Celebwen Telcontar: (Jaw drops) 6909 hits?! Good gracious me...I'm popular! Well, to deflate my now rather large head and ego, this chapter should be interesting.
Balrog: Howso?
Celebwen Telcontar: Just watch. And watch for lawyers while your at it, will you? I can't afford a lawsuit.
Balrog: Then just put in a disclaimer! Folks, Celebwen does not own Harry Potter!
Celebwen Telcontar: Just read, you inverted dragon!
CT
It had been a very long day. After Victor had gone to the hospital, finding out that his shoulders were sprained to the doctor's confusion, the man was bound up and sent home. Valerie had forbidden her husband to get up even, and had their new House Elf, Jabber, bring him all his meals. The man of the house hated every minute of it.
She closed her eyes to get a good look at her past. Immediately and for no foreseeable reason, it went to her first lover. The boy she had met and fell in love with in Hogwarts. He was the Head Boy, and she the Head Girl. They had shared a large suite, accessable to all four houses, and dear Tom had been a very good lover. Very good. Valerie felt herself remember those nights, and felt her face heating up. They had studied becoming Animagi at the same time, and Tom's form was a snake. Not just any snake, but a basilisk. That had cued her to his true nature late in their Seventh year. Then Tom had run off, becoming the hated and feared Nameless One as some people called him. She preferred to use "You Know Who" other than other ridiculous nominatives, and never used the name "Tom" to describe him except in the past.
Valerie groaned. Her desk was full of paperwork that she had to finish, and all of it was important or Do not wait until after supper to do this. This was what she had gotten into by being the only child of Dean McGonagall, brother of Sean McGonagall, who was the father of the previous Laird of the McGonagall Clan. And now this madness was what she was leaving to Harry. He would have enough on his plate being the Boy-Who-Lived, even if no one ever knew that. She ran her hands through her now-silvered red hair, and tied it back in a ponytail to get back to work on the paperwork, and to stop reliving her old school days.
"Grandma!" a voice called. The door to her study slammed open, and Harry stood there, in full parade dress, kilt and bloused shirt, cloak pin and sporran included. Under his arm was a small version of Scottish Highland bagpipes. "I can play Scotland the Brave!" The boy placed the chanter's reed in his mouth, and began to blow. A dry, reedy deep throated whistle escaped from the drones, before it steadied to a deep bellow, and he began to play the pipe.
Hark when the night is falling,
Hear, hear, the pipes are calling,
Loudly and proudly calling,
Down through the glen,
There where the hills are sleeping,
Now feel the blood a' leaping,
High as the spirits of the old Highland men.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavors,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart forever,
Scotland the brave.
High in the misty highlands,
Down by the purple islands,
Proud are the hearts that beat
Beneath Scottish skies,
Wild are the winds to meet you,
Staunch are the friends that greet you,
Fierce as the light that shines from fair maiden's eyes.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavor,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart forever,
Scotland the brave.
Far off in sunlit places,
Sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearning to feel the kiss
Of sweet Scottish rain,
Where tropic skies are gleaming,
Love sets the heart a' beaming,
Longing and yearning for the homeland again.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavor,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart forever,
Scotland the brave.
The droning of the pipes faded, and Valerie's eyes were moist as she saw her homeland in Scotland again with the playing of the Scottish song. It set her heart a-glow, and she took the young lad out to help him to keep from whistling when he started playing.
"That was excelent, Harry. I don't think I've heard a professional play better than that."
"Really?" Harry asked. He stared at her, eyes wide.
"Really. Now can I please get some work done? I've been with you for three weeks trying to get your supplies for Hogwarts, and I can't leave this any more. The mac Dubh's are ready to declare blood-feud on the Campbell's and the McGonagall's because of their Laird's incarceration, the McClains have managed to lose every member of their Laird's family, both magical and Muggle and are seeking shelter form us, and a thousand other things."
"Alright, alright! I'll get out of your fur!" Harry cried in a laugh.
Harry pulled his pipes close to him, holding them carefully. He left the room long enough to put his pipe away, then left the house. The Magical section of Melbourne would easily recognize him as a Wizard, an any Muggles would recognize the kilt and finery as of noble origins. He placed his flat bonnet on his head, made sure that the sprig of thistle was in place, and walked down the street.
The blonde woman walked down Ayer's Alley, the magical section of Melbourne, and saw a young boy in finery that screamed his heratige as a close family member of a Wizard's Clan. His tartan was a deep green with some purples and blues, signifying of the McGonagall Clan. This could be young Horace McGonagall, Valerie's Heir.
"Hello," she said softly. "Can I help you with something?" The boy turned around, and his gleaming ultra-bright blue eyes and curly black hair caught her heart for a moment. He was so adorable! And with his finery, he looked to make Draco seem a peasant!
"No, thank you, ma'am," he replied, heading into a bookshop. Narcissa trailed him subtly, hiding in the beams of light when he looked her direction. He looked up at a large tome, and looked about for some help. Narcissa came up, taking the heavy book off of the shelf and handing it to him with a smile.
"Here you are, sweetie. What's your name?"
"Thank you, Ma'am. My name is Horace McPhaerson, Ma'am."
"McPhaerson?" Narcissa said, looking at his tartan.
"Yes. The tartan is my grandmother's Clan colours, Ma'am."
"I see. You must be young Horace McGonagall, Lady Valerie McGonagall's Heir."
"Yes, Ma'am. Now may I please inquire as to your presence?"
"I was wondering about why you're here, Horace. And please call me Nari."
"I do not believe that it is of consequence to you to have knowledge of my actions, Ma'am."
"Nari, please. I am Narcissa mac Dubh."
"I see. The niece of Laird Castor and Lady Deneb mac Dubh?"
"Yes."
"Cousin to their infamous firstborn?"
"Yes, indeed. I am however not in league with young Sirius. Don't worry, Horace, I'm not out to hurt you."
"How can I be certain of that?" Harry asked. He pulled his back into perfect straightness, reminding Narcissa of her son Draco.
"You can." Her accent she had aquired when she stayed for a time in England came out.
"Are you sure of that? Sassanach?" the boy asked. Narcissa took a step back. To a Scot, born and bred, that word was like a slap in the face. The boy obviously didn't trust her. To be called "English" in such a foul manner… Being called an "Outlander" from her homeland… it was disgraceful! She would get her revenge on this impudent little bug soon enough.
"Outlander, am I?" Narcissa replied in a Gaelic hiss. "You'll see what an Outlander can do, born and bred in the thistle and heather. Watch yourself, Son of Gonagall. I am Narcissa Black, and you do not cross me easily." Narcissa whirled around, storming off. She shouldn't have said all that to the little child, however young McGonagall needed to learn that politics was a dangerous game, and to insult a high mac Dubh was not a good thing to do. She would have fun with her vengeance.
Celebwen Telcontar: So, what do you think of this?
Balrog: Why mac Dubh?
Celebwen Telcontar: Mac Dubh I think means "Son of the Dark One", which would fit the creator of the Black family line.