NACED DELAT DWJESSNENE

'Today, you say "goodbye", but tomorrow, you will be saying "farewell forever", and the wound in your heart will be stained scarlet.' – V. T.


Waking up at Hogwarts had an altogether different feeling to it when you had it all to yourself, Harry thought.

Sunlight splashed through the windows of the first-year Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory, bathing everything in a warm gold. It never got too hot in the Scottish Highlands, and the morning sun made the four-poster bed even warmer and more comfortable than ever.

Harry was in no hurry to get out of bed. During the year, he would likely have long been up by this time, perhaps already hurrying to his first class of the day, but he had no such obligations – not today, not tomorrow, and not for the foreseeable future. The only thing that was stopping him from sleeping through the entire day was his stomach. If he slept in too late – as he had on the first day of the holidays – he would miss breakfast, and that would in turn mean that he would have to starve until lunch, which was not until many hours later.

Less than a week had passed, but Harry had already grown used to the solitary life at Hogwarts. He did not know what a perfect summer would be for him, but this seemed close to it. He had no chores, no studies. He could wake up late and go to bed early – or late, depending on his mood. Initially, he had been worried about what he might do all this time, but he need not have. There was more than enough for him to do, whether that was spending time reading in the library, or walking the Hogwarts grounds, or talking to Anna or Hagrid or the other teachers that he ran into in the corridors. Or perhaps procrastinating on his summer assignments.

Finally, Harry decided to climb out of bed, knowing that if he stayed any longer, he would be in danger of missing breakfast entirely. Hastily, he put on his clothes, cleaned himself up, and dashed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

When Harry reached the Great Hall, he saw Dumbledore sitting at the singular table – the four House tables having been removed as had been the case during the winter holidays. He was surprised to see him – Dumbledore was almost never here this late, often rushing off to this engagement or that, and usually not returning until at least dinner.

'Good morning, Harry,' Dumbledore called. 'It seems like you've made it just in time.'

'Good morning, Headmaster,' Harry replied cheerfully, taking a seat at the table and beginning to help himself to the generous meal.

'How has your last week been?' Dumbledore asked. 'We haven't had many chances to talk one-on-one. I have been meaning to find time, but it seems like fate has done my job for me this time.'

'It's been good.'

'What have you been doing with your time?'

Harry shrugged. 'Reading…walking around the grounds…talking with people…'

'And diligently doing your summer assignments, I'm sure?' Dumbledore asked, a bit of a twinkle in his eye.

Harry felt himself blush a little. 'I…uh…'

'Have not done any of it?' Dumbledore finished for him.

Harry shook his head sheepishly. 'No, I haven't.'

'Well, there's always tomorrow,' Dumbledore said lightly. 'And then after that, another tomorrow. Of course, there'll come a point where there are no more tomorrows – but we don't need to worry about that just yet, do we?'

Harry grinned. 'No, not yet.'

Just then, the wall at the top of the Great Hall slid open, and several owls flew in. Among them, easily distinguished by her elegant white feathers, was Hedwig, two envelopes tied to her leg. Harry's heart sped up in excitement. Neville and Hermione had written back.

Hedwig landed softly next to Harry, holding out her legs. Harry untied the letters quickly. The moment they were freed, Hedwig hopped across the table to Dumbledore, picking a piece of sausage from his plate.

'It seems like we have similar tastes,' Dumbledore remarked amusedly, petting Hedwig and feeding her another piece.

'She always does that,' Harry said, opening Neville's letter. 'Always steals from others. I'm not sure if I should be glad or angry.'

Dear Harry,

Good to hear you've had a good first two days. You're brave to try Hagrid's cooking – I think his tea is suspicious enough as it is. He's a good guy, but I definitely wouldn't hire him as a cook. Personally, I like having a functioning and uninjured stomach.

Sorry I couldn't reply earlier. It's been absolute chaos at home. Gran's been receiving tons of visitors, and she insists that I sit in on almost every discussion she has. She wants me to 'learn how the world works', but honestly, I don't see how listening to her talking to a random old woman about the need for a thousand extra Galleons here or there helps me learn how the world works.

She's busy all the time, though, so I'm not sure if we could have you and Hermione over to visit in the next few weeks. She's an Overseer, and the Ejwent Zehwolt is dealing with so much right now. Prussia doesn't like us very much right now, apparently. I'm not sure exactly why, but it has something to do with Ilse Eisele – the woman who got falsely accused for the Gringotts break-in if you don't remember – some dispute over trade or whatever, and reparations from the Grindelwald war. There's also elections coming up for the Ejwent Dexmot, so Gran's running this way and that to organise that. Then, of course, there's the whole thing in Russia. They're organising a conference some time this month to discuss that, I think, and that just piles even more work on Gran.

What have you been doing the last few days? Are you going to be only at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer? That would be a little boring. Well, let me know what you get up to. I'm sure whatever it is, it's worlds better than what Gran's making me sit through.

Neville

'Mister Longbottom's?' Dumbledore asked as Harry set the letter down on the table.

Harry nodded. 'How do you know?'

Dumbledore pointed to the envelope, or rather, more precisely, to the wax seal affixed to its back. 'Augusta's seal. More precisely, it is the ancient seal of what used to be the House of Longbottom. Of course, the "House of Longbottom" doesn't exist anymore – Houses as a social concept died out in popular use for a variety of reasons not long after the Statute of Secrecy came into force, though you'll still hear some families refer to themselves as their Houses for show. The "Ancient and Most Noble" House of Black comes to mind as an obvious example, but they're not the only ones.'

'Are the Longbottoms a family that does that?' Harry asked.

'As far as I'm aware, no,' Dumbledore answered. 'Augusta, thankfully, never had such delusions of grandeur. No. I believe that she liked the aesthetic and the sense of power that such a seal gave to her correspondences. If you're unsure why, take a careful look at it.'

Harry picked up the envelope and took a close look at the seal, which he had never quite paid attention to in the past. It was made of a golden wax that seemed to shimmer and glow, and pressed into the wax was a patterned shield. On either side of it stood two winged horses, supporting the shield, and around the seal was a circle of what Harry recognised as runes.

'The runes spell out "The House of Longbottom",' Dumbledore explained. 'It's in Eastern Eltrys, the earliest known form of the language.'

'It looks impressive,' Harry agreed.

'I would certainly agree.'

After admiring the seal for a little longer, Harry set Neville's letter aside and moved on to Hermione's. Hers was, as per usual, contained in a simple, muggle envelope. He cut along the top with his knife and pulled out the letter.

Dear Harry,

Glad that you've been okay! Say hello to Anna and Hagrid for me, please!

There's not much to do here, so sorry for a boring letter. Still spending a lot of time reading. Some muggle books, some magical books. I managed to convince my parents to stop at Diagon Alley to get some books on the way back, and I found some really interesting ones. I bought a whole atlas of magical Britain – it's a big book, I didn't know how large the magical world actually was. I'm looking forward to looking through that. I'll probably have tons of time to do it. I don't really know that many other kids in this town (we moved here just months before I left for Hogwarts), so there's nowhere for me to really go. It also sucks that I can't practise magic at home, because, well, I live in the middle of a completely non-magical town.

My parents are really busy, so I don't think I could have you or Neville visit anytime soon. Sorry. Hopefully, if they're ever less busy, I'll try to invite you.

Hermione

'And that should be Miss Granger's, right?' Dumbledore asked.

'Yeah, that was from Hermione.'

'And how is Miss Granger doing?'

'She seems well,' Harry replied. 'She seems a little bored, though. And she's annoyed about not being able to practise magic.'

'Miss Granger lives in Cambridgeshire, doesn't she?' Dumbledore asked.

'I think so.'

'It might delight her to know that there is a magical community not far from where she lives,' Dumbledore said. 'She would be free to practise magic in there, and I believe there are a few small shops selling magical wares, too.'

'There is?' Harry asked, curious and surprised. 'I thought…'

'You thought the only magical settlement in all of Britain was Diagon Alley?' Dumbledore finished, smiling. 'Or perhaps that and Hogsmeade? No, certainly not. Witches and wizards live all over the islands. At last count, there were over seventy thousand of them. They can't all live in Diagon Alley.'

'Where's this settlement, then?' Harry asked excitedly, knowing that Hermione would be interested.

'You can access it through the School of Pythagoras building in Cambridge,' Dumbledore answered. 'Though in recent years, that building has been taken over by the University of Cambridge, who're using it as some kind of archive. Nonetheless, the doorman, I believe, is an employee of the Ministry. If you tell him the name of any spell, or a word in Eltrys, or the Istworjancis, he'll let you through. Perhaps you should let Miss Granger know. She would no doubt make great use of it.'

'I'm sure she will,' Harry said. 'I'll write to her right now.'


The days at Hogwarts were flying by, and Harry was surprised by how mundane everything seemed. Now that it was the summer holidays, teachers suddenly did not seem like teachers anymore. Professor McGonagall, whom, during the school year, Harry would have shivered at the prospect of approaching, all of a sudden became quite informal. Often, Harry would run into her in the corridors, by virtue of her study being only a short distance away from the Gryffindor Common Room, and she often talked to him if she was not too busy at the moment. Harry was surprised at her willingness to make fun of other teachers – especially Snape – in private. Harry did not know – and perhaps did not need to know – that Snape had received a letter several days ago from a middle-aged witch living in Cornwall who had professed her undying love to him. It must have been sent to the wrong recipient, Harry thought, feeling a small measure of what must have been disgust at hearing that story.

Other than McGonagall, Professor Flitwick was also good to him, passing him sweets sometimes when they passed in the corridors. Professor Cauverina, too, invited Harry to tea. She was not the best at organisation, Harry noticed, and her desk was always cluttered with parchments. When Harry had asked her what those parchments were for, she had launched into a long explanation of the latest project that she was working on – something about the plausibility of storing transcendental energy. Harry had understood nearly nothing, but nodded along so as to not be rude.

Snape, of course, ignored him when they inevitably passed one another in the corridors – something Harry could not complain about. He looked quite noticeably less dour than he did during the school year, perhaps a result of the absence of 'dunderheads' – as he had so eloquently put it in his first lesson – around the school. Dumbledore, as always, was in and out of the school, never staying for very long. Harry tried to ask him what he was doing in the few times that they had been able to talk, but Dumbledore did not ever give very detailed answers, telling Harry simply that he was busy at the Ejwent Zehwolt.

There was, finally, also Anna. She was often in the library – which served as her temporary office until Dumbledore arranged a permanent one for her – and there, they often ran into each other. Despite the little headway that he was making, Harry continued in his attempts to crack the Eltrys Runic system, much to her exasperated surprise.

'Why does this Rune mean "I can" and this one – ' Harry had once asked her, pointing at the difference between one rune which looked like several lightning bolts and another, which looked almost exactly the same, except for a small addition on the left-hand side, a differently shaped descender on the bottom, and the lack of a small line on the right, ' – mean "I will help"?'

'I think one part is a prefix,' Anna had replied, sounding a little tired. 'Another part marks person and tense. The other part marks aspect. I have absolutely no idea which is which, though.'

Even Anna's 'no idea' explanation went way over Harry's head.

Just over a week after the start of the holidays, however, Anna left, heading to France at Dumbledore's offer to study the notes that Nicholas Flamel had left behind after his death. 'His archive is going to be destroyed,' she told Harry as she was packing her things the night before her departure.

'What?' Harry asked. 'Why?'

Anna shrugged. 'I don't know. Albus says Flamel thinks it could be dangerous if the knowledge falls into the wrong hands.'

'It sounds like a pity.'

'It is,' Anna agreed sadly. 'At least he left it to Albus so he could look at it before it's gone. Well, Albus doesn't really have time to travel to France, and Flamel forbade his archive from leaving his home, so I out of all people get to look at it first.'

'Also, I'm not sure how often I can write,' she added.

'Why? What's going to happen?'

'Well, Gringotts isn't very satisfied with me not rotting in jail,' Anna said with a dark laugh. 'Dumbledore offers me protection, but that doesn't extend very far beyond the Hogwarts grounds.'

She held up a passport. 'Albus broke some laws and got me this. It's fake, since I have no identity in the muggle world. My name is now "Lisa Schmeider". I'll fly to Marseille, stay in the muggle city, and only go into the magical parts when I need to. I might not have access to owl post much, so I'm sorry if it takes a long time to reply to anything you send.'

Harry nodded. 'It's okay, Lisa.'

He got a glare in response. 'Don't you dare.'


The next morning, an unfamiliar screech owl glided down to Harry as he ate breakfast. With confusion, Harry detached the letter that it was carrying, expecting that perhaps someone might have addressed the letter to the wrong person – the owl did not look anything like Neville's, and who else would send him a letter out of the blue? But when he turned the envelope around, he found that it had indeed been addressed to him.

Even more confused now, Harry carefully cut open the letter along the top, removing the letter inside. Wanting to know the sender's identity, he looked first at the very bottom of the letter, and there, he found the name 'Tracey Davis'.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Tracey was one of Pansy's friends, was she not? What, then, was she writing to him for? Did she not hate him and his friends? But then, he remembered the way she had acted during the course of the year – she had always been different somehow from the others, more removed and nervous than either Pansy or Daphne. Still, though, Harry did not understand why she might be writing a letter to him of all people.

Not wanting to judge before he had actually seen the contents of the letter, though, Harry began to read.

Dear Harry,

I know that this letter is probably completely unexpected for you, but I wanted to write you to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way that I treated you and your friends last year, and I know now that I should not have done what I did. I should have been better to you and everyone.

Mum had told me when I was home for the Winter Holidays that she had known your mother, Lily, when they were in school. She was in Ravenclaw, and a muggle-born from near where Lily grew up, so they became friends. When she told me that, I realised how wrong I was to be treating you the way I did. I know that it would have upset her if she found out. I wanted to apologise to you during the school year, but I didn't know how to, and didn't have the courage to go behind Pansy's back and tell you. But I want to apologise now. I had followed Pansy and Daphne and participated in giving you a hard time even when I knew what they were doing was wrong and that I shouldn't be doing that. I'm really sorry.

You don't have to write me back or accept my apology, but I really hope that you will, and perhaps, we can be friends. I'm sorry again.

Tracey Davis

Harry read the letter again, having not quite understood the meaning the first time. Tracey was apologising to him for the way she had acted during the school year, and wanted to be friends. Harry's trained first instinct was to be sceptical. No matter how different she seemed, she had still been close with Pansy, who had been perseverant in her attempts to 'befriend' Harry. Was Pansy now using Tracey to get to him? It seemed possible.

But as Harry re-read the letter a third time, it felt somehow genuine. If Tracey was lying, he thought for some reason, the letter would not look like that. Perhaps she would not have given any reasons, or perhaps she might have overcompensated in some way and tried to blame Pansy or Daphne for everything she had done. The three paragraphs in front of him did not, however, read like that. It felt believable.

He took out a piece of parchment and a quill from his bag and began to draft a reply.


Harry received a reply from Tracey later that day, who seemed rather surprised that Harry had responded at all. The two of them corresponded regularly the next few days. Even though she had, after all, taken the initiative to reach out to Harry, he had not expected to find her almost…likeable. Apparently, she liked muggle novels, which her mother often bought for her from the muggle world. She also knew what a television was – a seemingly rare feat for someone who had lived their whole life in the magical world.

Gradually, their conversations moved on to more personal topics. Tracey lived in Diagon Alley, Harry learned, and she had grown up around Pansy and Daphne because their parents did business together, hence becoming friends. She asked him what it was like to grow up in the muggle world, and Harry, at first, did not know how to answer. He did not really want to explain about the Dursleys, but as Harry thought about it, he did not really know what a 'normal' muggle childhood should have been. Finally, Harry decided to make something up based on the television serials that he had been forced to sit through with Dudley. They had always seemed to him ridiculous, but perhaps to Tracey, they would be believable.

Tracey had then asked Harry if he was staying near London over the summer, and Harry had told her truthfully that he was actually staying at Hogwarts. Tracey had been amazed at the idea of him having a whole castle all to himself, but then, she had sent a follow-up letter, asking him why he had chosen to spend the summer at Hogwarts instead of at home. Once again, Harry had no idea how to answer, but finally opted for another white lie, telling Tracey that his uncle had taken a job in another country, and they were not able to arrange the papers for Harry to join them in time.

The next morning, Tracey's owl returned with not one, but two letters. One of them was addressed to him in Tracey's now-familiar handwriting, but the other was evidently written by someone different altogether. Perplexed, Harry opened the second envelope first, curious at who it might be from.

Dear Harry,

Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm April Davis – Tracey's mother. As Tracey might have already told you, I had known your mother when we were in school together. For a long time, I've gotten absolutely no news about you other than that you somehow survived the night that Lily died – not where you lived, who you lived with, or how you were doing – so you could imagine how happy I was when I heard that you were at Hogwarts. Of course, I'm even more glad that Tracey has contacted you, and that the two of you have gotten to know each other.

Tracey has recently told me that you've been staying at Hogwarts for the summer. She says that you were unable to join your muggle guardians because they had 'suddenly gotten a job in another country and couldn't bring you there with him'. I'm sorry that this has happened to you, but I hope that you've been enjoying your time at Hogwarts.

If you would ever like somewhere else to stay – for a few days, a week, or for the rest of the summer – please know that Tracey, myself, and my husband would be happy to have you. I understand of course if you would like to stay at Hogwarts, but if ever you want or need to stay somewhere else, our door is open.

Sincerely,

April Davis

Harry set the letter down and gave himself a moment to process. Tracey's mother had invited him to stay. Harry felt a little apprehensive at the idea – he had never actually known Tracey, after all. All their interactions have been through letters and not conversations. Would they really get along in real life? How different was she really to Pansy and Daphne? And was he comfortable with the idea of imposing himself on a family that he did not even know?

But then, he thought, Mrs Davis had known his mother. For that reason alone, Harry felt tempted to write back right that moment and accept her offer. Had she known him as a baby? What might she know about Lily Potter that nobody else did? Did she know his father, too? Harry, sensing a desperate longing to find out anything he could about his mother and father, suddenly wanted nothing less than to go.

His mind suddenly made, he picked up the letter and stood up from the table so quickly that he accidentally hit the Davises' owl. It let out a loud, angry hoot, but Harry did not pay it any attention. The only thing he thought about as he ran towards Dumbledore's study was the prospect of finally finding out something about his mother. In fact, not just something, but something close, personal, and almost sacred. He could look up the story of what his mother and father had done to stop Voldemort anywhere, but to know who they were as actual people…that was not something that he could get from a newspaper, a book, or rather, from anywhere else than someone who had actually known her.

Harry skidded to a stop in front of the gargoyle. 'Ice Mice,' he said, telling it the last password that Dumbledore had given him, not sure if it was at all correct.

'The password is correct,' the gargoyle replied 'But I cannot let you in.'

'Why not?' Harry asked, confused.

'The headmaster is away today,' the gargoyle answered. 'He is attending a session of the Ejwent Zehwolt. He has been unnaturally busy this last week.'

'What's he been doing? When will he be back?'

If a stone gargoyle could shrug, it might have at that moment. 'No clue, and no clue. He usually comes back at night, but very late, and goes straight to bed. He leaves early the next morning. His schedule is very demanding.'

'Could you please tell me when he's back for good?' Harry asked.

'I would, if I could,' the gargoyle responded, sounding snarky. 'I'm made of stone and attached to the wall, if you haven't noticed.'


'This place had better be good,' her mother said. Hermione could detect the undertone of annoyance in her voice.

'It will be,' Hermione replied. 'It'll be like Diagon Alley, just…a little smaller.'

'Will everything be as antiquated as Diagon Alley, too?'

Hermione did not answer, instead looking silently out of the double-decker bus's windows at the scene of the university town. People – many of them students, by the look of it, went about their daily business, none knowing that there was a whole parallel world out there, hidden behind a force that they do not believe in nor understand.

'How do you survive there?' her mother began again. 'Everything's from the eighteenth century – at best. No electricity, no modern medicine, not even modern writing instruments. How in the world does someone write with a quill and ink?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Once you get used to it, it's not that hard. And I've told you: wizards don't need electricity. They can do almost everything we can, but with magic.'

'If you say so,' her mother replied. 'But I still think you should've just gone to a…regular…school, as we had planned. You had several good offers – it's not like you were starved for options.'

The two of them did not speak much for the rest of the bus ride. As the bus approached their stop, Hermione was out of her seat and was skipping down the steps to the bottom deck before the bus even came to a stop. She heard her mother chastise her, but Hermione was not listening, the excitement of going back to the magical world drowning her mother's sharp words out completely.

Mother and daughter stepped out of the bus and after looking both ways, quickly crossed the street. They walked a short way down the road before making a left turn onto a small drive. At the end of the drive stood a large, ancient-looking stone house. It looked exactly like the picture of it that she had seen in her copy of The Magical Atlas of Britain.

'This way,' she said to her mother, leading ahead.

They walked through the wrought metal gate and found themselves in a small, gravelly courtyard. Hermione followed the footpath, which led them directly to a black wooden door that Hermione assumed to be the entrance. With excitement, Hermione pushed it open and stepped inside.

'Welcome,' said a man behind the counter. He took a look at Hermione. 'Sorry, but currently, the House of Pythagoras is open only to University staff and students, or approved visitors. Unless you have identification to show that you're in one of those groups, you will need to leave.'

'Wait, sorry,' Hermione replied hastily. 'Istworjancis,' she said, in the most accurate pronunciation she could manage.

The man gave a thin smile. 'Ah, certainly. Follow me, please.'

Hermione and her mother followed the man through a short corridor and into a small, back room. 'School?' he asked Hermione when they got there.

'Hogwarts,' Hermione answered.

The man nodded. 'Your House?'

'Gryffindor.'

He looked up at her mother. 'And you are her mother?'

'I am.'

'Magical?'

Her mother shook her head, her nose wrinkling a little. 'No.'

'Your name, please?'

'Helen Granger.'

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a normal-looking notepad and a biro, quickly scribbling down the name. 'Thank you.'

He took out his wand from his pocket and tapped one of the walls three times, before slowly tracing a line vertically down the centre. Nothing happened for a moment, and then, suddenly, the wall in front of them completely disappeared, revealing a short dirt path, ending in a wrought-iron gate that seemed to lead out onto a wider, cobblestone road.

'Welcome to the magical town,' the doorman said. 'To come out, the simplest way is to walk through the gate you see right in front of you. The other way, of course. Good day.'

Hermione dashed to the iron gate and threw it open, stepping out onto the street. Her mother followed a short distance behind her. She looked to her left, then her right, and then left again, taking in the sight. The town reminded her of a set right out of one of those medieval period films that her father so loved. The main road was narrow, paved with cobblestone, and curved in both directions. The houses, wooden and fashioned in a distinct gothic styling, were packed tightly together. Through the small gaps between the houses, Hermione could see fields with odd-looking plants beyond.

Her mother echoed her thoughts exactly. 'Looks like a set they built for one of those films that your dad likes,' she remarked.

Hermione nodded and started slowly down the street. The town was not busy, perhaps because it was a weekday afternoon, but there were a few people walking about. Almost all of them wore robes, but they were obviously of a simpler variety than the robes that she had seen in Diagon Alley – or Hogwarts, for that matter. On either side of the street were shops, though none were anywhere near as extensive and elaborate as the ones in Diagon Alley. There was an apothecary, a tailor, what looked like a restaurant, and even a grocer. A distance down the street, she also spotted an owl post office. Hermione made a mental note of that. It might be useful if she needed to send a letter to anyone over the summer.

'I expected a little more than this,' her mother said after about fifteen minutes of walking. 'There's even less here than in London.'

'Of course there is,' Hermione replied, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. 'Do you expect every little town to be like London? And anyway, I didn't come here to shop. I wanted to come here to…'

Hermione took out her wand and pointed it at a fallen twig. 'Wingardium leviosa,' she incanted quietly, and instantly, the twig slowly and gracefully floated into the air. She moved her wand, and the twig floated towards her mother, doing a little dance in mid-air.

Her mother looked surprised for a brief moment, and Hermione had a wild hope that the display might have gotten through her sceptical shell, but then, at the next moment, the astonished look melted off her face, replaced yet again by one of boredom.

'Make sticks float?' she asked. 'Is that what you wanted to come here to do?'

'To practise magic,' Hermione replied as she lowered the twig, a little miffed but used to it. 'I can't practise at home because we're in a muggle neighbourhood, remember?'

'Right,' her mother said, nodding absently and looking around the town. 'Looks like one of those magician shows on television. I'm sure it's fun learning tricks, but what does that have to do with real life?'

'I mean…if you need to lift something heavy, then you could just use a spell,' Hermione came up with something, desperately wanting to please her.

'Sure,' her mother replied, bored. 'Well, it's getting late, Hermione. Why don't we start heading back soon?'


Harry did not see Dumbledore at all for the next several days, save for a brief encounter at the entrance to the Great Hall that Sunday. The two of them did not exchange many words, though, as Dumbledore was once again rushing off to what Harry presumed to be another meeting of the Ejwent Zehwolt.

The second week felt noticeably lonelier and less exciting than the first. Naturally, the awe of having the entire castle all to himself unsurprisingly faded over time, and the teachers had become noticeably busier, working on their various experiments of projects. He bumped into Professor McGonagall, for example, less and less, and Professor Cauverina stopped inviting Harry to tea. In his increasing boredom, he had even begun working on his summer assignments, and he made decent headway through them between reading, taking walks, and writing letters to Hermione, Neville, and Tracey.

It was to Harry's surprise, then, that at lunch next Tuesday, Professor McGonagall passed Harry a message, asking him to be at the Headmaster's Study right after the meal.

'He's back?' Harry asked her with excitement.

'For a short while.'

Harry quickly finished his food and bounded up the staircases to Dumbledore's study. As he entered the room, he saw that Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, looking rather tired. That, however, was not where his attention was drawn to. On the previously empty bird perch on the left side of the room, now sat a magnificent red-and-gold bird of prey. It turned its head towards Harry as he entered, before looking at him as if deeply evaluating him. Harry was unsure what to do, but a moment later, the bird gave what looked almost like an approving nod, singing a short trill that filled Harry with a sort of indescribable warmth.

'I see that Fawkes approves of you,' Dumbledore remarked.

'Fawkes?'

'Fawkes,' Dumbledore affirmed, nodding in the direction of the bird. 'He's a phoenix.'

'You have a phoenix?' Harry asked. He had read a little about phoenixes in mythology books from when he was much younger – apparently, they were immortal, and were reborn from ashes every time they died. He had no idea, however, how true that was to the magical world.

'It would be rather arrogant of me to call him "mine",' Dumbledore replied. 'Fawkes, I'm sure, has been in this world for far longer than I have. See, phoenixes are immortal. They "die" every so often in a ball of flame, but then they are re-born from their own ashes. They also possess incredible magic. They have the power to heal otherwise mortal wounds with their tears, among other things. I would never be worthy to "own" such a creature – nor would I ever want to. No, it would be more proper to say that he's been my equal companion for many years.'

'How did you…come across him…then?'

'It is a long story,' Dumbledore said. 'Too long to tell now, for I need to speak to you about something more urgent before I leave today. Please, take a seat.'

'I'm sorry that I've been almost always absent this last week,' Dumbledore began after Harry had sat down. 'Things have been unusually busy. I'm sure you remember from Professor Cauverina that there are new elections for the Ejwent Dexmot every seven years. The Ejwent Zehwolt is responsible for running those elections and vetting candidates. The next election will be held in June next year, and the Ejwent Zehwolt Is already being drowned with candidate applications. Naturally, nobody can agree on anything, and it could take hours of haggling just to approve a single candidate. Add to that everything else going on in the greater world, and the council is in absolute chaos.'

'Okay…' Harry said, confused by everything that Dumbledore had just told him at once. 'What does that mean, though? And what's "going on in the greater world"?'

'Ah, I should have made this clearer. See, Harry, the magical world is not too different from the muggle world,' Dumbledore explained. 'On both sides of the divide are humans, and humans will do as humans do – they have their own interests, which often don't align with other humans' interests.'

'In the muggle world, as I'm sure you know well, we had, until very recently, the Soviet Union and its allies pitted against the United States and its. Before that, it was the Axis versus the Allies, the Triple Entente versus the Triple Alliance. The magical world isn't much different. Britain and Prussia, for example, have recently not quite gotten along, and Britain and France have never quite gotten along. The Russians and the Ottomans have had a long history of conflict – just like in the muggle world. The Austrians and the French have long had disputes over land and resources, and so the French give a lot of support to the Ottomans against Austria-Hungary, which angers the Russians. But in turn, Austria is also suspicious of the Russians, and France tries to capitalise on that by supporting the Russians against the Prussians, whom they are also afraid of. Add to that the civil war in Russia, which makes everything more complicated. And so on, and so on, and so on.'

'Okay…' Harry muttered, trying to wrap his head around that. He had read a little about the causes of the First World War, but this seemed even more complicated than that.

'This has been going on for hundreds of years, but recently, these problems have gotten even worse,' Dumbledore continued. 'Which is why I needed to speak to you. I will be very busy – and most likely, not at Hogwarts – for the rest of the summer.'

'Oh,' Harry said, rather miffed. 'You'll be gone? What'll you be doing?'

'I will be gone,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'The International Confederation of Wizards has called a conference in Zürich to try to solve some of the problems. Minister Fudge has asked me to go, and I cannot refuse attendance at such an important event.'

'This will mean that I will likely be gone for the better part of a month, Harry,' Dumbledore said. 'By the time I return, it will already be close to the start of the autumn term. I also do not anticipate that the other teachers will be any less busy until then, either. They typically use the summer months to work on projects that they cannot work on with a castle full of students. You'll be very alone in the castle, and it will be harder to contact me than even now. So, I need to ask, do you think you will be able to handle yourself here, alone, for the next month? Or would you like to spend the month somewhere else?'

Harry already knew his answer – he had been wanting to talk to Dumbledore about this for the last several days, and now he had a perfect opportunity. 'I think I'd like to stay somewhere else,' he replied.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Understandable. I would in fact prefer that you did – it would worry me quite a bit if you were spending all your time alone in this castle. Who do you have in mind? I know that Augusta Longbottom is very busy, as she is an Overseer on the Ejwent Zehwolt like myself, but I can ask her if she will be able to take you in for a month.'

'Actually,' Harry said, reaching into his bag and taking out the letter from a few days ago. 'Mrs Davis has invited me to stay.'

'Mrs Davis?' Dumbledore asked, surprised. 'Do you mean April?'

Harry nodded. 'Tracey's mum.'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. 'Why did she invite you to stay? How did you know her?'

'Tracey sent me a letter about a week ago,' Harry explained. 'She…uh…she apologised for…the way she acted during the school year…and we've been sending letters back and forth since. Then, I told her I was staying at Hogwarts, and her mum invited me to stay at their place if I'd like.'

'May I take a look at this letter, please?'

Harry handed the letter to Dumbledore. 'Did she really know my mother?' he asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.

'Yes,' Dumbledore replied as he read the letter. 'If I remember correctly, April and Lily met in their second or third year here and were quite close friends by the time they left.'

Harry felt a surge of warm excitement in him. Mrs Davis had really known his mother. 'Could I go?' he asked, wondering what she might know and be willing to tell him about his parents.

Dumbledore looked up, having finished reading the letter. His expression was pensive and somehow unreadable, like he had some thoughts or, perhaps, even objections that he did not want to tell Harry. 'I'll talk to April,' he replied. 'I don't see why you could not, but…' he paused, thinking for a moment, '…I'll need to ask her if she will be able to take you.'