This little piece of fluff should in no way be considered a challenge to the ownership of the characters or intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. Send not thy Lawyers to bedevil me. Please.

And for the record, I have only the highest of respect for Steve and his family. Though I do think he has spent a little too much time in New Zealand than is good for him.

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Chapter 3

The lawns surrounding the ancient citadel turned educational facility commonly referred to as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were immaculate. Moreso, they were perfection incarnate.

At least, that is, according to the various grass-eating creatures that frequented the grounds. In fact, Aberforth Dumbledore's goats could occasionally be overheard commenting on what truly fine grass this is, old chap…

In the thousand or so years that the institution had occupied this site, only twice had the lawns been disturbed. The first time had been during a particularly vigorous mating flight when a small horde of dragons had descended on the grounds and wreaked havok for a few days. The second time had been during World War Two, when an unexploded bomb had landed smack bang in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, causing a hole to be made.

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Harry Potter was worried. His scar had been hurting a lot more recently and Hagrid was missing. Enough of Hagrid's things were missing, that it was obvious he was away on a mission for Dumbledore and the Order, but Harry still worried about his big friend.

He was sitting by the windowsill in the Gryffindor common room, idly watching the small plume of smoke and dust making it's way up the path from Hogsmeade to the school…

…

"Hermione? Ron?" The bored detachment in Harry's voice belied by the slight hitch as he asked, "What do you suppose could make a dust cloud like that?"

Hermione and Ron looked up from their books, Benign Malefica and the Gryffindor Quidditch Playbook respectively, gave each other a brief questioning glance, then moved over to join Harry in looking out the window.

"I don't know Harry, do you suppose it could be Death Eaters?" Ron asked just a little bit too loudly in the suddenly SILENT common room.

The trio froze and slowly looked around. Every face in the common room was 1. very pale, and 2. looking at them.

Except for Colin Creevey, who had his camera with it's newly adapted telephoto lens, and was hanging halfway out one of the windows hoping to get a glimpse of the Death Eaters.

A few moments later, a much discouraged Colin reappeared in the still silent room, saying, "Nope, no Death Eaters." And walking dejectedly back to his desk.

Dean Thomas piped up, "How can you tell, Colin?"

"Easy, the Dark Tollywadger doesn't drive a tan Range Rover."

…

The entire room spent a few silent minutes digesting that piece of information.

The senior students spent a few more moments looking from one to the other before Harry finally spoke.

"Care to explain that last comment, Colin?"

Colin looked as though he was being asked to wear a banana suit into the Gorilla exhibit at the Royal Zoo. "Well it's obvious really. It'd be black, wouldn't it? I can't imagine that he bathes very often..."

The logic seemed to escape everyone. Except Hermione, who was getting a little red faced while trying to keep in her laughter, and who was now hiding behind her book.

On behalf of the rest of the purebloods in the room, Ron asked the question that was bugging him the most. "What is a Grange Rober?"

Seamus, seeing an opportunity he couldn't resist, leapt into the conversation, "You are Ron, you are."

Half the room broke out in laughter, while Hermione and Harry almost fell off their chairs at the look on Ron's face when he realised what he had said.

Wiping tears away from her eyes, Hermione eventually answered, "A Range Rover is a kind of car that muggles drive. A big, powerful car for driving in rough terrain."

Various nods of vague comprehension intermingled with the remaining chuckles wandering the room.

Harry stood up, "Well I'm going to go have a look, you never know, Lord Venerealwart might be trying a Trojan Horse thing." And walked towards the exit, checking for his wand as he went.

He was quickly followed by the rest of the Gryffindors, whose curiousity had far outweighed any feelings of fear or unease…or for that matter common sense.

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In the meantime, the dust cloud (with or without said cargo of Death Eaters) was getting perilously close to the main gates.

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It was in fact a pair of tan Range Rovers, each towing a quite sizable enclosed trailer.

As they passed through the gates and onto the grounds, the great wheels tore up huge swathes of turf, sending Filch into hysterics at the thought of having to clean up this new and horrific mess.

The two vehicles finally pulled up beside Hagrid's hut, and a number of pleasant looking folks in robes ranging from tan to olive green, climbed out of the cabs.

Professor Dumbledore had long since reached the front doors, having gotten word of his guests arrival upon their reaching Hogsmeade. He made his way down the lawn to the first vehicle, where a younger wizard was lifting a small child down onto the ground.

"Steven, Terri, I'm so glad you could make it. Did the portkeys give you any trouble?"

"Albus. Mate." The younger man shook Dumbledore's had vigorously. "No worries, worked like a charm." A confident grin spread across his face. "Though it may have upset some of my little friends back here."

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Severus Snape was more than a little worried about what this man considered his 'little friends' and what it might mean if they were 'upset'.