The dress robes I ended up going with were rather dull compared to others I had seen. Black pants, along with a white button-up shirt. Completing the ensemble was a Ravenclaw blue robe that had our family crest, which depicted a hawk surrounded by stars.

What was cool about the coat of arms was that it wasn't stationary. The crest was enchanted to move and shift positions. The hawk also seemed to be alive. Sometimes it would stare at a person if they looked at it for too long.

When I got downstairs, my grandma looked me over and made a small adjustment to my tie. It took enormous self-control not to roll my eyes. She always seemed to need to correct something. Everything had to be perfect. When she finished, she nodded and said, "Alex, I need to prepare you for tonight."

I cocked my head in confusion, "What do you mean? I've been to dinners with you before. I thought I did fine last time."

Grandma waved a hand in reassurance and placed the other on my shoulder. "You did excellent, my dear, but tonight you may bear witness to some tension. You see, tonight, we are headed to the Highlands of Scotland, to the home of the Macmillian clan."

That name sounded familiar if I remember correctly, I think that there was a Macmillian in the same year as Harry Potter. But, for the life of me, I can't seem to remember his name. Damn, this was going to bug me, it's on the tip of my tongue.

While I was trying to remember the name of the Macmillan, Grandma said something that distracted me from my remembrance. "Wait, say that again," I asked.

Grandma gave me a stern look, not pleased I hadn't been paying attention. "I said, there may be some tension because I haven't been back home to the Macmillan clan in around two decades."

"What do you mean home? This is your home." I argued.

She gave me a sad smile and explained, "You know, I wasn't always a Fawley. I was born a Macmillian."

My eyes widened, this was something I hadn't ever considered, Grandma always seemed so proud of the Fawley name, she had never mentioned her maiden name before. Seeing her melancholy, I hesitated, "You've never mentioned them before." I added, "Neither has Dad."

"Your father wouldn't, and neither would your uncle. Some grudges are too deep. You see, back when Henry disappeared and was rumored to be a death eater, it was a dark time for the Fawley family. Many of our friends stopped coming by, and while we could manage that. I didn't expect my family to turn their backs on us. You see, my birth family is obsessed with appearance, and when Henry was accused, they decided to draw a clear line between them and us. The rest of the magical community took it as a clear sign that Henry was indeed a death eater. This all happened when John and your Father were at school. It didn't go well for them. Students back then were scared and angry and wanted someone to blame. Your uncle and father became scapegoats to many of their peers."

Hearing how the Macmillian turned their back on my family when they were at their lowest, made my blood boil. Sneering with disgust, "Then why the hell are we even going back? Screw the Macmillans. We don't need them." I viciously responded.

My words made a tiny wince appear on her face before it disappeared. Sighing heavily, "It's not that simple." She explained, "It wasn't all of them, but once the head of the clan made the decision, the rest of them fell in line."

"Who was the clan head?" I asked, instantly adding him to my mental list of nemesis.

Grandma paused for a moment as if the topic was difficult to speak on. "He was my father."

For a moment, I couldn't think of anything to say. Her Father? How the hell could he abandon his daughter at her darkest hour? What an utter arsehole. No matter what I did, I couldn't imagine any of my family doing anything like that. They would never abandon me, I bet I could break the law, and my family would protect me. My uncle would probably show up and give me a grin and ask when we were leaving.

I guess my thoughts showed on my face, because she gave a wry smile, "You're so much like your father and uncle. They had a similar reaction, but as in life, it's more complicated. Normally, the position of the clan head is an empty title. They aren't very united, but during times of trouble, the clan bands together for protection. So during the war, my Father had many responsibilities back then."

Not as willing to let it go, "Like what?" I challenged.

"Well for starters, the Macmillian clan is rather extensive. There are around six different branches of the family that live up there in the Highlands of Scotland. Not to mention, there are dozens of other families who have intermarried with the Macmillians over the years. They all lived in the area and looked to the Macmillian clan for stability and leadership during the war. So when his daughter's husband was rumored to be a death eater, he made a decision that best suited the clan."

Unable to help myself, I interjected with a sneer, "And this is the clan who you want us to go visit?"

Grandma's eyes tightened, "Not everyone in the clan was supportive of his decision. My brother was furious." She explained, "Regardless, My father died over a year ago, and my brother took over being the clan head." Pulling something out of her robe, she showed me an invitation card.

"Why wait so long? Grandpa Henry's name has been cleared for years. Why are they just now sending an invitation?" I questioned.

"It's easy to forgive someone when you were in the right, but when you're in the wrong, it can be difficult to admit. My Father refused to apologize for his actions. In his mind, he did nothing wrong. He just did what was best for the clan. I think he expected me to come back on my own after the war, but I never did. Eventually, the years passed, and before I knew it, he died."

Hearing the bitterness in her voice, I couldn't help ask, "I thought that you said you understood why he did what he did?"

Grandma's steely gaze met mine, and I saw hints of the wolf I knew was inside her, "I said I understood he had many responsibilities." She scoffed. "Not that I forgave him for what he did." She sighed, "But, he's dead now, and it seems pointless to hold a grudge against the rest of my clan due to the actions of a dead man. Besides, I haven't seen the rest of my family in years."

I bit back my retort on what I thought about grandma's side of the family. It was clear that she was looking forward to this dinner, and I wouldn't be the one to spoil it for her.

Ready to go, we went outside. Grandma put a hand on my shoulder. "Are you ready?" She asked.

Wanting to get this over with, I nodded. A second later, my world went black.

Unlike the time where we went to dinner at the Malfoy's manor, which was an old-style mansion built on an enormous estate, the Macmillian's house was much more low key. The brick two-story house was built on top of a cliff overseeing a lake and a small muggle village and seemed to fit seamlessly with the land. The whole thing looked like it belonged in a painting.

Before we entered the property, Grandma gave herself and me one final glance. After determining nothing was out of place, she took a deep breath, "Come along, Alex."

As soon as we entered the property, an old, scrawny house-elf appeared with a crack. When I saw the elf, I was a little surprised. This was the first house elf I had ever seen with a beard. I couldn't tell if the elf was trying to bow or just hunched over from old age.

"Welcome to clan Macmillan," the elf croaked with his face pointed towards the ground. "Your invitation, if you please."

"Hoopy, is that you?" Grandma asked fondly.

Hoopy raised his head, rubbed his green eyes, and gave a toothy grin, "Master Danielle?" He rasped happily, "You're back; it's been so long since you've been home."

Grandma wistfully smiled, "I'm afraid I haven't been very welcome here." Changing the subject, she praised, "It warms my heart that you are still here serving the family."

Hoopy swooned with pleasure at Grandma's compliment, then hastily replied, "It's Hoopy's greatest honor to serve the Macmillan family."

Eagerly waving his arms, Hoopy happily continued, "Come, come. Follow me."

We followed the happy elf into the house. Leading us down a hallway, we passed dozens of portraits of proud-looking wizards and witches. The unique thing about them was that they refused to speak to us. Most paintings love to talk and engage with people. But, they all eyed my grandmother with wary eyes.

I tried not to smirk. It looked like they all bore a grudge against her, but knew it was unwise to engage in a verbal spar. My grandmother has a razor-sharp tongue and had no issue destroying someone if she thought they deserved it. From their glares they were giving her, I bet that the paintings had been on the receiving end of one of her tongue thrashings before.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Grandma momentary paused by the last painting containing an old pompous looking wizard in red and black robes. The wizard's eyes widened, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something. But, the moment passed, and he turned his eyes away.

As I passed the painting, I glanced at the bottom of the portrait, where it listed the name, the birth, and death date. Seeing the final date was last year, I figured that this must be my great-grandfather. Unimpressed, I shot him my best look of disdain and continued behind my grandmother.

Hoopy led us to a heavy oak door thst swung open with a click of Hoopy's finger. For a second, the inside threw me for a loop. It wasn't the people that threw me off. It was the size of the room.

The dimensions didn't match the house. Outside, the room looked like the size of a bedroom, but the inside was nearly as big as the entire house.

I had seen rooms with extension charms before, but never to this degree. Whoever laid down the charm must have been a prodigy. While the extension charm was a NEWT requirement at Hogwarts, being able to manipulate the spell to this extent said a lot about the skills of the wizard. Most people would only be able to get the room to about half its current size.

A gentle elbow from Grandma distracted me from my musings. Once I brought my attention back to the present, I could see we were the center of attention. I recognized some of the witches and wizards present from the last gathering I attended. They were all well connected in wizarding society.

But, the ones paying most attention to us, were those I had never met before. Of course, when I say we were the center of attention, a more accurate description would be Grandma was the center of attention. It seems even though she received an invitation, most people assumed she wouldn't show.

From their expressions, it seemed as though we were welcome. A hazel-eyed wizard whose hair had more grey than black in it approached us with wide-open arms. "Danny, it's wonderful you came home." He said with a happy smile on his face.

As the wizard swept Grandma up in a hug, she patted him on the back, and fondly replied, "Richy. It's good to see you."

After the embrace was over, he turned his attention to me, "And who is this fine young wizard?"

Grandma gave my back a slight push, "This is my grandson, Alexander. Alex, this is my brother, Richard."

My eyes widened in surprise as Richard brushed aside the arm I had extended and scooped me up in a hug. It seems as though great-uncle Richard was a hugger. Just as I was about to try and get away, he released me. As Richard beamed down at me like he was having the time of his life, I realized that he was one of those overly expressive people.

I had been expecting someone a little bit more like my grandmother. While she had no problem showing affection, she was more reserved in showing her emotions.

"You must meet my grandson. He will be attending Hogwarts next year, and I'm sure you will get along." Not waiting for me to say anything, Richard called out over his shoulder, "Ernie, get over here. There is someone I want you to meet."

My eyes lit up, that was his name, Ernest Macmillan. It had been bugging me all night.

Out of nowhere, a well dressed dark blonde hair kid appeared. "Yes, grandfather," he said in a formal tone.

Now, this is more like I was expecting the Macmillans to act, I could already tell that grandma approved of his respectful nature.

Widely gesturing towards Grandma, Richard introduced, "This is my sister, Danielle."

Ernie's hazel eyes widened in surprise. Before Ernie could say anything, Richard continued, "And this is your cousin, Alexander."

"Second cousin," I corrected without thinking.

Richard looked at me like I had just kicked his puppy. After seeing his hurt expression, I muttered. "Fine, cousin."

Richard's sad face melted away like it had never been there. As if he were afraid I would take it back, he shooed us away and said, "Ernie, take Alex to meet the rest of the youngsters while I speak with my sister."

I shot a look at Grandma to make sure she was okay with this, once she gave the nod. Ernest and I wandered off to the far side of the room, where it looked like a pack of kids were together. There were kids of all ages there, some were younger than me, and some were older.

As we made our way over, there was an awkward wall of silence between us. Thankfully, I knew just what to say to break it. "I'll bet you're looking forward to going to Hogwarts next fall."

And just like that, the silence was broken, "I can't wait." Ernest eagerly answered.

I smiled at his earnest expression. Every kid below the age of eleven can always be counted on to have a conversation about Hogwarts.

Ernie went on about how much he was looking forward to going to school and how he was going to be the best in his year. I tried not to smirk. Sorry buddy, but you have the misfortune of being in the same class as Hermoine, the best you can hope for is second place.

While he went on, I tried my best to remember details about him from the books. I couldn't remember if he was in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. I was pretty sure it was Hufflepuff.

While I was trying to remember details of Ernie, a familiar Scottish voice called out, "Alex."

I looked over and found a familiar face of one of my roommates looking at me in surprise. "William? What are you doing here?"

"Mum and I always come round to the Macmillans when they have a gathering. We live in a house on the other side of the muggle village, and my great-something-grandmother was a Macmillian. So we're always welcome."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. "That would make us distantly related," I mused. Pointing a thumb towards Ernie, I explained, "This is my cousin, my grandmother was born a Macmillan."

William's brown eyes enlarged, "We're related?"

As he tried to wrap his head around that concept, I emphasized, "Distantly. Probably like sixth or seventh cousins depending on the generation."

William smiled, "Still kinda cool."

Not wanting to be left out of the conversation, Ernest added, "If you go back far enough, many wizarding families are related."

While we caught up, I heard another voice that I recognized coming from near the entryway. It was Augusta Longbottom. Her voice tended to fill up the room as she often spoke louder than necessary. I wasn't sure if it was because she was hard of hearing or just didn't feel like lowering her voice. Either way, no one called her on it.

Augusta's voice rang out through the room, "Danielle, is that you? I'm surprised you came back to the Macmillian after everything they put your family through."

I hid a grin behind my hand. Augusta also tended to say things others would consider impolite with no regard to her audience's feelings. I think when you get to a certain age, it brings a certain amount of freedom. You can just say whatever you want. It's not like you will have to deal with the consequences for very long.

As Augusta scanned the room, she caught sight of me in the corner. "Neville," She half-shouted. Pointing towards me with her cane, she said. "Go over there and make some friends."

With her voice being as loud as it was, many of the eyes in the room were drawn to a round-faced, plumpy blonde-hair child who looked like he would give anything to turn invisible.

Pushing him with her cane, Neville scooted his way over. I felt a little bad for him. She probably thought she was helping him, but considering his personality from the books, that was perhaps the worst thing she could have done for him.

Some people can't be shoved into the deep end and survive. They need careful guidance and instruction. When he got near, I put on a welcoming smile, holding out a hand in greeting, "I'm Alex."

Hesitant, he reached out, "Neville." he half-whispered.

I sighed; it was like his grandmother had smothered his voice. She was suffocating him while trying to force him into an image of his Father. Frank Longbottom was supposed to have been an extremely talented Auror.

I knew from the fifth book that there was a spine within Neville; it just was waiting for the right encouragement to emerge. In the books, it was his parent's torturers breaking out of Azkaban, which transformed him into a driven wizard.

Harry once remarked that Neville's transformation was so great that he was learning spells only slightly slower than Hermoine. And considering Hermoine's skill level, that is saying something. I wonder if I should take a hand in trying to coax out Neville's skills as a wizard.

Surely it wouldn't change too much of the timeline considering that it wouldn't happen overnight, and it was already going to happen.

As I watched Neville try and sink into the background of the conversation, I considered what I knew about him. My guess is two things are going to hold him back. The most obvious was his willpower. Magic needed a strong mental mindset. Now, while it appears he lacks in this, a strong mind can be forged over time. His other issue is his wand. In the books, he used his dad's wand. If his father's wand refused to recognize him, it would have a drastic impact on his spellcasting ability. From what I could infer from the book, his father's wand also wanted revenge and decided to work together with Neville in the fifth book.

He probably chose to use the wand to please his grandmother, who was always pushing him to be like his father. Considering the touchy nature of the problem, I would need a light touch. I can't just come out and say, don't use the wand, while Neville seemed like a pushover when push came to shove, he could be quite stubborn.

After examining the problem from a few angles, I had an idea. Turning to Ernest, I asked, "Have you gotten your wand yet?"

He proudly nodded, "Yes. I turned eleven in November and received my letter from Hogwarts. Dad took me to Ollivanders the next day."

Smiling at his enthusiasm, I said, "There is nothing like having a wand choose you. Is there?"

Ernest nodded, "It was an incredible feeling. I can't wait to cast my first spell."

Raising an eyebrow, "You mean you haven't cast anything yet?"

Ernest looked scandalized, "Of course not, I would never break the rules regarding underage magic."

Hearing his self-righteous deceleration made me roll my eyes, no wonder Harry and his friends didn't hang out this pompous kid. Seeing that we were getting off-topic, I turned to Neville and asked, "What about you, Neville? Have you been to Ollivanders?"

Stammering nervously, "No, my birthday isn't until the end of July."

Patting him on the shoulder, "That sucks it's going to take you so long. Having your wand choose you is a rite that every wizard goes through. When you find the right one, you can feel your magic almost sing. Isn't that right, William?"

William shrugged, "Mine was more like finding a shoe that fits after wearing one that doesn't."

I shot a mock glare at William, "Really? A shoe? I'm talking about a magical coming-of-age tradition that goes back over a thousand years, and the best you can come up with is shoes?"

William crossed his arms defensively, "The feeling is hard to describe." He defended, "I thought it was a decent analogy."

Waving off his excuse, I put my arm over Neville's shoulder, "Don't listen to that boring stick in the mud. The only shoe you need to worry about is some guy named Micheal, but that's a whole other story. What is important is getting your first wand. It's a tradition that goes back almost seventeen hundred years. Make sure you go to Ollivanders, he is the best. His family has been wand-makers since wands were invented"

I paused and looked at Neville expectantly. I think he sensed that I wasn't going to budge without some kind of reply because he stammered, "I think my dad got his wand from Olivander's shop."

I smiled at his response as it set me up perfectly, "You see. All you need to do is follow in your father's footsteps and go to Ollivanders."

Deciding I had pushed far enough for the night. I let the topic fade away as the conversation turned to Hogwarts. I suppressed a smirk at seeing the thoughtful expression on Neville's round face. Hopefully, this sets him on the correct path, and if not, well, I'll just have to come up with something else.