"Harry, they're here. Come in, please."

Harry follwed the sound of Minerva McGonagall's calm, yet somehow stern voice. Since his seventeenth birthday over the summer, he'd agreed to come stay at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer, being that he had previously decided to not come back for schooling for his final year. Holed up in the castle, Hermione and Ron had obviously come with him – friends stick together. At the moment, however, they were probably making out in a certain room near a certain statue of a certain troll…so he went into McGonagall's office on his own.

Within, he found the new Headmistress sitting at Dumbledore's old desk. Two girls were sitting in chairs across from her – they'd turned around to look at the famous Harry Potter, no doubt. Harry was increasingly cynical these days.

Glancing at them quickly, he took them in – they both looked similar, but they were still quite obviously different. The one on the left was of a fair complexion; her skin was so light, it was almost porcelain, and her hair was long, wispy, and so blonde it could pass for white. Her eyes were also frighteningly reflective – they were the palest blue – maybe gray – Harry had ever seen, it was almost as if she had no irises at all. Though she looked like she'd been suffocated – her lips, instead of pink, were the palest of violet – she was still stunningly beautiful. But that's not to say that she was more attractive than the other, for they were both gorgeous – but the contrast was extreme. They had the same facial structure, the same angular jaw line, the same arched eyebrows (though different colors), the same slightly narrowed eyes – but the second girl was nearly the polar opposite. Her complexion, in turn, was very dark, and looked more so when she sat like she was beside the first. Her skin was dark, though certainly not the darkest Harry had ever seen, as if she were from North Africa – Morocco, perhaps, or Egypt. Her eyes were so dark, it was as if she just had huge pupils – the blackest of black. And the same went for her hair – it was the deepest, richest ebony that Harry had ever seen – it was almost surreal. And as opposed to the other's long locks, the second girl's hair was cut very short, and was curly instead of straight.

"Um," said Harry.

The dark girl smiled, and the light girl laughed – Harry suddenly felt a little tired.

"Harry," said McGonagall in her usual tranquil fashion, "These are your aides I spoke to you about from the Ministry – and Dumbledore."

"They're girls," noted Harry dumbly. Very attractive girls, he thought to himself.

Before the somewhat perplexed McGonagall could respond, the dark girl spoke.

"Yes," she said – her voice was deeper than Harry had expected, and even though it had a little rasp, it was still smooth – it reminded Harry of a jazz singer, or straight black coffee. Her accent was British. "My name is Celia, and this is my sister, Shira." Celia smiled – her teeth were perfectly even and pearly, and Harry was put at ease. Putting his hands in his pocket awkwardly, he trudged toward the three women, sitting in a third chair that managed to face all of them.

"But how can you be sisters?" he asked in what he hoped what a casual tone.

"We're not human," beamed Shira – her voice was relatively high-pitched. She surprisingly had an American accent – Harry guessed the Ministry workers were probably getting bored. Go figure. It reminded Harry of one of those ditsy blonde pop stars, but he seriously doubted she was ditsy at all – after all, McGonagall had told him that they possessed some of the same aspects as Dumbledore, a man who had not an ounce of ditsiness in him. "We're artificial creations of the Ministry – after our task is finished –"

"We'll save that for another time," interjected the Headmistress – it was clear to anyone to see that Shira was most certainly more talkative and bubbly than her counterpart, though Celia was by no means intimidating. "For now, why doesn't Harry walk you around the castle grounds, show you a tour, perhaps?" she raised an eyebrow at Harry. "You two can get a chance to know him, and vise-versa."

"Ooh, when do we get to meet, um, Ron and, oh – Her, Hermo – oh, Hermione?"

Oh, she'll just love that, thought Harry sarcastically, knowing all too well that Hermione was not the biggest fan of people mispronouncing anything, especially her own name.

"Later," said McGonagall vaguely. "I'm sure they're busy…studying, at the moment," she said awkwardly.

Harry stood up – he hated thinking about his two best friends like that. It was just so…gross.

"Let's go," he said to the two girls. "I'll take you down to the lake, it's nice this time of year."

As the girls said their gracious goodbyes to McGonagall, he noticed Celia shushing Shira – he wondered why, and almost felt sorry for the fair-skinned girl. And Celia didn't quite look at McGonagall, either – Harry figured she had some Freudian power issues. Whatever.

Until next time!