Ch: 74 - Cultivation/HP Fics

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR: DISTANT SHORES

A/N: Additional payment for my absence.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 24th, 1996 - Near Dublin, Ireland.

"Seamus Finnegan!" a woman's voice screamed. "Get your lazy bones out of bed and come down here right now!"

There was a groan from beneath the covers as a sixteen year old boy was stunned into a half state of wakefulness. Seamus was a wizard. His mother was a witch from a long, although technically Half Blood line of magicals dating back centuries. She had, as had her parents and countless other magical ancestors, attended Hogwarts school in Scotland despite being Irish. Her husband was a non-magical. He was Irish through and through and had little use for Britain at all but allowed - reluctantly - their oldest magical child to follow in his mother's footsteps at least as far as magical education was concerned. Seamus was the oldest of four magical children. His two younger sisters attended St. Patrick's school in Dublin, close enough that they could return home most weekends. His younger brother Devon was only ten and too young for magical school, although it was known to him that little Devon - whom he considered and annoying little brat - would also be headed off to St. Patrick's next year.

The sixteen year old crawled out of bed. He knew his two sisters were already off to school having left the day before and that his younger brother had been sent that day to his maternal, magical Grandparents for the weekend. He suspected his parents wanted to have a talk with him. They always did something similar for a "talk." Seamus was not looking forward to this as he walked down the stairs to the table in the kitchen.

Seamus grudgingly came down to breakfast. This was the holiday and he preferred to sleep in. His mother served him and he ate in silence certain that some kind of talk was coming seeing as his father was at the table reading a paper - The Quibbler of all things - and his mother was not leaving either. They let him eat in peace, but he knew something was coming. He was reluctant to finish knowing that it would trigger whatever was headed at him. But he also knew from having tried delays and feigned illness before that he could not truly delay the inevitable, whatever it was.

Seamus did what he usually did in these circumstances even though it never seemed to work. He ate in silence and tried to hide the fact he was finished so he could leave the table before they realized it.

"Sit, Seamus," his mother said sternly as he tried to get up.

"Just getting a glass of juice," he replied.

"There's a half-empty glass in front of you," his father observed.

Seamus knew it had not worked again.

"Seamus," his mother began, "as you know your father and I have been reading the papers all summer and are well aware of the troubles brewing across the Irish Sea. You know all too well my personal feelings about Dumbledore both as a so called leader in government and as the absentee landlord in mind and body as supposed Headmaster at Hogwarts. You know well that your father has tried to convince me to pull you out of Hogwarts altogether and transfer you to St. Patrick's ever since you came home at Christmas Second Year with tales of those petrified students. I've been sorely tempted. St. Patrick's is both nearby and Irish and unpolluted by English and their ideas. But my family has gone to Hogwarts for ages and I felt it my duty to honor that tradition … until now."

"Mum?" He never really expected this, not even last year after a summer of hearing his mother rant about Dumbledore and Potter as the Senile Headmaster and Insane Student – who happened to sleep in the same room as her son. His Dad was against Hogwarts practically from the beginning. Why should his son attend a school over there headed by the head of the English Magical Government – no better than the Crown had been before the formation of the Irish Free State. This made no sense to his father when there was a perfectly good Irish magical school. But as his father was a Muggle, magical decisions fell to his mother.

"You will not be returning to Hogwarts," his mother said. "I will not send you across the way with the way things are over there."

Seamus nodded. While he was surprised, this was hardly out of nowhere. "So I'll be attending St. Pat's then?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Why not? My OWL marks were okay!"

"They were just that, Seamus. They were hardly anything to brag about, but they were … acceptable. This has nothing to do with your marks and everything to do with the fact that we only recently made this decision and it's too late to apply for admission this year."

"So what am I going to do?"

"You're sixteen and have your OWLs," his father said. "According to your Mum, that means you can leave school and get a job."

"Not a good one," Seamus moped.

"Perhaps not, but one that will pay the bills."

"Um…"

"Seamus Finnegan," his mother scolded, "we are not sending you back to that death trap of a school! And, if you think you'll spend the next year sitting around here or wandering about getting into who knows what kind of mischief, you are mistaken! As you cannot attend school this next year, you will use your time productively and that means you will get a job! I don't care if it's magical or Muggle but you will work this year. Now, next year we may be able to get you back into school here so that you can sit for the four NEWT courses your marks justify. But until then…"

"But there is an alternative of sorts," his father said with a mischievous grin.

In Seamus's mind any alternative to a menial job was welcome, although he did not trust the expression on his father's face.

"However," his father continued, "while the alternative will probably pay better than any job you can expect to get at your age, this alternative is for more than a year. It's four years at a minimum but during that time you can complete your magical training through NEWTs at least and even pick up more OWLs if you want."

"More pay?"

"Base pay starts at 160 Galleons a month and that's only while you're in training."

"Bloody hell! That's …"

"1,920 Galleons a year. You'll complete training in about four month at which time you'll be promoted to some position. Depending upon that position you'll earn between 195 and 390 a month or between 2,340 and 4,680 a year. That assumes they don't make you an officer. If they do that you could start at between 250 and 555 a month or 3,000 and 6,660 a year."

"You realize that most jobs out of Hogwarts only start at best around 3,000 a year or so, don't you?" Seamus commented. "And that's with at least two NEWTs!"

"So your mother tells me," his father said with a grin.

"What is this job?"

"The Irish Magical Army," his mother said.

"What? You mean like Aurors or something?"

"No. Different than them. First off it's Irish not British magicals. Second of all, it's an army and not law enforcement or Dark Wizard catchers. An Army is trained to defend against enemies or attack them and they don't try too hard to capture their enemies. The Irish Magical Council is planning to declare our independence from the English bastards but to do that Ireland needs to be prepared to prevent them from coming across and changing our minds at wand point so, with the help of another country over the sea, it is going to build an Army to keep the English out; at least those English who want to lord over us."

"How … how did this happen? How do you know about it? I mean, I'm sure it's not in the Daily Prophet or anything."

"Your father and I have both been involved in the Irish Separatist Movement, Seamus. He's been in since before you were born and I only got active after the Christmas Holiday your Second Year."

"But Dad's a Muggle!"

"This is Magical Ireland, Lad," his father said. "If I am part of a magical family, I am part of the larger magical community whether I can waive a wand or not. Apparently, it's been this way since before the days of the real St. Patrick."

"This isn't England after all," his mother added. "We don't hold to their ideals and never have. This movement has been around since the last of the Irish seats in the Wizengamot was lost to the English a couple hundred years ago or so and it has been influenced by the events in the Muggle World as well."

"So Northern Ireland will split away? That's what happened in the Muggle World."

"Influenced does not mean the same, Seamus. When magical Ireland breaks from the rest of Magical Britain, all of Ireland is breaking away."

"And what about the Muggle governments?" Seamus asked.

"They know. They support the break. Before you ask, the magical government across the sea does not know yet and they are not in a good place right now to be paying much attention to what may be happening here what with the problems they've had recently and all."

Seamus was stunned to say the least and sat there for a time thinking about what he had been told. "What should I do?" he asked even though the question was rhetorical. He was Irish first and last which meant he would support Ireland and defend it against invaders.

"We were hoping you would join the Army," his mother said.

"Four years," he said. It seemed like such a long time.

"It's important," his father said. "And you won't find a job paying a sixteen year old that much around here."

"How do I join and where would I go?"

"The how is easy," his father replied. "We have the paperwork all filled out already. We admit we hoped you'd agree to serve. All it's missing is ours and your signature." His father handed Seamus a small stack of papers that were, as he could see, all filled out. At the bottom of the fourth page were blocks for signatures: one for the "Volunteer" and two for parents or guardians of "Volunteer under age 18 (if Non-Magical) or 17 (if Magical)". Seamus thought about it for a moment.

"You didn't answer where I'll be going."

"We don't know, not for certain," his mother replied. "There're security issues. All we can say is that it will not be here in Ireland at least until you're trained and you're assigned to an Irish unit. We know that when you are due to head off, we're to take you to Gringotts Dublin which has some kind of secure transport arranged for the Irish recruits."

He looked at the form again. Below the signature section there was some finer print:

All recruits who submit this completed Enlistment Form prior to August 25th, 1996 must be willing to report to Gringotts Dublin for transportation on Monday August 26th or on any second Monday thereafter. Recruits will be advised of their report date by separate correspondence.

"I could be leaving Monday," Seamus gasped.

"We know," his mother said. "Your father leaves that day."

"Dad?"

His father shrugged. "Did my four years in the Irish Muggle Defense forces, you know. They're looking for magical types with prior military experience to train our lads. I'll report as a Sergeant or Staff Sergeant with some seniority on Monday. Can't say they'll send you that day as well. I think only about a hundred or so recruits are likely to get called this early. But…"

Seamus looked at the form again. It did not seem so daunting knowing his father was going as well although now he was concerned about having the Old Man as an instructor. Still… There was a pen on the table and he reached for it and signed his name. His mother signed after him and smiled at him as his father added his signature to the form as well. Once his father finished, the form disappeared and was replaced by a one page letter.

IRISH MAGICAL COUNCIL

COMMITTEE ON DEFENSE

IRISH MAGICAL ARMY (PROVISIONAL)

24 August 1996

Mr. Seamus Ian Finnegan

312D Hollowaw

Dublin

Mr. Finnegan:

You are hereby informed that you Request for Enlistment in the Irish Magical Army (Provisional) has been approved pending successful completion of your Healer Evaluation.

You are requested and required to report to Gringotts, Dublin not later than 0800 hours, 26 August 1996 for transportation to your training location. You may bring a suitcase with toiletries and changes of attire, but such baggage is not required. You are requested to bring your wand.

Congratulations and the Nation thanks you for your patriotism.

R. J. Halloran

Councilmember and Minister for Magical Defense (Provisional)

Seamus blinked. "I … I'm going on Monday."

"That's wonderful!" his mother said. "And don't worry. We'll have a sending off party of sorts for the two of you tomorrow."

"What … what will I tell my friends?"

"You can tell them you're not returning to Hogwarts due to the Troubles. Aside from that, you need to keep the rest of what we've talked about quiet."

Seamus nodded.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 24th, 1996, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland, U.K.

It had seemed like a brilliant idea when he had come up with it merely days after he complied with the Gringotts demand for repayment of the Potter Estate. He knew when the demand was made at the reading of the Will of Sirius Black that he had to comply with that demand. The Greater Good might not include seeing financial justice done in favor of a lad who had clearly been led astray for had he been loyal he would have known the money he "donated" to the cause was but a small price to pay for the grand plan of one Albus Dumbledore. But the Goblins could never be swayed towards any higher ideal that lacked an obvious profit margin and what profit inured to the Greater Good and the grand plan of Albus Dumbledore would certainly not inure to the benefit of those creatures. The problem was that the Wizarding World had ceded control of its finances to the Goblins following the last Goblin War which was a concession Dumbledore hoped one day to eliminate but until that day he could be brought low by the beasts just as certainly as any other wizard and the magical government would neither lift a hand to help him for shed a tear for his troubles. Grudgingly he paid, emptying numerous vaults long hidden from all to do so and selling as many women under his Guardianship as he could without raising undo suspicions – and getting a remarkably high price for the lot of them. But this was by no means the end of his efforts to bring low House Potter.

As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, a post he had held for decades, Dumbledore was probably more aware about how the Ministry worked and did not work than anyone including every Minister for Magic he had seen appointed over his long tenure. By custom, the various Ministry Departments sent him memorandums regarding any requests for funding or any possible proposals for any change in policy or enforcement goals. This custom long predated Dumbeldore's tenure and was done so that the Wizengamot could debate the proposals and either endorse or prohibit them through appropriate legislation. Just because the Wizengamot could not do so due to a lack of the ability to assemble a quorum did not mean an end to the memos nor an end to Dumbledore's back channels into the various Ministry Departments, Divisions, Offices and Bureaus, channels he doubted the Minister for Magic even knew about and certainly channels that allowed him to bypass the Minister.

As a result, he was well aware with the Ministry's weaknesses as well as the flagrant disparity in certain areas of the enforcement of the laws. In magical Britain, there were truly people who believed that they were above the law but that was only because the law chose not to bother them. One area in particular could be very dangerous for someone like Potter was the area of taxation. The boy probably had no clue about taxes or that you were supposed to pay them. Moreover, he came from an Ancient and Noble Line and now headed two of them. While the tax laws did not distinguish between anyone based upon anything such as blood status or heritage, in practice Dumbeldore knew that the laws were not enforced with anything approaching an even hand. Whether you actually paid taxes at all and even how much you paid was a matter of blood status, who you knew in the Department of Finance and Revenue, how high you were in the Ministry itself, who you knew on the Wizengamot or if you were a permanent member of the Wizengamot. People like Dumbledore and many of the members of the Wizengamot paid no taxes ever. In memory, neither had the Minister of Magic nor anyone he designated for any reason and many others were able to avoid much if not all of their taxes with a well placed bribe. Dumbledore knew that the bulk of the taxes paid came from Muggle Borns and those Half Bloods and Purebloods without the right connections even if the bulk of the possible tax revenues lay with those who paid little or nothing.

But the law did not allow this on paper. No one was supposed to be exempt from taxation. How much one was supposed to pay was a factor of their income and how much they spent on magical goods. The fact that the Ministry did not enforce the laws on the books did not mean they could not do so. Dumbledore made this point a few weeks ago to his contact in the Department of Finance and Revenue when he strongly suggested that the Department look into the tax history of Houses Potter and Black. He was certain they were typical and that there were massive arrearages that the Ministry could collect, arrearages far greater than the millions he and the Ministry had been forced to pay the brat.

He looked at the report from his contact now sitting on his desk with disgust. House Potter was believed to be the wealthiest in Magical Britain if not the magical world and, while it paid what seemed like a paltry sum in annual taxes, the report made it clear that it had paid its full tax on time all the time. The truth was over 95% of House Potter's British earned income was in the Muggle world: Muggle businesses, Muggle investments, Muggle rent paying tenants, Muggle interest. By ancient treaty, the magicals could neither tax nor collect from any income source in the Muggle world regardless of whether the income earner was magical or not. Naturally, the Muggles also could not tax or assess against purely magical resources. Of the remaining income earned from within magical Britain, House Potter had always paid its taxes in full. There was no way to get at House Potter through taxation without violating the ancient treaty with the Muggle government(s) and the Statute of Secrecy and with Dumbledore out of the ICW and Britain under censure, to do so would invite ICW intervention in their internal affairs which, Dumbledore suspected, was something many of the European delegations were itching to do.

House Black should have been a different story. That House had historically been anti-Muggle and the recent confiscations and tens of millions that had flowed into the boy's vaults seemed to confirm that. Moreover, the Blacks acted as arrogant as any of the Pureblood or ancient families that Dumbledore knew which never paid taxes including his own. But despite their Pureblood Supremacist bluster, it seemed House Black was also heavily invested on the Muggle side and to that extent they were therefore beyond the reach of Ministry tax assessments. They were not nearly as Muggle in their business interests as House Potter. But like House Potter, their magical taxes on their magical income was paid to date, to include the taxes on all rents due from the thirty-four families who had never paid their rents. Those taxes had been paid as if the full rents had been received when due. This meant that the Ministry could not even claim a tax due on the vault confiscations since the taxes owed were already paid and interest and penalties for non-payment of rents were exempted from taxation which was one of the few kinds of "income" subject to an exemption. Only a clever Goblin or magical solicitor might have known why it was exempted.

Basically, whoever managed those two accounts had made sure that neither family could ever be called to account for unpaid taxes. Again, Potter had somehow managed to pull one over on Dumbledore and the Ministry and there was not a damn thing Dumbledore could do about it without inviting foreign intervention, which was not at all an option. It should have been quick. If Potter's ancestors had been like many of their peers, they would have owed tens of millions. But they owed nothing and as all accounting was handled through Gringotts and they had the final authority to declare any arrearage as they were supposedly outside of the political fray, neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry could alter the books to create an arrearage where none existed. It was Gringotts that had access to the vaults after all and only they could collect unpaid taxes or other obligations from those vaults without the vault holder's consent. But that only occurred when they determined the claim was valid and the true amount owed. To try and force the Goblins to do what the Ministry wanted and not what the Goblins were treaty bound to do risked all out war and total economic collapse. Not even getting back at Potter was worth that.

What silver lining there was to yet another thwarted plan to end House Potter once and for all was that the brat had nothing to do with this one. It was his damnable ancestors who had protected their fortunes and made sure that no one could attempt what Dumbledore had suggested. Had they not done so, the lands, vaults and more importantly Wizengamot votes would have been forfeit. True, the brat himself was safely away in this Charenwell place and beyond Dumbledore's reach for the foreseeable future, but House Potter's ability to meddle in House Dumbledore's grand plan would have been minimized. But the brats family had seen to it that this scheme could not succeed in draining so much as a Knut from the vast coffers, much less providing and vehicle to break the lack of quorum and then legislate a way out of this mess. What was worse, the contact had included – foreseeing Dumbledore's next inquiry – a similar report on the finances and tax compliance of the other two absentee seats: House Longbottom and House Bones. They two were regrettably among the few Houses of their stature that abided by the tax laws as written and originally intended and not has had come to be the practice.

But what truly infuriated Dumbledore was not the report from the contact about House Potter and its lack of tax troubles. The contact had the temerity to forward a suggestion to both his Head of Department and the Minister for Magic to attempt to alleviate the current financial strain on the Ministry – a strain that would never have happened had Potter not found a way to seriously deplete their vaults in the first place. While House Potter and a few others might be beyond reproach, there were far too many who were not. There were quite literally millions in future collections available. All the Ministry had to do was collect the taxes allowed without exceptions. The contact was prudent to suggest that the Ministry make no effort to collect past unpaid taxes as that would surely wreck their economy as well, but strongly recommended that all taxes be collected going forward. The Ministry would, within the next year, make up for its losses over the last couple of months and increase its revenues by a substantial margin. True, the report noted, there were many who would complain as they had never been subjected to such a humiliation as paying taxes like a Muggle Born before. But the only other option was to shut down the Ministry, end pensions for government employees, close St. Mungos, end all educational subsidies and put hundreds of career Ministry workers on the streets which would have far more of an impact on the economy than a reduction of disposable income for the wealthier and better connected in the country.

Dumbledore was not fool enough to disbelieve the contacts analysis. But he was furious to see that the Minister for Magic was going to implement the recommendation. He could do nothing to stop it. He could not call the Wizengamot to deal with the situation and, because he could not do so, the Minister could act without consultation provided such actions were supported by existing laws and the tax laws and enforcement laws that were being recommended had been on the books since before Dumbledore had been made Chief Warlock. For the first time in centuries, taxes would be assessed evenly across the board. Opponents could not even call it a tax increase.

The Ministry would be able to get out of the mess it had caused. Naturally, Minister Fudge had blamed it on Dumbledore and made sure the blame was front page in the Daily Prophet as it was Dumbledore and not the Ministry that had "illegally" sold girls into the sex trade. But Fudge failed to see the Greater Good. He failed to see that his actions were destroying wizarding kind's last hope for glory under the leadership of the Leader of the Light. He failed to see this action was sure to drive many into the clutches of Tom Riddle, the false leader and one bent on a path that would mean the end of the wizarding world not its ascendance to its rightful place in the world. What was most annoying was that there was little to nothing Dumbledore could realistically do to stop this pending disaster.

Getting back at Potter this way was no longer an immediate option. Of far more immediate concern was the effect the Ministry's new tax collection policy would have on Dumbledore's plans. He knew how tax collections worked, at least when it came to those businesses and individuals who did not have the connections to avoid collections. Gringotts dutifully reported all non-exempt deposits to all non-exempt accounts and the list of exempt accounts was limited pretty much to the Ministry's own account – no point in taxing the government, really – the schools, St. Mungo's Hospital and the orphanages. All other deposits were reported and the Ministry could assess against all such deposits. It did not even need to know whose account it was, just the vault number and how many Galleons, Sickles and Knuts had been deposited over the relevant timeframe.

The Goblins also reported all money changing transactions. Any time anyone converted Muggle money into wizarding money or vice versa, the Goblins collected both their transaction fee and a tax for the Ministry, although unless one was talking about a significant amount of money in a single transaction, the fee and tax combined was less than the Ministry's tax on "income." For large money changing transactions, however, the fees and Ministry's cut was far more than the tax.

For Dumbledore, the problem now was how to finance the Order of the Phoenix. Beforehand as Chief Warlock he merely obtained several vaults and had them declared exempt from assessment and it was those vaults that were used for deposits and withdrawals. Now any new deposits would be taxed and all taxable vaults were known to the Ministry and by extension anyone who had agents within the Ministry such as Tom Riddle. This was not an acceptable state of affairs. The Order also had vaults at several other Gringotts banks outside of Magical Britain, but moving the money was now a problem either to or from those vaults. Gringotts would report any assess and apply their transaction fees to any such intra-bank transfers and the ICW was making travel difficult. One could no longer cross the Channel whenever and wherever they chose. You now had to cross through designated inspection points for all travel to and from Britain unless you wanted to become a wanted fugitive and those inspection points would be very interested in anyone passing through with large sums of cash.

For nearly seventy years The Order of the Phoenix had been gradually moving towards The Greater Good. The real Order had always been secretive and the real plan had always required the ability to move sums of money – sometimes very large sums – in secret to advance their cause usually in the political arena or other "peaceful" means. Tom Riddle could not exist in all probability were it not for "educational reforms" funded in secret by the Order to promote the ideal of a ruling class. The Half Blood usurper had taken it a step in the wrong direction insisting on his right to rule supported by a Pureblood class of lower level enforcers and lackeys. Large sums of money had been spent to keep Riddle and his low class Pureblood upstarts from gaining too much momentum although that changed when they decided upon open warfare. Large sums of money were spent to ensure that Riddle could not truly win, but also that the Ministry and Magical Britain could not truly resist. The goal had been to one day remove Riddle and his band of thugs such that all of Magical Britain would turn to Dumbledore and his Order for leadership. But all of that had flown out the window on a racing broom the night Riddle ran afoul of one Harry Potter. It was the least expensive operation of the war. Dumbledore merely kept Divination as a course at Hogwarts, charmed a borderline Squib into making a Prophecy of his own composition just as an ambitious, low level Death Eater was passing by the door to a room at the Hogshead Tavern and Riddle would have removed House Potter from the equation. But the usurper had the audacity to be destroyed by a toddler and his movement lacked the will to survive that destruction and the opportunity for the Order to take over as saviors of the world had been lost.

The new Ministry's tax policy removed Dumbledore's most effective weapon. It would no longer be easy to operate in secret and to influence ideas, beliefs and policy from the shadows because the financial side would now be exposed to inspection. He could not count on the Daily Prophet publishing subtle Order propaganda in a timely manner. He could not count of the Hogwarts Board of Governors or Ministry Board of Education to advance the Order's plans for rewriting history and educating and molding future generations such that they would accept the Greater Good without question. All of that money would be taxed once its recipients brought it to Gringotts and those records would wind up in Ministry hands – a Ministry that was paranoid about plots against it – and that information would lead to investigations. Bribery was illegal in Magical Britain. Technically so was buying space in the paper unless it was clear that the space was an advertisement. The only good news, if one could call it that, is that Riddle would be just as hampered by the new policy as Dumbledore.

It took Dumbledore some time to calm down following this most recent set back, after all years of planning and preparation was now for naught given that the plan required near constant manipulation even if each such manipulation was so minor as to go unnoticed. His whole scheme was never meant to happen quickly. The Wizarding world did not move quickly. It never had. This wasn't the Muggle World which had changed so much since he was a lad it would be unrecognizable to someone from that time. In the six score and change years that Dumbledore had lived to see, Muggles had gone from steam locomotives and single shot firearms to airplanes and weapons whose destructive potential was beyond real comprehension. The most significant advance in the Magical World was really cosmetic. The Nights Coach, an apparently horse drawn omnibus had been replaced by a triple deck version of the London motorized bus, at least in appearance. Change happened so slowly and so incrementally that it was usually unnoticed. If it was noticeable, it was resisted … fiercely.

He had not really planned to live to see the fulfillment of his Greater Good. He had planned to live long enough for his followers to gain substantial influence if not control of magical government and society. Later generations of True Believers would inspire the desire and convince magical society that it was their destiny to control – subtly – the rest of mankind and one day achieve that control. For that, he needed an heir to found a ruling dynasty to lead the Cause well into the future. His own natural predelictions in that regard had always held him back from being the natural father of any potential heir. His decision to impregnate an unsuspecting student was an act of desperation seeing as the chosen line was now beyond his immediate control. The Cause required secrecy and slow yet deliberate advance and that required a secret source of long term funds that could be spent without raising undo suspicions.

This last blow meant that he had to rethink his lifespan itself. He figured he had another few decades left in his natural life, enough to ensure his true heir grew to manhood under the careful tutelage of himself and his most loyal and dedicated followers. But he now felt that unless this financial blow could be corrected immediately, the Cause may be delayed far too long which would ensure it never succeeded and doomed his world to irreparable corruption from the ever advancing Muggles, or extinction. He felt he needed more than a handful of decades to keep the Cause on track. He needed more than an heir, but he needed an heir for reasons of security and to ensure that his oversights would not come back to haunt him again. He could also do with a few spares in that regard. But he needed to be there for a while to ensure these recent setbacks were no more than minor headaches in the long run. Fortunately…

He opened a secret drawer on his desk and looked at the blood red stone that was the drawer's sole occupant.

Fortunately, while he might not be able to cheat death forever, he had far more time than was needed.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 25th, 1996, Potter Manor, Charenwell.

It was called a Template. For the ladies of Houses Black and Potter, this odd thing that now hung in their closets was among the most expensive items of clothing they owned. In addition to loads of outfits for everyday wear and for those who were flying Air Force uniforms, each of the ladies had at least a couple of formal "Family" gowns for State functions and now each had or soon would have her wedding dress and these too were very expensive. The Template was right up there in cost.

It was not much to look at. As a garment, it resembled a body length, long sleeved tee-shirt and in all cases it was large and baggy and white and totally unflattering. The most curvaceous of ladies would be unable to reveal even a hint of her figure when she put her Template on. It was woven with thick fiber – thicker than canvas or burlap but not as thick as wool yarn – and it was about as attractive as wearing a baggy, white burlap bag with a hole for the woman's head and sleeves.

But it was called a Template for a reason and it was surprisingly expensive for a reason. It was woven from Acromantula silk which had three important properties. First, the silk lined the trap of huge spiders that were also extremely rare and even more dangerous. The spiders were native to the hot jungles and rain forests of Borneo and New Guinea and were deep within those jungles making them hard to find as well, hence why the silk was expensive. As it was spider silk, it was also incredibly strong. The cloth was resistant to normal wear and tear and could literally last more than a lifetime – provided one did not go out of their way to really learn how much punishment it could withstand. But its most important property was it retained certain kinds of magic almost indefinitely.

A typical Template cost around a thousand Galleons. All but the wealthiest witches would never consider spending that kind of money on an elegant dress, much less something that at best looked like cheap sleepwear. But, if a witch had the magical means to use a Template, she might well buy a Template before buying any other fancy clothing and in many cases in lieu of buying any fancy clothing – aside from furs. The reason for this was simple. If the witch was talented at Transfiguration or had an Elf talented as a magical clothier of any description, with a Template, she could in theory wear a different dress, robe or gown two and three times a day every day for the rest of her life. All she needed was either the imagination to create new looks or pictures of what she might want and the magic to transform the Template into that dress and that was it. The silk could be transformed to look and feel like any woven fabric: wool, cotton, satin, silk, lace or any combination of fabrics. The only true limitation aside from the magical skills necessary to transfigure the Template was that the garment created could not contain more than 150% of the material in square inches as contained in the original burlap bag looking thing. Unlike normal transfiguration, the former Template would retain its new form unless the person (or Elf) who transformed it changed it into another dress. No other Elf, witch or wizard could change it or change it back. Templates were considered perfect for ladies who had a need for a dress, gown or robe they would only wear once in their lives and wear that sort of need would crop up at least a few times a year, as a real once in a lifetime dress, gown or robe could always be borrowed or rented for far less than the cost of a Template.

When Astoria and her sister Daphne had started their now famous shopping trips into Pottersport for each of Harry's ladies, they had bought "normal" clothes, filling closets with outfits, dresses and gowns. Then again, neither Daphne nor Astoria had seen much less heard of a Template before and they were not shopping for one time only attire. Even the formal gowns would be worn more than once, just not terribly often. It was only when the ladies began fretting about what to wear to the scores of weddings they would attend that they bothered to ask about a "inexpensive" solution to a potentially expensive fashion nightmare. After all, they were all to attend at least two weddings a day over at least thirteen of the next fifteen Saturdays and Sundays assuming they did not attend a single wedding for a different family. Each of them was to be in at least three bridal parties over that same period. This meant they needed around forty dresses, as it was felt they should wear something different to each wedding and the combined receptions, except when they were one of that day's brides. It seemed unlikely they could find that many dresses to begin with and they all agreed that to buy that many dresses that might well be worn only once seemed wasteful in the extreme.

It did not help that these weddings were on short notice. Even with the convenience of magic, mothers and daughters could easily spend months planning for the bride's day which was a luxury the families did not have seeing as many were pregnant even if it was only the initial weeks of their pregnancies. At first there had been talk of double weddings, but that had all but stopped. Each girl had her own ideas for her own wedding day and as many felt everything had to be coordinated to her ideal, it ruled out more than one bride at a time. Only Fred and George were generally able to pull of the double wedding thing but it helped that the two brides would each have their own groom.

So this left the ladies of the various Covens wondering how they would dress. The only thing that was certain was that they would probably buy out most, if not all the wedding dresses, gowns and robes in the country. Charenwell followed some magical traditions and one of these was that a bride kept her wedding dress until she passed it on to a daughter or granddaughter for their wedding. Some of the wedding gowns and robes had passed through several generations, although most of the ladies needed one of their own. It was the other dresses that vexed the ladies. They might well be a guest, a member of a bridal party and a bride on the same weekend, if not the same day and none except maybe Luna felt it was appropriate to wear the same thing in each capacity. Then again, Luna was not opposed to wearing nothing at all in those capacities. (This particular dressing problem was resolved when they all decided that if a day was their wedding day, they would be a Bride only but this left unresolved the dressing problems for all the other days.)

Enter Hermione's Elf Handmaiden Winky. While Winky was not a Charenwell raised Elf, she more than made up for it in enthusiasm and determination to do right by her new family. She was aware of the problem before most of the ladies had truly imagined the scope and had ventured into Pottersport in hopes of a solution. True, she and many other elves supporting the covens could simply transfigure any dress into something else if necessary. But that transfiguration would not survive an outburst of accidental magic and worse from Winky's standpoint, if her Mistress or any of her Mistress's friends soiled the dress that stain would remain until laundered even through transfigurations.

Winky learned of another business. In addition to what many of the British magically raised witches thought was the best clothes shopping area they had ever seen, there was a specialty shop off the main streets. Lady Matilda's was more a cloth maker's or weaver's shop than a clothes shop and had passed through several generations of the same family. Quite simply, it made cloth. More importantly, it was the largest manufacturer of Acromantula silks in magical Europe. This had not always been the case. Prior to the Statute of Secrecy, there was a silk weaver in Charenwell, but there were also silk weavers in many other places in Europe. Magical merchants brought bales of silk from the Far East first by overland caravans and later by sea. But among the provisions of the treaty was barring large scale importation of magical plants and animals as it was hard to hide thousands of pounds of raw acromantula silk from Muggles, for example.

But Charenwell itself was hidden from Muggles so it soon became the sole importer of the silk and the sole weaver. Their merchant fleet owed its existence as much to the silk trade with the Far East as it did the food trade with Magical Britain. Lady Matilda's was one of four silk weavers in Charenwell, the other three being in Port of Darby. But in addition to preparing bolts of silk for sale and export to the rest of Magical Europe, it also made Templates both for sale and export. It helped that Templates were literally sold in only one size and with perhaps the exception of the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, there were few if any women who might be too large for a Template – unless they wanted skimpy outfits only.

Astoria Greengrass stood in her room before a full length mirror. Despite being raised magically since the day she was born, she could not possibly believe this would work. Over her shoes, stockings, undergarments and slip she now wore her Template in its base form. The plain, white, almost woolen looking thing looked horrible. The sleeves hung down at least a foot beyond her hands and the hem, if you could call it that, was at least two feet beyond the bottom of her feet piled on the floor. As one of Hermione's Attendants, she was to be one of the Duchess's Bridesmaids along with her sister Daphne. She was then planning on attending all eight of the remaining weddings that day and the combined reception afterwards. She would wear the bridesmaid dress at the reception and she planned to wear a different dress to Luna's and Dora's wedding and a third dress to all the others. She was planning on four dresses for the next day as well. Hermione had picked out the Bridesmaid dresses and Astoria all of the others and she could not believe this thing could possibly look like the pictures of what she would wear. Her Elf Handmaiden saw her distress and clapped her hands. The tent like Template transformed in seconds into the elegant Royal Blue satin gown that Hermione had chosen. It was a perfect fit. Another clap of the hands and she was in dress she had chosen for Luna's wedding. If anything, this dress looked even better than the picture, she thought. This continued through all of the outfits she planned for this day and all of the outfits for the next day as well before returning to the blue dress she would wear first.

She really liked the dress and how it looked on her. Winky then made up her hair and she finished off with her diamonds. This would be the first time she had worn them in public and was amazed at how she looked. She would wear them again in a week for her own wedding as well. There was a knock on her door and she turned and saw her older sister Daphne wearing her own version of the dress and her diamonds as well.

It was time to join Hermione in her dressing room.

For Harry, Saturday was a blur. First Day Harry' blur began the moment he turned to face the entrance to the tent and saw his Cousin escorting Astoria down the Aisle followed by Neville and Daphne and finally… Hermione in her elegant white wedding dress took his breath away and by the end of the ceremony his face hurt for aside when he said what he was told to say he could not stop smiling. They then retired to the "Pre-reception" Tent, a huge space where they could meet guests, relax, eat and have their pictures taken.

Second day Harry was not nearly as nervous as he had been the day before. He had to wait until it was his turn, which was after another three weddings and he too barely remembered anything when Fred and George entered escorting Parvati and Padma, Luna's Attendants, in their emerald green gowns. Luna entered in a yellow dress which looked stunning but confused Harry. It didn't matter for he could not stop smiling either. Again, once the ceremony was over he and Luna moved to the same Tent and mingled with the guests and the other "newlyweds" whose weddings they had missed: Neville and Susan, Fleur and Bill and Charlie and Tatiana.

It was during this time that Harry learned about the tradition behind Luna's dress. She was the fifth generation to wear it and it harkened back to magical tradition from before the advent of Christianity. White was always associated with "Pure" or "Innocent" or "Virgin." Unless the bride was no more than a girl, a custom that had died out centuries ago, most witches were not truly Pure or Innocent and many were not Virgins. It was the nature and needs of their magical development through puberty that made that the case and magical society, while quite about that fact, was well aware of it and accepted it. The ancient custom was for the bride to wear a dress in soft colors reminiscent of Spring: soft greens, yellows, reds, pinks, lavenders and such as if wearing a budding leaf or a spring flower. The Veil was not used rather the bride wore a tiara of flowers in her hair. The symbolism was of new life, for that was what a marriage was believed to be – a new life between the couple in the hopes of new lives to come in the form of children. Harry thought Luna was a Goddess in her dress but also thought the choice made sense.

Third Time Harry spent much of the afternoon attending the other weddings before finally retiring to change into his fancy attire for the final wedding of the day. Dora wore her mother's wedding dress with Cissy and Ginny in pale green dresses as her Bridesmaids and Sirius and Remus as his party. He worried about that given the history, but in the hour before the main dinner and reception began – which was the soonest any booze would be served – Dora convinced him that her past life as a Concubine was in the past.

"It's odd," Sirius said. "I don't see either Dora or Mallory the same way as I did. I still have feelings for them, but… For me, a week ago I wanted Mallory to be with me forever and Dora to be as happy with me as possible. Now Dora's like a favorite cousin or annoying but beloved little sister and Mallory's similar, but without the family references."

"It's the nature of the bond," Dora said.

"Oh?"

"When the bond was broken, it was broken. When we bonded to Harry – specifically when we Love Bonded with him – that would result in any change in feelings you had."

"So I didn't love Mallory?"

Harry wondered what this meant for him and his ladies as well, but said nothing.

"No Siri. You did. You had to or the bond could not have formed at all. The bond certainly strengthened that feeling, but it was there and it's still there but different. The Love Bond strongly affects the couple that are in it, but it also affects those close to the couple as well. For reasons we don't yet understand, it makes others more accepting of the situation than they otherwise might be. This is why, for example, Harry and the others have not been hexed or reviled by the families of their ladies. Most of the families would not normally accept that their daughters are or were Concubines or that their now part of what would appear to be a Harem. It's not normal in our culture. The bond somehow helps smooth that over for some reason…"

The conversation continued, but for Harry it once again faded into the blur.

For Sirius, aside from the somewhat surreal nature of everything, the day provided unexpected opportunities. The wedding after Luna's was the double wedding of Fred and George Weasley to their Consorts Alicia and Angelina. During the somewhat brief time between their arrival in the tent and when Sirius had to leave to attend Dora's wedding, the twins sought him out and made him a very tempting offer. As Cyril Underhill, Sirius was not wanting for money but sitting around the flat all day did not seem like much of an option and, while game, he was a year too old for combat service. Fred and George offered him a "ground floor" position with their manufacturing plant and to team with them to figure out cool things to make. At first, they were focusing on the war effort and needed someone to work on their warding schemes, to include figuring out what could be done to Magical Britain's magical detection grid. Sirius surprised himself by jumping at the chance…

SUNDAY, AUGUST 25th, 1996, A forest near a remote stretch of coastline, South Coast of England, Devonshire.

The chase had markedly picked up its pace once it was south of the steep mountains. Hagrid had to pick it up as well as he was covering fifty miles and often far more than that a day moving south following the usually faint trail of his half brother. For the most part, his brother was leaving little to track. Most wizards would barely notice that a giant had moved through the area. But it seemed that Grawp left one thing in his wake that convinced Hagrid he was hard on the Giant's heels.

He first discovered the obvious sign in the mountains of Scotland on his second day on the track. He found the carcasses of two deer. They had been carefully skinned and hastily butchered. Only the entrails and meatiest parts had been removed while the rest of the carcass had been left for the crows and other carrion eaters. That Grawp had killed and butchered deer was of little surprise after all he had to eat and it's not like the eighteen foot tall being could pop into a pub or market for a meal without drawing attention. But the skinning made no sense to Hagrid nor did the waste of good meat. It was possible it was the only untained meat on the beasts, but Hagrid doubted that. Giants usually harvested as much as they could carry when they hunted. Something was off.

Further south he noticed that Grawp stopped in woods and forests for the day. But it was obvious the giant was not sleeping from dawn to dusk as there were more carcasses in similar states at the various camp site except now they were usually a lone cow or in one case a horse. Just as with the deer, they had been skinned and only partly butchered. At one site he found a further clue as it seemed Grawp spilled something near the slaughtered cow. Hagrid knew what it was. Not long after bringing Grawp to the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid had shown Grawp how to preserve meats magically. There was a magical herbal rub with salt that would preserve fresh meat almost indefinitely without a fire or smoke. The meat would rapidly dry out and become tough, but it would not rot and remained edible and tasty if one liked something like beef jerky. Hagrid had shown his brother this so that his brother could more easily fend for himself in the forest without drawing undue attention. And, to help his brother, Hagrid had given him a long, steel blade from an old scythe with a wooden handle he had fashioned. To the giant, it was little more than a pocket knife but a useful tool for skinning and butchering animals. Hagrid had also given the giant a large pouch filled with the herbal preservative. Now he was wondering if this had been a good idea. Without those tools, the giant would have had to build a fire which took time and would have slowed the giant's sprint to the south.

Around midday, the south trail came to an abrupt end. Hagrid had reached the South Coast of Britain. Beyond lay nothing but the open sea. It was clear that Grawp had not gone for a dip for the trail turned to the west. It skirted around a couple of coastal towns before it headed into a forest. Night was falling as Hagrid followed the trail into the trees and it would not be long before he was forced to make camp for the night or risk losing the trail altogether. But he now was certain he would catch his wayward brother for Britain was, after all, an island.

He stopped when his dog began to growl. He heard a branch snap and turned to look around. Fang yelped. As Hagrid turned to see the cause, he felt something strong encircle his neck and lift him from the ground. Whatever it was did not harm him, but he was quite helpless as he could not reach his crossbow.

"Oi! Galeb! Lookie what I got here," a very deep voice called in Kazchkakil from immediately behind Hagird. Hagrid heard something coming through the trees in front of him and soon a large giant appeared looking at him.

"Got me a Malack hunter and his wee pet beastie, I do," the voice behind said.

"Ain't no Malack, Jabo," the giant in from drawled. "It's too big. But the beastie is its, that's for certes."

"Not Malack?"

"Too big. Looks like he'd stand to your waist whereas Malacks be just past your knee if they be fully growed."

"Well, it's too small to be one 'o us, that's also for certes. Too hairy too. Think it was a looking for us?"

"If it was then it's not too bright neither. Even with that thing on his backside it a stood no real chance. Still, I wonder what it is."

"That new 'un may know. After all, 'e's lived in this place and surely knows what lives here too, right?"

"Aye, he might. We'll take it and the beastie to camp, we will."

"Ya think the beastie is eatable, Galeb. Tis been nigh on a score suns an' more since we've been 'aving fresh meats. The wee ones be pining for it."

"Nah. Wee beastie be naught but skin an' bone. Besides, whilst you were collecting those odd bits, I brained us a couple a plump Shardas. Should 'ave us a nice roast up at least for tonight."

Hagrid was too stunned by this turn of events to speak even though he understood most of it. He had been tracking one giant and all along the track there had been no evidence whatsoever of any others. Now there were two giants and neither was the one he had been tracking these many days. Moreover, one had mentioned 'wee ones.' That meant giant children and in his experience they never travelled without their mothers. He was afraid that what Dumbledore feared had happened. The giants had come to Britain to fight for Voldemort. He just hoped his brother had not gotten mixed up in this.

He was carried through the woods by his captor. Ahead the one called Galeb had gathered two dead cows, each tethered to a rope or something similar and was dragging them deeper into the forest. A giant could easily lift a cow, although it was still a heavy load. Two would be another matter and it would be easier for a single giant to drag the carcasses than to carry them and as the giant called Jabo was carrying Hagrid and Fang, the task of bringing their dinner back to wherever fell to Galeb. It was not long before they entered a clearing. It was lit now only by the fire burning in the center of it and in the flickering light Hagrid could see at least three other mature giants and at least three young ones.

"We were successful," Galeb called out getting the attention of the group. "Two fresh ones! Should be enough for tonight and tomorrow."

"Good," one of the females replied, "a few days of fresh meat may well flush the Salted Sharda from the wee ones."

"Got something else too," Jabo replied. "Ever seen the like, Grawp?"

The third giant, who had its back turned until now and seemed to be busy working on something, looked towards the two.

"I says it's Malack and its wee pet but Galeb says it's too big for Malack. He could be right. I've only seen Malack from far off after all."

"Not Malack," Grawp said. "He's part Kazchkakil. His father was Malar as is he but his mother was Kazchkakil – my mother. He's my half brother. Goes by the name of Rubeus Hagrid."

"The Clan Chief of Legend?" the other female asked.

"No. Just the name. I never asked him how he was named. He may not know."

"This the one what's been following you?" Galeb asked.

"It was the one I hoped," Grawp replied. "There is Malar where he was from, where he brought me when I escaped the Primitive Ones in the Mountains. I moved fast lest they might follow. This one is okay. The others are the Evil Ones of Legend."

"The ones who drive us from homes and fields," the other female noted.

Grawp nodded. "The ones of false promises and false hopes."

"Should I put him down? His wee beastie?" Jabo asked.

"Why not? The beastie will cower and my brother… Well, if he runs he cannot out run us now, can he?"

Jabo gently placed Hagrid and Fang on the ground, although he made sure to remove the crossbow as he did. Hagrid stood for a moment dumbfounded. His worse fears seemed to be realized. His brother whom he had saved from vile giants seemed to have gone over to the enemy.

"Grawp?" he began hoping to regain control of the situation. After all, despite what others may have thought such as those flighty Centaurs and his friends Harry and Hermione, Grawp was not or had not been truly dangerous or violent – not really. Grawp just did not know his own strength. He had never truly attacked or tried to harm Hagrid but, as a long lost brother, he tried to relate to Hagrid as if Hagrid was just like him. He always seemed to feel bad when he went even a little too far.

"I am glad you came, my brother…"

"What're ya doin'? Ya can't be trustin' strange giants. We need to go back…"

There was a giggle from one of the child giants. "It talks funny. Like a little girl. It is talking, isn't it, Papa?"

"It's Malack speak, my daughter," Galeb said. "They all talk high like that."

"What's it saying?"

"I do not know. I've had no reason to talk Malack like and don't think I could if I wanted to. My voice hasn't been that squeaky since before I was your age, Deela."

"We need to go back to Hogwarts," Hagrid continued. "You're not safe here. Only Dumbledore…"

"You are a fool to revere that Malar, Brother," Grawp replied. "But it does not matter fool or not. The Horn sounds. The Kazchkakil are called to our ancient home. Over two thousand winters have passed since we were forced to flee the plagues which sought to destroy us. We were scattered to the winds and scattered again and again by the Malar and their minions. But the Horn of Legend sounds and we gather again."

"What rubbish is that? If yer not comin' to Dumbledore than yer goin' over to … to him!"

"Him? Is this the 'him' whose name you cannot speak even in your Malack tongue, this evil Malar you fear?"

Hagrid nodded.

Grawp laughed, or at least Hagrid assumed it was a laugh.

"We are Kazchkakil, Brother! We bow to no Malar! We answer to no Gurg! Too long had I forgotten mother's lessons. I did not come here to serve Malar. I came here to meet my brother, all that is left of our once numerous line and to wait – to wait for the Call of the Horn. I would never have served your Malar or any other. You assumed I would. You assumed I would see your Malar as different. But he is not. The Malar that set giant upon giant in the mountains was no better and no worse than the Malar you serve, Brother!"

"How can you say that?"

"Because it is the truth! Your Malar presents baubles and trinkets just as the other. Your Malar does not offer the one thing the Kazchkakil would consider a sign of respect and good faith nor will he … ever!"

"You don't know Albus Dumbledore!" Hagrid protested.

"Don't I? I held my tongue about many things, Brother. It was your home and not mine after all. But this wood is neither your home nor mine so I am free to speak my mind even though you might be my older brother. That distinction matters not for while you may have six winters more than I, I am the larger so you will listen for once!

"Your Malar is no better than any! We seek land! We seek pastures and fields to raise Sharda for meat and milk, Tula for meat and their hair Pira for their meat and to tend trees for fruit. Your Malar will not offer that and all his baubles and trinkets would still leave us starving, landless, divided, disbursed and wandering. The Horn calls us to where we never need wander again. Tell me, Brother. Will your Malar turn that valley over to my people for their own? Will he give us any valley? Will he bar Malar and Malack alike from our lands? Will he allow us to live as our ancestors once lived or will he insist we remain in the remote places where Sharda cannot live and the trees bear no fruit? Will he ever allow you, Brother, you who are half Kazchkakil to carry the Malar stick? You yourself told me Malar took yours for something you never did and your Malar knows this, but does he seek justice for you?"

"Albus Dumbledore is a great man," Hagrid protested. "He would keep you safe! Yet you run off and … and wind up with … with others who come for the Dark…"

The Giants laughed at him.

"The runt thinks we came here on purpose!" Galeb laughed. "Six score of us set off for the Horn twelve dawns ago from a far coast. A storm came upon us and we were scattered. The Kalakis for Jabo's and my families stayed together, but we lost sight of the others. Our wee ones became sick from the storm so, when we saw this shore we paddled for it not to come here to stay, but to come here so that our wee ones could be well enough to put to sea again, to gather supplies and fix the Kalakis. Grawp arrived with us two dawns ago with meat and hides, more hide than he needs for his Kalaki. Once we all are ready, we shall put to sea and follow the Horn. We seek no Malar…"

"So they're not here for…"

"Tis the weather what landed them, not promises of some Malar," Grawp said. "There be but one Malar whose promises are not hollow words."

"And Dumbledore…"

"IS NOT THE ONE!" Grawp said "His words and deeds are as hollow as any! I met the one at your home, Hagrid, but I know she is gone and shall never return. Why do you seek to remain when she has forsaken you and that place? But I believe I shall see her again. She is beyond the sea and waiting to welcome the Kazchkakil by the Horn on a fair coast and she shall promise and it shall be kept."

"Who…? And how do you know that?"

"Because he saw it in a vision quest last eve," Galeb replied. "He has the ancient gift and it must be so."

"But you have to come back," Hagrid pleaded.

"I am Kazchkakil so I cannot for the Horn calls us home, Brother. Perhaps you cannot hear it for you are merely our mother's son and not fully Kazchkakil, but it calls us all, Brother. On the third sunset from now we shall be ready and we shall follow the Horn. As you are my brother, you and your beastie are free to join us. But you are also free to leave us and return to your Malar. We will not, however, allow you to stop us."

Hagrid could only nod. Grawp was the only family he had left. He wondered who the girl was in his Brother's dreams and thought it might be his friend Hermione, for as far as Hagrid knew that was the only girl Grawp could have seen twice. But it couldn't be. She had gone away months ago. Hogwarts was all he knew and Dumbledore had always been kind to him but… But Grawp was family and had been kind as well, at least for a giant.

"I need to think," Hagrid said.

"The third sunset, Brother. No later," Grawp replied and then turned back to whatever he had been doing before Hagrid arrived.

A/N: The military pay scale is based upon the one for the British Army although it is based upon the current pay scale, not the one in 1996 ('cause I couldn't find that). I applied a purely random discount factor and multiplied the annual pay from recruit through Brigadier by 0.7 then divided by 60 (5 for the ratio of Pounds to Galleons and 12 for the months in a year) to get the base monthly pay rounded to the nearest 5 Galleons and then applied step increases roughly equal to what they are now for the ranks. The pays quoted are initial pays for Private through Staff Sergeant and 2nd Lieutenant through Major (as the NCOs and officers will all come from recruit classes). This is base pay. They get raises for time served in grade and may be eligible for additional pay for special skills, particularly dangerous duties and for combat. The pay for the Air Force is similar although like the RAF the ranks have different names.

Tax policy. Made up. Overly simplistic. Probably unworkable. Then again, I doubt many readers want a dissertation on taxation and its historical development and underpinnings with comparison to such development by their Muggle neighbors even in a fictional context. The point is, Dumbledore is again seriously screwed.

RELATIONSHIP SCORECARD:

If you didn't read the Intro, you missed that. This is so you can keep up with who's with who and how.

Key:

Names in Italics = OC

Gr – Gryffindor, Hu – Hufflepuff, Ra – Ravenclaw, Sl – Slytherin.

SG – St. George's School, PE – Prince Edward School, SA – St. Andrew's, SP – St. Patrick's, SD – St. David's.

(Number indicates last year completed. No number means they finished all seven years.)

P = pregnant.

Harry James Potter, age 16.* HOUSE POTTER