John sensed the other Guide - Hermione Granger's father, presumably - as he pulled into the drive at the address Sarah had gotten last night. In the passenger seat, Ben stirred.
"Powerful, but not Alpha," Ben said. "And he feels … compatible."
"That's not a surprise, is it?" Sarah asked from her seat in the back. "Harry and Hermione are, so certainly their parents should be."
"But we're not Harry's parents," John said.
"John Barnaby!" The bite in Sarah's rebuke made him wince. "You'd best not ever say anything like that again - and I'd greatly prefer if you didn't even think it! We're Harry's parents in every way that matters."
"I meant," John said, aware that he might be digging a larger, deeper hole, but unable to stop trying to explain himself, "that Sentinel and Guide gifts are determined biologically. Hermione's parents should be compatible with James and Lily Potter, not necessarily us."
"Yes, necessarily us," Ben said, and John looked at him in surprise. Ben grinned, and John felt his Guide's satisfaction at knowing something he didn't. "You don't think we'd have been able to raise Harry if his gifts weren't compatible with ours, do you? Or rather, given he's an Alpha, our gifts weren't compatible with his?"
"Still," John said, "her parents should be compatible with Harry's biological parents."
"Most compatible, yes," Ben agreed. "But there are degrees, and we're well within the tolerance range, for lack of a better term."
"You'd think Sentinels and Guides would've developed terminology for things like this by now," Sarah said. "Now, come on - I'm sure they're wondering what's keeping us out here."
She punctuated that statement by opening her door, even though John hadn't yet shut off the engine. He did so, and he and Ben took positions in front of Sarah as they approached the door.
It opened before John could knock, revealing a man taller than Ben and about Ben's age with wavy brown hair. The man's aura flared over them, quickly but gently, and then he relaxed.
"Sentinel Barnaby. Guide Jones. Mrs. Barnaby," he said in an even, pleasant baritone. "I'm Guide Wendell Granger. Please come in."
John paused inside the doorway, stretching his senses to examine the house. As he expected, there were no offensive scents or sounds, and the house felt safe, if Ben's reaction were any judge - and he'd relied on Ben's instincts too often not to trust them now.
"Good morning." The quiet alto voice pulled John's attention back to the man before him, and the dark-haired woman who'd just joined them, a plate of biscuits in one hand and a plate of cinnamon rolls in the other.
"My wife, Monica," Wendell said. "Monica - Sentinel John Barnaby and his wife, Sarah. Guide Ben Jones."
"Please, come sit," Monica said, leading the way into the lounge. "Tea will be ready in a minute." She paused and offered a somewhat sheepish smile to Sarah. "Your call last night made me think this could be a long discussion, so I thought tea more appropriate than coffee."
"It's lovely," Sarah assured her. "May I help in any way?"
"If you'd bring the sandwiches…."
Minutes later, they were all seated in the lounge, cups of tea in hand and plates of food on the coffee table between them.
John took a breath, met each of the Grangers' gazes in turn, and asked, "What has your daughter told you about Hogwarts?"
The Grangers exchanged a glance before Monica said, "A lovely snowy owl brought us a letter Tuesday saying she'd met her Sentinel, and he's the Harry Potter we read about in some of her supplemental books. She gushed about Charms and Transfiguration, and complained about Potions, Defense, and History of Magic."
"It's the first time she's complained about so many professors," Wendell added. "And she was annoyed enough that I could read her emotional state from the letter itself, not just the content."
"We received a similar letter from Harry," John said. "But yesterday, we received this one."
He passed the letter detailing Harry's concern about a threat in the school to Wendell, and he leaned closer to his wife so they could read the letter together.
When they looked up from the letter, both Grangers' faces were grim. Monica took a breath, obviously steadying herself before she spoke.
"Just telling us this serves no purpose but to anger and worry us," she began. "Is it safe to assume that you're doing something about it?"
"Very safe," Ben assured her.
"We're going to Hogwarts tonight," John added, and even he felt the flicker of annoyance? anger? Maybe a combination of both, seasoned with a hint of bitterness.
None of that came out in Monica's next question. "Will you take a letter to her?"
"No," John said. "I rather thought that you-" he fixed his gaze on Wendell "-would want to come along."
"But - Muggles can't visit Hogwarts," Wendell protested.
"A Guide can."
John let the words hang there, saw the gleam in Wendell's eyes, heard the small inhale and the slight increase in his pulse, as the other man realized what they meant.
"A Sentinel has identified a threat to his tribe," Wendell murmured. "And he's asked for help."
"The Alphas are responding," John said. Normally Ben was better at dealing with people than he was, but the Guide in Wendell would respond better to a Sentinel than another Guide - especially where his family was concerned. "And, when we spoke, Alpha Guide Holmes asked for you specifically."
"Why?" Wendell asked. "I'm a Guide, yes, but not high level, and I haven't actively used my Guide gifts in - what? Fifteen years now?"
Since his Sentinel died in a stupid car accident. John knew the bare facts - once he'd had a name, he and Ben had done some casual searching on the Internet while the Alphas conducted a more thorough background check - and respected the man's choice not to talk about them in more detail.
"You have," Ben put in, and Wendell glared at him. Ben met the man's anger head-on. "Unless you think grounding and teaching your daughter doesn't count?"
"Of course it counts," Wendell said hotly, then took a breath that steadied his pulse as well as his emotions. "And of course I'll come. I just don't know how much use I'll be."
"That's perfectly fine," John said. "We don't know how much use we'll be, either. I'm just very sorry you can't come as well," he added to Monica.
"We can wait together," Sarah said, offering the other woman a smile.
"I'd like that," Monica murmured. "I'd like having someone else to talk to about … all of it. Magic, spirit planes and animals…."
"Well, then - that's settled," Sarah said. "If you have a car, we'll go indulge in a ridiculous amount of chocolate and red wine while we wait."
"Car?" Monica said. "I thought we'd wait here?"
"If that's your preference," John said. "But the Alphas are staging from London, and that's where we'll return first."
"All right," Wendell said. "When do we leave?"
= HP = HP = HP = HP =
Dinner that night was at the Ravenclaw table, which Harry only slightly preferred to the Gryffindor table. Where Gryffindor argued rather vehemently about sports, which neither he nor Hermione cared much about, Ravenclaw was prone to lively debates about various things they'd been learning, and Hermione jumped right in with just as much enthusiasm, if not more. Even if they hadn't been Alphas, Harry suspected the Sorting Hat would've struggled to put her in Hufflepuff rather than Ravenclaw.
Still, Ravenclaw's kind of debate didn't usually appeal to Sentinels - though Harry enjoyed Slytherin's political discussions - so Harry sat back and enjoyed his Guide in her element.
Tomorrow night, it would be dinner with the Hufflepuffs, where the topics of discussion varied far more - covering magical and non-magical subjects - and were frequently more personal in nature than the other Houses'.
A shift in the air currents alerted Harry, and he straightened to look at the doors to the Great Hall just as they swung open to admit - he counted quickly - a dozen people. His jaw dropped when he recognized five of them and made an educated guess about a sixth.
He reached over to clasp his Guide's wrist, drawing her attention away from the debate.
"What, Harry?"
He nodded toward the knot of people making their way up to the head table. Hermione followed his gaze and gasped.
"Dad?"
Thankfully, it wasn't a shout, though she did start to stand. Harry's grip on her wrist kept her down.
"Let me go, Harry - that's my Dad!" She tugged at his grip, but he held firm.
"I know," Harry said. "Dad and Uncle Ben are with him, and so's Gran Ran." Oddly, he didn't feel embarrassed using the nickname with his Guide. "But it's the other two - the two without weapons - that matter."
Hermione frowned, but stopped trying to get free. "Who are they?"
"Alpha Guide Holmes and Alpha Sentinel Mallory."
"Oh." Hermione sank back on the bench, and Harry finally let go of her arm. "So we wait."
"We wait," Harry confirmed, and reached for his water. Pumpkin juice turned out to be an issue for his senses of taste and smell - too sweet and too spicy at the same time - so he generally avoided it.
He wasn't surprised that he couldn't hear any of the conversation now taking place at the head table - if one of the staff hadn't put up a silencing charm, certainly Dad or Uncle Ben had - but tracking the headmaster's expressions made following the tone of the conversation, if not the exact words, relatively simple.
An affable, open look as Professor Dumbledore greeted the visitors slid into one of concern as - Harry thought - Alpha Holmes spoke, and then into the grave look of someone delivering bad news. Then Alpha Holmes held up a piece of paper - or was it parchment? - and shook his head. The headmaster's expression flashed into fury so briefly that Harry would have missed it if he hadn't been paying close attention.
Fury was replaced by determination as the headmaster began, apparently, to argue with Alpha Holmes. Harry would have called it implacable determination, but Alpha Holmes was more than a match for anyone when it came to strong wills.
Assuming he didn't get hit with a Memory Charm or worse.
With that grim thought, Harry shifted his gaze to the people who'd come in with the Alphas. He had no doubt that Dad, Uncle Ben, and Gran Ran could and would watch the Alphas' backs - but they also had to watch their own, so he focused on the six others who'd come with them.
They wore clothing in the style of combat dress, in black rather than khaki, and when Harry concentrated on his sight, he saw they wore patches on their left shoulders above the flag insignia. The patches showed … wands? Crossed wands?
He frowned and dialed up his sight. No, it was a wand crossed with a knife, rather than two wands. But what kind of regiment would that be?
…it couldn't be. Could it?
Could they possibly be a magical regiment of some kind?
How was that possible, given the Statute of Secrecy?
"Harry!"
Hermione, he thought as he looked up at his Guide, was really good at whisper-shouting.
"What?"
"Where's Professor Quirrell?"
Harry gave the staff table a wider glance and no, Professor Quirrell wasn't where he had been sitting. Neither was the rest of the staff - they'd clustered around the headmaster for his discussion with Alpha Holmes' party. Professor Quirrell wasn't with them, either.
On the assumption that the professor hadn't slipped out to the loo, Harry stretched his hearing wide, focusing past the heartbeats and breaths of the students around him, searching for one of either that was where it wasn't supposed to be.
He found it. Exactly where it shouldn't be - approaching the third-floor corridor on the right side.
"Bugger."
Instinct propelled him to his feet and out the door to the antechamber where Quirrell's scent was strongest. It wasn't the path he knew, but it was the one Quirrell had taken, so it was the one he, too, would take.
Hermione followed, but Sentinel gifts meant Harry would outpace her. Just as well - he didn't want her facing the painful death or, worse, Quirrell. Assuming Quirrell got past it, and Harry wouldn't assume otherwise.
He'd face whichever it was - painful death or Quirrell - to protect his tribe.
= HP = HP = HP = HP =
When they got to the third-floor corridor, the door was locked.
At least they understand basic security. Harry shook his head, even as Hermione slapped a frustrated hand on the door.
"How are we going to get through the door?" she asked.
Harry smirked. "Are you a witch or not? Alohomora."
The door popped open and Harry stepped inside, only to freeze as he came face to faces with a three-headed dog.
Harry was going over what he knew of Cerberuses from mythology when Hermione clasped his shoulder.
"It's all right, Harry," she said. "I've got this."