"Hermione, having lost her parents at a young age, ends up getting adopted by angels. How will that influence her Hogwarts carrier and the war?" –Nachtschwalbe, summary to "Heavenly Hogwarts"*

McGonagall blew on her parchment, and ran her eyes over it critically. "All right, how does this sound?" she said. "'To the Right Honourable Adm. Sir Julian Oswald, First Sea Lord and Chief of Muggle Naval Staff. My dear Sir: With this letter, we return the aircraft carrier H.M.S. Eden, which Her Majesty was so kind as to loan to Hogwarts School in the hope that our prophesied Lion Maiden might find it useful in vanquishing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It seems that the maiden in question, one Miss Hermione Granger, being orphaned in her infancy due to the machinations of a Satanist coven, has been taken as a foster daughter by the three presiding angels of Mercury, and imbued, in consequence, with such supernatural powers as render conventional weaponry superfluous to her. This being so, we conclude that Eden and her crew will be much more usefully employed in the more traditional service of the Royal Navy. With best regards, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'" She glanced up at the Headmaster. "All right?"

"Yes, I should think so," said Dumbledore. "Though I do wish, Minerva, that you could see your way now to using Voldemort's proper name. With the various pieces of his soul all bound by Miss Granger's power in the desert of Upper Egypt, there's hardly anything left to fear about it, surely."

McGonagall shrugged. "Call it Scottish canniness."

"'He's never had a permeant home, his mum…' 'Don't even bring Tonks into this, Charlie.'" –sparklegiraffe, "Those of Us Left"

Charlie shook his head. "It's all very well, Remus," he said, "but you can't father a son on a will-o'-the-wisp, and then act as though that side of his heritage makes no difference. Teddy's shown plenty of indications that he takes after Dora more than you; it stands to reason that he'll feel confined and awkward, spending his whole life in a house with solid walls."

"That's as may be," said Remus. "But the fact remains that he's not just a will-o'-the-wisp; he's also a wizard, and eventually he'll need to be schooled like one. And Hogwarts isn't going to turn just for his sake into a drifting, ethereal cloud castle permeating itself in and out of every solid object it encounters, so he may as well get used now to having an impermeant home."

"Granted, certainly," said Charlie. "But couldn't you at least let him spend the summers with his mother and her clan? I know you can't forgive Dora for leaving you just because you once mentioned death in her presence, but there's no sense in punishing Teddy for…" He trailed off, seeing the angry obstinacy in Remus's eyes, and sighed. "Oh, all right, be that way. But mark my words, there'll be hell to pay."

"'Godric's Hallow is full of wizarding history,' Lily said, a smile on her face." –TimeTurner394, "Chapter 16: Godric's Hallow"

"That's a polite way of putting it," James muttered. "Anyway, ladies, the point is that Lord Gryffindor is satisfied to be the custodian of the Elder Wand, and we hope you two feel the same way about your respective Hallows."

"I don't think I quite grasp Lord Dumbledore's stratagem, Master Potter," said Rowena Ravenclaw, running a finger along the Invisibility Cloak's diaphanous weft. "What profit is there in bringing the Holy Things of Death back in time and entrusting them to us? They cannot be removed thereby from your own age; as time continues to unfold, from your past to our future, must it not carry these mighty periapts with it?"

"Well, that's the point, Lady Ravenclaw," said Lily. "Professor Dumbledore believes that Time and Death are only different aspects of the same thing, which he calls Mortality; his hope is that, with the Hallows in the possession of three such mighty wizards as yourselves, a way will be found to extend your collective mastery of Death into a general mastery of Mortality, and thence of Time. That done, the Hallows themselves will be liberated from the bonds of Time, and be able to revert back into the Eternity whence they came, thereby healing the wound that the Peverells inflicted on Existence when they formed them in the first place."

"And dat before de rift is even made," Helga Hufflepuff murmured shrewdly, clicking the two pieces of the Resurrection Stone together in her palm. "Dat vould be de true point of your Headmaster's scheme, ja?"

Lily smiled. "Something like that, yes."

"Albus of course never heard this part ant had manipulated the original to fit his motives." –Aster and Camellia, "Separated"

As her naturally short life drew to its final close, Marcia Potter took one last glimpse along the mental bond connecting her to her prototype. She saw him striding resolutely through the Forbidden Forest, going to face his death for the sake of those he loved, and her mandibles twisted in a grotesque but joyful smile. So it had all been worth it, after all.

Strange to think: here she had been for sixteen years, a key player in the wizarding world's most historic struggle between light and darkness, and none of the great players in that struggle had ever known. Voldemort, in all his years of brooding, had never dreamed that his rebounding Killing Curse had torn away a bit of Harry Potter's essence and grafted it onto an ant that had happened to be scurrying across the floor nearby. Albus Dumbledore had lived and died without ever hearing that the creature thus produced, taking advantage of the hive bond characteristic of social insects, had spent her youth sending thoughts of compassion and consolation into her original's mind – though it was just this mind-manipulation that had protected Harry from his surroundings, and kept him kind-hearted and selfless enough to fit Dumbledore's plans for him. Even Harry himself had never suspected the existence of this macabre twin sister; having no formicine blood himself, he lacked the power to consciously perceive her kything, much less to respond in kind.

But none of that mattered to Marcia. It wasn't in her nature to demand individual recognition; she was a creature of the hive, to whom the health and strength of her kindred invariably overruled her own needs. (She knew, from certain television programs she'd observed, that the pure humans around her found this mindset horrible and detestable, but she recked little of their prejudices. The wisest man in the world had declared her people's instincts a school of wisdom; the old vicar of St Clement's had told her that, when she'd gone to him that Hallowmas night for clothing and counsel, and she'd trusted in it ever since.) To know that she had well served her brother, and helped to prepare him for the great destiny that was his – that was contentment enough.

"Good luck, Harry Potter," the little part-ant whispered, and lay down to die upon the homely soil of Godric's Hollow.

*Crossover with Supernatural.