28: After the Smoke Cleared…

Life was surprisingly normal at Hogwarts after the fire. Except for the fact that meals were annoyingly far away – up on the seventh floor, in a room that had somehow been Transfigured to look like the Great Hall in miniature. A lot of people thought that the End-of-Year feast would be a mess, but it went off surprisingly well – and, better yet, no flames were involved.

For someone that had survived what seemed like certain death – and still wasn't sure how, for that matter – Sylvia Thomas seemed completely unaltered, at least from James's point of view. She was still the life and soul of Albus's little first year group, and her razor-sharp wit hadn't dulled in the slightest. She, just as much as Albus and Rose, was a reason James and his friends gravitated toward the first years during meal times. If nothing else, she made for excellent theater.

Gryffindor came in last place in the House standings as everyone predicted – although a decision by Professor Gladstone to give Sylvia Thomas fifty points for reasons unknown to most people made it a closer thing than everyone was expecting.

James's marks were everything that he had expected them to be, except, perhaps, for Defence, where he managed to pass with an 'Acceptable' after he was sure that Malcolm would go out of his way to fail James on purpose. When the last class of the term ended and Malcolm told James, "Give your father my greetings," the tone of obvious venom behind it made it obvious that what Malcolm really meant to do was to tell James where to go, what path to take, and exactly what to do to himself on the way. Suffice it to say, James was not sad to see the back of him. And to be fair, Malcolm didn't seem to be in that great of a mood at anyone those last two weeks. He was strangely distant with his supposed sweetheart, Professor Gladstone (maybe, James thought, her decision to give Gryffindor some last-minute points didn't sit too well). He had even caught Malcolm reaming Morris Beal for one reason or another. Maybe his examination grades hadn't been up to snuff.

James knew one thing – as soon as he was home again, he was going to ask for permission to borrow some of his father's many Defence-related books. If he was going to become an Auror one day, he knew he couldn't count on Malcolm for extra instruction. As if he would ever want to anyway.

Maybe, James daydreamed as he and the other second years boarded the Hogwarts Express, Malcolm would decide of his own free will not to come back, and they'd get another teacher. Maybe, if not his dad, then one of the senior Aurors. James imagined that the two people his dad had been talking about to replace Malcolm if the need ever arose, were both in the Auror's Office.

Or maybe it would be Neville. Neville could have been a great Auror himself if he didn't like plants so much – both of James's parents had said so.

Who's going to be Quidditch Captain? James wondered. He still believed as he guessed before – it would be Greta Stanford if she stayed on. But she'd looked close to cracking on a few occasions toward the end, especially without Cole Murphy's presence around. According to Richard Murphy, after the graduation ceremony, his brother returned home and immediately packed his things to move to Tutshill, where he would be playing for the Tornados.

Speaking of that family, Anna would be starting next year. Would she stick around them? Or would she find her own group of friends? Murphy was assuming that she would be a Gryffindor like her siblings and parents. But maybe not. Maybe she'd be a Slytherin, and Brynne could help show her around.

"You're awfully quiet, James," Brynne said. James was preoccupied with the view from his compartment window; the Hogwarts Express was churning over a high bridge, the glassy water shimmering with sunlight underneath it. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Probably not much," Murphy quipped. James was sitting right next to him, which made it very easy to pay Murphy back with a punch on his shoulder.

"Shut up," James groused. Murphy laughed.

With an ironic smile, he said, "I'm gonna miss Hogwarts this summer."

Brynne sighed, stretching her legs and wiggling her toes. "I'm ready to go home. I miss my auntie. And I miss not having to wear shoes."

James and Murphy both sniggered.

"No, seriously," Brynne moaned, as if the matter was of greatest importance. "I heard, in the old days, wizards were much more powerful. The earth itself is full of magical power, and since only the richest wizards had very good shoes, everyone else was always in contact with the earth."

"That so?" asked Murphy. "I might try it, next time exams come around. Anything to help my Transfiguration mark."

James chortled. They had been asked, on that particular exam, to turn a Remembrall into a canary. (Dathan Rama passed with flying colors, of course.) Murphy managed instead to turn it into an enormous yellow ball with feathery wings that looked like nothing if not a parody of a Golden Snitch. Maybe the fact that he and James had been talking about Quidditch immediately beforehand had something to do with it…

There was a knock on their compartment door.

"Probably the trolley lady," Murphy muttered. "I haven't got a Knut on me, either…"

He stood and made his way to the door, still desperately rummaging in his pockets for money on the way. When he opened it, though, it was not the trolley witch that stood in the doorway, but someone entirely different. Murphy backed away, eyeing her curiously.

"Well, don't just stand there ogling me. Can I come in or not?" she asked.

"Not," Brynne said in a clipped tone.

"What?" Murphy uttered, sounding surprised. "Why not?"

"That's one-to-one… Potter?" she peeked her bespectacled face further in, and long, blonde hair followed.

"Oh. Uh… yeah, sure, I guess…" James uttered a bit uncomfortably.

"Thanks, you're a dear," she said quickly, taking extra care to close the door behind her. Murphy returned to his seat next to James, which left Serra Paxton to assume the only empty spot next to Brynne, who looked thoroughly displeased with everything that was going on at the moment. She caught a glimpse of exposed toes. "You always go barefoot like that?"

"I thought you'd know that already," said Brynne smugly, her tone also noticeably icy.

"I only investigate things that are important, dear," Serra replied. "Which is good for you all, because it just happens that I have some information that's for your ears only… or, rather, your ears are the only ones that will listen..."

"So people have gotten tired of you?" Brynne asked. Looking out of the window, she added, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Brynne," James implored her, frowning.

"A lot of my fellow Ravenclaws have tagged me as… well, a conspiracy theorist. Kind of like you lot," Serra said.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on. Who said we were 'conspiracy theorists'?" asked Murphy.

"A lot of people do, actually," Serra answered very casually. "Does that surprise you?"

James and Murphy exchanged a quick glance.

"Not really, no…" Murphy uttered, slumping back into his chair.

"Why don't you just get to the point?" asked Brynne, her arms folded petulantly. James grimaced. She never acted like this unless Serra was around – and Serra knew it.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Walter, there's no need to be so jealous," Serra said. "I'm trying to offer my help here."

Brynne had latched onto Serra's first sentence. "Jealous? Of what?"

Serra smiled knowingly but did not answer. "It'll interest you to know that Lilith Cross is being pulled out of Hogwarts."

James' and Murphy's jaws dropped as one.

"Wait… what?" James uttered once he finally got his voice back. "…Part of the reason I mentioned the entire Imperius thing was so she wouldn't get expelled…"

"She's not being expelled," Serra answered. "Her parents are withdrawing her, at least for the time being. I'm sure they've got their reasons—"

Serra, Brynne, and Murphy all jumped terribly. James had punched the wall next to him.

"She knew something," James said, as if realizing it for the first time.

"What?" uttered Murphy.

"She knew something," James repeated. "About Malcolm's little private meetings with Beal and her sister. You remember that one time we ran into her on the way up to Malcolm's office? She saw something she wasn't supposed to see, so someone came up with a plan to frame her. This is exactly what they wanted to happen. But why?"

The others watched him intently.

"What does Malcolm want so badly that he's willing to ruin his own students' lives?"

"We know that already, don't we?" Brynne asked, her face white. "He wants Hufflepuff to dominate Hogwarts."

"Good luck with that," Murphy commented, unable to resist a little bit of a snigger. "Hufflepuff's aren't really dominating types, are they?"

"It's probably worth mentioning that C. B. Malcolm was a Hatstall during the Sorting. I asked Gladstone," Serra added quickly, preempting the question as to how she managed to get this information. "She and Malcolm were in the same year as students, so they've known each other a long time. Puts me in an awkward position… anyway, he was hard-working as any student you'll find… but also very cunning and ambitious. Gladstone still wonders to this day whether he shouldn't have been sorted into Slytherin—"

"Oh, yes! Let's sort all the monsters into Slytherin! Everyone in Slytherin's a monster!" Brynne exclaimed, throwing up her hands. Serra just stared at her for a moment.

"…You're not listening," she finally said when she spoke. "This is coming from Gladstone, who doesn't think Malcolm can do any wrong at the moment. Malcolm was cunning and ambitious… you two have that in common, actually—"

"Watch your mouth." Brynne's voice went dangerously quiet and cold. "Malcolm and I have nothing in common."

Serra stood up. Murphy shot her a look.

"You don't, do you?" asked Serra. "Then why did Slytherin choose you?"

"It didn't, really," Brynne said. "I chose it. The Hat thought about putting me in Gryffindor for a moment… but I didn't want that."

James and Murphy both stared at Brynne. To them, this was new information.

Serra smiled. "Of course you didn't."

"You wouldn't understand," Brynne replied.

"Oh, really?" Serra asked – a bit patronizingly, James thought. "Tell me, then."

"Twenty years ago, it was blood purity, wasn't it?" Brynne asked. "That's what my aunt – that's what every wizard I know that was alive back then – they all told me that. That was what some people thought separated worthy wizards from unworthy ones. The more full-blooded wizards you had in your family tree, the better. And if you weren't all-wizard back to your grandparents – or, worse, if one or both of your parents were Muggles…" Brynne shook her head distastefully.

"I don't get what that's got to do with anything," Serra said. "I mean… I don't hear many people nowadays saying anything about blood purity."

"The wars woke a lot of people up," Brynne answered. "Everyone saw the damage it did. That was a good and a bad thing. Good because it's not so accepted when people start whinging about, 'Oh, he doesn't have pure blood. He shouldn't be doing this or that.' You say that now and a lot of people will look at you funny… they'll ask you what century you were born into."

"And why was it bad?" Serra asked.

"Most of that sort of talk was from Slytherin House," Brynne said somberly. "Salazar Slytherin himself left the school because he and Gryffindor fell out over blood purity. Slytherin was the one that started the argument. Voldemort and most of his follwers were Slytherins from those old pure-blood families. Becausue of the first war, Slytherin House wasn't well-liked by other wizards anyway. After the second time, a lot of them…"

She trailed off for a moment.

"A lot of them said House Slytherin didn't need to exist anymore," she finished.

"You know all that…" Serra replied. "Why did you want to be a Slytherin?"

"My parents died because a group called Gladius Leo thought it would be a good idea to get rid of all traces of House Slytherin. 'Get rid of House Slytherin,' they said, 'get rid of dark wizards,'" Brynne answered.

"The scorched-earth approach," mused Serra thoughtfully.

Brynne stared through the window at the rushing scenery outside. "My father was a Muggle. Had nothing to do with the wars with Voldemort… nothing to do with anything. He knew my mum was a witch. That was it. But Gladius Leo came, about a year after I was born… and he did what any good husband and father should do. He tried to protect his family. They killed him. Then they killed my Mum, but not before they tortured her. They thought she deserved to suffer."

Serra's jaw unhinged for several moments. Then, pointedly not looking at Brynne, she said, "I'd want revenge if I were you."

James observed Brynne's face for a moment. Strangely enough, she was smiling; and when she spoke, she did so with chilling serenity. "I've thought about it. I've thought about it a bit. But they're all in Azkaban now. They'll live there, and die there, and be buried there – in an unmarked grave, piled together like a bunch of stray animals, I hope…"

A brief expression of alarm flashed on Serra's face; she shuddered involuntarily, all the while working hard to hide her reaction.

"Suppose I went there… did to them what they did to my parents. If I wasn't chucked into prison myself… then what?" Brynne asked. She shook her head. "I'm still here. My parents are still gone. And the rest of Britain would just see another Slytherin that decided she wanted to kill people."

"But honestly… nobody could blame you… not after hearing that story…" Serra said, sounding almost disbelieving.

"You want to bet on that?" Brynne asked, a bit fiercely. "I don't. Nobody believes in Slytherin anymore. Not even other Slytherins… going through the dungeons, looking over their shoulders, wondering if they're sitting two seats down from the next Voldemort in Charms class. And if the Slytherins think that way about each other, what do you think the other three Houses think about us? That's why… I want to do good in the world. So another little girl doesn't have to lose her family over something stupid like what House they were Sorted into."

"It's a good ambition, I guess," Serra replied intently, obviously trying hard not to sound insensitive. "But so's wanting to make sure Hufflepuff wasn't forgotten by the wizarding world. I'm trying to see the difference, but..."

"The difference?" Brynne interrupted, her eyes suddenly wide. "I want things to change. Malcolm wants the old way. Slytherin against Gryffindor… against Ravenclaw against Hufflepuff – anyway you want it – all it is… all it is, is the new 'pure-blood against half-blood against Muggle-born' all over again. It's about who's better, who can set themselves above everyone else. And you think we'd all know by now how that ends, but some people just – don't – get it."

Nobody had an answer for this. Either that, or no one dared try to cut Brynne off in the middle of her rant. Brynne stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Bizarrely, she closed her eyes and began to hum a couple of notes… but then she shook her head.

"Lilith and I didn't talk much, but… she was nice, from what I could tell," she finally said. "And she was worried about her sister. She wouldn't just try to burn down the Great Hall on her own. Somebody else was behind it… I just know it."

"I think you're right," said Serra. "What do you all know about Morris Beal?"

"Not much," admitted Brynne. "He's Malcolm's favorite student."

"He's got some sort of past," Serra said pensively. "Why else would he live in Morgana's Orchard?"

Brynne, who was investigating her wand now, immediately dropped it.

James glanced at Brynne and then at Serra. "Hold on… what?"

Serra nodded. "He lives in Morgana's Orchard. There's a first year in your House that lost his parents recently. I overheard Malcolm telling Gladstone at the staff table once that if they didn't find 'Flynn', whoever that is, that the boy could go to live in the orphanage at Morgana's Orchard. 'Beal could keep an eye on him,' Malcolm said."

"Rowan Lester," Brynne muttered.

"Sorry?" Serra replied.

"Rowan Lester. I talked to him ages ago," Brynne said. "I think he's in the same room as your brother, James."

"In any case, she said no," Serra said. ("Oh, thank God," Murphy muttered) "Apparently, she'd already gotten in contact with his godfather, and he'll be at the train station to meet him when we get there."

"That'll be interesting," said Brynne, frowning. Serra looked up.

"Why?"

"Rowan doesn't know he's got a godfather."

"Well, he's about to find out," Serra replied. But James wasn't so much concerned about some first year's reaction to meeting a new relative.

"If Beal's living in Morgana's Orchard…" he uttered seriously to Brynne. "You'd better watch your back."

"I'm not afraid of him… much less there," Brynne answered. "At the Orchard, all we have is each other. And, since the town's full of people the Ministry doesn't want to be involved with, we usually police ourselves…"

"In other words, if one person attacks another, there'd be hell to pay," Murphy said.

"Exactly," answered Brynne, a smile crossing her face. "The last bloke that tried a robbery… that was two, three years ago now? Well, he got caught. One old wizard knows where his right arm is, and he's not telling."

Murphy shuddered.

"He bothers me… Beal," Serra muttered. "There's something… I dunno, weird about him."

"I know only a handful of students ever advance to Professor Malcolm's N.E.W.T. courses," Murphy remarked. "And he's the best out of all of them."

"I've heard the horror stories, of course, but I'm starting to wonder," James remarked. "Is he really that fearsome? Unless he's been learning Unforgivable Curs—"

He stopped. The entire story began to come together for him mid-sentence. Serra, Murphy, and Brynne all stared at him for a moment.

James swore.

Albus

"Bye, Adriana! Bye, Andrew!" Sylvia, waving furiously yelled over the hiss of the steam engine to the backs of the departing Hufflepuff Mack triplets as their parents led them toward the barrier to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. "Bye, Alex!"

"It's Alexander!" the last Mack snapped, shortly before he disappeared through the barrier.

"'It's Alexander!'" Once he was out of earshot, Sylvia mocked him with a surprisingly good imitation. "You know, he really takes the 'full name' thing too seriously."

"You're awful," commented Rose, but she was trying not to laugh as well.

"Oi!" a loud voice called. Everyone looked up.

"Daddy!" both girls shouted, breaking into simultaneous runs. Albus couldn't help but laugh. As much as they were different, they were much the same as well. Rose embraced Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione in turn before arriving at her little brother, Hugo, who she greeted with a peck on the forehead and an affectionate ruffle of hair. He squirmed and tried to get away from her grip. Meanwhile, Sylvia was being spun around by her father whilst her mother – a pretty, dark-haired lady that looked very much like her – looked on.

Just as Albus went to look around to find his own parents, a pair of hands clasped over his eyes, blinding him.

"Guess who?" a girl's voice called.

Albus grinned. "Hi, Lily."

She released him and the two hugged.

"Where's James?" she asked immediately.

"Second years get off later," Albus explained.

"Be careful of Mum," Lily said. "She's a little—"

She didn't finish her sentence. Instead, she took a significant step to the side, leaving Albus to be nearly tackled as his mother engulfed him into her arms.

"Mrrrrm…" Albus murmured. "Mrrrrrrm, Rr crrrrrrrrnt…"

He finally found some air.

"Mum, geroff," he groaned. Somewhere nearby, his father was laughing.

"No burns anywhere?" she asked, taking inventory of the parts of his body she could see. Albus nervously looked at her, knowing that it was taking all of her restraint not to strip him right there and do a more thorough examination. He decided to head her off.

"Mum, I'm fine," Albus said. "Wouldn't Dad have told you if I'd gotten hurt?"

"Well, there was that one time with the toy broomsticks…" she mused, casting a dark glance at his father.

Beside her, Harry let out a groan. "Ginny, that was eight years ago now… and James needed the lesson. It was a learning experience."

Ginny glared at Harry for a moment.

"Can I go say hi to Uncle Ron?" asked Lily.

"Sure, sure," Ginny said.

"I'll go with you," Albus said, quickly following her. He started and then stopped again. "Wait, where's Scor—"

And that was when he saw him slipping through the barrier, his blond-haired father leading him by the shoulder. Albus deflated for a moment. He hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye.

By the time Albus and Lily arrived to where Uncle Ron and the others were, James had disembarked and was being smothered by Mum and having his hair ruffled by Dad. Whatever had happened that landed him before the disciplinary committee must have been glossed over, as Mum was not staring any daggers at him like Albus would have expected.

"So…" Albus winced as Uncle Ron grabbed his shoulder from behind in very ham-handed fashion. "Nothing interesting your first year, eh?"

The knowing chuckle told Albus that Uncle Ron had found out about the fire.

"Over twenty-five years of knowing a Potter, and I know this for a fact," Uncle Ron said. "There's never a dull moment."

"I'm just glad no one was hurt," Dean's wife said. Now that Albus was up close, he could see that Sylvia really did favor her mother in appearance (although Sylvia's skin was caramel while her mother's was very light). "Especially my baby."

Albus had to hold in a snigger. Sylvia's face, which had been wearing a smile, quickly turned into a murderous glare. Her mother didn't see it.

"I wonder who would do something like that?" Mrs. Thomas asked. "I mean… I guess I've seen much worse, but it does make you wonder…"

"Maybe it was a horrible accident," Dean said cautiously. "Accidents happen at Hogwarts… occasionally horrible ones. Rose here can tell you."

"What?" Aunt Hermione looked down. "What does he mean by that, Rosie?"

"Oh… I got a bad broom during flying lessons," Rose said nonchalantly. "Went a hundred feet up into the air. Fell off. Nearly died. Would've, if it wasn't for Scorpius…"

"Sorry, who?" Ron asked.

"Scorpius? Malfoy?" Rose said, just as casually, completely oblivious to her father's reaction. "He's right over… oh. He's gone…"

She deflated much more strongly than Albus had.

"So you're friends with him now?" asked Aunt Hermione. "That's sweet…"

"Ahem… You… did still beat him in every test, didn't you?" asked Uncle Ron, looking serious.

"Well… sure," Rose said, looking a bit nervous.

"Remember what I said," said Ron, the shadow of a smirk on his face. "Don't get too friendly with him."

"He's closer to Sylvia or Al than he is to me," Rose said, as if she had this answer ready for a while. "All his talk about Quidditch drives me mad sometimes."

"So he's a big Quidditch fan?" asked Aunt Hermione.

"He's on the team. Seeker. I thought I told you that last Christmas," said Rose.

"He's very talented," Dean remarked. "He's at least as good as Harry was when we were that age. Trust me – I've watched all the matches."

"Is it really that much of a stretch for you to think a Malfoy could be a talented wizard, Ron?" Aunt Hermione asked. "Whatever you may think of him, Draco was probably one of the best in our year. It's just a shame he always wanted to lean on his father's name and pureblood connections. He didn't need them much."

But Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, what's there for you now that term's over, Dean?" he asked.

"I'll probably have my nose in the International League rulebook from dusk till dawn every day," said Dean. Albus couldn't tell whether he was excited or annoyed by this. "I'm the full-time Arbiter starting next year. I'll really have to be on top of everything."

"I'll take the book and test you!" Sylvia exclaimed.

Dean looked down at her and sighed. "It's like being in O.W.L. year all over again…"

He, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione laughed. Dean's wife smiled somberly. Had her O.W.L. year really been that bad?

"We should get going, Dean," she said.

"Well, the wife says it's time to leave, so I can't stay a moment longer. I'm sure we'll talk later – maybe have a pint at the Cauldron or something?" said Dean.

"You should visit the shop sometime if you can get away from your rulebook," Ron said. "Bring Sylvia with you."

Sylvia's eyes brightened. "Ooh… can we, Daddy?"

"We'll see," Dean said. "Alright, we're off. Be seeing you."

And Dean led his wife and daughter toward the barrier. But several paces away, Sylvia stopped, broke away from her parents, and came running at a beeline toward Albus. She didn't speak immediately, and Albus's first thought was that she had run very fast and very eagerly in order to say nothing.

"…Take care of yourself, you," Sylvia said, nervously putting her finger to her curly, black hair.

"You, too," Albus said. Sylvia twitched for a moment… then she looked at Rose.

"And you don't get on any brooms," Sylvia said. "And don't spend your entire summer with your nose in a book. We're on vacation."

Rose gave her a twitchy smile.

"Sylvia, hurry up!" Sylvia's mother called. She and Dean were nearly at the barrier. Sylvia groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Coming, Mum!" she shouted, though with the tone, she might as well have been telling her mother to 'sod off.' Albus wasn't sure he'd ever seen a child appear to like one of their parents so little. With a final smile, she broke into a run, catching up with her parents just as they went through the barrier.

"Bye," Albus said quietly, suddenly feeling that life for the next several weeks was going to be very dull.

That was when Albus caught sight of something very interesting. Professor Gladstone – she had come with the students on the train and Albus hadn't thought anything of it earlier – was leading a very reluctant-looking Rowan Lester, along with his trunk, toward the barrier.

"Albus! Lily! Time to go!" Albus' mother called.

Albus turned around to look at Rose.

"I'm sure we'll see each other some time this… week," Rose said.

Albus and Lily both laughed, and Albus allowed his sister to lead him by the hand toward their brother and parents. When they arrived, she linked hands with James as well, and the three of them preceded their parents through the barrier.

Albus couldn't help but wince right before hitting the wall that wasn't actually there; he wasn't used to it yet. But he opened his eyes and found himself in King's Cross Station, surrounded by Muggles. James walked over to another wall and leaned against it, trying very hard to look like he and his siblings hadn't just appeared from thin air. Or, at least, that was what it appeared, until Albus noticed that James was glancing around the corner of his wall rather furtively. Albus approached.

"What's going—" he asked, but James put an imploring finger to his mouth and pointed.

Albus caught sight of Professor Gladstone and Rowan Lester again, but this time they were joined by two newcomers. The first one was a stout, matronly-looking woman in a pantsuit. The second, as if to be her antithesis, was a tall man with the look of a vagrant about him. He was still relatively young – probably younger than Albus's parents – and had his brown hair tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing a dark jacket that Albus was almost sure was dragonskin.

"I don't know who you are, sir, but our laws strictly say that if this young man has no able-bodied legal guardians, then he is to become a ward of the state," the matronly woman said.

"That's what I'm trying to explain to you. I am his legal guardian," the tall man answered. There was an edge in his voice that indicated that he and the woman had been at this discussion for some time. "Or does the term 'godfather' not hold any weight in the Muggle world?"

"Muggle?" the woman repeated questioningly.

"Flynn!" snapped Gladstone.

"Well, what else are we supposed to do, Meridia – just let her take him?" asked Flynn desperately. "I'll be damned if I see this kid in one of their orphanages. He's one of us now – no, he's always been one of us. No matter how much my brother tried to say otherwise."

"You claim to be his legal guardian, sir," the matron said. "And yet, he claims not to know you. Someone's not telling the truth here."

"We both are," sighed Flynn. "It's… it's complicated."

"You've got to understand my position, sir," the matron went on. "What kind of official – no, what kind of person – would I be if I just let orphaned children go with the first stranger that came off the street and claimed legal guardianship?"

"I've got the same position, miss," he said. "This is my family. My name is Flynn Patrick Lester. My brother's name was Dominic Lester, husband of the late Emma Lester and father of Rowan Lester."

"Wait…" Rowan finally spoke. "So you're saying…"

"I'm your uncle," Flynn said. "More importantly, I'm also your godfather."

Rowan froze. Albus had several aunts and uncles, and knew all of them that were living. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it felt like to find out about a close relative he never knew existed.

It was at this point that Gladstone went for something in her jeans. Albus supposed she must have had some Muggle ancestry. She had a knack for blending in with them. But when she pulled a scroll from her jeans that could not have possibly fit, the matron gave a quizzical look for a moment before evidently deciding not to ask the obvious but awkward question. Gladstone handed the matron the scroll.

"There you'll see a genealogy for Mr. Rowan Lester dating back three generations," Gladstone explained. The woman perused the scroll for a couple of moments.

"This appears… surprisingly… to be in order," she said, sounding astonished. "Oh, for God's sake… who is responsible for making sure these records are up to date, I have no idea…" She started writing something in the notepad she had been carrying. "Rowan Dominic Lester, today's date… taken into custody by blood relatives. I suppose…" She gave Rowan one last look. "I ought to take my leave. I'm sure you have much to talk about. Good evening."

And she bowed herself from the scene with haste, leaving a relieved-looking Gladstone, Flynn, and Rowan, who had not taken his eyes off his uncle since Flynn had revealed himself as such.

"Rowan, I know this is a lot to take in," Gladstone said tenderly, sounding much more like a mother than a Professor.

"This whole year's been a lot to take in," Rowan finally said. It had been the first time Albus had heard him speak in a while. "Just… how? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I wasn't… sure I was the right person, Rowan," Gladstone said. "I'm sorry. And frankly, I wasn't sure if your uncle Flynn was alive…"

"Well, of course I'm alive," Flynn said. "I'm not the type to die quietly. If I'd done, it would've at least been in a back page of the Daily Prophet or something…"

"Still with the sense of humor," Gladstone said, shaking her head. "You haven't changed a bit. You've still got trouble being on time, too."

"Well, I made it here, didn't I?" Flynn asked.

"I was expecting you to be here before the – whoever that woman was," Gladstone said. "You could've been long gone and we might have avoided a lot of awkwardness. Are you absolutely sure…"

"I swear to Merlin, if you ask me that question again…" Flynn said, and for the first time, he sounded irritated. "I'm telling you, just like I told you fifteen years ago when you asked me… I'll find a way, Meridia."

Gladstone sighed and shook her head, but allowed herself what looked like a fond smile.

"Wait… did you two know each other before?" asked Rowan.

Flynn gave a chuckle. "Clever lad," he said.

"Yes. We went through Hogwarts together," said Gladstone. "We've known each other since we were your age."

"That's probably a diplomatic way of putting it," Flynn chuckled. At this, Gladstone folded her arms.

"He's twelve, Flynn. He doesn't need to hear all the details," she said.

"Twelve seems like a good age," Flynn replied. Gladstone's face found her palm.

"For God's sake," she muttered.

"I wouldn't say no to a bit of nostalgia, myself," Flynn said, his lips still curled up into a smirk.

"I'm seeing Clint," Gladstone said very tersely.

"Are you now? Well, good for you. Not really surprised, he always fancied you," Flynn said. "We've really got to get back in contact, he and I. It's been too long."

Gladstone smiled. "Clint would like that… Well, I've got to be getting back. They've recruited me to help rebuild the Great Hall."

"Rebuild the Great…" Flynn's jaw dropped.

"Long story," Gladstone interrupted him, shaking her head. "Good luck."

She whisked away into a crowd of Muggles, and she was gone.

"It's like she doesn't know me at all," Flynn chuckled. "Luck's always on my side."

He looked at Rowan and put his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"You look just like him," he said. "Dom, I mean."

"That's what everyone tells me," Rowan said. "I just… why? I mean… where were you all this time?"

Rowan's voice cracked on the last question. Flynn's face became somber.

"I don't want you to think any less of them. They were only trying to protect you, I guess, but…" Flynn sighed. "Your mum and gran – your gran especially – told me to stay away. I suppose it was a good idea at the time. I was barely out of Hogwarts myself. No job, completely skint… but it was more that they didn't want you mixing with wizards. I guess they thought all wizards die early deaths or something…"

Rowan swallowed. "Where are we going?"

Flynn smiled – or more like smirked. "I'm no professor – never had the mind for it – but I've got a lot to teach, and you've got a lot to learn."

Rowan tilted his head. "About what?"

And then, Flynn laughed. "About what? What have you seen of our world, hm? Hogwarts and Diagon Alley, I bet. That's about all. That's not all there is in the world. That's not all there is in wizarding Britain. It's not a knock on Hogwarts. I had some of my best times at Hogwarts, and you will, too. But you could go and sit your seven years – or six, now – and graduate, and still not have the foggiest effing idea on how to live in our world."

"And you're going to teach me that?" Rowan asked.

"It's about the only thing I can teach," chuckled Flynn cynically. "Then again… it's the best thing you could learn."

Rowan seemed to be skeptical of this claim, but did not resist as Flynn took his hand. "So where are we going?"

"Cardiff," answered Flynn briefly.

"Cardiff? Wales?" Rowan uttered. "Are there… people like us… in Cardiff?"

Flynn laughed uproariously. "'Are there people like us in Cardiff?' How about I just show you instead?"

"How are we getting there?" asked Rowan. "It's well over a hundred miles…"

"Well, sure, it is, but that's nothing," said Flynn. "We're wizards, remember? You ever done Side-Along-Apparition before?"

Rowan looked up at his uncle. "What's Side-Along—?"

And, with a pop, they were gone.

Albus's jaw dropped.

"We'll see him again, right?" he queried into the encroaching silence. "This fall?"

"I have no idea," said James.

"What are you two looking at?" Lily traipsed up to them.

James, still in slight disbelief at what he'd just seen, shook his head. "Nothing."

Lily smirked mischievously. "You're staring at nothing an awfully long time, then."

"Shut it," groaned James. Lily giggled.

"I'm glad you're both back home."

The three siblings linked hands and began to walk through the train station together.

"Don't go too far!" Ginny yelled from behind them, unable to resist a smile at having her entire family together again for the first time in months. "You alright, Harry?"

For Harry had been watching the scene involving Rowan and Flynn very intently. He blinked a few times, very quickly, and then took his wife's hand.

"I think I'm going to invite Teddy over for a visit this week," Harry said. "I'd like to see how he's doing."

Ginny smiled.

"The kids will like that," she said. She gave Harry's hand a comforting, knowing squeeze, and the two struck off together into the night.

END