Kelly had done. Dumbledore on the other hand, knew that his ablility to think for himself had long since vanished if Kelly could hold him so easily. A spike of pain, sharp and hot, drove through his brain. Albus cried out loudly, clutching his head.
"Ne vous inquiétez pas, mon ami. Je vous protégerai," (Do not worry, my friend. I will keep you safe.) Nicholas whispered. "The paths of evil that Kelly walked are now being burned away. Rest, my friend. Dorment mon ami, la paix assistent à vous, à la longueur de la nuit. Dieu d'anges gardiens enverra vous, à la longueur de la nuit. Mou les heures assoupies dorment, la Colline et le vallon dans le sommeil dormant I ma montre d'ami se conserve, À la longueur de la nuit." The lullaby that Flamel had been singing slowly lulled Albus into a sleep. He didn't awaken until the next week, but dreamed of fires in his mind, and of paths being choked by greenery then burned so nothing remained.
Severus Snape stood in the Hogsmeade post office, looking up at all of the owls. One of them caught his eye, a creature that looked larger than it should. It had the shape of a barn owl, yet was twice that owl's size and pitch black.
"Where's your letter going, Professor?" the postal worker asked.
"I'm not sure. It's meant for Minerva McGonagall."
"Good show. Oi, blackie!" the worker called. The black owl hooted and hissed in response, mantling its wings. "Get yer tailfeathers over here, yeh lump o' poultry!" The insults didn't faze the large bird, but it soared down anyways, plucked the letter out of the worker's hands without waiting for it to be tied, and swept out of the window, dodging the worker's Stunners and Summons. The worker began to curse and spit at the owl, and yet nothing worked and soon the bird was far out of sight.
Valerie McPhearson sat on the couch. She held the letter in her hand, the letter that was sent by the McGonagalls of England. It had the family crest, with the Knight looking left, his huge blue and yellow plume, and the shield with the rampant eagle on it. She slowly opened it, and found a letter from her cousin. He was her father's elder brother's son, and the right Clan Chief of Clan McGonagall. And the letter was to inform her that he had no children, and that he had an advanced stage of prostate cancer. He was dying, and couldn't have children. He had chosen her as his heir. Valerie cursed. She would have to go by her maiden name, and by her birth name of Minerva.
Victor looked over. "What is it?" he asked. The transformation had also affected his voice, as now he had a lovely baritone voice with hardly a growl in it.
"James, my first cousin and the Laird and Chieftain of the McGonagall Clan, has named me as his successor," she said, looking up at her husband. "So now I have to come out as Minerva McGonagall, the Heir of the Clan McGonagall. I can't just shrug this off, Victor!" Both winced as a blast of sound erupted from the upstairs rooms.
"He's at it again," Victor groaned before the phone rang. Victor picked it up, and consoled the person on the other side. "All of Melbourne can apparently hear those pipes, Val. The Silencing Charms must be wearing off." He went upstairs, and soon the sound stopped. When Victor returned, he explained that he had been Silencing their grandson's room.
"Victor, if we—if I—When James dies, then I'll be the Lady of the McGonagalls. Harry will be my Heir. He has to be." Valerie slumped against the seat.
Both jumped, Victor with wand in hand, as they heard a clattering from the fireplace. A large Greater Sooty Owl thudded to the fire grate, shook itself off, and hopped into the living room, leaving sooty footprints. It handed Valerie a letter that was soot and rain stained, and had questionable things on the envelope. She opened it, and found a missive from Severus.
"Good Merlin," she breathed. "Dumbledore's been brainwashed!"
Celebwen Telcontar: I hope you are all okay with this chapter!
Balrog: And if we're not?
Celebwen Telcontar: (Glares)
