Chapter 4: The World Beyond the Window
Six months.
Six months since Kyosuke Ohtani had died beneath a car in his mother's garage. Six months since he had been reborn as Marcellus Victor McArdour, son of Clement and Luxia McArdour.
And six months since he had discovered that the afterlife apparently involved an alarming amount of crying, sleeping, and being fed at inconvenient intervals.
Fortunately, things had improved.
He could now sit upright with some assistance, recognise most of the people around him, and produce a handful of sounds that his parents insisted were words.
He remained unconvinced.
His vocabulary consisted primarily of variations of mama, dada, and a noise that his father had inexplicably decided meant dragon.
It did not.
He had simply sneezed while attempting to say something else.
But Clement had been so delighted that Marcellus had decided not to correct him.
There were, after all, advantages to being underestimated.
Unfortunately, there were also disadvantages.
For instance, nobody took his questions seriously.
Nobody let him examine the strange objects around the manor.
And nobody had yet explained why the family portrait above his nursery fireplace contained a man who spent his afternoons arguing with a woman in the neighbouring painting.
Marcellus was beginning to suspect that his new life would require considerably more patience than his previous one.
He disliked this conclusion.
He disliked it even more because he knew it was probably correct.
The morning had begun rather pleasantly.
Marcellus was seated on a cushioned chair beside a large window, watching the activity on the grounds below.
The McArdour estate was not a castle, despite its occasional resemblance to one. It was a sprawling property on the Isle of Man, with a substantial family residence, barns, paddocks, pastures, workshops, and several buildings dedicated to the care of magical creatures.
His father had once explained that the family's wealth came from raising and trading magical animals.
The explanation had sounded reasonable enough.
Then Marcellus had seen a dragon.
He had subsequently revised his understanding of the term livestock.
A herd of Irish Greens occupied one of the distant paddocks. Their emerald scales caught the morning sunlight as they moved across the grass, occasionally snapping at one another or digging their claws into the earth.
Farther away, a pair of Welsh Spike-Tails were being led towards a separate enclosure.
Unlike the green dragons of Ireland, the Welsh Spike-Tails possessed vivid red scales. Their long, spiked tails and powerful wings made them resemble the enormous dragon depicted on the Welsh flag.
Marcellus had been informed that they were particularly territorial.
He had decided that territorial creatures with fire-breathing capabilities were best admired from a respectable distance.
The English Seasmokes occupied another section of the estate, closer to the coast. They were less numerous, and his father seemed particularly proud of them.
There were other animals, too.
Mooncalves grazed in their own enclosures, while several smaller magical creatures occupied pens and shelters near the main barns.
The estate was a remarkable operation.
In his previous life, Kyosuke had dreamed of revolutionising the automobile industry.
In this one, he had been born into a family that managed an agricultural enterprise involving creatures that could fly, breathe fire, and occasionally require specialised magical veterinary care.
It was, he had to admit, a substantial improvement in terms of novelty.
He pressed his small hands against the window.
One day, he promised himself, I am going to find out how all of this works.
A shadow passed over the pasture.
Marcellus looked up.
One of the Irish Greens had spread its wings and taken flight, rising above the paddocks before banking towards the sea.
For a moment, he watched it with undisguised fascination.
Then a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Admiring the dragons again, are we?"
Marcellus turned.
His mother stood in the doorway, smiling at him.
Luxia McArdour was a beautiful woman with pale-blonde hair and an expression that could become remarkably stern whenever her son attempted to do something dangerous.
She had recovered considerably from the difficult birth, though Marcellus had gathered that the attack on their home had left scars that went beyond the physical.
"Da," he answered.
Luxia raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
Marcellus nodded vigorously.
She crossed the room and lifted him into her arms.
"Your father says you have been trying to persuade the servants to take you outside."
Marcellus considered this accusation.
It was technically true.
He had attempted to communicate his desire to visit the dragon grounds on several occasions.
The servants, however, had proved remarkably resistant to his arguments.
"I see."
Luxia adjusted him against her shoulder.
"Well, I am afraid that you shall have to wait a little longer."
Marcellus made a disgruntled noise.
"Oh, don't give me that look. I know exactly what you're thinking."
He stared at her.
You most certainly do not.
"Your father was just as troublesome when he was young," she continued. "He once tried to follow his father into a dragon enclosure."
Marcellus's eyes widened.
Father did what?
Luxia smiled.
"Fortunately, Victor caught him before he could get himself burnt to a crisp."
The name brought a faint sadness into her expression.
Victor.
His grandfather.
The man who had died defending their home before Marcellus had drawn his first breath.
Marcellus had never met him, yet his name was woven into the family.
He was Marcellus Victor McArdour, named after a man whose courage had cost him his life.
It was a strange inheritance.
In his previous life, Kyosuke had inherited little beyond a collection of tools, unfinished ambitions, and a rivalry with his elder brother.
Here, before he had even learned to walk, he had inherited a legacy.
He wasn't entirely certain what to do with it.
Fortunately, Luxia seemed determined not to let him dwell on such matters.
"Come along, little one. Your father is waiting for us."
She carried him towards the door.
Marcellus immediately perked up.
Perhaps they were going outside after all.
Then Luxia added, "We have visitors arriving today."
His excitement diminished slightly.
Visitors.
Adults.
Conversations that he would be expected to ignore.
Another morning of being carried from one room to another while people discussed matters he wasn't supposed to understand.
Wonderful.
Still, there was always the possibility that the visitors might bring something interesting.
He had learned that the magical world was full of surprises.
He had also learned that adults were remarkably bad at predicting which things would interest a child.
Sometimes, that worked to his advantage.
Clement was waiting in the drawing room with Castor.
Marcellus had become familiar with his father's cousin during the past six months. Castor visited the estate frequently, helping Clement manage the consequences of the attack and the arrangements for the families still under their protection.
He was a broad-shouldered man with a serious expression, though he was considerably more patient with children than his appearance suggested.
When Luxia entered with Marcellus, both men looked up.
"There you are," Clement said.
He approached and held out his arms.
Marcellus transferred himself into his father's embrace with practised ease.
"Has he been behaving?" Clement asked.
"Perfectly," Luxia replied.
Castor snorted.
"That is not what the nursery portraits told me."
Marcellus turned towards him.
Traitors. Every last one of them.
Clement laughed.
"Well, I suppose we shall have to keep an eye on him."
He kissed Marcellus's forehead before settling into an armchair.
Castor remained standing beside the window, his gaze fixed on the distant pastures.
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then he spoke.
"Albus sent word this morning. He will be arriving shortly."
Clement's expression became serious.
"Did he say why?"
"Only that the arrangements are ready. The Scamanders have agreed to assist with the relocation, and Dumbledore wants to discuss the arrangements before anyone leaves."
Luxia settled onto the sofa opposite them.
"How many families can we move?"
"That is what we intend to settle today," Castor replied. "The Scamanders have offered to accommodate several households, while Apollonius has promised that the McFlamme estate can take in more."
Luxia nodded.
"My brother should be arriving soon."
Clement smiled.
"Assuming he hasn't decided to stop at every dragon enclosure between here and the estate."
"Apollonius is perfectly capable of arriving on time."
Castor raised an eyebrow.
"Is he? I seem to recall a certain wedding at which your brother arrived three hours late because he had discovered an injured Hebridean Black."
Luxia gave him an unimpressed look.
"The dragon needed assistance."
"The wedding guests needed assistance staying awake."
Clement laughed.
Luxia folded her arms.
"I shall remind both of you of this conversation the next time either of you requires my family's help."
"Then I shall endeavour to behave myself," Castor replied.
Marcellus watched the exchange with interest.
Family gatherings, he had discovered, were remarkably similar across worlds.
Different names, different customs, considerably more dragons—but the same tendency for relatives to embarrass one another.
The amusement soon faded, however, as Clement returned to the matter at hand.
"We cannot keep everyone here indefinitely. The attack has made that abundantly clear."
"No," Castor agreed. "And we cannot assume that the other properties are safe simply because they are remote."
Luxia's expression grew serious.
"The McFlammes have the space and the experience to accommodate the families. Their Hebridean Blacks occupy a considerable portion of the estate, but there is plenty of land beyond the dragon grounds."
"Apollonius has also offered to arrange additional accommodation," Clement said. "Between the two families, we should be able to move a substantial number of people."
Marcellus listened.
He had heard enough fragments of these discussions to know that something serious was happening.
His family was sheltering refugees.
People were being hunted.
And the attack that had killed his grandfather had been part of a much larger conflict.
He was still too young to understand every detail, but the broad picture was becoming clearer.
"The Ministry should have dealt with this months ago," Clement said. "Instead, they continue to pretend that a handful of unpleasant incidents will somehow disappear if they refuse to acknowledge them."
"Some of them are afraid," Castor replied. "Others are sympathetic to the wrong people. And a few are simply waiting to see which side wins."
"Which makes them cowards."
"Perhaps. But we cannot afford to assume that every official is an enemy."
Clement looked towards the window.
"No. We cannot."
Luxia was quiet for a moment before speaking again.
"We must be careful, Clement. We cannot help anyone if we allow ourselves to be careless."
He nodded reluctantly.
"I know."
Marcellus looked at his father.
There was no grand speech in Clement's voice, no attempt to present himself as a hero.
He spoke as though the matter were simple.
People needed help.
His family could provide it.
Therefore, they would.
Marcellus found himself thinking about his previous life.
Kyosuke had spent much of it comparing himself with Ryosuke, measuring his own worth against his brother's achievements.
He had wanted to build something extraordinary.
He had wanted to be recognised.
He had wanted to win.
His new family seemed to measure success differently.
It was an interesting difference.
He wasn't sure he agreed with everything his father believed, but he respected the sincerity behind it.
And perhaps, he thought, that was a reasonable place to begin.
A knock sounded at the door.
A servant entered.
"Master Clement, Master Apollonius McFlamme has arrived."
Luxia immediately rose.
"Already? Excellent."
She looked towards her husband.
"I shall greet my brother. And I shall bring Marcellus with me."
Clement nodded.
"Of course."
Apollonius McFlamme arrived with his young son shortly after noon.
He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, with the weathered complexion of someone who spent a considerable amount of time outdoors. His travelling robes were practical rather than elaborate, and a small silver dragon clasp held his cloak in place.
Behind him walked a boy of perhaps five or six years, carrying a small wooden dragon in both hands.
"Luxia!" Apollonius exclaimed when he saw his sister.
He crossed the entrance hall and embraced her.
"It is good to see you, little sister."
Luxia laughed.
"I am no longer little, Apollonius."
"To me, you shall always be the little girl who tried to convince Father that a Hebridean Black would make an excellent birthday present."
"It would have!"
"It nearly ate the stablemaster."
"That was hardly the dragon's fault."
Clement shook his head with amusement.
"Welcome to the Isle of Man, Apollonius."
"Thank you, Clement."
The two men clasped hands.
"I wish we were meeting under better circumstances," Apollonius continued, his expression becoming more serious. "But when Luxia sent word about the families you were sheltering, I could hardly remain at home."
"We appreciate it," Clement replied. "Your offer of assistance is most welcome."
"Family should help family. And those people need help, regardless of whether they share our blood."
Castor rose to greet him.
"Well said."
"Castor. It has been too long."
"Indeed it has."
Apollonius turned towards him.
"How many families are we moving?"
"That is what we intend to settle today. Dumbledore should be arriving shortly, accompanied by Newt Scamander."
"I have heard of him. A remarkable man, by all accounts."
"Remarkable is one word for it," Clement replied. "I suspect he will be more interested in the animals than in the people."
"Then he should feel perfectly at home here."
The adults laughed.
Meanwhile, the young boy had been examining the entrance hall with considerable interest.
His attention eventually settled upon the family portraits.
One of them, noticing his gaze, raised its glass in greeting.
The boy promptly raised his wooden dragon in return.
Apollonius sighed.
"Aurelian, must you investigate everything you see?"
"Yes, Father."
"At least you are honest."
Victor McArdour, whose portrait hung above the fireplace, chuckled.
"I like this boy already."
Aurelian looked up at the portrait.
"Who is that?"
"Your great-uncle Victor," Luxia explained. "He was Clement's father."
"Oh."
Aurelian considered the portrait for a moment.
Then he raised his wooden dragon again.
"Hello, Great-Uncle Victor."
Victor lifted his glass.
"Good day to you, young man."
Apollonius shook his head.
"Well, at least he has manners."
"Occasionally," Luxia replied.
The adults laughed once more.
Then Apollonius glanced towards the drawing room.
"Shall we settle the arrangements before the professor arrives?"
"Certainly," Clement said. "We can discuss the details there."
As the adults moved towards the drawing room, Aurelian followed his father.
He had been promised that he would meet his cousin during the visit, and he was beginning to grow impatient.
He had heard a great deal about the McArdour estate.
He had heard even more about the dragons.
But he had never met Marcellus.
And he was rather curious to discover what sort of person his cousin would be.
A little later, another knock sounded at the front door.
"Professor Dumbledore has arrived," the servant announced.
Victor watched from his portrait as Clement rose to greet the visitor.
The moment Albus Dumbledore entered the drawing room, Victor felt the familiar weight of old memories settle upon him.
He had been dead for six months.
That was an uncomfortable fact, though not nearly as uncomfortable as discovering that death did not necessarily relieve a man of his family obligations.
The portrait had been commissioned years earlier, during a particularly prosperous period for the McArdours. Victor had been a younger man when it was painted, with dark hair, a thick beard, and the sort of expression that suggested he was perpetually considering whether the person before him was being sensible.
The portrait had inherited his memories, mannerisms, and a fair portion of his opinions.
It had also inherited his irritation.
And at present, Victor McArdour was irritated.
Not with Dumbledore.
Not yet.
He was irritated with the circumstances that had brought the old wizard back to his home.
The last time Dumbledore had visited, the manor had been in ruins, his son had been grieving, and his own life had been ending.
Now, six months later, the consequences of that day continued to unfold.
The families Clement had sheltered could no longer remain in one place.
The Dark Lord's followers were becoming bolder.
And the Ministry, as far as Victor could tell, remained determined to do as little as possible until the situation became impossible to ignore.
Some things, it seemed, did not change even after death.
"Albus," Clement greeted him.
"Thank you for receiving me, Clement."
Dumbledore shook his hand before greeting Luxia and Castor.
His gaze then drifted towards Apollonius.
"Mr McFlamme. I am pleased you could join us."
"The pleasure is mine, Professor. My family is glad to assist."
"Your offer is most welcome."
Dumbledore took a seat opposite them.
"Now, I believe we have much to discuss."
Victor settled more comfortably into his painted chair.
At last.
Something useful.
"The situation has deteriorated considerably," Dumbledore began.
Clement's expression hardened.
"How badly?"
"Badly enough that I no longer believe it prudent to keep all the families in one location. The attack on your estate demonstrated that your enemies are prepared to strike wherever they believe their targets are gathered."
Luxia folded her hands in her lap.
"Do they know about the other properties?"
"Some, perhaps. We have taken precautions, but there are limits to what can be concealed when so many people require shelter."
Castor leaned forward.
"And the Ministry?"
Dumbledore sighed.
"The Ministry remains divided. There are officials who recognise the danger, but they are struggling to convince their colleagues that the threat is as serious as it is."
"Convenient," Victor remarked.
Dumbledore glanced at the portrait.
"Indeed."
"The Dark Lord is not some passing nuisance, Albus. He has money, followers, and the support of people who ought to know better. How many more families must suffer before the Ministry decides that the matter deserves its attention?"
"Too many, I fear."
Victor grunted.
At least the old wizard was honest enough to admit it.
Dumbledore continued.
"Voldemort's influence has spread beyond the circles in which he first gathered support. His followers are intimidating Muggle-born witches and wizards, threatening their families, and attempting to drive them from positions of influence. Some have already begun using violence to achieve their aims."
"Then why does the Ministry continue to treat this as a series of isolated incidents?" Luxia asked.
"Because acknowledging the full extent of the problem would require them to admit that they have failed to contain it."
Castor shook his head.
"And some of them would rather preserve their positions than risk losing them by opposing him."
"That is certainly true of some."
Apollonius leaned forward.
"My family has received reports from the Hebrides of families abandoning their homes. Some have travelled for days to escape the attacks. Others are too frightened to approach the Ministry at all."
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"That corresponds with what we have heard elsewhere. The problem is no longer confined to a few isolated communities."
"And yet," Clement said, "we are expected to conduct ourselves as though nothing extraordinary is happening."
"I would not ask that of you."
"No, Albus. You merely ask us to move the people the Ministry has failed to protect."
Dumbledore accepted the rebuke without protest.
"That is fair, Clement. I cannot undo what happened here, nor can I promise that the Ministry will suddenly become more effective. But I can help ensure that the people you saved are not abandoned now."
Victor watched his son carefully.
Clement had every reason to be angry.
His father was dead. His uncle was dead. Their home had been attacked because they had sheltered people who needed help.
Yet he continued to offer assistance.
Victor was proud of him.
He was also worried.
Clement had inherited the family's compassion, along with its unfortunate tendency to put himself in danger whenever someone needed help.
Fatherhood had not made him less stubborn.
If anything, it had given him more reasons to fight.
"The Scamanders have offered to assist with the relocation," Dumbledore continued. "Newt's family has access to a property where several of the refugees can be accommodated safely. Their experience with magical creatures will also make the transfer considerably easier."
"How many families can they take?" Castor asked.
"Several immediately. More once the necessary arrangements have been made."
Apollonius nodded.
"The McFlamme estate can take a number of families as well. We have room beyond the dragon grounds, and my people are already preparing the necessary accommodation."
Luxia looked relieved.
"Thank you, Apollonius."
He waved away the gratitude.
"There is no need to thank me, little sister. They need somewhere safe to stay, and we have the means to provide it."
"Then we shall divide the families between the two estates," Clement said. "We must ensure that no single location becomes a target large enough to endanger everyone at once."
"Agreed," Castor replied. "We should also limit the information given to each group. If there is an informant among the people we are helping, we cannot allow them to compromise every destination."
"It is a miserable way to conduct oneself," Clement said.
"It is also necessary," Dumbledore replied.
Victor nodded reluctantly.
He disliked the need for secrecy, but he understood it.
A man who wished to protect others could not afford to confuse trust with carelessness.
"And what of the creatures?" Clement asked. "The dragons cannot all be moved at once. The Irish Greens will be relatively straightforward, but the Welsh Spike-Tails are territorial, and the Seasmokes are particularly sensitive to changes in their environment."
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
"I suspect Newt will be more concerned about the creatures than about the logistics of moving the people."
"Then he should feel perfectly at home here," Apollonius remarked.
"Indeed."
Castor turned to Clement.
"We can begin with the families who need to leave most urgently. The McFlammes can take the first group to the Hebrides, while the Scamanders arrange transport for the others."
"And we shall keep enough people here to protect those who remain," Clement added.
Luxia nodded.
"We must be careful, Clement. We cannot help anyone if we allow ourselves to be careless."
He looked at her for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"I know."
For a time, the conversation continued around the table.
They discussed the number of families, the safest routes, the supplies required, and the precautions necessary to prevent the Dark Lord's followers from discovering the new locations.
Victor listened in silence.
There were many things he disliked about Dumbledore.
The old wizard could be secretive, overly fond of making decisions on behalf of others, and maddeningly willing to take risks that he expected other people to bear.
But Victor had never doubted his intentions.
And in a world where so many people were beginning to confuse ambition with virtue, that counted for something.
At last, Dumbledore removed his spectacles and polished them with a handkerchief.
"There is one further matter. Newt has arrived with his father and a young member of the family. I believe it would be useful for everyone to meet before we finalise the arrangements."
Clement nodded.
"Of course. Please, have them brought in."
Victor settled back in his portrait.
He had a feeling the meeting was about to become considerably more interesting.
The drawing-room doors opened, and Newt Scamander entered with his father.
Newt carried a battered travelling case in one hand. His father, an elderly gentleman with thinning white hair, greeted the assembled group warmly.
"Apologies for keeping you waiting. We had a small disagreement with a creature on the way here."
"Nothing serious, I hope?" Clement asked.
"Nothing that a little patience couldn't resolve," Newt replied.
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"That is usually how Newt describes an incident that has left someone missing a shoe."
Newt looked towards the portrait.
"That happened once."
"Twice," his father corrected.
Dumbledore chuckled.
"I see the family has arrived in good spirits."
Newt placed his case beside the fireplace.
"I have reviewed the preliminary information about the creatures and the families requiring relocation. I believe we can make the arrangements work, provided we coordinate the transfers carefully."
"Excellent," Clement replied. "We shall discuss the details after everyone has been introduced."
Apollonius turned towards his son.
"Aurelian, come here, please."
The boy approached, still holding his wooden dragon.
Apollonius placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Aurelian, this is Professor Dumbledore and Mr Scamander. They will be helping us organise the relocation."
Aurelian nodded politely.
Then Apollonius looked towards Luxia.
"And this is your aunt Luxia, whom you have heard so much about."
"I have heard a great deal about her," Aurelian replied.
Luxia smiled.
"I hope your father has been telling you the good stories."
"Mostly."
"Mostly?"
Aurelian considered this.
"He says you once tried to convince Grandfather to you a dragon for your birthday."
Luxia sighed.
"I shall have words with your father."
Apollonius grinned.
"You cannot blame me for telling the truth."
Clement laughed.
"Now, then. There is someone else you ought to meet."
Luxia held out her arms towards Marcellus, who had been sitting quietly beside her.
She lifted him and brought him closer.
"Aurelian, this is your cousin, Marcellus Victor McArdour."
Aurelian stared at the infant.
Marcellus stared back.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Aurelian asked, "Can he talk?"
Luxia laughed.
"Not yet."
"Can he walk?"
"Not yet."
"Can he fly?"
Clement raised an eyebrow.
"Certainly not."
Aurelian looked disappointed.
"Then what can he do?"
"Quite a lot, actually," Luxia replied. "He can smile, recognise his family, and make his displeasure known whenever he is hungry."
Marcellus chose that moment to produce a small, indignant noise.
Aurelian's eyes widened.
"He can shout!"
Castor burst out laughing.
"That he certainly can."
Apollonius crouched beside his son.
"Marcellus is still a baby, Aurelian. When you were his age, you could do very little yourself."
"I could hold things."
"Yes, and you put nearly everything you held into your mouth."
Aurelian looked at the wooden dragon in his hands.
Then he looked at Marcellus.
Slowly, he held the toy out towards his cousin.
"Here. You can have this."
Luxia smiled.
"That is very kind of you, Aurelian."
Marcellus reached towards the toy with both hands.
His fingers closed around one of its wooden wings.
For several seconds, he examined it with the solemn concentration of a scholar inspecting an ancient artefact.
Then he attempted to put it into his mouth.
Aurelian looked triumphant.
"See? He likes it!"
Apollonius gently retrieved the dragon before Marcellus could chew on it.
"Perhaps we shall find him something more suitable."
Marcellus protested.
Excuse me. I was conducting an important examination.
Clement chuckled.
"I think they shall get along rather well."
Luxia looked at her son, then at her nephew.
"Indeed. Though I suspect Aurelian will have to learn that not everything can be solved by giving Marcellus a dragon."
Aurelian considered this.
"Could I give him another dragon?"
"That," Apollonius said, "is precisely the sort of question I expected you to ask."
The room dissolved into laughter.
For a brief moment, the weight of the war seemed a little less oppressive.
Dumbledore watched the two children with a thoughtful expression.
"An important occasion," he remarked. "The first meeting of cousins is always worth remembering."
"Especially when one of them is too young to remember it," Castor observed.
"Then it is fortunate that the rest of us shall remember it for him," Dumbledore replied.
Victor watched the scene in silence.
For a moment, he forgot the Ministry, the refugees, and the uncertainty that lay beyond the estate.
He simply watched his grandson meet his cousin for the first time.
Two children.
Two families.
A future that had not yet been written.
Perhaps, Victor thought, that was reason enough to keep fighting.
The discussion resumed once the children had settled.
Newt explained how his family could assist with transporting the magical creatures, while Apollonius described the facilities available at the McFlamme estate in the Hebrides.
The two men compared notes on the requirements of the different species.
The Irish Greens would need sufficient space to settle and establish territories. The Welsh Spike-Tails required carefully managed enclosures, while the English Seasmokes would need a location suited to their particular habits.
The refugees would be moved separately from the animals wherever possible.
"We must ensure that the relocation does not become another opportunity for the Dark Lord's followers to strike," Clement said.
"Agreed," Dumbledore replied. "We shall divide the groups and stagger their departures. The fewer people who know the entire plan, the better."
Castor began making notes.
"Then we shall start with the most vulnerable families. Apollonius can take the first group to the Hebrides, while Newt coordinates the others."
"And we shall keep enough people here to protect those who remain," Clement added.
Luxia looked around the table.
"Whatever happens, we must remember why we are doing this."
The others turned towards her.
"These people have lost their homes. Some have lost their families. They came to us because they believed we would help them, and we must not allow fear to make us forget that."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Clement reached for her hand.
"Well said, Lux."
Victor nodded from his portrait.
His daughter-in-law had always possessed a quiet strength that he admired.
It was easy to speak of courage when danger was distant.
It was harder to remain compassionate when danger came to one's own door.
The McArdours had learned that lesson at a terrible cost.
But they had not abandoned it.
At last, Dumbledore rose.
"I shall arrange for the first transfers to begin tomorrow. Newt and Apollonius will coordinate the practical details with you, while Castor oversees the arrangements here."
Clement stood to shake his hand.
"Thank you, Albus."
"No, Clement. Thank you."
Dumbledore's expression became serious.
"I know that my absence during the attack cost your family dearly. I cannot undo what happened, but I can do my utmost to ensure that the people you saved are not abandoned now."
Clement held his gaze for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"That is all I ask."
Victor watched the exchange in silence.
There were many things he disliked about Dumbledore.
But he had never doubted that the old wizard understood the gravity of the situation.
And in the days ahead, understanding would not be enough.
They would need courage, organisation, and a considerable amount of luck.
That evening, after the guests had departed and the arrangements for the relocation had been finalised, Clement carried Marcellus upstairs.
The infant had fallen asleep clutching the wooden dragon.
Luxia walked beside them, smiling at the sight.
"He seems to have taken a liking to Aurelian."
"Indeed."
Clement looked down at his son.
"Perhaps they will become good friends."
"I hope so."
They reached the nursery.
Clement laid Marcellus gently in his cradle and carefully removed the wooden dragon from his hands.
The child stirred but did not wake.
Luxia adjusted the blanket.
For a moment, the two parents stood quietly beside him.
Then Clement looked towards the window.
Beyond it, the dragons moved through the darkness, their distant silhouettes outlined against the moonlit sky.
"Tomorrow will be a difficult day," he said.
Luxia took his hand.
"Then we shall face it together."
Clement nodded.
He looked once more at his sleeping son.
"Sleep well, Marcellus."
The door closed softly behind them.
Above the fireplace, Victor watched his grandson sleep.
The boy had been born into a world of danger and uncertainty.
He would grow up surrounded by creatures that could tear down buildings, people who would risk their lives to protect strangers, and a conflict that threatened to engulf the entire wizarding world.
Victor could not know what kind of man Marcellus would become.
He could only hope that his grandson would inherit the best of what the McArdours had to offer.
Their courage.
Their compassion.
And their stubborn refusal to abandon those who needed them.
As the manor settled into silence, Victor turned towards the painted window in his portrait.
The night beyond it was dark.
But somewhere beyond the horizon, the world continued to turn.
And tomorrow, the work would begin again.