April 25, 2008
Just before noon

With the customary CRACK of instantaneously displaced air, the former Auror Jason MacDonell appeared at the end of the Hogsmeade high street, wand in hand.  He had been an Auror for far too long to Apparate without a weapon out; one never knew what was waiting on the other end of the journey.  But the wizarding town was as harmlessly bustling as ever, a pair of witches ducking into the Three Broomsticks, a trio of children, too young for Hogwarts, pulling their addled-looking father toward Honeydukes.

Smirking, MacDonell replaced the wand in the pocket of his Ravenclaw-blue robes and turned in the direction of Hogwarts.  The gates were nearby, but the trek from them to the school was a long one for a man with a bad leg, and so MacDonell had traded out his more customary, elegant eagle's-head cane for a sturdy, lacquered black walking staff.  It thunked solidly against the gravelly path with every other step, and Jason was reminded of his fallen comrade Alastor Moody.  Smiling again, he began the walk.

Arriving at the giant gates, the pain in his right leg still a mere nuisance, MacDonell drew his wand again and tapped their joining firmly.  Once upon a time, it would have taken most of his magical skill and knowledge to undo the protective enchantments on them; now, they swung obediently open with barely a creak, the need for such extensive protections long gone.  He strolled onto the grounds at a leisurely pace, watching a thestral rise high above the forest and dive again.  He had been able to see the reptilian horses for decades now, ever since killing Wilkes, but he always found them fascinating nonetheless.

The journey to the imposing doors of the castle was not easy on his bad leg, though the thick staff made it more manageable.  He passed a few students who regarded him with mild interest, but no one spoke to him, and so he arrived with minimal delay. Taking a moment to adjust his robes and compose his appearance, he raised his glove left hand to knock.  Using enough force that the booms would echo through the Entrance Hall, though not quite enough to splinter the wood, he hammered three times, then shifted his staff to his left hand, waiting.

The architects and craftwizards of the ages who constructed, conglomerated and enchanted Hogwarts castle from old ages past knew a thing or two about front doors.  A knock at the enormous oaken portal seemed to ring throughout the castle to the proper ears.    Knox Greyfriar, Headmaster, was equipped with such ears.  This knock was a great deal louder than was normal.  He stood from his desk in the History of Magic classroom where had been sorting through some essays.

He suspected who'd be waiting for him - an owl earlier in the week had heralded his visit, and the thunderous knocking could belong to none-other.  As he entered the Entrance Hall, a house elf was working the large door open.  The old Hufflepuff assisted, widening the way in enough to reveal...

"Jason MacDonell! None other!" The enthusiastic Greyfriar opened his arms in welcome, pleased to see an old friend.  The two had had many occasions to meet as Jason had been a fountain of information and curmudgeonly quotations for his past works on history.  In fact, MacDonell has offered so much material on Knox's work on Death Eaters he had been tempted to credit him as a co-author.  The man had been right in the middle of everything.  And my how the years had begun to show it.

Just then the bell began to toll noon and noise began to fill the halls.  It was lunch and students were filling out into the hallways and down the stairs past them to the Great Hall.

"Won't be long until one of yours is among this lot, eh?" he asked, bringing up Jason's little ones.  Knox had none of his own to speak of - family (that is, a family of his own) both fascinated and worried him.

It was not long before the doors began to groan open, ancient wood and metal straining as those inside worked to admit him.  Jason was pleased that Knox responded so readily; it was a pleasant change from his former career, when even those who knew he was coming were not always eager to see him.  Light flooded through the opening and two figures were revealed.

"Thank ye, little one," MacDonell said kindly to the house elf working the door.  It had not been his custom in life until he had married Aurora.  Her almost familial relationship with Thalia had left a definite impression.

"Jason MacDonell! None other!"

"In the flesh," Jason smiled, extending his right hand and shifting the staff to his left.  Thinking of the magical limb, he was terribly tempted to add, Well, mostly, but thought better of it.  "As always, Headmaster, the pleasure is mine.  How go the book sales?"

"Won't be long until one of yours is among this lot, eh?"

Stepping into the castle, the former Auror watched a half-dozen Hufflepuffs race for the Great Hall and smiled slightly.  "Aye, Jacquelynne will be here three Septembers from now."  He shook his head.  "Bizarre to think of it."

"Truly," Knox concurred.  "I mean, it's commonplace, other wizards' children running about this ancient structure.  Barely supervised.  Forming strong friendships.  Having food fights in the Great Hall.  But now your own little bundle of flesh and blood running to and fro, doing the same essays and brewing the same potions?  Boggles the mind.  No offense of course to the great house of Ravenclaw mind you, but Hufflepuff would be good to Jacqueline.  Theodbald Mainwaring's our Head of House this year and he's got a talent."

As Knox spoke, he was almost subconsiously maintaining some ebb of order.  A Gryffindor stopped shoving in the doorway at a look from Knox.  A Slytherin pulled a punch after a snap of Greyfriar's fingers.  But most of the students crowding down for lunch didn't seem to recognize old MacDonell.  It was a strange failure for the History Professor, as Jason was often mentioned in certain chapters.  And even now, out of retirement came the formidable old warrior, sitting on the Wizengamot.    And from rumors Knox was hearing, he was being considered for the Order of Merlin to be awarded this Remembering Day.

"But now your own little bundle of flesh and blood running to and fro, doing the same essays and brewing the same potions?  Boggles the mind."

Jason nodded as Knox recounted the various trials and pleasures of life at Hogwarts, smiling ever so slightly.  "Aye, though at least things are a bit more sane than they were for me.  First War, ye know, did nay make for the stablest educational enviroment."

The times had been chaotic during Jason's years at the school, with increasingly common stories of strange deaths and disappearances, as well as occasional pieces on the Ministry's triumphs that became fewer and farther between.  But Hogwarts had a resilient quality, as if the stone walls acted as a buffer against the world; it had taken the total overthrow of the Ministry for things at the school to divert more than a little off course.

"No offense of course to the great house of Ravenclaw mind you, but Hufflepuff would be good to Jacqueline."

"Good to her?  Undoubtedly," Jason returned, his smile morphing seemlessly into his lopsided smirk.  "But for her?  No, I think not.  She's as bright as Aurora and I were at that age, and clever too.  She'll be a Ravenclaw for sure."

"Theodbald Mainwaring's our Head of House this year and he's got a talent."

"What a ringing endorsement of Hufflepuff," MacDonell returned with a grimace, tightening his leather-gloved gripn on his staff and rolling his eyes.  "A great pity his brother didn't survive to teach instead..."

Knox had smiled at Jason's staunch legacy to Ravenclaw.  It was very like the old crow.  But he was right.  Both he and his wife, while brave and genuine and ambitious all three - they were very proud of their own intellect, valuing the clever parts of people over their other qualities.  Perhaps this is why the two had taken to each other so quickly - over the scholarly pursuit of the truth of the present to be found in the past.  Of course, Knox was just as guilty in his loyalty to House Hufflepuff.  He happily continued the fine tradition of favoritism.

He kept his own feelings to himself about Donovan.  The Mainwarings had both been in school with Knox.  Of course so many of his classmates had passed in those dark times.  But as an Auror, Jason would have been closer to the poor fallen Donovan. For the moment, the Headmaster was feeling like his students - somewhat weary of Remembering.

"But the Wizengamot!" Knox almost bellowed, quickly changing the subject to more exciting notions. "Younger than I am by a decade and already robed in Ministry purple.  Has it been a drudgery as yet, or something far more thrilling.  I had hoped to make it to Kingstreet's hearing," (another of Knox's old classmates) "but I found I was disinterested in that puppet show.  Saw the paper though.  That reporter Thursby was rather unkind."

The article had painted the Wizengamot it a somewhat limp lighting, seeming to aver that they should not have allowed Kingstreet to represented herself, let alone allowed her to be free.  It didn't help that the night of her release, Minister Annwyl was spotted patronizing a Hogsmeade burlesque hall. 

Knox had always struck Jason as something of a less manipulative Horace Slughorn -- all the uncontainable enthusiasm, none of the need to ingratiate.  And the bearlike man did not disappoint this day, seeming to radiate contentment.  It was difficult to think they'd last met over drinks to discuss Death Eaters and Voldemort's reign; even having lived it, Jason found it hard to associate such a sober discussion with Knox.

MacDonell caught the tic, so very slight, at the mention of Donovan Mainwaring, and smiled slightly to himself.  Well, no one was happy all the time.

"But the Wizengamot!  Younger than I am by a decade and already robed in Ministry purple.  Has it been a drudgery as yet, or something far more thrilling.  I had hoped to make it to Kingstreet's hearing, but I found I was disinterested in that puppet show.  Saw the paper though.  That reporter Thursby was rather unkind."

"Tell ye the truth, some days I miss Ministry scarlet," Jason replied, a tad wistfully.  Though the prestige of the Wizengamot was undeniably great, and he was humbled by the honor, he had been a warrior too long to be entirely content sitting on a bench.  "But it's a great honor, of course, and I'm pleased I can still do something useful."

"Kingstreet, on the other hand," he continued with a frown, "now there's trouble.  I'm far less concerned with the Prophet's take on her than with Kingstreet herself.  That woman is trouble, and nay the kind that can be burned away with a spell."

MacDonell reminded himself that this was why he had retired; the old enemies, the kind that required a legion of battle-ready Aurors, were mercifully rare.  Nowadays it was less obvious criminals, the kind that the Magical Law Enforcement Squad existed for, and the Aurors' numbers had diminished accordingly.  Thinking of Kingstreet and her legal jujitsu at her own hearing, the retired Auror wondered if he might not prefer the Death Eaters...

Knox's own eyes waxed over in a strange nostalgia as well, as silvery as a Penseive.  The world had changed since that decade of conflict.  The minds of wizarding folk were no longer occupied with worries of being hit with Avada Kedavra or poisoned with some ill brew.  And the relevance of Defense Against the Dark Arts as a practical course had been brought up in a recent curriculum quorum of the School Governors.  (As a purely theoretical exploration, but the very thought would not have occurred five years earlier.)  Times were changing where the real threats were in the packages of over-zealous office managers - threats that were no less lethal to their way of life.

Knox suspected Jason and other old warriors were more loathe to give that up.  Knox was happy to see it all behind him.  For him, this tenth Remembering Day was another year he could place between his present and his past. 

"She will be at Remembering Day, you know," he said with a sort of resigned defeat, a bit of smile on his lips.  "Despite all the assurances Raynor and Belisario can toss my way about the readiness of their people, she'll be on the grounds just like everyone else.  Is nothing sacred?  Hard to imagine someone like her there.  You imagine she'll be protected?  A vigilante display would be both hardly welcome and very much so."

"She will be at Remembering Day, you know.  Despite all the assurances Raynor and Belisario can toss my way about the readiness of their people, she'll be on the grounds just like everyone else."

Upper lip curling into a sneer, Jason growled deep in his throat but did not interrupt with a comment, too incensed to formulate one.  Kingstreet, here?  Here, sullying the hallowed ground where heroes had given their lives to fight the Dark Lord with her contaminated steps?  No wonder Raynor and Belisario were on top of the matter.  This thought gave Jason some mild respite from concern; Raynor could spot difficulties from a mile away, and Belisario had it in for Kingstreet already.

"Is nothing sacred?  Hard to imagine someone like her there.  You imagine she'll be protected?  A vigilante display would be both hardly welcome and very much so."

"It's possible," Jason began slowly, "but unlikely.  A show of force was never Theodora's style, she always preferred to work the system from the inside.  Besides, with Annwyl, Raynor, and Belisario here, and most of their Aurors and Hitwizards -- and, if ye'll forgive the arrogance of mentioning it, Aurora and Robin and I as well -- she'd never try something overt.  Any of us could destroy her in a second, let alone all of us."  He sighed, frowning.  "She's more the type to hope we do something violent first, so she could use the law against us."

A thought struck MacDonell, and his eyes narrowed curiously.  "But doesn't the Headmaster have the power to ban anyone from the grounds?  I thought Dumbledore did that to Rita Skeeter one year....vile woman," he added, more to himself, before continuing.  "Even Marcus can nay overrule ye there, so why not strike preemptively?"

Knox's eyebrows went up and he let the air vacate his chest with a bellow.  He sat down on one of the old high-backed wooden benches under a deeply set window made of iron and glass. 

"I mean us, not her!" he said with a half-desperate laugh, the fatigue showing in the older wizard.    "I mean us," he mumbled again nodding slowly.  "Would Kingstreet be attacked?"  He shook his head, as if to punctuate the end of his own question, as if to say he knew that was always a possibility.  But he sensed Kingstreet would arrange for her own protection and trot out brazenly assuming the Ministry's constant vigilance.  Hopes for citizen-made justice were just that - personal shameful hopes.

He looked back up at Jason and grinned with a squinty eye.  "But you old dog! Another touch from the Ministry of Magic to tell me how to run this castle?"  He stopped his own words with a raise of a hand.

 "No no,  you're right, Jason.  That was unfair.  I can bar her from the grounds.  It's good magic.  Old magic.  And the Ministry respects my authority.  I can keep her away from the castle, away from our grounds.  But I can't close Hogsmeade to her.  And neither will the mayor.  She's a free witch after all, thank you very much.  I could keep her away from the castle and draw her wrath my way, but I think you'd agree she wouldn't let that stop her from being here on that day in some form."

He smiled again, in a conciliatory way.  It was a touchy subject for everyone.

"I mean us, not her!  I mean us.  Would Kingstreet be attacked?"

Jason had contained the natural reaction to jump at the sudden sound from Knox, but his eyebrows shot up over his wide emerald eyes.  Realizing his error, he grumbled, "Hadn't really been considering her safety," he said, more to himself, but then buried his ill feelings.  Occlumency took over, and his face was calm and clear once more.  "It is possible, but also unlikely.  At least, not attack would be successful.  Much as I hate to admit it, she wasn't a Death Eater, and many wizards seem to think that makes her less vile.  But Tamis and Alexander are professionals, they'll keep order."

Much though he preferred to fantasize about other, less pleasant outcomes for Kingstreet, Jason knew this to be the truth.  Raynor, straight-backed and duly famous for her principles, would never let personal bias compromise the Aurors, and Alex....well, Tamis and Marcus could keep him in line.

"But you old dog! Another touch from the Ministry of Magic to tell me how to run this castle?"

Opening his mouth to reply, MacDonell was silenced as Knox changed course, seeming as much to be thinking aloud as participating in the conversation.  His first words, however, were very illuminating.  'Another touch from the Ministry', he'd said.  And cued to it by this topic?  That probably meant Alex, possibly Raynor, if she had been consulted.  Perhaps even Marcus.  Who exactly was running the show here?

"I could keep her away from the castle and draw her wrath my way, but I think you'd agree she wouldn't let that stop her from being here on that day in some form."

Wrenching himself away from speculation, Jason frowned.  "Granted, but some form is very different from 'here on the grounds, dishonoring the place where our brothers died'."  He fixed Knox with his intense emerald gaze.  "I lost Kayleigh and Gustav, Remus and Tonks...I can see how passions might be excited to violence, now that ye mention it.  For all our sakes -- including hers -- keep her in Hogsmeade, Knox."

Knox kept smiling, but it was less friendly than it had been.   The better natures of the old Hufflepuff hoped dearly that his old friend had not arrived to broach this topic and that the natural conversation of recent events had led them both here by due course.   He wanted to trust Jason MacDonell - for who else if not this honorable man? - but there would always be a line between them perhaps.  As long as they both lived, he suspected.

"Did not our fellows also fall in the Minsitry of Magic where she was invited not three days ago?  Will she not be walking the streets of London and elsewhere free among us, all still stinging from the past?  Seems to me it's not her presence here at Hogwarts that chaffs.  I'll not wrangle her I think, Jason.  I'll leave the Wizengamot to that.  And the Aurors.  If she steps out of line, I'm certain there will be many to jump at the chance escort her away.  And I'm equally sure she'll give you that opportunity."

He took a cigar from his pocket, then replaced it.  Not in the halls.  Most students were already in the Hall for lunch now.  But. Not in the halls.   The pressure from Jason about this matter would not be isolated, and would probably be the most kindly put.  Yet, he hadn't made the final decision, even after much counsel of the Headmasters' portraits.  But one of Knox Greyfriar's worst qualities was the tendency to react defiantly to pressure against him.  It would take all his wisdom to do what he truly felt to be the right thing, and not just his knee-jerk To Hell With You reaction.

In his heart, he trusted the Ministry of Magic to keep this sorted.  Perhaps despite their strutting, they were not so confident.

"We'll see," he muttered finally.

"Did not our fellows also fall in the Minsitry of Magic where she was invited not three days ago?  Will she not be walking the streets of London and elsewhere free among us, all still stinging from the past?"

Jason's expression smoothed over, becoming perfectly collected and cool.  Those who knew him best knew that this was far more dangerous than open anger.  In an acidic tone, he interrupted, "Ye needn't remind me, Headmaster, they are my colleagues who failed so egregiously."

"If she steps out of line, I'm certain there will be many to jump at the chance escort her away.  And I'm equally sure she'll give you that opportunity."

"And that's really the problem, isn't it?" Jason asked coldly, then took a breath, trying to organize his thoughts in a way that might make Greyfriar understand.  When he spoke again, there was a bit more humanity back in his voice.

"Ye weren't here, Knox, ye can nay imagine it," he began.  "I was an Auror for twenty-five years, I fought a hundred duels, and I've never seen anything like that fight, before or since, not even Azkaban.  And the same battle ended with us being free, truly free for the first time in thirty-odd years.  To even risk sullying the day, even if the matter could be immediately contained, is to dishonor those we lost."

Though keen to impress upon the Headmaster the reason for his insistence that Kingstreet be kept away, Jason had phrased his introduction quite deliberately.  He had never been entirely clear where Greyfriar had been the night of the battle, and was very curious for the answer.

All the fun of this old reunion seemed to be fading away, to the far corners of the large entrance hall.  Retreating honorably, a stronger theme taking its place.  MacDonell continued to press, wearing that steely expression.  Rigid, logical and unrelenting.  But this wasn't about Kingstreet.  This was about meddling, about a Headmaster's traditional caretaking of this school.  Jason MacDonell's prodding was going beyond brotherly counsel. 

Knox's own expression darkened somewhat at the edges.  This conversation needed to end. 

"Dear friend," he said, "your advice has been noted.  But counsel no further.  This choice will not be made lightly and a choice made now, here with you standing there," Knox winced,"- Jason you know I wouldn't say what you wanted to hear.  You don't want me to speak any more of this.  Not right now."

Knox certainly didn't want to speak any more on this.  Oh, the historian seemed to know every pin and tuck of Jason MacDonell's adventures and travails.  His involvement, his professional achievements.  But old Knox said little of his own life.  And at this moment, he didn't need an old war veteran lording over his own plainly civilian record.  He'd been hiding for most of that last year, his Dark Mark burning under his sleeve with a pain no balm or ointment could relieve.  He stayed with his family and did his research quietly.  Knox's own war had been fought after all the bodies had been taken away, helping Minerva McGonagal make Hogwarts a place of learning again.

"Dear friend, your advice has been noted.  But counsel no further."

Jason noted the change in Knox's expression and tone, and knew innately that he might as well be talking to a wall for all the progress he was making.  It was Kingstreet's Wizengamot all over again, and only through years of discipline and training did MacDonell keep the sneer of his face as that particular comparison ran through his mind.  Instead, he drew himself up coolly, emerald eyes reflective and devoid of emotion, face blankly attentive.

The latent Auror in him, restored to life.

"Jason you know I wouldn't say what you wanted to hear.  You don't want me to speak any more of this.  Not right now."

"As you wish, Headmaster," Jason replied calmly, and though his voice was perfectly even -- someone happening on the conversation at that moment would find it unremarkably average -- the change from its earlier warmth was like the frostiness accompanying Dementors; not physically present, but easily observed.

He set off down the hallway, wishing he had brought his cane; though the staff was undoubtedly more practical for extensive traveling, the cane had an air of grace and style that would complement his detached mood.  And Jason couldn't help but wonder if, with limp and staff combined, Knox was subconsciously comparing him to Scrimgeour.

"So how go things with Mainwaring?" he asked, his voice of normal volume; Knox would either choose to keep up with him, or he could simply air his thoughts aloud.  "An interesting choice, but then, I suppose any port in a storm.  And how's that working out, teaching and being Headmaster at once?"

He was hardly blind to the fact that Knox had entirely dodged the hidden question of his own activities during the War, but did not speak to it, reserving that tidbit for later perusal.