Whom Thou Namest Friend, Part One by ElrondsScribe

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

(Summer, early 1980s)

The Muggle train came to a stop at Philadelphia and let loose a crowd of hundreds, some going to catch a taxi, others to the parking lot to join waiting relatives, and still others to board buses or another train. Among them was the Elf we must follow, who was by no means conspicuous in that crowd of ordinary non-magical folk, except perhaps for his long hair and rather extraordinary personal beauty. He was fair-skinned and grey-eyed, as are most of that fairest immortal people, and was unassumingly dressed in blue jeans and a hooded sweater. He carried a nondescript grey messenger bag over his shoulder.

There was nothing about him to indicate that inside the messenger bag was a folder which would forever change the course of magical history, or that the one carrying it was one of the most brilliant and learned of the Elves. For this was Pengolodh himself, and he had just come from Boston, where he had met with other members of the Wise and the Nolmengolmor* (at least the few who cared to study mortal magic at length) to discuss revolutionary ideas.

The matter at hand had been the detrimental effects of the utter separation of wizardkind from the rest of the Mortal world, and any possible solutions. That the Statute of Secrecy had been a necessary measure at the time of its making there could be no doubt, but there was also no doubt that the long-term effects had not been all beneficial.

It was Cirdan who had brought up the point that Muggle-borns (or wizards otherwise reared in Muggle homes) were the most obviously disadvantaged by the legal and educational systems. It was they who left their entire families and any concept of the known and reliable behind in order to enter into a small, cloistered society that for the most part looked down upon them for being Muggle-born (or, more accurately, Muggle-raised). And yet purebloods (or wizards raised in wizard households) were also disadvantaged in a way, as they had the tendency to be absolutely ignorant of anything that did not concern their little closed-off world, and were the worse for it.

And of course there was always the question of what might happen if some great disaster befell a wizard (or even the wizard community at large) and he was forced to escape into the much larger Muggle world for a period of time.

Andreth (the elder)** had suggested that, while the educational system might not be at the root of the problem, it was probably the first place to look for answers. Accordingly, the council had laid out in full the structure of the system: the whole of primary school years dedicated to the non-magical basics (reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic, as the saying went), and secondary school years dedicated to exclusively magical training and preparation for a wizarding career, with the optional addition of a higher educational or intensive training program.

Galadriel, who had seemed to be in the throes of some sort of epiphany, had then asked how schools such as Hogwarts in England found magical students to admit, particularly in Muggle families. No one had had a definitive answer for this until Faramir (son of Denethor) spoke up. He said that as least at Hogwarts, which was a good example of a quality magical school, there was a magical quill pen that was "programmed" to detect and record the births of all magical children in England, and to "automatically" keep track of them all until the time came for acceptance letters to be written. At that point, all the Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress had to do was to check the list of names for the year written by the quill (the Quill of Acceptance, as it was known) and send out the acceptance letters.

So much, then, was obviously true: that magical talent could be discerned in a child at birth, or even while yet in the womb. What then? Bursts of accidental magic in a child had been known to be dangerous. Did the magical community wait to develop their obviously magical children's magic until eleven years old? And in the case of Muggle-borns, magical schools waited to inform them of their status as wizards and witches until secondary school?

Was it not reasonable to assume that the first burst of uncontrolled magic in a child, however early it came, was a sign that he was ready to be taught to harness it right away? Or even sooner? The true shortcoming of the current educational system, then, was not so much in the subject matter (or lack thereof) as in the system's very structure - no magical training until secondary school, and nothing but magical training after that. In that case, the obvious solution was to integrate the subject matter at both the primary and secondary level, so that magical and non-magical disciplines alike would be taught "K through 12" as the American saying went.

And the ramifications of such changes? A young wizard brought up in this manner would not be forced to take a career in the wizarding world if such were not his desire. And even if he chose to take a wizarding career, he would not be helpless if forced for any reason to sojourn in the Muggle world for a while. Such changes would level the playing field for so-called "Muggle-borns" and make "purebloods" less helpless in regard to the outside world.

The obvious downside lay in the fact that both the magical community and the non-magical community required aptitude of a student in many subjects. In other words, a child educated in this integrated way would be a little less competent than his Muggle peers at Muggle subjects, and a little less competent than his wizard peers at wizard subjects. The only answer to this was to hope that eventually the idea of integrated education would catch on in the wizarding community, and the widely accepted standards of wizarding competency would be adjusted.

But it seemed to be a risk that would have to be taken; for the current wizarding war raging in England was forcing many wizards and witches to take shelter wherever they could, and some had indeed been forced to have dealings in the Muggle world, inept though they were at doing so. And if it could happen in England, which seemed to be the center of the most influential magical doings*, it could probably happen anywhere.

Now that it seemed obvious that there must be changes suggested in magical eduaction, the only question was how such changes were to take place. Might a school be started? Could young magical children with willing parents, Muggle and wizard alike, be individually tutored?

It was obvious that a school built on such principles as had been discussed could not be a boarding school, simply because its students would be too young (probably toddlers mostly). It would therefore have to be in the middle of some wizarding community that as a whole was convinced of the merit of such a complete rethinking of their children's education, and that would take some time. Not to mention that the school would have to be approved by the wizarding government, which would be even harder to accomplish.

Individual tutoring and homeschooling was probably the most practical way to go, at least for the present. At that point it was more a matter of convincing parents of what they wanted to do, and simply doing it.

It went without saying that either idea would be considered radical, and even controversial, by mainstream wizard society. It was perhaps not so inflammatory as Elrond's ideas about the possibility of Muggles being able to wield magic*, but it would undoubtedly garner quite a varied response in the magical community when they went public with their intentions.

The only question that now remained was how to discern magic in a baby or young child. Elrond and the other members of the council who were Healers all said that it was really quite easy to detect even a baby's magical core if one knew what to look for, and had outlined all the telltale signs, such as differences in the rhythms between a child's fea and hroa; or a very peculiar swirl of dark blue in the middle of the child's aura, whatever the dominant color was; and of course, the inevitable bursts of accidental magic, such as flying or levitating through the air, or summoning wanted toys, or making a family pet do the child's bidding.

Pengolodh himself had been asked to employ the use of a magical pen to record all that was said during the council, and as he had not had much to say he had agreed. He had gone mainly to learn and not to contribute, as there was much he had not known, and he was now going back to the house that he owned in Philadelphia to type up another copy of the document which was now in his bag. A few months prior he had bought, at some expense, one of the new personal computers and a printer, and he was now going to make use of them.

He wondered idly how his own life would change if he took it upon himself to tutor a child. He would probably have to leave his job as a college professor if he were really going to do it, or at least work part-time as a substitute.

A pleasant little scene caught the Elf's eye, and he paused a moment to look. He was across the street from one of the public playgrounds, where at so late an hour in the afternoon there was only one small black boy on the swingset with his father pushing him.

"Push me highew, Daddy!" the toddler was shrieking. "I wanna fwy!"

"No flying today, kid," said the father laughing. "And you're pretty high up anyway."

"Wook wha' I can do, Daddy!" howled the child, and to Pengolodh's horror he let go of the chains of his swing and soared forward and upward into the air.

"ELIJAH!" The man darted forward with his arms held out, and Pengolodh was running across the street before he knew what he was doing; but the boy did not fall. He continued sailing forward and up with his arms held out like the wings of a bird. He circled like an eagle a few times, and then unexpectedly went crashing into Pengolodh like a small load of bricks, knocking the Elf onto his backside.

"Umf!" he grunted.

"Hi!" said little Elijah cheerfully.

Pengolodh climbed to his feet, adjusting his hold on the boy. "What have we here?" he said. "The little rocket talks? It barrels into me and sends me tumbling, and then it talks to me?"

The boy giggled, but at this moment his father made his way over. "Sorry about that," he mumbled, clearly mortified, and snatched up the errant boy.

"Elijah," his voice was now stern. "I said no flying, remember?"

Elijah squirmed and looked nervous. He knew he was in trouble. "Sowwy," he said meekly.

"Wait!" said Pengolodh hurriedly. He was sure now that the child was magical, and he did not believe that it was a coincidence that he had seen the little burst of magic on the day that the council had been held. "Please, wait."

The man looked at him with raised eyebrows. He was far taller than most mortal men - well over six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders a stocky build - and had a deep, rumbling voice like a roll of thunder that would intimidate anyone. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

Pengolodh paused. "Well," he said. "Perhaps the matter might be better discussed in a more private venue. Might I visit your home?"

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* Nolmengolmor - I freely admit this is probably rather atrocious Quenya, as I made up the word myself. I pieced it together from the words Nolme (which has to do with matters of knowledge and science and philosophy) and Ingolmor (which I think means learned ones or something) Basically, a council for people who are into scientific-philosophical-abstract types of knowledge. Feel free to correct my Quenya at any time.

** My Tolkien headcanon has been influenced by many more experienced and knowledgeable fanfiction writers, particularly in the matter of OCs that I will be including. Andreth the elder is the Andreth whom Aegnor loved (and at this point in my Omega/AoB universe they are married), and the other Andreth is an OC of LalaithElerrina's.

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Chapter End Notes

I know, I know - a whole bunch of exposition and barely any action - how boring! Well, not for me, and not for people like Pengolodh. They thrive on this kind of boring discussion about things like education.

Chapter 2: Of Toddlers and Parents

And here's chapter 2! At long last. Chapter 3 is in the works right now, so hopefully you won't have to wait so long. Thank you!

And oh yeah, nothing you recognize is mine.

Read Chapter 2: Of Toddlers and Parents

Pengolodh followed a skipping Elijah and his titanic father from the playground to a smallish house in a rather nice neighborhood. When Elijah ran on ahead and banged on the door, it was opened by a rather harassed-looking woman with a colorful scarf tied onto her head and a yawning baby in one arm. "Elijah!" she protested. "You woke your sister up!"

"Sowwy, Mommy," said Elijah, not sounding very sorry. He scooted past his mother and ran into the house, and the woman looked up at her husband. "How was he?" she asked.

"He flew," said her husband. "Again."

She sighed and shook her head and was about to reply when she noticed the Elf, and that seemed to startle her very much. "Richard!" she said accusingly. "You could have told me you were bringing somebody! And the house looking like it is - "

"Elijah knocked into him on the playground," said Richard. "He asked if he could stop by discuss it with us, and it's really the least we can do. Sorry I couldn't have let you know any earlier."

Pengolodh thought he heard her say "Men!" under her breath, but the next instant she turned toward him, switching the baby (who was gazing up at the Elf with definite interest) to her other arm. "Come on in, and please excuse the mess!" she said, opening the door wider.

"Thank you," said the Elf, stepping into the house and shutting the door behind him. He was now standing in the living room, and on the far side of the living room was the doorway to the kitchen.

Elijah was playing with knockoff Hot Wheels in the middle of the carpeted floor, which was indeed strewn with various toys. A big cabinet with a child-safety lock (Pengolodh expected it had a television inside it) sat against the left wall, and opposite the cabinet was a sofa long enough for three or four, a big easy chair, and a big rocking chair. A playpen stood in the corner.

"Elijah! Move these cars!" said his mother, and then, turning back to Pengolodh, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," said the Elf, seating himself on the sofa and taking his bag off his shoulder. The woman sat down in the rocking chair, and her husband on the couch next to Pengolodh. Elijah brought all his toy cars over and began playing with them at his father's feet. The baby, who was really being very good about having had her nap interrupted, tried to put her thumb in her mouth, and ended up putting in her whole hand.

"Well, shoot," said Ricard.

And Pengolodh did.

"My name," he said. "Is Pengolodh, and I am here mainly on account of your son. You have seen for yourselves that he can do rather unusual things."

"Yes, we've noticed that," said the mother unhappily. "and it's caused us no end of trouble. Mostly it's been Elijah, but I'm starting to notice little things happening around Deborah too." The baby stirred and looked up at her mother at hearing her name. "We can't take either of the kids anywhere because inevitably something's sure to happen - plates and glasses move by themselves, lights start flickering, family pets act up. Our friends and neighbors won't let their kids near ours anymore. And at first I thought it was because we were black, but even other black families won't let their kids play with Elijah now - our own relatives don't talk to us. And we've tried everything we can think of; we've seen all kinds of doctors and specialists and paid them fees we can't afford, and not one of them can tell us what's wrong with our children."

She had teared up a little as she spoke, and her husband reached over and patted her arm. "It's okay, Lauretta," he soothed. Elijah got in on the act, climbing all over his father in order to reach his mother's wrist. Richard grabbed him and put him on the floor again, and he went right back to playing with his cars again.

"There is naught wrong with either of your children," said Pengolodh quickly, for he could not abide tears. "That is why I am here. Please be comforted." He waited until Richard had calmed his wife down, and then began again. "There is, I say, naught wrong with your two children," he went on. "But the truth, I fear, may little please you."

"Honestly, if you have anything to tell us, it's better than what we have," said the father. "We just need some answers."

Pengolodh decided not to mince words. "What you have seen in your children," he said. "Is truly nothing more than bursts of untrained magic."

It seemed to take both father and mother a few seconds to realize he was being completely serious. When they did, Richard was the first to react. He blinked, and stared very hard at the Elf. "You're not playing me for a fool, are you?" he asked rather suspiciously.

"I am not!" Pengolodh protested, even though he knew how wild and out-of-the-blue his pronouncement must have sounded. "And as for proof, you need only observe it in your children. What name do you give to the strange things that happen around them?"

"Okay, I don't know what exactly you're trying to tell us about our kids," said the mother. "but in our neck of the woods, 'magic' usually means palm readers, mediums, spiritists, and people who have familiar spirits and talk to the dead. That's not something we want for ourselves or our children."

"I understand that," said Pengolodh. "And do not worry, the magic I speak of has very little to do with any of what you have just mentioned. Magic as I have known it is very like the energy you have gathered from water and the wind and the sun. It is naturally present in the elements - earth, fire, water, and air. There are two reasons it is distinguished as magic: firstly, because it physically resonates only with those few who are born with a certain genetic trait commonly known as the magical core; and secondly, because the few who are born with a magical core are then able, like your children, to easily perform acts which are called feats of magic by most. Do you follow me?"

"So far," said the father, glancing at his tiny daughter who had gone back to sleep. Elijah now began smashing two cars together in imitation of an accident.

"That is well," said Pengolodh. "Your son's magical core - or perhaps I should say, your children's magical cores - has been until now left untrained, and so has shown itself in little uncontrolled bursts which are commonly known as accidental magic. Accidental magic can on occasion be very dangerous, especially when the child in question is frightened or angry or upset in some way. For that reason, many make it their business to teach young children how to control and harness their magical energy."

"Controlling and harnessing their magical energy," said Richard. "What's that mean, exactly?"

Pengolodh was fairly sure that neither the man nor his wife was ready to fully believe him yet, but he plunged on regardless. "It merely means training them in specific exercises - spellcasting and transfiguration - and teaching movements of celestial bodies, the names of magical plants and the making of magical draughts, and so on."

"And that's what you're saying we should have for our children," said the father skeptically. "What if we're not so hot on all this magic?"

"Then you could always leave your children's magical abilities untended," said Pengoldh. "Bear in mind that if you do this, the bursts of accidental magic your children exhibit will not stop. They will only become more severe and more dangerous as they grow older, and - "

But this seemed to do it for Lauretta, who Pengolodh guessed had suffered more directly from her children's accidental magic and the accompanying ostracization than her husband had. "Okay, then what are we talking here?" she asked. "Obviously we can't send our children to regular elementary school, so what should we do?"

"Well, you have one of two choices," said Pengolodh. "You can hire a tutor for them, or you could wait until sixth grade and send them to one of three private wizarding schools in this country. Most parents choose the former - "

"And deal with shrunken keys, missing dishes, and sudden power outages until then?" asked Lauretta.

"Quite so," said Pengolodh. "Because for many years there has been no other choice. Now, however, you also have the choice of hiring a tutor."

"And where do we find a tutor?" asked Richard.

"I can provide that myself," said Pengolodh.

"You're a qualified educator?" Richard looked skeptical.

"I am not sure about being qualified to teach children," said Pengolodh a little stiffly. "But I have taught linguistics and history at the college level for a number of years, and I thought perhaps I might be of service to you."

"Sure you are," said Lauretta. "You're what, twenty-five or something, and you expect me to believe you're a college professor?"

Pengolodh flushed a little in annoyance. "I prefer not to answer that question," he said in clipped tones.

"You don't need to get an attitude about it," said Lauretta. "You need to let me know that you know what you're doing before I hand my children over to you for the next eighteen years."

Pengolodh saw that he had been bested. "I understand and apologize," he said. "As for my age, I will say for the moment that I am much older than I look." Eventually, he knew, he would have to come clean about what he was; but that was another day's work entirely. "And my qualifications -" he fumbled through his shoulder bag and after some little trouble brought out his teaching certificate.*

Richard was satisfied after only a brief glance at it, but Lauretta had to examine it at length before giving it back. She had to move one of her arms to free her hand, and this woke little Deborah again. This time she began to cry.

"She's hungry," said Lauretta. "Do you mind?" When Pengolodh shook his head, she promptly pulled the blanket down from the back of the chair, laid it over her shoulders, and began breastfeeding her daughter. Pengolodh took back his certificate and put it back in his bag.

"Well," said Richard. "It looks like we don't exactly have too many other options here; how young do you start teaching?"

"How old is Elijah?" asked Pengolodh.

"I thwee!" said the boy cheerfully, holding up three fingers.

"Three?!" cried the Elf in genuine surprise. The child was easily the size of most Mortal five-year-olds. But then he did talk like a three-year-old. . .

"The doctor says he's in the ninety-eighth percentile for height and the hundredth for weight for his age," said Richard. "Think he's overweight or something." He snorted.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," muttered Pengolodh, looking down at the big toddler. "But as to when I begin, I would start at once, if you are willing."

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Chapter End Notes

* I'm not sure what the requirements were in 1980, but at the moment the requirements for being a private tutor in Pennsylvania include holding a valid state teaching certificate (interestingly enough, a private tutor can only service one family at a time). Note that I have no idea how Pengolodh would prove having advanced degrees in history and linguistics.

Thanks for all your reviews! More action in later chapters, I promise.

Chapter 3: How To Overturn an Established Order

Read Chapter 3: How To Overturn an Established Order

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

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The weeks that followed were very busy for Pengolodh.

He kept in touch with both the Hollowells and with the other Ingolmor, who were of course only just beginning to form their ideas about the logistics of this new curriculum. He gave the college where he had been an instructor notice that he was leaving, and began to consider what he might charge Richard for tutoring. He had to in large part figure out for himself what he would teach and how he would teach it, as he was the first to have found a child to instruct.

True to his word, he got straight to work. He gave the college where he taught notice that he was leaving, and that weekend was back at Lauretta Hollowell's house. That day he outlined the beginnings of his plans for Elijah.

Both parents took some convincing. "You're planning to come to the house every day, six days a week, to play with Elijah?" asked Richard incredulously.

"I certainly am," said Pengolodh. "And you are going to play with him too. You will play him music, sing to him, read aloud to him, tell him stories, and play games with him. With both the children, really."

And because he was the first person who was actually helping them understand their freak children, they did exactly as he said - Lauretta, predictably, being rather more involved than her husband because she was home with the children more. Pengolodh really had to hand it to the woman; she was taking everything in stride much more readily than he had expected her to.

Some of the "games" Pengolodh played with Elijah were counting and letter games, as the Elf wanted the boy to be very familiar with numbers and letters by the time he began with real reading and counting the next year.

Some of the games were designed to help the little boy gain subconscious control over his magic. For example, Pengolodh would sit on the floor with Elijah in his lap, with a desired toy or snack sitting a few feet away, and challenge him to get it without moving. Or, he might get the boy to pick a handful of grass and try to turn it different colors with a thought. Sometimes he would even throw Elijah into the air, knowing he could fly, and dare him not to come down again. (These kinds of games made Lauretta very nervous; but she bit her tongue and consoled herself with the knowledge that the strange man with the long black braids never allowed her son to come to actual harm.)

And sometimes Pengolodh would sit and sing to Elijah in an Elvish tongue or tell him stories of Arda Marred of old - to the whole family really, as Lauretta would sit in with the baby whenever she could, and Richard, if he was home, usually found a way to stop whatever he was doing and listen. Every so often, one or other of the parents would shoot the Elf a questioning look; but they would not ask their questions aloud, and the Elf did not address them. All in good time, he said to himself. They will ask me when they trust me more, and then I will speak the truth, but not before.

Just when Lauretta was starting to worry that her children would have no friends, Pengolodh got word from Findis of a little girl about Elijah's age named Rosie Saunders, an only child who lived in Pittsburgh. Her parents had been at their wits' end; little Rosie liked to change her hair color and the shape of her nose to suit her mood, and lately she had begun turning random blades of grass into dandelions too. She was of course a Metamorphmagus, and thus from birth it had been evident that something was unusual about her.

The week after that, Valandur came across four-year-old David and Daniel Graham, two of three little boys being raised by their teenage mother and grandmother in a desperately poor district of Philadelphia's inner city. Darius, the youngest child, was a year younger than the twins, and he was not magical. This had caused him to become much more readily accepted by other people, and even his parents (mother and grandmother) favored him a little over the twins. That in turn had caused Dave and Danny to withdraw from the rest of the family into a tight, toxic little Gang of Two who used their unexplained powers to fend for themselves against their unfriendly surroundings. As a result, they had rather more control over their magic than is normal in children so young - much more than did Rosie Saunders or Elijah Hollowell. Valandur had indeed found them none too soon; the pair were becoming almost criminal.

Then there were the three Chase children, Heather and Hailey and Brian, whose extremely well-off suburban parents had like the Hollowells spent a great deal of time and money trying to ascertain what exactly was going on with their children, without success. Andreth the younger had a very hard time convincing them that their children's magic was something they ought to encourage and cultivate, rather than suppressing and punishing for. George and Angela Chase didn't want to have children with talents that would set them apart from 99% of humanity; they wanted children who would go to the best of preparatory schools and the best of Ivy League universities and after that have their own part of the family business, a chain of five-star hotels across the country. It took Andreth a lot of sweet-talking to convince them that the last goal at least would still be possible if they allowed her to take over their children's education.

And finally Faramir came across two-year-old Liam Wong, whose father Justin was so pleased at finding out there was a formal study of the odd things his little son could do that he promptly hired Faramir on the sport. Emma, the child's mother, was just as eager to begin at once, and would very much have liked to know the specifics of what lessons would look like if Faramir could have possibly told her. Faramir then called Pengolodh in a hurry for ideas, not that Pengolodh was much help. All Pengolodh had was ideas for games and stories, which of course was not sufficient for Faramir's needs. Liam could already recite the alphabet quite fluently, and count to twenty.

Altogether, there were only seven magical Muggle-born children in Pennsylvania who were not already enrolled at magical school, aside from Elijah and baby Deborah - not most people's idea of a healthy social circle, perhaps, but certainly better than nothing. Pengolodh arranged with Findis, Valandur, Andreth, and Faramir to have all the families meet one another during an upcoming holiday weekend, which was difficult to manage, as the Chases in particular had very busy schedules.

But in the meanwhile, the Ingolmor were in general very busy, for they were going all around the States in the search for Muggle-born children. There were three children (a brother and two sisters) in the country about fifty miles out from Chattanooga. There was a family with eight children in Alaska, all of whom were magical. There was a boy in Georgia who had been kicked out of his local preschool for inadvertently burning part of it down in a fit of rage.

Altogether, they only found about five hundred magical Muggle-born children (who were below middle school) in the whole of the country, and never more than fifteen in any given state. There were only nine in Pennsylvania where Pengolodh was. Oddly enough, it was the state of Maine which had the fewest magical Muggle-born children: only five total from three families.

The parents of the young wizards and witches were not all quite as readily accepting of their children's magical powers as the Hollowells had been. In fact, two families were so angered and afraid that they actually put their children out of their homes. Many other parents told the visitor who had informed them of their children's magic to leave and never return, on threat of calling the police. But for the most part, parents remained somewhat nervous and skeptical but also able to entertain a willing suspension of disbelief. There aren't many lengths to which most parents will not go for their children's benefit.

The children who were in foster care, as well as those who were being abused or neglected, had to be rescued and adopted at once. A few people ended up in prison by the time all was said and done that summer.

The Ingolmor then had to petition the magical government for permission to "cover for" the children's underage magic until they came of age, mainly so that they were allowed to handle any magical accidents themselves without government interference. After much debate and deliberation, they got permission - on the condition that if any of the children covered by the Ingolmor compromised the safety of the magical community in any way, the Ingolmor were to be held legally responsible and expected to "deal with any problems", whatever that might mean, without official assistance.

They also had to make sure that everyone who was going to do the actual tutoring all had valid Muggle state licenses to tutor or teach in their respective states. This of course was done to ensure that the Muggle state law would let the children alone as well; and it was much easier than dealing with the magical government.

And after that came the question of money. A number of the Muggle-born children were from affluent or comfortably middle-class families (like the Hollowells and the Chases); but some of them were from broken, desperately poor homes whose parents (if they were alive) had all they could do to keep the lights on and food in the children's mouths at the same time, or whose fathers or elder brothers were gang members and drug dealers. Of course, these families could hardly manage things like wands and books and magical supplies. It became plain that in addition to permission to do this work, they would need significant funding.

Now the Ingolmor (about two-thirds of whom were Elves) were not for the most part independently wealthy, but a few of them were (most of them Noldor, as you can imagine). They insisted on funding everything from the poorer children's wands and books to the "salaries" for the tutors, which was good news for those who had found children to teach, as they all had to put their day jobs or businesses on the back burner to give their young charges the necessary time and energy. The wealthier parents were asked to chip in as well, and they were not particularly happy about it. But after a lot of persuasion and sweet-talking (on the part of Elrond, Finrod, Curufin, Olwe, and Arwen for the most part), the money was gathered and the project officially began.

All this in the course of one summer.

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Chapter End Notes

*Ingolmor - improved version of Nolmengolmor.

I don't know how the magical educational system works in America yet, and probably won't find out until that Newt Scamander movie comes out. For the purposes of this story I have the American system function like the English one, where they track magical births and then send the kids their school invites the summer before secondary school, or in my case, before US middle school (which incidentally starts about the same year that secondary school begins in the UK). This means that none of the children the Ingolmor are going to tutor will be any older than fifth grade (age ten if you don't repeat a year), as most US middle schools start at sixth grade (at least in the '80s).

Valandur is another OC who is not mine. He belongs to Fiondil (used without his express permission, but I can hardly ask him now and I don't think he'd mind too much), and he is Findis' husband. He's Vanyarin and he's pretty cool. But you should read some of Fiondil's stories to learn more about him. You should read some of Fiondil's stories anyway, even though he's died. They're just that good. Most of them are on a website called Stories of Arda, but a couple of them are on FFN.

About the numbers: I have seen all kinds of contradictory estimates, some of them given by J. K. Rowling herself, on just how many wizards there are in Britain, and by implication, the world. Now I would like to refer anyone who's interested to the writings of Whitehound, a fanfiction author with a very serious understanding of the cultural background of 1990s (and 1960s and 70s) Britain and how it influences the Harry Potter books (she is also, thank heavens, much better at math than JK). She theorizes that in Britain the wizarding population is something like a little more than ten thousand, which would put the Muggle to wizard ratio at something like 5,566 to 1. If that ratio is the same worldwide, then that puts 1980 US magical population at between 40,000 and 41,000. Now if about ten percent of that number are under the legal adult age (that is, age seventeen), that's about 4,000 kids. I've decided to make about an eighth of those children Muggle-born and under sixth grade, which is how I got 500 elementary school age kids in the US.