Epilogue: Like A Symphony, Rising.
"Do y'mind," said Charlotte's mum, "when ordinary folks call a pretty girl like yerself a 'witch'?"
Hermione smiled. After their families had farmed in Bumpus for four generations, the McGees were finally discovering the thousand-year-old magical community nearby, and were avid for their first tour. At the moment, they were seated in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, finishing mugs of delicious butterbeer. Mr. McGee was twirling a sickle coin in his fingers, closely examining it.
"I don't mind 'witch' at all, Mrs. McGee," answered Hermione. "There's a word for non-magic folk too, and if you and my parents don't mind being called Muggles, surely Charlotte and I shan't worry about being witches."
"Muggles, ay?" said Mr. McGee. "Has a warm, friendly sound to it, actually, like...well, a mug! Muggle!" He smiled proudly, almost smugly...or should it be smuggley? "So I'm a ... Muggle! And the wifie too, and the Noonans, and the Praethers down the road are... Muggles!"
Hermione chuckled. "Well....almost. You might meet the Noonans in Hogsmeade; she's a weekend clerk at the book shop here. Mr. Noonan's a Muggle, but the Missus is a witch."
He gaped. "I'll be dumped." Mrs. McGee also raised her eyebrows. "Katy Noonan a witch! Who'd ha' thought."
Hermione pushed her chair back. "We can stop and see her later, if you'd like. She's probably heard about the children by now. First, let's visit Hogwarts. We could walk there... but, if you don't mind, we'll take a boat ride on the lake from Hogsmeade Landing. It's the way we outlanders all see it for the first time."
Mr. McGee rose, leaving a few sickles as a tip. "And Hogwarts is a pretty little village like Hogsmeade, is it?"
"Oh, Mr. McGee, you can't imagine what a marvelous sight you're about to see!"
The new "Muggle mums" found wonderful strength and support in Katy Noonan and the ladies of Hogsmeade, who helped them adjust to a life where you carried one set of money for Bumpus and another for Hogsmeade, and friends and relatives should be told just enough and no more. Katy's only child, a bright and healthy three-year-old, showed no magic inclinations yet; as much as Katy still hoped for a surprise, she loved her wee one so much it didn't matter.
On the second Sunday, they were invited to the Noonans for dinner, and were later serenaded by the musical portion of the Hogwarts special programme on Wizarding Wireless -- which, by the way, went flawlessly, much to Ginny's relief. Charlotte had her ear by the radio, listening intently, fascinated by her friends' music as much as their magic.
No, Hagrid did not keep the erkling as a pet. A healthy erkling is neither playful nor loveable. After being caged and displayed to the students, it was sent out by rail to London, and handed over to German magical authorities for resettlement where four-footed game was plentiful.
They learned a few simple charms, as magic children will; there would be time to learn the rest when they were a bit older. For now, they begged for broom rides. All of them were taken up by many willing volunteers.
Little Charlotte McGee, though, had chosen her favourite broom-jockey right off. Her rescuer, the dark-haired, green-eyed object of her puppy-love, was a Quidditch player, a Seeker, and famous at that!
Just what I needed,
thought Harry; a mini-Ginny!Still, he never objected to the smiling 6-year-old's pesky attention. With all he had on his mind that year -- including the destruction of his beloved Nimbus 2000 -- it was relaxing for Harry. He patiently took her for long broom rides, treating her like... well, like the kid sister he never had.
When there was a thick fog, and they could be safe from the eyes of nearby Muggle towns, students could fly higher. Harry would take little Charlotte through the overcast and break out into the dazzling yet very chilly sunlight. They would reach toward puffy cumulus castles, duck around frightening storm clouds, or soar and dive and turn like a strange slow-motion roller-coaster.
Sometimes all five children would be taken up on brooms at the Quidditch pitch, to fly in formation, shouting and giggling at each other, and tossing a ball back and forth at a safe flight level of a few feet, then up to put it through a Quidditch hoop. Ah, what fun!
For Charlotte, learning to fly came so naturally, and Harry couldn't deny her that experience. Occasionally, he would relax his control for a while, and encourage Charlotte to get the feel of steering. She became quite adept; at times, it really was hard to tell who was at the helm.
On hot sunny days, they would pace Hedwig and other owls, turning slow circles in thermals over the lake. Dumbledore's handsome phoenix, Fawkes, would often join them for the treat.
Once Charlotte heard about the life cycle of the phoenix, she felt a certain attachment for Fawkes; after all, she had fallen from the sky to rise again.
Not that Harry ever forgot her; with her parents' blessing, Charlotte received a certificate for Ollivanders at her 9th birthday, and an altogether too expensive broom at 10.
At age 11, of course, came that wonderful letter.
In those few years, the magical world changed dramatically -- and Harry, Ron and Hermione sacrificed so much in the process -- but their other biographer tells it better than I ever could.
Open in her lap was the first folder of their "special" family album, the one that only magical folk were allowed to see: moving photos of their early flights... an invitation to10½-year-old Charlotte to a Hogwarts graduation... that cherished envelope, addressed in green ink to Miss Charlotte McGee, the Littler Bedroom, McGee's Poultry Farm, Bumpus... the Ravenclaw crest from her first dress robe.... the pressed corsage from Alex at her first formal dance...their increasingly romantic owl posts to each other, while Alex worked with the Ministry's archeology dig at Avalon... a penciled musical score, from the first concert she ever composed...
Often, she would tenderly recall when they were in the learning times, and childhood was truly magic. Harry, the boy who had saved her when she fell from the sky, had taken her back up into the blue -- because she asked if she might touch a cloud. She loved flying too much to remain afraid of it!
Charlotte began softly humming the song that had formed in her mind over the years. She took a quill to write it down; sleepy little Harry Fawkes Mulholland might appreciate it some day.
- Like a symphony, rising, rising!
- Slowly ascending, beating a path to the heavens.
- Like a symphony, rising, rising!
- With passionate flight, the green-haven earth left behind,
- Innocent dreams are returning of floating on nothing --
- Of soaring an empty sky.
- Slowly ascending, beating a path to the heavens.
- Like a phoenix, immolated, dying, dying,
- From the ashes, recreated, rising!
- Over hillocks, through the treetops, diving, diving!
- Turning upward, looking skyward, gliding!
- Now by a cloud, barely glancing and reaching, touching!
- Off again to glide again, and dive again, then up again
- and sailing the wind to climb endlessly, outwardly,
- Upwardly, ardently, joyously, fearlessly!
- From the ashes, recreated, rising!
- Like a symphony, rising, rising!
- Phoenix a-borning, new life from ashes ascending.
- Rising,
- To soar in an unending sky!
- Phoenix a-borning, new life from ashes ascending.
- Circling by a nimbus, see the flashing in the blackness...!
- Sensing all the power in the crashing of the thunder...!
- Racing from the darkness to the rainbow to the sunlight --
- Sailing the wind to climb endlessly, outwardly,
- Upwardly, ardently, joyously, fearlessly!
- Sailing the wind to climb endlessly, outwardly,
- Like a symphony, rising, rising!
- Passionate flying, green-haven earth left abandoned,
- Rising,
- Winging and soaring unending, fearlessly on high!
- Passionate flying, green-haven earth left abandoned,
Charlotte whispered to her little one. "Fly to the clouds, Harry. Dream dreams."