Hermione and Neville watched as their friends flew around the quidditch pitch, tossing a practice quaffle. Seeker Potter had just caught a pass from Susan Bones, who had intercepted a throw from Ron Weasley. Hannah Abbott was playing keeper, if only for form's sake - Quidditch was not her game, but she loved to fly.
She looked over at her host, just in time to see Neville's eyes dart back to Longbottom Hall. The group had been walking inside to watch Seeker and Neville open their presents, when Madam Longbottom had unceremoniously kicked them all out of the house. Seeing her mood, Neville had not questioned the change in plans, but the worry on his face was obvious to Hermione.
"It's probably nothing, you know." She said. Neville looked over at her and nodded.
"Probably," he agreed. "But I learned a long time ago not to get in her way when she's angry. And it's been a while since I've seen her that angry." he frowned. "I wonder what happened."
Hermione shook her head. She didn't know either. A laugh from above drew their eyes back to the pitch, where Seeker had just intercepted another pass. Despite her total lack of interest in flying, she could tell that Harry loved it - and moments like this were the reason. With a grin, she pointed. "There is an upside, though - I mean, would Harry ever say no to more time on a broom?"
"No," Neville said with a chuckle. "No, he would not." They continued to watch for a while, enjoying their tea and the beautiful weather.
"Thanks again for inviting me, Neville. I've had a wonderful time today." Hermione fought off the impulse to list every fascinating thing she had seen during her first visit to a magical home, but only just.
Neville laughed at the conflict on his friend's face - he had seen her eyes when they caught sight of the library as they walked past. "You're always welcome here, Hermione. We're glad you came." Another shout from the pitch brought their attention once more to their quidditch-loving friends.
oOoOoOoOo
James Potter stood on the back balcony and watched as Chaser and his friends started another pickup game out on the Quidditch Pitch. Neville and Harry had invited old friends and new ones, and the group seemed to get along quite well.
That had been a worry of James' when he sent his only son to Hogwarts, that he might stick to the friends he had grown up with, and not been open to meeting new people. That he had made friends like Hermione showed that James' fears had been unfounded.
Now, if they could just make it through the day without another disaster, they'd be fine. With a sigh, James walked back into the house, finding Augusta Longbottom and Amelia Bones taking their tea in the parlor.
"Any luck?" He asked, taking his own seat. Amelia shook her head.
"Not a bit. Neville's presents are all there, stacked neatly as if the elves just sorted them. It's just the presents for Harry." Madam Bones shook her head. "Could your elves have sorted them somewhere else?"
James shook his head. "No, they said they made two stacks of presents when everyone arrived, and added any that came in via owl, and then left it alone."
"We were all outside, having lunch," said Augusta. "So who else was inside to take them?"
The three looked at each other, none of them having any idea who might have stolen presents from the birthday boy.
oOoOoOoOo
The summer had been a busy one for Spellforged, but that suited him just fine.
He had spent the first three weeks of summer with his mother and cousin, finishing up his Hogwarts homework and enjoying a long overdue break. In mid-July, however, his mother drew an assignment with an old manor house in the south of France, so Erik and his father planned to go on holiday. Spellforged, meanwhile, returned to Gringott's, where he worked on learning some of the goblin magic he would have picked up by now as Foecleaver's apprentice.
Harry did not strictly need to learn all of the goblin magic suited to a student at his level, for he was an unlikely candidate for the usual duties of an apprentice - junior teller, new accounts clerk, or the like. But there was also the fact that he was a son of Clan Ragnok - and no one wearing his father's crest would let themselves be less than adept at the magic of the Nation.
So Spellforged spent his mornings training and his afternoons studying. All in all, he was having a productive summer.
Keeping busy helped him deal with the fact that Hermione had stopped responding to his letters. He did not realize how much it bothered him, until the day when he crippled a training dummy. He then compounded his mistake and walked off the sparring floor, turning his back on his combat instructor as he did so.
When the stunner was lifted, he got an well-deserved earful from the instructor.
The thing was, Spellforged couldn't figure out what he had said that might offend her so. Their letters had been perfectly normal, talking about their classmates (none of whom had written him either, come to think of it), their homework, and a trip she had taken with her parents.
The last letter she had sent agreed on a date for their school shopping - and a quick tour of the bank when she came to the alley, followed by ice cream at Fortescue's. School shopping had a different flavor when you lived on Diagon Alley for part of the summer, he had learned.
Ragnok, meanwhile, had been quite busy as well. There had been a shake-up with the clans in Scandinavia, and several of the other Directors had been called to arbitrate the dispute. The Director, a venerable old goblin named Grimblade, had died with no obvious successor, and so the sons of two powerful clans challenged each other for the post. Their honor duel had lasted longer than an hour, and ended when both warriors struck killing blows.
Spellforged had seen the problem immediately. An Honor Duel only goes until one party has wounded the other three times. Never are they fought to maim or to cripple, and certainly never to the death. Unfortunately, when the two warrior's blades clashed that last time, fatigue and an arm injury and simple bad luck converged in one moment. Both blades deflected off of each other, causing one goblin to suffer a grievous neck wound and the other to nearly have his arm severed at the shoulder.
Both wounds were fatal. The warriors died within seconds of each other.
And so Ragnok had spent the last two weeks in Gringott's Stockholm, working with two other Directors to keep the incident from sparking a civil war. Spellforged almost wished he could have gone, for watching his father at the negotiating table was a rare treat. Ragnok was just as deadly with a quill as he was with his famous axe.
He had returned to London that morning, unexpectedly - which Spellforged took as a fine birthday present, seeing as how he had received no others. Ragnok did bring a gift, however, placing it directly in Spellforged's hand - a second year spellbook entitled Mellanliggande Stavar för den Skandinaviska Trollkarlen, or Intermediate Spells for the Scandinavian Magical. Harry found the book fascinating, and had already noticed a few spells missing from the standard Hogwarts curriculum.
Hermione would steal this from him in a heartbeat, if they were still speaking come September.
Ragnok saw his son's expression, and frowned. "Is everything well, Harry?"
Spellforged smiled, weakly. "Yes, father - I just wish I knew why Hermione has stopped writing to me. I know I didn't say anything to offend her." He shrugged. "It's a puzzle I might have to wait for the train to solve."
One of the goblin's eyebrows raised. "I could send some warriors to her home, if you wish. To make sure she is safe, of course."
That got him an eye roll from his son. "I appreciate the offer, but her parents might not take that well." Spellforged snickered. "GOBLIN HORDE INVADES CRAWLEY, MUGGLE AUTHORITIES BAFFLED. Quite the headline, don't you think?"
"Perhaps." Ragnok grinned back, gesturing to the dining room. "We'll discuss it after your birthday dinner."
oOoOoOoOo
Rose, having seen the game played before by Petunia and her friends, picked up the rules fairly rapidly. Astoria had been close behind, and the two made a good team. Daphne, on the other hand, remained baffled.
"Look, it's very simple." Said a frustrated Tracy Davis. She laid the cards out on the bed, facing her partner. "If the suit is anything but this, then this card is the strongest. But if it's this, then these two cards become the strongest ones in the hand."
"But that one has a different symbol!" Daphne objected, pointing at the Jack of Hearts.
"Yes, but it's red. So it's the number two card now, because these," Tracy held up the Jack of Diamonds, "are trump."
Daphne huffed. "And the cards don't explode if you lose?" This got chuckles from the other girls.
"No, Daphne, muggle cards don't explode when you lose." Tracy grinned. "You did say you wanted to try Euchre."
The pureblooded heiress sighed, looking defeated. "I did say that, didn't I?" This got a laugh from Rose and Astoria, which caused the Heiress Greengrass to do the most dignified thing she could and stick out her tongue. Now all four girls were laughing.
Despite the missing gifts, which had probably annoyed Selena Greengrass more than it had Rose, today had been the best birthday that Rose had ever had. And the quiet slumber party Daphne and Tracy had organized was a great way to cap it off.
A soft pop behind the girls signaled the arrival of a house elf. "Did anyone ask for Annabelle?" Daphne asked, wondering who had summoned the Greengrass elf.
"I's not being Annabelle, miss."
The girls turned to see the house elf standing at the foot of Rose's bed. He was not one of the Greengrass elves, for the Greengrasses treated their elves as family and allowed them to dress in clean, comfortable clothes. This elf, on the other hand, wore little more than a filthy pillowcase. Daphne saw faint scars on the sides of the elf's ears and arms, which - when taken with the pillowcase - pointed to an abusive master.
Rose looked into the elf's eyes as he stared at her. There was a hint of kindness in those eyes, she saw, but also determination, and no small amount of fear. She had seen that look before, to her horror, in the mirror. "Who are you?" She asked.
Shock crossed the face of the elf. "The great Rose Potter wishes to know Dobby's name? The wise and powerful witch cares about Dobby?" Shock gave way to joy, and the elf's broad grin was unnerving.
Play along, keep him talking. "Yes, Dobby, I want to know who you are and what you are doing here. I know you are not one of the Greengrass elves, so can you tell me who your master is?" Do elves get lost? Rose wondered.
"I's cannot be saying, Mistress Rose Potter." He seemed to fight the impulse to do something, but kept himself still. "Dobby is here to protect Rose Potter, to warn her of danger."
oOoOoOoOo
Marigold stared at the little elf. "Danger?" She asked, loud enough to (hopefully) get Neville's attention. Her guest room was down the hall from his own, but the door was still open, and her voice could carry. "What danger?"
Dobby looked at her, fighting another impulse. "I's cannot say." Then the look of determination returned. "But the great Marigold Potter must not return to Hogwarts School."
"An elf can't reveal his master's secrets." Dobby and Marigold both looked at the doorway, and saw Neville leaning against the wall, watching them. Marigold saw that he had his wand out, concealed in the folds of his robe. "Right now he's probably fighting himself just to be here."
"The Longbottomses is smart, Miss Marigold." Dobby said, in a shaking voice.
"Can you at least tell me what the danger is?" Marigold asked.
Dobby shook his head. "But there's nothing at Hogwarts for Miss Marigold, she should know. Her friends don't give her gifts, her friends don't give her letters. They don't need her. She doesn't need them."
And there it is. "You've been blocking my mail." It was not a question.
Dobby nodded. Then he slapped himself. The harsh noise startled Neville and Marigold both. As they watched, a stack of letters and packages appeared on the bed. The gifts, Neville thought, recognizing his own small package among the others. Gran will be relieved, if she doesn't get mad all over again.
"You still can't go back, there is danger." Dobby repeated. "Miss Marigold is too kind to come to harm."
What the hell kind of negotiation is this? Marigold thought. "Dobby, I am sorry, but I must go back to Hogwarts. I have nowhere else to go, you see." She pointed at Neville. "But I will be surrounded by friends and allies like the future Lord Longbottom, here. I will not be alone. Whatever the danger is, we will stop it."
"Miss Marigold cannot go back if she is expelled." Dobby replied evenly. "If you's be using magic, they will take you from the school."
Neville chuckled. "Not in a magical home, they won't. There's too much magic here, the trace doesn't work."
Dobby looked at Neville, then at Marigold. "You will see, Miss. You must be safe. I must keep you safe." Then, with another soft pop, Dobby was gone.
Neville walked over, looking at the pile of letters and gifts. "Did a house elf just threaten you?"
Marigold shook her head. "Every time I think I'm getting a handle on how the wizarding world works, something insane happens and I think I'm a nutter imagining it all." She sat back down on the bed, closing her eyes. "What I want to know is whose elf that was. Surely his master is involved somehow."
Anyone else have a visit from an odd house elf tonight? She heard Seeker ask.
Yes, replied Spellforged. Father got a quick scan of his magic while we talked. I don't know who owns him at the moment, but I can tell you that an elf matching his description is authorized to retrieve galleons from one vault.
Malfoy. Chaser's voice came over the link. Susan recognized him, said that Aunt Amelia had gotten a report from the alley about a blonde man kicking his elf.
Daphne confirms that, said Rose. She has seen him before.
So there will be danger when we return to school, said Seeker. And somehow Draco Malfoy will be involved.
"Marigold?" She opened her eyes to see Neville looking at her with concern. "You alright? Thought we lost you for a minute there."
She smiled, while thinking of a way to pass along this new information. Preferably, one that didn't involve I just got a clue from the trans-dimensional link in my head. "No, just thinking. What families do we know who have a last name starting with 'M' and might mistreat their elves?"
Neville looked confused. "M?"
She nodded. "The pillowcase, it had a faded crest. Very faded." she lied. "I could only make out the first letter."
Her host looked thoughtful. "I can only think of one family that fits."
They said it together. "Malfoy."
A/N: I'm trying out a format that might make keeping track of the setting a little easier. I expect some more chapters with the full company involved before we finish out Year two, and want to nip any "It's confusing lol" reviews in the bud. I like making the reader do some of the lifting, but I also want more readers. So let's see how this works.
Feedback, as always, is welcome.
