[\|/]
.
.
.
9 August, 1991
Landlady said I should keep a journal, that writing in one should help organize and order my thoughts, so she gave me this nice leather-bound one to use.
Usually, I just order my thoughts when I sleep, or talk things over with Vera, but… well, this should also help with my handwriting, and get some of the clutter out of my head. Otherwise, I might start ranting in front of Wyne, and she might not understand.
As a Shaman, there's a lot of clutter up there, and I have a few worries about the future… but, anyway.
I grew up in the Mundane world, where everything is plastic cards and rushing noise; everything felt like a metal waterfall caked in sweet and salty, and all the more bland for it. I'm not sure that makes sense, but that's what the Mundane world feels like. Yes, there are wonders to be had, just like in the Magical world… but, I dunno. Something just feels off about how the Mundane world works; like they're trying to fill a void, one that they miss, but they're filling it with the wrong stuff.
Maybe I'll discuss it with Lady Lisa, bring up how it might be a knock-on effect of the Statute. There might even be some truth to it; after seeing Diagon Alley, it's tough to ignore.
The Magical world. Or, the British side of things, at least. It's both familiar and unusual, in many different ways.
Oh, people are still polite on the surface and rude when things don't go their way, same as it ever is and was, but… they still believe in classism and aristocracy! I looked up that whole "Noble and Ancient House" thing in the bookstore, and it turns out that a few families who joined King Arthur – who was a real person, apparently! – were magical Houses that remained in Britain after the Romans left. The Peverell family being one of those families; one of them had a grave in Godric's Hollow, near where Mom and Dad are buried. Other families were part of the Norman invasion and were elevated to Noble status once the dust settled…
Anyway, it turns out that family, the Peverells, were a Knight House who directly served Arthur, while the Potters were one of the Peverell's "Branch Houses"; reading between the lines, it looks like the Potters were purely on the Magical side of things, but also completed everyday tasks for the Peverell family, like armor and property upkeep, things like that.
These days, families like those old Knight Houses are called "Noble and Most Ancient", as they can usually trace their ancestry to the Roman Occupation, while "Squire" Houses – like mine – are "Noble and Ancient", as they by-and-large joined the Knight Houses either during the Dark Ages, or before the Round Table was laid down. Families who came to Britain during the Norman Invasions sometimes get Noble and Most Ancient status, but honestly that looks like what Cookie calls "nepotism". Apparently both the Grand Courts of Fae are really into that sort of thing.
Most Wizards and Witches are nice, but a part of me feels like the problems Mom and Dad dealt with haven't gone away. If what Remus has told me is true, it might be getting worse.
Maybe Magical people actually miss working alongside Mundane people, but after so long they're in denial, so they're just suspicious of anyone who comes from the Mundane world? Or maybe they feel what I felt, but unconsciously?
Yeah, I think I'll debate this with Landlady and Librarian. They've been around long enough to have known what life was like before and after the Statute, and I haven't been around other Magicals long enough to make my own conclusion. Maybe somebody at Hogwarts would be interested in debating this?
Anyway, most of the stuff I mentioned – like the Round Table, most of the gear of King Arthur's Knights, and the Founders (who helped make the Round Table happen, and were the best students of Merlin) – pretty much all of that stuff was only in the books because the Founders in general and Rowena Ravenclaw in particular left behind a LOT of scrolls regarding Arthur, Hogwarts' founding, and the Norman Conquest. Nobody knows what happened to the Table, the gear, or the Founders' workshops, though.
Odds are they're in Hogwarts, cleverly hidden. Maybe Vera and I will find them! After all, that place has never been looked over by a Shaman or kitsune, nevermind ones trained by the Fae Folk!
Till then, though, I'm going to enjoy the end of summer. At least I won't be bored!
Oh, right, and the dress style on the Magical side is stuck in the 1910-20 time period, though the uniforms are pants for boys and skirts for girls. Some of the "nobles" still wear big expensive robes and we're supposed to wear one over our uniforms at Hogwarts, but other than that everyone looks pretty snazzy.
-from the private journals of James Stormcaller
taken at Walnut Manor and Hogwarts, 1991-1992
donated to Hogwarts School, August 2003
.
[..|..]
.
"…yet, you must understand: the more magic that is invested in a building, regardless of age, will cause oddities to crop up. Yes, the older a building is, the more it will shape itself to meet the desires and purposes of the occupants, but even a 5-year-old cottage can have pests spontaneously appear in unused cubbies, or draw less desirable magical animals and plants to the area…"
-excerpt from a letter
from the British Department for the Control of Magical Creatures
addressed to Molly Weasley
Magical Archives of Great Britain, Public Access
Note: the letter seems to be in response to multiple attempts to remove a ghoul that'd taken up residence in the addressee's attic, in addition to several failed exterminations of a group of lawn gnomes. Attached documents – a Ministry Rune Inspector's report – indicate that the myriad spells and magic activity woven into and happening within and around the residence creates pockets of high magical density in places; also included is the Inspector's request that the offending residence be torn down for the sake of public safety (a strongly-worded reprimand of the Inspector's behavior is pinned to said request).
.
Demi-fiend
Threat Class: X (Dark, nonfatal, incorporeal)
Description: A demi-fiend is a translucent servitor demon that carries the memories of deceased mortals, and commonly resides in less-used rooms of large, old magical properties. They mostly use these memories to speak to the living, but more commonly assault sleeping individuals and plague their dreams. The only known ways to remove them from a residence are: having a Rune Sculptor take down and rebuild the property's rune stones, or using a Patronus Charm. To treat short or long-term exposure to such beings, remove the victim from the property and give them 10 grams of dark chocolate per day for the next week.
-excerpt from Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures
published by Fowl's Folios LTD, 1921
.
[..|..]
.
"A common misconception among less-learned groups is that all acts involving the summoning of a Spirit are, inherently, of an evil bent. As a matter of fact, I've read no less than six papers by otherwise intelligent scholars that state all Spirit summoning should be banned; two suggested the practice be added to the list of Unforgivables.
"Poppycock; as with all things, the summoning of a Spirit is governed by the caster's intentions, rather than any inherent Darkness or Light. Whether the casting itself goes good or ill, that is a more 'grey' area, and likely the reason for so much confusion on my colleague's behalf.
"To keep this very simple, I shall give three examples: one of a good summoning, one of an evil summoning, and one that went wrong.
"A good summoning is quite common, so long as the student has the right books – in fact, I have written just such a beginner's manual, Realms, Rites and Rituals, that aids young Witches and Wizards in opening their minds to the Spirit Realms.
"But, back to what I was saying: much of the time, a summoner will fail to call out to and Bond with a Spirit; this is usually due to a variety of factors, such as the summoner's disposition, age, or sincerity in the act. This is how most begin the learning process; many can learn from youth, yet not achieve a Bond until they are in their early 20s, and sometimes older. Of course, there are exceptions… but for now, we shall only examine the general truths of the matter.
"The first summoning – going by most written manuals and teaching styles – usually results in a homunculus or golem, an artificial body that allows a Spirit to interact with Mundus; the difference between the two is that a homunculus is, most of the time, humanoid in form, and is either wholly flesh and blood, or partly magical in substance. A golem is usually made up of natural elements, such as wood, stone, metal, or a combination of many materials; the accomplished Mage should be able to create their own homunculi and golems with any material, though clay is a popular medium for novices.
"Here is an example of a good summoning: the creation of a homunculus as a laboratory assistant. I shall not discuss the summoning of elemental or sapient Spirits during this lecture; if one of you wishes to know about this subset of summoning, you may ask your Headmistress for an introduction after I have finished speaking.
"Before I go on, it should be noted that some fools think that House Elves are actually homunculi that have been created with the ability to breed; this unfounded theory is, to put it bluntly, absolutely stupid, and anyone who actually believes this is either very drunk or extremely deluded.
"Now, an evil summoning can have all the hallmarks of a good summoning, but call a Spirit of malevolence into the world; Wrath, Pride, Envy, and Greed are the most common types of Spirit inhabiting an evil golem, with Wrath being the most common. It is said that some revenants are actually Wrath and Pride golems or homunculi, but this is near impossible to study or prove.
"As for a summoning that goes wrong, but had good intentions to begin with? These are very rare, and I will do my best, in the course of this lecture, to give you the tools to prevent such accidents, but I will first provide the most infamous example of such a folly: Azkaban."
-excerpt from a lecture on the subject of Spirits
by Grand Magus Yvette Salome
Beauxbatons Académie de Magie, France, 1658CE
.
.
.
Chapter 3:
Last Days of Summer
.
.
.
Since discovering Magic a year ago, Hermione Granger's interests had shifted dramatically; she'd thought her thirst for adventure and excitement was going to vanish, as she learned more about geography and maths and history…
Only to find out that she'd only ever seen half the world, while the other half was deviously hidden… and full of much more excitement and wonder than she'd ever expected!
From meeting Hedwig and Bonding with her – something that was extremely rare and special, even among Magicals! – to her careful and stumbling foray into Potions – only one explosion so far, though she'd melted two cauldrons – Hermione was finding something new in Magic every day, making her fall in love with the subject all over again. That her parents let her take the tube on her own – after demonstrating the Stunning Hex – so she could visit Diagon Alley was even better! Between her allowance, vacation weeks, and the summer months, over the past year Hermione had plenty of time and resources to experiment with Magic as much as possible!
On the other hand… Flourish and Blott's, while a very comprehensive bookstore, was sorely lacking in the kind of Magic that Hermione had read about in the Muggle world; things like rituals, summoning, and enchanting were simply absent from the bookstore's shelves! Where were the stories of druids reshaping the land, or dragons soaring into battles? Even the history books only ever talked about British Magical history, and most of that seemed to be either nobles tooting their own horns, or sleep-inducing doorstops about Giant Wars that happened before Roman Occupation. Asking the clerk for books on rituals and alternative – non-wand-based – magic just got Hermione a weird look, like she'd farted in public or something…
So, Hermione asked some of the other shopkeepers on the Alley: were there any other bookstores, ones that carried books about more advanced magical subjects?
Most, like the dressmaker and Mr. Ollivander, suggested Hermione wait until she learned more of the basics, not understanding that the basics were what she was looking for!
One the bright side, she did find one person who understood…
The bell of the Diagon Apothecary rang as Hermione bustled back into the shop, a week since her last visit, a toothy smile lighting up her face as she was met with the smells of thousands of ingredients; it was a bouquet that reminded her of a mix between her Dad's favorite Indian restaurant and Nag Champa incense, with hints of Mum's garden and fresh-cut grass. Bulk barrels with scoops and pre-filled labeled jars covered the dark wood shelves in the well-lit shop, which was empty save the proprietor manning the counter, the school rush having mostly passed.
In a week, Hermione, with Hedwig, would board the Hogwarts Express and begin her journey into the world of Magic properly. But today, she had something else on her mind.
"Hello, Ms. Prince!" Hermione chirped while running up to the counter, where waited her now-fourth favorite person in the world, after her parents and her long-lost friend James.
Ms. Eileen Prince, the proprietor of the Diagon Apothecary, was a frail-seeming woman, thin and tall with curly hair pulled into a long braided bun; but Hermione could tell, being sensitive to Magic, that there was a hidden strength behind the lady's kind, coal-black eyes.
"Hello, Ms. Granger," Ms. Prince smiled at Hermione, her brown cheeks flushed from dashing through the rain from the Leaky Cauldron, frizzy hair pulled up in a bun, and a rain cloak over her Muggle clothes. Picking up her wand, the older woman offered, "Would you like a Drying Charm? No Hedwig today?"
Hermione nodded in relief, then shook her head once she was good and dry, "Nope. She doesn't like the rain much, and I promised my parents I wouldn't be long today."
"I should hope so; while I enjoy talking Charms with you, spending time with your family is important, so close to the start of term," Ms. Prince chuckled and waved her wand at the door; it locked, and the blinds drew themselves as the sign changed to 'closed'.
"I know. Dad's taking us on a trip to a railway museum in Coleford tomorrow. I'd like to go camping in the Forest of Dean again, but," Hermione huffed out a sigh, only a little irritated beneath her general excitement, "Mum's not really up for dealing with bug bites, so close to the end of summer."
Around another chuckle, Ms. Prince came back from rummaging behind the counter, holding a paper-wrapped parcel and smiling in that weak-seeming way, "I don't blame her, but I'll tell you what: if you get a chance to drop by over hols, let me know how far you've gotten in your classes, and I'll teach you a Rune array that keeps most insects away."
Could the day get any better?! Taking the parcel with a grin, Hermione felt like she was vibrating, such was her excitement while holding the thick book. Looking up at the woman, she asked, "Do I owe you anything?"
Ms. Prince shook her head, still smiling, "I'm only happy that there's still some children who are more curious about real magic, Ms. Granger."
…what? "What do you mean?" Hermione asked, tilting her head with a frown, "I've cast a few spells already, and it's… well, brilliant!"
Nodding patiently, Ms. Prince explained, "A wand is good for detailed work, for quick fixes to problems; even Potions, you'll find, have a limited shelf-life, and quite the expensive upkeep." Leaning over the counter, the older woman tapped the paper-wrapped book with a finger, "What you have in your hands, Hermione, is the last copy of that book that was available for sale on British soil; more than this, the knowledge contained within is worth its weight in gold, as it doesn't just talk about the subject you're interested in."
Not daring to speak of her secret project aloud – no telling what Magic could be used to eavesdrop – Hermione swallowed and asked instead, "Um… who wrote it, if you don't mind my asking?" Was it Dumbledore, or perhaps one of the German Empire scholars, or one of the many treatises written by the College of Budapest?
But Ms. Prince only winked and waved her wand again, reopening her shop, "I'll leave that as a surprise for when you return home, though I'll give you a hint; as a studious young witch, you'll no doubt be happy to read the words of this particular author. Now, off with you, before the rain worsens."
Tucking the precious cargo into her travelling bag, Hermione said her goodbyes to the older woman before hiking her hood back up and heading for the nearest train station, eager to get home and unwrap her prize.
The whole way there, however, she was nervous; yes, she had her wand, and a small can of pepper spray, but what if she was mugged by more than one person while on the tube? How much trouble would she be in if she used Magic to defend herself? Sure, as a Muggleborn not yet at Hogwarts, she was given some leeway, but Hermione wasn't about to delude herself; the government might look the other way for, say, a Tripping Jinx, but they might not be so forgiving if she used a Blasting Hex on a Muggle kidnapper.
Thankfully, she got back home without being accosted, and only a little wet – someone had forgotten their umbrella on the train, so Hermione took it, planning to bring it to the Gloucester Station lost & found when she got a chance. Mum and Dad were, respectively, working on dinner and quietly swearing at the computer they used for the dentist office's business, so, after giving them a brief rundown of her day, Hermione retreated to her room and Hedwig's greeting hoots.
"Hey, girl," Hermione rushed over to her Familiar and gave her an affectionate forehead-nuzzle, before digging out the wrapped parcel and holding it up in victory, "I've got it."
Hoo! Hedwig hoo-ed, bobbing her head; as the other half of the Familiar Bond, Hermione understood what Hedwig meant…
And nodded back at her friend with a grin, "Yes! This is it! I can finally study more about…" she glanced behind her before whispering conspiratorially, "Spirits." Hedwig let out another happy bark while Hermione dashed over to her bed – dodging the stacks of Muggle and Magical history books she'd left out, after comparing the two differing histories; she was still working on contrasting them – with a victorious grin stretched over her face.
It was something that'd interested her since reading about the rarer Spirit-Familiars, ones that were like her own Bond with Hedwig, though that was mostly through reading about her soon-to-be Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and his Phoenix.
Spirits. Very little was said of them anywhere, most of those mentions being either barebones explanations of a Phoenix's nature – bestiaries – or warnings not to interact with them, period.
Ms. Prince had set Hermione straight, though: in truth, Spirits were old as Magic itself, and came in all shapes and sizes. Most were helpful and eager to aid humanity, too; why, Ms. Prince had an actual Dryad living in her garden, protecting her plants from invasive species both Muggle and Magical. And there were countless legends about Spirits in Muggle culture: from angels, to woodland avatars, to the stranger tales of the Russian and Inuit Shamans, and even the English stories of Brownies, those helpful, unseen Spirits that liked helping households.
And now, Hermione had a book about them; one the Ms. Prince thought was reputable, too!
Removing the paper, Hermione's grin grew while reading the title, surrounded by green fabric and gold trimming in swirls around the border of the cover, but her excitement diminished when she saw the author's name:
Realms,
Rites,
and Rituals
a definitive instruction
on the nature, form, and function of
Spirits, and the Realms they inhabit
by Yvette Salome, G.M.
Hermione frowned in thought as she reread everything, trying to remember where she'd read that name, "…Yvette, Yvette… Salo- oh, holy cricket! Hedwig!" She looked over at her friend, who tilted her head in question, "Ms. Prince sent me a book by an author that's banned in Britain!"
…Hoo? Hedwig tilted her head to one side, blinking at Hermione.
She frowned and looked back at the – really rather nice-looking – book, chewing her lip in thought, "I mean… yes, I could still read it, but if someone finds out I have this I could be in a lot of trouble!"
Hedwig barked dismissively.
Hermione smiled wryly at her familiar, "Yes, just hide it, in all the places I have to hide… books." She looked around at her room, the full bookshelves, and sighed, "Good point, actually; no better hiding spot for a book than a small library, eh?"
With an agreeing hoot, Hedwig hopped closer to watch as Hermione cracked open the book, and – after squeezing at the words 'second edition, 1630' – the young Witch got started on learning about Spirits, and just what a Bond was all about.
.
[..|..]
.
Elsewhere in the country, behind magical wards that dated to the days of Merlin and the Round Table Knights, a manor sat in seeming quiet. It wasn't raining there; in fact, it was a dry and sunny day at the Family Manor of the Noble and Ancient House of MacMillan, its rolling fields and small forests seemingly idyllic and peaceful, to the outside observer.
Yet, for one Ernie MacMillan, Heir to House MacMillan, the house was one of horrors… most of the time.
Closing the door to the conservatory behind him – and cutting off the distant sound of his grandmother screaming something at his father back in the sitting room – Ernie turned around and breathed a sigh of relief, though his guard didn't drop. Even all the colorful and masterfully-grown flowers and ferns of the greenhouse – more like a botanical garden, given the size – wasn't enough to calm his nerves, always on edge whenever he visited his family's manor.
Straining his ears, Ernie heard it: a giggle and other displeasing sounds, coming from behind the thick and ancient apple tree. Covering his ears, he did his best to tune those and other more nefarious sounds out – he still heard the sound of the knife tearing through flesh, the rattle, the soft cold laughter – and hurried for the gazebo.
Such was the average day in MacMillan Manor, or, as it was known in certain circles, the House of Shadows.
Arriving at the gazebo, Ernie breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the only ghost inhabiting the small building was his long-dead several-times Great Aunt, Penelope; one of the less-unpleasant remnants of the past that stuck to the manor like stubborn fungus, it was Aunt Penelope who built the conservatory and kept it up until dying to the plague, at only 25. At the moment, her wide eyes were only on the pot of Painted Lady succulents Ernie had placed there last time his family visited the manor, back during Easter hols.
"Hey, Aunt Pen," Ernie greeted the ghost as he entered the gazebo, sitting down and examining the plant; the House Elves had taken very good care of it.
Starting, the wide-eyed ghost focused on Ernie and quickly broke out on a smile, "Oh, Ernie! You're back! Not staying long again?"
He shook his head and glared back the way he came, "No… grandmother just wants to badger dad about him not supporting some bill in the Wizengamot; something about his actions not being true to the family legacy. I got out of there because she wouldn't stop reaching for her wand and glaring at me." Ernie ended sourly; just because his mom was Muggleborn, grandmother saw him as some… freak of nature, or something.
His dad told him not to let it worry him, but… it still did.
Great Aunt Pen hummed sympathetically, raised a hand as though to pat his shoulder, and apparently thought better of it, resting them in her lap instead, "She has gotten rather unpleasant, these past years. Doesn't even visit my garden anymore, always cooped up in her library or tittering in the sitting room with those hags she gossips with." The ghost tutted and shook her head sadly, "Why, I've had to enlist the House Elves in the conservatory's upkeep, teaching them how to prune what and when, the turning of the soil- and then the woman talks about replacing my beautiful garden with a smoking room! The house already has three!"
Ernie just nodded along, but stopped at the mention of, "Wait, hags?" as if all the shades, ghosts, and demi-fiends weren't bad enough-
Aunt Pen giggled and waved a hand, "Oh, not literal Hags, Ernie; don't be silly! Though that Narcissa Malfoy isn't far off, constantly looking like a troll crapped at her feet."
Ernie's giggles joined the ghost's, though he still felt on edge; he'd learned, long ago, not to let his guard down while in the Manor. The last time he had… he suppressed a shiver; if his mum hadn't found him, that Boggart might've…
A cold twitch touched Ernie's nose, making him yelp. Aunt Pen was frowning at him- no, at a spot over his shoulder, "Your father's here. He does not look very happy."
Looking over- yeah, his dad wasn't in a good mood, though he visibly sighed in relief when he spotted Ernie. Turning back to his dead Aunt, Ernie smiled and picked up the pot of Painted Ladies, "I'm going to Hogwarts next week."
"Oh, that's wonderful! Taking the succulents with you?"
He nodded, "Yeah. Need something to keep my hands busy an' not think about… stuff." Like the Boggart, or his mum not being able to find work, or his dad's yelling arguments with grandmother.
"Please bring some back once they fully mature; I… rather enjoy the color, and talking about plants with you," she gave him a hopeful smile, which Ernie returned with a nod and a quiet farewell before walking over to his father.
After apparating back home – urk – and making sure the succulents had survived the trip, Ernie asked his father as they walked from the property line to the nice brick cottage where they lived, "Will we be going back for Yule?"
Gordon MacMillan let out a huge sigh and shook his head, though not in a negative, "Much as I'd like to go elsewhere, it's our House's turn to host the Wizengamot Yule Ball, and the Manor is the only property we have that'll work." He smiled down at his son, "But at least you won't want for much company. The Longbottoms and Greengrasses will be attending this year, what with their Heirs at Hogwarts age too, and maybe that Justin lad you met on the Alley; he and his family seemed a good sort."
Remembering he had a letter to send to Justin by owl, Ernie perked up a little more, "Yeah, and get this, dad: last letter he sent, he said his family knows the Queen!"
"Well, fancy that," his father smiled, and they talked no more of that ghost-infested house… though Ernie was still a bit nervous of going to Hogwarts.
After all, it was reputed to be the most haunted building in Britain! Hopefully there wouldn't be too many ghosts…
.
[..|..]
.
It was the last day of August in the hidden lands of Rivendell, but unlike many other people in Britain, the residents weren't much bothered by the date.
Like every day, Faeries got up and went about their morning duties, opening windows and preparing the washing; like every day, Sir Cookie and the House Elves, Rafiq and Asha, got to work preparing the meals of the day; like every day, Librarian Lisanna rose and swept over the property's perimeter, checking on the guards and the wards, ensuring the safety of those within; like every day – or, at least, like every day recently – Landlady Melfina woke with a yawn and a smile at Sir Vileclaw the Goblin's side, the pair rising at each their own speed, saving any discussion of yet-to-be-completed business for after breakfast.
Like every day since James and Vera destroyed the revenant that had long poisoned the property, and sent the poor soul bound within it to Elysium, the Sun rose over the hidden vale amid English clouds, and all was well within its purview.
That warm August afternoon found James the Shaman and Vera the Spirit-fox lying in a clearing far from the Manor, flowers scenting the air and insects zipping past as the pair watched the fluffy clouds roll by…
And, nearby, there was the Circle where they met; within, the River Yew, an ancient tree planted during Roman occupation, made sounds to herself, an ululation that spoke of the excited nervousness that came with every return to school, both Mundane and Magical. She wasn't alone in her Listening today, either; both James and Vera could hear what she heard, if only in the Wind.
Yet, that wasn't what was on the pair's minds, though having a quiet spot to practice wide-range Listening was nice.
"…do we have to go?" Vera asked, finally, saying what was on both their minds, regarding the coming journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
James bit his lip and considered, twiddling his thumbs before slowly replying, "I… want to. A part of me doesn't, yeah, because we can still learn a lot right here, and Wyne'll miss us something terrible – she nearly strangled me last night, she was hugging me so tight."
"Hmm, I'm sure she'll manage; and we can come back, right?" Vera looked over at her Shaman, meeting his questioning green eyes, "If we don't like it there, we'll just leave."
"Well, yeah," James shrugged, though his heart wasn't really in it. "I still want to explore the place, though; it's a 1000-year-old castle, Vera, and there's a huge forest right next to it. Even if the teachers are mean, we'll just go Unseen and ignore them." Then James frowned, turning over so his face was closer to Vera's, "You really don't wanna go, though; is it Dumbledore?"
There was a spike of fury in their Bond, at the mere mention of the Wizard, "He… he just left you on their doorstep, like a friggin' bottle of milk! In late Autumn! Didn't even bother to check on you or make sure you were okay and being cared for- mmf."
James nuzzled his face into Vera's neck as he hugged her tight, whispering, "Even if what happened to me hurts, Vera, a part of me is at least grateful he did leave me with them. If he hadn't, I'd have never met you, never come to Rivendell or Walnut Manor, never met the Triplets or Gregory or Landlady or Wyne-"
"I love you too, James," Vera whispered back, wrapping some of her tails around her Shaman. "Doesn't mean I have to be happy about what you went through."
"Well, we'll never see the Dursleys again, not till we've seen the world and bring back souvenirs."
Vera pulled back and made a face at James, "You'd bring them souvenirs?"
James grinned, "Well, yeah! How else would they know what dragon dung smells like? Good for gardens, y'kno- ah! Vera! Stop!" he yelped with laughter as Vera started tickling her silly Shaman.
Eventually, they returned to the Manor and their friends; dinner and last-minute packing awaited, and the next day… James Stormcaller would become Harry Potter, and – officially – walk into the Magical World for the first time since a dark Halloween ten years ago…
.
[..|..]
.
.
.
A/N:
REALLY sorry this took so long, and that it's so short; other than establishing Ernie as a character, most of this exists as a bridge between the Alley and the Express… though Hermione's studies do have some important consequences.
Thank you to everyone who's been patient with me, and to those who've donated; there's a website, starts with a P, that you can use to send a little money my way so I don't lost my internet or apartment and have to mail everyone new chapters written on line paper.
Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time, on the Hogwarts Express!
~Baked