With another crackle of magic and swirling rainbow-colored lights, they appeared in the middle of the Great Hall where Evans' 'Security Force' had tensed in preparation of battle.

Dumbledore had no idea whether it was because they truly thought it possible that an enemy could have come through after them, even with all the precautions he assumed they had in place—but they're still at war aren't they, even if the actual war was over and done with?—or because it was just a natural reflex to any conceived threat.

He had not thought that after that first meeting between their two groups that he would be anymore surprised than the others at anything the Remnant did or revealed to them because he was privy to things the general public was not—little details like a parseltongue ability nonewithstanding—but he should have known that they wouldn't tell him everything about themselves.

Or think to warn him of things that he should know about but didn't because traveling to alternate realities may have been made possible in their world, but that this experience was probably as new to them as it was to him.

So when he saw the house elves that had arrived, he couldn't help being visibly flustered at their strange appearance. They were not at all what he had imagined would come from the portal next. Or resembled in any way the house elves he knew—intimately—as Headmaster.

They had the same droopy ears, bulbous eyes and painfully thin figures. But they carried themselves with a confidence and sense of self he had never known they could possess. There was no nervous twitching and no hunched over postures, waiting to be struck or worse for disobeying an order or not completing it well enough for their Master's satisfaction. They simply stood there and calmly assessed the scene as professionally as any Auror he had ever met, awaiting further instructions and looking expectantly toward Evans and Weasley.

"Shite, I was hoping to get a few things sorted out before they arrived but I suppose we'll just have to deal with it like everything else." Weasley waved the house elves over. "Right, you lot. We haven't discussed the arrangement for temporary housing or storage or anything like that so just make preparations for the others coming through for now. Alright?"

The house elves gave a quick bow and then ignored the wizards entirely and got to work—shocking and infuriating many a purebloods who weren't used to being so readily dismissed by mere house elves—clearing the path in front of the portal, setting up a few tables topped with nutrient potions and hearty fare, and coordinating what seemed like a defensive perimeter with some of the 'security forces' Evans and Weasley brought.

"Headmaster, a word?"

Dumbledore gave Weasley his utmost attention, though he made sure to keep an eye on Evans, who was content for now—'thankfully'—to lean against the closest table and make their occupants nervous by virtue of being there, giving them a toothy smile, dark green eyes watching their twitching in amusement.

"Like I told the house elves, we'll need some temporary housing— just for a week, week and a half at the most, maybe—if you had some place in mind? Our people will be coming in ten minute intervals throughout the day—and night—with lots of baggage on hand. It'd be nice if we had somewhere to put them before the next group, so that nothing takes up more space than necessary."

Weasley looked at him expectantly and Dumbledore reminded himself that he could ask all the questions he wanted when they were settled in and more amenable to speaking with him—or anyone else—after the disaster at the Ministry's hands.

"Yes, of course. I spoke briefly with Miss Granger about some possible locations and have taken the liberty of clearing out several abandoned suites that were once used during a time when Ambassadors frequently enjoyed Hogwarts and her pleasures.

"Miss Granger and Mister Black were unsure about the exact number that would accompany the party, so we did our best to prepare but, of course, we won't know if we did enough until everyone has arrived…"

"Yeah." Here Weasley gave a great, big sigh. "About little more than half came with us, that's—seventy-five? Seventy-eight? Somewhere around there."

Dumbledore suspected that not everyone had decided to leave their world and come to his—though he thought that a world like theirs free of war and its aftermath would be a very nice place to live, but he knew he could never truly understand what they had gone through and was biased besides—and was probably thinking about all the people he had left behind.

He didn't know what his choice would have been, had he been in their place and the opportunity had presented itself and was glad in a purely, selfishly human way that he wasn't and didn't have to make that kind of decision. He would always question whether he made the right choice, whether he decided to leave for a new world or stay in the one he knew, no matter how unrecognizable it may have become after years of war. There would be fear of what he might possibly face if he left and whether it was the most horrible mistake if he chose to stay—and wonder. He would always wonder.

His mind prodded him insistently, reminding him that he would have to let his house elves know and prepare lunch for their guests, in addition to the student's dinner. He also had to make some kind of general announcement or he would have a few too many curious pair of eyes and ears trying to sneak a peek. They might do that anyway, being the hormonal-driven children they were, eager for adventure and not always knowing their limits, but at least that way, they would know there would be consequences for disturbing the guests before they were ready.

He thought about what would happen if some of the more eager—demanding—students happened to catch any of the visitor's off-balance and imagined the resulting, instinctive—but no less lethal—actions that would follow.

He would hate to have that floo call.

"I'll let the Hogwarts' house elves know to make a big enough lunch and keep it warm for them." He said genially. Weasley gave him a polite smile, but shook his head.

"No need, Headmaster."

"But surely, they'd be hungry after the travel, I'm assuming, since I noticed that both Miss Granger and Mister Black seemed famished once they came through. It would be no trouble at all and the house elves would appreciate the work. They're always complaining we don't give them enough work."

Dumbledore shrugged lightly as if to say, 'Only a house elf would complain about not having enough work, right?'

"I'm sure they do. But both I and the others would prefer to let our own house elves prepare our meals and any of the other things they usually do around here. I don't mean to offend but we'd feel a whole lot more comfortable that way."

Weasley looked apologetic but firm. He would not be swayed. Dumbledore gave his own little sigh at the headache he knew he'd have by the end of the night, placating the house elves under his employ and forbidding them from helping the their guests. It'd be tiring and frustrating because no house elf could bear not to help wizards but he would have to try because he knew the unspoken words underlying Weasley's request.

Don't push us or we'll push back—hard. You might not like what happens when we do.

So he simply told Weasley where the rooms were located and watched them for a little bit to make sure they had things well in hand, observing two other groups come through—children wearing similar attire as Evans and Weasley, with the exception of certain childish adornments, looking around in awe—and returned to his office to work on some paperwork he had neglected so far.

If there was one thing he could count on, no matter what, it was that there would always be some kind of paperwork to go with it.