September 1, 2013. "C'mon, Harry, it's time."

            Harry Potter looked up from his book, squinting though his thick glasses at the redheaded beauty before him. He had been sitting in his armchair beside the fire, reading a muggle novel, Don Quixote. He had read it before, of course, but always found something new and promising with each rereading. His immense living room was furnished simply but comfortably: with four recliners and an unsightly but soft couch. His wife had been hounding him for years to get rid of it, but he had grown oddly attached to the horrid thing. It was an appalling mix of green and brown hues, and in truth Harry could hardly bring himself to look at it. However, each time that a guest was bold enough to sit on it, they would almost instantly become drowsy. Professor Luna Longbottom had even accused the Potters of enchanting it, but Harry had not yet done so: the couch did not need it.

            In addition to the most comfortable seating in the magical world, Harry had arrayed in his living room a grandfather clock (styled after the one kept in the Burrow so many years before), a roaring fire place that was linked to the Floo Network, and an enchanted book shelf. There was a small knob at the top right corner of the book shelf, and each time you pressed it, the books on the shelf would vanish completely, replaced by a completely new set. He had programmed into it more books than the Hogwarts library had ever kept.

            His favorite possession, however, was above the hearth. Between the roaring flames and the sword of Godric Gryffindor, was a simple portrait of an old wizard with billowing white hair. The former headmaster sat in an armchair that was similar to the one Harry spent so much time in. At the moment, the portrait was rubbing his eyes tiredly, poring over a book.

            Harry said nothing for a moment, but quietly closed his book and stared at her. Her eyes were a deep green; showing many years of hard life, but also a twinkle of youthful mischief. Her long, red hair had begun to gray early in her life, mixing strands of silver in with the fiery mass. Her figure had rounded out somewhat after giving birth to a couple children, but Harry loved her all the more for it. Her face was careworn; soft and kind. In most every respect, she was strikingly beautiful; an older, more mature, maternal version of her younger self. "Ginny Weasley, you're just as lovely as the day I married you," he remarked in an introspective way.

            Ginny laughed. "Don't kid me, Harry."

            "No, seriously!" Harry protested. "Every morning, when I wake up next to you, I feel unworthy."

            Ginny flushed red; Harry had become quite adept at making her blush in the nearly sixteen years that they had been married. "Oh, stop it, Harry," she sighed, her eyes bright with joy. "It's time to go; the Express just pulled into Hogsmeade."

            Is it already that late? Harry glanced in puzzlement at the grandfather clock against the wall; indeed, the term was about to start. "Very well, then, my love. Let's go."

            Harry stood up in a hurry, and threw a purple robe over his shoulders. "Headmaster?" he said loudly, talking to the portrait. "I have to run now, but I'll see you in my office later, okay?"

            "Sounds good, Harry. I'll let you know how I find Don Quixote," Dumbledore responded.

            "I'll look forward to it," Harry said breathlessly, as Ginny dragged him forcibly out of the room. "Okay, sweetie! I'm coming!"

            "Honestly, Harry, you could sit in there and talk to Dumbledore for hours!" she chided. "I'm surprised you even knew what day it is!"

            Might not have, if you hadn't said something. "Don't be silly. It's time for the sorting!"

            By now, they had reached the front door to Potter Manor, and Ginny pulled him outside. They were soon at a full run, laughing and breathing heavily. It was a cool night on the school grounds, but a bright moon lit the school grounds in brilliant white light. Harry was reminded of briefly of his days as a student, running about those very grounds, on any number of adventures. He then glanced over toward the Forbidden Forest, which was still teeming with mysterious life. Between the forest and the castle, however, was still a solemn graveyard.

            Even now, my tragedies and my triumphs are inextricably linked.

            As they reached the stairs that led to the entrance of the castle, Harry's attention was drawn by a stone gargoyle beside the stairwell. One of the statue's ears seemed a little askew, and Harry was surprised to have never noticed it before. Pulling out his wand, he quickly moved the ear into its proper place.

            "Harry, would you come on! You can tinker with the castle later!" Ginny's voice, full of laughter, beckoned from the bottom of the stairs. "You just won't be satisfied until it's perfect, will you?"

            Ginny was referring, of course, to the construction of the school. Over a millennium ago, the Hogwarts Four had created a school through their combined might. Harry Potter had accomplished the same feat with his wand ago over the course of a very tiring week. Harry ascended the few steps between them, and took her hand, kissing it softly. "Don't fault me for that, my lady: I've become accustomed to perfection."

            Ginny predictably blushed, and stood gazing into his eyes adoringly: until her attention strayed to the space over his left shoulder.  "Look! They're coming across the lake!"

            Harry turned in the direction she was pointing to see a fleet of small ships crossing the lake slowly. He smiled proudly: there must have been thirty of the four man boats in all; a large crop of new students. Enrollment at the school had started slowly, but over the last decade Albus had begun to exceed the other magical schools academically, and their numbers were beginning to reflect that fact.

            "Go on ahead, lover," Ginny was saying. "I'll wait for them here."

            Harry nodded smiling. For a whole new generation of magical students, Ginny Potter would be the first face they ever put on the institution of magic. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and left her at the base of the stairwell. With youthful enthusiasm, Harry bounded up the stairs toward the Great Doors.

            The staircase ended in the stylized head of a stone dragon, its jaws hanging open. Monstrous, flat fangs formed the entrance to the castle. The were only two ways into the castle; either to tap the front door with a wand and say the password, or to be Harry Potter.

            He laid his palm against the cold stone, and the head came instantly to life. With a deep groaning noise, the immense jaws creaked open, allowing him entrance to the school. He had no sooner stepped through the stone threshold than he had to step back outside, dodging a poorly thrown water balloon. However, instead the water he had expected, Harry watched angrily as pink paint splattered the entrance area of the castle. He looked up to see the luminescent forms of Agnes and Julius, the twin Poltergeists of Albus.

            The school had been officially open for less than an hour when Fred and George had appeared, looking very proud of themselves indeed. Harry knew at once that something awful would soon be taking place, and he was not disappointed. By days' end, the feint of heart had been chased from the castle by dung-bombs, rubber snakes and biting whoopee cushions. Between the Weasley Twins and their ethereal gift to the new school, Harry could never be too careful in his own castle.

            Overhead, the twin poltergeists wavered in uncertainty. The rest of the paint-balloons were still in their silvery hands, but they were frozen in terror at the sight of the headmaster. 

            "AGNES! JULIUS!" Harry bellowed, his voice powerful. "Come down here at once!"

            Slowly, the two mischievous ghosts drifted down to Harry's eye-level. Peeves never followed orders, not from anyone. "That will be quite enough of that," Harry remarked when they finally arrived, his tone calmer now. He made sure to keep a threatening undercurrent in his voice, which they did not overlook. "The students will be here any minute, and I want this mess cleaned up before they get here. Afterwards, you will slink down to the dungeons for the rest of the night. I understand that you have a load of surprises in store for the new students, but you're just going to have to wait until tomorrow. I don't want them harassed on their first day. Is that clear?"

            Julius nodded quickly, but Agnes appeared to have a retort in mind.

            Harry cut her off. "I know that you are ghosts, but you will have to trust me when I tell you this: if you can affect the living, I can most certainly affect the dead."

            Agnes decided to keep her comment to herself. She and her twin seemed suddenly very depressed.

            "Why don't the two of you spend the evening thinking up some new mischief? When I was at school, we had a poltergeist too, a nasty guy by the name of Peeves. And every year, he came up with new and innovative pranks to assault the students with. Come on: paint-balloons? Are you serious? I think you can do better than that, and I accept nothing less than the best from everyone in this school."

            Looks of blank surprise soon vanished from their faces, and they began to smile in an almost sinister way. Julius raised his shimmering white hand in salute. "We won't let you down, sir. We've have those ickle-first years cryin' for their mummies!"

            Harry smiled. "Excellent," he breathed. "But not until tomorrow, as we agreed. Now get this cleaned up and get out of here."

            "Julius!" he heard Agnes' voice from behind him. "We'll get some of George's Flaming Flatulence Powder, and put it on-"

            Harry tuned the rest out: it was going to be a busy weekend in the infirmary. He made a mental note to send a head's up owl to Nurse Lupin on the topic. In the meantime, he made his way into the heart of the castle. He quickly located a broom closet off of the entrance hall, and pulled out a battered old Firebolt. It was nearly obsolete in comparison to the newer brooms on the market, but he could still outstrip the fastest of the student Quidditch players. Within seconds, he was whizzing through the empty corridors of Albus towards the kitchen.

            He rounded the corner next to the Transfiguration classroom at blinding speed. The corridor widened significantly as it encountered another hallway: Right through the middle of the space, at a height of nine feet, a large stream of water flowed, unperturbed by gravity. The waterspout served as a sort of expressway for students trying to get from the ground level up to any of the towers. Anyone could get from the Great Hall to the Owlery in a matter of minutes, without messing with stiars, in the fast waters of the hovering streams. There were eight of these rivers inside the school, running up to the eight towers of the building, and all conjoining in an ornate fountain underneath the center stairwell.

 Harry had found that he could cut right through the waterspouts if he got enough momentum ahead of time; it required nearly the top speed of his old Firebolt. He had done it enough times that it was easy. In fact, the only trick lay in avoiding the canoes that were distributed through the waters. He lowered his head and blasted through the geyser, emerging on the other side sopping wet but exhilarated.

A minute later, he dismounted and set the broom against the stone wall. He had come to a stop in front of the entrance-portrait to the kitchens, an important looking young noble munching on some chocolate frogs with an air of distinction.

"Midnight snack," Harry pronounced, and the portrait (still with a show of arrogance) slid open to admit him to the kitchens. It was true that he did not have to use the password to enter; every password-protected room in the castle (of which there were many) was designed to admit him automatically. However, the passwords for the kitchen were always food-related, and generally served to entertain the young headmaster immensely.

"Harry Potter! I'm so glad to see you!" a small voice piped.

Harry looked down to see an old, familiar face. Dobby the house-elf was grinning widely, as usual. Harry was somewhat startled by Dobby's speech; the elf had long ago lost his servant patois, but it never did sound right to hear his old friend speaking grammatically-correct English.

"How are you, Dobby?" Harry asked.

"I'm doing very well, thank you," Dobby answered, enunciating each syllable perfectly and confidently.

"How are things going? Is everything in order?"

"Yes sir, as ever, we have gone to painstaking labors to insure that everything will be perfect," Dobby replied, his smile not wavering.

"Not too painstaking, I hope?"

Dobby's expression of complete joy dimmed a bit. In the sixteen years since Hermione had taken possession of the Hogwarts Elves, she had finally accomplished some changes in their working conditions. House-Elves were now referred to as "In-House-Assistants", and were now paid for their labors. Hermione, who had a small amount of influence with the Minister of Magic at the time (as well as the ear of the most powerful wizard in the nation), had managed to push through legislation improving Elf-Wizard relations.

Hermione was greatly pleased with the gains she had made, but she was one of just a few. The various wizarding families did not care for the new laws much, but in the wake of the war, no one cared to oppose them, either. The house-elves nearly staged a riot at first, and in the end, Hermione had to order them to accept the new terms.

Fifteen years later, the elves were still less-than thrilled about their new freedoms. They took their days off as ordered, went home when asked to, and even accepted their wages, although no one was sure what exactly they did with it. Nonetheless, Harry could tell that this was contrary to their natures. Every time anyone mentioned something about not working too hard, or enjoying their time off, the Elves seemed unhappy.

But maybe Herm is right: maybe they can change.

 "No sir, not too hard," Dobby answered in a disgusted tone.

"Glad to hear it, Dobby. Tell me, what time to you work tomorrow?" Harry asked.

Dobby continued to glower. "Not until eleven. Just in time to make lunch."

"Oh, excellent. I'd sure hate to ask you to work during your time off, but perhaps you could come by my office at say, eight? I have a little project that you might just be able to help me with," Harry said slowly, a twinkle in his eyes.

Dobby brightened immediately at the prospect of extra work. "Yes sir, you know I will!"

"I would greatly appreciate it," Harry breathed. "But I'm afraid I must be getting along now. I'll see you at the Feast, Dobby!" He left the kitchens with a sense of general peace about the meal to come, if not the Sorting Ceremony. Now, all I have to do is think of something for Dobby to do.

Harry picked up his broom and took off toward the Great Hall. He turned at the first hallway he came to and within seconds had arrived at the central stairwell. It was a huge room; larger even than the Great Hall at Hogwarts had been. The walls of the room, which branched off into various corridors, where lined with trophy cases (the majority of which were still empty), old suits of armor from the school's predecessor, and statues depicting great wizards. Bright multi-colored torches burned at intervals of fifteen feet on the walls; and more torches were affixed to each side of every column in the giant room.

            Four immense staircases, golden in hue and nearly forty feet wide, sprang up from the ground, arching into the heavens, far above the ground level. Underneath them lay a great pool of water, from which the eight streams of water started. A series of crosswalks enabled the students to access the stairs and traverse the room.

            The waters were perfectly clear, due to a powerful cleansing spell that Harry cast each week. However, the pool was so deep that one could not see the bottom of the bright waters. He knew that the waters went down several hundred feet, and then the column shifted sharply to the right; a wide passageway connected the deep pool to the outside lake. During the first years of the school, the merpeople would occasionally drift up to see what was going on inside the school, but soon lost interest. However, the interior portion of the lake was not so boring to everyone in the underrealm: Harry had had to have a talk with the Giant Squid to keep him from visiting too often.

            Harry expertly piloted his broom close of the surface of the water, cutting diagonally across the pool. He made it to the other side and turned sharply down the nearest hall, and right through Professor Moody. A shiver tore through Harry's body; running through Moody was colder than any dip in the school canals.

            "Watch out there!" Moody cried in anguish. "I swear, there's more trouble in our headmaster than in our worst students!"

            Harry smiled proudly. "Too right there is."

            Moody shook his ghostly head and smiled. "One of these days, Potter, you're going to get yourself killed on that thing."

He's much calmer now that he's dead. Harry reflected on the curiosity that was Alastor Moody; in life, the former auror had spent every waking minute trying to avoid his own death. The evasion of death is always a fruitless exercise; sooner or later it is bound to fail. But to an extent, Moody was successful. When he finally died, shortly after the first year of Albus, he went peacefully in his sleep. He began his afterlife in a quandary; how to spend his energies now that death was no longer an issue?

Much like Professor Binns at Hogwarts long ago, Moody returned to work the next year, much to the amazement of the faculty. The students were also notably surprised when he floated through the door to the DADA classroom, instead of the more traditional "opening and stepping through" routine. He continued teaching the Defense class much as he had before, but with noticeably less mania. Harry was proud to say that Moody had become a dedicated and hard-working, if not lively, instructor. Not only that, but in only his second year, he had cured the Hogwarts DADA curse.

"Will I see you at the sorting, Moody?" Harry asked.

The pale face in front of him scrunched up in consideration. "I don't see how I could possibly work it in, Headmaster. I'm working on my lesson for tomorrow – I have a surprise that will knock the socks off the kids!"

Harry laughed. "Very well, then I will see you at the meeting later, right?"

"Is that tonight? I'd almost forgotten."

"Yes, it's tonight. Same place, same time," Harry remarked, astonished.

"Yeah, I'll see you there." With that, Moody drifted through the nearest wall, where he was less likely to encounter any more gallivanting headmasters.

Harry remounted his broom and took off for the Great Hall. Within minutes, he was seated at the center of the staff table. Within minutes, the students would be arriving, and the staff was silent with mutual anticipation. This was the fifteenth year of school at Albus, but Harry and the others still felt the same giddy excitement at the onset of each new year.

To his left sat Remus Lupin, the Professor for History of Magic, with his wife, Nurse Nymphadora Tonks. Beside them sat the Longbottoms: Herbology-Instructor Neville and Luna, the Charms Teacher. At the end of the table on his left side, Arthur Weasley sat in a heated conversation with the Potions Master.

Arthur Weasley had signed on to teach Muggle Studies "at least until a better teacher might be found", as he said. Harry or Hermione had sat in on most of his lessons that first year, correcting a few glaring misconceptions in Arthur's understanding. Fourteen years later, Arthur Weasley was still the Interim Professor, and Harry was reasonably convinced that a better teacher could not be found.

The Potions Master was scowling in response to something Arthur had said. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. In the months after the end of the war, Harry was having a little trouble locating anyone to fill the Potions Master position. He knew of one person who had the skills, and decided that the best place for Lucius Malfoy was directly under his own nose. It had taken quite a bit of persuading, but ever since Christmas Eve of '97, Harry had always been able to get what he wanted from the former Deatheater, however reluctantly it might come.

Lucius as a professor presented a world of difficulties to Harry. First and foremost, there were still the taints of the old Malfoy spirit about him; he exhibited the same biases toward Purebloods and the members of his own house. Harry kept a close eye on him, and had so far prevented the aging wizard from getting into any serious trouble.

The true complication lay in the fact that during his third year of teaching, Malfoy had suffered a vampire bite, and his conversion had been swift and complete. Thereafter, Harry had to insure that Malfoy kept his teeth to himself, so to speak. All the potions classes had to be scheduled at night to accommodate the newly undead professor.

To Harry's right was the rest of the faculty; Hermione and Viktor Krum (the teachers for Arithmancy and Transfiguration, respectively), Dennis and Colin Creevey. Next to Harry, in pride of place, was the seat for Ginny, the Instructor for Care of Magical Creatures. He smiled to himself; in the fifteen minutes she had left his side, he had already begun to miss her.

At times such as these, Harry let his mind wander over the past. I wonder what Ron would have taught. Ron had never demonstrated mastery over any of the subjects at Hogwarts, but Harry knew that most of his staff had simply risen to the occasion when Albus was formed. He could easily envision Ron demonstrating wand technique in Charms, or spooking his students in DADA. Granted, they had a host of witches and wizards with a lot of experience in DADA.

All further thoughts were driven from his mind as the newest crop of students arrived in the Great Hall, lead by Ginny. Every year, Harry was surprised anew at how small and timid they all seemed. He well remembered the day of his own Sorting, how nervous he had been. To see it from the outside, year in and year out, was another thing altogether.

The frightened children marched solemnly up the aisle in the center of the Hall. The room was set up in precisely the same way as its predecessor at Hogwarts. The four House tables ran the length of the room, with the Staff table perpendicular to them all at the end. The first years proceeded to the center of the room, and then halted, unsure as to whether to proceed any further.

"Go on, Gin," Harry murmured.

"Okay, first years," Ginny said, addressing the new students. The rest of the room was perfectly silent, giving her their full attentions. She waved her wand and conjured a three-legged stool in front of them, and pulled a tattered wizard's hat from her robes and placed it reverentially on top. Moments later, the dark folds of the Hat opened into a gaping hole, from which belted a magical tune:

I've been around for more than a millennium,

And I've seen more than a thing or two.

I'm neither pretty nor pretentious;

I'll happily share my knowledge with you.

I'm not as dressy as a fedora,

Nor as stylish as a baseball cap,

But I'm smarter than the rest:

To your mind I'll provide the map.

For hundreds of years I served Hogwarts

By putting students in their places

But then Darkness took the school down

But at Albus I still handle the new cases

So, take a walk on up here;

Just give me a try

And I will tell you

Where I think you should lie

Maybe I will send you to the House of Weasley

Where the brave of heart and noble of spirit

Have always been welcome at Albus.

Weasley is the place to find friends of merit.

Or else you might belong in Rubeus

Where the kindest souls reside,

Thinking only of others and never of themselves.

It all hangs on what you decide.

But if you fancy yourself clever

You should try House McGonagall.

There you will find your friends

Who are among the brightest of us all.

But if these fine Houses do not suit you

Then try the one that is most little

But no less noble than the others;

Enlist yourself in the House of Riddle.

I've been around for many a year

And I've seen things you would not guess.

But I'll continue to do my thing

And promise to do my best.

The students and faculty clapped heavily after the insipid rhymes.

"He's just not putting much effort into that," Harry heard Hermione say quietly.

Harry nodded, not taking his attention from the spectacle in front of him. "The burden of creation is not an easy one."

"You'd think he'd come up with a little more than that," she persisted and he could not argue.

Years before, the evil under the name of Voldemort had torn the magical world asunder, and they were still recovering. The list of people who connected that fearful name to that of Tom Riddle was short indeed. Those that did know the true name of the Dark Lord had objected strongly to the inclusion of the Riddle House at Albus, but Harry had insisted. In part, he wanted to pay tribute to his greatest foe. More than that, he wanted to demonstrate his unflagging hope that every student held promise, even if they passed under the long shadow of Salazar Slytherin.

Ginny went on. "When your name is called, come forward and put the Sorting Hat on your head, and together you will decide in which House you belong."

Harry nodded knowingly. One of the changes they had instituted since the creation of Albus was to instruct the Sorting Hat to encourage more than place the Students. In accordance with his own experience and Hermione's, as well as Neville's, they had decided that it would be far better to let the student decide, if at all possible.

"Doris Ackerly," Ginny said in a clear, loud voice.

In response, a blond girl in pigtails emerged from the throng of first years and approached the stool, shaking from head to toe as she did. She placed the Sorting Hat on her head and after a few minutes, her tremulous voice squeaked; "McGonagall!"

Thunderous applause from the entire room followed her to the McGonagall table, and Ginny wasted no time in summoning Gregory Alban to the Hat. After a short deliberation he put himself in Riddle. Peter Amos became the first new Weasley, before Louis Black also went to McGonagall.

Jean Christians and Bella Cranton both went to Rubeus, and the hall exploded in applause with each new sorting. Everyone took notice when Katarina Dumbledore, Grand-niece of the Last Headmaster of Hogwarts, placed herself in McGonagall. After fifteen minutes, they had worked their way into the back of the alphabet. Agnes Parker became a Weasley, and Harry smiled in anticipation. The next student bore her grandmother's name, but was a near replica of her mother on the day of her own sorting.

With a look of excitement on her face, Ginny called the next name on the list: "Lily Potter." The first years parted and pushed forward a small redheaded child, with dazzling green eyes and s timid smile. Harry and Ginny's youngest stepped boldly up to the Sorting Hat. She put it on and sat down.

Harry's conception of time seemed to stall, and it seemed hours before he heard his only daughter squeak: "WEASLEY!" Harry's heart felt a surge of pride, which was only encouraged by the louder-than-usual applause that accompanied her decision. He watched as she joined the ranks of the Weasley House.

Ginny's voice was broken as she read the next name, and Harry could see silent tears streaming down her face.

"Ronald Potter."

From the same area of the first years came Lily's twin brother, a few minutes older and several inches taller. He carried the name of the uncle he'd never met, but was the very vision of his father. Pushing unruly black hair out of his face, he took the stool, and pulled the Hat over his head, until the brim rested on his unmarked forehead.

If there had been a long deliberation for Lily, it paled in comparison to the pause that awaited Ron's sorting. Across the room, the anxious wizards shifted uncomfortably in their seats, all echoing Harry's thought: Shouldn't it be obvious?

Harry soon decided that he was happier waiting when Ronald's voice confidently declared; "RIDDLE!".

There was a fair amount of applause in the room, most noticeably from the Riddle table, which was pleased to have the progeny of the greatest wizard of their time among their ranks. The rest of the students applauded in oblivion, but the rest of the staff turned toward Harry in unmistakable concern. Harry's own attention was on his wife, who could not contain her surprise. After an uncomfortable pause, she read the next name on the list in a dazed voice.

Shaking his doubts from his mind, Harry rose to give his opening address as soon as the last first year was sorted. "Let us all welcome our new students," he said loudly, and the room gave another boisterous round of applause.

Harry paused a moment, unsure how to continue. Every year, he wanted to tell all of his new students what a remarkable journey they were about to undertake. In the next seven years, they would encounter friendships, rivalries, new experiences, love, joy and laughter, and even a little bit of education, all lumped together in a way that could only be described as magical. With all these things in mind, Harry gave his address.

"I know that you are all eager to begin your meals, as I am myself. But I beg your patience when I give you the following words," he said. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Smiling he sat back down. Let them figure out for themselves.

            *                      *                      *                      *

Midnight descended upon the quiet castle. The students were all in their respective Houses, likely lying down, if not asleep. Harry had faith that his assigned prefects would keep them in their rooms, so that he might venture from the Castle. As the hands on the giant clock in his office united as one at the twelve, Harry rose from his chair and went over to the open window. He grabbed his Firebolt and took off through the window, dropping immediately into the shadows of the Castle.

He whistled along the ground at great speed; he had managed to take the trip down to less than three minutes. Cold, wet air cut into his face, but he did not mind. After all those years, he still enjoyed flying like nothing else. A picture of Ginny floated into his mind, and a grin formed on his face as he reminded himself; Well, few things.

Harry zipped over to the Forbidden Forest and he cut across the tree tops, feeling leaves brush against the tips of his shoes. Spotting the now-familiar grove of trees in question, Harry descended into the heart of the forest, where the wartime home of the Order of the Phoenix still remained.

In front of the building were three-dozen robed figures gathered around an enormous fire, which was crackling merrily. Harry set his broom down outside the circle and then joined their ranks, taking up a spot between Ginny and Hermione. On his left side, removed by a few body spaces, he could see the shimmering form of Professor Moody. He squeezed Ginny's hand in affectionate greeting.

"Good evening, Harry Potter," said a thick voice.

Harry looked over to see the only son of Cornelius Fudge, who had succeeded his Father as Minister. He was flanked, as usual, by a pair of burly Aurors. The relationship between the Order and the Ministry had never been rosy; but they joined forces in their vigilance against the Dark Forces. "And to you, Buck Fudge," Harry breathed. "Is everyone here?"
            "I believe so," Fudge said, nodding. "We are ready to begin. Has everyone prepared their reports?"

Jimson stepped forward into the firelight. "I suppose I will begin. The dragon family is doing well, having returned to Neddleton Island after many long years. We have managed to keep Gloria's family apart from the main pack, and so far they are demonstrating the same domestication as their mother."
            "That is good news," Fudge affirmed. "I hope they will be ready should we ever need to call upon them."

"I have faith that they will, Minister," Jimson answered, and shrank back into the shadows.

"Mr. Krum?" Fudge said, and in response, Viktor stepped forward, emerging from Hermione's far side.

"The news from Bulgaria is not nearly as promising," Viktor responded. "My latest communications with Igor say that they have had some luck with their raids, but overall the Bulgarian Ministry still remains powerful. From his reports, I am not confident that they will be able to overthrow the existing government."
            Fudge nodded. "I wish them luck."

Harry felt his anger rising. He had often proposed outright war with the Bulgarian Ministry. Immediately following the downfall of Voldemort, he had led the Order on several cursory attacks, but had not had manpower enough to lead a proper revolt. The Bulgarian Ministry had been on the side of the Deatheaters during the war seventeen years ago, and the same characters were still in charge.

During the years after the events of those times, known now as the English Magical Civil War, the Bulgarian Ministry had attacked several, smaller Magical Nations around them, creating a growing Empire that threatened their own nation.

"Fudge-" Harry spoke up.

"Forget it, Potter," Fudge snapped. "Your persistent war-mongery is unwelcome. We do not have the manpower nor the resources to do as you suggest."

"Maybe not, but I think we're more powerful than you care to admit," Harry said, his voice hot. "In fact, I think you're afraid of upsetting the voting members of the Ministry, who don't seem to understand the threat posed by the Bulgarians. Even if we do not have the resources ourselves, I know that Minister Delacour of France would come to our aid. I have reason to believe that the governments of America and Germany our sympathetic to our cause."
            Fudge sputtered in outrage. "You are proposing a magical world-war! Do you understand the implications of what you are suggesting? You could bring the ruination of our nation!"

"Oh yes, I understand." Harry growled. "I am beginning to wonder how much it is you understand. Do you believe that our supposedly covert operations in Bulgaria will continue to go unanswered? What's better, to start war on our own terms, or to invite an attack we aren't prepared for?"

Fudge's face was a mask of fury in the firelight. "Be that as it may, that is a decision for the Ministry, not for the Headmaster of our school and his band of thugs."

Many voices grumbled their discontent at this comment, so Fudge changed the topic of conversation quickly. "How goes the pursuit of the Outlaw Magical Creatures?"

To his right, an Auror stepped forward. "The Dementors and the Giants have been hunted into near-extinction, Minister. We believe that there is a small pocket of them in the Eastern Territories, but otherwise they have been exterminated."

Harry snorted in fury. "The Eastern Territories" was the term that the Ministry had concocted for the Bulgarian Empire.

The meeting wore on, as many field reports were given. Harry fought his urge to again denounce Minister Fudge, but decided to let it rest. At last, Fudge and his Aurors departed, leaving the Order huddled in the flickering firelight.

"What are we going to do, Harry?" Arthur Weasley spoke up.

Harry sighed. "I'm not sure yet. It may yet come to war, but that day has not yet arrived on us. In the meantime, we will do as we always do: keep our eyes open. We shall never again let the shadow of Darkness descend upon our land. We will guard our homes and our families with care and with strength. In short, we will follow the advice of a wise friend of mine."

He cast a sly glance at Moody, and then led them all in their chorus: "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry kissed his wife softly on the top of her head, and led the Order out of the Forbidden Forest.

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Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who has stuck with me through this fanfiction. I greatly appreciate that you have taken the time to read my humble work, and I thank you many times over for your words of encouragement. I hope you enjoyed it.