For the next few days after their arrival, there was silence; their guest had sequestered themselves within their rooms and had not once come out. Because they did not even attend meal times, the Headmaster could only guess that their house own house elves were taking care of that. Except for a few short messages passed on by the house elves, he had had no contact with them.

He would have worried more but Weasley and Evans—who didn't so much as speak to anyone after that first explosive meeting between him and Umbridge—had assured them that they would be spending some time adapting to their new environment.

He was told in no uncertain terms that any attempts to contact them, either personally or through the use of any intermediary such as the house elves and the school owls, would not be welcomed. More to the point—might not make it through the experience alive.

He had taken that warning to heart and forbidden all school owls, including the student's own, from going anywhere near the suite where they were staying. He reminded the house elves that no matter what anyone threatened them to do, only he had the authority to order them about, even if normally, he shared some of that authority with the students of the school for convenience's sake.

He had all the reason to believe, especially after Evans' actions, that any kind of unwelcome behavior would be ruthlessly deal with. So he left them alone and made sure that no one else, student or staff, bothered them either.

He really did not want to have that floo call.

Instead, he used that time to have that promised staff meeting and explained some things about their guests, assuring his staff that no, they would not be any danger to the students, despite the disaster that was the Ministry's attempt at 'welcoming' the Remnant.

He also listed a few things not to do in the presence of their guests, including making any threatening moves towards them—lest you be considered a threat and dealt with accordingly by their war-time standards.

"Remember, they have only very recently come out of a war that not only devastated the Wizarding World but touched the Muggle World as well."

He made sure to tell them of their guest's preference not to use the term "muggle" as well. He was unsure how firm they were in opposition of the word but didn't want to take any chances, in case any muggleborns in their group took offense at that.

Worse, if Granger, who told him she was muggleborn when he had asked out of curiosity—not without a lot of scorn, explaining to him that it was considered rude to do so and brought up many bad memories besides—took particular offense to that, he was not sure if the fall-out would be worth the price of refusal. Or someone's curiosity as to why.

Though three others led the Remnant alongside, it was she who took the lead and the others seemed quite content to do so. Which seemed to suggest that they preferred it that way; the way they interacted with each other was proof enough of their camaraderie—their friendship—to caution him when dealing with her. If her almost-Slytherin nature wasn't enough to do so.

"Do not make mention of the Ministry—'less it is of your dislike or dissatisfaction with them—for the Remnant hold no love for them."

He did not want to see Evans—or anyone else in their group who held the same inclination, which he suspected included all of them—in action again.

"Please do not try to contact them until I have given permission to do so; they have informed me that they wish to take a few days to rest from their travel and settle in. All school owls have already been forbidden from doing so without my authority and the house elves have likewise been instructed. If anyone insists on circumventing my orders in such a way and attempts to contact them, in person or otherwise, I have also been told that they will not be held accountable for their actions, following the violation of their privacy."

To impress upon them all—especially those professors too young to have understood or remembered the war and those too curious for their good—he made sure to let just a little bit of his aura escape his control.

He had been told that it felt like a heavy blanket had settled on their shoulders, boring down on them with each second that passed. He was glad to see some of them shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Good. This last thing he had to speak about would make too many of them uncomfortable regardless of what he said.

"There is something about Evans that you all must know and be prepared to face with your utmost respect—he is a parseltongue."

He almost wished that he had not sent out most of his staff to escort the guests home or help transfer the injured to St. Mungo's—only Petunia and Filius had stayed to see the spectacle Evans made of Umbridge, and consequently his ability to speak to snakes—and they said not a word now, smugly content to let him handle the situation.

Immediately, cries of shock and dismay rang out.

Dumbledore used all the influence of his titles, his defeat of Gellert, and his respect as a former teacher, well regarded by his former students—some of whom were among his staff—to calm them down and so did not notice that Riddle and a few others did not react with the same fear and loathing as the others.

Professor Riddle allowed himself one long blink but gave no other sign of his surprise. Behind the neutral expression on his face, however, his thoughts raced.

'A parseltongue. Here. At Hogwarts.'

And in his heart, wonder and desire and relief bloomed.

'Like me.'

Professor Black and McGonagall exchanged knowing glances.

They might not have thought Evans to be a parseltongue, but some traits had made them wonder if he wasn't sorted into Slytherin. His actions a few days ago against Umbridge aside—not all Slytherins were as subtle as they'd hoped, or at all proving the claim of their sorting—cunning and guile and secrets shone from his eyes. He moved with a studied grace most purebloods would envy him for. His well-deserved contempt for the Ministry was also a running theme—though by no means the only ones to feel so—among the Slytherins, who used the Ministry for their own means and respected them less for it.

Slytherins respected those who could not only realize they were being manipulated, but resist it and manipulate in turn as well—it was a mark of skill, necessary and useful for the political positions most of their House wielded.

And yes, the others, Weasley and Granger and Black, interested them as well but there was something about Evans that drew them to him.

Something…familiar.

Professor Flitwick did not bother to speak out against Evans or question Dumbledore's decision—and sanity—in allowing Evans and his people to stay.

He simply leaned back comfortably in his chair, adjusting the cushion underneath him, and observed. Concerns about the students' safety—and their own—were raised. Requests for more details about their guests were many. And several questions about what parseltongue was, for those who came from the muggle world and didn't know what the fuss was all about.

He wryly noticed that they were more than happy to speak of the "muggle-hating, blood-thirsty" founder of Slytherin being a parseltongue and that all those who had the ability turned out to be Dark or became Dark Lords in time.

'How disappointed would they be,' he thought, 'to find out that Slytherin was a normal wizard of his time; distrustful and rightly suspicious of the of witches and wizards entering the school from families that had never had a drop of magical blood. He must have been resentful of all the time they had to spend teaching them things most wizarding child knew before they even entered Hogwarts—those that didn't refuse them or think they were possessed by "the devil"—too. And all of this with the witch-hunts happening—he may well have thought that some, if not all, of those children were spies sent by their families or the Church to lead them back to the school.'

Flitwick considered the quill in his hands, rolling it back and forth. 'And if they had found it…' His hands shook, as memories of hateful words and sharp blades danced before his distant eyes, 'Even muggles would be able to see Hogwarts if they were determined enough. The damage they could have caused—no matter what spells were used—had there been enough of them. And the children, the children…they would never have survived the Church's "exorcisms".'

With all the noise around him, no one noticed the snap of the quill in his hands.

By the time Dumbledore had assuaged their fears and doubts, he was exhausted. He barely had the energy to dismiss them with a wave of the hand. Some of the teachers had stayed, having thought of more questions to ask, but he made his excuses and beat a hasty retreat.

For the rest of that night, he stayed in his private rooms, hidden behind his office, refusing all communications with the outside world.

He wondered if this was how his guests had felt; coming through the portal and realizing that their host must be curious to learn more about them and their world, and barrage them with questions they had neither the patience or energy to answer.

So it was that he was annoyed when a house elf appeared before him with a note in his hands and was ready to dismiss it before he noticed that this was no Hogwarts' elf.

The eyes that squarely met his own instead of lowering to the ground in submission, uncomfortably reminding him that with all his knowledge of esoteric and obscure magics, he knew it was only by their willful submission to wizards—for the magic that kept them alive—that they did not rebel against their masters; that they did not stand as equals with wizards.

So much time had passed that he doubted many knew or cared, or would let such knowledge stop them from treating them as slaves.

The straight back and calm stance, in contrast to the hunched-over little thing that always made pity bubble up—too much like Ariana, timid and frightened by everything—was shocking.

Most visibly different of all was the clothes that it wore.

Did this mean that these elves followed and served the Remnant of their own free will or did they simply wear them because their masters had ordered them to? Dumbledore made a mental note to find out. It would be best to know whether these house elves were bound to the same secrecy as most elves were to their masters or whether they could be coerced to speak. Partly out of concern for the privacy of his guests, but partly out of his own curiosity about whether he could find out some things through them.

He was human after all.

"Master Dumbles, sir? I've a message from me Ma'am." He blinked. "From me Ma'am, 'Mione, sir." Dumbledore stared with the same confused state, still unsure, but now suspecting—"From me Ma'am, Grang-Er, sir."

He asked to make sure, "You speak of Miss Granger, then? She is the one whom sent this note?"

"Yes, sir."

The elf looked at him as if Dumbledore was mad to ask if there was any other person it could be speaking of. He was glad it didn't say so. He already had a pending headache from the staff meeting tonight; he really didn't want to make it an actual headache by focusing on the strange creature before him too much. So he ignored it and focused on the scrap of muggle paper in his hands.

Headmaster

I apologize for not contacting you sooner but as you can guess, the Remnant need their rest. I have much to organize as well. Please rest assured that we—Malfoy, Weasley, Evans and I—will be sure to make an appearance soon. But for the moment, we are weary and need some time to settle in. Again, we thank you for your hospitality.

Granger

It took him a minute as he was considering the note before him but he finally noticed that he had not heard the 'pop' of a house elf leaving. He glanced up. Perhaps sensing the confusion, the elf spoke: "Ma'am told me to stay 'till Dumbles, sir, wrote a reply, sir."

"Ah."

Dumbledore quickly wrote a reply on a blank piece of parchment:

Miss Granger

Thank you for letting me know that you and your people are well. I am glad to hear that it is only weariness and not some great injury that keeps you from making a public appearance. Though, of course, you need not make any kind of appearance until you feel that you are ready; I understand that you and your people still operate under war-time conditions, as evidenced by your 'Security Force'. Quite an entrance they made.

He paused as he thought about possibly questioning her about the 'incident' that took place that first night with Umbridge or about Evans' parseltongue ability and decided otherwise; if she had not mentioned it in her note, either it was it was something she would rather discuss in person or not at all. And he didn't see any good reason in trying her patience so son—not until he had a closer relationship with her that would allow him such liberties.

Then again, Evans' parseltongue ability was no small matter and needed to be discussed at some point between then. Still. There was no need to rush. The Remnant was here to stay and there would be plenty of other opportunities to question her. He continued—

And no need to "thank me for my hospitality", my dear, no need at all! Hogwarts is more than happy to accommodate you all. Please be sure to inform me of when, however, so that I may prepare my staff—they are just as excited as the students to meet you!—and have a splendid dinner in preparation.

I remember well Mister Weasley's words about your preference for your own house elves to prepare you meals, but please allow them one night of rest. My own house elves have besieged me with demands to make at least one meal for you. I confess I do not think I have the heart to refuse them once more. Please let me know if you have need of anything. I look forward to having dinner with you!

Dumbledore

He had briefly considered adding his titles as he usually did to letters to 'important' officials and the like, but thought that Granger and her companions would not only find them unnecessary but bothersome. He had even waffled over adding the title of Headmaster but decided for the same reasons as the former, not to use any titles at all but sign with his last name, as she had done.

Perhaps—hopefully—she would consider it a sign of respect and courtesy.

He rolled the parchment and tied it with a ribbon, sealing it with the crest of the school. He handed it over to the elf and watched curiously as it seemed to assess the worth of his words, hidden on the underside of letter. Finally it gave one brisk nod and simply—

Disappeared.

The same shadow he had seen knock out the Aurors that had guarded Umbridge rose up from beneath the elf and swallowed it whole. The elf had made no move to escape or let out a cry of help. The shadow sank back into the ground it came from, nothing to mark its passage or the elf that had once stood there.

For a moment, Dumbledore seriously thought about researching this 'shadow' that had twice made an appearance now, then shoved all thoughts of the Remnant and anything to do with them away. From a special compartment within his bed post, he pulled out an unmarked case of alcohol. With a casual twist of his magic, he took his first sweet taste of the potion-laced firewhisky.

He made a promise to himself right there and then at that first swallow that he would drink until it was the only thing he knew.