Author's notes: I'M SORRY!

I know I said I would post quickly. I apologize for everyone who had to wait. I had the most incredible difficulty completing this darn chapter.

Three main reasons for that:

One, time is growing near, the pace is quickening and my second baby is due next month, which is awesome and brilliant, but which also means that I had to prepare the house, get the baby room ready, assemble the bed, the wardrobe affix shelves on the wall, decorate said walls, etc. This considerably reduced my free time.

Two, said free time was suddenly taken over by a bloody furry creature known as a plot bunny. Reading others' material over the websites I post this story on has led me to grow an entire plotline for another HP story, that would encompass year 5,6 and 7 in an AU tale. It kept nagging at me until I finally resolved to put it into words, to get it out of my head. That reduced my ability to write on Staff even more.

Three, and not the very least, I was stuck! Argh! One of the worst writer's blocks in memory. I had come to loathe the moments I opened the story file to try and write down the few lines that would allow me to finish the chapter! Finally, I chose to at least post a bit and split the chapter, leaving the part I'm stuck with for a next update. The split, as it turned out, was the solution. It allowed me to turn today's entire post as an interlude, which allows me to deal with parallel plots, hints for the future and general silliness. The next bit will return to the main story, and at least, my head appears clear enough to finally get it done, now.

I want to apologize again for the delay. Hope you will like it.

Warnings: mention of sexual situation between consenting adults. Nothing is described, though.

Tis the season

When word of Kenneth's use of a successful parry against a Shocker got out of Hogwarts and into the general population, people seemed to lose their mind, a little. True, the revelation of a Spell Writer in Hogwarts was big news, given their rarity. That said Writer wasn't among the staff but one of the students had to be a shock as well.

But Kieran hadn't been expecting anything like this!

The turmoil was indescribable. As soon as the owls from the students to their parents, telling them the news, had returned to the Owlery, the entire Castle seemed to be caught in an owl storm. Letters seemed to fall from the ceiling near Kieran's spot at the breakfast table.

There were so much that the teachers had to step in, to help Kieran sort out her mail. Letters from parents of her fellow students and from total strangers were addressed to her, requesting that she designed new spells for them.

They were offering all kinds of rewards, from homemade cookies to gold.

Kieran didn't know if she should be insulted by the fact people thought they could pay for custom spells with cookies, therefore considering her a child, or thought that she was ready to do anything for gold, which was in many ways, even less flattering.

The teachers had taken over the task of scanning through the mail, Flitwick giving her the letters which came from her parents and familiar people. The letters coming from unknowns were read through by the staff. Again, Flitwick would only show her a few of those, but only because he thought she would be amused by the ludicrous requests.

To these letters, whether Kieran would hear about it or not, Dumbledore always had the same answer, which ended up in the Daily Prophet.

"We are talking about a fourteen year old girl," he had said. "Beyond the expected concern we have for her balance and well-being, any spell she will create will be at first studied a long time by the Ministry, and then, it will be taught ot the children in Hogwarts. What must be understood is that the Gift of the Spell Writing isn't something you can get just by learning. Miss McDougall is gifted, and she's only at the beginning of her growth. So if we want her to become an accomplished witch, we have to be cautious, and not add too much stress on her studies. She will be trained, but I solemnly ask the parents of my students to stop writing to her to ask her for a new Spell within a week. This is showing both poor education and poor basic understanding of what magic is about and, as most of them are former students of mine, I do expect more of them."

After this statement, things began to calm down a little, and letters stopped pouring from the ceiling each morning.

Kieran hadn't planned on such recognition of her gifts. She was pleased, of course, but also a little uncomfortable with it. She had only done that to help Kenneth, and thus didn't expect such a reaction. She had thought that since every teacher of the school was expecting her to become a Spell Writer, they wouldn't be so surprised that she would finally succeed.

Professor Flitwick finally gave her an explanation of this phenomenon during their next private lesson.

"You have to understand this Kieran," he said. "All Spell Writers start with small achievements, you see? Take Tenser, for example. He was a great Potions Maker and the creator of the most delicate and efficient Levitation Spell of History. But his first Spell was aimed at boiling eggs without water."

Kieran raised her eyebrows.

"But you, my child," said Flitwick, "have started your own Spell Book by creating a parry to one of the most dangerous Offensive Spell in History of Magic. You must then understand why we are so surprised. It's not that we doubted you would do it, it's just that we didn't expect you to be that successful."

"I see," said Kieran. "It's just that I don't feel really at ease with all this attention."

"This won't last," said Flitwick. "Most of these "sensations" don't. In a few days, the students will have a new mystery to feed on, and the parents will understand that you can't do anything for them."

Kieran made a doubtful face. Flitwick saw it and chuckled.

"Well, maybe more than a few days," he said. "But I'm sure that it will end before your NEWTs."

Kieran laughed at that.

The reaction to both the emergence of a spell writer and also the attack on one of the student had one effect that none of the school's staff could have predicted. While the publicity of Kieran's gift had been open and transparent, the information about the attack had been controlled as much as possible. The students had been instructed not to spread too many details, in order to avoid distortions or blind speculation. The Ministry's authorities, despite Hogwarts' autonomy, had been brought in, through the Auror office. The investigation was underway.

But it so happened that someone in the Ministry had decided to leak information to the public. And someone had decided to use these to mount protest about the way security was handled in Hogwarts, and it was relayed by many voices, until it took the form of a frontal attack on the Minister of Magic.

While the fact that events in Hogwarts could be turned into a charge against the Ministry had been a surprise, the person behind it wasn't a surprise at all, sadly.

Terrence Macke. Of course it would have been him. Hermione couldn't help a sigh of annoyance as she stepped out the Leaky Cauldron, to head through Muggle London, making her way toward 12 Grimmauld Place.

There was no practical reason for her to stroll through London on foot except that she liked to walk the city from time to time. It did connect her back to her roots as a Muggleborn. So, since she had decided to pay Remus a visit, she might as well enjoy a little trip through the Capital.

Her thoughts returned to the current political tensions. Terrence Macke had at least once thing over his predecessor as Cheldon Ambrosius' harasser. Where Devin Stiller, whom Macke had sponsored and supported in his bid for power, had been brutish and, on the whole, pretty blunt about the whole thing, Macke was way more subtle. He didn't lay blame openly. He didn't ever point any angry finger at the Ministry, calling on to popular outrage. Instead, he was 'expressing concerns' about this or that, about the way a regulation would affect a community, or how a law might wrong a few people. Nothing aggressive, of course. He only made himself the voice of the 'ones with concerns for their future'.

Among these concerns, the free reign given to Dumbledore in his management of Hogwarts was often brought up, as concerning for the education of future generations. Macke usually bemoaned the loss of traditional values, and the fact that wizards may slowly lose their identities, to be moulded into Dumbledore's view of things. Again, he was subtle about it, and he never openly attacked this or that teacher, but Hermione was no fool. She knew she, Harry and Alexander were his main targets. Macke merely claimed that he was worried that such sensitive topics such as Defence, Arithmancy and Chaos Magic had been entrusted to young, uncontrolled, often reckless elements of society. 'Young, uncontrolled and reckless' seemed pretty harmless terms, but one who knew Macke had to be aware that these were euphemisms. What Macke denounced, both clear for his supporters and opponents to see, was the fact that the latest teachers recruited in Hogwarts weren't supporters of the old tradition of purebloods. 'Uncontrolled' was for Alexander, of course, since Macke knew for a fact that he could never had any sort of hold of the Entropist's actions, which angered him to no end. 'Reckless' was for Harry, evidently, with the sole purpose of trying to diminish the aura of Harry Potter, the one who had struck down the legacy of Voldemort and exposed pureblood fanatics as what they were: criminals. As for 'young', well, Hermione had no doubt that it was meant for her, and she also was quite lucid on the fact that Macke pointed at her age because he couldn't quite openly call her a mudblood.

This was what angered Hermione the most. From the first day she had stepped in King's Cross on her way to Hogwarts, she had been exposed to prejudice and rejection because she hadn't been born in the Magical world. Save for her friends, it had been as if she had to justify her magic to people entitled to belittle her, because they had inherited it. This belief had plunged her life into violence and war. She had suffered for it, lost people she cared about for it. And she had endured, proving them all wrong.

The fact that she still needed to prove that she belonged in this world that she had helped to save pissed her off. While Hermione had always been willing to be accepted, there had been one thing she had learned from the wonderful family that had taken her in without a second thought: always be proud. She had taken that statement to heart, whenever she had faced extremists in battle. Oh, yes, she was a mudblood, she was a mudblood that kicked pureblood's ass on a regular basis. And now, a petty, little man with petty, little ambitions wanted to question her place in the world, just because his family tree had more wizards than hers? That was infuriating.

To be fair, she took with enough detachment. Ron, Harry, and, for that matter, Ginny all were enraged on her behalf. This was what reassured Hermione on the state of the Wizarding world. Whenever one tenant of tradition had called her birth in question, she had seen pure-blooded friends rising to her defence, with colourful words and often rash actions.

Nevertheless, even if her pride was safe from the despicable words of Terrence Macke, his moves against Ambrosius' position were concerning. And while her visit had been meant as a social call, she decided that she would bring the matter up with Remus.

She reached the door to number 12 and knocked on a determined sequence. It was a code that allowed entrance in the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. She entered the lobby and decided that she would try her luck in the living quarters first.

Remus Lupin had been living in 12 Grimmauld Place since the end of the war. After Harry had been named as the sole Heir to the Black Estate, he had donated the house to the Order of the Phoenix, so that they could build an underground office space below it, much like the Ministry, with the sole condition that the house in itself would be occupied by Remus. Of course the older wizard had no use for that much space, so he had kept a nice apartment and converted the rest into rooms that the agents of the Order were free to use, whenever they had to stay late at the office.

Hermione had chosen to visit early, but she knew that it was wishful thinking to hope that Remus would be home instead of down there in his office.

But she was in for a pleasant surprise, when she found him in the common kitchen, fixing himself some coffee.

"Still not down there?" she said. "Who are you and what have you done to Remus Lupin?"

Remus raised kind eyes and an ironic smile to her.

"Hello, Hermione," he said. "What brings you here?"

"You, actually," said Hermione. "We have a few things to discuss."

"Do we?" said Remus. "Why do I feel like I'm in trouble?"

"Probably because you are," said Hermione, with feint haughtiness.

Also something she had learned from her life as a witch: the Hermione raised by Edward and Katherine Granger would never have dared to tell off a man old enough to be her father as she was about to.

The discussion has started harmlessly enough, Hermione bringing up Terrence Macke's various moves in the political circles, as they did, even indirectly, concern Hogwarts. Remus had not seemed too worried about that.

"Macke is making a lot of noise," he said. "But he still stands for a minority that has been spanked publicly, two years ago. They have yet to recover from the Stiller fiasco. But his attacks are getting more precise. I have spoken with both Arthur and Albus about all this. We are planning our response."

As one of the three directors of the Order of the Phoenix, Remus handled most of the public image of the organisation, since Moody, in charge of the training, wasn't the best representative to any cause in the world, and Boniface Beauchamp, the third director in charge of intelligence needed to stay in the shadows because a spy splattered across the headlines wouldn't be of much use.

"If you need any help," said Hermione.

"We just might," said Remus, smiling. "The move we plan may rely a lot on the young generation. But let's be honest, Hermione, you didn't show up to talk politics and you still haven't given me the earful I'm expecting to get."

Hermione had a twisted smile. He was right, of course. She decided to be blunt and honest about the whole thing.

"Tonks was in the Castle, the other night," she said.

Remus' smile slipped a little off his face.

"Oh," he said. "I guess I should have known that it would be you coming, then. I guess Ginny is restrained in shackles in the dungeons, screaming for my blood?"

"In her defence, she is quite fond of Tonks," said Hermione, with a kind smile. "No, Remus, we're not mad at you, actually. Granted, Tonks herself has come to your defence, so that helps."

"She did?" said Remus, surprised.

"Yes," said Hermione. "She said you were kind and gentle, but she still hurts that you rejected her."

"It couldn't be…" began Remus.

"Plus, she was convinced it was because of her," said Hermione, cutting him in his tirade.

"What?" said Remus, horrified. "But I told her…"

"Yes, and she didn't believe it," said Hermione. "She said you were looking for excuses and that she just wasn't good enough for you."

"Oh, hell," said Remus. "That's really the other way around."

"We understood that," said Hermione. "Harry was quite insistent on it, actually. You sure were smart to go to Harry. I think he got the message through."

Remus only lowered his eyes.

"It's for the best," he said.

"I highly doubt that," said Hermione.

"Excuse me?" asked Remus, looking up sharply.

"Harry managed to convince her that you pushing her away had nothing to do with her but with you," said Hermione. "And none of the reasons you have left to invoke seem to hold up, to me."

"You can't know what you're talking about," said Remus.

"Oh, I think I do," said Hermione, seriously. "You have all these reasons for thinking your relationship will not be accepted. None of them stand. Werewolf, destitute, older than her, it doesn't matter. The stigma is what matters to you. You're afraid of 'ruining' her, should you accept her advances. I had to deal with stigma for a good portion of my life, too, and let me tell you, it still didn't cause me a single hesitation, when Ron asked me to marry him. You know why? Because I knew he didn't care. So I was a mudblood, I was a bookworm, I was a sanctimonious know-it-all. He didn't care. And Tonks doesn't care about any of your arguments."

"There's the long run to consider," said Remus. "I'm still carrying a curse. It could be passed down to any child I may sire."

"Remus," said Hermione. "Maybe you are painting the picture darker than it is."

Remus had a sarcastic glint in the eye.

"I'm afraid I may not be painting it dark enough," he said. "And I know enough about painting."

Hermione returned his ironic smile. Well, one couldn't say that Remus lacked wits. Hermione had to be one of the few people to know that he was a painter. She did like what he painted.

"The ritual only cured my symptoms," said Remus. "The Wolf is still inside of me."

"Well, first, hereditary lycanthropy curses are still unheard of," said Hermione. "And the mere fact you're considering the notion of children shows how serious your feelings for her are."

"Hermione..." protested Remus.

"I mean it, Remus," said Hermione. "I don't like seeing either of you hurting, and so far, this is what I see. I can tell that this is not just about Tonks being silly or you just trying to let her off easy. It's about you denying your feelings out of some self-inflicted penance that I can't begin to fathom."

Remus couldn't find anything to say to that, so he remained silent.

"Look, I understand that you have lived a longer life than I have under a stigma," said Hermione. "But I also think that you have left this stigma condition you. You're so used to rejection you have grown to believe you deserve it. You don't. You're just grown used to be alone and outcast, and you've found a way to rationalize it, because otherwise, the injustice of it all would drive you mad. Your rejection of Tonks is only a symptom. And you need to get over that. You need to accept that you are not just tolerated anymore, because the Order needs a leader that can see his own value. Your friends need to know that you will not walk out on them because you feel your help would be harmful. And you owe it to Tonks to consider whether your feelings for her are enough to finally accept that you are not alone."

These words at least seemed to have an impact on him. He looked up sharply.

"Try to think about this, Remus," she said.

And on this, she left the kitchen and left the house. She knew her exit had been a tad melodramatic, but maybe Remus needed to be shaken a little, to be made to see the real issue, there. She could understand him. When you accepted the mark of the pariah for so long, it entered your head, and it messed with anything good in your life. Remus needed to do what Hermione had finally learned to, a few years ago: reclaim his pride.

Satisfied that there was not much more she could do, Hermione headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, hoping she had gotten through to her former teacher. It had to be the greatest irony of them all that she, still under thirty, would be giving out advice to someone old enough to be her father about his love life.

What was so complicated about love, anyway?

Hermione had a wince. If Harry had heard her think that, she would never have heard the end of it, after the torment she and Ron had inflicted on poor Harry's nerves, with their melodrama.

Hermione wondered if she needed to drop by that little shop next to Ollivander's and get these delicious amuse-bouche, so that she could invite Harry and Ginny over for a drink before dinner tonight. But then she remembered that Harry and Ginny were having dinner with Molly and Arthur in the Burrow, and were due to spend the night there.

Well, she could still get some for her and Ron.

They were quite delicious, really.

"Can I get a drink?" asked George. "I need to erase something from my mind, very quickly."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the ginger half of the unholy duo of pranking as he made his way into his parents' living room, at eleven in the evening, while he and Ginny were relaxing on the couch. Molly and Arthur had retired for the night after a nice dinner that had held a little too much talk about wedding planning to Ginny's taste and a little too much politics to Harry's, including an invitation to a formal event in the Ministry, to which Arthur would need their company. And George had then burst into the room, looking like a hunted animal. George didn't appear surprised to see them, and he even looked like he had been looking for them. Harry realised this was no surprise. He had dropped by their shop earlier in the afternoon, in Hogsmeade, and told him that they would be here tonight.

"What's going on?" asked Ginny.

"I was off to the pub when I went into Fred's room, to ask if he was interested," said George. "Let's say I found him in... pleasant company."

Harry winced.

"Were they..." began Ginny on a cunning tone.

"I think they were done, actually, or at least I hope they were, since they were asleep and … ugh, I didn't want to think about it!" he moaned. "Anyway, I fled."

"You've shared Fred's flat for years," said Ginny. "Surely you walked in to him... you know... before."

"There are some rules," said George, indignantly. "He has to hang a towel at the door. I mean... we both agree that to see your brother starkers with a girl is not something you want to see, right Gin'?"

"Right," said Ginny, with a shiver.

"Now imagine what it must feel, when said brother looks exactly like you," said George.

"Oh," said Harry. "That's... awkward, isn't it?"

"Exactly," said George. "Where is that drink?"

Ginny got out of the couch with a sympathetic wince and went to fetch the bottle of Odgen's that she knew her father kept for the Weasley boys that came to visit, and that went untouched whenever she and Harry were visiting since both preferred wine. George took the glass she had poured and downed it with obvious relief.

"Alright," said Ginny. "You teased us enough. Who was the girl?"

"Ginny," protested George. "I said ..."

"And I say if you wanted to drink and forget, you'd have gone to the pub, or to Lee's," said Harry. "Come on, you came here because you want to talk about it."

"Fine, I'm busted," laughed George. "You'll be delighted to hear that our dear Wimbourne Wasps' captain's days of celibacy are over."

"Angelina? Well, it is about time," said Ginny.

"And I still need to unsee this," smiled George, taking another swig of firewhiskey. "It's bad enough that I think my brother's romantic interest is hot, now I have a whole lot of new details for my mind to rely on. Interested, Harry?"

Harry had a shrug.

"I've seen enough of Angelina, when we were in Gryffindor team, George," he said. "And in the British team, for that matter, so I'm pretty clear on the state of things."

"Underwear don't count, Harry," said George.

"I don't need to know anything more," said Harry. "If only for my survival," said Harry, with a nod toward Ginny, who had a devilish grin. "And it still doesn't beat what I've got home, by the way."

"You're so sweet," said Ginny with a dangerous edge in her voice, which only made her brother and her fiancé laugh.

The school was getting ready for the Yule tide season, most students preparing to head back home for the break. Snow had covered the entire grounds of Hogwarts. It did change the mood and there was a certain festive feel to the corridors.

Minerva McGonagall enjoyed strolling in the halls of the castle at this time of the year. It wasn't that she was lowering her guard or being a little more lax regarding the rules, but she did enjoy seeing her students settling in the holiday spirit.

Right now, she was on her way to meet Alexander, who had requested a meeting. She found him in the hall near the courtyard. He waved at her and she climbed down the last steps to meet him. The hour was unusual, since most lessons were finished, but some students were still in class.

"So, Alexander, what was the point of our meeting anywhere but in either of our offices?" she asked.

"Well, I thought that, as Head of Gryffindor, you would like an update on the progress of your students," said Alexander with a smile.

"Updates that you do give me in my office, most of the time," said Minerva, with a pointed look.

"In this case, I thought that a visual demonstration would be a little more efficient," said Alexander.

"Should I be expecting a school wide phenomenon, like when your daughter throws a tantrum?" asked Minerva, with a cunning grin.

Alexander had a snort of laughter.

"Well, at least, Christine got that under control," he said. "No, it shouldn't involve that kind of scale. But it could get pretty spectacular."

He led her straight in the courtyard and Minerva was surprised to see Harry stand at the edge of the snow covered court, right under one arch. But what surprised her most was that three students were engaged in a magic battle!

No, that wasn't right. Ian Malcolm was on one side, and he was alternatively casting stunners and blasting spells toward the younger two, Sven and Susan Odinson. But each time, a shield was blocking the attack and they retaliated with a wave of raw power that Ian had to counter with a shield of his own.

Before Minerva could protest, Harry had noticed her and raised his hand.

"They aren't in any danger," he said. "Ian is sending lower hexes. If one should get through the shield, it would merely push them off their feet or freeze them for a minute."

Minerva's outrage at seeing two first years involved in a fight was overthrown by curiosity. Even if the spells were weakened, it seemed amazing that these children could even summon a coherent shield. And their way of striking back was also pretty astonishing. Her professional interest took over.

"How do they manage to summon the shield?" she asked.

"By playing on their strength," said Alexander. "Look at them, and tell me what you see."

Minerva looked harder and saw Ian send the next blow, a blasting spell that was, even if dulled, still pretty strong. It crashed against the shield the twins had invoked. Minerva noticed the obvious, that Ian was casting his spells wandlessly and the twins had their wands in their hands, even if Susan was, oddly, wielding it with her left hand...

And then the real answer hit her. They were holding hands. Each time they used magic, they were saying the words, and performing the waves, all of this while holding hands. Minerva suddenly understood.

"They are sharing power," she said.

"Exactly," said Alexander. "We finally found a way for them to consciously act on their instinctive connection."

"Amazing notion, really," said Harry. "Now, I'm sorry to abandon you like this, but I am late as it is, and I need to get going, or Ginny is going to have my hide."

"Whipped," said Alexander.

"Laugh it up, Lockenburn," said Harry, gloomily. "I still have to see you do better when dealing with the two ladies in your life."

Minerva had a smirk at this. For all the rebellion he had in him, Alexander was unable to resist the rule his wife Phyllis and his daughter Christine had over his entire life. She was both amazed that a woman had been able to actually tame Alexander, though she wasn't surprised that Phyllis had been the one to do it. When she thought of all the people who referred to Alexander as a menace, they only had to see how he acted around his family to be reassured that this man would never turn evil. He would get his hide tanned pretty hard by his wife before it would happen.

Harry took his leave, and Minerva turned a raised eyebrow toward Alexander.

"Social obligations," said Alexander, chuckling. "Harry got involved in some social venue and I can tell he's not happy about it."

"Considering how much he enjoys formal evenings, I'm not surprised," said Minerva. "So, whenever they combine their powers, the twins can enhance their power," she said, returning to the subject at hand.

"It's really a question of synergy," said Alexander, getting back on the subject. "Individually, Sven and Susan are still unable to summon a shielding spell, whether it would be with their wand or without. In that regard, they are still way below what Ian could do at their age. If you factor in the rise in power Ian experienced last year, and you can imagine I was stunned that they could hold his will at bay."

"His will?" asked Minerva.

"When you deal with a wand, Magic is a question of skill, knowledge and willpower," said Alexander. "When it comes to Chaos Magic, it is basically a simple question of willpower. The spells in themselves are irrelevant. In fact, should Ian use a full stunner on them, it would fail against their shield just as well. The Will of the twins is opposing Ian's and they prevail because their Will doesn't only add-up to each other. It multiplies it. Of course, I don't think Ian is putting his all into the bout."

"Why do you say that?" asked Minerva.

"Because if he did, I think we could see a huge lot of damage to the courtyard," said Alexander, seriously. "Ian knows it's an exercise, so he's not putting all his might into it. But still, considering that the twins are still eleven, there is a huge potential here."

Minerva once again remembered how serious the stakes were, with these three students. Alexander was sharing Albus' serene approach on their training, but the reality was that the Chaoticians would be major wizards one day, and that they could do a lot of damage. She wasn't too worried about Ian, Sven or Susan. It's not that they were abiding students or that they had good grades. Minerva knew there was more to a great wizard than that. No, like Alexander and like Harry, she could see that Ian Malcolm and the twins from Sweden had a good heart, and she couldn't see what could change that.

Alexander clapped his hands and Ian and the twins stopped their exchange, before to turn to him. They saw Minerva and Sven and Susan suddenly blushed. Minerva followed Alexander and met them in the middle of the courtyard.

"Excellent display, here," said Alexander.

"I am quite impressed with your progress," confirmed Minerva, turning to the twins. "That ability you have to share your power is truly remarkable."

"T... Thank you, Professor," said Susan, turning deep red.

Minerva noticed the little smile hovering on Ian's lips.

"Something amusing, Mr. Malcolm?" she asked, pointedly.

"Oh, it's nothing, Professor," said Ian, cheekily. "Just not that often that we see you dishing out praise like that."

"I certainly give out praise to those who deserve it, Mr. Malcolm," said Minerva, with a hint of haughtiness. "But I have learned it is sometimes best not to encourage... certain behaviours."

Ian only grinned toothily at her and Minerva could only roll her eyes at him. It seemed that she was to be plagued by people like that, youngsters with brilliant minds, who seemed too keen on using those wits just to unnerve her. Cheeky little Sirius Black and his best friend, the brash James Potter were convinced their goal in life was to try and outsmart her. Alexander had opposed his freedom of spirit and speech to her sternness throughout his years in Hogwarts. The Weasley twins had put their inherent genius at the service of pranking and rule-breaking. And now Ian Malcolm was as bright as a Ravenclaw could be, but with an attitude that reminded her way too much of the late Mr. Black. They all had this trait in common. They all did things that she was compelled to disapprove of, but if she was honest with herself, they did bring certain freshness in the life of the school and much needed shaking in the way people thought.

Valuable students could be like Hermione, or more recently like Kieran McDougall, and aim for excellence, both in their behaviour and their knowledge. Some would cultivate the best in themselves to achieve their potential, like Harry, for example. And others were there to shake things up. And even if she was bound to try and control them, Minerva could see that they would always better express their talents by thinking outside the box.

"Ian, to what level of strength did you raise the power in your stunners, in the end?" asked Alexander.

"Nearly to full strength," said Ian. "That shield is packing some serious punch, I can tell you. In fact, I'd like to test out a theory," he said. "If you would stand on the other end of the courtyard…"

Alexander raised his eyebrows almost like Minerva, which amused her. It seemed she had still left a mark on him, despite everything.

"Come on, Alexander, don't be shy," said Ian, chuckling. "Don't tell me you're scared of three kids, two of them first years."

Alexander grumbled as he went to take a position facing the three students. Minerva quickly returned to the archway.

The twins joined hands again and Ian put his hand over theirs. They stayed motionless for a moment, until Ian had a bright smile.

"Got it," he said. "Have a try, then. A stunner on me, Alexander, and don't hold back."

"Ian..." said Alexander.

"I mean it," said Ian, seriously.

And this time, Minerva was reminded that behind all of his cheekiness, Ian was fully aware of the potential and the responsibility he and the twins were carrying.

Alexander raised his hand and the silent spell was cast. Once more, Minerva marvelled at the raw power that Alexander could unleash. So she was even more surprised when his spell just hit the barrier of Ian's shield, and exploded harmlessly on it.

Alexander was surprised, too.

"How did you...?" he asked.

"They found the way to include me in their link," said Ian. "During the fight, I could feel their power calling to me, like pulling me in."

"We can only use it like this, so far," said Sven. "We can't draw from Ian's power, but we can... lend him our combined strength."

"Amazing," whispered Minerva.

"Like so," said Ian, raising his free hand.

Alexander had barely the time to conjure a shield before the spell was cast. But the combined will of Ian and the twins made the Entropist's barrier crumble and he suddenly saw his legs be pulled together, and he soon lost his balance, before to fall flat on his face in the snow. Minerva quickly made sure that he wasn't hurt. Ian and the twins were chuckling, as their mentor was doing his best not to eat snow as he was trying to get back on his feet.

Minerva undid the leg-locker jinx on him with a smile.

"I do think they got the better of you, this time, Alexander," she said, with a half-smile.

"Oh, great," grumbled Alexander. "Humiliated both in front of my mentor and pupil…"

"Not the outcome you expected for the night?" pointed out Minerva.

"I suppose I should still consider myself lucky," said Alexander with a vicious smile. "I'm not the one who's been roped into a formal party, tonight."

"What are we doing, here, again?" asked Harry, between his teeth.

"You promised, love," Ginny chided him, with a playful nudge of her elbow into his ribs.

"I know, I know," sighed Harry. "Seriously, wouldn't you be wearing that dress, the evening wouldn't be worth it."

"Thank you," said Ginny, brightly. "I was hoping it would have that effect on you."

"The only light on the horizon, dear," said Harry. "Without it, I'd be lost in that nightmare."

Said nightmare was a formal evening of the Ministry. Since Ambrosius' side was once again enduring a political assault by the faction that included people like Terrence Macke and once had supported Devin Stiller, both Arthur and Remus had the idea to show the Minister was far from being isolated. They needed young prominent wizards to show up. The whole Weasley family, who had basically earned more war fame than any family in England, had been enlisted entirely, even Charlie, who had the misfortune of being in the country at the time. Harry, more by solidarity than anything else, had promised to attend. He hadn't been excited by the prospect, to say the least. But he couldn't desert his friends. Especially since his name had come up in the high circles. People were starting to remember that beyond being the Boy-Who-Lived, he was also the heir of two ancient lines, the Blacks and the Potters. Remus and Arthur hoped to rally the moderate tenants of Slytherin tradition.

So, here he was, in elegant dress robes he loathed to wear, mingling with Ambrosius' guests, Ginny by his side.

The party was hosted at Prospero (*) Hall, a venue that was used for big social events. It was a very classy location, and Harry felt seriously out of place. Even at the top of his fame as a Quidditch player, he had never attended such formal evenings. Now, he understood why. He just hated those.

Ginny, on the other hand, looked very much at ease, making small talk with everyone, introducing him to people she knew through her work. Harry was aware that since the Austrian Summit, the Herald used Ginny as a high profile reporter, so it explained it. Hermione's short but remarkable career in the Ministry could also explain why she looked as relaxed as Ginny. But Harry knew for a fact that Ron hated such parties as much as he did. So how come he looked so comfortable?

Harry gave up and chose to focus on the one good the evening had to offer: Ginny's dress.

It was smashing, quite low cut, exposing most of her back, over which, she had let her hair fall down in a fiery cascade. It was a silky black, and it suited her very much, floating gracefully when it didn't embrace her curves. It was the kind of dress that reminded Harry how lucky he was to be engaged to Ginevra Weasley.

Despite the vision she offered, Ginny's poise of grace suddenly faltered. She visibly paled.

"Oh, Merlin!" she hissed. "Hide me!" she said, seeking refuge behind Harry.

"What's wrong?" asked the newly chosen refuge.

"You remember the guy I told you about, last year? The guy I met during my Austrian assignment?" she précised.

"You mean the jerk that hit on you and basically implied you were a prostitute?" asked Harry.

"The very same," said Ginny. "He just made an entrance in the Hall."

Harry followed her discrete pointed finger and caught sight of the man immediately. He had to admit, the man was quite a sight. He was tall, visibly strong, with a face that looked chiselled from a marble block by a Greek sculptor. He had wavy blonde hair and teeth so white they made Gilderoy Lockhart's smile look quite natural. He was wearing outrageously rich robes, all sewn in gold. He walked... no, actually, he strutted into the Hall, like he owned the place and with a clear look on his face: he saw himself as better than anyone in the entire Hall. The tale of his encounter with Ginny notwithstanding, Harry already disliked the man.

Ron and Hermione joined them, which turned Harry's attention from the jerk.

"Ginny? Are you alright?" asked Hermione, concerned. "You look like you've just eaten something foul."

"I've just seen a guy enter the place," said Ginny. "I don't want to be near him. So, how is you evening, so far?" she said, changing the subject.

"Not that bad," said Ron, with a shrug and a good-natured smile. "I've talked with Horace Winthorn, head of the press relations. He's quite a funny bloke."

"Yes, he is," smiled Ginny, regaining her smile and her colour. "Did he tell you his owl joke?"

"How do you know?" asked Ron.

"He does it to everyone he meets," chuckled Ginny. "Isn't it hysterical?"

"Sure is," said Ron, laughing. "But I'll be damned if I can tell it correctly."

"You think I haven't tried?" scoffed Ginny. "That's the kind of joke that would make Fred and George pass out, but I can never get it right."

"It's true that it's hilarious," said Hermione, with a mild smile.

"Well, I will need to meet the guy, then," said Harry. "Because I kind of feel like the third wheel, here."

"Well, if it isn't the delightful Miss Weasley," said a manly voice behind them.

Ginny paled again, and then rolled her eyes before to turn to the newcomer. Harry followed suit and found himself facing the jerk in all his glory. His pose was so overconfident that it made Harry's skin crawl. When his eyes landed on the richly dressed wizard, who was gratifying them with what Harry would forever call a Colgate smile, he instantly felt his hatred flare up. The guy was actually coming to talk to her?

"How surprising to see you here, Mr Irons," said Ginny, on a cautious tone. "I would even say it was highly unexpected."

"Oh, my dear, I would lie if I said this was a coincidence," said Irons. "I may be involved in your country's politics, I will admit that I was hoping to see you in the entourage of the honourable Mister Ambrosius. You'll agree our last encounter left a striking impression on the both of us."

Ginny's eyes went wide like galleons, and Harry could see Ron sending him quick worried looks. Harry had a smile.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't that encounter involve a slap?" he said.

Hermione gasped.

"A slap? Ginny, who is this person?" she asked, in a panicked urge to calm things down.

"Oh, I haven't introduced myself," laughed Irons. "How rude of me. Archibald W. Irons," he went on, catching Hermione's hand for a quick kiss on its back. How delightful to meet another gorgeous British witch, Miss..."

"Weasley," said Hermione, trying to get her hand back. "Mrs Granger-Weasley. This is my husband Ron."

"And that will be enough with kissing my wife's hand, thank you very much," said Ron, sombrely.

"Oh, yes, I always forget how stiff you brits can be, sometimes," Irons. "So you would be our dear Ginevra's brother, am I right?"

"He is," confirmed Ginny, on a dismissive tone. "Well, Mr Irons, we won't be abusing any more of your time, so we'll get going."

"Ah, but my evening is all yours, my dear," said Irons, with a smooth smile.

"Well, her evening isn't yours," said Harry. "So we'll be going."

"And you would be... " said Irons with a look of utter disdain.

"This is Harry Potter," said Ginny.

"Ah! The famous Harry Potter!" said Irons, with an unctuous smile. "So this is the Boy-who-Lived. Oh, but I am delighted to meet you, of course. So many of my good friends back home wanted me to see if you were that impressive in person. I would never have guessed that a living legend such as you could look so... ordinary."

Hermione and Ginny choked on that one and Ron rolled his eyes, whispering "oh, boy". Harry was somehow impressed by the nerve of the guy.

"Of course, with the wild tales of your exploits, I was clearly expecting too much."

"Clearly," said Harry, icily. "Alright, you've been odious enough. You may leave, now."

"I beg your pardon?" said Irons, taken aback.

"Well, I don't know how it works in America, but we British wizards don't like being looked down upon by arrogant idiots who believe that their names allow them to stump on an entire country."

"But, my dear, Mr. Potter..." Irons began to protest with haughtiness in the tone.

"What you call 'wild tales' happens to be a war that deeply wounded our country, caused hundreds of deaths and caused chaos across all Wizarding Europe," Harry interrupted him, his voice raising suddenly. "I don't like brain-dead snobs who make light of a tragedy that feels very real to many of us, especially when they have seen nothing of war in their entire life. But more importantly, I don't like jerks who come to hit on my fiancée, when she made clear last time she saw them that she didn't want to have anything to do with them ever again.

"Fiancée?" repeated Irons, dumbfounded.

"Oh, yes," said Harry. "The woman you've insulted back in Austria is my fiancée. That pretty much settles it. So now, leave."

Harry seemed to have picked Irons' pride somehow.

"Now, my dear, who do you think you are to talk to me like that?" he said. "You may be a celebrity, but what is your real worth, in here? You will know that one can't refuse an Irons what he wants. You don't want me as an enemy, buddy."

"Ooh, I'm shaking," said Harry, sarcastically. "First, you want to keep on harassing Ginny Weasley? I'll make sure to show up at your funeral, so that your family is certain it's you in the coffin. Second, you want to threaten me? You'll have to pack darker magic than Voldemort, and trust me, from what I see, you're clearly wanting, there. How do you like your odds, buddy?"

Irons seemed to falter a little. Harry pushed his advantage.

"I thought so," he said. "Now, out of my sight!"

Irons choked on that one, went quite pale, when he saw that Harry's wand was in his hand, and made a hasty retreat, disappearing in the crowd. He soon made a pretty agitated exit from the Hall. Ron had a snicker, but Hermione turned to Ginny.

"This was the American Idiot from Austria?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," said Ginny, before to kiss Harry soundly on the lips. "Thanks for that, love," she said. "Maybe this time, he'll get the hint."

"I certainly hope so," said Harry. "For his own sake. Now, about this owl joke..."

They all laughed and Ron led them to find Horacio Winthorn, so that Harry could hear what was, probably, one of the funniest jokes in the entire Wizarding world.

But honestly, it just doesn't translate well in writing. One has to hear it with the accent.

(*) So, yeah, as I pointed out in the last story, Shakespeare was a wizard. To clear any misconception, yep, The Tempest was a historic chronicle, rather than an imaginary tale. And Prospero was one of the first wizards to control weather.

Also, the last bit is what I call 'The American Idiot, part 2', which is a continuation of a plot element that took place in Warlocks. It does seem harmless in itself, but keep in mind it will come into play in... two stories from now. The main perk of the rewrite of this entire saga is that I get to slip hints early on!