Chapter Twenty-Nine
The approaching day was expected to be calm and clear. That was good, since Sirius knew that he had to do something. Something was up with James, for sure. Lily couldn't see it, since she was dealing with much the same thing as James was but seemed to be handling it better. Harry couldn't see it, since he was dealing with the return of his parents and the worry whether he would measure up in their eyes thanks to the accursed upbringing he got from the Dursleys. Hermione might have been able to see it but for the concern she had for Harry, but she was understandably distracted.
Remus could see it, and it was something that he and Padfoot had conversations about. This was a matter of Marauder's honor, and no Marauder abandoned another without consequences. A certain former Marauder came to mind. That would be addressed at a later time, they had also agreed. Various methods of address had been discussed, with suitable amounts of Firewhiskey and sober-up potions.
They had concluded that James had a good reason to be as manic as he was with the stag chases, pranks on various people, and other things. The prank on Minerva was inspired, but watching the claws come out of her fingertips as she ripped James up one side and down the other still made him shudder. His admission to her that he'd missed that dressing-down as much as he missed his life with his family managed to shock her enough that everyone else got out quickly. Sirius wasn't fooled. Having to handle everything that came with one's own sudden return to life after a prolonged period of death was something that definitely wasn't easily dealt with.
He would know.
Still, his relatively older self admitted that while there was now a gulf of years between his old friends, it gave himself a viewpoint that he otherwise would not have had. Moony, too, for that matter. Sirius wasn't sure that was quite right, since their werewolf friend had always been more mature than any of the other Marauders. There had been debates between James and himself about whether Moony had been reading textbooks in his crib in between feedings, burpings and changings. They had never settled those debates. Or for that matter, had them where their friend could hear them or hear about them.
Sirius snorted. He was sure that Moony would be mature even in his second childhood, if the lycanthropy let him get that far. He very carefully kept that particular thought to himself, since Remus could whip him black and blue with one hand tied behind his back thanks to that same were-enhanced physical ability. It was something that was painful to realize in more than one way, so he was mostly careful in what he said. He wasn't getting any younger – back from the dead or not. He still had a slight hitch in his ribs from his stay in the no-star oceanic gray hotel.
After James and Lily had gone to bed earlier pleading exhaustion, Sirius and Remus decided to take a walk along the several battlements that the Castle possessed. Sometimes a walk in the night air helped with the thinking process. The interior of the castle was stifling sometimes and Sirius couldn't ever decide if it was the presence of many children or old magic or Dumbledore's lemon drops.
"So, Moony, any thoughts on our conversation last night?"
The werewolf gathered his thoughts for a moment. Sirius could see that his old friend was troubled.
"James needs to see someone with some training in this field. He failed to protect his family the last time around – not that it was easy to do that in the last Blood War with Voldemort killing left, right and center – but I can't shake the feeling that he feels he's got to do better this time."
Sirius agreed, since really he felt the same way.
"And he's trying to hide that feeling's impact on him, knowing that he has a chance that practically no one else gets, except in fanciful speculative fiction. It's wearing on him a lot more than he wants to admit. If he doesn't get some support that we aren't able to give him, he's going to do something stupid. If he does that, then Hermione's work will be for naught."
Sirius agreed with that, too. The Animagus looked out onto the grounds. A couple of owls were hunting, the sky clear but for a few wispy clouds and a moon that was waxing crescent. The air was cool, which didn't help with his need to figure this out. It was nice weather for Padfoot to patrol around and then curl up somewhere. He looked at his old friend and tried to stifle a yawn.
"Do you have any idea what to do, Moony?"
Remus sighed. Sirius thought that the careworn face looked more worn as Remus did that, and very carefully didn't think about his own face. He was sure that the cares that he had carried over nearly the last two decades had a place of the lines of his face.
"I asked Harry to borrow Hedwig and send her last night to someone I know. When she comes back with an answer, I'll have more of an idea."
He didn't say any more, and they continued their troubled walk. Sirius didn't press Remus for details, since he was sure that the other man would reveal what was on his mind when he was good and ready. It was a quiet night with the clear weather revealing the sliver of the moon and many stars gleaming in the sky. It was peaceful, both thought, and both also wondered how long it would stay that way. The keen hearing that Padfoot lent to Sirius picked up the mutter from Remus as the werewolf stared out into the distance at something with the most pensive expression he'd ever seen even with some of the things they'd all been through to this point.
"T'is now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world…"
Sirius had no clue what that had come from since it had to be some quote from somewhere, knowing his old friend. It was ominous enough in tone that he knew his thoughts would be unsettled for the rest of this night. Frankly it would be some nights to come as well, thanks to the grave intonation. Moony could be unsettling sometimes, even in the guise of a mild-mannered professor for a major magical school. He knew that his old friend would not have resorted to whatever that was – doubtless something in his books – without something weighing heavily on his mind. The worry over the elder Potters had to be the primary thing that prompted it but with Remus, there were many things that the werewolf had to deal with that the others didn't. Sirius admitted to himself that he might know quite a bit about the worries that his old friend carried from day to day, but he had no clue how he would carry those same worries had it been him doing it.
Lost in their thoughts, they patrolled the battlements of the old castle without speaking further. Had it been a full moon tonight, there would have been no distinguishable change in the purpose they now moved with from this point to that point, except that they now moved on two feet instead of the four it would have been. Sirius and Remus fell into the old patterns without conscious decision. One watched while the other moved and after a certain distance they exchanged roles. It was something that the canid and lupine natures taken from their other forms that allowed them to do practically by instinct.
Something was bothering them tonight, and there would be no good rest to be had by either until it was discovered and dealt with. They continued on without conversation on their self-appointed rounds until they went their separate ways to bed.
Even then, there was no rest for them.
-===(| - |)===-
There was someone else pacing restlessly that night. The Headmaster was examining himself. There had been much of his worldview shaken in the last few days and a distinct drubbing of himself and what he thought he knew about Magic. Granted, decades of political infighting had allowed him to school his face into whatever he wanted it to be and not reveal anything to the other magicals in the room, but he hadn't counted on the presence of Magic herself. The lazy smile on her face had told him that she knew what he was up to and it wasn't going to make a difference as far as he and the plans he had made were concerned.
There had been a little message worming its way past his Occlumency barriers as easily as a dropped coin traveled to the ground that warned him of a delayed message from Magic. It was promised to be later that night after everyone left. Sure enough, as he had been sitting alone in his chambers there had been a somewhat painful headache announcing the presence of that headache.
The previous night:
The Headmaster relaxed in his overstuffed chair with a glass of claret when his head exploded with a major headache. He dropped the glass and clutched at his head. As soon as his hands made contact with his head, the ache disappeared.
Dumbledore was glad when it receded with all the suddenness of its arrival, but soon decided he'd rather have had the headache. Magic appeared to him. She gave him what could only be called a rough tongue-lashing about his conduct over the years and the things he had been planning that up to that point he thought was only in his head.
He found himself standing in a horse stable, which made no sense to him. He had no idea how he got there, either. It had been years since he had been on a horse and the pain of that day had convinced him not to try it again if he could find another way. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a rather sizable Percheron standing there with a nearby saddle and reins regarding him a bit balefully. The horse's coat was so deeply black that the old man wasn't quite sure that the light wasn't being absorbed wherever it stood, except for the scales hanging from the saddle.
"Now, Albus, don't be shy. I promised Famine that I would take his horse Bessie for a ride."
The Headmaster whirled around to see Magic seated on a chestnut horse. She continued as he gaped at her.
"And when War heard, he did the same thing, but I told him that Baby had to stop with the fiery bit. I don't like have certain parts of me cooked, so she's promised to relax that for our talk."
"And I'm supposed to ride… Bessie, was it?"
The horse eyed him and snorted as if to tell him she wasn't too fond of the idea either. Magic grinned at the byplay.
"Yep, that's her name. Now hurry up. We have places to be."
She directed him through the steps that went into saddling a horse, which he knew. It had been quite enough time that he forgot a few small things and Magic was sure to correct him. She wasn't mean or nasty about it, but he felt belittled anyway. The look that the horse was giving him throughout the whole thing didn't help at all.
Dumbledore finally managed to climb into the saddle with less grace than he wanted, but it had indeed been many years. At his side, Baby whickered at his attempts and he felt like he was being laughed at in whatever language horses used. He wondered about that for the first of many times in that outing. The Headmaster wasn't sure but it definitely seemed that Bessie rolled her eyes. Up to that point he would have been sure horses couldn't do that.
There wasn't any other conversation as Magic clicked her tongue to Baby and they all set out more or less at a sedate pace.
"Er… you do this often?"
Magic turned to look at him.
"Of course! Do you think I sit around waiting for myself to be used in rituals or classroom exercises or whatever all day? I have things to do, people to see, bets to make!"
"...bets?"
"Yep, and nope, I'm not saying on what! Come on!"
She flicked the reins and Baby tore off. There was only a moment's warning before Bessie exploded into movement that gave Albus Dumbledore a chance to brace himself. Famine's horse jerked him around quick enough that he lost his hat at the start of the race to wherever the massive horse was following the smaller horse.
Considering the speed at which Bessie was moving to catch up with Baby, it didn't take very long at all for Albus Dumbledore to remember why he wasn't a fan of riding horses to begin with. A wizard's robes didn't have protections for certain things that same wizard would need in that situation, and War's saddle was very uncomfortable. It hurt so bad after the first half-mile that he didn't notice the very direct looks that Magic was giving him or the runic sequences that she was tracing out in the air and flicking at his direction. If he had, he would know that she was examining him down to the cellular level as they rode.
A part of Dumbledore's mind that wasn't focused on the painful ride wondered if this was one of the reasons Muggle wars had been so nasty recently. He didn't dare draw his wand to ease his discomfort for two reasons: he didn't want to lose his wand from an inopportune bump and he didn't want to displease War when he found his favorite saddle changed.
The grin on Magic's face said she knew exactly what was on his mind. There was nothing for him to do but grin and bear it, not that there was much grinning to be done on his part. After what seemed to be a day of riding, they came to another stable. Magic motioned for him to follow her in.
Two clean stalls with fresh hay and water waited. He counted his magical blessings that he was somewhat able to dismount without simply falling off, and started to wander off to the doorway.
"Where are you going? You need to help me get their tack off, clean it, wash Bessie and Baby down, get them dried off, stabled, and fed! Then we'll have another little talk! I think you need some reinforcement of what I said already."
Dumbledore sighed. The horses were quite amused and made him repeat several things even though he was sure he didn't really have to. His riding partner didn't rescue him from those efforts, just motioned for him to follow through. Finally after an hour of work, she led him into another stall that had been turned into a small room with a table and hard wooden benches.
"Sit down, Albus. I need to talk – again! – and you need to listen this time. Ignore what I have to say and you will rue this day beyond all you could ever imagine."
It was worse than twelve McGonagalls on a bad day. The private thought that he would appreciate his deputy more in the future came to him. It was met with approval despite the fact that the physical representation of Magic was standing there reaming him out with heated brutality.
"You screwed up with that boy. Actually, a lot of boys. Girls, too. Harry James and Thomas Marvolo, in particular, but there's a lot of children over the years that got the shit end of the stick thanks to you!"
It went on and on and the air got a bit blue at times and there was nothing he could do to dispute any of it. She listed every wrong he ever did and everything that he failed to do that she had expected from him. At the end, Albus Dumbledore was rather under the strong impression that every single hair on his body had been ripped out, re-implanted after being coated with Merthiolate and ripped out again. She was relentless in her pursuit of what she wanted and the disappointment in her tone cut him to the quick. The plans he had made were left in shambles. His state of mind, even more so. Dumbledore hadn't felt like that in almost a century.
In the end, he had agreed to put his ambitions aside.
"And Albus, if I ever hear you use that damnable phrase 'for the greater good' one more time, I'll have you here mucking out stables and looking after every horse in both Augean stable complexes for the next century before you move to that 'Next Great Adventure.' Do you read me?"
Albus Dumbledore could do nothing else but agree. She nodded with a clap of her hands and said, "Good! Let's head back."
"Back, my Lady?"
"Of course! We didn't get here by walking, did we?"
He sighed. It took a little while to get the now-cleaned tack back on since he had to redo the straps. Really, it was a set of buckles and leather. How hard could it be? Dumbledore tried to ignore the sight of Bessie rolling her eyes again at his fumbling.
Once they were on their mounts, Magic turned to him.
"Oh, and don't run off when we get back, either. Bessie and Baby have told me they like the way you treat them and expect you to do that again."
He was left gaping at her as she sped off.
Now:
Strangely, Dumbledore could still feel the aching from the effort that he had put into the ride and the care of the tack, even though it had all been in the Magic-induced dream state. He had been moving quite gingerly and others asked him if he was all right that whole day. It had taken some inventive speech on his part to keep them from carting him off to Madame Pomfrey and her demonic implements – not that he ever said anything like that to her – and he was finally glad to be only a few steps from his bed. It was good to have his bedchambers so close to his office.
Minerva had finally speared him with a Scottish speaking glance that promised him a day's worth of invective if he didn't take better care of himself. In the face of that threat, he resolved to do just that. She really could be inventive in her word choices where that invective was concerned and not for the first time he wondered if it was harder to manage the school or manage him.
As he really didn't want to know the answer to that particular question, he didn't ask it of her. Dumbledore was quite sure he would have it whether he wanted it or not.
Pacing had tired him out physically after a long day, but done nothing for the questions on his mind. Thanks to the reaming Magic had given him, he was questioning himself on almost all the decisions that he'd made in the last few decades at least if not more.
Harry? The decisions after the deaths of the Potters?
The Dursleys? Sending Harry to them, even with a blood connection?
Sirius? Letting him languish in that hellish place? Even now, after the return he could see the demons in the younger man's eyes.
The Longbottoms? The shy young Mister Longbottom was the result of that with no parents to guide him. Augusta had done her best, but… well, the results were not as expected.
Severus? It was hard to tell with him, sometimes as closed off as he was. Was his spy into Voldemort's camp so silent now that no one knew what made him tick? Apparently Voldemort had the same problem since Severus was still alive, after all.
The rise to power that he took? Was it power over Magical Britain or a straitjacket on himself?
Tom? Was it a terrible mistake on his part that created the Dark Lord that now ravaged Magical Britain again? Or a series of mistakes that he had committed again, but with Harry?
Hogwarts itself? Was there something that he had willingly overlooked in his rush to get…
Get what?
What was his goal?
What was he going to do after that was accomplished?
And was it worth the accounting he was starting to wonder about being called to whenever he set out on his so-called Next Great Adventure? He had been directing things from the background for so long now that he didn't know if he would be ready to face that.
A cold shiver went down his back as the thought crossed his mind.
For that matter, who would lead the accounting? He'd had a taste of Lily's accounting. If other Potter wives decided to have their say in the afterlife, it could be bad. Potter men chose smart Ladies Potter, after all.
Dumbledore was still awake when the first rays of sunlight crept onto the wall of his quarters.
-===(| - |)===-
Harry was suddenly awake. Something had awoken him and drawn his attention to his trunk. He nearly rolled out of bed and landed on the floor, seeing the edge of the bed in blurry outline at the very last moment. There was a slight glow coming from somewhere, and he didn't understand why in his sleepy state.
What a way to wake up in the morning, he thought. What exactly woke me up?
There was no answer forthcoming. He rolled to the side just enough to snag his glasses with the hand closest to the dresser and fumbled them to his face. Now that he could see – relatively speaking – Harry could see that there was a bead of bright light limning the inside edges of his trunk's lid along with some cracks in the sides he didn't know about. Something was going on in there, but the otherwise peaceful morning was unbroken. He couldn't hear any sound from inside. No rattles, creaks, or other noise.
Harry managed to get out of bed without making sudden acquaintance of the floor and its somewhat rough carpeting. There had to be something that he had to check in his trunk since he couldn't remember anything there that would produce such a light.
If it's that bright, it isn't going to be fun to open up, he thought to himself. A passing thought about waiting for the sun to rise more and give the room more light came and went as a sudden chime was heard.
Quickly he screwed his eyes into slits and threw the lid open. Harry needed to see what was going on in his trunk.
After a moment, he realized that the bright light was dim now. This meant that he wasn't in danger of being glare-blinded. Perhaps the action of opening the lid had dimmed whatever was throwing off the illumination. Harry opened his eyes the rest of the way and looked into his trunk. Whatever it was, he wanted to know what was doing that. He hated mysteries, especially this early in the morning.
To his surprise, it was something he'd forgotten about. What with everything else happening, this item was something he was frankly surprised to forget about.
Nehemiah's Beak lay within the confines of his trunk, nestled in clothes, old papers, wrappers for candy bars, and his books. It pulsed a glow at him, the viridescent gleam demanding action.
Harry paused. What was he supposed to do? He started to close the lid, only to be interrupted by the sudden brightness that increased the moment the lid started moving down. When he picked the lid up again, he noticed the gleam settling down again.
I suppose I pick it up.
Matching actions to words – well, thoughts – he did just that. The moment his hand closed around the intricately carved haft, the soft chiming changed to a pop. Harry shook his head, not knowing why he had to take the ancient weapon out or why he had the thing in the first place. He leaned it up again the wall to take his clothes out for the day.
He needed to take a shower but the Beak was insistent. How he knew that, he had no clue.
Harry got dressed quickly, deciding that he would forgo the morning shower this time. Whatever was going on that set this thing off, a shower was probably going to be the least of his worries. He sighed. It wouldn't be his life if he didn't have unknown things causing complications, no matter how minor or major.
The Beak practically leaped into his hand as he reached for it. There wasn't a pulse of light or any noise, but it just seemed odd to him for it to do that. Harry wanted to wonder what else was going to happen, but again, considering the events of his life to do that might be tempting Fate to screw with him again.
I've got enough to deal with as it were. I don't need anything else right now, he mused. He hoped that thought wasn't motivation enough for the fickle finger of Fate to fling itself onto him.
He padded down the stairs to see Hermione seated in her favorite armchair. She seemed a bit sleepy, but didn't have any open books arranged around her. Harry was somehow not surprised to see that the shaft of Arnhild's Mace rested between her knees as she yawned. In the still somewhat dim Common Room, he could see that the Mace was giving off a slow blue flicker. It wasn't much, but just enough that he could notice it. It took him a moment to realize that when the Mace flickered, the Beak did the same thing practically instantly.
He had no clue what that was all about and didn't honestly want to devote any thought about it – again, this early in the morning.
"I suppose you got awakened by a light and some chiming, too…" he groaned, his voice filled with the gravel of recent sleep.
She looked up at him and smiled, although it looked more like she wanted to be back in bed than happy to see him. He couldn't really blame her, as he wanted to be back in bed too.
"Yes," she yawned. "I think there's something going on with these weapons and whatever magic is part of them. It falls to us to be the ones to have to figure it out."
"While I have no doubt that you would ace that in no time, why couldn't it have been a little later in the day?"
There was a distinct sense of amusement coming from both weapons as they flashed together and that sense enveloped both of them. Harry and Hermione looked at each one, then at each other. They both felt a little more awake.
"Did you…"
"Yes, Harry, I noticed that. I don't understand it either."
There was a moment of silence between them as each stared at the Beak and the Mace.
"Harry, let me see yours."
Harry couldn't help it. He laughed.
"I think you already have or close enough." He tried to waggle his eyebrows, but that particular skill wasn't the easiest for him to do. In fact, it was rather pitiful.
Hermione rolled her eyes in reply.
"Not that, you pervert. The Beak."
He sighed theatrically, which wasn't performed much better than the attempt at waggling.
"Tossed aside for an ancient weapon. I feel slighted."
"Shut up and hand it over, Lord Olivier."
"Who?"
She scowled and shook her open hand at him. The demand for him to hurry up and quit wasting her time was clear. He handed it over, wondering who this Lord Olivier was and if he was another Dark wizard.
"Okay, if you insist."
He handed it to her with the grip outward. Her eyes went wide as soon as her hand made contact. Harry was shocked to hear a low guttural moan come from her. She pulled the Beak the rest of the way from his grasp and clutched it to her as her body shook slightly.
"Hermione! What's wrong?"
She didn't answer right away and her knees clenched together, her legs clamping around the shaft of the weapon in her arms. He could see the now somehow familiar green pulsing with a rhythm that to him seemed like a heartbeat. It was faster and faster, and Hermione was breathing harder as it did.
He was starting to feel a bit jealous when he realized that she looked like she was enjoying whatever was happening, and all she was doing was holding the ancient weapon. It was a bit worrisome.
There was no answers coming from her, so he did the only thing he could do was to gently take the Beak back from her grasp. There was a mewl from Hermione, practically despairing in tone as she lost contact with the Beak. She collapsed back against the cushions of the armchair, gasping.
"Hermione? Are you okay? What happened?"
"I… I don't know…"
From the look on her face, it sure seemed she knew and it was a nice private moment for her.
"Don't know if you're okay or don't know what happened?"
A moment passed and he was about to ask again when she smiled up at him. She laid a hand on the arm not holding the Mace.
"I'm more than okay, but what happened I don't know. It's a good way to wake up though."
He raised an eyebrow and she blushed. Her hand was still trembling on his arm, and he cast a pointed glance at it. She blushed more.
"Okay, I had a sudden orgasm hit me and almost another before you pulled it away from me."
His eyes widened. What could cause this? Was there something about these weapons that they needed to know about before something happened? Did they possess the bearer? Why now? And maybe he would do well to remember that bit about waking up, for later research purposes – course. He would keep that last part to himself for now.
Their eyes met.
"Do we ask somebody about this?"
"I think so, but…"
"But who?"
-===(| - |)===-
James was wandering the halls of the castle. Not many feet trod the paths inside at this time of morning and while he couldn't say he was that much of a morning person, he did find it peaceful. It did help with the things that rolled around his mind.
What was he and Lily supposed to do here? At first blush, it would seem to raise Harry. But he was almost at graduation age for Hogwarts, and there was all that time they had missed thanks to that snake-faced bastard.
Were they supposed to advise Harry? How? They were barely a few years older than Harry was now. If anything, their son seemed more mature than he was. That smarted, but he kept it to himself. It led to his next thought.
What about Sirius? He was 'older' now, but even then Harry seemed more mature than his godfather.
He snorted to himself, the light sound managing to echo a bit. Okay, that wasn't that hard to believe.
Remus? He felt even older, but then again, he was always the most mature of the group – even counting Lily.
He needed something to lighten his mood, but what?
"I say, Mister Potter?"
The voice echoed down the corridor and James was fairly sure that there hadn't been anyone in it as he walked down it. He turned to look, but saw no one.
"Over here."
He followed the sound of the voice. It led to an older gentleman dressed in an eighteenth century British Royal Navy uniform. The golden epaulettes gleamed, as did the rest of the uniform and the man's sword. James couldn't remember if it was supposed to be called a cutlass or not. The portrait reached over to a small side table to pick up a cup of tea before looking at James.
"Lad, I've been gone from the castle to meet with family in another portrait over the past week. Not that an officer and gentleman indulges in scuttlebutt, as it were, but I am given to understand that your young lady, the delectable Miss Granger, has finally made you come to your senses. Eh, lad?"
James smiled. Of course this portrait wouldn't know. The man looked confused as he finally looked out at James.
"Unfortunately, Hermione isn't my young lady." Seeing the portrait's face fall a bit, even with the British stiff upper lip, he went on. "I think my young lady, Lily, would be quite put out with me."
The officer's eyes got wide.
"But… that means you're not young Mister Potter. You're… James?"
"That's me, Admiral Sir Gordon."
"I heard you were dead and buried!"
"They were gravely mistaken."
"You didn't just say that."
"Well, I admit there was stiff competition between that and something else."
"Ah…" The portrait pinched the bridge of his nose before looking out at a smirking James. "Really?"
"What, the conversation leaving you cold?"
"No more puns. Please!"
"Language is dead useful, sometimes."
"Arrrrrrrgh! But… how? Enough with the jokes. How are you standing there?"
James grimaced.
"Hermione isn't saying. She did something with Harry – which suggests something to me in itself – and won't say anything to anyone. Even to Lily or Minerva."
The painted admiral raised an eyebrow and chuckled to himself.
"So Miss Granger is the reason you're standing here. I might have known. And I'm quite sure it wasn't any branch of that foul Necromancy either but something else. Give that bright girl an idea and she's gone."
"She's a lot like Lily."
"Indeed, James. In fact, there have been many wagers laid in this castle about the two. Many of us remember that so-called Potter Curse."
"Oh, the one about Potter men finding their match early on? There's really no such thing, you know?"
"Oh aye, I know lad, I know. Still enough of the Potter line's marriages have happened just like that to make one wonder. Makes for a good story, eh?"
"It does!"
The portrait paused and looked at James in the same way that he had when James was a student here. It had turned out that the Royal Navy officer was fond of pranks, and had sighed with resignation about boredom when James had graduated. He could see that there was more on the young man's mind.
In fact, considering the younger lad that looked so much like James walked these halls something else was going on. Also considering some of the whispered conversation between portraits, elves, and the Headmaster's gargoyle about that same lad it was something that needed to be investigated. It seemed to the portrait that the lad's father now knew something else.
"Lad, unburden yourself. Tell me what happened to your son. There's more, isn't there?"
James spent the next two hours talking to the portrait and never noticed that the Castle redirected people away from the corridor that held the portrait of Admiral of the Fleet Sir James Gordon. He also never noticed that the portrait was making plans and deciding strategy as he listened.
No matter how old, she knew one of her children needed it. This portrait would know what to do as he was trusted with some of the more obscure safeguarded magic of Hogwarts, and she could turn her attention to others of her children touched by Lady Magic. The Castle had work to do.
-===(| - |)===-
Lady Magic nodded to herself. There was a good start to her personal to-do list. Albus was mostly corrected and maybe tomorrow he would be ready to listen to the other thing she needed from him. The old goat buggerer (what a wonderful phrase she'd heard from his Deputy!) needed to be a part of a discussion about the job for Arthur and the others. Dear sweet Billy needed a distraction and she knew just what to do!
-===(| - |)===-
Billy burned his lips on the mug of hot tea as a cold shiver danced down his spine and came back up to caress the back of his neck. He looked around the room but there wasn't anything out of the usual. He waited for something to happen, but when nothing happened he started to worry.
What now, he wondered with every bit of anxiousness he'd ever possessed.