Fall of Innocence Chapter 1, a harry potter fanfic

Harry Potter in, Fall of Innocence

Chapter One.

I will accept any rules that you feel necessary to your freedom. I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.
– Professor Bernardo de la Paz, The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein

Compared to Floo and Portkeys, Harry was rather pleased with the experience of flying on an airplane. Sadly, that same opinion could not be shared by his traveling companion, Remus Lupin. Whether because of his mostly magical upbringing, his peculiar nature and sensitivities, or just a case of motion sickness, Harry's other guardian and friend on their trip abroad did not enjoy the experience nearly so much.

Settling back into his seat tiredly, Remus looked over at Harry and tried to muster his composure. "Harry... why on earth could we not have used an international Portkey?"

Harry made a mental note, another mark on the proverbial wall signifying the number of times Moony had asked this. "Tonks explained this before we left, as have I three times now... We couldn't use a Portkey because they're monitored, for international use. That could get back to Voldemort or the Order, and then all this would be for nothing." Grinning, Harry leaned back and folded his arms behind his head, "Besides, Salem is supposedly one of the more modern schools for magic. It would do well to get a bit more exposure to the Muggle side of things."

Groaning, Lupin closed his eyes and tried to ignore the things that were driving him mad on the flight. The constant sound of engines, the smell of too many people and the recycled, canned air, the motion and realization he was thousands of feet in the air in a thin metal tube... "Bloody," he managed to choke out, before dashing back to the restroom again.

"I'm not sure why he volunteered to go," Tonks mumbled from Harry's other side, as she shifted about. Unlike Remus, his other companion for the journey Nymphadora Tonks seemed to be taking well to the trip. Well enough to sleep through most of it, in fact. Blinking blearily at her watch, the former Auror and Order member yawned, before turning a dial and setting another silent alarm. She did this to keep herself from lapsing in her sleep, into her normal form, not something Harry would have minded, but she seemed nervous to the point of paranoia about.

Shrugging, Harry opened his magazine again, a Muggle publication apparently aimed at young men. "He mentioned something about the packs, and Fenrir. Didn't ask much else, as I really have no idea outside of the DADA class about Were's." Harry hazarded a look around, amused and somewhat sad. For all their travel arrangements were Muggle, their clothing was Muggle – and not the usual preposterous wizarding mistake at it, and even his reading was Muggle, they still put up Notice-Me-Not and baffle wards to keep their conversation masked. The downside to this, was Harry practically had to pull a stewardess into their aisle to get one's attention. He was less than trilled, for other reasons, but those weren't on his mind at the moment.

Or so he kept telling himself.

Focusing on the words in front of him, he has little luck in banishing the specters of the last few months from his mind. The largest of those being a banshee named Dumbledore that kept haunting him whenever he had a moment's peace. He and Tonks had opened Pandora's box in a number of ways, by simply trying to make the man confront his own actions and hopefully amend his ways. Instead they had practically broken the Order, as Dumbledore revealed his past in a moment of weakness, spurred on by another of their plans going awry. Completely at a loss of how to deal with what they'd unleashed, Harry had decided to move forward with his plan, discussed in detail with Moody, to put some distance between himself and his reputation and try to train as he could, away from it all.

He told himself again, that he wasn't just running away from his mistake, and trying to ignore it.

Moody's reasoning behind the suggestion at first confused Harry, as he'd never considered just... leaving the country before. When the man asked what he had there, to keep him from it though, the Boy-Who-Lived had to seriously consider the question. Other than friends whom he was growing more distant with, and those currently with him, little was there to really anchor him. Oh, true, he'd miss his friends in the DA, as well as the professors, but if Moody's faith in that this would help him train faster, or end the way sooner was correct, then Harry figured they'd forgive him.

Besides, Moody's other point was very true. If Harry did die in the effort, there wasn't much chance for seeing the world after the fact.

For his own reasoning, Harry considered the relevant education he'd received. Most of his Defense training was self-taught, with a small dose of practical class from Lupin and Moody. Otherwise, he'd been severely lacking in that department, and in truth, that was the most needful of all of his classes, to his future. Snorting quietly as his eyes scanned over words he wasn't reading, Harry wondered what the hell was was supposed to do, if confronted with the Dark Lord as he was. Challenge him with his fifth-year repertoire of spells and dazzle him with Dumbledore's so called power of love? Not that he even knew that the man was speaking of – he'd seen what was behind that door in the Ministry. It was a mysterious girl in Unspeakable's robes, who's name he still didn't know. Admittedly, not just her, but many others like her, but still.

Closing the magazine, Harry looked over to his most valued friend, the one that had pulled him from the Dursleys and put so much of herself on the line for him. Tonks had lost her job, lost her position in the Order, nearly lost her memory and was at risk of losing her few friendships, all over getting involved with him. Despite it, she would be berating him if she could hear his thoughts. Know that he felt guilty still for causing-

"Harry, don't make me stun you," the drowsy woman grumbled, shifting so her forehead was against the window, and the vents were blowing in her face. "'Cause I will."

Chuckling quietly, Harry settled his mind and practiced the augmented Occlumency that the recent adventures had opened up to him. Thanks to Sirius' will and the extraordinary measures he'd taken to ensure none of his family's resources fell into Voldemort's hands, Harry had been literally inducted as a blood-member of the Black family. With that, a strong magical tie had been made to all the members, including Tonks' aunt Narcissa. The odd result of this, was a new branch of magic, to him at least, that involved familial ties and how those ancient families bound themselves to one another, and their homes and work. It also explained the loyalty and powers to a degree, of house elves, and how some magic and talents passed from one family member to another.

Recently, he'd discovered that the bond with the family Black had also made it so, if either he or Tonks were experiencing strong emotions, or were thinking heavily on something, the other could 'hear' such going on. Often, to Harry it sounded like Tonks was mumbling under her breath, or in a distant room ranting, despite her closeness. She insisted that Harry sounded more like he was screaming in her ear. For each other's peace of mind, the two had begun practicing the peculiar Occlumency that the blood magic, or bloodlaw as they'd come to think of it, allowed, closing one's mind off by diverting thoughts and emotions down the pathways of magic that tied them to their heritage. Infinitely more enjoyable than the mental assault he'd suffered with Snape, this seemed nearly natural.

Aside from Remus' difficulty with motion and Tonks' light snoring, Harry had little to distract him from his thoughts. For all he had tried to read the magazine in hand, he mind insisted on wandering, and straying to odd topics, some of which he wasn't very fond of. Ginny, for instance. Sighing, Harry shook off his guilt over the young woman's state. It wasn't his fault, and to be honest, there wasn't a way he could see that would have let her avoid that misfortune.

Realizing he'd be in for some difficulty if his musing woke Tonks again, Harry leaned his chair back, and settled the magazine over his eyes. Grinning, he realized the page he'd stopped on was for a hair coloring and treatment product. Well, he knew one person at least that didn't need such things. Closing his eyes, Harry let his mind drift forward to settle on the excitement of another year of school, this one maybe actually learning, and not the demented shuffle of intrigue.

Tonks let herself relax, as Harry drifted off to sleep. She'd been half listening to his mental ramble, and was waiting in case things went too dark, knowing his tendency to beat himself up over things. Pleased that their few talks, and sometimes arguments about such had stuck with the young man, she relaxed back into her seat.

Not the only one with anxieties over the trip, she was more worried about the logical things. Though Harry assured her that anything they needed, he'd be able to manage, it still irked the former Auror that he'd be the one responsible for most of their funds, as well as other material situations. Independent to a fault, Tonks had to do a lot of tongue-holding and biting of words to keep from sounding like an ungrateful git.

It helped to think that all this was for Harry's benefit, and so it was fine for him to take responsibility, but then, why was she here? Thanks to her loss of a job, and then the whirlwind summer, she'd not had a steady income for some time, and that rubbed her the wrong way. Lupin assured her that she'd likely be able to take her position back, but after all this... she was unsure if she wanted it.

Besides, with them spending at least a full school year in the Americas, being an Auror was again, useless. So, planning ahead she'd looked into possibly getting a position at Salem, and while Harry was going to be getting accustomed with the nuances of magical America, she would be interviewing for a job.

This brought up, in her mind, what Lupin was going to be doing, but the man had, as Harry mentioned, been tight-lipped about his own goals so far. All that knew is that he had business to attend in America, that he'd be happy to help them in any way he could, while there, and that he was loyal to Harry, despite his position in the Order. Such was enough for Harry, so Tonks figured it enough for her, in the case of an old friend. Besides, it would be a welcome change to be able to keep from being the only one, looking around corners and peering into shadows.

"I'm sorry, I was just... so relieved to be on solid ground again."

"Honestly, Remus," throwing her hands up, Tonks reclaimed their 'baggage', in truth just a bunch of old robes and spare clothes packed into a few cases, and glared at the Werewolf, where he stood looking contrite.

Harry couldn't contain himself and started laughing again. "Sorry, just never imagined I'd see a Werewolf getting that friendly with a loading ramp." Picking up a parcel of his own, Harry smirked at the color that continued to rise on Lupin's face. "But hey, it'll be a great memory to share with the Order when we get back."

Blanching, his former professor simply sighed and hoped that his companions good graces would allow him to avoid such a humiliating scene. "Once we have everything, there's a Port of call office just by the rentals. We can get our papers sorted and get normal transportation to Salem there," the older man explained, hoping to gloss over and move on from his embarrassing scene.

Passing from the gates into the airport, JFK International, proper, Harry was assaulted by the sheer number of people, milling about. He was warned in Heathrow that airports were busy, but due to Britain's Ministry being in close with both the magical and mundane, there was a modicum of separation between the two. Here, it seemed that nothing of the sort was in place, just off the plane. It was then that Harry overheard the intercom, "All JFK International magical travelers, be advised. There is a mild confounding field within the terminal. Point-me and minor magics are permissible in the terminal, but any exceptional use of spells will be subject to fine or harsher penalties. Do not harass your fellow travelers. Please see the Port of call offices for further information." At first he'd thought it was just the usual drone of airport notices, but as he passed the exits into the main area, it seemed to become clearer.

Shrugging, he noticed a small number of other travelers glancing around and discreetly pulling wands as well. A number of those seemed to look toward some very severely dressed men in black suits, all with dark glasses and what looked like some device in their ears. Assuming those to be the source of "harsher penalties", Harry looked around and saw the signs directing travelers toward various locations. "Over here," he indicated, and his small party moved aside, to inspect the sign.

"Looks like more confounding and Notice-Me-Nots at work," Tonks indicated, pointing to the entry on the board, reading "Magical transport and assistance", which was situated below "International Portkey Office". Checking the number and code for that area, she led them on, seemingly at home in such a busy location. "Does everyone have their papers?" The question wasn't the first time such had been asked, and Harry checked his pocket again for the rather costly Goblin-forged passport and identification he had made before their trip.

One of the things he'd had impressed upon him, by both Remus and Tonks before the trip, was his own status and notoriety. For one, though Britain's issues and uprisings weren't the only ones in the magical world, Voldemort, and before him Grindelwald were fairly large and well known wizards, around the globe. Particularly in Grindelwald's case, where it had taken not only much of Europe, but also some international help to still the advance of his forces. Due to the nature of the magical world and information in it, his face and name were well known, even in the Americas, so the first thing he and his group had done before departing, was to go and acquire new identities.

For Tonks, such a thing was practically rote, so the process was simple, if a bit more drastic than she'd expected. Though she had occasionally gone undercover for the Ministry, they had all the controls on identification and paperwork, so such a thing internally was much simpler. Internationally, it required a much different set of rules be worked with. Pulling out her own, and checking her companion's as well, the woman once again scrutinized them for any problems.

Tonks' own new identity was one she'd used in the past, so was comfortable enough for her. Natalie Thompson was a cover she'd used to gather intelligence in Ireland, early on in her career. Scanning over the others, she nodded as Lupin's face looked back from a picture captioned Andrew McDermott, a name which he found rather amusing for some reason. His cover was as simple as hers, a pair of adults, asked by Harry's family to accompany him abroad. It was Harry's paperwork she initially had issue with. One, his face was far too recognizable, and so they had to figure out some way to fix this. Though a permanent option wasn't to his liking, Harry agreed that Polyjuice was also not optimal, due to short duration and the difficulty of using it. Tonks also warned that many places had scans for that, airports being the most likely, particularly the international variety. Many small charms, though, weren't so contraband. Scar lessening and hair color changing, being the most mundane, but combined with a tanning charm and a small glamor on his glasses to make his eyes look more blue than green, and even Tonks had problems recognizing him. Between her background as an Auror, the Goblin's network with information, and his own stubborn aesthetics, they'd settled on Joseph Black. Initially Tonks was vehemently against anything that could tie in Harry with either of his family bonds, but his reasoning seemed solid, if not sound.

Harry figured if someone wanted to find him bad enough, to infiltrate the records system of two countries, correlate an alias to him, get behind the cosmetic charms he'd had placed in a small necklace and glasses to recognize him, then likely they'd be able to do so if he'd taken any other name as well. Grudgingly, Tonks relented and Harry got his alias, which also seemed to amuse him. She wondered if there was some joke she simply wasn't getting. So, with papers in hand, a very normal but pretty young woman who could be her mother at twenty, an unchanged but cleaned and spruced Lupin, and a dirty blonde, blue eyed and tanned Harry made their way through the airport.

The Port of call offices were large, comfortably furnished and rather populated, but the lines seemed to be moving along well enough, when they entered. Each of them took a different line, and with a glance to his companions, Harry tried to settle his excitement. He was here, in a different country, free of the reputation and the madness that had hounded him since his parent's death. Not truly free, he had to remind himself as the prophecy, even if he didn't believe in the vague thing, Voldemort still seemed very intent on exploring. He'd come to have the time and opportunity to learn and prepare. Not escape.

Stepping up to the counter, he was mildly shocked when the slight sense of mental probing came from the woman across from him. Schooling his features, Harry carefully raised his Occlumency shields, focusing on the comfortable and cozy clutter of the dormitory-like flat he'd left behind in London. "Could you tell me the reason for your visit?"

"I'll be attending Salem Academy in the fall," he replied, and smiled honestly. "Been looking forward to learning something new all summer." Remembering one thing Tonks impressed on him, when it came to Occlumency and lying, he peppered in a number of half-truths to help. Though he didn't like lying, he'd like being shipped back to Britain less.

Nodding, the woman dropped eye contact and went about processing him a student visa. "This card will appear as a normal visa for the same purpose. Salem works closely with the government, so any inquires in a mundane fashion will be forwarded to the Non-magical Cooperation department there." Pausing her speech for a moment, she stamped a few things, and added a charm to his passport. "Your visa is good for one year. You can apply for an extension at any of the offices listed on the card, if you tap it with your wand and say 'help, locations'. Your government has an embassy in Boston, if you need assistance of that type." Smiling up at him, she handed the documents back, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Black?"

Grinning, he only nodded and inquired about a Portkey to Salem, to which he was given a ticket to take next door, to the IPO, the International Portkey Office. Meeting up with his traveling companions there, Harry was chided by Tonks to try and look more excited. People simply weren't pointing and grinning back enough. Feeling abashed, Harry calmed when Remus simply clapped him on the back and told him to ignore Natalie, that she had a rather fresh teller who'd asked her a few too many personal questions.

The IPO was a clean, efficient office that seemed to have a rather swift turn around. The travel agent at the door checked their passports for the proper stamp, charm and data, then waved them on to the proper line, without much conversation. The three of them were shortly looking at a rather portly man in his middle years, with rather thick glasses. "Good afternoon," he greeted, mechanically. "Destination, and number of travelers?"

"Salem, Massachusetts," Remus replied. "Three to travel."

Nodding, the man pulled out a small segment of cord, snipped it with practiced ease and tapped a wand against it, intoning a bored "Portus". Handing them the Portkey, the man scribbled down a small note, of which he kept a copy and tacked it onto a stack already on a push-pin. The other he slid across the counter. Remus placed his wand on the form, and a small stamp appeared. Harry watched curiously, until the stamp was evident, letting him know this was a paid service. "Your activation word is 'Salem 548', please enjoy your trip. Next in line, please."

Dismissed, the trio moved aside and into the file that was leaving the offices, toward the approved Portkey departure pad. Though not traveling far, such things still had regulation, in keeping any illegal passage to a minimum, also to ensure proper safety. Also, Harry figured, it kept the place clean, with all the small bits of cord, paper, and whatnot being used as disposable Portkeys for so many travelers.

The pad was a simple thing, little more than a long, turnstile regulated line that had what looked to be a subway platform at the end. People filed in, waited for a light to go green on the board, then activated their Portkeys. Inbound Portkeys arrived during red phases, apparently regulated by wards, or some traffic signals that he had little comprehension of. When it was their turn, the three made their way to the platform, and with a nervous, excited laugh Harry sent them on their way. "Salem, 548!"

Interlude: Lind, and Salem.

The young girl stumbled, falling to her knees in the rain. A thin wail broke from her throat, as she gasped for breath and fell to her side, uncaring of the mud and foul water that soaked into her hair and clothes. Storm winds raged about above the slight form, trees swaying and shedding leaves about her in the torrents of water the New England rains were dropping. Slowly, the girl raised honey-colored eyes and tried to peer through the dark, searching for shelter. A wave of weakness washed over her and the young woman fell again, crying out as her cheek struck a stone.

"Hello? Who's there?" Shortly the voice was followed by a bright light, cutting into the stormy night and picking out the red cloaked and hooded form. "Are you all right?" Receiving no answer, the aging woman crept forward and knelt, poking the still form gently with her finger. "Hey, what's wrong? What are you doing, out so late?"

Shuddering, the young woman turned and looked through blurry eyes to the woman leaning over her. Her mouth worked a moment, before the woman made out the word she was trying to say and the matron's eyes went wider. "Oh Merlin, you're a witch," she murmured, tucking her coat about her and looking around warily. Seeing no one nearby, she pulled her wand and cast a warming charm on the shivering girl, leaning down after to draw her up and to her feet. "There you go, now. Can you hang on? Going to get you to a clinic."

Shaking her head hard twice, she clung to the woman's coat, a single word repeating softly, as her breath would allow. "But child, what could you need in Salem that's so important?" When the girl made to push free and stand on her own, the woman heaved a sigh and took her arm again. "Fine, stubborn youth. Where did you need to go?"

"Corner of Bishop and Parker," the girl spoke clearly, finally. Her accent was heavy, Germanic giving her words odd inflection.

Raising a brow, the woman simply shrugged and settled her arm about the girl more tightly. "You would be wanting to head right into the thick of things," she muttered, Disapparating with a crack, during a peal of thunder.

An hour later found the young woman, laying under a blanket near the hearth of a cozy room and far from the storm raging outside. "You found her out on Gallows Hill park you say? The ball park?" The speaker was an older man, late in years. His face was well worn, but he carried his age well. His hair was short and gray, peppered in places with black, which matched his checkered doctor's satchel. Lines about his eyes and mouth spoke of equal parts joy and sadness, at this moment framing a face set in concern. Sitting by the table in the small kitchen, was the woman who found the young witch, sipping a cup of coffee.

Thinking back on the night's events, she nodded, "Off the way a bit, in the trees but yes," looking over to the resting girl, the older woman's lips narrowed. "Never seen her before, in Salem. And that accent of hers. Where do you think she's from?"

"Germany, Büren." The two started, as the girl sat up, albeit slowly from where she had lain. "I've come for the Salem school."

The two looked to each other, then the girl, as she tried to arrange the blanket about her shoulders. "School doesn't start for nearly a month yet, do you have some family nearby you'll be staying with?"

Blinking at the two, she nodded briefly. "Yes, of a kind. They will know me."

Puzzled by her answer but writing it off as a quirk from her grasp of English, the doctor moved to the girl's side and held out a small card, "This is a potion order, for the apothecary down the street. The woman there," pointing, he indicated the woman with her coffee, who waved, "Mary, brought you here to Graymalkin's as you asked, but this is only an inn." When the slight witch nodded her understanding, the man smiled and continued. "Now, it looks like you did something to drain yourself quite badly, so for tonight at least, get some rest. They'll be open in the morning."

"Yes, you just get a good night's sleep. The room is paid for, but you'll need to arrange it further than tomorrow. Since you have family, as you say, would be best to find them," the woman added, setting her coffee on a small saucer. "The Fair opens at around eight in the morning. Best not to be out before then."

The young woman nodded, murmuring her thanks before settling back into the couch, apparently content to sleep. A bit at a loss, the two adults gathered their things and made the way outside, closing the door quietly behind them. "Will she be alright?" The woman's voice was cast low, as the two walked down the stairwell to Graymalkin's common room.

Nodding, the doctor paused by the foot of the stair, looking pensive. "Don't worry on her, she'll be fine, though I wish I'd gotten her name before she nodded off."

"As you say," shaking her head, the woman sighed. "Gabby, can you get me a plate? Missed dinner." Walking to the waitress who nodded and pointed to a chair, Mary settled at the table tiredly. The doctor joined her, running a hand along his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose below his glasses.

Calling to the waitress, Gabby he guessed from what Mary had said, he asked for a cup of coffee and settled beside the woman. "I guess you're right. A lone girl, appearing out of nowhere in the middle of Salem woods. Plenty to worry about," he muttered, taking a cigar from a pocket and lighting it with a candle.

Wrinkling her nose, Mary waved a stray tendril of smoke away, "Not concerned about your own health I see." Looking up as if to see the young woman who slept upstairs, she nodded her thanks as the food and coffee were brought out. "So Dr. Conner, will you be teaching this year?"

"At Salem? Likely." Sipping the coffee, the man turned an eye to the stairs, "There hasn't been an applicant for my position yet, so I believe for at least one more year, I'll be teaching the advanced healing course. If you're worried about the girl, I'll let you know how she does, settling in."

Mary nodded, and concerned herself with the food before her. "One thing, that bothered me," she mumbled through a mouthful of food. "Her eyes."

Wilhem Connor looked up, the cup of coffee pausing half the way to his mouth, "I'd not worry about that. Probably just has a bit of Veela or Fae in her family somewhere."

Shrugging, the woman focused on the food before her. "Mm, that's true. Grandfather claimed we had some family out in Romania. Should have heard the stories he told."

Dr. Conner chuckled and nodded, leaving some change on the table for the waitress. Rising to go, he waved his goodbye to Mary, and stopped at the bar for a moment. "Aerin, a moment if you don't mind," he called, beckoning the proprietor of the inn over. She seemed too young, he thought idly, to be the owner and responsible for the most trafficked and visited inn in magical Salem. Yet the young woman, taking over for her mother almost the day she left school, had proven to be a keen and capable businesswoman.

The woman looked up and nodded, setting her tray of washing down to dry. "Will, what can I do for you tonight?"

"There's a young woman, the one we checked in with you earlier," reaching into his doctor's satchel, he laid a small package on the counter, tapping it briefly with a finger before sliding it to the woman. "Make sure she gets this in the morning."

Raising her brow, Aerin shrugged and set the parcel aside, turning back to her chores. "Sure, you're the doctor."

"How's your father doing, by the way?"

The redhead stalled a moment, hand still on the glass she was about to put away. "He's... managing. The fever gets worse at times, better at others." Swallowing, she turned and looked at the doctor steadily. "I still don't have the money to pay for the elixirs and potions. Maybe soon," shaking her head, she took a steadying breath and went back to her cleaning. "But not now."

Looking back to his hands, Wilhem sighed. "Why will you not let me help?"

"Because I hate charity."

"I'm a doctor. It's my duty to help-"

Slamming a cup down on the counter, the woman turned a cold eye to the aging doctor, "Yes. I know what your duty is. And you know how my family thinks. When I'm ready to pay for your services, I will call for you." Flicking off the electric lights she favored in the inn's kitchen and bar, she passed from behind the counter and busied herself with the last few customers. "It's late doctor."

Nodding sadly, Dr. Connor stood and retrieved his hat and coat from the door. The rains had settled to a steady fall, not the torrential downpour from earlier, so he had little concern for the weather. Settling the greatcoat about his shoulders, the man tipped the hat to the young woman, standing with her arms crossed watching him. "Good night, Miss Ritson."

"Goodbye, Will."

Waking with a start, she huddled at the head of the couch, panting, scanning the room warily. "Gregor?" Her dream faded, and memory returned to her slowly, images of a kind woman, a man with a checkered bag chased away the darker memory of a dead young man. Sighing, she rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes, "So. I made it."

Glancing around slowly, she stood and stretched, arching like a cat. It was during her looking about, inspecting the small room that she found the note and small parcel, either left by one of her benefactors or a housekeeper. After opening the box, the young woman inspected the contents curiously, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Reading the note inside, she grinned, tucking the small folded paper and the package into her robe pocket.

Patting about her person, she found everything that was necessary, and was shortly walking down the street beside Graymalkin's. The packet she'd received on the school in Salem described the local magical district as being near the inn, down the street a block. Building walls around her opened back up, and she stood confused on the street, looking around herself. "The papers said... ah."

Halfway down an alley a large iron gateway rested, the ornate scroll work and forging sweeping in great vines and flowering things. Upon it's crown were the time-blackened words "Scarborough Fair", but beyond, nothing. An empty lot, with some small rubble and then only a mortared wall were the only things the gate protected. Smiling wryly, she crossed the somewhat bustling street, small shops along it selling newspapers and succulent foods. The smells made her mouth water, and she wished then that she'd taken a moment to have the breakfast the innkeeper had offered that morning.

The gate's portal moved easily, belying the rust it seemed to bear. From within the cove, the street's sounds and sights dimmed and lessened, as if on the other side of a wall or distance. Looking about, she saw it as if from smoky glass, hazed an indistinct. Moving quickly to the mortared wall, she tapped upon it quickly three times with her wand and it shimmered, but remained. Brow furrowed, she pulled out the small brochure again, and tapped it until the passage she needed appeared. Rereading it she sighed and tapped the wall again, striding through after the shimmer while the wall was passable, according to the document.

Shrugging off the odd phantom chill that ghostwalls conveyed, she blinked at the Fair as it spread out before her. The most obvious thing to catch her eye was the Green, the massive circular lawn that dominated the center of the Fair. Around it, everything else seemed to grow or spread out, radiating from the flagstone and cobble drive around it. The manicured lawn stretched a hundred yards across, and was littered about with children playing, people laying out in the morning sun having early picnics or just walking about from one side of the Walk to the other. The Walk, as she learned it was called, was the drive itself that encompassed the Green.

Looking about herself, she strode forward to the edge of the great field, as not to stand in the way of any others passing into or out of the Fair by foot. Scarborough was literally the size of a small township, contained inside the alleyway behind the gate by powerful magics of the caliber usually employed by such places in the wizarding world as population centers and universities. To the west, along the entire southwestern quarter of the Walk was the New England Wizarding Senate, the governing body and offices of the magical community that had grown up from the first colonies. Though the United States had a centralized government, most of the regional, smaller segments of it were in control of their own sphere's of influence within the mandate of the larger body. She understood why this occurred, as a country this large could not possibly centralize it's systems so much, but didn't really concern herself with the details of how Americans governed themselves. It was enough, for her, to know where the building and the people in it were.

Given, the building itself was impressive. Nearly a cathedral in size, it incorporated some modern elements along it's facing area, by the Walk. Great stretches of glass windows swept up into gothic archways, supporting impressively sculpted buttresses that thinned up to a series of cathedraline towers. It looked, she had to admit, as if someone dropped some great old church atop a modern office building. Central to the structure was a clock tower, it's face huge and she assumed, visible from most of the Fair.

To the northwest was the housing district, dominated in the southern portion to single, sprawling mansions and their grounds, all walled and gated. She was too far for detail, but a great number of them looked to have been built soon after the city itself, borrowing influences from the colonist's roots in Europe up to a more recent Federal style, with their low-peaked roofs and simple columns. Not many of the walled properties could situate themselves in the area they seemed alloted, but the few that did, seemed intent on outclassing their neighbors.

Northerly, bordered from the decadently arranged mansions by the West Way, was the housing district proper, with its rows and rows of multistory homes. She'd seen pictures of this sort of building style in some travel guides, and made note of it. Newer in age than the other portion of the Fair dedicated to homes, there was one very notable point, that she'd recalled briefly from her brochure. In the middle of facing row, bordering the Walk was a raised dais, upon which stood a statue. Too far to see it well, she knew it to be a monument to Joseph Nash who in the late-1700's had spearheaded a movement against the magical aristocracy of Salem, which had resulted in a third of the Fair being burned to the ground. Upon those ashes, the new residential area had arisen, a testament to the wizarding people's tenacity. Heralded as a hero of the common witch and wizard, the monument still stood, and behind it the homes and right to have them which Nash had fought for.

The northeast began the market district, the northernmost and closest to the residential area being the most trafficked, which seemed counter to the general entrance to the Fair, being on the far south. There she could see shop faces, nearly a dozen facing the Walk. Behind them and above she knew more houses and smaller shops to be, beyond her view among the small streets lacing the block. Similar was the far eastern section, but this area, and the portion stretching to the south were older, less bright seeming. The shops had a withdrawn cast and the styles were of subdued colors and had less windows about them. The Walk also broke free from its circular path here, and a portion curved from her, as well as extended south from the east, toward a tunnel that rose sharply into the blank brick wall that bordered the Fair.

The Wall itself was of note, as she squinted to peer up and around at the tall phenomenon. Precisely as tall as the surrounding buildings, the Wall served to muggles much as a window. They peered in one side, and saw what was on the outside of the far opposite portion. The effect was much like writing a map on a rubber sheet, then folding a baseball inside. Where Scarborough lay, was with the ball. The magics that powered the heavy enchantment were not cheap in coming, though.

Within the Green were the three statues that represented the founding wizards of Scarborough within Salem, famous and infamous for their achievement. Due to them, New England had this small pocket of protected life – but it came at a high cost. When they had tapped the local magical currents, the Ley lines among them, to fuel the permanent spells that would protect Scarborough Fair, the resulting drain had left the surrounding fields less productive, livestock grew sick from lack of food, and a wave of sickness and malaise had settled about the area. Danvers was particularly hard hit, and from the superstitious and in some cases, openly resentful muggle population sprang the Witch Trials.

Starting much earlier, but culminating in the early 1690's, the persecution of magicians, squibs and their relations had turned to the nearly fanatical levels. Things had only been halted by the forward action of the magical community and a rigid adherence to the Statue of Secrecy, as well as a timely publishing boom from allies and friends in influential station.

Oddly, due to the horribly inhumane events, 'witch stories' had since been met with not only high skepticism but almost a feverish avoidance. This made it much easier to be slightly more obvious about one's nature, but the Statute still held.

She'd read all this in her previous history lessons, and knew it well enough, but to be in Salem was a different experience. The Green was unnaturally well-tended, and obviously the age and prosperity of the Fair had been in place long before the Trials. Another factor came to mind of the reason behind the charges and claims, that of jealousy. Muggles living near families either related to or who were magical, would see the obvious differences in their ways of life. With things so dire, in those days with the expansion of families into either crowded land or the wilds beyond, it was simple human nature to turn on one another.

The musing on Salem's past ended as she passed the corner of the East Way, the large bounding branch of the Walk that separated the more lively northeast market from the southern one. Walking into the rising sun of morning, she was shortly cast in shadow from turning south, closing on her destination. Sitting within a small cleared space, with a wrought iron gate and fence was the Alden House, out of place among the small shops and ramshackle houses that rose up on either side and around this part of Scarborough. Passing through the iron portal she crossed quickly to the door, and raised a brow at the odd door knocker.

Set in graying silver was a great wolf's head, in its teeth a horseshoe that one used to knock. Taking hold of the black iron fitting, she rapped three times and was shortly shown to the sitting room by a polite elf in the livery of a wealthy home.

The old man watched as she entered, from the shadows of the side foyer. She walked quietly, her balance on the balls of her feet and with a light step, which matched her slight frame. A fine face, wide at the cheek and narrow at the chin was highlighted by her striking eyes, a nearly luminous gold. Crowning it all was her fall of hair, a silver-gray that seemed to catch light and let it fall along it's length, past her shoulders. It was her bearing, more than her appearance that gave away his guest, though. Deciding to spy no longer, lest he be found out, the man started forward, leaning on the rail.

"You must be Sieglinde Wagner, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," a rich voice called out, and the young woman turned and rose, curtsying slightly in the direction it came. Out of the archway the man finally did come, leaning heavily on a cane and looking as old as the house he lived in. "Forgive me, but the years grow long, and my stamina short. My name is Leon. Welcome to my home."

Sieglinde moved to the man's side, helping him the last few feet to a tall backed chair. "Thank you, my dear. Very kind of you." Straitening himself as the young woman took her seat again, the aged and graying man looked her over with a very keen eye. "So. You're here to attend Salem, then?"

She met his rheumy, deep brown eyes and nodded once, reaching into a pocket to pull forth the packet of parchment and documents she'd come with. "Yes, but only as a formality. I am to observe and take note of how New England treats our kind personally, and to gauge the wind as far as the pretender Fenrir is concerned." Laying out the still closed packet, she stood again and moved to the tea set, busying herself as Leon smiled on, watching.

"So the Sköll has taken offense to him as well," Leon replied, nodding his understanding. "How is your father these days? I haven't seen Ulfric for nearly two hundred years."

Chuckling quietly, Sieglinde shook her head as she poured a cup for the old man, "He abides. Peace does not suit him, and this latest Dark Lord and his war have his interest. The Pretender also has his eye." Settling the saucer before the master of the house, she sat again and folded her hands neatly. "And you, Elder Alden? How fare you in the waning of your moon?"

"As well as any old wolf, youngling," he answered, smiling over his tea. "Better with one so young of night about these dimming walls. Will you be calling this place home for your stay, or will you bed down with the wizards in their dormitories?"

At this Sieglinde took up the packet and broke the seal, pulling forth a form she had there, "I should be staying in their dormitories, but there will be problems. The Change of course one, but as my blood is close to the moon, there will be other... complications. I must also attend under an alias."

"Yes of course," he murmured, but paused to sniff the air. "Dear girl, why do you stink of Wolfsbane?"

Wrinkling her nose, Sieglinde pulled out the parcel she was left in the inn. "This, Elder. I believe the doctor who saw to me, weak from that great distance Apparating, knew me or that I was a Werewolf."

Leon reached out and prodded the package, grinning to the girl, "Ah yes, Wilhem. He is in my employ as well, I believe he must have guessed who you were and arranged this for you." Picking up the small package, he opened it with ginger motions and turned away at the stronger smell within. "Ghastly stuff, but it will dull your instinct enough to settle within the College without difficulty."

"What is it, precisely?" The young woman took the package back, inspecting the small foil-wrapped wafer-sticks within their black labels.

"If I'm not mistaken, it's Wolfsbane gum, a kind of if at any rate."

"Poison?" Sieglinde furrowed her brow, a corner of her lip rising to show a view of uncharacteristically sharp teeth. "He would dare?"

"No child, not poison." Chuckling, the old man clapped and a house elf appeared, bowing low. "Lunch, if you please. Do you wish for anything in particular, dear?"

"No, Sire. I am rather hungry though." As if to punctuate the statement, her stomach growled loudly, eliciting a laugh from the old man as she blushed crimson.

"Yes, I can see. Or hear, rather," he said, still laughing at her embarrassment. "Do you prefer your food cooked or not? I forget how the Sköll and his court dine these long years away."

Nodding and looking wistfully at the small elf, which made the slight thing shiver in fright, she shook off her musing and answered, "Father never has food cooked, unless he is entertaining future meals, as he calls his political meetings." Sharing a knowing laugh with Leon, she grinned and licked her lips. "It will be good to dine as I'm used to, the food as I traveled was dreadfully burnt and spiced almost out of recognition."

Snorting, the man nodded and dismissed the elf, who hurried snapped a finger and went to it's task and away from the hungry gaze the young woman was leveling on it, "Yes, leave it to humans to alter even their food beyond all resemblance of it's source." Pointing at the gum she still held, he nodded to it seriously, "this will keep you from any unconscious change. You won't need to worry on it, but the true Change will still take you as it does us all." Running a piercing gaze about her, he frowned. "I doubt any potion would dull your Change at any rate, as close as your family's blood is to the moon."

"I would not take one, on those days," she murmured, shaking her head slowly. "It is... blasphemous." Shaking her head slightly, her face very serious she murmured, "I am not ashamed of what I was born into. Who and what I am."

"Easy, easy youngling. I meant no disrespect, or to cast any idea on you." Shifting in the great chair, he grunted and a pained look crossed his face. "I was merely thinking aloud, on how best to help you in your task. No doubt if you go as you are, with your name and face someone will make the connection." Raising a brow, the old man considered her words a moment. "Days you say?"

"Yes, Sire. I enjoy the moon's favor all three days of her dominance."

Openly staring now, Leon closed his mouth with a faint snap. "Three days... well I wasn't wrong in thinking you'd need that little trick Wilhem cooked up. Curious... You've bitten someone before, yes?" Looking away, she nodded once and seemed to color slightly. "As a wolf or in a human guise?"

Sighing, she considered the question a moment. "I was as I am now."

"Did they turn?"

"No. Father put him down," she murmured quietly, looking pained. "But he would have. You could smell the Change on him."

Shaking his head slowly, Leon settled more comfortably in his chair. "Close to the moon indeed. Well, I shall not pursue that topic again. It does seem to bother you, young one."

Relief plain on her features, she bowed her head slightly, "Thank you, Sire."

Waving off her words, the old man looked at the papers she'd spread out on the table. "On to lighter tasks. You did mention an alias, but with your hair and eyes I think we need to go a step further."

"My father likes my eyes," she replied stubbornly, getting a laugh from the elder.

"No doubt, I think them rather nice as well. But they do stick in one's memory, and though our eyes tend to amber in the change, yours may cause a stir." Contemplating, the old man rose and winced, leaning on his cane as he moved to the adjoining room. "Come, let us work a while, on who your father's daughter shall become."

An hour later, a few copied spells in hand from a book that Leon had pulled from his library, and instead of Sieglinde Wagner joining him for a late brunch, Lind Jaeger sat across from him at the great table. "I still don't see why I have to be blonde. I am pleased with the name, though. It's familiar enough so I shouldn't miss it being called."

Tutting, the man shook his fork at the young woman, "Because, like it or not, that silver hair of yours will not go unnoticed. Simply not a normal wizarding color." He smiled as the house elf appeared, one small and one great platter set out on it's hovering trays. "Lind did seem best of what we could make of your given name. You simply don't appear a Linda, and it will work with that accent of yours. As for your family name, though there are many Wagners in the States, there's no sense tempting fate. A hunter you are, so a hunter you shall be – in your own tongue at least." Watching her intently, as the house elf arranged his plate, his brown eyes twinkled, "The time you've spent in the Sköll's court has been among our own kind, yes?"

Nodding silently, she glanced eagerly to the tray the house elf had levitated out, setting it at the great table with a groan to it's oak slats. "Yes, I've been about humans very little. Father's reputation and the area's politics do not allow much mingling."

Leon watched as the young Werewolf tore into the bulky joint of venison, nearly a quarter of an animal. Quirking a lip at his nervous house elf, the elder cut small portions from his own serving, "We will need to spend some time getting you accustomed to what they shall expect then. You'll find differences, small or large tend to ignite very unexpected feelings in wizards and humans alike."

The month between Lind's arrival in Salem and the start of the College's school year seemed to go by too quickly. With the help of Leon, she acclimated to life in Salem without much difficulty, though odd habits and quirks of her long time being around only other Werewolves still showed. During the few weeks until Salem's dormitories opened, she spent her days in Alden House, learning about the Fair and it's unique personality.

There was a stark different between the town within a town and that of her keep back in Büren, where her father held court. Lind had never been around so many wizards before, at least ones that were not of her own people. Markets of various things abounded, in various small differences and alterations. She found the array of so many kinds of a single thing bewildering. Also daunting was the sheer number of people living in the residential block, that she'd seen her first day. The initial impression she had of the number living there was far off the reality, as magical space was well utilized inside the homes, increasing their interior space immensely.

It was obvious why the Fair was as large, varied and populated with not only resident traffic but also visiting wizards. The United States in muggle terms was one country, but within it's magical community regions existed with quasi-national borders, more a sense of location identity than anything else. Lind felt it much like a single family, spacing it's relatives and in-laws about within a hereditary portion of land. Each family "ruled" themselves, but was part of one larger group. In America the divisions followed in many ways the language tendencies, but also a history of settlement. The colonial areas still considered themselves a single group, and in time that division had become New England. To the south and stretching to the Gulf, then from the Mississippi river to the Atlantic sprawled the Southern States. To the west of the river, stretching from the Canadian border to Mexico rolled the Midwest Reach. Bordered by the Rockies and stretching to the ocean that gave it its name, lay the Pacific Watch, more commonly called simply The Watch. Situated in the muggle Capitol, were the Offices of Unified Intent which coordinated the regions as far as dealing with and working around muggle laws and situations. Little more than a law office that passed on and transported documents and notices between the regions, most barely gave it thought until they traveled across borders and had their brooms inspected.

All this Lind learned from a pamphlet, sitting outside the Senate offices on a rack promoting knowledge for wizards about their leadership. She felt it funny that New Englanders needed pamphlets to explain their leaders to them. Things in the Americas were handled so much differently than what she was used to.

Of the two active heads of the Werewolf clans, her father as Sköll was responsible for the political and physical wellbeing of his people. Less elected than a defacto tyrant in all truth, one gained the position by keeping it. War, feud, intrigue and challenge all factored into a Sköll's lifespan. Her father, Ulfric Wagner, had taken the title from his uncle by starving the man to madness within his own keep and subsuming his armies into his own, taking each by a different tactic. He practiced war and politics like some made art or music, and for that reason she had led the early life of a cloistered heir – kept separate and taught by tutor rather than by experience.

The Sköll was not a position held long, in most cases, so in that her father had held it for nearly one hundred and fifty years was highly unusual. That Ulfric had lived that long as he had was as well, regardless of his title. That long life had given her people a great sense of stability, where almost by nature they were prone to fits and rages that could crumble political alliances and power structures.

Second was the Hati, a woman most often, was the spiritual leader and in times past often the mate of the Sköll. Currently, the bearer of that title resided in France, working closely with a wizarding school there to increase the clan's influence and to open up new avenues for having schooling offered openly. Though almost all Werewolves were of wizarding stock, few that were born so were able to live normal lives outside the Change. School and learning were difficult, when society considered you mindless, cannibal beasts.

Not that some of her clan wasn't. Like muggles and wizards, there were those that did not fit in with the general cast of the majority. Those that broke from the pack and went their own way, often resulting in some stain upon their collective face for it.

This reminded her of the purpose of her visit, and she paused, walking behind the Senate to Salem Academy's administrative office. A few wizards passed by, unconcerned by the low growl she caught herself voicing.

Fenrir was a title, like the others, given or taken by one who proved themselves a leader. In this case the mantle of Elder Wolf fell to one who unified the ideas of the others, strengthening them and bridging that gap between body and spirit. The Fenrir stood at a pinnacle of their people, a figurehead and representative of all things Wolven, to the rest of the world. Unlike the Sköll or Hati, this title wasn't always possessed. Often, none were worthy to be regarded Fenrir. Even her father had denied some of his opponent's claims that he aimed to take the mantle, knowing full well his savage heart and brutal methods were not the face her people needed.

Yet, in Britain there was one, some unknown upstart claiming the name as if a common thing, and rousing a rag-tag army of the bitten under his tactless banner. Not only did he carry the crime of willingly going out in his Change to turn the young, but he also allied himself with some Dark wizard, further staining her people's name and reputation.

What had begun as a bothersome thorn in her father's side had become a full threat. If Grayback wasn't stopped, his influence stalled and reversed soon then the Wolven would be again hunted by wizards and muggle alike. The few of the Sköll and Hati's agents in Britain already told grim tales of that country's Ministry, and how it was now regarding Werewolves as less than human, less than beasts even by some accounts. Only to those far from her people and it's heritage would flock to such a Pretender, not knowing of any other way. Unprepared and unwilling, Lind had been sent to Salem to listen and watch, to discover how far the damage Grayback was doing had spread.

Sighing, Lind shook off her anger and pulled out a stick of the gum, chewing the vile thing. It numbed her mouth, to the point she had difficulty talking, but it kept small things at bay. She was far too close to the moon, far too pure of blood to pass long in the middle of wizards as one of them. Finally clear of the Senate's huge shadow, she found herself at the foot of the Academy's office steps. The building was fairly busy today, so close to the start of term but she didn't feel crowded, as like the Senate, the Salem Academy's public offices were rather large.

The great entranceway seemed a cross section of an old sailing ship, the keystone and surrounding arch done in brown stone and sweeping up to a point high above. Doors to fit the thing seemed absent, but she assumed were present, somewhere. Beyond the steps and the massive gate, the lobby seemed light and well lit, with a great sweep of desks reminding her less of a reception area so much as a bank. Beside each, a small iron gate sat closed, the framework for all the gates going from floor to ceiling above, dividing the public from the workings of the Academy behind, if one did not have approved business.

Lind moved inside the great entranceway and settled to the side, observing a moment. Unfamiliar with Salem's school, she had also made the mistake of not reading on the entrance and enrollment specifics for the place. As she had been schooled since her youth, whatever Salem had to offer she was sure wouldn't be useful to her, so the young Werewolf had paid it little thought. Now though, faced with this room, she regretted that oversight. Registration would be going on for two more weeks, and she had time to go back to elder Leon to get assistance, but she was already here, and decided to at least observe a moment to familiarize herself.

Witches and wizards, either alone or accompanied by a family member queued up in the lines leading to the dozen or so desks, each one the size of a small dining room table. Chairs were arranged for three, so she assumed large groups took turns speaking with the proctors there.

As she watched, a family of two stepped forward, a young man with ash blonde hair and a woman who she figured was far too young to be his mother. Older sister, she reasoned, watching the two, though she could not pinpoint a resemblance. A short conversation and a form was produced, which the two looked over and commented on, at which point the young man took a quill and selected some options, picking between some books the proctor produced and a list he he seemed to have with him. Her eyes weren't keen enough to see, but she cast a charm and spied the list he'd checked among the options, figuring it best to pick classes someone that was there to learn had, as opposed to just guessing on her own.

Surprisingly, the list seemed interesting and rather in depth to her. Lind had not expected the classes offered to be very practical, considering the wizards she'd seen or worked with in her time, yet here was a list, solidly conducted.

CD-824a: Advanced Defense Practice and Theory; practical required (Approval required)
CD-824b: Defense Practical (820)
L-105: Magical Transport Licensing Course (Age restriction, 16 at time of course)
H-443: Ancient History of Magic IV
CP-501a: Alchemical Potions I Lecture; practical lab required (Approval required; prerequisite Transmutation and Potions classes required)
CP-501b: Alchemical Potions I Lab (500)
R-410: Runes of Ancient Europe (Linguistics level 4 class)
CT-520c: Complex Concepts in Transfiguration (Age restriction, 16 at time of course, Double-length class, includes practical)
CC-601c: Advanced Charm Lecture with Practical (Double-length class, includes practical)
EA-120: Artifice and Crafting (Elective credit, special fee course)

Lind was thinking over the eight class spread when the proctor behind the desk made a move to file it, at which she quickly cast a memory charm on herself, letting her remember the list as she'd read it for half an hour or so. She watched as the two made their way beyond, passing through the briefly opened gate beside the desk and fading from view quickly. Deciding to try her luck with the young man's classes, she queued up behind a noisome family of three – a father and two daughters – and waited for it to be her turn.

While she waited, she looked over the atrium, taking in the sights. Apparently the iron gating that separated the atrium's public area from the space behind wasn't always down, or perhaps was often in a different form. It would figure, Lind had to admit, that this configuration of desks and gates was not the common fashion in which the Academy's office looked.

Fifteen minutes of bored inspection later, and it was her turn at the desk. Sitting with little preamble, she waited for the proctor, a young man who seemed to enjoy his work, to begin.

"Welcome to Salem Academy's registration fair, have you sent in a response or request for attendance yet?" Businesslike, the young man wasted little time on pleasantries. She immediately liked this particular wizard more for it.

Nodding, she replied in a matching tone, "Yes, my paperwork was sent in two weeks ago."

Smiling faintly, a courtesy gesture, the proctor pulled what looked like a silver-bound scroll, unfurling a length from it's catch. "Name registered under?"

"Lind Jaeger," she replied, now used to answering so.

Tapping the scroll with his wand, the man peered over the print that appeared and placed a blank sheet atop it, which mirrored the print on the scroll with a tap. "Everything so far is in order, Miss Jaeger. Now, have you given any thought to the classes you'd like to register for?"

Nodding, she indicated for a quill and form, and proceeded to use the enchanted sheet to pick her classes. Print rearranged and squirmed about as she ran her finger along topics, detailing each to her. The form seemed to know her apparent, and sometimes false, history and didn't allow some things, while causing others to shimmer, in recommendation.

She found half of the classes she'd memorized in spying were recommended, one unavailable, and the rest Lind was able to sign up for with little issue. The proctor had told her why she wasn't able to take the defense class she'd asked for, describing how it was a class for those one year above her, and had to be directly tested for or recommended by one of the Academy deans.

All in all, she felt very accomplished, for such a spur of the moment decision. Taking her roster of classes in hand, Lind left to speak with Elder Alden about any other surprises she may encounter, as well as where best to begin her inquiry, once the cover of the school year began.

Looking around the street, what was called the West Way according to the sign nearby, Harry regarded the rather crowded but neat rows of housing with an appreciative eye. "Vorgann said that the local branch had a good listing and a reputable agent in Salem. Said it was a rather good deal for the property, and that he'd let me know of any details that need working out."

His companions were sharing the young man's appreciation of the homes, but were eager to rest, after so long a trip. "Which one is ours, then? I'd love to relax some, after all this." Tonks tried to keep the weariness from her voice, but the long ride, stress of the airport, and the restless nature of their prior week were telling on her. Though she was as impressed as Harry or Remus with the town, she needed a break. Sooner, as opposed to later, she hoped.

"Oh, right," Harry replied, checking his parchment quickly. "25b, Maple. This way," pointing to their left, Harry lead at a brisk pace, checking the house numbers and streets to make sure they didn't miss their goal.

Remus stopped and turned, pointing to a small row they'd overlooked. "This one, over here."

Backtracking, the trio found that their street was actually a small circle, and the number they were given just within the track there. "25b," Lupin stated, as they walked up the small, well-tended stair to the door. Rapping on it gently, he was immediately faced with a tiny, very well dressed house elf, even for their kind.

"Welcome. Which of you is Mr. Black?"

Stepping forward, Harry nodded to the diminutive creature. "That is me."

Looking pensive, the tiny elf seemed pained at the effort to ask it's next question. "Begging your pardon, but the agent in charge of the property requires proof of identification, if you please."

Raising a brow, Harry shared an amused look with Tonks. One, for the actual logic behind the question, considering they were known to be traveling under false identification by the agent himself, and also that the house elf would be so... normal in speech. "Not a problem," he stated, handing the small elf his passport. "Was the agent expecting us?"

"No sir, I'm just the caretaker for the property." Handing Harry back his papers, the elf moved aside quickly, looking much less apprehensive. "Please, come inside."

Filing in, Tonks was the first to note that the building seemed to be liberal in it's use of wizarding space. The interior foyer could have given Grimmauld competition for floorspace. Though the flat was only two story, as opposed to Grimmauld's many, the place had a much more pleasant atmosphere, though that may be in part due to the lack of creepy furniture, snakes on anything that could be carved or adorned, and shrunken house elf heads on plaques.

Clean, spacious and unadorned, Harry immediately started feeling at home in the place. Though he liked the lived-in feel of the dormitory flat back in London, this place could be his own. He could decorate, or not, to his wishes. Looking up the modest stairwell, Harry could vague see the hall and that led to the rooms above, as well as other windows. Windows that actually looked out onto the Green, and also the street outside, he noted with a smile. "It's wonderful. Oh, forgive me, what was your name?"

Tilting it's head, the small elf produced a card, of all the curious things. "I am Oswald, Mr. Black. Would you be needing my services to continue, or should I contact the agency to have other arrangement's made?"

Harry took the card with a confused glance to Tonks, and read it briefly, his eyes going wide, and a smile creeping up on his lips. "Oh I have to mail Hermione about this," he murmured, catching Tonks' eye and motioning her over with a tilt of his head.

Joining him as Remus shuffled about, looking over the property and seeming to size up the place, Tonks read the card over Harry's shoulder and realized she'd dropped her purse in shock. "Oh, excuse me," she murmured, so unused to the idea the card presented it overcame her briefly. Having dealt with elves in Britain an Europe so long, there was a certain assumption she'd made, that they all acted the same, everywhere. Oswald was proving that untrue in a rather obvious way.

Reading the card to himself, Harry smiled.

Oswald Copperpot
Personal assistant and butler

For rates, contact:
Boston Personnel Services, ltd.

Flipping the card over, Harry was amused to see a picture of a rather well dressed house elf, obviously Oswald, bowing politely to the observer. "Well Oswald, I have a house elf in my employ, though he's abroad. There would be no breach of service if we were to, ah... contact your solicitor, then?"

Shaking his head, Oswald smiled slightly. "The property agent said you may not be familiar with elf rights here, so if you'll excuse my earlier anxiety. No, there will be no conflict, were you to hire me on, Mr. Black."

Nodding happy, Harry pocketed the card and turned to his friends. "Well think about it, but thank you very much for your help Oswald. We'll be settling in now I think."

Needing no other dismissal, the small elf simply bowed once, and very discreetly snapped his fingers, fading from view. To the still bemused company he'd brought with him, Harry simply smiled. "Curiouser and curiouser. And we've yet to actually see Salem Academy yet."

"And we won't today," dropping her luggage with a sigh, Tonks found a convenient chair to claim. "I've a bath and a solid, immobile eight hours first, then we can go manage that." Remus seemed of a similar mind, as he was already quite asleep, snoring on the couch. "Guess the landing ramp was a bit more than he could handle," she quipped, as Harry joined her in laughing at their harried friend.

AN: Few initial notes.

Fall is a continuation of Key to Summer. As such, it may not make a ton of sense if you've not read that. Though I made some effort to make it as independent as possible, you may need to skim Key to get an idea, if you've not read it. I may update the Preface to reflect an abbreviated synopsis of Key. THIS IS NOW DONE.

The main characters listed in the story options are there for a reason. In Key, the groundwork was laid out. Here, we will see continuation. It will not become a (geometric shape).

Lind is not going to: Turn Harry, be a side of a love (geometric shape) or take over the story. She has her own place, much as the Girl in Gray does. Lind is: A good secondary character to open up Salem to people with, begin the arc with Grayback, and offer a drastically different view on wizards, outside of the Muggle perspective. I like Lind. I hope you do too.

Remus' love life is not something I will focus on. Don't expect me to.

Britain is not forgotten. There will be interludes there, as well as interaction.

There is a map of Salem, I will upload it soon.

The house elf situation will be explained soon. Logic should explain it somewhat, if you squint, and think about the location.