8 October 2011
3:10 pm
At the gates of Howarts castle
It is raining

It was a dreary day. Knox Greyfriar stood at the Hogwarts gates awaiting a pair of concerned parents. The rain poured down around him, deflected from his great head by a simple shield charm, a glowing canopy that rippled with each droplet. Despite being a bit soggy, the Headmaster looked worse-for-wear as if he was coming down with something; but that something was that the moon was only three days from full.

He'd promised the two wizards - Balfour Spectre and Johann Storm - a coach, but complications with the Thestrals had waylaid them, so it would be a a chilly walk in a cold Scotland showers. It wasn't all bad. It would give the three a chance to talk before they found little Feliks Spectre.

Greyfriar was glad Spectre and Storm had asked to come. There was a great deal the staff and Slytherin House could to in support of Feliks, but it all really was a matter for family. He peered out from under the shadow of the great boar gargoyles for any sign of the men he had not yet met.

For the most part, Johann was glad to be heading from Edinburgh to the gates of Hogwarts. It meant that he could say things and convey things in person to Feliks without feeling like they might be misconstrued in writing. He had felt protective over Balfour, over his mother in the past when the press had torn strips off them, but against Feliks had reawakened a darker anger that Ira and Layton used to enjoy him for.

A small, uncomfortable part was worried about going. Mostly because it was special treatment, and at that age all he would have wanted was to appear as normal and unremarkable as every other classmate. Having his parents turn up would have been downright embarrassing. But this was Hogwarts, not Durmstrang, and Feliks was barely theirs. As much as his mother could provide all the feminine coddling and support, she was a teacher too. Ignan had already disapproved, but there was always far more he didn’t say at times like this, which would be in silent support.

Once he had dealt with Witch Weekly, they would think twice about penning such vicious things about their family. But not now, those thoughts not now. They were about to meet Headmaster Greyfiar - a man Johann had heard about from Hannah and heard the great booming laugh of at gatherings but never spoken to properly.

Arm in arm with Balfour, Johann appeared before the great gates and winged boars and took in a breath of wet air, rain splattering down from the grey skies above. Wand arm free, he thrust it upwards to cover them both instinctively before realising they were not alone. There had been some uttering of a coach, but here was Greyfriar, alone. Balfour had been wise in suggesting they dress for a walk. Boots rather than shoes. The deeper his relationship with Balfour had become, the more Johann’s wardrobe had expanded to include things like wellingtons, raincoats, and earthy colours to blend into landscapes around beasts.

“Well met, Professor Greyfriar,” Johann greeted the Headmaster with a bow, releasing Balfour’s arm, wand still held upright. “Ever Scottish weather.”

Balfour had calmed down considerably since barging into Witch Weekly the weekend before last, thanks in no small part to the efforts of his fiancé and the many good people in his life. Sympathetic, righteous friends who implored clarity of thought in a situation inciting pure wrath. Which wasn't to say that Johann did not also feel the same.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on their vexation towards Witch Weekly.

The sight of Hogwarts castle in the distance, rising from its verdant atmosphere of autumn rain, had brought feelings of nostalgia and tenderness into his heart. This place that always welcomes him home - that now welcomed his son, even into the same house. The last time he had come here was for the career fair earlier the same year; this was therefore the second trip made with his lover. He squeezed Johann's arm fondly before the other man let go to greet the large wizard who'd come to meet them at the gates.

No coach, though there wasn't a decent Scotsmen who wouldn't prefer the squelch of boots in the wet earth or the patter of drops on a waxed jacket. He smiled. Aye, Scottish weather indeed.

"Professor Greyfriar." Balfour echoed the name with a bracing smile, tugging off one of his gloves so that he could extend a hand towards Greyfriar as he stepped forward - just slightly out of the safety of Joh's umbrella charm. "Wasn't expecting to be fetched by the Headmaster himself, it's quite the honour to properly meet you."

They had exchanged the odd word at the Ministry before, by way of the Werewolf Wing being on level four, but those glancing interactions scarcely counted.

The two men approached and as they got closer Knox saw that they looked like a set! Their builds, demeanor, and ensembles, the pair linked hand in hand. Knox smiled.  He grew up in a time where two wizards couldn't have been publicly the pair these two had become. Immediately he could see sweet Feliks was in the best of hands.

"Sirs!"

Knox took Balfour's hand and shook it, and transitioned immediately into a brief hug. Johann Storm was treated to the same.

"I realize I recognize Mr. Spectre, so you must be Mr. Storm. Always delighted to have more of both of you lot back at Hogwarts. Really, truly: welcome." In addition to Feliks Spectre, Hogwarts was home to the strange Isla. And if memory served, Johann Storm was the son of their own.

He began to lead the way up the worn stone road.

"Sorry about the coach. Our Mr. Onuris informs me that the thestrals are now foaling. I have come to understand that while the young thestrals are themselves invisible to most people[1], the afterbirth is not. Nature's funny, isn't it?" 

This visit was not exactly a joking occasion, but it was going to begin to do some good, so why not a bit of candid small talk?

1.	Knox can see thestrals, since the first Wizarding war

Greyfriar was very warm in greeting, and Johann could understand why his mother liked him so. He wondered if their son did too, as on this first impression and accounts of others, Greyfriar exuded better qualities of headmasters Johann had read about in Hogwarts, a History with Feliks.

“Truly,” Johann agreed to Professor Greyfriar’s account of the thestrals, “I hope Sylvain is thriving here at Hogwarts. Though, I am sure Balfour gave him an excellent reference.”

He smiled between the two wizards. Sylvain was a dear old friend of Balfour’s, and one friend Johann had managed to find some camaraderie with through language. He had been a little apprehensive on meeting Balfour’s extended friendship groups in the first few months of their relationship, as he had not wanted them to dislike him. That so many of Balfour’s friends were experts in different beasts, and that it had never been one of Johann’s areas of expertise.

“It’s alright, we are accustomed to walking. Thank you for accommodating our visit.” He fell into step with their new acquaintance. “Like Balfour says, honoured. Especially as Hannah has always spoken fondly of you.” Given Hannah Bombay’s small, select, group of friends, he hoped this was high praise of the bear of a wizard accompanying them up the slope, and that by mentioning her it wasn’t out of turn. He had, after all, been in their support[1] against the wizengamot.

1.	22 December, 2009 Live with Wolves, and you Learn to Howl

            "I hope Sylvain is thriving here at Hogwarts. Though, I am sure Balfour gave him an excellent reference."

He laughed a bit ruefully, exchanging a fond glance with his partner. Sylvain and Johann fell into the french tongue around each other, a language that Balfour himself could only haltingly speak or understand. It was a beautiful one in their mouths. Even his son spoke it, which gave him incentive to practice.

"I haven't heard much from Sylvain, actually, which is a good sign that he's enjoying the work," Bal added and smiled at the Headmaster as they began to make their way up towards the castle; the smell of  wet earth and rotting autumn leaves sweetened the air around them. Everything even smelled the same as it had in his youth.

Hannah's name was brought up, and he felt a prick of guilt in the way he always did when he thought about someone who'd been so cruelly affected by Ira Almasy. One of these days they needed to have her over for dinner.

"Yes, you've been very kind." Balfour agreed, something in the press of his lips softening at a tender thought. "Thank you so much for keeping an eye on Feliks since the article. It's all so new to him, and, well -" he nudged Johann's arm playfully, "- new to us as well."

Knox managed to hold his tongue regarding Hannah - the Hannah Bombay - and her reported compliments a completely alien and practically unbelievable. Why, he would be challenged to think of a time she'd been so soft to him face to face, and she was making good words for him to other people? He must harass her for details at a later date. Perhaps in a letter. She'd hate that. He smiled to himself.

He mumbled affirmatives and confirmations that young Sylvain Onuris, who served double-duty as Groundskeeper and Professor, was performing without reproach. That, and he'd been more than fair concerning Knox's special request of him on a full moon ... It was comforting to know Onuris also had the respect of these two. Always good to hear.

They rounded a bend, avoided a gully in the cobbles, and passed some soggy vegetable gardens that had been prepared by Owen Prewett for winter hibernation.

"Slytherin House has rallied around him in the way only Slytherin could.  Their house rarely receives due credit for their capability of loyal compassion." From Johann's accent and surname, Knox guessed he hadn't attended Hogwarts. But Balfour, "which house did you belong, Balfour? I'm a notoriously sluggish Hufflepuff myself."

The Headmaster was known to most as a wizard most self-depricating but he realized these two might not know that. He'd wait and see.

If it hadn't been for Abby's reassurance[1] he might have worried about a Slytherin response to Feliks' situation - now he took the Headmaster's words at face value and could safely assume nothing too grim had yet to occur in those dungeon dormitories. At the worst, their son was growing a thick layer of snakeskin.

             "...which house did you belong, Balfour? I'm a notoriously sluggish Hufflepuff myself."

Balfour grinned at this question, slipping his arm through Johann's as they trudged through a particularly boggy stretch of mud; their wellies sunk in and out with satisfying squelching sounds.

"Slytherin," he replied with just the slightest trace of pride in his mild Scottish brogue - it wasn't the first house most minds leapt to when they encountered him but it made sense, given time. "Same as Feliks and Alistair. Last time I saw my common room, they were still talking about the Chamber of Secrets." That fateful year, one of many turning points in the strange intrigues of the castle.

His gaze flicked to the towers and spires that rose above treetops before them, and he wondered if everyone who worked at Hogwarts felt this way when they returned after the summer. Gooseflesh on his arms, a flush in his cheeks.

"All of my siblings were Hufflepuff." Balfour remarked with a look at Greyfriar, matter-of-fact. "Funny coincidence actually, my sister[2] also goes by Knox."

He could easily picture her getting along with Professor Greyfriar, too. Sensible and fair-minded people with a passion for inclusivity. "I take it you teach History of Magic, by the way?"

1.	Bright Metal on a Sullen Ground - 24th Sept
2.	Nathaira Spectre

“... Thank you so much for keeping an eye on Feliks since the article. It's all so new to him... new to us as well.” Balfour’s elbow nudge induced an agreeable noise from Johann, who was paying attention to his feet on the slick cobbled track as it vanished beneath boggy mud with a perpendicular crossing from another path.

“Slytherin House has rallied around him in the way only Slytherin could.  Their house rarely receives due credit for their capability of loyal compassion.” Headmaster Greyfriar explained, and Johann’s damp brow wore a faint frown. The best Slytherin he knew was Balfour, and he was full of compassion and great loyalty. He understood the houses were not exact science, and it was clear Professor Greyfriar did not realise Balfour was from the same house Feliks had been sorted into.

“I'm a notoriously sluggish Hufflepuff myself.” The sticky mud they trudged through made Johann feel he knew sluggish at that very moment. He thought of Adelia and Knox, then Isla, then Zeta and Eta Pepper, all Hufflepuffs he knew to some degree. They all meant well of other people, cared, generally patient sorts. They weren’t all the startlingly bright minds for academics, but they had emotional intelligence. Buckets of it. Not sluggish...

Not knowing the Headmaster well, nor the detailed categorisation of founding houses, Johann was content to listen to the discussion of houses while he glanced about, making note of the beds and planting, of the tracks criss-crossing through the autumn grounds, the swaying trees, the looming standing stones beneath the hiss of rain in the mist. Wood pigeons were noisily who-whooing in the barer branches of an oak.

“All of my siblings were Hufflepuff.”  Balfour informed the Headmaster, “Funny coincidence actually, my sister also goes by Knox. I take it you teach History of Magic, by the way?”

“So we have been informed by our young spies,” Johann chipped in, speaking lightly, as if tiptoeing through the room the conversation of Hogwarts alumni commanded, “… or maybe my mother, or cousin Ignan,” he added with a shrug and a smile.

Greyfriar was amused! "Another Knox in Hufflepuff! An uncommon name, and I hope she's done better with it than I! Oh, I had aspirations in those days, but I think I was deemed to be an easily swayed lad which lead me to follow more foolhardy into sticky situations."

He'd wanted to be a Healer in those days and had been successful. But it was a piece of his past he kept under his hat. Although, he wondered if Hannah Bombay had spilled the beans to this pair along with her high praise...

Knox wasn't surprised that Balfour had been a Slytherin; it wasn't uncommon for sorting affinity to run in families. There were more than a few books on prediction, heredity, or how to influence a sorting by nurture, but Knox was content to let magic be magic and make bets on the First Years each term.

"I take it you teach History of Magic, by the way?” Balfour inquired.

“So we have been informed by our young spies," added Johann.

"Guilty! I was invited all these years ago after the crossing over of Professor Binns. If you'll allow me opine for a phrase or two, History is more about memorizing dates and names. It's an avenue for a literacy of narratives, about examining the tales we hear with an open mind and critical eye. I can only hope those reading that disgraceful article have some of that literacy."

Then he asked, as if hadn't thought of it before:"Why would someone write that, I wonder"

"Oh, I think we all have had our foolhardy times," Bal grinned at the older wizard, trying to imagine what a younger version of Knox Greyfriar might have been like to have as a friend. "Does a fellow some good if you ask me." He did not need to clarify that he's yet to outgrow such a phase - his outraged visit to Witch Weekly was proof enough of it.

To say nothing of the letters his partner had brazenly (and carefully, meticulously) forged as part of a vendetta against Lil Snigger. They were not yet wise men, no.

As they drew closer to the castle, Balfour began to discern familiar landmarks of his childhood - the distant towering structures of the Quidditch Pitch as the trees thinned away to reveal the rolling green earth, odd bits of shrubbery that had been one of many hideouts for sneaky school smokers. There was the scent of woodsmoke in the damp air, cutting through the rain, likely Sylvain starting an afternoon fire.

            "Why would someone write that, I wonder."

Bal glanced away from his observation of their surroundings, faraway gaze shifting to Greyfriar and then to Johann. Motive. What motive, the Headmaster meant, could Lil Snigger have for writing that awful article?

"Damned if I know," he shook his head in grim wonder. "Why do Witch Weekly write any of their gossip? I can understand, in a way, making a galleon off my back for being a bloody fool but I can't understand why they'd do it to Feliks."

Or any of the children whom Solomon Carstairs had mentioned to him. Without meaning to, Balfour slipped his hand into his fiancé's and squeezed it.

As the trio entered eyeshot of the castle, a pair of eager eyes had been waiting. Zeta Pepper had learned from Kari Strong who had a network of observant pip-squeaks that the castle had guests.

      "Um, isn't your family, like inbred with Feliks Spectre's two dads or something, Pepper? she'd sneered in the courtyard.

"Um, no?" Zeta had responded with a sneer. What in Merlin's tight white underpants had compelled Kari Strong to bother her?

      "UM, well they're here. I reckon to take Feliks away from school and send him back to Russia or wherever."

Zeta got the details of their present location out of her, gathered up her things, and scuttled down the hill. It was Hogsmeade weekend, and she wasn't meeting her friends to head down until dinner. They were going to do Puddifoot's, but she had time. She set up watch on the outer edge of the entrance courtyard arcade, sitting on the wall dangling her feet, waiting patiently for them to come into view, then waving.

Kari was probably lying.

“Why would someone write that, I wonder.”
“… Why do Witch Weekly write any of their gossip?”

“Financial motivation.” Johann confirmed, “Ira Almasy’s scandal sold copies. She’s the nearest to Voldemort this year. Next it’ll be some witch unhinged enough to claim Musgrave’s the father of her children to afford to buy a house.” Difference there being that it was the parent’s interests, whereas Balfour, Johann and particularly Feliks, did not benefit at all from Witch Weekly’s interest in Ira’s involvement.

Despite his cynicism, their ascent up the path to the castle had progressed to the point where the entrance was in sight. Here more figures were dotted about, students in weekend attire, cloaks, trainers, wellingtons, cats prowling at the foot of trees, someone’s hat caught in the branches.

Then up ahead someone was waving. Not in general, but waving at them, for the more Johann focused on the red-headed figure the more the waving intensified.
“We’ve an unexpected welcome party of a Pepper,” Johann remarked, recognising Zeta as they closed in. She and her older and younger sister all shared a chestnut tint, and Francis and Gabrielle’s wedding meant that Balfour and Johann had seen more of the Peppers than an average summer. Theta, Zeta and Eta were as good as sisters to Ambrose and Tim. As wizarding families often did, one merged into another and everyone forgot to classify another more than just ‘cousin’.

“Pity Feliks hadn’t arrived at the start of summer, he’d have gone to Hogwarts knowing he’s as good as related to half the population.” He lifted his free arm to wave back. “Alright Pepper?”

Balfour and Johann's estimations of the Witch Weekly's motivations were reasonable and likely to be true.

"Grasping ever at knuts..." he mumbled in an aside. But they had been ambushed.

Zeta Pepper, right place at the right time. That was a talent. Shortly they arrived at her level in the shade of the arches and Knox folded his hands behind his back.

"Afternoon, Miss Pepper! Taken up sentry, I see. What do you hear?"

The Headmaster was still getting to know (or getting to know again) all the students and he'd discovered Zeta Pepper had made a colorful mark upon Hogwarts. She struck him as the sort who'd thrive given benefit of the doubt and some attempt to engage on her eclectic wavelength.  She was a Pepper. She'd know this pair, wouldn't she?

"No doubt!" came Zeta's response to Johann's call. The trio approached her position and she hopped down off the wall. She adjusted the bulky sleeves of the oversized Auror-style coat, and tucked a few stray strands of hair back up into the pair of messy buns at her nape.

"Nothing but the rain," Zeta said cheerfully, daringly casual with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School. She moved around him to gain access to Johann and Balfour who were as good as cousins to the Peppers. She gave them each a quick hug then slyly began her interrogation.

"You're here to see Feliks."