A polite peal of applause filled the main hall of the museum, where lines of witches and wizards sat on little golden chairs behind a red rope, and a raised stage. The speaker before them gave a little bow, completing her lecture on the development of shield spells with particular reference to texts from a sect of Vietnamese magicians. Their books and drawings had been preserved and were currently on display in one of the museum's galleries. The talk attendees were all invited to view the gallery afterwards, ahead of its formal opening the following morning. As such, there were a few famous faces and a few reporters amongst the audience, as flashbulbs popped from the photographer.

The museum itself was one of wizarding Britain's national treasures. It was a Victorian house, listed as a very comfortable looking hotel with 'no vacancies' hanging from the sign. Beyond the front door was a reception desk and to all extents it looked like a hotel apart from the wardrobe unusually placed in the foyer. Within the wardrobe the entrance was revealed - a vast hall below, at the bottom of a staircase, which was where the talk had been held.

As Defences Professor at Hogwarts, Ignan had applied for a ticket to the event a month or two before when it had been announced. It fell within the Easter holiday from the school, so he had the freedom to take the evening off to attend. Sometimes it was good to be amongst common wizarding folk and away from being a teacher, to enjoy things in a personal capacity, as well as now being able to speak with more authority on some aspects to his NEWT students. Though, he had spotted a couple of them in the crowd with or without a family member or too. He had suggested it might be of interest, but one could never assume teenagers would actually heed advice in their holidays.

The museum staff were ushering the audience through to the gallery, so Ignan joined the throng making their way through. A couple of witches smiled politely at him.
"Lovely to see you here Professor, is my Arthur doing better in your lessons now?" However rude he could be, he could never escape every Hogwarts parent. The fact his photograph had been in the paper during the year with the Tetrawizard only increased the fact he could be recognised. On meeting parents it was almost startlingly obvious where their offspring got their unfortunate traits.
"No worse than before, Madam Beaufort." He responded with a slight nod of the head. Young Beaufort had been on his detention list more than once in the past month, but it wasn't the right time to say such a thing.

He attempted to escape further questions from them both by sidestepping, but this put him shoulder to shoulder at an exhibit with an older wizard, who he brushed against by accident in the process. He took a second look at the fellow, his mind registering a family resemblance, or the thought they had met before.
"My apologies." Ignan spoke, raising a hand and making distance between the two.

"Oh my, well I'll speak with you later, Professor Storm!" Madam Beaufort prevailed, but the flow of people around her was sweeping her off to the other side of the gallery. The fortune made Ignan let go of the breath he'd inhaled to attempt to verbally dismiss her further, glad he would be able to concentrate on the exhibits when he saw the reflection of the man beside him, watching him in the glass.

"Forgive me, have we met before?" He asked the other wizard, his mind still nagging at a resemblance.

The old wizard nodded in slight acknowledgement of the other's apology and continued examining the exhibit in front of him. Hands clasped in front, clutching the head of the heavy ebony cane he had, Roland Michael Dylanis, ninth to bear the old name of his family, the aged wizard was busy recalling when he'd fought that same type of magic in '65, upon the fields of battle in Vietnam. He was a rookie Auror then, still fresh from Red Rocks Academy but brimming with youthful power and strength, deployed to track down a Vietnamese wizard who'd stirred up an army of other Indochinese wizards against Vietnam's magical government. He fought there for seven years until the withdrawal of United States forces in 1972 with the capture of the wizard who was later hauled before the International Confederation of Wizards. Thus began the old man's rise in the Magical Government, as he was the Auror who personally captured the target. Roland smiled as this exhibit reminded him of one of the greatest moments of pride in his career, that is until the shout of a female wizard to the man next to him grabbed his attention.

"Oh my, well I'll speak with you later, Professor Storm!"

Roland's eyes still appeared to be looking at the exhibit, but in truth he was now examining Ignan Storm's reflection in the glass before the two of them.

Definitely a Storm, Roland thought to himself as he chastised himself for not recognizing the man sooner. He had, after all, made an appearance in the Daily Prophet once or twice during the Tetrawizard Tournament. Roland remembered thinking how pitiful it was that it was Salem representing America at the tournament and not his alma mater. Ignan quickly caught onto Roland's trick and seemed to have a nagging thought on his mind.

"Forgive me, have we met before?"

"Of course not," Roland replied, his gaze remaining forward, looking at Ignan's reflection, "I know you, of course, even before your face was getting plastered all over the Prophet. When I learned that one of the Old Families from Germany had moved here to Britain along with my own, I was surprised to see that it was the Storms. Of all of the old relations, I always figured that your family would be the one that would stay firmly rooted in the old country, Ignan. I always heard that my family was rather resented by the Storms and the rest of the old German families after they left for America." A slight smirk appeared upon Roland's face as he took note to not properly introduce himself to Ignan just yet. If this Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was worthy of his job, then he'd quickly figure out just who Roland was, at the very least he'd guess Roland's last name!

The other wizard had an accent not from Britain, but a twang like the Salem contingent. Ignan wasn't well travelled in the states, so wasn't able to identify more of a regional sense to the fellow's upbringing.

He didn't appear to be reserved in responding to his query of whether they knew each other - even though he confessed they'd never met.

"…I know you, of course, even before your face was getting plastered all over the Prophet…" Ignan couldn't help but wince at the expression. Up until this year he'd done well to stay out of the newspaper save for some passing mentions in relation to Hogwarts, but his appointment last summer for the Deputy Headmaster post along with his growing reputation for teaching had earned him some column inches.

"… I always figured that your family would be the one that would stay firmly rooted in the old country, Ignan…"

The Professor turned properly to look at the wizard beside him with alarm.

"To America..?" He uttered quietly, looking suspiciously at the other man, weighing up his facial features, and what he'd said, against his memories of family discussion and scorn. His right hand drew up before him, pointing to the other wizard a moment before his mind made some connections.

"You're a Dylanis?" He asked, eyes narrowed in consideration, "am I right? Yes? Merlin - been a while since I crossed paths with one of your kind, exempting one of my students." He swiped aside his right hand as he thought of young Roland.

"The family are still in the old country, as it happens. My mother was English, though I'm not alone in being here. Are you here on a visit yourself? Sorry, I didn't catch your name…" His hand had automatically crept up in anticipation of exchanging a handshake on discovering the other wizard's full name.

"That would be my grandson, Roland," replied the older Dylanis, a minor hint of distaste on his voice as he used his grandson's full first name, "I imagine you were interested to read one of the old names on your class registry? Then again, I'm sure the Dylanis name wasn't brought up very often by your family or its relatives." Roland briefly looked at Ignan's rising hand and then finally brought his own up to meet Ignan's handshake, making sure to give a firm grip.

"Roland Dylanis the Ninth," said Roland curtly as Ignan asked for it, "I oftentimes like to keep my name unstated. Helps me gauge which wizards might recognize the name 'Dylanis' around here and which ones won't. It was jarring for the first few years living in Britain, I must tell you. Most folks seem to recognize my grandson's maiden name, Bowen, far more often than they recognize his surname." Roland gestured to Ignan to walk with him as he made to move to another exhibit.

"How fares my grandson in your classroom, Ignan?" said Roland as they walked side-by-side, "I made sure that boy had more than a passing grasp of magical theory before putting him on that train. I was hoping he would live up to the name he carries, after all. But knowing that boy, I'm sure he's only disappointed in his studies." A far more grim sort of smugness crossed Roland's smile at his small bit of snark.

Professor Storm was intrigued to find that he had met the grandfather of one of the students, though in the back of his mind, a small part of him did lament that he was never far away from one of the Hogwarts parents… or extended family, whom might enquire.

Dylanis the younger, or as his classmates called him, Rou, had mentioned his grandfather before, but Ignan hadn't anticipated they might cross paths. Nor was he quite sure what to expect, other than a mention of high standards.

"Roland Dylanis the Ninth," the wizard explained, and detailed how he used the recognition of his family name as a gauge of who he was speaking to. The name would mean far more to some in Ignan's family, certainly, those who were particularly interested in ancestry and heritage and how a name could open doors… and the right tie.

"How fares my grandson in your classroom, Ignan?" Roland senior asked as they moved away from the displays and out of the path of the crowds that were bustling round them, eager to see the new exhibition.

"… I'm sure he's only disappointed in his studies."

Ah, there were the high standards that had been hinted to by the student, Ignan thought to himself, as he decided on a diplomatic answer to Dylanis.

"I have no great concerns about your grandson, Sir. Although I do not often praise the students for minor successes, I do find that -" he was about to use Dylanis as he referred to all his students by their surname, but then considered his audience, "- young Roland puts in more than adequate effort when suitably engaged in lessons."

There, that was rather moderate in opinion.
"Though he does concern himself on meeting expectations, though this is not a trait I am willing to erase. It is a motivation for now, and he'll get suitable praise and coddling from other professors in the school. It's counterproductive in Defence, and the certainty they might survive a lesson tends to wane the students' attention." The sarcastic smirk reached his expression, somewhat mirroring Roland senior's a moment before.

"Does Roland speak much about his time at Hogwarts? You're his guardian are you not? One does tend to know these things as Deputy Headmaster, but with hundreds of them I can forget the odd one." He frowned at himself and went on, "I would hazard a guess you are not Hogwarts alumni, same as me."

"'More than adequate,' is it?" Roland said quietly, a minor smugness tinging his voice, "After everything I taught the boy, he's only above-average. Typical." Roland began to sweep his eyes across the exhibits in the gallery, looking for any other ones that he might remember from the Vietnam War. He caught Ignan's further questions, but paid them no mind at first as he concentrated on finding another exhibit. When he did, Roland looked over at Ignan to signal him to follow and then began to make his way toward another enshrined text on Vietnamese magic.

"Indeed, I am young Roland's guardian," Roland said as they arrived at the glass case displaying the scroll that had caught his eye, "After my son's unfortunate death during the Voldemort Crisis, I took it upon myself to raise the poor boy. He writes me every week to two weeks, often just requesting some supplies he might need from me. Other than that, I tend not to pay much attention to the boy's activities there. I'm sure he'd rather not have me there meticulously overseeing his education, same as you."

Roland pored over the text before him, raising his eyebrows at how they broke down magic that he remembered being so confounding during the war. He stroked his chin thoughtfully before answering Ignan's question about his alma mater.

"No. I was born in America, after all. My grandson's the first Dylanis born in Europe in almost three centuries, sir," Roland said, "Red Rocks Academy, class of 1962. Top of the class, mind you." Roland chuckled at Ignan's earlier remarks that Rou was merely "more than adequate." This, in his eyes, only made it more clear how Rou was unworthy of the old family name. "I doubt Hogwarts is going to start accepting American students anytime soon, otherwise I might have raised Rou in America and stayed with the Government."

Dylanis Senior appeared content to browse the exhibits and continue to speak, beckoning Ignan to walk with him to another of the glass cases. Despite himself, the Professor found himself swallowing down the wish to be alone for the sake of politeness.

"… other than that, I tend not to pay much attention to the boy's activities there. I'm sure he'd rather not have me there meticulously overseeing his education, same as you."

There was no correct answer to that statement on reflection, Ignan thought to himself, as his own gaze fell a little more passively to a piece of literature on display. Parents were best kept at arm's length, but to not have any interest at all seemed unlikely, though as he clarified, he was Roland's guardian, not his parent. At Hogwarts, the Professors would have to act in loco parentis, acting in the best interests of students as they saw fit, without violating civil liberties.

"… otherwise I might have raised Rou in America and stayed with the Government."

Although he had not been directed to question, Ignan diverted his attention from nearby visitors to the exhibit who were straying closer to the piece they were stood at and back to Dylanis.

"Was the importance of Rou attending Hogwarts so great?" He asked, quite innocently, "I can appreciate that families often prefer to educate whole lines with one school, but if you were not a Hogwarts graduate yourself…?" Perhaps the answer was best left unspoken, perhaps a wish of Rou's absent parents, or the opportunity to attend after three centuries of absence.

"From what I have heard and encountered, Red Rocks is admirable in magical education." He gave a respectful nod, and not for the first time that evening felt a little awkward for discussing matters with student families.

It was clear that Ignan was only tagging along out of polite courtesy. Roland was sure that, if he had his way, Ignan would have slipped away when Roland moved to another exhibit to observe instead of tag along. At the same time, Ignan continued to press with questions that Roland was more than content to answer. While he didn't see himself befriending Ignan Storm(then again, Roland Dylanis IX did not have friends, merely assets), especially if the Dylanis family was a sensitive subject amongst the Storms, being on polite speaking terms with the Deputy Headmaster would definitely help the old wizard keep an eye on young Roland's education while not having to actively travel to Scotland in order to do so.

"You're right, Red Rocks is quite a prominent academy for American wizards," Roland said, "Red Rocks is said to be the more...spiritual of the American institutes, though. More in touch with the shamanistic magics of America from before Europeans began to cross the Atlantic. I'm sure this particular caveat was why Red Rocks was not invited to represent America in the Tetrawizard Tournament this cycle. Then again, I'm sure Salem Institute was chosen in order to keep the competition fair." Roland stole a quick, sharp glance at Ignan to see if the wizard cracked a smile at the joke he'd made. Salem may be the oldest of the American institutes of magic, but Red Rocks was the school that produced one of the most prodigious American wizards of the last generation. Roland's pride at being this particular wizard wasn't exactly small, either. Then again, the old wizard never cared about the Tetrawizard Tournament; All that spectacle represented to him was a remnant of the old barbaric contest that the original Triwizard Tournament was until its cancellation. Even if the tournament was far safer after its revival in '94, pitting pubescents against each other in magical competitions was doomed to result in nasty injuries.

It was, after all, why the only only magical objects in Quidditch were broomsticks and bludgers. Or, in the case of Quodpot, broomsticks and the Quod. Throwing wands and the deadliness of magic into the mix, Roland believed, was a recipe for disaster. Muggles understood this well, as Roland found when reading a particularly interesting trilogy of novels by one Suzanne Collins.

The crowds were steadily starting to thin, people had traipsed around the room and were either discussing in small groups and socialising. A few were intently examining some of the exhibits, though after the talk the attention span was probably waning.

"Something like that," Ignan agreed with a sly nod to Roland's mention of why Salem was selected for the Tetra. It had been down to Snark and the Ministry at the time - she'd spent enough time travelling around sorting it all out, it was a shame she should have vanished without trace before she could see it come to fruition.

"I have read a little of it - though our Salem visitors haven't spoken too deeply of their fellow school." He paused and narrowed his eyes at the case, falling silent for a moment as he read the description for the exhibit.

"So what brought you to attend this evening?" He asked glancing up again to study Roland properly, noticing more how his grandson took after him in subtle ways.

"I doubt that Salem's students would speak highly of Red Rocks these days, Storm," Roland said simply, "They have a tendency to hold a grudge over losses in intermural competitions. I remember back when I was at Red Rocks, and Salem lost the traditional intermural game of Quodpot one year. They put out a bounty on the heads of Red Rocks players for years after that. It wasn't serious, not at all, but the grudge they held was clear. I'm sure if Red Rocks was chosen to represent America instead of Salem, an all-out war would have been declared!" Roland let the moment pass afterward as they moved to another exhibit.

"Vietnamese magic was always a point of interest for me, actually," he said, "Back during the Vietnam War, the defensive power of their spells were notorious amongst the Auror Corps that the Government sent over. It took us quite awhile before we figured out its intricacies enough to give us consistent wins against the wizards who were serving in Quach Duc Van's army." Roland allowed the name of the notorious wizard who'd sparked the war hang in the air for a moment.

"Looking at these exhibits simply reminded me of those days. Back when I was young, dumb, and fresh out of Red Rocks as a rookie Auror," Roland concluded in short. Roland gestured to Ignan with his cane, indicating to the Deputy Headmaster if he understood the occasional need for an older wizard to relive his glory days. They were, after all, similar in age and past their prime. Roland tapped his cane and began to laugh, remembering some of the more stupid things he got up to as a young man during the War. It was, after all, a rather insane and unhinged conflict.

"Of course," Ignan replied with a nod, "the Muggles and the wizards at war with Vietnam, forgive me, my own knowledge of the intricacies of the history are undoubtedly not as sharp as yours - the war is not on the British curriculum, but it isn't disregarded completely." He admitted, feeling somewhat regretful that he did not have deeper knowledge in that aspect of international wizarding history, considering his subject area studied conflict and magical war along the way.

"From your description, one could draw comparisons in our early careers, though I was in the Black Forest, learning and understanding the dark magic to turn it back against them there. Do you look back upon those times fondly? The thrill of the chase, the danger, being - well, dumb and fresh faced and bold without the caution of our older years?"

The two of them shared a moment of humour, reminiscing briefly on their young days when they wouldn't have hesitated, acted before thinking.

"I have to remind myself that those who leave my classroom for their own careers in such areas will have the same. I only hope they live to see it from the other end of the telescope later, so to say, as we are." He gave a shrug and gestured between the two of them.

"So were you out there at the time?" He asked, returning to Roland's mention of figuring out intricacies. "How long did you serve?"

"Vietnam is an infamous war in America on both sides of the Statute," Roland tersely said, his lips thinning a bit as he recalled the controversies of the time, "The American Magical Government learned dearly that they weren't invincible. Quite a few of my comrades fell before we were able to overcome the power of Duc Van and his followers' magic; one of the men I was forced to bury was my own mentor from Auror training, in fact. To this very spell, in fact." Roland pointed to a scroll he'd been observing with Ignan, which depicted a particular variation of the Shield Charm that also served as a reflection spell.

"The curse he'd used against an enemy wizard won't up rebounding and caught him in the throat," Roland briefly narrated, "Damn spell strangled him in a matter of seconds. I wound up having to take control of our particular squad of Aurors at that point until the end of the conflict. I served for the entirety of the Vietnam War." Roland nodded in acknowledgement of Ignan's question. "My squad and I were on the front lines of battle for the duration of it all. By the time the conflict was over, we were all decorated soldiers and a bevy of posthumous honors were giving to the fallen."

Roland pulled an old photo out of his wallet and showed it to Ignan, showing himself at age twenty when he and his squad had just been deployed into 'Nam. Roland was recognizable, even if he was a full forty-five years younger in the photo in question. He was considerably more spare-built and less muscular then as he was now, as maintaining fitness was far less of a hassle back then. But that notable predatory, calculating look was unmistakable. The other nineteen members of the squad consisted mostly of other young men around Roland's age, with a few middle-aged men who were unquestionably the commanding officers.

"By the end of the war, I was one of four men left from when this photo was taken," Roland said, replacing the photo and continuing onward to more exhibits, "All of the officers were killed within the first couple of years, leaving the rookie fresh out of Red Rocks in charge, that being me. The squad was proactive in the hunt for Duc Van, but we lost a lot of good men in the process when it was all over."

"So you were fighting in the Black Forest around that time, then?" Roland said, "I wonder: Did you fight in either of the Voldemort Crises?"

The photograph was clearly close to Roland's heart if he kept it in his wallet. A glance from the photo to the owner's face confirmed which of the men in the frame was Dylanis. He listened intently to the explanation, considering to himself that the Americans were far more regimented than the British were in their military use of wizard-kind, but it appeared to have results, although at a high price.

"So you were fighting in the Black Forest around that time, then? I wonder: did you fight in either of the Voldemort Crises?" Roland asked.

"I was still a student when things began in Vietnam[1], but in sixty-six I was posted to the Black Forest. We were there to minimise the threat of rogue wizards, some still holding on to Grindelwald's philosophy, others soon to be sympathetic to Voldemort's. Experimental, raw dark arts in use against us - by far the best education of my career." His twenties were most unsettling and his memories of them were only intensified by the fact he kept journals of his observations and encounters where permitted.

"By the time your battle was over, I was over here, liaison with the aurors here and International Magical Co-operation tracking wanted wizards in Europe." He glanced away from Roland for a moment, recalling how things had unravelled.

"Was the end to my Ministry career, a few years before things darkened for Britain with his rising. For the second, I was very much the other side of Europe, so no, I take no credit for fighting him unlike many I work with." He shook his head and gestured gently with both hands to indicate he did not hold the responsibility in his own history. In truth he was being an arse elsewhere, and had he been in Britain would probably have sided with Voldemort during that time in his life.

"Those times leave an ugly scar on British history, for certain. The students today are lucky not to have been there, or old enough to remember well." He adjusted the cuff of his shirt beneath his jacket and tilted his head slightly to Dylanis, "Speaking of which, I am always seeking suitable speakers on the subject, and from what you have recounted this evening, you would offer a curious insight they have not heard. Would you ever consider?"

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