Sally-Anne Perks laid back in her bed for the first time since the previous Summer. She had not returned for either Christmas or Easter. Her mother had not been happy about that, but her father had visited Hogwarts at Christmas, bringing her presents and presents to the other girls who resided at the Cloister.
Officially, the Cloister was a Group Home for Girls, not an orphanage, run by Sally-Anne's parents. Her father was a pureblood with a noble title, abet one that was only recognized on the magical side of the street, the Earl of Locksley. He'd met her mother at Hogwarts, where she'd been a hardworking Hufflepuff, orphaned by her father's death during the Suez Crisis. The scruffy girl with knife cut short hair somehow managed to capture the heart of the Gryffindor Golden Boy of his era. Then when he'd succeed his father as Earl, he'd followed the Earldom's long tradition of philanthropy by opening a home for girls who could no longer live with their family.
According to Child Protective Services you were only supposed to stay at the Cloister for a few weeks, maybe a few months, before being reunited with your family. Girls at the Cloister never seemed to stay united with their family, or get adopted. They might leave for a while, but once you were placed at the Cloister, there would always be a place for you. It was not uncommon for a girl who had been returned to their family to suddenly appear at the Cloister's gates. They would be opened with open arms, even if they were no longer a child. Sally-Anne's parents saw to that.
Sally-Anne was a late, unexpected, accidental child. That did not result in her being loved any less. She grew up with the other orphan or foster children. Everyone was treated as if they were family by her parents. At least the way family was supposed to treat you. Sally-Anne was well aware of how family could treat you badly. You couldn't live in the Cloister without finding out. With the Cloister's reputation, it got all the cases where the caseworker expected the worst or that it might turn into a long term issue, plus those referred to by Wizardling Protective Services. It was why Sally-Anne had stayed for Christmas and Easter, she had expected that Harry would have been alone at Hogwarts, not finding out until late that he was going to visit his stupid caseworker.
Since there was no home for boys that specifically took magicals, like the Cloister took girls, Sally-Anne had been worried about what would happen to her friend when Summer came. When she heard that he was going to the Grangers for the Summer, she had inwardly cheered. The alternate plan she had come up in her mind would have never worked. Not with the all girl arrangement of the Cloister. Especially not with the collection of Boy-Who-Lived books shared generously among the young girls of the Cloister.
The door to Sally-Anne's room swung open, revealing a trio of young girls. "Okay, Sals, you avoided us all year," the lead girl, Francesca Runnymeade, began her order. "You got sorted in Gryffindor, with the Boy-Who-Lived, now spill."
"Yeah, Sally, we want to know," the second girl, on the right, Gladys, said. "Besides, all three of us are going to Hogwarts next year, and I want to find out what it's like."
Sally-Anne looked at the third girl, a shy blonde who went by Rae instead of her legal name of Rhiannon Angharad Eynon. "And you're along for the ride, Rae?" The only reply from Rae was a smile that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. "Okay, sit," Sally-Anne ordered, pointing to the foot of her bed. She had a full size bed, as it wasn't uncommon for someone to join her for the night during a thunderstorm.
As soon as the three found a seat at the foot of her bed, Sally-Anne began her tale, her gaze never quite meeting their eyes as she spoke.
"I shall not tell you the tale of my sorting, for that is a tale best not told until after one's own sorting is done. Nor will I tell you the tale of the first couple months at Hogwarts, for I was not yet known by Harry, and is of him that you wish me to speak of. Instead, I shall begin with the tale of Halloween at Hogwarts, of a boy who had not yet learnt the lesson of not using unkind words, of a sensitive girl genius who heard his unkind words, and of course the reluctant hero who risks his life to be justly rewarded ...
It was dark outside by the time Seamus Finnigan reached his home in Ireland, but not late enough to avoid running into Father Quinn. Having to walk from where Uncle Beolagh had dropped him off really didn't give him much of a way to avoid him, as Seamus had to not only walk passed Saint Columcille's, but past the parochial house.
"Seamus Finnigan, home from boarding school, I see," the surpassingly spry old priest said, as he held back the Irish Wolfhound that protected the Church's ground. "I'm surely lucky to have encountered you this late eve."
A bit wary, knowing that Father Quinn always had some task awaiting for whoever he encountered, Seamus replied, "Aye, Father, we left Scotland this morning, got to King's Cross in London around three, and Uncle Beolagh just let me off at the crossroads."
"That would be your mother's older brother?" Father Quinn asked.
"Aye," Seamus replied. Uncle Beolagh was indeed his mother's brother, and the reason that his mother hadn't told his father about her magic until Seamus had started showing his own accidental magic. It had been his advice not to tell, and Seamus's father still held it against him. Family relations were not improved, even though Beolagh was his mother's favorite brother.
"It is sad to see such rifts between family," Father Quinn sagely replied. "In any case, as I was walking down the lane, I was wondering if perhaps you might lend your voice to Lauds this Summer, assuming it still holds. Your voice lent the Christmas Vigil quite a fresh tone."
"My voice hasn't broken, yet, father," Seamus said. "The Choir Master at my school say it will soon though."
"I shall miss your boyish treble when it does," Father Quinn said, as the parish dog began to get restless. "But do hope that it's future loss does not deprive the parish of its best cantor. I shall expect you an hour before dawn."
And with that, the parish's Irish Wolfhound pulled the pastor away from Seamus, Father Quinn obviously no longer in control of the dog. Before Seamus realized that he had been committed to waking up early all summer, the priest was well away.
Seamus trudged home, pulling his trunk all the way. For once, he actually hoped his voice would break, and break badly. Sometimes he hated his Parish Priest.