NOT EPILOG COMPLIANT

by Bfd1235813

Following the final battle, Ginny cut Harry loose. That one little thing left him at liberty to look for someone else, have a family and send the next generation forth into the world. As a side-effect, later events were NOT EPILOG COMPLIANT. Abandonment, family dysfunction, one incarcerated parent, M for adult themes.

Acknowledgment—This is a work of fan fiction deriving from the Harry Potter novels of J.K. Rowling. The author of this story makes no claims and gets no remuneration. This story is posted solely for the reading enjoyment of the fan fiction community.

Introduction

The Epilog in Book Seven assumes a certain outcome to some budding romances and Cursed Child opens up rich territory for next-gen speculation. Sadly, if Ginny Weasley ended up with Harry, that would mean Harry wouldn't get together with Daphne Greengrass. By changing just a few things Harry and Daphne would work out but then some other things would be affected and a completely new story line would branch off from the main stem. That would mean a tale that was-

NOT EPILOG COMPLIANT

By

Bfd1235813

The cheering was still going on as Harry Potter walked through the chaotic, reverberating scene in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He knew the victors needed a celebration. He also knew there were Death Eaters and disgraced Ministry types circulating, people who could cause chaos or start the fighting all over again if things weren't brought under control. Harry spotted George Weasley and waved him over.

"We've got to get their attention," Harry said as he took a pinch of George's sleeve.

They crossed to where the imposing Kingsley Shacklebolt bent forward, talking to the compact Minerva McGonagall. They were discussing next steps, now that Voldemort was dead, while having trouble hearing one another in the cacophony.

"This has to stop," Harry said, breaking into their conversation. "George, let off some whiz-bangs or something."

George didn't have a whiz-bang handy but he knew a nifty spell that imitated an aerial bomb. The Great Hall still had the structural integrity to stand up to such abuse and Harry grabbed his opportunity. He used a sonorous charm, just to make sure everyone could hear.

"You're all sitting ducks for a counter-attack," Harry said. "There will be time for this later. Meanwhile, Kingsley Shacklebolt is in command and will be organizing our mopping-up."

With that he stepped back to let Kingsley give the orders, motioning with his head for George to come with him.

"Thanks for the help. I'm really, really sorry about Fred. He wasn't exactly one of a kind, I guess…"

Something about the sincere sentiment mixed with puzzlement over how to pay tribute to Fred got to George.

"That is, somehow, hilarious, Harry," said George. "Fred would approve. Definitely."

George slapped Harry on his deltoid.

"Thanks. Thanks for that other thing, you know, He-Who—"

"Must-Not-Be-Named, yeah," Harry finished, nodding.

"Yeah. Merlin and Morgana forgive me, it was my pleasure, George," said Harry. "I mean it. You okay?"

"I'll be fine," said George. "Better get back to Molly and Arthur, they're going to need us to close ranks."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah. I'll be there, if you can give me a little time."

With that, they split, George returning to the clump of Weasleys who still stood around Fred's body.

"Need to get some casualty details organized," Harry observed to himself, making a mental note to revisit the issue when he finished his next task.

"Potter," said Draco Malfoy when Harry approached.

"Malfoy," he responded. "Got something for you."

He extended his right hand, Draco's wand between Harry's fingers, the grip toward Draco and the business end pointing back at himself. It was an extraordinary gesture, a non-verbal statement of trust on Harry's part. It did not go unnoticed by the Malfoys.

"Give your mum her wand," Harry said, punctuating with a little half smile aside to Narcissa.

"That's just a bit familiar!" bristled Lucius Malfoy, who stood behind his wife.

Harry wasn't worried. He'd just cut down Lucius Malfoy's leader right in front of him, in the process claiming a legendary wand as a trophy. He simply declined to acknowledge Lucius.

"It is, Lucius, and Lord Black hasn't done anything improper," said Narcissa, sending her own guarded smile Harry's way.

"You're well?" asked Harry, genuine concern in his voice.

"Yes, thank-you for asking," Narcissa answered. "Nothing a little rest won't fix."

"Good," said Harry. "I hope we can consult on a few things, soon."

He nodded at Narcissa, then Draco, then gave Lucius one nearly-imperceptible inclination of his head before turning back to his interrupted business in the Great Hall.

Harry stayed on at Hogwarts, cleaning up, leading work crews, avoiding contact with the magical press and staying in close touch with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been named Interim Minister for Magic, and Professor/Headmistress McGonagall. Word circulated that projections said the castle would be fit to host a resumption of classes by the first of October. The reconstituted Aurors were having great success finding and arresting fugitive Death Eaters. By the time his birthday arrived at the end of July, Harry had informed Headmistress McGonagall that he intended to return to Hogwarts and complete the classes he needed to sit for his NEWT exams, at least in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He left at the beginning of August and began work on a long list of personal administrative items, some more than a year old. Once those were complete he turned his attention to replacing his wardrobe and working with Kreacher to make his townhouse at #12 Grimmauld Place habitable.

He was sitting in the salon, trying to stay quiet enough not to awaken the portrait of the mad Walburga Black, when the rumbling 'whoosh' came from the fireplace, announcing an incoming floo call.

"Potter?"

"What?"

"Is that you?"

"Unless I'm mistaken. To just whom do I have the honor to speak?" asked Harry.

"Oh! Sorry, it's Draco," said the voice. "Malfoy. I need to ask you something. Personal."

"Want to come through?" Harry asked.

"Can I?"

"Sure, why not?" Harry answered, stepping across the room so that the new arrival wouldn't see him right away, drawing his wand at the same time.

"What? Oh, there you are," said Draco, looking around, his eyes stopping at Harry's wand.

"Yeah, just in case," said Harry, sounding a bit sheepish as he slid the wand back inside his sleeve.

"Understood, understood," Draco assured him. "Can't be too careful."

Harry thought that a bit rich, considering his history with the Malfoys.

"Kreacher!" Harry called out. "Mr. Draco's cloak, please, with a little soot removal before we give it back to him, then come back here for our drink orders."

Kreacher mumbled some 'Of course' and 'As you wish' responses that didn't sound overly-compliant. At least they weren't spoiled by snarky mutterings.

"He's almost civilized," Draco marveled.

"Coming along," Harry agreed. "Grab a seat. How's Narcissa?"

Harry couldn't work up any interest in Lucius' current affairs.

"A lot better than some," said Draco. "Glad the other presence is gone from our lives."

"Imagine that," said Harry, giving his head a little shake. "Andromeda said she'd reached out."

"Yeah, that whole…"

Draco let the thought drift off.

"Aunt Andromeda is a good person, you know? Even if she did get herself kicked out of the family, marrying for love and all that. Uncle Orion didn't have to disown her. Now Bellatrix, her, I don't miss."

Kreacher came back for drink orders.

"Butter beer?" said Draco.

"Iced tea, please," said Harry.

Kreacher was back almost immediately, delivering the beverages and two small bowls of mixed nuts.

"A brighter future," said Harry, raising his glass, Draco reciprocating with, "Hear-hear."

Harry wondered what Draco wanted but resolved to try and keep his peace until Draco saw fit to tell him about it.

"Thanks," said Draco after taking a good, long swallow of his butter beer. "Seen anyone? Since coming back to London, I mean."

"Does that mean have I seen anyone, like in Diagon Alley, or am I seeing anyone?" asked Harry.

"I was thinking the first, but either, I guess," answered Draco.

"Blaise Zabini, two days ago at Madam Malkin's," said Harry. "There were some people in the Leaky Cauldron when I passed through yesterday. Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas. You heard about Ginny?"

"Not really," said Draco.

"Oh. Well, she sat me down and we had a talk. I'm officially dumped," said Harry.

Draco's laugh was loud, a sudden and unexpected bark.

"And how are you doing?" he asked.

"Surprisingly well," said Harry. "It's odd. I'd have thought a person got more worked up over it."

He pondered the seeming contradiction, looking puzzled.

"If you don't mind an observation, Lord Harry, I never really understood you and—and Miss Weasley," said Draco. "With you and her brother being so close, something about it, you know?"

"Yeah, I do, now," Harry replied. "It didn't feel odd at the time. Now that I'm dumped, though, there is a kind of 'What were you thinking?' nagging at me."

They looked back and forth, swirling their drinks, trading smirks, feeling very worldly and adult.

"Oh, what's with the 'Lord' garbage?" Harry asked.

"Sirius made you his heir," said Draco. "I'm a Black, on Mum's side. You're Orion's worthy successor, once removed. It's a courtesy. Want me to stop?"

Harry looked at Draco's face, trying to figure out if he was having a secret laugh at Harry's expense, finally deciding Draco was at least half-sincere. They were living in troubled times, with lots of volatile issues still in flux. He decided it might be best to at least attempt to chart a middle course.

"Yeah, in here," Harry said. "It might be useful at some point. I'll let you know. When the time is right, we'll need to get Narcissa and Andromeda and Teddy and you and me together here and sort a few things out. This house needs a good cleanout. I don't want to be throwing away heirlooms."

"That's quite unexpected, Harry," Draco said. "Gracious, if I may. Your constituency will be pleased."

"He said with complete assurance," Harry said.

"So you're keeping the house?" asked Draco.

"I suppose. I need a place," Harry shrugged. "Godric's Hollow is a tourist attraction. Someone suggested building something new out there, which I might consider. Make it look anonymous. The Dursleys are gone from Little Whinging, which was never home anyway."

Resolution or no resolution, Harry discovered he was no match for his own curiosity and gave in.

"So, did you come to London to drink butterbeer and make small talk or is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh! Yes, there was. Is. Thanks for the reminder. I need to ask a favor, a big one, I'm afraid. If you don't want to do it, you can decline, but besides Ginny Weasley, are you seeing anyone? Granger, maybe?" asked Draco.

"No, Hermione conscripted Ron to go to Australia and help her with her parents," said Harry. "I…they…well, anyway. No, haven't done that kind of socializing with anyone since Ginny cut me loose. Why?"

"Oh, well, then, I don't know if you knew Astoria Greengrass at school but she is in Slytherin and we got to talking and kind of hit it off. We've been in touch and it has gotten to the point I suggested we go out for a bit of dinner, which means she has to have a chaperone."

"Merlin, Draco, how old is she?" Harry asked.

"Sixteen!" Draco protested. "We've less than two years between us. Well within tolerances, I assure you. Her parents just want someone to come along, for propriety's sake."

"Propriety? So you picked me? Or they did?"

Draco started laughing, again.

"NO!" he said. "You don't understand. You're not the chaperone! That's her sister. You come along to fill out the foursome. We double date so Astoria doesn't feel like the kid sister who needs a chaperone."

Harry sat back in his chair.

"Ah-h-h, so that's it," he said, Draco's predicament suddenly clarifying. "You can take her to dinner, but the big sister is part of the deal. Who is she, anyway?"

"Daphne Greengrass," said Draco. "She's in our year. You know her."

"Can't say I do, exactly," Harry said. "Don't remember the last time I saw her but I have a mental association with storks. And she's a bit distant, if I recall."

Draco agreed.

"More than a bit. You probably won't even have to make conversation. Daphne's very cerebral. She's coming back in the fall, too. NEWTs, apparently. I can come by here and get you, then we ought to be able to floo over to the Greengrass,' then dinner, maybe a walk in the park if everyone feels like it, then we take them home. Like I said, you'll be doing me a huge favor."

"Sure, I can help you out," said Harry. "What are you going to wear?"

"Dress shirt with a jacket," Draco answered. "No tie. I'll cover dinner for everyone."

Harry sat, still and silent, watching Draco's face. The realization hit, like an unexpected thunderclap on a sunny day.

"Merlin's beard, Malfoy, you're in love with her!"

"Yeah, I, um, I am," said Draco. "I confess. Keep it to yourself, though, will you? I don't want to scare her off. Or her parents. My intentions are strictly honorable, I swear. Maybe, if I mind my manners, she'll see me as a possibility."

The talk went on until they finished their drinks.

"Six o'clock Friday evening, right here, then," Draco said.

"I'll be here," said Harry.

Draco walked into the fireplace and dropped his floo powder.

Harry didn't go to great lengths in preparation for his odd date with Daphne Greengrass. He had a new pair of black denim jeans and a very respectable white shirt with a button-down collar. He put those together with a newish pair of chukka boots and a Navy blazer with brass buttons. It didn't look at all magical, lacking the stereotypical wizard's accessories—no green satin cummerbund nor thick, gold-rimmed monocle. He was presentable and would not look excessively out of place wherever they went for dinner.

Friday arrived.

"Potter?"

Harry looked over and spoke into the fireplace.

"Right here," he answered. "Come on through."

Draco walked into the salon accompanied by the usual 'whoosh' of the floo.

"Something to drink?" asked Harry.

He noticed Draco looking him over. Apparently he didn't find anything to which he felt he must object.

"Not for me," answered Draco. "If you're ready we'll just go."

"Right," said Harry as he reached for his cup of floo powder. "Address?"

"Greengrass Ridge," said Draco.

They arrived inside a very generous fireplace that took up much of one wall of a library. Harry looked around at the welcome committee. There were four, an older man, an older woman and two younger women. The Greengrass daughters weren't going to be hard to keep straight as one had hair the color of mahogany and couldn't look at anyone but Draco. She had to be Astoria, Malfoy's sixteen-year-old muse.

That meant the other, with hair that, for some reason, made Harry think of church brasses, had to be the stork-like Daphne. He was looking at her church-brass hair, in fact, when she turned her head to look directly at him. Cerebral Daphne gave him just the slightest smile.

"Harry Potter," she stated. She might have been guiding a class through a set of specimens.

"Miss Greengrass," Harry returned. His heels were together and he finished with a bit of a bow.

"And..." he turned to the elders.

"Oh, Harry, please, may I present Daphne and Astoria's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass?" Draco interjected, prompting Mr. Greengrass to step forward, right hand out toward Harry.

"It's Cyrus, Harry, please," he said as they shook.

"Harry Potter," replied Harry, adding, "Just to clarify."

Cyrus was sneaking a look at Harry's hairline, as everyone had to do at least once, when his wife let go a laugh at Harry's comment.

"Lilith," she said as she offered her hand.

'Lilith,' thought Harry, trying to remember the significance of the name.

"An honor, Mrs. Greengrass," he said, gently accepting the hand.

Her fingers closed on Harry's as he straightened up, not letting go.

"Lilith," she repeated.

"Lilith," Harry said after her.

She smiled as she loosened her grip and Harry caught her eyes as they flicked toward his scar, then back to hold his own.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Lilith said, blushing furiously for having been caught.

"No need," Harry said. "Everyone has to look. Maybe it saves us all a bunch of time."

"How so?" asked Astoria.

"Non-verbal communication," said Harry. "I'm here. He's not."

"And with that," said Draco, "Perhaps?"

He gestured toward the fireplace. Cyrus had a puzzled look, not concerned, exactly, but assessing the little group of students. Daphne caught Harry's eye. She looked pleased with him, Harry thought.

"We'll be getting some dinner at that Italian place in Wandwood," Draco said.

Wandwood was another magical district, not as heavily-trafficked as Diagon Alley. It was less frantic, more roomy and hosted a different mix of businesses, such as a magical Northern Italian restaurant and some small galleries.

Draco gave the address of a public floo. Harry had heard of it, although it wasn't one he'd ever used. He turned to Daphne when it was their turn.

"Have you been there? I have a history of tweaking pronunciation and going off-course," he said.

"Come with me," said Daphne, winking at her mother just as she dropped her floo powder.

The floo cooperated and took them to the spot Draco had named, which was a short walk from the restaurant. Harry complimented Daphne on her technique, eliciting a sigh. Harry thought Daphne was going to respond, then, in the end, she let it go. They walked behind Draco and Astoria, giving them space so they felt like they were a couple out together while Daphne and Harry were close enough to meet the requirements of responsible chaperonage.

Harry understood it was Draco and Astoria's date, so he focused on his food and listened for cues that someone was about to send a comment or question his way. Once in a while he'd look at his date, Daphne, and ask if she needed anything.

That was it. They weren't all that far from Hyde Park so Draco suggested a little walk to settle dinner. Astoria thought it was a great idea, but pled fatigue, so the foursome walked around a bit of Wandwood, looking in gallery windows and agreeing they'd come back when they had more time. Harry tried very hard to keep his mind on the work he'd been assigned, that of eunuch escort for the designated chaperone, Daphne Greengrass. This became more difficult as the evening progressed.

Daphne said little, as Harry had remembered. When she spoke, she had something to say. She, too, seemed to be making a conscious effort to blend with the background, making Astoria the evening's star. Even so, when she sent Harry a little smile or made a witty comment, he had to fight the urge to suggest they leave the others so they could stroll around a bit all on their own.

Eventually, Draco and Harry returned their dates to Greengrass Ridge, and their parents. That was the only time Daphne let Astoria out of her sight. When the party exited the library fireplace, Daphne put her arm through Harry's and used his own humerus to steer him out into the hallway.

"Got to let them say good-bye," she explained, after she'd closed the door. "Now we report in."

Daphne's parents were sitting silently in the main floor salon, each with an open volume on their lap. Harry stopped just inside the door and let Daphne handle the conversation.

"How'd it go?" asked Lilith.

"Well," Daphne said, a little smirk apparent in her tone. "You're going to have to go to that restaurant."

"Did Astoria eat well?" Lilith wanted to know.

"Very well," Daphne answered. "You'd have been pleased."

Lilith smiled at Daphne before looking over at Harry.

"What did you think, Harry?"

"Nice place," he said. "I liked the neighborhood, too."

He tried not to but just had to glance over at Daphne. The neighborhood was a great place to take Daphne Greengrass to stretch her legs. He wondered if Daphne was harboring a reciprocal opinion.

He needn't have questioned it as was apparent when Daphne's owl arrived the next day just as Harry sat down to compose his own bread and butter note.

'Mr. Potter,' Daphne began.

'Kind of formal,' thought Harry.

'You did Astoria, and all the Greengrass family, a huge favor last night. I'm not ashamed to say I feel I am in your debt. Perhaps you will do me the honor of allowing me to take you to tea one of these days? My treat!

Sincerely,

Daphne Greengrass'

Harry read the note, a second time and then a third. Dense as he thought he was, about magicals and especially the young witches with whom he attended Hogwarts, Harry knew there were layers of meaning in Daphne's four-sentence epistle. After fifteen minutes he returned to his own note, resigned to wait for further information as it seemed he had little chance of decoding the brief cypher.

Harry did let Daphne take him to tea. Returning the favor, he used an occlusion charm and flew his Firebolt to Greengrass Manor, taking Daphne out for some sightseeing. His gallantry was very well-received as Daphne loved flying her own broomstick but was the only one in her family who did. Lilith didn't like Daphne flying around alone, lest some accident occur. The distinguished Gryffindor seeker and dispatcher of dark lords, Harry Potter, was a good fit for Lilith's mental picture of a suitable flying companion for her daughter.

"What is this Greengrass Ridge?" Harry asked when they were taking a break next to a stone footbridge. "Your place is flat."

"Hah!" Daphne exploded. "Gotcha!"

"What?" asked Harry.

"Would you have guessed our floo address?"

"No, probably not," Harry answered.

"Neither does anyone else," Daphne confirmed, her voice betraying a tiny bit of condescension. "Our floos have been secure for decades. Centuries, maybe."

She appeared to be completely sincere. Harry found the presence of mind to nod his agreement.

He didn't hear any more from Draco as the summer passed. Harry got himself to Hogsmeade, not wishing to take the Hogwarts Express, answer endless questions and notice all the missing faces that ought to have been aboard. He arrived early and paid a courtesy call on the headmistress.

"Everything ready?" Harry asked.

"No, of course not," said Professor McGonagall. "As ready as we could get it. I'm glad to see you, Potter. Hogwarts will get a lot out of you and the other eighth-years, I'm thinking. A bit of steadying influence."

Harry nodded. He hoped so.

The eighth-year students made up many of their own rules, right from the beginning of term feast. Harry sat with Gryffindor to welcome the new firsties, then got up and moved to the Slytherin table. He asked, with a gesture, if he could sit next to Daphne Greengrass. She tossed her head to the side, a silent request that Millicent Bulstrode give them a little space. Millicent didn't look pleased, but she complied and moved down the Slytherin bench. Harry gave her a big smile and mouthed 'Thank-you!' Millicent blushed and looked everywhere but at Harry.

Astoria sat with Draco, opposite Harry and down a few spaces.

"Is that an engagement ring?" Harry whispered from behind his hand.

"Yes," Daphne breathed her answer in Harry's ear. "Draco asked, she said yes, he met with our parents and they gave their blessing."

Harry felt Daphne's lips just touching his outer ear, her whispered words faint, like the sound a receding wave leaves behind. He assumed the tiny sensation of something of Daphne's just brushing the skin at the entrance to his ear canal was completely inadvertent, in view of their responsibility to set a good example for the firsties.

Harry didn't room at Hogwarts unless he was needed for some late meetings or overnight patrol duties. Daphne, too, went home most nights. She was taking three classes for which she wanted to sit her NEWT exams. Some days her schedule was free. The texts and her class notes were portable so she took them home and avoided the distractions of Hogwarts.

They were in the habit of walking out the front gates to the Hogwarts property and going to their homes by apparition, so it was inevitable that they would cross paths there at some point.

"Where are you off to?" asked Daphne.

It was a brilliant day near the end of October, the air as clear, and hard, as a flawless diamond.

"Home," said Harry. "I'll focus and study hard for three hours and get more out of it than if I stayed up half the night here. You?"

"The Ridge," she replied.

"The one in the flatland?" asked Harry.

"The same," Daphne confirmed. "Well, then. Until next time?"

She left by disapparation. Harry thought the 'pop' left behind by her spell was singularly attractive, like the air around a citrus tree in bloom.

"How do you do it?" Daphne asked the next week.

"Do what?"

"You go to London, to study," she said. "How do you get any studying done?"

"Hole up in the house, let Kreacher keep me supplied with coffee and biscuits," Harry answered. "Why? What do you do when you're at the manor with all those distractions?"

"What distractions?" Daphne asked.

"Don't you have animals? A broom? Lots of space to fly around and not worry about passing helicopters? Your parents must be throwing garden parties every time the law allows."

"Just two a year," Daphne said. "Bring your books and come see for yourself. It's all quite isolated and conducive to concentration."

"I may take you up on that," Harry said, noticing how Daphne seemed very pleased with herself just before he apparated away.

Harry allowed himself one extracurricular activity that year, helping out with the Gryffindor quidditch team. Ginny Weasley was the consensus choice for captain. Harry stepped back and gave Ginny all the space she needed to run practice and make player decisions. His main task was to work with the seekers on flying and snitch-spotting technique.

"If I could pick it up, with my eyes, you definitely have adequate eyesight. That leaves focus and actually getting to the snitch," he'd say.

After two or three weeks of practice, Ginny broke down and paid Harry a compliment, noting the seekers were 'coming along.' Harry thanked her for noticing and tried to come up with something positive for Ginny.

"Team is looking good, considering," he said, getting a very satisfied smile and a 'Thanks,' from Ginny.

Harry didn't think there was any chance Ginny's feelings toward him would change. She seemed quite happy to be Gryffindor quidditch captain and Dean Thomas' girlfriend. It couldn't be spoken of without breaking amateur rules but it was assumed Ginny would be in the professional quidditch league's draft at the end of the current season. Harry was still debating whether he would enter or not. A lot would depend on his NEWT scores and what they had to say about his prospects.

Daphne continued to conduct herself according to the highest standards of propriety. Once in a great while she would conduct an experiment, as she did when she accidentally made contact with Harry's outer ear while telling him something in confidence. These allowed her to assess whether Harry Potter was reacting negatively to such stimuli. He hadn't begun to, which told Daphne she did not induce an allergic response, while Harry stubbornly refused to be stimulated to the point he extended a tentative invitation for Daphne to proceed.

"But you're already engaged, everyone knows that," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Draco. "So what? We haven't had a party and there hasn't been an announcement. Astoria deserves all the bells and whistles."

"Okay, I don't doubt that," said Harry. "I just didn't know it happened this way. Raised by muggles, you know."

"Hey, you're doing great," said Draco. "So you'll look favorably on an invitation?"

They were standing in a clump of eighth-year students, watching the Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch match. Quality of play could have been better but the quidditch seasons had been very sketchy since quidditch was canceled during their fourth year.

"Yeah, my Yule is looking pretty tame," said Harry.

Daphne Greengrass was standing on the other side of Draco. Harry tried not to look right at her because she was in his peripheral vision and he could see she had turned to face him, full on. His face felt hot, even in the December air. A cheer went up from the stands. Gryffindor's chasers scored a goal. The Lions seemed to be a better team while Slytherin was stubborn and refused to be put away. No one had gotten anywhere close to the snitch.

"Great!" said Draco. "Look for Mother's owl."

The eighth-year scholars had created their own custom of standing together, just off the pitch and avoiding the grandstands. They were special cases. They knew it, the regular students knew it and all the witch and wizard alumni knew it. They didn't want VIP treatment from anyone but one another. Harry didn't know when he realized that nor when he'd taken the time to analyze their situation. It occurred to him that he might need to bounce the idea off someone whose scholarship and analytical abilities he respected. Hermione was busy, being Head Girl. Maybe Daphne Greengrass would like to sit and talk philosophy for a bit. Harry stepped around behind Draco and joined Daphne.

"When you've had your fill of quidditch, do you have plans for later?" he asked.

"No, why?" answered Daphne.

"I don't know, the Three Broomsticks just sounded like fun, all of a sudden," said Harry. "I have a taste for butterbeer. Interested?"

"Only if you take me right now," said Daphne. "It's cold and I'm tired of casting warming charms."

"Oh," said Harry. "That worked out, didn't it?"

"Isn't that something?" asked Daphne. "Wonder if the stars had to line up just right?"

The distance between the Hogwarts gates and the Three Broomsticks could be covered almost instantaneously by apparition. Harry declined and strode ahead so Daphne stretched her legs, just to keep up with Harry, initially, but finding stork mode more agreeable the further they went. Getting warmed up was an additional benefit.

"Whoo!"

Daphne whipped off her scarf, then waved to Madam Rosmerta. Harry waved and held up two fingers. Rosmerta didn't need clarification.

"Done any practice tests?" Harry asked.

"Yep," said Daphne. "Very pleased, altogether. You?"

Harry nodded as Daphne picked up her glass.

"Defense looks very good, potions…eh…not so much."

"What's the problem?" asked Daphne.

"Formulas," said Harry. "I'm not a memorizer. There isn't time to read every word in the formula when we do the practical."

"Ever use any of those drill cards?" asked Daphne.

"No, did you? Do they work?"

"I've got the beginning, intermediate and advanced at the house," said Daphne.

She took a drink of butterbeer, swallowed and put her glass on the table. There was an inch or two left. Harry was ahead.

"Another?" he asked.

"Why don't we go look at those card sets?" Daphne asked.

They took the floo from the Three Broomsticks to Greengrass Manor, whose floo address was Greengrass Ridge. Daphne called out to her parents, stashed Harry at the cute ice cream parlor table in the breakfast room and went for her potions cards.

"So," Daphne said as she dropped three boxes on the table. "Tea? Tea for Mr. Potter and myself, Pris!"

Harry guessed Pris was the elf who managed hospitality for guests. Tea was delivered and Daphne began introducing Harry to the potions drill cards.

"Beginning. Intermediate. Advanced."

Daphne pointed to each box in order.

"Got that. Printed on the boxes. Very helpful," said Harry.

"Well, then, you've all but got this subject mastered, haven't you?" Daphne said.

It only lasted moments but the set of Daphne's eyes and the angle of her nose brought a flash of memory, of a visit to the zoo, and the dinosaur Harry had seen looking out through the eyes of a marabou stork.

"You can use the cards several different ways" Daphne began. "Organized by type of potion required you can identify the multiple potions that might do the same job. Maybe you want the simplest one to brew or the one with the least side effects. Organized by ingredients you can identify the cheap ones, expensive ones, the versatile ones. 'Twelve Uses for Dragon's Blood' is just one example. Want to try working with some?"

They sat across the table parsing potions this way and that. Harry learned that Daphne had become fascinated by potions through playing with the cards, making up more and more challenging games for herself all through her middle years at Hogwarts. Obviously, she had a talent for potions that would probably have revealed itself anyway. Still, she credited the cards with paving her way to a very sophisticated understanding of potions, their ingredients, how the potioneer crafts a potion to be mild, strong, temporary, long-lasting, pleasant for nose or palate and any number of other attributes, according to need and skill level.

"Take them home with you," said Daphne.

She had just sorted the cards and returned them to their boxes.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained. They worked for me," Daphne said. "Did I hear you're free for an engagement party over the Yule holidays?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry. "I told Draco I'd come. Does that sound really odd to you, now, with everything that happened?"

"Should it?" asked Daphne. "Have you made your peace with all that nonsense?"

"Most of it," Harry said. "Not Fenrir Greyback. How could anyone want to kill Lavender Brown? Some of the other Death Eaters. Death was too lenient for Peter Pettigrew. Sorry. Don't want to offend."

"Why?" asked Daphne. "You're orders of magnitude more forgiving than the average human being. You wanted to see justice done and to defend the people you care about. I don't know why a witch would object to that."

The effects of hearing a juxtaposition of 'witch' and 'people you care about' took them both by surprise. Harry assessed his emotional status and did a little corrective steering to the conversation.

"Where's the party going to be?" he asked. "Draco didn't say."

"Here," said Daphne.

"Oh. Suppose that makes sense. What should I wear?" asked Harry.

"The wizards can get a little creative at Yule so you won't stick out, no matter what you wear," said Daphne. "Got a nice robe for evening? You can wear one of those over almost anything."

"I ought to be able find something," he said, picturing himself in white shirt, black tie, black silk vest in lieu of a cummerbund, all brought together by a formal black robe.

The engagement party went well. Harry and Daphne had consulted four or five times during the preceding weeks. They hadn't used 'Mr. Potter' or 'Miss Greengrass' in any recent encounters.

"Harry!" exclaimed Daphne when she opened the front door.

She presented her cheek for Harry to bump with his, or to mime a little peck, if he were so inclined. Daphne looked down at Harry's hands, and the small gift-wrapped package he held.

"Um…I didn't know if a gift was appropriate, so, I got this and we can call it an early Yule present, if, you know, it isn't," he said.

"Can you repeat that?" asked Daphne.

Harry took her literally and tried to remember what he'd said.

"No," he confessed. "Just a little remembrance of the occasion. If protocol and/or custom allows."

Daphne had taken Harry's arm and steered him into a study off the central hallway, then closed the door.

"I didn't get anything for you," she confessed as she laid the package on an etagere, preparatory to the little wand movement that untied the ribbon and removed the tissue paper.

It wasn't anything showy. Daphne wasn't the party's center of attention, that would be Astoria, with Draco in second place. Daphne uncovered the little box and took out a gold bangle. A substantial gold bangle with a little figure worked into the band. She looked closely. As she suspected, the figure was a heart, repeated over and over as it circled the wearer's wrist. Daphne looked up, staring at Harry, barely breathing.

"I can accept this if you'll clarify something for me," she said.

"Okay," said anxious, red-faced Harry.

"The heart. That says this goes past ordinary friendship," Daphne said. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes. I felt us go beyond friendship that day we ditched quidditch," Harry said, fighting to suppress the declaration threatening to burst its bonds. "Did you feel it too?"

Daphne nodded, once, gulped and added a whispered, "Yes," at the end.

Harry picked up the bangle, then waved his wand at the door. The latch gave a very satisfying 'Click' as it locked. The bangle slipped over Daphne's hand. It looked right at home on her wrist. Harry didn't let her hand go. Instead, he gave it a little tug, bringing the rest of Daphne close along with it. Eyes closed. Lips met.

Someone, a prankster, opened the study's door silently, no doubt by using a wand.

"a-HUM."

The throat didn't need clearing, it was an announcement. Harry and Daphne broke off their kiss, then separated.

"OH! Mother, well, Happy Yule!" Daphne improvised. "Ahh…Happy Yule, Harry!"

"Happy Yule, Daphne. Happy Yule, Mrs. Greengrass!" Harry said.

"Happy Yule, Harry," Mrs. Greengrass replied.

Harry half-expected to be asked to leave Greengrass Manor forthwith. No one had any reason to see him as anything other than camouflage for Daphne during her tour of duty. An occasional study date barely disturbed the equilibrium.

"About ready?" asked Lilith, her eyes migrating to the new bangle on her daughter's wrist.

"Yes, Mum," answered Daphne, her eyes just flicking at Harry, then away.

Lilith Greengrass gave them both one last look and slipped out, closing the door as she left. Harry heard the latch click home.

"What in the world?" he asked.

"She was looking for confirmation," Daphne answered. "She's very observant. Intuitive, too. Knows how two and two work together to make four."

Daphne shrugged. Harry pursed his lips.

"I knew, I guess," he said. "To do this properly, I meet with your father? Or both together?"

"Either way," said Daphne. "There is no hard and fast. A bit redundant, now, possibly."

It was the way she said it that made Harry laugh out loud.

"Whenever you can get me an appointment, then. At their convenience," he said.

"Of course," said Daphne. "I'll let you know. You look very nice tonight, by the way. You might as well become my official escort, since…"

Daphne motioned toward the door with her head.

"They'll all stand together as a receiving line for arriving guests, which ought to be anytime, now. You and I will manage elves, keep things on schedule, troubleshoot. Ready?"

"Oh, why not?" said Harry. "I have to learn these things sometime."

Harry thought Daphne stiffened a little at that. Her head went back and her focus seemed to be far distant, outside the room. She crossed to the door, which she opened, standing back so Harry could step out into the hallway that bisected the house.

Daphne led the way to a large dining room. Harry saw the elder Malfoys and Greengrass' in the library as they walked past, along with Draco and Astoria. Draco looked at Astoria, him smiling, Astoria glowing. Harry noticed Astoria's perfect posture, her back inches away from the back of the straight chair on which she was sitting, knees together, ankles crossed, a holly sprig worked into her upswept hair.

"Lord Harry," Daphne said.

They were alone in the dining room, except for the buffet spread across the dining table.

"You don't have to…"

"Stop," Daphne said, raising her hand in the traffic cop motion. "You are. This is an important occasion. Lives are affected by what happens at these things. Getting you on board for their engagement party is quite a coup for the happy couple AND the parents. Understand?"

"Not entirely?" Harry tried.

"The recent unpleasantness? Recall?" asked Daphne.

"Oh, you bet I do," said Harry.

"The prospective groom was, at least part of the time, on the wrong side," Daphne went on.

"True."

"My sister, for whatever reason, has chosen him for her very own. She's had some rotten luck in her young life. I think she deserves something nice. An engagement party. A sister who loves and supports her. A welcome from the civilized elements of British magical society. Where am I going?"

"It sounds like I stand near you and you drop, 'Lord Harry, could you this, Lord Harry could you that…' at strategic moments," Harry answered. "Along with a gracious gesture, like so."

He made his hand do a languid and elegant wave toward an imaginary inconvenience.

"Exactly," said Daphne. "And you are just the sweetest man on this island for helping me out tonight. Do you drink?"

"Haven't been," Harry explained. "Working with the quidditch kids."

"There is some very fine champagne chilled. It's hard to come by and it won't be served to the guests. I'll see you get a wee taste when we've sent them all packing. And, it sounds like we're on!"

Daphne turned toward the voices coming down the hallway and stepped out of the double doors, Harry following along. He listened to the welcomes, greetings and congratulations going back and forth in the foyer. Daphne knew most of guests. The majority were family, family friends and Astoria's classmates. Harry stayed close but out of the way, smiling and nodding when cued. Daphne used 'Lord Harry' strategically, not overdoing it. Harry sought a pattern in the recipients she chose.

The Malfoy factor kept members of the new government away, with one exception. Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and his wife stopped by between engagements. Kingsley and Cyrus had been Hogwarts classmates.

Protocol for reciprocal greetings between a former Death Eater and the Minister for Magic had yet to be established, mere months having passed since Harry's ultimate confrontation with Voldemort. Kingsley rose to the occasion, extending his hand to Lucius Malfoy before delivering the shortest handshake on record, accompanied by a muttered query: "Staying out of trouble, Lucius?"

Kingsley and Mrs. Shacklebolt finished greeting everyone in the receiving line and turned down the hallway. As expected, guests had lingered, waiting for a look at the minister. The hallway opened up as the guests stepped back to the walls to make way for the minister. Someone started the clapping which was soon quite loud and continuous. The ministerial couple walked the hallway gauntlet, nodding graciously, eventually reaching Daphne and Harry. They traded greetings while the applause and cheers threatened to cause hearing damage.

Daphne had known the Shacklebolts all her life. Both of them had literally cradled her swaddled body in their arms, oohing and aaahing at her beauty and the firm grip she applied to their fingertips. Daphne laid on her deepest curtsy. Kingsley bent over her hand, the bangle catching his eye.

"New?" he asked, keeping his hand in place beneath Daphne's perfectly-manicured fingertips.

"Lord Harry," Daphne managed. "An hour ago."

"Lord Harry!" Kingsley marveled as he looked over. "So very well-done!"

He turned back to Daphne.

"What we've come to expect, haven't we?"

Daphne turned even redder, limiting her answer to a silent nod.

Harry and Kingsley shook hands then Harry heard the call to do a little directing.

"Madame Shacklebolt, Lilith and Daphne arranged all of this, why don't we find you a little nourishment?" Harry said as he offered his arm.

Daphne walked with Kingsley while Harry fawned over his own special guest, making sure she had a few attractive items from the buffet, calling over an elf for two flutes of the admittedly pedestrian champagne the Greengrass' were serving the guests. Once they had their cargo, Harry took his charges to the salon where everyone could spread out a bit more. He found a convenient shelf for the plate, left the Shacklebolts with Daphne while he went to fetch additional napkins then functioned as a self-appointed press aide, making sure there weren't any flash photos of Kingsley stuffing a piece of puff pastry into his mouth for the next morning's Daily Prophet.

A quick photographer did get an excellent shot featuring the foursome-silent Harry, beautiful Daphne, handsome Mrs. Shacklebolt-all looking completely absorbed by the point the Minister was making. The Prophet even had the good taste not to use it on the social page, where it would compete with Astoria, but on the back, where the visually-interesting shots that didn't fit anywhere else ended up.

The party wound down. Daphne kept current with the guest numbers. Draco and his parents left at eleven, after which Astoria quietly excused herself and went to her bedroom. Harry knew Daphne orchestrated it, somehow, but he never did figure exactly how she delivered him to the library where her parents were sitting, having a little after-action discussion of events just past.

"I'll take a moment and see how the elves are doing," said Daphne.

She had just ushered Harry into the library, pushed him forward with a light hand on his back, then made her escape. Harry heard the latch click. He didn't know what he was going to say, having no prior experience in his exact situation. Two pairs of eyes scrutinized him, waiting, so he gave up and plunged in.

"Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass, I am pleased to inform you that your daughter Daphne and I have had words regarding our future. We believe we can make one another happy. I wish to call upon her as a suitor. My intentions, if she finds me acceptable, are to marry and build a life with her. I will be happy to answer any questions you might have, if I'm able."

Cyrus and Lilith seemed to be struck mute. Neither said anything. Both looked back and forth between their spouse and Harry Potter.

Lilith came to her senses first.

"Well, Lord Harry, isn't this a bit sudden? Were you dating before, that is, the Dark Lord—Cyrus, help me out!" she said.

"I think what Mrs. Greengrass is asking, Lord Harry, is do you think you know one another well enough? We don't either one seem to have any recollection of you and Daphne even being acquainted until last summer. Everything has been tumbled, topsy-turvy. Of course you're well-connected, that was quite visible tonight," said Cyrus.

"Thank-you, sir, and if I may, you can call me Harry," he said.

"Not if you're going to call me Lord Greengrass," Cyrus huffed. "I won't be the puffed-up overblown snob here, inside my own house."

"Fine, Cyrus, Lilith. Let me begin by saying Draco did me a huge favor, asking me to go along and make a fourth when he took Astoria out to dinner. He thought it was the other way around, but he was wrong. Daphne has been both kind and helpful to me, working to get me over some difficulties with potions, including me in Astoria's event just tonight. By joining in I've come to some understanding of what my life is going to be like, unless I move to South Georgia or somesuch. Daphne knew precisely where we'd ought to be and what we needed to do all night long. I know I need that. It's like magic, the way she has given me just a little peek into the future. And, I had recently to admit to myself that I'm hopelessly mad for her."

Harry stayed on the carpet as long as he could as he stepped slowly across the room, then pulled open the door to the hallway, exposing Daphne and Astoria just outside in their party clothes, leaning close to the door jamb in full eavesdropping mode.

"Anything to add?" Harry asked. "Questions about my finances? The townhouse?"

"Cyrus," said Lilith. "Do it."

"Harry, you have our blessing," said Cyrus. "Daphne's mother has concerns about timing so perhaps you can draw it all out just a bit so she won't feel shortchanged. I knew we were making a mistake, stopping at two. Let the courtship begin."

"Who's for a glass of the good champagne?" suggested Daphne.

NINETEEN YEARS LATER

The magical platform at King's Cross Station looked much as it always had. The Hogwarts Express was gleaming, a polished gem in a flat black world. The sooty brick walls and columns might have been the inside of a jewel box, the colors and lighting chosen not for practicality but to show off the prize of the collection to its best advantage.

Harry and Daphne navigated their children through the throngs of magicals of all ages who'd come to either board the Express or deliver students to its tender mercies. School trunks on trolleys careened down the platform. They had an advantage over their muggle opposite numbers in that they were charmed to avoid collisions with unsuspecting travelers.

The Potters' eldest, James, had been given the surname Greengrass. Cyrus had no sons so his title and estate would remain intact through the artifice of designating the first male issue of either of the Greengrass daughters the future Lord Greengrass. Cyrus had succumbed to a sudden outbreak of dragon pox two years prior, so young James Sirius Potter Greengrass was technically Lord James. Lilith had risen to the occasion when Cyrus died, becoming a hands-on manager of the estate and other Greengrass assets.

Harry recognized and respected Lilith's abilities. He requested an appointment for himself and James just after his son's thirteenth birthday.

"What I brought James over to discuss, Lilith, was getting him acquainted with the business side of things. The only real preparation for taking up his future responsibilities, may that day be another century in the future, is to work with the chief executive. I certainly had to learn that the hard way. If it hadn't been for Daphne…"

The buttering-up went on a good deal longer but the general tone and direction were set. Lilith asked James a few questions, judged him sufficiently enthusiastic about the project and brought him on as her assistant.

James appreciated the opportunity to get out and away from the Potter household for several hours a day, six days a week. Lilith took James around with her when she went on her rounds to look over fields and pastures with the farmers who rented the land. She brought him into her study and bade him sit and read financial statements and tell her what he thought they meant. She forced herself to donate Cyrus' old oiled canvas jacket and hat so James could replace those items on the mudroom coat hooks with his own. By the end of summer, the youngest Potter, Lily, was calling her brother 'Lord Greenie.' He graciously let her get away with it.

The second Potter, Albus, was, in many ways, the opposite of his brother. James was voluble, Albus could be moody. James plunged ahead, Albus paused to observe and think about alternative routes. James knew everyone in his year at Hogwarts and a good number of those in the years ahead of him, while Albus had one real friend, his cousin Scorpius Malfoy. James and Albus weren't enemies, just different.

When James arrived at Hogwarts two years before, he had been sorted into Gryffindor, his father's old house. James was considered quite the catch, as Harry Potter's son. There were a lot of self-congratulatory comments among the Gryffindors: "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Blood will tell. Like sticks to like." The contemporary Gryffindors had not had the challenges faced by Harry Potter and his cohort. Harry, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger-Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan and the Weasley twins, Fred and George, were casually referred to in the common room as 'The Legends.' Still, the young Gryffs had a feeling that they were somehow associated with The Legends by virtue of residence in The Legends' old quarters. James S.P. Greengrass reinforced that self-image whenever he walked through the common room or took his seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

Daphne Potter had lived with increasing levels of anxiety as the date for delivering James to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters approached. She knew, as a Slytherin old girl, that many of the Slytherins would be considering James' sorting into their house something of a done deal. His mother was a distinguished former Slytherin. His father, although a Gryffindor, probably ought to have been a Slytherin as he demonstrated by his methodical hoarding of resources, building alliances and springing the trap on the late and unlamented rogue Slytherin, the self-styled Lord Voldemort. Current Slytherins, for the most part, considered Voldemort something of a poseur. What master criminal chose his own pseudonym and settled on 'Mouse of Death?' The new generation of Slytherins dismissed Voldemort and much of the late war, their reasoning being, 'I didn't have anything to do with it.'

Thus there was some disappointment in Slytherin at James' sorting into Gryffindor. Daphne managed a gracious smile when they read James' owl post at the breakfast table the morning after he was sorted. James could not have been happier, it seemed. That might have been the sole element in the complex mix that Daphne found a bit hurtful.

'I have another son,' a self-congratulatory Daphne thought to herself, sending a loving look across the table to Albus.

Two years later, Albus stood next to his father on the platform, watching the bacchanal swirling around them. Students, mostly the younger ones, laughed and cut up. Quidditch teammates clumped together, making 'har-r-rumph' noises and tapping their broomsticks on the pavers when they approved of something. Now and then one of them would instigate a general wave of positive responses bringing on a sequence of, 'Har-r-rumph, yes, quite so, quite so,' to a tapping broomstick counter-melody. Harry soaked it up, wallowing in the good feelings the athletes generated. Whenever he happened on such a scene it brought back his early memories of what he considered his first real home, Hogwarts, and the family, the lifelong fellowship of quidditch players, that rescued him from the Dursleys.

Albus had been standing, quietly, pondering the scene.

"Anything?" Harry asked.

"Not really," answered Albus. "Would you be disappointed if I didn't go to Gryffindor?"

"All the houses have their good…" Harry began, until Albus cut in.

"…and not-so-good," he quoted.

Harry laughed.

"Have I worn that out?" asked Harry.

"Sort of," said Albus. "I know that. I believe you. There isn't anything wrong with Gryffindor, but James is there. He's two years older so I will always be two years behind."

"You're assuming the others will be judgmental," said Harry. "Comparing you to James when you'll always be at a disadvantage."

"Yep," said Albus before he let out a big, sighing exhalation.

"I understand," said Harry. "Sincerely. I wasn't a big deal when I was a first year. I might not have been any kind of deal. No idea what magic was. My wand was still in the box!"

"Yeah, then you and Uncle Draco got into it during your first flying lesson and you were the Gryffindor seeker, your first year," said Albus.

"Oh, well, Al, sometimes Fortune plays these tricks," said Harry. "I hope you don't think I had anything to do with that because I assure you I didn't. Not the circumstances nor my own work at flying. Not right then. I did get better, of course, the more we flew. Did you do all that thinking by yourself? That's pretty impressive. Very logical. Must get it from your mother. Maybe you'd like it in Slytherin? Scorpius could end up there."

"The Slytherins were your enemies, though," said a fretful Albus. "Wouldn't you remember that when you saw me?"

"Not all of them," said Harry. "Your mother was a Slytherin. I can assure you we are not enemies."

Harry thought back a few hours, when Daphne had insisted they were going to need the silencing charm so he'd just as well cast it before he got into bed. They hadn't been enemies then, not by any standard. A dreamy, involuntary smile took over Harry's face. He hadn't noticed Daphne was getting so close until she jabbed her thumb into his ribs.

"If that is what's been on your mind, Albus, I swear right here that I will be pleased with you, whatever house you're in. Hold that thought about James and Gryffindor and that two-year head start he has when the hat is on your head. Can you do that? The hat has a lot of discretion and centuries of experience. Some families clump. Look at the Weasleys. Others, not so much. I know, personally, of twins that went to different houses. They did very well. Spreading the Potters around could be a good thing years from now. You'll be working on something together and you'll have one network and James will have another and you'll have double the influence and resources."

Harry felt Daphne's hand slip under his arm. He turned his head her way as she rewarded him with a wink and a private little smile. Those usually meant approval.

"There's Rose," said Lily. "Hi Rose!"

Rose Granger-Weasley cut through the throng, her personal force field arranging a path of least resistance for her to tread. Rose headed straight for Lily, bending, wrapping her arms around Lily's waist and lifting her off the platform.

"Lily Potter!" Rose exclaimed. "My favorite witch in the whole world! What are you doing here?"

"Bringing James and Albus to the train!" Lily explained. "Just like you!"

"Really?" questioned Rose. "My, my, isn't that a coincidence?"

Rose swiveled and looked at Albus. Albus looked back. Neither spoke. Neither would because they always refused to be the first one. Hermione Granger-Weasley arrived, Ron and Hugo Granger-Weasley some distance behind due to the resistance of the crowd on the platform.

"Harry!" said Hermione. "Daphne!"

"Hullo, Hermione," they said, together.

Heads that had ignored the Potters just minutes before began to turn and stare. James walked up.

"Guess who I just saw?" he asked.

"The Queen?" asked Lily.

"Not as such," said James. "Teddy. Lupin. He's right down there."

James pointed through the scrum.

"Doing what?" asked Rose.

"Giving your cousin a good-bye kiss," smirked James.

Rose rolled her eyes. 'Cousin' meant Victoire Weasley, half-witch, half-Veela, all allure directed exclusively at, and for, Teddy Lupin.

"Just a peck, I suppose," Rose said. "They are kind of sweet on one another."

Rose smiled an approving smile with accompanying sigh.

"Snog," corrected James.

"James," cautioned Daphne.

"Snog," James repeated. "Full-on snog."

"EE-Yewww…" said Rose and Lily together.

"Really?" asked Albus.

"James and Albus!" Daphne nearly spat.

Harry tried to get their attention with a certain head shake he used only to convey, 'Boys, she's getting worked up and YOU DO NOT WANT TO GET HER WORKED UP!'

Albus caught on and tugged on James' sleeve, cocking his head toward Harry. James looked over, interpreted Harry correctly and took a quick glance at his mother, whose face said, 'I am NOT getting worked up, James, but if you go any further, you will ruin Mother's day and she will be severely disappointed in you.'

"Sorry," James muttered.

He looked at Rose, whose face was in a strictly normal set, so neutral James understood he was dead to Rose until she decreed otherwise, probably after performing some painful penance.

Harry was struck, suddenly, by the thought that Albus might not have worked through his anxiety over sorting. He leaned over and spoke just for his younger son.

"Are you okay? With the rest of today? Remember your strategy?"

Albus laughed at the last question and started to nod.

"Got it," he said.

Then it was time for the students to get aboard. Hugs and kisses were going back and forth across the platform in waves, laughter and tears mixed with fragments of greetings and farewells:

"'Bye!"

"Love you!"

"Send us the quidditch schedule!"

"One more year!"

"Send us an owl this year, just so we know you got there!"

James kissed his mother and hugged his sister, shook hands with his father and was gone.

Albus followed James' lead but waited for Rose, then walked to the train with her.

"Two more years, Lily," said Hermione.

Hermione and Lily had always had some special, personal understanding. Sometimes, Daphne thought if she offered Lily up, to transfer to the Granger-Weasleys for Hermione to raise, Lily wouldn't suffer as much as a hiccup. Hermione laid her hand on Lily's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze, followed by Lily putting her arm across Hermione's back at the waist and reciprocating. Ron Weasley had never understood Rose. He watched Hermione and Lily's interaction and admitted he was darn glad they'd gotten Hugo so there was at least one close family member he'd have a chance to connect with in the years to come.

Rose and Albus stood in a car with cabinettes, mingling, greeting and trying to get to a door. Even if there wasn't room they could stay out of the way until the crowd receded a little. Albus got to a door handle and hung on.

"Here!" said Albus, pushing the sliding door.

He got a hand on Rose's arm and the two squeezed through together.

"Oh!" said Albus as they popped into the cabin.

"Hey!" said Scorpius.

"Ugh," said Rose.

"Rose…" Albus began.

"It's okay, Al, really," said Scorpius. "Rose and I aren't bosom buddies. A person doesn't have to be, on a train."

Rose looked like she wanted to object to such earthy talk but Albus claimed the podium.

"Sure, we're going to be spending the next seven years together. We've got to get along. Bring anything to eat?"

"Albus!" exclaimed Rose. "What are you doing? Settling in? We need to work the train. Meet some new people. I sort of know this one already."

She gave a careless little backhand flick of the hand toward Scorpius.

"Rose!" Albus objected. "That's not very nice."

"Ehh, you're right," admitted Rose. "So, coming with me or staying?"

"I'll stay. Did your gran send one of those meatloaf sandwiches for lunch?" asked Albus.

Rose just looked at him.

"You're welcome back, anytime, Rose," Scorpius assured her. "With or without meatloaf."

The door closed and the boys watched Rose as she walked past the window, refusing to look in as she made her getaway.

"Sorry," said Albus. "I don't know why she wants to act like that."

"Ah, don't apologize," said Scorpius. "You aren't responsible for her. Besides, she's going to be Head Girl in seventh year. At least that is what everyone seems to think We need to be on her good side, as much as possible. What have you got to eat?"

"Mum sent some pasties," said Albus.

"Whoa-a! With meat?" asked Scorpius.

"Sure. Flank steak and potato," said Albus. "Did you bring anything?"

"Mac and cheese and some kind of salad. I think maybe some bread or biscuits or something. I didn't look. Mum always overdoes it when we pack a lunch or a picnic," Scorpius said. "We'll have plenty."

"For Rose," Albus clarified. "Look at this—Gran Lilith found Mum's old notebook and put new pages in for me."

Albus stuck his hand inside the soft bag he carried.

"Let me see?" asked Scorpius. "Oh, with the serpent and everything! Guess you'll have to send it home if you get Gryffindor. I got this."

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a beautifully-embroidered Slytherin crest of the sort stitched on a sweater or jacket.

"Awesome! Where'd you get it?"

"Gran Lilith," said Scorpius. "Mum did it herself. She told me she hadn't seen it in close to twenty years. It was on the bottom of a drawer, under a lot of other stuff."

"Your mum is really good," marveled Albus, holding the patch and staring at the lifelike serpent.

He handed the piece back to Scorpius.

"Guess we're out of luck if we don't go to Slytherin," Albus observed.

"Yeah," laughed Scorpius. "We're going to be total outcasts."

Both of them laughed at the prospect.

"Is that what you want?" asked Scorpius.

"Mainly I would rather not go to Gryffindor," Albus replied. "James is going to be running Gryffindor. I'd just be Lord Greenie's little brother for the next five years."

Scorpius burst out laughing.

"Lord Greenie? James?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's Lily's new name for him, since…since…"

He looked about ready to cry.

"Since Gramps," Scorpius finished. "Do you still miss him?"

"Of course!" Albus exclaimed. "He was funny and he knew all kinds of interesting stuff and we were always welcome over there."

"Yeah, I remember. I'm glad we got to know him. He had that cool shop with all the tools," said Scorpius. "I spent hours in there. Mum said he could build anything."

"Well, with magic…" Albus observed, setting them off again.

"You aren't going to spread that around, are you?" Albus asked.

"About Lord Greenie? No," said Scorpius. "It is funny, though. Lily cracks me up. What do you think of Rose?"

"She's okay, I guess," Albus said. "I think I might like her better when it is just Rose. She's different if there are people around."

Scorpius sat, silent, looking out the window. It would soon be time for lunch. Scorpius assumed he and Albus would have a potluck.

Someone knocked on their cabin door.

"Come in!" they both said together.

The door slid back and two people entered. Scorpius recognized one as Walter Goyle, a first year. He was from a family that was on the losing side of the war, as was Scorpius. Where Scorpius' family came through in fair shape, except for Lucius' drawn-out legal problems, the Goyles lost several members from several generations. Their numbers depleted and fortune in need of rebuilding, more than one of the remaining Goyles had counseled Walter to do his absolute best at Hogwarts and above all, stay out of trouble. Thus were the hopes of the Goyles all laid upon young Walter's shoulders.

"Walter," said Scorpius.

Walter Goyle looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah!" he said, remembering who he was.

"Awful," said Scorpius.

"You'll use it, you always do," said Walter. "You're…"

"Albus. Albus Potter," said Albus, standing only when Walter extended his hand.

"Yeah, you were at Malfoy's once," Walter said.

"Was I?" asked Albus, looking across at Scorpius who shrugged in lieu of an answer.

"If you say so," Albus said. "Who's this?"

He indicated a very slight girl who had entered and stood watching silently as the wizards got names straight and sized up one another.

"Sophie Carrow," she said.

Sophie Carrow had been manipulating some kind of fidget contraption which she shifted to her left hand, leaving her right free to shake with Albus. When they finished, Scorpius stood and extended his own right hand.

"Scorpius Malfoy," he said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He finished off with a proper inclination of his head which Sophie Carrow answered by curtsying.

"The honor is mine, Mr. Malfoy," said Sophie.

Albus looked at Scorpius who was experiencing enough embarrassment to blush at Sophie's response.

"Please sit down," said Albus. "We've got room."

Everyone got settled. Walter and Scorpius dominated the conversation with crosstalk concerned with catching up on summer activities.

"What's your dad doing?" Walter asked.

"Helping Grandfather Malfoy, mostly. He can move about and, well, do things, with people, that Grandfather might not be able…" at which point Scorpius let his narrative die on the vine.

"Ahhhh…Yeah, I get it," said Walter who had more than one similar situation among his own close relatives.

"He's okay?"

"Yeah," said Scorpius.

"How's your mum?" asked Walter.

Albus looked down. He knew his Aunt Astoria wasn't in the best of health. He tried not to think about it.

"Doing well," said Scorpius.

Albus also knew that was Scorpius' standard response. It was very non-committal and somehow satisfied questioners, cutting off further conversation on the subject. He decided it was time to get on to something less troubling.

"What's that?" Albus asked Sophie Carrow, nodding at whatever she was rolling over and over her fingers.

"Oh," she said, brightening up. "Someone gave me this. The muggles spin them like tops but with a mild levitation charm—"

She twisted the stem and let the top go, keeping one hand underneath. That must have been the source of the levitation charm as the top spun and spun in the air. The three wizards watched in silence as the minutes passed, the demonstration ending only when the door slid open and Rose Granger-Weasley barged in.

"Anyone for lunch?" Rose asked.

Rose did have a Molly Weasley special meatloaf sandwich lunch all ready to go. Scorpius and Albus got into their bags and retrieved pasties, mac and cheese and a container of beans. Scorpius' fresh dinner rolls were well-flattened but Astoria had prepared for that and the rolls regained their shape when Scorpius snapped his fingers. Rose didn't say anything but she was watching. Albus thought she looked surprised, as if she hadn't expected such practical magic from Scorpius Malfoy.

"If someone will go to find the trolley witch I'll get the drinks," Scorpius announced.

"Let me put some in," said Albus, sticking his hand into his trouser pockets. "Ginger beer."

"Lemonade," said Scorpius. "Rose?"

Rose needed a few seconds, apparently taken by surprise once more.

"Lemonade is fine, or iced tea," she said. "Thank-you, Scorpius. And Albus."

"I'll go," said Sophie.

Scorpius had noticed that Sophie hadn't said anything about eating, nor had she produced any food when the others got into their hoards.

"Want something else? Pumpkin pasty? There's enough there," said Scorpius as he handed over the sickels.

Sophie smiled and left the cabin.

"I've got to go get into my bag," said Walter.

"Come back, if you want," said Scorpius.

Goyle didn't say if he would or wouldn't.

"Is he odd?" asked Albus when the door closed and Walter had walked past the window.

"Eh," Scorpius replied. "I am."

Albus had been caught by surprise once again and snorted at his cousin's answer.

"Listen," said Rose.

Their heads snapped around. Rose hadn't said anything since her return and Scorpius and Albus had nearly forgotten she was there.

"Sophie Carrow's family was hurt pretty badly by the war. The Carrows from Hogwarts that you may have heard your parents talking about were cousins, somehow. She might not have any money to spend on the trolly witch or food or whatever. Don't say I said anything about…"

The door slid open and Sophie stumbled in, arms laden with drink cups and one little bag of some kind of snack. Rose jumped up.

"Here! Let me! Oh, you should have gotten one of us," Rose cried as she tried to unload Sophie Carrow.

"It's okay," said Sophie.

Albus and Scorpius were both on their feet, gingerly plucking items from Sophie's arms and hands. It only took a minute and they had her unloaded.

"Here, want a pasty?" asked Albus.

"Roll?" offered Scorpius.

The figurative loaves and fishes held out and the multitude was fed. No one went hungry. Albus remembered what Rose had said. It appeared that Sophie had only the little bag, which turned out to be pretzel nuggets. She quite generously passed the bag around, so Albus took one of her nuggets and noted it was his favorite thing from the cart. Throughout the rest of their journey, Albus' constant thought was Sophie's apparent plan to make a bag of pretzel nuggets her lunch.

Walter Goyle showed up in Albus and Scorpius' boat for the trip across the lake to the castle. It was a beautiful early evening with a cloudless sky and stars popping out everywhere. Albus wished they could have stayed out on the water longer and enjoyed the show.

Little had changed since their parents were sorted nearly twenty years earlier. Professor Neville Longbottom now gave the greeting and explained the mechanics of sorting. Other than that, everything happened much as it had for Harry, Ron, Hermione, Daphne and Draco.

"Coming with us?" Albus muttered to Rose as they climbed the stone stairs.

"Where do you think you're going?" she muttered back.

"We don't know. Feel like a leap into the unknown?"

"No," said Rose.

"Ah, you already know you're destined for Gryffindor," said Albus.

Rose began to show signs of irritation with Albus.

"You can just tend to your own business, Albus Potter," Rose said in a stage whisper.

Professor Longbottom heard only unintelligible hissing and the tone of an annoyed speaker, more than enough justification to send a look at the two legacies.

The first students, the A and B surnames, were sorted quickly and Sophie Carrow walked forward to sit beneath the sorting hat.

"Oh-oh," said the hat.

"What?" Sophie demanded.

"Nothing, really," replied the hat, scrambling away from its reflexive comment.

"Yes, I'm a Carrow. That's it, isn't it?" she asked.

"Well, yes, I suppose," confessed the hat. "You're good and strong, magically. Have you been working?"

"Sure, ever since I can remember. No supervision at home. That's what the social worker wrote in one of my assessments," said Sophie.

"Apparently you didn't stray too far or you'd have been brought up on underage magic charges. You seem to be pretty far ahead of your age group in physical magic. Any house preference? You should do quite well in any of them," said the hat.

"How nice of you to say so," Sophie said. "I don't have a preference, although I met some people on the train and one said he expected he'd be in Slytherin, if the family tradition continued. I suppose Slytherin would be my first choice."

"Then you shall have it," said the hat. "Slytherin!"

Rose and Albus were still looking back and forth, Rose struggling to send dagger-looks, not very effectively, Albus enjoying himself by making suggestions for Rose to reject.

"There you go," Albus said when Professor Longbottom reached the 'G' group.

"Bloody hell," said the hat.

"Say that again!" demanded Rose.

"My apologies," said the hat. "Such a phenomenon. Just a rarity, that's all. You expect to go to Gryffindor."

It was a statement, which took Rose by surprise.

"Yes. I can't very well not. Mum was Gryffindor. Dad was Gryffindor. Dad's sister and four brothers, Gryffindor. Dad's best friend, Gryffindor," said Rose.

"But you, secretly, have always wanted something else, since you first became aware that you were a witch," said the hat.

"I can't!" exclaimed Rose. "I have to sit down tonight and write my note like a dutiful Gryffindor. They all expect it."

"Do they all expect me to make you unhappy?" the hat asked, its voice quiet and patient. "They think they know what is best for you, but what they want is what they want, not what you want. Tell me what you want."

"I can't go there," thought Rose, her mental voice so shaky she feared it was deserting her.

Murmurs began to come from the tables.

'…hat stall?'

'…taking its time…'

'…never seen…'

"It's my responsibility, not yours," the hat assured her. "I can do it, no problem, but you'll feel better if it is your decision."

"Slytherin. I want to be a Slytherin!" thought Rose.

"Slytherin!" said the hat, finally.

The Great Hall was silent. Had everyone heard correctly? Did the hat say Rose Granger-Weasley was going to Slytherin? Yes it did and the Slytherins were the first to react, standing up as one, facing Rose and applauding, applauding, applauding.

Rose felt liberated. She felt like she had just been anointed Lifetime Holder of the Best Witch Ever Award. She wasn't aware of her feet touching the floor as she crossed to the Slytherin table. Every Slytherin witch seemed to want to kiss Rose on the cheek, look her in the eye and tell her how glad they were she would be coming downstairs with them and what a great time she would have in Slytherin House. The wizards, mostly, stood and kept the hand-clapping going.

Albus looked at Scorpius, who shrugged.

"I wonder if the rest is going to be as interesting as that?" asked Albus.

"Want to stick together?" asked Scorpius.

"Yep," said Albus.

"Okay. I'll go first so I'll tell it," Scorpius said. "Give it a head's-up."

"That's so witty," said Albus.

The walking genealogy chart of British wizardry, Scorpius Malfoy, went to Slytherin. It was such a commonly-held assumption that there was barely a reaction, other than at the Slytherin table. The sorting moved on to the Ns, then the Os. A Parkinson was sorted into Ravenclaw, a Poole went to Hufflepuff, then Albus Potter sat on the stool and felt the hat come down on his head.

"Oh, young Malfoy said you'd be along," said the hat.

"Did he?" thought Albus. "Then you know I'd like to go with him. To Slytherin."

"Following in Mother's footsteps?" asked the hat.

"Maybe, a little," Albus thought. "Dad was a Gryffindor. My brother says they call him and his friends 'The Legends.' I'd like to do something different. And I like hanging around Scorpius."

"Fine. You're bright enough. Loyal. Extremely loyal. Very commendable. You're competing, do you understand?"

"Not really," thought Albus.

"Big brother's in Gryffindor?" asked the hat.

"Yes," Albus thought.

"Dad is one of The Legends?"

"Yes."

"You and your cousin prefer to stick together?"

"Yes."

"Slytherin!"

Albus pulled the sorting hat from his head and left it on the stool. When his feet hit the floor, he stole a look at the Gryffindors. James was on his feet, clapping away, a bemused expression on his face.

Albus shook hands as he walked the length of the Slytherin table, focused on working his way to Rose.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Rose looked back.

"What do you mean by that?" she challenged.

"Will they disown you?" asked Albus.

He didn't think he was out of line. Ron Weasley had gotten going on Slytherins in front of Albus, more than once. One time, Harry had even issued a caution.

"You're talking about my wife, Ron," he'd said.

"Of course I don't mean Daphne," Ron had protested. "Just Slytherins in general."

Albus figured Rose had seen it plenty of times.

"No, not disowned," said Rose. "Dad might throw a fit. Mum was the first in her family to come to Hogwarts so there wasn't any tradition. You?"

"Oh, they'll be fine," said Albus. "James is already a Gryff. Mum and Auntie were both Slytherin so she'll be thrilled. Dad and I talked it all out. He understood about James and me. I can't wait to write home."

Albus turned his head a few degrees and laughed a very satisfied laugh, then looked back at Rose.

"You know!?" he asked, then allowed himself another chuckle.

The Slytherin prefects chaired the annual All-House Post-Sorting Meeting after the houses were dismissed from the feast.

"The House will come to order!" announced the Head Girl who happened to be from Slytherin that year.

"Thank-you," said the senior, standard, out-of-the-box prefect.

"I now convene the annual All-House Post-Sorting Meeting, and thank Merlin someone only has to say that once a year!"

All of the Old Slytherins present (second year and older) started shouting at the top of their lungs, pounding their hands together and some even stomping their feet. The noise went on, and on, for some minutes at least. Then it died down.

"Welcome First-Years," said the prefect. "No one knows why, but this meeting starts the same way, every time. That is your first Slytherin tradition. Seven years from tonight, more or less, you will be responsible for handing it on to a new group of firsties because Slytherin is a house of…?"

"TRADITION!" thundered the assembly.

"So, welcome, and that is all I have to say," finished the prefect.

The first-years looked back and forth.

'That's it?' was written on every face.

"BUT—" piped up another prefect. "If I may, you might be interested to know that none but members of Slytherin House have passed through that occluded door for eight hundred years. Be careful with that knowledge. Guard it. Never show non-Slytherins just where the door is located. There are some brilliant, if flawed, witches and wizards in the other houses and you don't know who has the ability to figure out the password so save us all the trouble and don't bring them down here."

Rose knew that Albus knew about Harry and Ron's visit. She reached over and pinched Albus' bottom. Albus turned his head just enough to see Rose out of the corner of his eye. Rose was riveted on the prefect and would not acknowledge Albus' existence.

The prefects took turns with orientation speeches which had been carefully edited to convey the necessary information in a matrix of bad puns and subtle drolleries.

"Whatever you do, don't frighten the giant squid!" was one piece of orientation advice.

"Our air is cleaned via the water filtration system, just there," said a prefect, gesturing toward the underwater picture window, "So we are expected to operate on a higher mental plane than the other houses. They resent our advantageous position and will take every opportunity to appear brighter than they really are, just to stay even. Nevertheless, experience has shown that a Slytherin who respects quiet hours and studies efficiently will find academic success."

"It is true that we eat the same food in the Great Hall as the other houses," said another prefect. "However, scientific studies have shown that Slytherins benefit more from our food than the other houses due to our superior table manners."

Albus didn't understand it but in due time grasped the nugget of actual information in each anecdote.

-There really was a giant squid in the lake and it wouldn't do to panic if it happened to swim by;

-Observing quiet hours and studying efficiently was not only courteous, it promoted good grades for oneself;

-Table manners were important in Slytherin House. You have been warned.

Eventually the house was dismissed and the first-years asked to stay behind. Two prefects, one witch and one wizard, gathered the new students and called off names from a list.

"Carrow, Sophie? Aha," said the prefect in a guarded, neutral greeting. "Welcome to Slytherin House. Congratulations. One supposes you want to be here? Mmm…"

The prefect worked their way down to Goyle, Walter.

"So that is you? Well, welcome, of course. Welcome."

The list was transferred to the other prefect.

"Granger-Weasley, Rose? Any idea why you're here?" asked the prefect.

"I want to be here," said Rose.

"Do you really? Huh. Care to tell me why? I am genuinely curious," said the prefect. "Your father, and mother, their associates from the war years. Not Slytherins. This isn't some acting-out? You aren't rebelling, are you?"

Rose took a deep breath.

"No. I simply did not like the idea of being the daughter of two of The Legends every day for seven years."

"Excellent answer," said the prefect. "I support your decision, for whatever that's worth."

The prefects worked on down the list.

"Malfoy, Scorpius? Bit obvious, one guesses. The hair. Sorry, it is kind of recognizable. Welcome to Slytherin House."

Albus thought Rose's exchange with the prefect was interesting and assumed his would have to be, as well.

"Potter?"

Albus raised his hand.

"Your brother is…" said the prefect.

"James," said Albus. "In Gryffindor."

"Do you want to be here?"

The prefect sounded disbelieving.

"Yes. Of course. I told the hat," Albus informed them.

The prefect nodded.

"Did you, indeed? Well. Welcome to Slytherin House."

First year Slytherins had common bunk rooms, grouped by gender. Albus found a bed next to Scorpius and across an aisle from Walter Goyle.

"Is James going to write home and rat you out?" Scorpius asked.

"Probably," said Albus. "He'd better be careful. He could make Mother cross with him, if he isn't."

Two or three heads turned their way but only Walter spoke.

"Is he serious?" he asked Scorpius.

"Not entirely," said Scorpius.

The next morning was eventful but provision was made for communication home. Albus caught James at the Gryffindor table.

"Porridge?" James offered.

"Real funny, ha-ha," was the response.

"Did you send your owl?" asked Albus.

"Of course," said James.

"James!" protested Albus. "What did you tell them?"

That was all James wanted. He simply didn't think Albus should get the information he craved without providing some entertainment for his elder brother.

"Relax, I sent him off last night as soon as the feast was over. All I said about you was you looked happy and Socrates could come back in the morning if you had anything to say. That's it."

"Oh," said Albus.

He paused to think through James' report.

"Thanks!" he said. "Thanks a lot. We haven't been to the Owlery yet. I don't know when we'll have time."

"They should make time. Everyone has to write home. Want me to send it? I don't mind. If you want to do it yourself, I understand. Use him all you want, just remember to take him a treat now and then," said James. "What do you think? I've heard that common room is the Ritz. Did you get a comfy bed?"

"Yeah. It's great. Even the prefects were nice," Albus said.

"People generally are nice, if we're nice to them first," said James. "Want me to send your note?"

"Nah, I'll do it," Albus answered.

"Fine. Have it ready, in case," said James.

Albus reached up and patted his shirt pocket.

"Got it," he said.

"Well done, then. You're launched. I guess we'll see one another at Yule."

James turned back to his porridge.

Albus needn't have worried himself so, as provision for Slytherin communications with home was built into that morning's schedule.

The Slytherin first-years were brought together in the common room and instructed they were to each write a short note home advising they had arrived at Hogwarts, were sorted into Slytherin and they were alright. Anyone who did not feel they were alright was advised to report to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. The note should be short as they needed to get the owls away and keep to the first day's packed schedule.

Sophie Carrow folded her parchment by half, then quarters, prior to putting her quill into a little protective tube that would protect the rest of her book bag from ink. She replaced the tube and the quill in her bag and sat, looking around at nothing in particular.

"Address?" asked Rose, nodding at the parchment in Sophie's hand.

"I don't know," Sophie replied, then went no further.

Rose didn't know what that meant but something told her she was not in a place where Sophie would like to sit for extensive questioning. Rose kept her questions to herself and resolved to keep her ears open and be ready to listen if Sophie Carrow ever decided to talk.

As Rose had feared, news of her sorting into Slytherin House was poorly-received at home. She thought she would get a blast or two via notes arriving by owl post, then things would settle down. She would say forever after that she learned a great deal that proved useful throughout her long life from the next forty-eight hours.

Rose was summoned to the headmistress' office around ten on the morning of her second full day at Hogwarts. She ran up stone steps, heedless of the risks she was taking, fearing the headmistress was going to inform her of some tragedy involving her brother, mother, father or grandparents.

"Go right on up," said the gargoyle, waiving the requirement that visitors provide the password.

"Headmistress! Is something wrong?" Rose blurted out before noticing both her mother and father were seated on side chairs near the big wooden desk in the center of the room.

"Mum! Dad! What's wrong? Is it Hugo?" Rose asked, looking frantically around the office.

"No, nothing like that," said Hermione.

"If I may," Headmistress McGonagall interjected, "Your parents have a question about your sorting, Miss Granger-Weasley. They would like to know if you feel you were treated unfairly, sent somewhere you didn't want to go or believe you don't belong?"

"Of course she was," shot Ron. "We aren't Slytherins. We're Gryffindors. Have been for I don't know how many generations. Hermione and I met on the train and went to Gryffindor together. I can't picture my life if things hadn't gone just like that, right up 'til today."

Ron Weasley looked at his wife, love and pride and a bit of longing washing across his features. Rose had seen it all before. She loved her dad and respected what he had done as a very young man. He deserved Legend status. So did her mum. She didn't want relations to sour but she didn't know if she could set things straight without that happening. Nor would the vast majority of eleven-year-old adolescents. All she could do was try.

"Dad, I am a Slytherin," Rose began.

Ron wasn't having it.

"One day!" he exclaimed. "Let's get you out of there before it is too late. If you don't want Gryffindor there're two more, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. If you stay there…"

"What?" demanded Hermione. "What will happen to her, Ron?"

"Well, look at all the trouble they cause, Death Eaters and Inquisitorial Squads!" Ron protested. "I don't want my daughter on some Inquisitorial Squad. That's not for her. Rose…"

"Dad, stop," Rose pleaded. "I like it there. There is no Inquisitorial Squad. Ask Professor McGonagall if you don't believe me. According to some of the books I've read, you and Mum had something to do with that. James told me they call you The Legends over there."

"Oh, maybe, but we didn't ask them to do that!" Ron protested. "I'll get them to stop, would you like that?"

"Ron, that isn't her point," chided Hermione.

She sat, studying her daughter. Rose was every bit the pioneer Hermione had been. She needed something new to conquer, just as her mother had.

"Do you like the common room and the dorm and so on?" Hermione asked.

"They're gorgeous!" said Rose.

"And you're starting to make friends?"

"Albus and Scorpius are in Slytherin and when I was sorted, I walked over to the Slytherin table and every Slytherin witch on the way stopped me and welcomed me to Slytherin and told me I was going to love it there. So far…"

Hermione had heard enough.

"You're right where you're supposed to be, you little Slytherin you," she said, grabbing her daughter, hugging her, planting a kiss on her temple.

"Headmistress, we have taken enough of your time. My husband and I are satisfied all standards were met and Rose is going to do well. Ronald, your good-byes and thanks to the headmistress, please," Hermione finished.

"Hermione…"

Ron tried to plead his case but the court was no longer in session.

"Dad, please," said Rose.

Ron surrendered.

"Good luck, Rose," Ron began. "Let us know if you need anything. Thank-you, Headmistress."

He gave Rose a brief hug and joined Hermione, passing on some wisdom as they descended the spiral stair.

"I'll never get used to seeing our little girl in that green tie," said Ron.

Professor McGonagall waited for the stair to stop turning before she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger-Weasley," she said. "Every year there are one or two. I didn't anticipate one of them being your father."

"I apologize, Headmistress," Rose answered. "I knew he had expectations. I know James Greengrass. He's in Gryffindor. He told me all about how it is there. We talked for an hour or more at Yule. He's fine with it. Maybe because of the surname thing."

"Maybe so," said McGonagall. "I'd like to hear from you, now, if you are satisfied with your sorting, surroundings, the people you've met so far and whatever you make of your prospects for the next seven years."

"I like it there and I like the people I've met," said Rose. "I have a few friends and I'd like to make more."

"Good," said McGonagall. "Between you and me, I agree with your mother. At least for now, you seem to be just where you're supposed to be. Now, you're going back to..?"

The professor dipped her quill in the inkpot and began writing out a pass.

"History of Magic, Professor Binns," Rose said. "One of my favorites!"

Rose stood, thanked the headmistress, curtsied then left the way her parents had gone.

McGonagall, all alone in her office, shook her head as she watched Rose's back disappear down the stairs. Would they ever be able to replace Binns?

Walking back to her classroom, and Professor Binns, Rose laughed about some of the nonsense she'd dealt with over the last few hours. Pride of place went to her exchange with her father and finding favor with her mother. Ron Weasley was the worst kind of prejudiced. He classified people and judged them by the classification he assigned. She hoped to teach him a lesson about that, her instructional materials being herself and her affiliation with Slytherin House. She realized that was a long-term project.

Rose pondered Sophie Carrow's comment about the address to which she would be sending her arrival note. How could she not know where it should go? Where had she come from? Wouldn't the note go back there?

Rose resolved to find out. She reassured herself that she wasn't being nosy, she was simply concerned for Sophie's welfare. The Carrow girl seemed withdrawn, but nice. If she could expend a little more attention on her hair and nails, well, who couldn't? It was just a question of committing the time. Rose was just beginning. She had one friend, Albus Potter, one acquaintance, Scorpius Malfoy and the roster of Slytherin House that she had to get to know. Sophie Carrow might as well sit atop the list.

Rose Granger-Weasley relished her life in the midst of her family and friends. She had to stop what she was doing and count on her fingers whenever anyone asked, "How many cousins do you have, anyway?"

Thus she came close to pushing Sophie away before she understood there were people who were threatened by what they perceived as excessive attention. Once Sophie had asked Rose to let her have time or distance to consider a thing or two, Rose changed her approach. In the month between the beginning of term feast and Samhain, Rose had dropped her lunchtime seating invitation of, "Let's sit together—how about here?" She found something superior: "I'm sitting over there, if you'd like to join me (or us)."

Giving Sophie Carrow decision-making authority over her own life had positive results. Rose kept it up. By Yule she was confident enough, and comfortable enough with Sophie, to ask about holiday plans.

"You know about my family, right?" Sophie asked.

Rose didn't, and said so.

They'd just found seats for lunch, at the far end of the Slytherin table. Sophie looked down their bench and across the table. Apparently deciding they were far enough away from people to preclude casual eavesdropping, Sophie started in.

"You can't tell anyone what I'm going to say, understand? Not just now. My mother is a Death Eater. She is in Azkaban. You know what that is, don't you?"

"Prison," said Rose.

"Her name is Alecto Carrow. Have you heard of her?"

Rose just stared. Of course Rose had heard of Alecto Carrow, disgraced Muggle Studies teacher and Hogwarts disciplinarian, who had been appointed by the Voldemort regime during the Dark Lord's brief ascendancy. Rose's mother and father were part of the liberation forces that had freed Hogwarts from Alecto and her equally-evil brother, Amycus.

"Yes," Rose said, finally.

"My mother got pregnant with me after she went to prison. I don't know who my father is. There is a report, somewhere, I was told, about the investigation. I might be able to find out what it says, after my seventeenth birthday. I've lived with relatives or foster families my whole life."

Rose was eating soup. She focused on her spoon. It went into her soup bowl. It came out with soup. The soup went to her mouth and she swallowed. Her spoon went back into the soup bowl.

"Sophie," Rose whispered when she felt like talking.

Rose shook her head.

"I don't know of anyone like you."

Sophie shrugged.

"I didn't ask for any of it," said Sophie. "I've heard about what she did. Some people couldn't wait to tell me. I could see it on their faces."

"Oh, Sophie," Rose nearly moaned, it was so sad. "Well, we're in Slytherin now, so in seven more years we'll be fit to go conquer the world."

Rose was trying for a positive and encouraging tone.

"Maybe you," said Sophie. "I don't think any other house would have taken me. Like I'll be just the same as her. I don't know if I want to conquer the world. At least in Slytherin there are others like me. Not as horrible, maybe."

"I don't think you're horrible," Rose assured her.

That night, Rose lay in her bed in the Slytherin witches' dorm, thinking about her life, and Albus' and how they compared with Sophie's. She couldn't make sense of any of it. She and Albus didn't get to pick their parents. Neither did Scorpius Malfoy, for that matter. They just happened to have a dad and mum who were happy together and thrilled to have children they wanted to raise, feed, clothe, and educate. Sophie was born in prison to a mother who couldn't do anything for her but let her loose and wait and see what happened. Sophie made her think of the note in the bottle, steered by anonymous winds and variable currents toward unknowable shores. There was a certain element of that in life. Rose knew that at eleven. Even so, trying her hardest, Rose couldn't think of a more disadvantageous start in life than Sophie's.

She tried to come up with a way forward. Rose would need help with her new task. Sophie had sworn her to silence. Rose was stuck, at least for the present.

Sophie had one thing going for her—she was in Slytherin. As Rose had discovered, the Slytherin witches fetishized solidarity. The older witches were genuinely welcoming to the first years. The warmth wasn't a Sorting phenomenon. Third, fourth and fifth-year witches had responsibility for welcoming and getting to know the first and second-years. The sixth and seventh-years took the mentoring seriously and pulled the younger ones aside from time to time, asking how things were going or just to talk for a few minutes.

Word got around among the witches that Sophie was the daughter of a war criminal and an unknown wizard. It was inevitable. Sophie didn't like it but there wasn't a lot she could do about it. The Slytherin witches sensed the stress and closed ranks. They kept their knowledge to themselves, seldom mentioning what they knew within their circle and never discussing Sophie with wizards, nor with witches from outside Slytherin.

"What are you doing for Yule?"

Rose had maneuvered and maneuvered and finally got Albus and Scorpius alone during the week prior to the commencement of the Yule break.

"Going home, same as you," said Albus.

"Brilliant," said Rose. "Would your parents like a house guest?"

"Who?" asked Albus.

Scorpius had his suspicions but managed to keep quiet.

"Sophie," said Rose.

"Oh, I don't know," said Albus. "The Carrows and my dad? He gave evidence against them, didn't he? Scorpius, you've read all about the battle. What do you think?"

"Gentle-wizards, if I may? Did Harry Potter give evidence against Sophie Carrow? No. She hadn't been born," said Rose.

Albus remained non-committal so Rose decided to test her new network. She took a little piece of parchment and wrote a note.

'Lady Daphne,' said the note.

'I need to speak with you in confidence, at your earliest convenience. Rose.'

Rose took the note to James S.P. Greengrass, the Greengrass Heir. James was very smart and curious. He couldn't figure out what Rose was up to so he had to go along just to find out. James took the note to Socrates and Daphne called on the Headmistress the following day. As a Slytherin Old Girl, Daphne was welcome to walk down to the Slytherin common room and ask after her correspondent. Five minutes of conversation between Daphne and Rose resulted in a follow-on meeting with Sophie. Sophie passed her initial interview and received an invitation to the Potters' for Yule. All she had to do was let Rose and Albus take her in hand when they got to Kings' Cross Station and convey her to the Potter welcome committee.

"This way," said Albus.

James Greengrass caught up with his brother's party as it crossed Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"What are you going to do?" he teased Rose.

"Relish my independence," said Rose.

"If it gets bad, you can always come to our place, you know," said James.

"Even you don't think it will come to that," Rose replied, sending Sophie a wink. "Oh, look who's here! What's up with you, Frenchie?"

Victoire Weasley walked up with her younger sister, Dominique, another of Rose' innumerable cousins.

"Just had to come over and call you an effin' Snake to your face while I still had the chance, you effin' Snake," said Victoire.

"I love you, too, Victoire," said Rose. "Even if you do dream about you and Teddy naked and speaking French. Which is the same as producing pornographic material."

"Ha! You don't know anything about porno, though, do you, Sweetie? So young, so innocent. Well, Happy Yule and we'll see you at the Burrow, I guess?" asked Victoire.

"Mais oui, don't know just when, yet," said Rose, turning to Dominique for the ritual good-bye peck on the cheek.

"Don't mind them," Albus muttered to Sophie. "And here we are."

Daphne, already acquainted with Sophie, crossed the granite pavers to take charge, conducting young Miss Carrow to where Harry stood with Lily and making introductions. Lily and Rose caught up in a side conversation, the meat of which concerned Lily's demand that Rose commit to coming over and telling all about her adventures in Slytherin.

Her cargo safely delivered, Rose assured Sophie they'd see each other at some point over the Yule break and left to locate the Granger-Weasleys.

Harry had acquired some land on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow and built a tasteful contemporary home for Daphne and the children. Harry and Daphne oversaw the floo-trip to what they called 'The New Place.' When they arrived, Daphne assigned James communications duty with the Malfoys, freeing Scorpius and Albus to seek out food sources.

"Well, Sophie, Daphne tells us you're free until commencement of term?" Harry asked.

"Yes sir," said Sophie. "Thank-you for inviting me."

"We're delighted you're here," said Harry. "You'll feel right at home, I think, with Slytherins all around. James and I can go to a hotel if you want to take over."

Sophie's face fell.

Daphne put her arm over Sophie's shoulder. She took two or three seconds to look straight into Harry Potter's eyes. Harry recalled his theory that Daphne, in certain situations, made him think of storks. He'd once read an information plaque on a zoo visit years before that said the Marabou stork could be short-tempered, aggressive and was known to feed on small crocodiles.

He had looked from the plaque to the Marabou standing in the enclosure. The stork stared. She saw him as snack food, he could feel it. Much as he loved her, Harry looked at Daphne and saw that mama Marabou coming to get him.

"It's just Gryffindor humor, Sophie dear, I don't dwell on it and neither should you. Let's take your things and go see your room then we'll have to think about fighting Albus and Scorpius for dinner," said Daphne.

Yule went well. Poor Sophie was in some kind of fostering situation but the alleged care-givers didn't protest when the Potters offered to host Sophie until the students returned to Hogwarts.

Daphne and Astoria took Rose and Sophie to Greengrass Manor to chill with Lilith in an all-Slytherin Witches' Weekend and Bacchanal. James stayed away and let Lilith run Greengrass Manor for the pleasure of her Slytherin guests.

Daphne and Lilith traded many loaded and significant looks as bits of Sophie's history emerged. Tea, biscuits and Slytherin solidarity worked wonders and Daphne exited the weekend determined to organize a Potter response to the challenge of Sophie Carrow.

"Lunch with Mum" said the invitation.

Astoria floo-called her acceptance.

"What's this about?" she asked.

"Tell you when we get there," said Daphne.

The three convened at the Ridge. They sat down and picked at their salads, broke dinner rolls, tried to eat only half and failed, raved over the tuna salad sandwiches and relished January and the return to normal. Daphne got around to what it was about over tea.

"Sophie Carrow needs a home!" she said. "It is criminal, what has happened to her. You should have seen her clothes. I sat down with her and told her we simply could not send her back to school with what she had. She cried after I took her shopping. Said she'd never had three new pairs of knickers at the same time."

"Okay," said Lilith. "What do you propose to do about it? Do you want to foster her?"

"I don't know," said Daphne. "Lily's still at home. Albus is just getting started in school. I've thought about taking it up with Harry but I don't feel ready. I was hoping this conversation would help me sort it all out. She opened up quite a bit when we talked, a couple of times. Her mother isn't going to be getting out of Azkaban until Sophie's in her twenties, at the earliest. She hasn't written Sophie in over two years. Truth is, no one stepped up so she really has no mother or father."

"No family!" Daphne wailed.

The very idea caused her such distress she had to take some calming breaths before she could continue.

"Her material condition was not good. At least she has nutritious food and a safe environment when Hogwarts is in session. That, of course, will change in June."

All three witches sat quietly with their tea. It was long-established habit with Lilith and her girls, to sit together and think things through, letting time and quiet work the magic. Daphne fought the solution for months but, in the end, could not refute the logic.

Harry was sitting at his desk reading a scholarly monograph when Daphne knocked on the door.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

Harry held onto the quip that was trying to escape his better judgment. Something about the way Daphne knocked, and asked permission, said she had something serious to discuss.

"Remember Yule?" she asked.

"That one back in December?" he queried.

"We had a house guest. Rose Granger-Weasley arranged it," said Daphne.

"Mmm…Least we could do. I put her mother in prison, you know," Harry said.

"Where she belongs," responded Daphne. "I was there and saw her crimes with my own eyes."

"We never want that to happen again," said Harry. "You want to give Sophie a chance to get out of that cycle of damaged Carrows damaging more Carrows, don't you?"

"Have you been using legilimens on me, Harry Potter?" Daphne demanded.

Harry handed over his reading material.

"It shouldn't be hard," he said. "She doesn't have a permanent guardian, other than the Ministry. None of her relatives want her, or they can't take her for some reason. We can petition for custody. The Wizengamot oversees the welfare of magical minors. They appoint a neutral panel who make a recommendation. If we pass, she comes to live with us. There is a waiting period before we could adopt her, if that was what we all wanted. Including Sophie."

Daphne looked at the summary paragraph at the top of the article.

"You've been working on this," she declared.

"Well, reading. Not that hard," said Harry.

"Letting me stew," Daphne mused. "You are a piece of work."

"Can't push a rope," observed Harry. "Want me to introduce you to the lawyer I've found?"

The legal proceedings took much less time than the preparatory work. The ministry social workers had to update everything in Sophie's case file, interview all of the Potters, visit The New Place and confirm that Sophie would have safe and secure surroundings then create duplicate files for the members of the Wizengamot panel. The Potters passed and Sophie Carrow moved in at the end of term that June.

Over the summer, Rose and Hermione came to The New Place for tea and a visit.

"Not here," Daphne told them. "One more stop."

She gathered Lily and Sophie and took the entire group on to meet Astoria and Lilith at Greengrass Manor, also known as 'The Ridge.'

"We don't give out the floo address unnecessarily," Daphne advised Sophie. "It's a security thing."

THE END

This concludes Not Epilog Compliant alternate epilog and next-gen novella or long-ish short story, according to your inclination. The author hopes you enjoyed reading it and got your imagination stimulated. Regards, Bfd1235813