Soul Weaver

After walking down the winding dirt path for what seemed like thirty minutes, Harry came upon an imposing iron gate attached to a formidable high wall. The letter from Dumbledore had not mentioned anything about a locked gate; it reminded Harry of the gates of Hogwarts.

It was fancier than Hogwarts' gates and seemed to be well cared for. On the left wall was a stone sign with engraved letters, ‘Westbrook Properties’. There was nothing unusual about it. Harry simply stared at the imposing gate and the high wall; he supposed he might be able to climb over it somehow.

At that moment a man came out of the forest to the right, heading towards Harry. The man had a grizzly gray beard and was dressed in blue robes. He stepped around some bushes and stopped on the path directly in front of Harry.

“Hello there, what can I do for you?” the man asked. By his tone, he seemed neither friendly nor annoyed that Harry was standing here. He was looking Harry over as if he were trying to figure out who Harry was and possibly even what sort of trouble he might be.

Harry’s mind raced and he remembered what Dumbledore had told him in the letter.

‘Remember you must only ask for Celeste Fairstone. You should not have to tell anyone else who you are. Simply tell anyone who asks, you must speak to Celeste Fairstone. Look for the house with lots of roses.’

“I’m … I’m here to see Celeste Fairstone,” he stammered nervously.

“Celeste Fairstone?” the man repeated the name as if he had not expecting to hear it, then he grinned at Harry in a friendly manner. “Are you a new student? She hasn’t said anything about a student for the summer … and you look a little older than most. How old are you?” the man questioned curiously.

Harry was unsure how to answer so he glanced down at his shoes. The man gave a slight chuckle.

“I see … a late bloomer,” the man announced. Harry met the man’s gaze again and he seemed to have taken Harry’s action as embarrassment rather than withholding information. “Well, what do you know about Westbrook then? I’m Grayson by the way,” the man introduced himself and offered his hand to Harry. They shook hands, which gave Harry enough time to think of what his reply should be.

“I know Westbrook is a restricted magical town and that you have to know someone to get inside, like Celeste Fairstone … and I know her, at least … she’s expecting me,” Harry replied awkwardly. The man chuckled again.

“We don’t just let anyone past these gates, but you seem harmless enough,” Grayson declared and rubbed his beard as if assessing how dangerous Harry might be. After a few moments of consideration, he waved Harry forward.

“I am supposed to do some testing you know … so … if you’re magical, you’re sure to have a wand,” the man said in a manner that suggested Harry should take out his wand. Harry did not wait but quickly produced it for the man’s inspection. Grayson nodded approvingly.

“My dad is a wand maker,” Grayson commented as he took Harry’s wand and studied it. “Well … it’s an Ollivander, I can tell by the fine craftsmanship,” Grayson went on as he handed back Harry’s wand. “My old dad’s well known in these parts, and he’s familiar with Mr. Ollivander’s work, of course. I never took up the trade myself,” Grayson went on.

Harry nodded and Grayson began to study Harry’s face curiously.

“You look familiar to me,” he said. Harry got a worried knot in his stomach and hoped his hair was not revealing his scar. He had already been found out by the last two magical people he had come into contact with, and he sure hoped this was not going to be spread all over town before he even met Celeste Fairstone.

“Please, I really do need to see Celeste Fairstone. I’m not here to cause trouble in your town, but it really is important that I see her as soon as possible,” Harry pleaded, hoping his earnest tone would hint at his desire to remain anonymous. Grayson seemed to consider his tone seriously. As they stood there silently, Harry recognized something in the way the man stared at him: a kind friendly nature that reminded Harry a lot of Hagrid.

“Alright, I’ll give you a break … but you just remember where you are. We don’t horse around with mischief-makers here. If you go causing trouble, we’ll throw you out. The Fairstones will direct you on getting a pass and, just to remind you, you would not want to get stuck in town without one,” Grayson said in a stern voice.

He took out his wand and tapped the gate; it opened and the man ushered Harry through. This was far too easy, Harry thought. Once he was inside, the man closed the gate behind him and tapped it again.

“A pass … um -”

“Don’t worry,” Grayson cut in before Harry could question him. “If you’re supposed to be here then Celeste’ll set you right. If not, well …” he stopped and gave a shiver. “Just go on through the trees towards town, look for the house with -”

“Lots of roses?” Harry said, interrupting Grayson. The man grinned and nodded.

“Yep, that’s the one. I guess you know where you’re going, can’t miss the place. Prettiest place in town, just like the owner; the teacher’s not too bad looking either. Give my regards to Zora and remind her I’m still looking for that dinner with her,” the man stated and walked off, disappearing back into the forest.

Harry wondered idly what would happen if he did not obtain a pass. Somehow he hoped it was just a pretence and Grayson was trying to scare him. However, having been around magical people for many years now, it was more than likely something very scary and probably dangerous.

He shook his head and walked on down the path, pushing the bike beside him as he walked. Slowly the trees opened up and he broke out of the forest into an open area on top of a hill. He stopped and stared at the scene before him somewhat in awe.

The path widened a little and proceeded down a hill towards a wide creek. The grass was lush and green and wild flowers dotted the landscape in front of him. Where the path met the creek, a quaint little white bridge spanned the watery surface. Beyond that, the path continued on down into the town of Westbrook.

Harry could only think it was the nicest place he had seen in a long while; he actually wondered whether it was real. He thought of Privet Drive and the perfect order of every house lined up together. This was no Privet Drive though.

Houses seemed grouped together, but at the same time set apart from each other. There did not seem to be any real order to it except lining the streets that went this way and that. Some houses were large, some were small and of all type of designs; some stone, some wood and some brick. Some were hidden among trees and others were out in the open with little white fences strung around them like well-organized little squares. Harry could also see the edge of a lake in the distance.

Further on, he could see what looked like a couple of taller buildings, but they were obscured by tall trees that blocked his view. The town was filled with flowers and all sorts of trees and bushes. Harry got the notion he was staring at a picture book. He just stood there gaping at it for a while.

“This can’t be real,” he muttered aloud to himself without even meaning to.

“What’s not real?” a girl’s voice said. “Who are you?” the same voice asked.

Harry turned to find over to his right a small group of young children staring at him.

“I’m nobody, just here to see someone,” he stated and decided it was time to walk on. He did not want to get into a conversation with too many people, especially little kids. Instead of taking the hint that he did not want to talk to them, the children hurried after him. They followed him all the way down to the bridge and continued to make comments as they trooped along.

“Look at his hair … it’s really, really black,” a boy among the group announced.

“What do you mean, silly? Your hair is just as black as his,” the girl who had spoken first answered and then giggled. “I like it … it’s all messy and dark,” she added.

“I bet he’s as tall as my brother. You think he’s twenty?” another boy asked curiously.

“Look at his bike. Maybe he’s a dark wizard,” the first boy that had spoken said cheerfully. “They come from outside the gate, you know … do you think he’s come here to get us?” the same boy questioned in an uncertain voice.

“Hey! You kids! Get along! Quit bothering the visitor,” Grayson’s voice called from the top of the hill.

The children did not wait around to get scolded further; they ran past Harry and bounded across the bridge. They all started laughing and talking very loudly. Harry thought they were making a scene to get attention and to alert the townspeople to Harry’s arrival.

People started glancing out of their houses; others who were outside started peering in his direction to see what the kids were fired up about. Harry gave a gulp as he got to the bridge.

Harry felt it as soon as he stepped onto the wooden planks: the bridge had some sort of magic attached to it. Harry was not sure how he knew it, but he remembered Dumbledore being able to feel magic when they were exploring the cave, the last time they were together. He wondered if he could now sense it too?

The sting of loss blossomed inside his chest, remembering Dumbledore’s last moments of life. The sting was quickly followed by a burning hate of Snape, always Snape. His mind rested on him even more than it did Voldemort. Harry felt the desire for revenge bubble up at him. He wanted to grind them into the ground, turn those two men into dust and watch them blow away in the firestorm of vengeance that he felt.

Harry walked on and began thinking about things he would really rather not. As he made his way into the town of Westbrook, he tried to reason it out in his mind why Dumbledore would trust Snape so much. The excuse he had been given was beyond stupid in Harry’s opinion. Besides, Dumbledore always knew how Snape felt about Harry’s father. Harry even remembered Dumbledore commenting about it first year after Quirrell and Voldemort had tried and failed to get the Stone.

He just could not find an answer: the pain and agony just ate at him, and if he had done things differently, Dumbledore might still be here. Those events on the tower had cost him the life of another man he had come to respect and love; first Sirius, now Dumbledore, not to mention countless other people whom Voldemort and his followers had murdered.

Harry realized he had walked halfway through the town and was not even paying attention to the houses. He stopped in the middle of the street, which he noticed was a mesh of cobblestones. They looked rather old and worn, as if the town had been here for ages. He noticed a man to his right working in his garden. The man was gawking at Harry as if he had seen a ghost.

“Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me where … Celeste Fairstone lives?” asked Harry.

The man continued to stare at him in the oddest way. The man pointed jerkily in the direction Harry was walking and then he made a quick point to the left.

“Er, thanks,” Harry said reticently, a bit put out by the odd directions.

Harry walked on and found himself at a crossroads. Another much wider street led off to the left and right. This street was lined with exceptionally large trees that appeared to be very old.

Harry decided per the unusual instructions he would take the road to the left. The trees created a sort of canopy over the street. Even though it was a warm summer day, the shade the trees provided made the walk cool and pleasant.

Off in the distance Harry could hear children playing; he wondered if it was the same ones he had seen a moment ago. He had never been around small children that much, at least not since he himself had been one. In particular, he had very little experience of small magical children and was a little curious as to what they were like; he had never had the opportunity to know other magical children when he was little.

At that moment he stopped walking because he had come to a white fence around a very grand-looking house. The area that the fence surrounded was entered via a wooden archway with a small wooden gate. They were painted white to match the fence. The first thing that took his attention was that the archway over the gate was covered in roses of yellow and pink.

The house itself was set back a little way from the fence and gate; it was a two story house painted white. The roof was covered in dark gray shingles and was partly shaded by a couple of large oak trees that grew on either side of the house. Harry glimpsed a swing hanging from one of the trees and above it was what appeared to be a tree-house.

Across the whole front of the house stretched a wide porch. It was covered with a roof of the same dark gray shingles. There were a number of oddly placed chairs scattered across the surface of the porch.

Attached to the end of the porch was a round gazebo. A wide swing was hanging from its ceiling and what looked to be a couple of wind chimes dangled in the breeze.

All about the house and front area were all sorts of plants and flowers. The grass was also neatly trimmed and quite well kept. Harry remembered how the Dursleys had always had perfectly placed plants and precisely cut grass. Even though this garden was neat and orderly, it was nothing like the Dursleys’. It had a whimsical carefree appearance and, even though there was an order to it, the plants still seemed to have the freedom to grow and be random.

Harry leaned the bike up beside the fence and opened the gate to move inside. A white stone path led up to the house. He walked along it until he heard voices coming from around the side of the house. Instead of continuing up to the front door, he edged around so he could catch sight of the back area and possibly who was talking.

The back was similar to the front, but around the corner of the house he noticed what seemed to be a vegetable garden and beyond that a small wooded area.

“I’ll be back in a little while, Granny,” a woman’s voice called out. At first Harry could not see who was speaking. Shortly after the statement a woman came into view, walking towards him.

Harry was startled and stood frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of a Muggle motorcar. The woman was not paying attention and had not noticed him yet. She had made it to the front when she caught sight of him; she stopped abruptly.

Harry was sure she had not expected a stranger to be standing on her property. He had not expected to get caught in such an awkward position.

At first he could not really put into words exactly what he thought of her. She had walked close enough before she stopped that he could see her features fairly well.

She had warm golden hair that was a mess; it was the only word he could think to describe it, a mass of curls, waves and tangles. For whatever reason, he thought, it did not matter because it seemed perfectly right that her hair should look this way. He thought it was a pleasant color even if it was a bit wild.

She had a soft face, though he could not really say she was beautiful. There was something about her face he liked right away, even though he could not say what it was he found appealing.

He was not quite close enough to discern her eye color, but her dress was a soft blue. It was oddly twisted like it might be a little too large for her. Truthfully he was not quite sure; maybe she had been working in the garden or was very active. Then, after considering her hair once more, he wondered if possibly she tended to have this unorganized appearance naturally.

Harry got ready to study the rest of her body, but then decided not to for fear he would be caught doing just that. He reminded himself of Ginny and that he should feel guilty for even thinking this woman was remotely pretty. Plus he was also just gawking at the lady; she must think he was some crazy person because her face had assumed a slightly annoyed expression.

“Who are you?” she asked brusquely. Harry was a bit dumbfounded and really had no idea what to say.

“I … eh … errumm …” he stuttered. He was trying to say speak, but the only thing that exited his mouth was gibberish.

“Well, eh errumm, I would say it’s time to get a new name,” she teased. “Why are you in our yard?” she asked in a direct manner.

Harry frowned, getting the impression she did not like him. Though he had noticed a flash of humor in her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said hastily. “I’m looking for a lady named Celeste Fairstone,” he explained. She narrowed her eyes and scowled.

“And what would you be wanting with her?” she questioned and walked forward. She passed by him as if she really did not want an answer to her question.

“I need to speak to her,” Harry said, moving to follow the woman. “Can you at least tell me if this is the right place? I was told to look for the house with lots of roses,” he informed. This did not stop her and she continued on towards the gate, still disinterested in him. He had to do something; he was sure this must be the right house.

“I’m supposed to tell her … ‘Don’t forget you left half of it in England’,” he announced.

Dumbledore had said Celeste Fairstone would know what that statement meant. Harry figured saying it to someone who was not Celeste could not possibly do any harm; and if this were her, she would surely realize he was more than just a trespasser on her property.

It seemed to have worked, because upon hearing these words the woman stopped and slowly turned. Unfortunately this time there was a coldness in her eyes he had not seen before. She was also frowning quite unpleasantly.

He could now see the color of her eyes, which appeared a muted shade of blue and green. The colors were mingled together and he was sure they would be pretty if she were not staring at him like he had just hexed her.

“Who told you to say that?” she asked sharply.

“Look, I need to speak with Celeste Fairstone. I’m not really supposed to talk to anyone else about why I’m here,” he insisted.

She gave him a very intense glare, Harry felt like she was boring holes into his eyes. He immediately lowered his eyes. He feared the worst - what if she could use Legilimency on him? He was certainly not any good at it, he thought bitterly. He was sure that if Snape was very good, then there had to be plenty of magical adults who could easily leap into his mind if they felt they had to.

She walked forward and stopped directly in front of him. He would not meet her eye and kept his gaze firmly just off to the side of her face.

“What is your name?” she pressed. Harry did his best to clear his mind, which was very difficult to do with her standing so close. A curl of her hair broke free and caught on her cheek. Harry focused on it, willing his mind to only think of that one thing, the curl.

“Please understand, I need to speak to her … it’s very important,” he replied. He became quite aggravated with her when she moved her hand up to push the wayward curl away from her face. She was not very tall, but there was something about her that made him wary.

A few moments of silence passed. Harry could hear birds twittering in the background and not too far off the sounds of children playing came to him; he wondered if it was the same children he had seen earlier.

He began to feel very uncomfortable. What if he had been sent here on a wild goose chase, what if this was not Celeste Fairstone? What if the package had not come from Albus Dumbledore?

“Alright, if you must know … you are talking to her already,” the woman said, breaking the silence. “I’m Celeste … now, who are you?” she asked. Harry quickly lifted his gaze to her and met her eye again. She seemed disappointed, as if she had admitted something she had not wanted to.

“I’m …” Harry paused. “You’re sure you are Celeste Fairstone?” he asked, wondering how he could know definitely whether she was Celeste. She gave a snort and covered her mouth, as if she thought the question was quite funny. At least this caused her face to brighten and become a bit friendlier, which helped him to relax a little.

“I suppose I could go get my grandmother to prove it to you … but since you don’t know her, I am guessing that wouldn’t help now, would it?” she suggested. “I could wrangle up my birth certificate, I suppose,” she offered in a mischievous voice. “I’m Celeste … now who are you and what do you want? Unless you want me to guess … and by your accent and appearance I doubt I’d be far off,” she stated, a dark twinkle of humor in her eye. Then she studied him in a way that made him extremely uncomfortable.

“I’m … Harry Potter,” he replied. He felt quite stupid for saying it and he had no idea why; it was his name after all. Her eye lifted up to his forehead and he was sure she was searching for evidence, so he pulled back his hair to reveal the scar Voldemort had given him.

Her expression of being annoyed with him changed quickly. Her eyes widened slightly and she crossed her arms over her chest. She even leaned a bit away from him as if she were afraid.

“I thought it was you. I’ve seen your picture before…” she started, but then stopped for some reason. Her mouth drew out into a thin line. He got the notion she was angry with herself for speaking.

“I get that a lot … people seem to know me on sight. It doesn’t help when I’m trying to get around without people recognizing me though,” he said repressively.

“Who sent you here?” she asked. “England is a long way off,” she asserted.

“I have a letter and an item for you,” he explained and got ready to open up his bag, but she stopped him by holding out one hand.

“Who sent it?” she asked again.

“Albus Dumbledore,” Harry answered. She frowned deeply and then her face twisted with annoyance again.

“I don’t believe this! He knows how I feel about … about … everything. Why would he send you here to me?” she asked, her tone sounding quite bitter. “After all this time … no word, nothing … a-and I told him no … wait … I told him no three times. I can’t, and he knows why. I don’t believe he would send you here and, and … why would he do this now!?” she questioned, her voice becoming distressed and passionate.

“Professor Dumbledore is dead!” Harry snapped angrily. Then he felt horrible for saying it the next second. Her face lost all its color.

“What!?” she breathed. Harry thought she was going to faint because she took a shaky step back from him. “Don’t you say that! It can’t be true!” she cried in disbelief.

“I-I’m sorry … it is true. I was there when he died,” Harry whispered, feeling his throat constrict with emotions.

She studied his face for a moment and must have realized he was not telling a lie.

“How did it happen?” she asked meekly.

He remembered Albus had said Harry could tell Celeste Fairstone anything. Since Dumbledore’s death was public knowledge, he did not see any harm in telling her what had happened. For now, he left out what he and Dumbledore had gone to find, but he imparted everything else that had happened once they arrived on the tower that night. He recounted every conversation and every word from the tower that he could remember.

She seemed utterly distressed as he went on with the telling of the events from that night, especially when he announced that Snape had lifted his wand and performed the killing curse on Albus.

“STOP!” she cried passionately and gave a sob, covering her mouth with her hand in reaction to this information.

Her eyes welled up with tears and she walked past him swiftly, heading back towards the house. Harry turned just in time to see her stumble. She did not fall and clumsily continued on toward the house. Harry hurried after her, worried that the news he had given so bluntly had shocked her badly. He moved up beside her as she had stopped right at the steps to the house.

She held her hand on the railing and Harry, not knowing what else to do, moved to help her.

“No,” she said sharply, waving him off. “I can do it,” she said moving on up the steps. Instead of going into the house, she made her way down to the gazebo area. She stopped at the end of it and leaned both hands onto the railing, her back to him.

Harry followed, but he felt completely at a loss for what to say or do. Even though her back was to him, he could tell she was crying and every couple of seconds she would give a sob. It was as if she was trying to keep him from hearing it, but that was impossible since he was so close.

He had no idea she would be so affected by the news of Dumbledore’s death and he felt like a complete idiot for saying it so blatantly.

“I … hadn’t heard about it … the … the newspapers not … coming to the house lately … nobody told me about it …” she muttered between sobs as if she were trying to explain herself and why she was so upset. “Tell me this is a horrible joke,” she begged.

“I wish I could,” he replied sadly. “I didn’t mean to yell it at you like that. I didn’t know you would be so upset,” Harry apologized. “I didn’t realize you and Dumbledore were good friends,” he added.

She made a sound that was both a sob and a noise of frustration. She waved her hand back at him and he took it as a sign that she was not angry with him but could not get the words out to tell him.

A minute or two passed without either of them saying anything. After a while she seemed to have composed herself enough to turn around. It did not help him to feel any better about the situation, since her face showed the emotions of someone who had been devastated by terrible news.

“Is there something I can do … or someone I can go get for you?” he asked warily as she placed a hand on her forehead and then pushed her hair back out of her face. She shook her head and gave a quivering sigh.

“I didn’t mean to break down like that,” she said softly. “Please excuse me … it was either scream or cry and I hope I picked the more dignified approach,” she explained weakly and pressed both her hands to her face. She took another few moments to compose herself before she looked at him again.

“I’ll be alright, I just need a few moments,” she said. “I never expected this news … not like this,” she added, one hand still straying to her mouth as if she were afraid she might sob again.

“I suppose this makes me the bearer of bad news. I'm sorry I did a poor job of it,” he offered gently.

“I doubt you expected me to turn into a blubbering idiot,” she complained with a shake of her head. “I’m American … we tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves sometimes,” she informed and pushed one hand behind her neck. She seemed to have become very tense and took another deep breath.

The statement startled Harry, but only because he remembered Snape accusing him of ’wearing his heart on his sleeve’. To hear Celeste describe herself that way caught him off guard.

“There are worse things you could do, and being upset about someone dying isn’t one of them,” he suggested kindly. “Besides, I’ve been told I wear my heart on my sleeve too,” he added.

Her eyes widened slightly and then her expression softened. She studied his face as if she were seeing him for the first time. Her expression changed again to one of concern.

“You must be starving …” she announced, using a hand to wipe her eyes. “Have you had breakfast yet?” she asked. Again, Harry had not expected this abrupt change and he shook his head.

“No, I haven’t actually,” he answered.

She motioned for him to follow as she headed to the front door of the house. She opened the door and they walked inside. The entranceway was a small welcoming area with a little table on one side. A flower arrangement of roses set in a very pretty vase on top of it. Above it hung a portrait of a man on a horse. On the other side was a door, which Harry assumed was some sort of closet.

“Good morning!” the man announced cheerfully from the portrait. “Have we met before? Ah well, never mind … it’s an excellent day for a ride,” the man stated excitedly and urged his horse forward off the picture.

“Don’t mind him … he does that to everyone,” she informed, moving on into the house. Harry followed.

Once out of the small entranceway, the room widened out a great deal and the walls on either side had various different paintings and portraits. There was a door on the left and one on the right that were closed. Ahead on the left was a grand staircase leading up to the second floor. To the right of the staircase was a short hallway that led to the back of the house.

This is the direction Celeste Fairstone took. Harry went along, soon finding himself going through an open doorway on the right into the kitchen. The room was bright and painted a very soft cream yellow. The room was pleasant and, very much like the groups outside, this kitchen was neat and orderly.

It reminded Harry a bit more of a Muggle kitchen than it did of a magical one. Everything seemed ordinary - from the stove to the refrigerator. Even the white lacy curtains in the windows seemed simple and plain. He wondered at that moment how different were American and English magical people‘s lives?

“H-have a seat … ah … what would you like to eat?” she asked in a strange voice. She appeared to be preoccupied in thought.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table and was grateful to be able to rest; he had been walking for quite a while. He settled himself at the table and laid his bag on the chair beside him.

“Whatever you have is fine,” Harry replied. “Are you sure you are alright?” he questioned.

“You know, I’m not a very good cook, so maybe just a bowl of something,” she decided, seeming not to have heard his question. Harry got the idea she was talking to herself instead of him.

She walked over to the refrigerator and took out a large clear glass jar of milk. Then she went over to the other side of the kitchen and took a box of cereal out. It looked to Harry like some kind of Muggle brand and he thought he remembered seeing it before as a child.

Celeste got a bowl from another cabinet and a spoon from one of the drawers. She paused a moment as if she were thinking and then brought them over to the table, placing all the items in front of Harry. She got ready to pour the cereal out, but Harry stopped her.

“It’s okay, let me,” he offered and gently took the box from her.

She did not protest; she simply backed up to lean back against the far cabinets across from him. She watched him as he prepared the food for himself. It was a bit awkward to be in someone’s house he did not know, and to be eating their food. Also having them just stare at him was unnerving.

He glanced up at her, but then realized she was not staring at him any more. She had a far-off look in her eyes and he wondered if she was still in shock from the information he had told her. He began to worry and decided he should say something to her.

“Thank you,” he said, breaking the silence. It roused her and she gave him a nod. She got ready to say something, but just then a door on the other side of the kitchen opened. Harry was sure it was a door that led to the outside for the back area of the house.

An older woman walked in; she appeared quite stern. Harry thought her face might be carved out of rock, it was so severe. She had stone gray hair pulled back in a tight bun to go along with the expression and used a cane to walk.

She must have been working in the garden because she had an apron on; it was covered in dirt and her hands also seemed to be quite dirty. As she moved across the kitchen, Harry noticed she was shorter than Celeste and quite willowy thin. Something about this older woman reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall.

She had not said a word or even glanced over at him yet. Harry stared at her, wondering whether he should say something to let her know he was sitting there. She walked on over to the sink near Celeste and proceeded to wash her hands. She stared out the window a moment in silence as she did so. Then she turned off the water and began to dry her hands.

“So, who is our visitor, child?” the old woman asked, still staring out the window. Harry realized she knew he was here all along, especially after what she said next. “I saw you on the gazebo. I figured it was something serious, but he didn’t look familiar to me.”

“He’s Harry Potter, Granny,” Celeste informed stiffly.

The old woman, who Celeste called Granny, turned slowly and finally gave her attention to Harry. It was a few seconds of curious study and then she turned back to Celeste.

“Harry Potter … so he’s the boy -”

“England, Granny … yes,” Celeste cut in sharply.

The Granny lady scowled and then got a very guarded expression. She turned to face Harry again, giving this expression to him.

“Ah, the English … I was wondering when I’d see one of you popping up around here,” she stated. “Aren’t you supposed to be fighting in a war? We’ve heard your name over here and -”

“Granny!” Celeste cut in heatedly, causing the older woman to stop talking. Harry got the impression Celeste was angry for some reason. “Professor Dumbledore sent him here to me,” Celeste explained smoothly.

“Why would he send this child here?” Granny asked sharply. “Isn’t that dark wizard over there after this boy?” she questioned.

“Does that matter?” Celeste asked dryly.

“Are we going to start these old arguments? I’m too old for this,” the Granny lady complained sharply.

“Erm … I think I can clear this up,” Harry announced. Both women glanced over at him as if they had forgotten he was still in the room. “Dumbledore explained in a letter to me,” he began. “He told me you taught at Hogwarts for a year and that you were an exceptional teacher. He wanted me to convince you to come back to Britain and teach at Hogwarts again. That is … if it opens … but he also said you could help me, that you could teach me things that would be useful,” Harry finished and took a deep breath.

“He … said I was a good teacher?” Celeste asked. Somehow she seemed both pleased and extremely sad at the same time.

“He spoke very highly of you and told me I could trust you with any information … I hope he was right,” Harry answered.

Her eyes watered up and she glanced down at her hands, wringing them together nervously. Silence followed, but the Granny lady was watching Celeste, who Harry assumed was the old woman’s granddaughter.

“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do. I suspect teach him under my roof, is it?” she muttered in a repressive tone. “Your father isn’t exactly going to go all dove-eyed over anyone from England being here. How exactly are you going to do this, Celeste?” she asked in the same voice.

“Did you know?” Celeste asked, ignoring her grandmother’s complaining. Harry wondered what she meant by the question. He glanced from one woman to the other nervously, sensing that an argument might be about to occur.

“What?” Granny said blankly.

“Dumbledore, Granny,” Celeste answered firmly. “He’s been murdered … did you know?” she asked directly.

The two women were now staring at each other quite intensely. Harry watched Celeste’s grandmother closely; the old woman’s frown deepened, but it became more like sadness instead of her stern expression.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me!” Celeste asserted, her demeanor becoming quite fretful. Harry was not sure if she might cry again or start pulling out her hair.

“Celeste,” Granny announced firmly. “Don’t get so upset, calm down! You’ve been worked up for weeks,” Granny stated in a worried voice.

Harry watched Celeste with concern as she crossed her arms over her chest again. She closed her eyes and seemed to be trying to relax.

“I saw it in the paper,” Granny conceded in a quiet voice.

Celeste’s eyes flew open and she glared at the old woman with loathing. Harry was glad she was not looking at him like that.

“Alright, Celeste … don’t you stare at me like that!” Granny ordered angrily. “Your father came running over here that morning and scared the devil out of me … it was on the front page of the newspaper. He’s been stealing everyone’s paper in the area, if you really want to know the truth,” she went on depressively. “I tried to persuade him to tell you, but you know how he gets when he is determined,” she finished.

Celeste made a noise of exasperation. Harry wondered why this information should be hidden from Celeste Fairstone? She was an adult, wasn’t she? How close was she to Albus Dumbledore? Why would she be so affected and upset by his death?

“When was I going to be told about this? When it was all over!?” Celeste asked passionately, still glaring at her grandmother.

“Don’t you fuss at me like that … you said you wanted to be left in peace, Celeste. We were trying to give you what you wanted,” Granny answered, her tone an expression becoming quite sad. “I-I’m sorry. Your father was so upset -”

“I’ll bet he was,” Celeste cut in angrily.

“Don’t you do that,” Granny scolded. “You know better. He is only trying to protect you,” she expressed.

Silence fell over the room again. Harry was extremely uncomfortable; he felt as if he should not be hearing this argument. Plus he had no idea what was really going on, which was not surprising, he thought bleakly.

Celeste eventually looked as though she surrendered to something. She turned to Harry while waving a hand to indicate the older woman.

“Harry, this is my grandmother, Zora Fairstone. You can call her Granny, everyone does,” Celeste introduced. Harry turned his attention to Granny, who in return gave him a very dark frown.

“Granny, this is Harry Potter. It appears he will be staying with us for a little while,” she informed. “Harry, you can trust Granny as if she were Dumbledore … though she doesn’t have the cheerful friendly nature he does, she is very useful…most of the time,” suggested Celeste.

“Useful, am I?” Granny repeated bitterly as she turned a glower on Celeste. “I’ll send you back across the way if you don’t act right. Giving me those evil snarky comments and those glowering faces … and all this I’ve endured for many years now … and what do I get for it …” Granny complained, but paused in her rant when Celeste turned a very depressive face to her grandmother. Granny’s mouth pulled back on one side as if she did not like her own complaining.

“Oh alright! Fine!” Granny fussed. She glanced back over to Harry and schooled her face back to the stern one he had first seen when she entered the house. “Well, it’s no difference to me. Give him a room, but once your father hears, don’t expect me to be … useful.”

“Oh, and what’s Dad going to do, chase him off?” Celeste asked mockingly. Harry frowned, not liking the conversation but also because it was being conducted as if he were not in the room.

“I wouldn’t put it past him … but you handle that. I’m just giving the boy a place to lay his head,” Granny replied coolly and took notice of what Harry had been eating.

“Um … am I still here in the room?” Harry asked solemnly as Granny moved over and stared down at the bowl of cereal with dislike.

“Is this all you could offer your guest? Old mass-produced cereal? Really, Celeste! Honestly … what were you thinking?” Granny muttered, grabbing up the bowl and box as if it were an offending thing that should never be placed on the kitchen table.

“I don’t know. I’d just heard some very unexpected news. I don’t really know if I was thinking,” Celeste replied. At first Harry considered this reply sarcasm, but there was a real evident note of sadness in her tone.

“You’ve heard enough about that for now. We’ll speak about it later, when you’ve had time to get over the shock,” Granny insisted firmly to Celeste. “Harry Potter appears to be a growing boy … well, young man,” Granny corrected as she studied Harry again. “How old are you, anyway?” she asked and then moved off to put away the cereal and other items as she waited for his answer.

“I’ll be seventeen on the thirty-first of July, which will make me officially an adult,” Harry declared proudly. He had not even thought about his birthday until this moment. He had so many other things to think about - his own birthday was the last thing on his mind.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Harry protested. Granny had set about the kitchen and had started preparing breakfast for him.

“Never you mind,” Granny muttered and waved an overlarge spoon at him. “And I hate to break it to you, but seventeen around here is dirt; it’s eighteen you become an adult in this country,” she explained as she moved over to the stove and placed strips of bacon in a pan.

Harry frowned. He had faced one of the most powerful dark wizards in the world for many years now, and he was not even going to be considered of age for another year here in America. How screwed up was that?

“Well, look on the bright side,” Celeste chimed in, seeming to read his depressive expression. “You’ve just made a three thousand mile trip alone … that has to say something about you. How did you get to America anyway?” she asked curiously.

“I used a Portkey,” Harry informed.

“A Portkey!?” Celeste exclaimed before grinning at him wickedly. “That must have been quite an experience,” she asserted cautiously. Granny gave a snort of humor as if she thought the idea was funny.

“I don’t remember much … I must have passed out and ended up in a field in the middle of nowhere,” he said somberly. “Then I sort of ran into this man … he said I should send his regards to the Fairstone family,” Harry stated.

“Oh? Who was it?” Celeste asked. The smell of food was filling the kitchen and, for a couple of seconds, the wonderful smell distracted Harry as he realized exactly how hungry he was.

“He said his name was Frederick Amherst,” Harry replied when the question got past the wonderful smell of food.

“That’s trouble there,” Granny announced with humor still in her voice. Celeste reacted to the name by fidgeting for a few seconds and then shaking her head.

“Is it bad for that person to know I’m here? I got the impression he was like a government official, but really I wasn’t sure. I never exactly said who I was, but he sort of figured it out,” Harry allowed, slightly worried that he had made a mistake.

“He is not a problem,” Celeste allowed gently with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But tell me what happened … what did he say exactly?” she questioned.

Harry quickly described what had happened after he had arrived in America, up to the events at the Greenfield library and what was said between him and Mr. Amherst. Once Harry had finished, Celeste seemed to be considering the information.

“I’m sure he will not say anything,” she began. “But I’ll send him an owl later to be sure of it. Frederick is a smart fellow; if he figured out who you were and that you were coming to see me, he’ll not spread the word you’re here. He is fairly dependable, except for being an outrageous flirt,” she finished with a slight smile.

Harry got ready to reply, but a plate of food was set down in front of him and then a glass of orange juice followed. Harry stared at it; at Hogwarts he had been used to pumpkin juice at almost every meal. Granny said nothing but sat down at the table and appeared to be waiting expectantly for him to eat. He glanced down at the eggs and bacon.

“Don’t worry, I think you will be pleased. Granny is the best cook around,” Celeste insisted. Granny made a dismissive noise, but seemed to be waiting for him to taste her cooking. He took up the fork that lay on the plate and gave his full attention to the food.

After he began to eat, Harry had to agree: Granny was a good cook and it did not hurt that he was hungry. The only odd thing was the two women were silent and Granny for the first time was actually genuinely grinning at him.

“I take it this vigor to eat my cooking means you like it,” Granny stated sweetly. Harry could only grin back at her sheepishly and then nod appreciatively.

“Yes, thank you, it’s very good,” he said once he had swallowed the food in his mouth.

“So, you said something about Dumbledore wanting me to help you or teach you. What is it you are needing to learn?” Celeste asked politely.

“I’m not really sure,” Harry replied, feeling rather foolish; he had not quite had the time to actually think about the answer.

“Well,” Granny announced with a laugh. “If you don’t know what you want to learn, you’re no good to yourself, now are you? Best learn to speak up for what you want,” Granny scolded, but the humor was still in her voice and her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“What is it you teach here? I’ve only ever been to one magical school - the man at the gate called me a late bloomer, and Dumbledore didn’t give me much information on what you actually do here,” Harry explained.

“Who was at the gate today? I can almost guess, seeing as you got in pretty easy,” Granny said.

“Probably Grayson, I’ll bet,” Celeste answered and it was her turn to grin; she gave this devious grin to her grandmother. Harry nodded.

“Yes, that’s what he said his name was. He also said something about reminding you,” Harry said indicating Granny, “about a dinner you two are supposed to have.”

Celeste gave a sharp laugh and covered her mouth. Granny assumed her stern expression again.

“Bah … he’s after what they’re all after … silly man,” Granny muttered repressively.

“What’s he after, Granny? I’d sure like to know,” Celeste asked, seeming to have become quite cheerful. Harry watched her and Granny as they both exchanged an odd glance. Granny then snorted and waved a hand.

“I’m not having dinner with him, he’s fifteen years my junior,” she expressed as she shook her head. “Besides … I’m sure it’s the glamour of the Fairstone money and has nothing to do with me that he’s interested in,” she added sharply.

“You’ll have to excuse this conversation, Harry,” Celeste began with a laugh. “Granny’s an old widow with money … and that is a feature that is pretty to just about everyone,” she finished, grinning at her grandmother sweetly.

“Yes,” Granny muttered before Harry could make a reply. “If you have money, it’s always best to let them think you don’t … saves a lot of time and unwanted propositions,” she explained. “You’re supposed to be famous, Harry, I’m sure you have money and know this already,” she added and was giving Harry a quizzical gaze.

Celeste gave Harry a swift grin and shook her head. Harry was about to admit he had money, but something about Celeste’s expression changed his mind.

“No idea, I’m broke actually,” Harry announced, grinning at Granny mischievously. Instead of a stern expression the old woman was caught off guard for a moment, but then beamed back at him, seeming quite pleased.

“Well, he’s quick … I’ll give him that,” Granny praised as she studied Harry. “Go on then, eat up your breakfast,” she ordered and waved a hand for him to finish his meal.

“Perhaps it would be best if I read the letter Professor Dumbledore sent me,” Celeste suggested. “I’m sure -”

“Celeste,” Granny cut in before Celeste could finish. “I think it would be best if you take care of something else first,” she insisted. Celeste turned to her grandmother and appeared confused at first. “Did you look at the time, dear?” Granny asked.

Celeste lifted her eyes to the wall behind Harry. He was unsure what she was looking at, but she made a startled sound and got up hastily.

“I have to go,” she said as she headed to the kitchen door.

“Wait,” Harry called and got up to follow. “The man at the gate said I had to have a pass to stay in town. How do I get that?” Harry asked.

Celeste stopped in the doorway and turned back to him. A minute passed as she seemed to be thinking about how to answer him.

“Well, if nobody is supposed to know you are here, then you can’t just get a pass,” she began. “Also to obtain a pass usually there has to be some notification that a person is coming into Westbrook,” she described and then took another moment to do a bit of thinking. “Besides all that, Harry Potter being in Westbrook … purchasing a pass. That’s not going to go over very well,” she finished.

“Tell them he’s Gregory’s boy from California. Mr. Patterson is not going to know the difference, “Granny suggested. “Plus Mr. Patterson’s always been sweet on you; just butter him up and he’ll give you a pass for the devil,” she teased.

“Granny, Harry’s not old enough to be Emil,” Celeste contested.

“Who would know? Nobody has seen Gregory since he left for California … and you were just a little thing when he left town. Nobody in Westbrook has even seen Emil to know what the boy looks like. He could pass for Emil, Gregory has dark hair like me,” Granny asserted.

“Granny, I don’t know … to lie about this … I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” Celeste mused in a worried tone.

“You know Gregory isn’t going to set foot back in town. He comes to Florida when we’re down there, but you know he has no inclination to return and I doubt his children will either, given they’ve yet to set foot here and Emil is old enough to have come on his own if he wanted,” Granny elaborated.

Harry felt a bit like he was caught in the middle of a family disgrace or something. He was not sure, but Westbrook sounded very strange to him. On first impression it seemed like a beautiful peaceful place, but he was getting the notion there were undercurrents of intrigue to this place.

“Alright, I suppose you’re right,” Celeste mused aloud as she gave Harry a studious gaze again. “Just let me do the talking. If anyone asks, your name is Emil Magnus Fairstone, you’re 20 years old and from California,” then she paused as if something was troubling her. “Well … don’t talk too much as your accent might give you away,” she cautioned.

“I doubt anyone around here would know a California accent from a British one, dear,” Granny determined with a wink at Harry. “Just say you’re Emil. Nobody’s going to know the difference, I’m quite sure,” she insisted.

“As long as you think it’s okay. It is your town after all and I haven’t a clue about exactly what is allowed here and what is not,” Harry replied.

“You mean what you can get away with and what you can’t, don’t you?” Granny countered. Harry was not sure how to answer and simply did his best to keep from grinning at the old woman; for some reason he was finding he liked her very much.

“Well now, if anyone does, a smart wizard knows when and when not to break the rules … from the look of you, I can almost bet you’ve gotten that part down fairly well,” Granny surmised.

“Very well,” Celeste submitted. “We better get going then if we’re going to get you that pass … and what’s your name, sir?” Celeste asked, as if she were trying to trick him.

“Erm … I’m Emil Fairstone, from California. Nice to meet you,” Harry replied dully, not quite sure he liked the name. However, he doubted how else he was going to get the pass. He would hate to have made this trip, only to have to leave within a few hours.

Celeste nodded with approval and beckoned Harry to follow her. They left the grand-looking house together, neither quite sure what kind of adventure was soon to befall them.