When her husband had left with Harry Potter to go wash up for dinner, Sigrún finally let her eyebrows raise. The boy looked nothing like what he'd been described as, and she hadn't been able to sense any sort of glamour. She sipped her tea thoughtfully. She would love to get a look at what spells, or potions she supposed, he'd got his hands on. And so young. She could definitely see why her husband might wish to do him a good turn. It was always good to align one's self to that sort of power early.

"Fabergé," She said, softly to her daughter who had flopped back on the chaise lounge as soon as the door closed behind her father, one foot up and a forearm across her eyes. "That's no way to treat the furniture, dearest."

"I don't care about the furniture." Fabergé sulked.

"Why don't you come sit by me and tell me what's wrong? You were very rude to Neville, that's not like you."

Fabergé did not come sit close to her mother, but then, she was eleven now. A certain amount of independance was to be expected.

"Does father want to replace me?" Fabergé asked, and independance forsaken, Sigrún moved to kneel in front of her daughter, stealing one tiny hand to hold between her own.

"Of course not! Your father loves you more than life itself, darling." Her heart ached for her poor girl. She'd known something like this was coming. Their world was not kind to the less magically inclined, and shielding their daughter from that unkindness had the unfortunate side effect of isolating her. "He is doing everything in his power to give you everything you need to be happy and successful. You know how much research he did to find you that school. He wants only the best for you." Sigrún didn't know how to reassure her more.

"Why does he want Neville then?" Sigrún could hear the unspoken 'aren't I enough?'

Sigrún took a second to think. This was an important moment in their relationship. "Do you love me?" She finally asked.

"Of course" Fabergé said, with the boundless confidence of one who is not yet a teenager.

"And do you love Father?"

"Ye-es." Fabergé drew the word out, knowing there was a lesson here, but not quite grasping what it might be.

"How is this possible?" Sigrún asked, pressing one hand to her chest, "Do you wish to replace me with Father?"

"Ugh no Mother. That's different." Fabergé rolled her eyes and tried to tug her hand away from Sigrún's loosened grip. Sigrún pulled her closer.

"Love is not a finite thing dear one. There is always room for more. Helping Neville will never take away from the love in our hearts for you."

Fabergé slumped.

"But he's magic."

"So's Rufus."

"Rufus is a cat."

"And I don't love him more than you."

[line break]

Harry entered the formal dining room with trepidation. Aunt Petunia never let him eat in her formal dining room. But the long table looked more like a Hogwarts feast than a dinner party, so maybe it would be ok.

Mrs. Fortescue and Fabergé entered from another door, and the whole family stood behind their chairs until Mrs. Fortescue sat at the head of the table.

The dishes had some sort of hunt going on in elegant, minimalist brush strokes. But unlike Aunt Petunia's carefully hoarded painted China, the hunt was violent and moved like all wizarding art. Harry's dish kept being crossed by groups of magical creatures led by a horned man on a stag. He didn't know what they were looking for, or if their painted nature would ever allow them to find it. He's not sure he wants to see some poor animal getting slaughtered while he eats, but it is probably intended to keep things in perspective.

Mr. Fortescue, at Mrs. Fortescue's nod, waved his wand and food appeared in the serving dishes in the middle of the table. Mrs. Fortescue served herself a double ladelful of violently pink soup, and her family followed after.

After everyone had tasted and nodded in agreement that the soup was delicious, Mr. Fortescue began to tell stories of his day. It was an extremely normal dinner. Harry looked back and forth, waiting for them to ask him a question, but they didn't.

Mr. Fortescue finished his story and asked, "Fabergé, my dear one, what have you done today?"

Fabergé, who hadn't looked Harry's way even once, was suddenly very fascinated with her bowl.

"Miss Fabergé," Mrs. Fortescue interrupts, "Has discovered the explosive quality of baking ingredients today."

Mr. Fortescue's eyebrows rose, and Harry didn't think he was imagining that he looked impressed rather than angry.

"Have you indeed?" He didn't quite smile, but Fabergé looked up at him.

"We-ell, I was reading this morning and I heard that any powder divided finely enough will explode if it's put under pressure." Mr. Fortescue covered his mouth with his fist, nodding seriously. "So I asked Zetsy to help me make a cake, and I may have misap- misopr- ah, taken some flour in a bottle. To the tree house." She stopped abruptly, looking at her mother.

Mrs. Fortescue nods her on.

"I may have also taken the candelabra from the portrait gallery."

"While it was on fire," Mrs. Fortescue helped.

"Well I didn't have any other way to test it! If I hadn't taken it outside I would have had to perform my experiments inside!"

Mr. Fortescue cleared his throat over a suspicious sounding cough, "Naturally, blowing things up inside would be irresponsible."

Fabergé nodded, satisfied, "Yes. So. I tested my hypothesis and I can independently confirm that flour does explode."

"And that hedges aren't fireproof," Mrs. Fortescue's added dryly.

"Did you write it down?" Mr. Fortescue asked, at this point barely containing his delight.

Fabergé scoffed "Of course I wrote it down. I'm a scientist. I'll show you after dinner."

Mr. Fortescue's beamed. Wizards were all bonkers.

[Line Break]

After dinner, Fabergé showed her parents her experimental notebook and was sent reluctantly up to her room for bed. The Fortescues brought Harry back to the parlor for what he assumed was the point of the evening.

"I meant to ask before," Harry blurted, while Mr. Fortescue was levitating a small glass of something amber over to his wife. "Why does everyone suddenly know I'm missing?"

"Ah," Mr. Fortescue sent a tiny cup of chocolate over to Harry while he swirled his own drink. "It seems that someone has finally leaked your disappearance to the press. Though I'm honestly surprised it took this long. The ministry isn't known for being discreet."

"Oh," Harry said in a small voice.

"They're blaming your disappearance on Sirius Black, you know." Mrs. Fortescue said.

"But that doesn't make any sense, what would he want with me."

The Fortescues appeared to have a whole conversation in exchanged glances. Usually he had to insert some subtle foot stomping and maybe an elbow jab to make his point without words. The ease of their communication made him uncomfortably aware of a hollow, aching feeling in his chest that was always there, but which he'd grown accustomed to ignoring.

"Harry, I don't know why nobody has informed you of this. But, Sirius Black betrayed your Parents to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Of course, Harry thought. Of course he did. Because there wasn't a single mad event going on in this magical community that wasn't directly related to Harry and his awful life.

"I do wonder," Mrs. Fortescue commented, as though asking if he thought it might rain today, "If you've not been kidnapped by a dangerous criminal, what exactly you have been doing on your own."

Harry shifted, not quite as confident in his own decision-making skills in the face of Mrs. Fortescue's everything.

"I, well, I blew up my Aunt and now I'm on the run from the law."

[Line Break}

Harry Potter was a precious idiot.

Sigrún listened to his tale of woe, his reasoning, his planning. And while he had managed an impressive feat, it was all on the back of some shockingly poor reasoning.

"Harry, dear," she interrupted when it looked like he was about out of steam, more affectionate than she was given to being with strangers. "You do know that there is absolutely no way that Hogwarts would expel Harry Potter over a bit of accidental magic, right?"

His jaw tightened. "I mean," she corrected, "Accidental magic is what you're at school to learn to control. It doesn't make sense for them to expel a student for something they have to learn. They just like to scare you a little so you won't do it in front of muggles."

Harry looked to Florean, and eased a bit when he nodded, and wasn't that an interesting development. She tucked it away to review later. "The only thing I see standing in the way of a good Hogwarts education for you is the looming presence of Sirius Black."

"I'm not scared-" Harry started, eyes glittering.

"Of course not," Florean soothed, "everyone knows you're the most Gryffindor Griffindor since old Godric slept in the tower."

And didn't that stop young Potter in his tracks. He visibly shifted back, eyes darting between them. Someone needed to teach this boy not to give away his snap hand.

"My point is, everyone's heard of your daring adventures Harry, and of course, they're all very impressed. But that's not a great way to get a good education. It seems awfully distracting, is all, to be constantly worried someone is going to kill you when all you should be focused on is really mastering your basic, foundational magic."

Harry opened his mouth several times, to argue, she assumed, but couldn't seem to string the correct words together.

Finally, "I don't go looking for trouble; I know what everyone says. It just shows up and drags me along with it!"

"But of course it does!" Mrs. Fortescue said, "You're Harry Potter, you're a living legend. If trouble was going to find anyone, of course it would be you."

"But I'm not! I'm just Harry! I've always been just Harry!"

"Exactly," she nodded, he was making her point for her. "Trouble finds you because of your name, your story. As long as you are Harry Potter, you'll never have a normal life."

Harry made a small noise, but didn't interrupt.

"What we're offering, Harry, is a chance to get your magical education before you decide whether or not to be a living legend." Florean always knew how to cut to the heart of an issue. Sigrún looked at him warmly.

"What's in it for you?" Harry asked, frowning. The Fortescues exchanged a glance. So the boy wasn't a complete idiot.