In a short chat over tea and biscuits, Kiki heard the rules of Quidditch and the names of the teams. From the repeated use of the term "Hog-warts", she gathered that was the overall name of the castle-like place. By inserting a few innocent-sounding comments in the conversation, she began to learn more about the school...

...until a voice said, "Ah! Miss Rankin, I believe. How's the surveyin' business these days?"

It was Jock Noonan, with a knowing smile. He sat down with them. Obviously, the jig was up.

"Hello, Mr. Noonan," Kiki answered. "Business is good. How's the snake-hunting scam these days?"

"Foggy. Very foggy."

Katy was confused by all this. "Jock, ye know this lady?"

"Of course. This is the lady engineer who was here a few months ago, surveying. Remember? The Muggles from Aberdeen?" Katy said nothing, suddenly realising she had already said and done far too much in the company of this deceitful stranger.

Jock continued. "Surprised to see you in here, of course, Miss Rankin. How did you manage it? Did you walk in with Katy?"

"That seemed like it might work, and it did. So here I am, in Hog's Mead, and now I'm going to go over to Hog Warts and watch a Quiddidge game. It's been a very educational day already, Mr. Noonan. Katy is quite informative."

"Well, she's a fine person, and makes friends easily. Once we're in Hogsmeade, we don't encounter many adult shysters, and certainly not Muggles."

"I might argue over who's been shystering whom, considering what our team went through... mice, snakes and your famous rabid ferrets. The head-tipping ghost was a nice touch. Tell me, what was lurking around in our tents at Midnight?"

"Elves, actually. Perfectly harmless."

Then, a very old man who had sat at the next table spoke up.

"Uh...pardon my interrupting, folks, but if I might. It's Miss Rankin, I believe?"

"Oh, wonderful. Another kindly face in the crowd!"

"I understand your frustration, Miss Rankin. When I heard there was a stranger in town, I thought I should stop by."

"After all I've been through, don't I deserve some answers?"

"I thought not, until I heard your name. A thought has now come to me that perhaps all this is unnecessary, and we should chat. May I join you?"

"And who in blazes are you?"

"Well, my employers tell me I'm headmaster of that castle down the road. Would that interest you enough?"

It did. "Have a seat, Mr. -- ?"

"Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore. Do you know where you are in this world, Miss Rankin?"

"I know roughly where I am. 57 degrees 22 and some north, 5 degrees 4 and some west, before the GPS quits. Are you in the real world, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"For the most part. I go to London when I can; the food in the small shops is excellent. We don't have that many real-world ties here. No telephone or electricity, for instance. But we do have a postcode, oddly enough; IV4 705. We need that for the many average individuals around the world who know us and have to keep in touch somehow. It's a special box in Bumpus."

"Now, why would you need post? Is there a shortage of owls?"

"Oh, you know of our owls, do you? Excellent messengers. They are very efficient, speedy and faithful."

"I'm sure. We already have remarkable photos of your owls -- carrying packages and whatnot. And photos of the folks showing up on Saturdays for your 4-team sporting event - except, of course, Katy here, who can't attend the games because she works in here 8 to 5, every weekend, tending the book shop."

"A very nice young lady, as I'm sure you've found out. Go on."

"We already know about the train that leaves here every day, and teleports down to the main line, for a run to your private stop between tracks 9 and 10 in Kings Cross, and returns in the late afternoon. None of that is my imagination. It isn't rabid ferrets, or head-loose ghosts, or green witches, or a Land Rover suddenly chock-full of mice, or special-effects fog, or any of your other mumbo-jumbo. It's investigated and proven facts. I have proof. QUITE A BIT OF PROOF, MR. DUMBLEDORE!"

"I'm sure. I must commend you; you've been most clever and persistant in your investigation."

"I started from irrefutable proof. I have a photo from space, taken before you did all your hocus-pocus. It shows everything! I had a very detailed map made from it, that shows every foot of this place. You shan't argue against that."

"Ah, but neither would I want you arguing from it. Accio Miss Rankin's Hogwarts photos and maps."

"Pardon? What's otchy-oh?"

"A summoning charm. That having been said, your objects are now wafting their way to me. Sorry to relieve you of them, at least temporarily. They'll be quite a curiosity to our students and staff. Perhaps we'll hang them in the corridors -- yes, that would be nice."

She smirked. "If wishes were maps, perhaps -- but you can't have them, Mr. Dumbledore. I'm not about to surrender my evidence!"

"Oh, but you already have, actually. Perhaps, a smaller-scale demonstration will clarify what I'm saying. Accio Miss Rankin's keys."

Obediently, her keys jumped from her pocket to Dumbledore's open hand, clanking as they hit his ring. He casually returned them to the desk in front of her.

He smiled. "I'm sorry; you were saying about surrendering proof?"

She pursed her lips, saying nothing. She was absorbing what she had just seen, and mentally picturing her Hogwarts evidence flying here from Aberdeen the same way.

"You can't silence all of us, Mr. Dumbledore. Too many people have helped me investigate. They're witnesses to all of this, too."

"Aside from your co-workers, you must mean Mr. Cameron and his detectives. We've been aware of their intrusions here for some time. Well, I must apologise for the lot of them. They've become a bit foggy about what they found up here, and I'm afraid they won't be of much help."

Somehow, Kiki knew he wasn't exaggerating. "Are you going to silence me, too, old man?"

"In your case, no need. We'll work it out amicably. You wouldn't violate the Secrets Act, would you?"

"Oh, don't try to wind me up. You're not government."

"Well, not really, but in a way, you could say we are connected. If you'll just wait around, some gentlemen from the Ministry will want to have a few words with you."

"Are you going to pretend your phony wilderness sanctuary is high-tech spies?"

"More than a few of us have ended up as spies, yes. We'd be most valuable to the cause. But we tend to have more commonplace occupations, and use our talents to their best advantage."

"Such as flying on a broomstick, for instance? Don't deny it; I saw it, that first horrible night. So have the people of Bumpus."

"Oh, flying might prove useful. If one grew up with a fear of heights, they might overcome it while learning to fly a broom. That would come in handy in some demanding jobs -- for instance, in your line of work. I knew some men who used to fear flying, but in time, they were leaning out of a rickety Spad -- with a large camera -- to take survey photos. Are you related, by any chance, to a Heber Rankin and his wife, Gladiola?"

Kiki stared. "They're my grandparents. But what does that have to..."

"So! Then which boy is your father -- Peter, or his brother Steve?"

"Peter. How do you know my uncle Ste..."

"See that? Silly of me. I should have connected your surname to them before today, and might have saved us this whole exercise. And what of their wives, Daisy and Flora Elroy, the twins? They're doing well, I presume."

"They're fine. Why.."

"When you see the lot, tell them Albus send his greetings. I'm sure they'll be amused to hear of your little adventure."

"Amused? AMUSED? Mr. Dumbledore, do you think I'm amused by all this inane chatter? What does my family have to do with anything I'm talking about?"

"Tell me, Miss Rankin: do you have any idea where your parents and grandparents went to school?"

"Not the foggiest."

"To the contrary. 'The foggiest' is, perhaps, the right answer, according to your photos. In an hour or so, the Ministry folks would like to sit down with you and clear the fog. I'm sure you'll wait around; Madam Rosmerta will see to your breakfast. When they come, pay particular attention to the term "squib" as it applies in your case, and understand that it's not at all a slur, but in fact will open many doors to you, especially here. Good day, Miss Rankin."

-o-

It was a relatively warm Saturday morning in May. Nevertheless, the lady who opened the door and walked into Katy Noonan's book shop in Hogsmeade wore a striped scarf, draped loosely over her shoulders.

"Hello, Kiki, how are... blue an' bronze? Where's yer loyalties? What hoppened to yer Gryffindor scarf?"

"Gone, Katy. I gave it to my aunt Flo. It turns out she's the only Gryffindor black sheep in our family. The rest are all loyal Ravenclaws, so on a Quidditch weekend, I guess I am too. How's Jock and little Charlotte?"

"Thi're out at the pitch, as usual, and hopin' Gryffindor has its act together today. Can ye get me more copies of the satellite photo? Since they posted yer blowup in the lobby, thi're sellin' like wildfire."

"No problem, Katy. I'll be back in the office Monday. And now I've got the best wizard's camera Diagon Alley could find. One of these weekends, my father's going to take me up for a photo shoot over the whole school grounds. I'm still scared about hitching a ride on his broom, but there are just so many photo ops on this spot!"