Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them. Please don't sue me.

--------

"Mom, can I get a dragon?"

Artemis Dumbledore looked up from where she had been trying to compute the month's expenses. One of her foster daughters, Laurel, was standing in the doorway, a pleading look on her small, round face. "The Warlocks' Convention of 1709 outlawed dragon ownership in Britain, honey. You know that." She dipped her quill pen in the inkwell and then scratched out another quick calculation while her daughter rallied herself to make a counterargument.

"But Mom…" The child managed to drag "Mom" out for eight syllables.

"Laurel, I'm not in the mood," Artemis said, setting down the quill and fixing the eleven-year-old with her best glare. "Keeping a dragon as a pet is illegal, and, in this house, we obey the law."

Laurel's lower lip jutted out far enough that Artemis could have landed a broom on it. "The law's stupid."

"Pull your lip in—pouting isn't going to impress me. And, actually, that particular law isn't stupid. Tell me, missy, when this dragon of yours got to be full grown, how were you planning on hiding it from Muggles?"

"I'd train her to stay away from them." That answer sounded like it had been pre-rehearsed…which meant Laurel had been thinking about this pet dragon for quite a while. Which, knowing the eleven-year-old, meant that she had actually researched dragon care and anything else she thought pertinent. This meant that she knew about the Warlocks' Convention of 1709 and their ruling but decided to ignore it. Artemis bit back a sigh—Laurel was an extremely bright girl, if she would just choose to use her powers for good once in a while.

"Dragons are wild creatures, honey, you can't train them. Not reliably. How about you start thinking of a pet you can really get—like an owl or a toad? You start at Hogwarts in a little over a month, and first-years are allowed to bring a small pet."

"A baby dragon's small…" Laurel said, but Artemis could see the wheels turning in Laurel's head as the little girl weighed her options. After a minute, she nodded (somewhat reluctantly). "All right, Mom."

"Good." Artemis picked up her quill again, glad that little disaster had been adverted…at least for the time being. She had a gut feeling that this was not the last time she would hear about dragons from Laurel. "Decide what you want, and we'll try to find one when we go to Diagon Alley next week."

Laurel nodded again—this time vigorously enough to make her two brains bounce—then skipped off (probably to find Tristan, her twelve-year-old foster brother. The two of them were inseparable).

Artemis sighed and turned back to her budget. They more than broke even each month what with the pension she received from the Ministry each month and the stipend she received from the trust fund her mother had established for her before passing away, but there wasn't a lot of surplus. At least with the children going off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she wouldn't be feeding the always-hungry horde everyday. That would take some strain off the budget. Then again, school had its own set of unique expenses—she knew she'd get plenty of owl-post asking her to send ink, parchment, and spending money. Trying to purchase all the much-needed school supplies in time for the start of term was going to be an adventure in and of itself.

And then there was the matter of Benjamin…

"Howler?" she called out softly to the creature sitting on a wooden perch in the corner.

The great tawny owl turned his eerie yellow eyes towards her and shuffled his feet along the perch.

"Can you take a letter to Uncle Albus for me?" she asked. She pulled a plain envelope sealed with green wax out from under the mess in front of her.

Howler hooted softly as if accepting the request and launched himself from his perch. He landed on the back of the chair beside her and waited patiently for her to hand him the message. Once it was secure in his beak, he flexed his powerful wings and flew out the open window and into the night.

Artemis pushed back her chair and went to the coat rack on the wall behind the backdoor. As usual, it was nearly impossible to find her traveling cloak, as buried as it was beneath her children's things. The gray wool cloak had a slight silver sheen to it that winked in the candlelight as she swirled it on to her shoulders. "Amelia!" she bellowed as she fastened the silver scarab-shaped clasp that held the cloak on.

"What?" The eldest of her adopted children, seventeen-year-old Amelia, came to the kitchen door. She, like her mother, was wearing Muggle clothes, though the combination of colors and prints she had chosen were guaranteed to sear Muggle eyes. She had a text book in one hand and the look of one unfairly interrupted on her face.

"I'm going out for a little bit," Artemis said, "Keep an ear out for your siblings. No snacks, no spells, and try not to blow anything up while I'm gone."

"Mom, you don't have to worry," Amelia said impatiently.

"Says the girl who once set the attic on fire while I was at the bookstore."

"We'll behave, I promise."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"Ok—I'll behave and beat the living daylights out of anyone else who gets out of line."

Artemis thought about that for a second. "All right, that I'll believe. I should be back around ten."

Amelia made a shooing motion with her free hand. "Go, Mom, we'll be fine."

And so, Artemis went.