The mountain sorts itself once again, under the influence of Professor McGonagall’s spell.
She gazes at the floating stacks for a few seconds, alongside the rest of the still weary teachers.
Professor Snape summons one of the two letters not in either of the big stacks, magicing it open to read it- and blinks. By the time he finishes reading it through the third time, all the other professors are watching him.
“Well?” Professor McGonagall prompts.
He looks up. “Agent Candy Stripes would like to know what the enrollment requirements are,” he answers flatly. “It is their opinion- and that of Agent Sweetie Drops- that the youngest Weasley is ready to begin her education, by all physical, mental, and magical metrics they can think of.”
“I give up,” the Head of Gryffindor House states.
“The usual, Hagrid?”
“Can’t, Tom. Hogwarts business.”
“Ahh- Oh, Good Lord. Is this- can this be-?”
“Yes,” a blue-and-white-haired girl states firmly, trotting over. “Good afternoon, Harry. Butterbeer?” She offers him a bottle.
A man steps out of the green flames in the fireplace. “Nope,” he states, and turns on the spot, disappearing with a little pop.
Hagrid looks in that direction. “What?” he asks.
The girl chuckles. “Ever since we backed him down a week and a half ago, Malfoy’s been stopping by every day. I think he’s trying to wait until we’re gone before he buys his son his school stuff.”
A very sudden scraping of chairs echoes through the shop, making Harry- and Hagrid- jump.
She chuckles again, glancing behind her. “Yeah, you’re a bit famous in this world- which may not be a good thing.”
“Yeah…” Hagrid mumbles. “Hold on. You backed Malfoy down? What was he doing?”
“He went after the Weasleys,” she shrugs. “Bit of an idiot, I think. I mean, for a grown man to resort to bullying. Clearly, the Weasleys have something the rich git wants- and he never grew up enough to realize he’s probably got the money to buy it. Celestia knows the Weasleys could use the money.” Then she lets out a snort of laughter. “Though, after getting to know the Weasleys, I’m not so certain it’s something that can be bought.” Finally, she glances back at the archway to Diagon Alley. “Speaking of which, our final team will be showing up in a half an hour or so. I’m looking forward to turning Twilight loose on Flourish and Blotts tomorrow.”
“Twilight?” Harry asks, pausing in the middle of Dedalus Diggle’s second handshake.
“Yeah. We’ll be schoolmates soon- you, me, her, and about twelve thousand more.”
“Twelve thousand?” Hagrid asks.
She nods. “Yeah… All the shopkeepers said it did seem a little unusual, but with a little coordination and planning ahead, we were able to get everyone processed. There were a few hiccups, including a particularly nasty one where Scribbulus ran out of quills, but we were able to get it all done. By now, all the shopkeepers are a little exhausted, but they should be pretty well stocked.” She looks Harry up and down. “Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather, no?”
He blinks. “What?”
She nods. “And yeah, you’ve definitely got a bit of influence from Moldy on you, but it’s at odds with the rest of you- subdued, as it were. Not something I can strip off in this world, but it should be largely harmless.” Shrug. “Probably some leftover from whatever happened way back when.”
Harry blinks again, completely ignoring the patrons still vying for his attention. “Wait, what? You mean- you mean Voldem-!”
Lots of people in the pub gasp. More than one calls out “Don’t say the name!”
Another girl rises calmly out of the same booth the first had come from; this one’s got pink and dark blue hair. She fills her lungs and bellows, “Victor Oscar Lima Delta Echo Mike Oscar Romeo Tango Voldemort! Quit your whining, and quit being afraid!”
Harry blinks, looking back at the snickering blue-and-white-haired girl while all the gaspers, including Hagrid, stumble back in shock- and the blue-and-pink-haired girl returns to her seat as if it was as normal as taking out the trash. “You mean Voldemort left-?” he asks. “Won’t it- ?”
The blue haired girl turns back to him. “Eh, it might hurt a little. No more than a little sting in the scar on your forehead, probably, or maybe some pain when you get too close to him or he’s particularly strong. But your own aura practically reeks of your mother’s love- a very powerful form of magic Moldy will never get through. So no, you’re practically indestructible, to him at least. Probably why he, ah, suffered a failure of heart, way back when.”
He blinks. “Wha-? Wouldn’t everyone-?”
She chuckles. “You’d think. But no- that kind of a so-called ‘love envelope’ is vanishingly rare where I come from- but it’s even rarer here. The thing is that it can only be created by a truly loving mother, and even then only while worried about the survival of her young.” She smiles sadly. “I’m sorry to say, even in my world, over ninety-five percent of ‘love envelopes’ are on orphans. But it says a lot, to have been loved so powerfully that it was even possible to form one. And, if you know how to mess with it just right, they’re incredibly useful- and for more than just passive protection.” She winks at him.
“Uh, like what?” he asks. “How does being loved by my mom…?”
“Harry,” she states, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Look at me. But not with your eyes- use your mind’s eyes. See me, see the energy around me. Feel for it. What’s my name?”
He blinks a couple times. “Lyra,” he answers. “But what- Wait.”
“And there you have it,” Lyra smiles, her hand returning to her side. “Advantage number one: The ability to see a magic aura with no prior magical understanding. It normally takes years of study before someone can so much as detect the aura- but you saw in far enough to get my name. Correctly, I might add.” She chuckles lightly. “I’m afraid you won’t get much further than that without at least a minimal understanding of the magic involved- but you might be surprised what is exposed even at that layer.”
“... What?”
“Yep. It does take a touch deeper to see someone’s magical affinities or capacities, but incidental things like emotions are laid bare, and moods are visible. Try practicing that sometime- pick someone, anyone, and see if you can feel their name and mood. You’d be surprised what you’ll find.”
He blinks, and scowls at her for a second.
“Oh, heh heh,” she mutters, rubbing her hair with one hand. “Sorry about that. I kinda habitually scramble my own aura anymore- another thing a love envelope makes easy. But don’t worry, most people haven’t a clue that’s even possible.”
Then he sighs. “So, why are you telling me all this, when you’ve only just met me?”
She grins. “Because I can see your aura, as plain as day. Kinda hard to miss, what with the love envelope. But I can also see that you’re good enough you’ll use those abilities for good, not evil. So why not?” She shrugs. “And besides, even if the Death Eaters captured and questioned you tomorrow, what could they hope to gain? Extra confusion?” She chuckles again. “Only now, you’d be able to tell us who they were.” Her expression suddenly straightens, and she puts her hand soothingly back on his shoulder. “Besides, what a ‘love envelope’ really is, is your mother’s magical core, reassigned at death, rather than dispersed like they usually are. The main passive effect is protection from maliciousness- but once you get a good feel for it, get to know it…
“Let’s just say it’s a lot more than it seems, okay?”
He stares at her.
“I know, ‘love envelope’ is an astonishingly cold and unfeeling name for something so precious, but that’s what you get when the scientists decide that ‘mother’s blessing’ isn’t good enough. Not one of them actually had one.” Sigh. “Probably didn’t help that a blessing can be given by a living mother, while a love envelope- by its very nature- is given in death.”
“I donno,” Hagrid mutters. “She seemed good enough to me. Somewhat happen?”
Dumbledore nods from behind his desk. “Yes, Rubeus. We will be having twelve thousand, two hundred ninety-three first-years this year.”
“WHAT? Sorry, Dumbledore, but what’s this have to do with Lyra?”
“It would seem it’s only thanks to her and her friends that they all got their stuff on time,” he answers. “I’ve been too busy sorting out mail here at the castle to visit Diagon Alley ever since we started sending the acceptance letters. Now, I just got back from Diagon Alley- I really would like to meet her- but it turns out they packed up and left fifteen minutes before I got there.” He sighs.
“Couldn’t ya just stop by her home?”
Dumbledore lets out a chuckle. “Oh, that would have worked in the past, yes- but we can’t go where she’s from. Something about a portal not letting us through.” He sighs again. “Not to mention, we don’t know where that portal even is.”
“Well, she seemed nice enough. Definitely a Gryffindor, I think.”
“Oh boy,” Dumbledore mutters.
“What?”
“Let’s just say, especially for dear Minerva, this will be a very interesting year.”