The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter - Invieri - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Arcturus I

Chapter Text

Dedication:

I dedicate this work of fiction to my wonderful Beta, Rainbow.

It is because of you, and your endless patience that this story is at all possible.

You have been my idea soundboard, my conscience at times, and have become a good friend.

Here's to many more chapters and stories working together as the years go on.

The last decade had been pure and unfettered chaos. Witches and wizards had been slain by the hundreds – possibly even thousands; entire families erased from the fabric of society. The Muggle death toll had been immense and uncounted by the very world that had ended their lives.

It all started with the rise of a wizard, a wizard so feared and reviled that no one dared even speak his name.

He had come from nowhere and, almost overnight, had risen to the very pinnacle of power and authority, ruling over his followers with a fist of iron. It was feared that he had come to lay claim to an ancient Lordship long thought lost to the pages of history. Some had seen him as a saviour, there to lead them to the lands of milk and honey. Others saw him as a harbinger of the end times, a breaker of worlds, a destroyer.

Some, like Arcturus Black, believed him to simply be a charismatic and exceptionally powerful wizard.

Arcturus had never had the pleasure of crossing wands with any of the followers of the Dark Lord; for the last ten years, he had battled a vastly different adversary- his own health.

Arcturus was a warrior just as much as he was an able politician – he had been raised as his father’s heir and now held the title of Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, one of the most powerful families in Britain. They were as old as magic, it was said – with only a small handful of other families able to stand next to them as equals.

Despite all of this pedigree, however, it hadn’t allowed him to take a stance in the most recent conflict. He had been young and brash once, rushing off to war to face down Grindelwald and his followers, and as a result, he had returned with a body that was remarkably weaker than when he had left. War had cost him many things – and it had cost his family so much more.

To say that he had been upset upon learning just how many members of his own family had sided with the Dark Lord would have been a vast understatement. He had been furious – livid, even. House Black had many lines, and many allies through the various marriages between the houses – he could have brought the full might of all of that against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Instead, in his absence, the family had splintered.

His own son, Orion, had publicly extolled the virtues of the Dark Lord’s cause with his wife, Walburga, at his side. It had staggered him, leaving him physically gasping for breath in his bed as his trembling hands had weakly held the paper before his eyes.

It hadn’t been long after that that he’d seen Orion’s name in the obituary – killed in an honour duel after Orion had spoken out against a wizard’s choice of wife.

That his own sister, Cassiopeia, hadn’t turned her only daughter from the path she had ended up on, worried him. Cassiopeia had been the middle child of his two siblings, and once, long ago, they had been as close as siblings could be. He had been the eldest, and the only male born to his parents – he had always tried to include Cassiopeia in everything he did, but their age gap often made things difficult.

He had been so proud when he’d gotten the letter that she’d been sorted into Slytherin – he knew she had ambitious dreams. She had often told him of how she wanted to change their society, to make it better – stronger. He wished he could have seen those early signs for what they truly were. What had happened to the small girl who had dreamed of a world where all were equal? When had she been replaced by the blood-purist who had graduated from Hogwarts, already pregnant with the bastard child of House Rosier? Thankfully, the two had married shortly after under the pressure of their father, Cygnus Black.

He hadn’t seen Cassiopeia in decades. She had retreated from the public eye shortly after her hastily planned and performed marriage to the father of her daughter; all-but exiled to a remote residence of House Black. There, she had given birth to and raised her daughter, Walburga. Walburga had been announced to the family through a letter, and even now, years later, he could remember the anger in which his father had reacted.

For years, they heard little, if anything from them. He hadn’t even known that Orion had been in contact with her until the two of them had married in secret. He had been disgusted with his son for marrying so close a relation. All of the powerful Pureblood families were related in one way or another – many were, of course, hundreds of years old.

The two had married when his illness had laid him low once more. Orion had been older than Walburga, and he should have known better – it was taboo, even in their society. Walburga had revelled in the reveal of their relations, quickly moving all of her belongings into Grimmauld Place in London – the property Orion had purchased after an explosive argument between himself and his son.

If there was one thing he was grateful to Walburga for, it was his grandchildren. In Sirius, he found nothing of the poisonous words of his parents. Instead, he was strong of heart, and had a firm belief in just how the world should be. He was loyal, intelligent and courageous. It had been no surprise that the lad had been sorted into Gryffindor.

That he had befriended James Potter, Arcturus’s nephew by his youngest sister Dorea, only made him happier. The two had become as close as brothers, and Arcturus had revelled in the occasional visits from his youngest sister and her husband – a man that he respected and admired a great deal.

Dorea had been the sweetest girl. She had a mischievous streak a mile long and a playful side that he loved to see bubble to the surface. When she had been born, Cassiopeia had been so happy to have a little sister of her own, though that happiness had turned bitter after the death of their mother. Arcturus, being older, had taken it upon himself to look after her as best he could.

He had doted on her the only way a nineteen-year-old man could, and within minutes, she had him wrapped around her little finger as she’d smiled toothlessly up at him and kicked her little legs. He’d been her hero growing up – his own little personal shadow.

She’d been so happy to have Sirius and James be friends, and there wasn’t a Black she was prouder of than Sirius. Sometimes he wondered just how she had been sorted into Slytherin rather than Gryffindor.

He had known Sirius had a less than ideal childhood – the beliefs of his parents were far too different from Sirius’s own for anything else to happen. He had stepped in where he could, using the Family Magic to protect Sirius as much as he was able, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough.

When Sirius had arrived via the Floo in his office bruised and bloody, with the House Elves doing what they could to heal his broken little body as he bled on the dark oak floorboards, Arcturus had been furious. He would have cast Orion and Walburga from the family then and there if it hadn’t meant that Sirius and Regulus would be cast with them.

Instead, he had quietly arranged with the Ministry for his heir to be declared as Sirius Orion Black, completely skipping his own son in favour of the kind, fun boy he had watched grow up. He made arrangements for Sirius to live with him at Blackwall and would have made arrangements for Regulus if Walburga hadn’t already had her claws in him. Regulus had been a sweet boy, if a little easily led around by the opinions of others. It hadn’t come as a surprise to hear that he had gone on to join the Dark Lord’s ranks.

When Sirius wasn’t with him at Blackwall, he was with Dorea and Charlus at Rosestone Castle in Wales. Arcturus had seen it once, at Dorea’s wedding. It was a beautiful fortress that sat on a small island just off of the coast and dominated the land around it. It was no wonder that House Potter was so powerful – in all of its long history, not once had the castle fallen.

House Potter had a reputation that was well-earned. As such, not only had he entrusted his favourite sister to a man that had quickly become a friend, but also his heir – if nothing else, Charlus would protect Sirius when he could not. If the Wards of Blackwall had been breached during the decade of chaos, he wouldn’t have been able to protect the future of his House.

And so, he had enjoyed the occasional visit from Sirius over the years, and the two had written to each other constantly – his pride for the boy had bolstered his spirits in his darkest hours, and each letter had brought with it more news of his and James’s exploits over the years. When Arcturus had been well enough to host Sirius and James himself, he had revelled in the sounds of childish glee as they rushed about the manor causing mischief.

The two had slowed down a little as the years wore on and the war became more intense – James had seemed almost a different man after the deaths of Charlus and Dorea. Even now, he mourned the loss of Dorea the most – no longer would he hear her laughter or be the subject of her witty retorts and quips over a cup of tea. His little sister was forever gone, and a part of him had left with her.

It had been the push he had needed to break through the worst of his illness, and over the next few years, his health had slowly improved – indeed, as he stormed through the Ministry of Magic in his armour, with his magic swirling around him, he felt every bit the warrior he had once been.

All around him, men and women scurried from his path as he marched the corridors toward the Wizengamot chamber. It was the early days of November, nineteen-eighty-one, and Sirius Black, his Heir, and the future Lord of House Black, was on trial for murder.

Arcturus had only been strong enough to stand on his own two feet without assistance a week ago, but now… now he felt he could take on all of Britain, and win. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for that kind, loving, brave boy that he had loved from the moment he had first met him.

Sirius Black was the future of his family, and he’d be damned if he let him be shipped off to Azkaban.

He reached the large doors of the Wizengamot Chamber and slammed them open with a gesture of his hand, using such force that the doors bounced violently off of the walls they hit. A collection of gasps and cries of shock reverberated throughout the chamber as all the eyes turned to look at him.

“Where is he?” He demanded, his voice low and growling. His magic swirled around him in a maelstrom of barely contained power. His Heir needed him – his boy needed him.

“Arcturus!”

“It’s Arcturus Black!”

“The coward dares to show his face here?”

Arcturus’s eyes swept the assembly, taking in the familiar tiered seating of the various families. Hundreds of heads stared at him in surprise. It was to be expected – he hadn’t been seen in public for over ten years. Many had even speculated that he had died.

“Arcturus – I’m glad to see you in such fine health.”

Dumbledore smiled from across the room. His white beard was a little longer than Arcturus remembered it, and it seemed the powerful wizard had taken to cinching it halfway down with a neat tie. His sparkling blue eyes briefly took him back to his Hogwarts years, where he’d looked upon the man as he taught Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“Chief Warlock, a pleasure, as always,” Arcturus replied, bowing his head politely.

“What are you doing here, Arcturus?” the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement demanded – Bartemius Crouch, Senior. The grasping weasel of a man had such a deluded sense of self-importance, he’d even named his own son after him.

“You will address me by my title, Bartemius,” Arcturus snapped, his scowl returning as he took the man in. He was dressed head to foot in the most recent Ministerial robes – they were a plain black and seemed to swallow the man whole with their cumbersome, baggy sleeves, and the ridiculous hat.

He watched as the pencil-thin moustache on Bartemius’s top lip twitched in what looked suspiciously like a sneer. “I ask again, Lord Black, what do you think you are doing here?”

“I’m here for the Heir to House Black – I’ve been told he’s in your custody, accused of murder, of all things,” he replied, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His magic continued to swirl around him as his anger returned to the surface.

“You are intruding on a trial in which you were not invited,” Crouch snapped, his nasally voice echoing around the chamber.

“I am a Lord of the Wizengamot, you fool – if you decide to have a trial before this body, I have a right to attend!” Arcturus roared in response, and his right hand flexed involuntarily for his wand. To draw it in these chambers was to commit suicide, however. No less than three dozen Aurors stood guard at all times.

“That Sirius isn’t present at his own trial proves how much of a farce this whole thing is.”

“Lord Black, if you would take your seat in the chamber, we could begin – though, it truly does sadden me to inform you that the evidence is quite damning,” Minister Bagnold said from atop her podium, her voice dripping with false sincerity.

“Careful, Bagnold – don’t forget who you’re speaking to,” Arcturus replied, his eyes narrowing as he took in her face. Millicent Bagnold may have been an attractive woman once, but time had not been her ally – where he imagined had once been smooth skin on a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, there were pudgy, pockmarked skin that had an unhealthy sheen to it – the kind that only came of a gluttonous lifestyle.

“You dare speak to the Minister in that way?” the Speaker for the Wizengamot demanded, leaping to his feet as he scowled at him. Arcturus swept his eyes over the man quickly – he was the attractive sort, he supposed. Broad shouldered and tall with short, neatly combed hair and the fine robes of the Ministry to denote his position.

“Careful who you’re speaking to, boy,” Arcturus growled, taking a step closer to the Speaker’s box. It seemed all bravado fled the Speaker as he stumbled backwards at his approach and fell into his heavily padded chair with a huff.

“Arcturus – perhaps if you took your seat, we may be able to move on to the trial and ascertain the truth of these charges, hm?” Dumbledore called over the murmurings of the chamber. Above him, the flashes of cameras briefly lit up the chamber as reporters snapped what pictures they could.

He glanced up to the balcony that was reserved for the press and scowled at them – they were the parasites of society, always looking for the next big story to latch on to and spin in whichever way pleased them the most. There were the occasional members of the press that strove for the truth, but their voices often got drowned out by the sensationalists that seemed to make up the majority.

Looking away from the journalists above him, his eyes briefly glanced at the slightly lower balcony reserved for the Heirs to the Houses that formed the Wizengamot. For a second, he thought he saw James and Sirius up there, whispering and laughing with one another over a comment. He blinked and the image was gone, and he nodded at the Chief Warlock.

He turned on his heel and marched up the marble steps to the ancestral seat of House Black. It was on the highest row of the tiered seating with the other Ancient and Most Noble Houses, such as House Bones and House Longbottom.

Unable to stop himself, his eyes found the empty Longbottom seat and his heart felt heavy at yet another loss. He’d only ever heard good things about the recent Lord of House Longbottom. Arcturus had known his father and mother quite well – Rupert had been a good friend, and Augusta had such a sharp, witty tongue that he had genuinely struggled to keep up at times. How she had been born into House Rosier was a mystery.

When he arrived at the booth of House Black, which sat in pride of place just off-centre of the half-circular back wall, he quickly sat down on the well cushioned, Mithril-framed throne. He took a brief moment, as he always did, to admire the snake engravings that decorated it. He always felt pride when he looked upon the silver serpent of his house.

The moment he reclined in the chair, the fingers of his right hand gently drumming on the arm while the elbow of his left arm was perched on the arm of the chair, the heavy doors he had blown open were shut with a loud thud that echoed all the way up into the high, vaulted ceiling.

It seemed, besides the families that had been completely wiped out from the war – both Ancient and Noble alike, all members of the Wizengamot were in attendance. His heart broke at the dozens of empty thrones, all to forever remain unfilled until a cadet branch of the family, or a distant relation could be found. Some, like House Gryffindor and House Slytherin – even House Peverell, would remain empty until the end-times.

Arcturus glanced over at the Potter Throne a little further along the row. It was the most simple and unassuming of all the seats of power – it was made of pure Mithril and the only decorations were the dual prowling wolves that made up the armrests. He’d seen the reports over the last ten years. He knew just how precarious the position of House Potter had become – one of the oldest and most powerful Houses, hunted into almost extinction, with a boy of not even two years as the sole surviving member.

The Speaker smashed his gavel and the murmurings of the chamber ended instantly. Arcturus found his eyes trailing over to the man.

“The doors have been sealed – the trial of Sirius Black, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is to begin. Let the record show that the date is November fifth, of the year nineteen-eighty-one, and the time is two-thirty in the afternoon.”

The Speaker paused as he glanced at the Wizengamot scribe, who sat just below the Minister and was busy furiously scribbling away.

“The trial will be presided over by the Minister of Magic, Minister Bagnold, and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch, Senior.”

“Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot,” Bagnold began, standing and sweeping her eyes across the assembly. Arcturus had to fight the urge to sneer as their eyes momentarily locked.

“It is my privilege to preside over the coming trial and guide you all in the matters of the law. I ask that you form your opinions based on the evidence, and the evidence alone. When both sides have presented their cases, I will call for a vote.”

Arcturus watched as she sat down, a smug smile on her face as she nodded at Crouch a little below her. With a quick double-tap of his own gavel, called out, “The Prosecution and the Defence will now present themselves to the Court.”

A woman in fine robes stood from the Ministry employee section of the chamber – it was a section of tiered seating reserved solely for those that were in such a high position within the government, that they were allowed to weigh in on matters – these generally tended to be Department Heads, but a good chunk were the usual lickspittles and opportunistic fools.

“Honoured Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, I present myself before you all as the assigned Prosecutor on behalf of the Ministry of Magic. My name is Kate Young. It is my desire to make sure justice is met and the guilty is justly punished. Across from me, you will find my learned colleague, Natalia Daxer, speaking on behalf of the Defence.”

“My Lords, my Ladies,” The rich voice of Lucius Malfoy interrupted, calling out as he stood up from his seat on the far left of the room. Arcturus glared down at the man and found his lip curling in distaste. House Malfoy had been a political nightmare ever since the cadet branch had decided to settle in England. The main line in France was pleasant enough to deal with – indeed, House Black had a number of trade agreements with them – but this branch of the family…

“I propose we move straight to a verdict. The accused was caught by our most elite Aurors and has confessed to his crimes without the need for Veritaserum – his guilt is already plain to see.”

Arcturus frowned. Sirius had confessed? That couldn’t have been right.

Murmuring broke out throughout the room, and Arcturus saw Millicent and Bartemius nod at one another out of the corner of his eye. He stood and stepped to the railing of his box; his hands gripped the metal so tightly, he thought he could hear the metal groan beneath him.

“My Lords! If this is to be a true form of justice, I demand to hear from the lips of the accused himself. I demand the presence of the accused at this trial.”

The room was silent as every pair of eyes were levelled upon him.

“I second the motion,” Archibald Locke called, standing from his throne, shaped like the great bear that was their sigil – its piercing, metal eyes staring down into the chamber. “I worked with Sirius during the war – I’d like to hear his confession from his own lips.”

“Aye – House Weasley would have the truth of it!” Thomas called out, getting to his own feet.

“House Patil demands the truth,” Ashok Patil called from the assembly of Noble Lords beneath him. The Patils were a recent addition to the Wizengamot, having arrived in the last decade from India and brought some of their wealth with them. There were a number of rumours about the family, of course – some claimed they had been exiled for an attempted coup on another family, while others claimed they were a cadet branch of a much larger family. Either way, they had brought enough wealth and allies with them to purchase enough land and influence to gain themselves a seat on the council.

More and more voices called out their agreements, and Arcturus watched as Lucius sat down with a frown.

“Very well – the motion to have the accused before the court is carried,” Dumbledore called, his powerful voice silencing the entire chamber. “Bring forth the accused.”

Arcturus’s eyes leapt to the floor and the large circle engraved in the marble. It wasn’t easily discernible when you stood before the Wizengamot, but from above, it was clear to see. It sank into the floor by almost a foot, and a small cloud of dust rose from the edge as it moved, wafting away on the gentle current that flowed through the room. The circle split down the centre and opened as a platform was raised slowly.

The platform was plain by design – a dull, roughly hewn granite on which a simple wooden chair with runes gouged deeply into its surface sat. Chains wrapped around the slumped figure in the chair and rattled quietly. He felt his knees almost give out.

The platform spun slowly as it rose, giving everyone in the chamber a good look at the accused. Sirius had never looked in such a poor way. His clothes were torn and there was dried blood over much of it – what he knew were once clean, expensive clothes were ripped and little more than rags. Sirius’s usually full, thick head of hair was limp and greasy, while his skin looked pale and sunken.

What had happened to his boy?

Arcturus felt his magic stir, and somewhere in the room, someone yelled before something exploded in a shower of splinters. Arcturus didn’t care, though – his eyes were trained solely on the battered and bruised man before him. What had they done to him? His eyes lifted to glare at Bagnold and Crouch, who were whispering furiously to one another.

“Sirius – what happened?” Dumbledore moaned; his eyes wide as he stood slowly. The hushed whispers of the assembly quietly rumbling at the sight.

Sirius didn’t respond.

“Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot,” Kate Young called, stepping fully before the assembly. “Sirius Orion Black, son of Orion Black, and Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is brought before this august body today on a number of damning charges.”

Arcturus watched as he slowly sank into his chair, as Kate Young unrolled a piece of parchment.

“Sirius Black is accused of thirteen counts of murder – twelve Muggles and one Peter Pettigrew, a wizard. He is also accused of leading He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named directly to James and Lily Potter.”

Arcturus watched as a number of heads slowly nodded. To think that James Potter was dead… It was almost as unthinkable as Sirius being the murderer – anyone that knew the two boys would have been able to verify just how close they were.

“There are a number of pieces of evidence. We have testimony from a number of esteemed wizards and witches, as well as a confession from the man himself – obtained without the use of Veritaserum. It is my job today to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that this man is guilty and should be sentenced to life in our most secure prison – Azkaban.”

Arcturus felt his jaw clench at the thought of that awful penal colony. While the Ministry owned and operated dozens of prisons throughout Britain, Azkaban was by far the worst. Located in the North Sea on a small island sixty miles from the coast of the Scottish border, it was originally a fortress of a fallen wizard some centuries before. Now, it was a prison guarded and patrolled by the last remnant of its previous lord’s twisted experiments: Dementors.

Dementors were foul creatures. They were aspects of magic that had been twisted and corrupted into something truly sinister. They fed on human emotions, draining their victims of emotion and memory until they were trapped within their own minds with their worst memories.

Some fates were worse than death.

“I would call my first witness to the stand – one Auror Amelia Bones,” the Prosecutor called. Arcturus glanced to the Bones seat and watched as the attractive young woman stood with all the composure and grace he would have expected. That she sat in the seat of House Bones as one of only two surviving members of her House broke his heart – another House laid low by the damned war.

He watched as Amelia walked down the stairs to the main floor and climbed into the witness stand. Her face remained unreadable, but there was a tension about her – evidently, she had expected to be called, but wasn’t comfortable with it.

“Amelia Bones, you are sworn by magic to tell the truth in this courtroom. You are an Auror, are you not?”

“I am,” Amelia replied. Something stirred at the back of Arcturus’s memory – why did he know the name of this woman?

“You were one of the arresting Aurors when the accused was brought in, correct?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“Could you describe to the court just what you witnessed upon arriving at the scene?” Kate asked. Arcturus sat forward a little – for all of his network of informants spread throughout the Ministry, there had been extraordinarily little information available on just how Sirius had been arrested.

“We were alerted to a duel taking place in the middle of Eton Avenue in Wembley at eleven-hundred-hours on November the second, nineteen-eighty-one. It was a Monday, and the weather was clear for the most part.” Amelia glanced up at Sirius mournfully and took a deep breath.

“We came across the accused duelling one Peter Pettigrew in a Muggle residential area. The casualties were the results of homes being reduced to rubble from powerful curses.”

The assembly murmured among themselves and Arcturus frowned as he rubbed his chin.

“Upon the arrival of the Aurors, Peter Pettigrew began retreating towards us and shouted toward Sirius – sorry, the accused. The accused shouted something, and then there was an explosion that created a crater four feet deep where Pettigrew had been standing. We only recovered his finger.”

Amelia sighed and looked back to Sirius.

“When we had all recovered, we found Sirius on his knees laughing – he wouldn’t stop, and just kept repeating, ‘I killed them’.”

“Thank you, Auror Bones. Could you tell the court your relationship with the accused?”

Amelia scowled at the Prosecutor.

“I don’t see how that’s the business of the court.”

“I’ll allow it as long as it leads to a relevant question – answer the question, Auror Bones,” Bagnold called over the quiet rumble of voices.

“We were courting. I loved him, and he loved me,” Amelia replied with a look of barely restrained fury.

It all came back to him in that moment – Sirius had written to him of a girl from Hogwarts that he had taken a liking to. He’d asked permission to court her, and he had given his blessing – that she was from a powerful family like House Bones was a surprise. Sirius had only ever mentioned her by her first name. He’d assumed, wrongly, that the girl had been a Muggle-born or a Half-Blood.

The chamber erupted in noise – Lords and Ladies of the various Noble Families were yelling question after question over one another and making impossible demands. Arcturus remained in his seat and leaned back. He interlaced his hands before his face and pursed his lips in thought. There were too many holes in Amelia’s story for him to be happy with, though he understood how it appeared. No doubt the Prosecution thought the evidence damning enough.

“Silence!” Albus shouted over the din, his wand pressed to the side of his neck as the Sonorous Charm projected his voice loudly throughout the assembly. Once the room fell silent once again, the aged wizard removed his wand from his throat, though his voice was every bit as powerful as it had been.

“We are here to determine the guilt of the accused – not to descend into anarchy within these hallowed halls. Any member of this body that speaks out of turn again will be ejected – is that understood? Excellent – Prosecutor, you may continue.”

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” Kate replied, bowing a little at the waist.

“Auror Bones, would you say that Sirius Black is capable of killing?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“So you admit that he can kill. In his duel with the recently deceased Peter Pettigrew, do you happen to recall how Sirius Black looked? How he acted?” The Prosecutor said, cutting off any further comment from Amelia.

Amelia scowled, but sighed deeply.

“He seemed livid – I’ve never seen him so angry and reckless.”

“That will be all from me.”

Arcturus watched as Kate backed away to stand by the side of the floor where the witch acting as Sirius’s defence was. Arcturus grimaced at how the slightly older woman struggled to balance the many sheets and rolls of parchment in her hands before she handed them off to an assistant.

“My Lords, my Ladies – Auror Bones,” Natalia said with a polite inclination of her head.

“Auror Bones,” She began, turning to face the witness. “How many years were you and Sirius Black involved?”

“He approached me in my fifth year of Hogwarts – we’ve been involved ever since then,” Amelia replied calmly. Arcturus pursed his lips as he watched the proceedings like a hawk.

“So you would say that you knew him rather well. Tell me, did his actions seem out of character at all?”

“I’ve seen him angry before, but never like that. I can’t see him attacking Peter like that, either – I knew the man briefly through Sirius. They always seemed to get on.”

“And would you believe him to have led the Dark Lord to James and Lily Potter?”

“I can’t, no. They were like brothers – anyone that knew them could tell you that.”

“Thank you – could you tell me what kind of spells were being exchanged? I believe as an Auror you would have some insight, no?” Natalia asked, folding her hands calmly before her.

“It was hard to tell from my position, but they looked like powerful blasting curses, which would make sense with the damage we found at the scene.”

“Did you ever see any hint of animosity between the accused and the deceased Peter Pettigrew?”

“I didn’t,” Amelia said, shaking her head slowly. “They were close friends throughout Hogwarts. I saw Peter just the week before laughing with Sirius.”

“Thank you – that will be all for now,” Natalia said, returning to the side of the floor where her assistant stood with armfuls of notes and parchment.

“Thank you, Auror Bones – you may return to your seat,” Dumbledore said with a small nod. Arcturus watched as Amelia nodded her thanks and hurried up the stairs quickly to retake the Bones seat.

Kate stepped forward, this time calling for Alastor Moody. The gruff, disfigured wizard limped forward, his prosthetic leg clunking against the stone as he leaned on his thick, wooden staff.

Arcturus leaned forward; his eyes wide at the state of the man he hadn’t seen in over a decade. He’d dealt with Alastor Moody a number of times over the years and found him to be a refreshing change of pace to the usual witch or wizard he met.

The man was a legend – he had fought in the war against Grindelwald, straight from the Auror Academy and had lost his leg. He hadn’t let that slow him down, however, and once he had returned to his active duties, the man had put criminal after criminal away.

The Prosecutor moved to stand before the grizzled Auror, and while Arcturus was watching Alastor look directly at her, he couldn’t help but shiver slightly as the magical prosthetic eye moved independently and lingered in his direction.

“I shall remind you, Auror Moody, you are under oath to provide the truth in this courtroom.”

“Aye missy, I know,” Alastor grunted as he adjusted his large leather coat. “This isn’t my first experience in the docket.”

“Quite,” Kate replied. “Auror Moody, you were the Senior Auror assigned to Auror Bones’ squad, yes?”

“Aye.”

“Could you tell the court a little about what you saw?”

“Alright. We arrived in the street just as Auror Bones described it to ye’. Sirius and Peter were engaged in a duel, and Peter appeared to be on the losing side of it. When he saw us, he began backing toward us and he shouted something to Sirius – not sure what. It all got lost in the confusion and the sounds around us.”

Arcturus watched as Alastor glanced up at Sirius for a moment with his real eye and sniffed.

“Sirius shouted something back and looked a little panicked. Next thing I know, there’s a crater so deep the sewer pipes were blown wide open and there was smoke everywhere. I was the first to come across Sirius on his knees with his wand by his side.”

“And what was the accused doing when you came upon him?”

“Laughing, mostly,” Alastor shrugged. “He was cryin’ too, come to think of it.”

“Did he say anything in particular while in this state?”

“Just that it was his fault. It was clear he was in some kind of shock, though – I put it in my report and the Healers corroborated it.”

“Indeed – thank you, Auror Moody.”

Alastor inclined his head a little and watched as the Healer retreated to the side of the room. Even from where Arcturus was sat, he could see the satisfied, smug smile on her face.

“Auror Moody, can I just begin by saying that I think I can speak on behalf of all of us here in thanking you for your upstanding track record,” Natalia began, clasping her hands behind her back as she slowly began to pace the floor.

“Think nothin’ of it, missy.”

“Can you tell me what your relationship with the accused is?”

“Aye – I trained him to fight. Him and James Potter both.”

“Would you say you taught him to kill?”

“I did,” Alastor confirmed, frowning.

“Would the accused use lethal force if he was simply trying to subdue an opponent?”

“That would depend on the opponent and a number of extenuating circ*mstances,” Alastor replied slowly as he leaned back in his seat. “If the opponent were using lethal force themselves, Sirius would respond in-kind. If he wanted the target alive, he would incapacitate and then secure them by any means.”

“What spells did the examination of Sirius Black’s wand reveal, Auror Moody?”

“Blasting Curses, Cutting Curses, Shield’s and Stunners.”

“What would you deduce, from these spells, was the intention of the accused?”

“Sirius wasn’t trying to kill Pettigrew – if he wanted the man dead, Sirius wouldn’t have allowed the fight to go on for so long. Sirius Black is a powerful wizard – much more powerful than what I know of Pettigrew.”

“Thank you, Auror Moody – you may return to your seat. I have no further questions for the witness,” Natalia said with a slight inclination of her head.

Arcturus pursed his lips as he ran a finger back and forth over his chin; the short hair lightly scratching the skin. That the Prosecution hadn’t made mention of Sirius’s wand so far had been interesting. If what Alastor claimed was true of how Sirius fought, and he had no reason not to believe him, Sirius would have ended the fight with a much more powerful and lethal set of spells.

His mind whirled a mile a minute, working through all the different nuggets of information that had come to light through the trial so far, and he could begin to see a picture forming slowly in his mind.

Even he had to admit, the evidence was fairly damning against his grandson, but it seemed circ*mstantial so far. There was something missing – some key thing that would make it all make sense. He knew in his heart that Sirius was innocent. The boy he knew would never have fallen for the Pureblood propaganda that had been espoused over the last decade. He was smarter than that.

Besides himself and Amelia, James was the most important person in Sirius’s life. The two had done absolutely everything together since they were boys – he’d even told him of how proud he was to be named young Harry’s godfather. Sirius had spoiled the baby rotten, he knew.

“As my learned colleague has mentioned, I would now present to you all Sirius Black’s wand.” The Prosecutor announced, snapping Arcturus from his thoughts. He looked down at her and saw the thin piece of wood held above her head as she paraded it before the assembly.

Arcturus knew it well – he’d been with Sirius when he’d bought it from Ollivanders. It was eleven inches of the finest Yew wood, with a core of Coy-Oh-Tay whisker. It had always struck Arcturus as an elegant wand in its design. While most wizards and witches preferred a handle of some sort, Sirius’s didn’t have one. Instead, it had a twisting design carved out of its unusually straight length, with powerful runic symbols along the grip.

“I have invited Garrick Ollivander here today, my Lords, as his experience with wands is unchallenged,” Kate continued, inclining her head at the wild-haired wizard who stepped onto the central floor.

Arcturus watched as Ollivander -- not to be confused with his older brother, the Lord Bertrand Ollivander, though the two looked almost identical – gently grasped the wand and began turning it over in his hands.

Whatever was on the face of the wizened old man was lost to him as Garrick kept his back to him – whatever he was doing seemed to be making the Prosecutor a little nervous, which interested him greatly. He sat forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees.

When Garrick revealed his own wand and began chanting quietly in the silence of the chamber, Arcturus wasn’t surprised. There was little that the Ollivanders didn’t know about wands – if there were any secrets to be gleaned from the wand, Garrick would find it.

“This wand has cast no dark curses and remains entirely loyal to its wizard,” Garrick announced after the chanting had subsided. His voice was scratchy, yet gentle – it was a contradiction that had always baffled him.

“It is an eleven-inch Yew wand, with a core of Coy-Oh-Tay whisker – I remember selling this very wand some years ago. I have no doubt in my mind that this wand belongs to Sirius Black.”

“I’m sure the court would like to hear your confirmation that the last spell fired was the one that killed Peter Pettigrew, Mister Ollivander,” Kate said, for the first time, her voice was uncertain.

Arcturus almost laughed – she didn’t know! She hadn’t spent the time checking it – had nobody checked the wand thoroughly in the days since Sirius was arrested? While he had thought it ridiculous to have Sirius on trial only days after he had been caught, it was becoming clearer that many had expected the farce to have gone smoothly. Too many had simply taken the facts at face-value – this was how Sirius would be acquitted!

Garrick chanted something else under his breath and waved his wand over Sirius’s in a complicated pattern before a series of burning runes appeared, shimmering in the air a little above it.

“The last spell was a Stupefy, Madame Prosecutor. The runic configuration of the spell is clear to see, as is the Arithmancy.”

“I… have no more questions, Mister Ollivander,” Kate murmured quietly; her voice soft. While she practically whispered the words, they carried well enough in the chamber and all of a sudden – warning from Dumbledore or not – the quiet whispers of the Lords rumbled through the room. Arcturus grinned as he watched the prosecutor walk dumbly back to her position.

If Kate Young looked stunned and thrown off, Natalia Daxer looked like the fox that had gotten into the chicken coop.

“Mister Ollivander, could you explain the significance of the wand you are holding?” She asked, pacing slowly around the chamber.

“Of course. The Coy-Oh-Tay is a breed of Coyote from the mountainous regions of Central America. It’s known to be tricky to spot and they are devilishly intelligent. In all my years of wand-crafting, I’ve only been able to obtain the one whisker, I’m afraid,” Garrick replied evenly, idly turning the wand over in his hands.

“I find it to be quite the fascinating core. Much like the creature it comes from, the whisker has a penchant for being placed in wands that go to mischievous spell-casters. It should be known, however, that it prizes loyalty above all else – it would refuse to work for a traitor of any kind.”

Arcturus grinned as the chamber began to murmur once again.

“So, you’re telling us that if Sirius Black had been unfaithful in his loyalty to James Potter, the wand wouldn’t be loyal to him?”

“Yes, that is what I’m saying.”

“And can you confirm that the wand is indeed loyal to Sirius Black?”

“It is,” Garrick affirmed.

The whispers grew in volume around the chamber, and Arcturus cast his eyes to the Prosecutor. Her face had lost all colour, and she was looking between the wand, Minister Bagnold, and Crouch with a panicked look – the two Ministry officials looked positively livid.

It was no secret that Crouch coveted the position of Minister, and Bagnold was a smart enough woman to keep him close. If Sirius were to be declared innocent after all the accusations had been made from both of their offices, it would be the end of their careers.

Not a single member of any of the Noble families would support a man and woman that had tried to steamroll a trial on one of their own, regardless of political and financial alliances. The lack of due diligence and the general attitude the Ministry showed this trial were enough to set a precedent no family wanted.

It was no secret that Bagnold had assumed so much political power over the years by catering to the Half-Bloods and the Muggle-born, promising to bridge the social divides. They followed her almost religiously in the beginning – she had been a charismatic woman, one that had risen from a poor Half-Blood family and ascended to the top of society in Britain.

The reality was a little different. As loathe as he was to admit it, the Ministry and the Wizengamot were often rife with corruption. Wizards and witches like the Malfoys, Parkinsons, and the Dondarrions flaunted their wealth and paid off officials every other week – little had changed in the decade he had been away.

Bagnold was one such official – her biggest benefactor being House Dondarrion.

That wasn’t to say that she was a puppet of that family. Her stance against the Dark Lord throughout his war was enough to show that. More than one member from House Dondarrion and the other bigoted families had been outed as a follower, caught by well-trained squads of powerful Aurors. Some had been killed in battle, others captured and brought before the Wizengamot.

Most had ended up in Azkaban, sentenced by the formidable duo of Bagnold and Crouch. Others had claimed the Imperius, such as Lucius Malfoy. The Daily Prophet had made sure to print detailed accounts of every Death Eater’s trial and their sentences throughout the war. Each day, as he had lain in bed, he’d checked the obituary columns, praying not to see Sirius’s name among them.

The banging gavel of Dumbledore was enough to silence the noise.

“Thank you, Mister Ollivander – your expertise has been eye-opening,” Natalia smiled. Instead of moving to the side of the room as she was expected, she turned to Dumbledore, and Arcturus couldn’t help but lean forward in his seat anxiously.

“Chief Warlock, I understand that it is against the norm, but I humbly request to bring forth my own evidence and witness.”

“While unusual, I’ll allow it,” Dumbledore replied, leaning back in his chair with a nod.

Arcturus watched as Natalia gestured to her assistant, who quickly moved toward her and fished something out of a small bag. What it was exactly, Arcturus couldn’t tell, but it appeared to be a necklace of some kind, made of the most brilliant Mithril.

The closest to the floor gasped as the Defence held it aloft and circled the floor.

“My Lords, my Ladies, I present to you a Blood Locket.”

He couldn’t help it – he leapt to his feet and gripped the railing before him. A Blood Locket was a powerful piece of magic – arguably more powerful than an Unbreakable Vow. An Unbreakable Vow would kill you outright if one were to go against it – a Blood Locket would destroy you.

It was a complicated ritual and could only be completed on certain days in the year. The House of Black had many books on it, as they did with many different subjects – both light and dark. It was rumoured that the first had been created by Merlin and Morgana themselves.

“This particular piece of evidence belongs to Sirius Black and James Potter – as the court can clearly see, Sirius Black is alive.”

“How do we know that it is linked to Sirius Black?” Bagnold demanded from her chair, an ugly scowl on her face.

“Ah, forgive me, Minister,” Natalia replied, quickly pulling out her wand and muttering an incantation.

Immediately, a red mist rose from the dangling chain into the air above the Defence. Arcturus watched with wide eyes as it coalesced into a younger Sirius and James. The shadowy, red-tinged figures stood opposite one another in a darkened room, grinning at each other excitedly.

Sirius drew his wand and cut his palm with a quick swipe, with James following shortly after. The two clasped hands and began the chant. He knew the ritual well – their blood would mix and join together, and from that union, the necklace would be formed – as would its twin.

He watched as the blood slowly seeped out between their joined hands and the magic around them ruffled their hair and clothes, sweeping the two of them up in a cyclone of energy. The blood rose into the air above their hands and morphed into a churning ball of liquid, stretching, and thinning itself out until a pair of necklaces formed.

It was beautiful to witness, and Arcturus found his throat tight.

The scene ended and the mist descended into the necklace once more, and the room remained utterly silent – not even the reporters, or the members of the public in the galleys above them breathed a word.

“Chief Warlock, in light of this, I request to bring Sirius Black to the stand for questioning.”

Arcturus’s eyes flittered to the Chief Warlock, and found the old man still staring at the space where the image had been with an odd look on his face. Dumbledore stirred after a moment, and visibly shook himself before nodding tiredly.

“Permission granted,” he sighed, running his hands down his face.

The grinding of the stone plinth that held Sirius’s chair slowly began to descend. The scraping of the stone echoed off of the marble walls, and Arcturus found himself wincing the longer it carried on. There was a gentle boom as it came to a stop – Sirius still slumped over in the wooden chair with all the chains.

“Can you confirm that you are, indeed, Sirius Black?” Natalia began, a smirk tugging on the corner of her mouth.

Sirius stirred a little and sat up slowly, the rattling of the chains as they clanked against themselves and the wood. Even from here, Arcturus could see just how pale and gaunt he looked – what had happened to him in the time he’d been arrested?

“I am,” Sirius croaked, his voice quiet and scratchy in the quiet room. Arcturus had remained standing, gripping the railing before him in an iron grip as he fought the urge to rush down the steps to his grandson.

“Can you confirm that this is your Blood Locket?” Natalia asked, holding the locket up once more for the assembly.

“It is.”

“And can you confirm this is your wand?” Natalia asked, holding the wand before her in her other hand – Arcturus hadn’t even seen her move to get it, so focused was he on the man in the chair.

Sirius closed his eyes and breathed in slowly and nodded. “It is.”

“Can you explain the nature of your relationship with James Potter to the rest of the court?”

Sirius looked pained at the mention of the young man’s name, and his head slumped forward as his shoulders shook.

“He was my brother,” he moaned pitifully. “He was my brother, and now he’s dead.”

“When did the two of you complete the ritual that the court has witnessed?”

“We were in our final year at Hogwarts,” Sirius replied with a quiet moan. “The war was escalating, and I knew how my family had splintered…”

“Take your time,” Natalia offered gently; her voice soft. If nothing else came of this trial, Arcturus was going to make sure to secure Natalia’s services for the family – the woman had performed flawlessly throughout the proceedings.

“James and Charlus helped to raise me. They gave me a home when Arcturus couldn’t. I owed them everything. I was loyal to him. Nobody else.”

“Can you explain the events, as you understand them, that led to the deaths of Lily and James Potter?”

Sirius looked up finally, and his eyes swept the room before his gaze landed on Arcturus. He nodded slowly and offered a small smile. He would stand by his grandson – he knew him to be innocent. Sirius blinked and nodded once in return.

“It started when Harry was born, and James asked me to be his godfather. The Potters were already being hunted, killed off one branch at a time – they slaughtered them in the street, or in their own homes, it didn’t matter. Shortly afterwards, Dumbledore suggested they go into hiding. I told them to go to Rosestone, but James wouldn’t hear it – he thought it too obvious,” Sirius began, sitting up a little more.

Dumbledore nodded, confirming the tale for the chamber. There were a number of quiet gasps before Sirius continued.

“Lily suggested the Fidelius and got Dumbledore to cast it over their home in Godric’s Hollow,” he began, but frowned, shaking his head.

“But something wasn’t right – it didn’t work properly, or something, I don’t know! All we knew was that the house wasn’t hidden for long, and the charm fell.

“Lily re-cast it herself, but I couldn’t act as the Secret Keeper anymore – we thought it was because I had been Dumbledore’s…” Sirius trailed off for a moment, his eyes vacant. “So, we chose Peter Pettigrew.”

The chamber erupted in noise. Lords and Ladies all around him shot to their feet, crying out for one reason or another. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest – Peter was the wizard Sirius was accused of killing, after all. Not only that, but he’d been awarded a posthumous Order of Merlin, for his bravery in battling Sirius – rather presumptuous, he’d thought.

“Silence!” Dumbledore called out once again, though this time he remained on his feet and leaned against the railing of his own podium.

“Sirius, are you telling me that Peter was the Secret Keeper?”

“I am.”

“Then why did you continue to tell everyone that you were?”

“I was the decoy!” Sirius cried, his eyes wild and furious. “I was the more powerful of the two of us – my relationship with James made me the obvious choice! The rat sold James and Lily out – we knew there was a traitor-“

“Sirius,” Dumbledore interrupted with an edge to his voice that Arcturus couldn’t help but notice. There had been rumours of a group of wizards and witches that had been fighting back against the Dark Lord. The Ministry had been incredibly reactive during the war, but the group of vigilantes had taken the fight to the Dark Lord on more than one occasion – the Prophet had covered each show-down between the two sides regularly.

Had Sirius been involved? He was certainly powerful enough to give most wizards and witches pause. He would have been a tremendous asset to the group.

Sirius calmed himself, though his stormy expression remained.

“Peter was a traitor. I felt James die that night, and I went straight there.”

“You Apparated to Godric’s Hollow?” Natalia asked, raising her brow slowly.

“No – I took my motorcycle. I wouldn’t have been able to Apparate without splinching myself, and to Floo there could have meant suicide. It took more time, but I thought the bike the best choice.”

“Could you share with us the model of the bike?”

“A white Triumph Bonneville.”

“Let the record show that one such bike has been produced as evidence by the Chief Warlock, courtesy of one Rubeus Hagrid. Can you tell the court why Rubeus Hagrid had your bike in his possession?”

“Aye – when I arrived, the cottage was already half destroyed. Hagrid was already there, with Harry in his arms. I begged him to let me have him – I’d have taken him to Blackwall Manor, but Hagrid argued he was safer at Hogwarts. We argued, but eventually I gave him my bike to get Harry there.”

“Can you confirm these events, Chief Warlock?”

“I can – Hagrid has already told this same story and is one of the few testimonies the Prosecution has avoided, it seems.”

Arcturus glanced at Kate Young and found her pale and cringing – no doubt it wouldn’t be just Bagnold’s and Crouch’s careers ending if Sirius were declared innocent.

“What did you do immediately following these events?” Natalia asked, turning her gaze back to Sirius.

“I hunted Peter and found him on the second in Wembley. He drew his wand on me, and we fought – I wanted to bring him before the Wizengamot and have him confess before I executed him myself,” Sirius snarled, his fists clenching the arms of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. “That was when the Aurors turned up.”

“What happened, Sirius?”

“He started backing toward them, pretending he was overwhelmed. He accused me of betraying James. He removed a finger before he blasted the road open and made his escape.”

“How did Pettigrew escape? In all of the reports, they claim Pettigrew was at the centre of the explosion.”

“I saw what he was going to do. He escaped because he’s an Animagus – his form is a common garden rat.”

“How can we believe a word that you say?” Natalia asked, slowly walking around the bound Sirius. Absently, Arcturus noticed Dumbledore slump into his chair.

“Because James and I showed him how to do it – we took him where he needed to go, and we walked him through the ritual!” Sirius snapped. “James and I were Animagus too. I’m a Grim, and James was a Stag. We did it in our fifth year.”

“Why did you not register yourselves, as required by law?”

“We didn’t want anyone to know if we needed to use them in the war. There aren’t many of us, and we thought it an advantage.”

“So, you would have us believe that Peter Pettigrew escaped into the sewer? That he is still alive, and is the true culprit to these crimes?”

“I would, aye. I would never harm the Potters, and I would die before siding with the Dark Lord. They were the most important people in my life,” Sirius replied, hanging his head slowly.

“My Lords, my Ladies, before you sits a man loyal and true to House Potter – the future Lord of House Black,” Natalia began, her voice ringing out across the chamber as she turned to gaze upon the Lords and Ladies.

“This is a man who has been accused of heinous crimes, to which he is not guilty. Do I believe he acted rashly, and without forethought? Yes, but what can any of us do when overcome by grief?”

Natalia paused and Arcturus felt his mouth split into a grin – all around him, men and women were muttering between themselves.

“I say this man before you is innocent – a victim of circ*mstantial evidence and a desire to sweep the tragic events of the closing days of the war under the rug. Tell me, my Lords and Ladies, how would you feel if it were your heir sat chained before you in this way? I move for an immediate vote on the accused’s innocence – what say you, Chief Warlock, Minister?” she asked, turning to look at the two officials.

Arcturus took in Bagnold’s pale features as furious scowl – she had been perfectly manoeuvred into a corner from which she couldn’t escape, and for a moment, he thought he might kiss Natalia for her excellent work.

“I find myself in agreement,” Dumbledore replied, while Bagnold simply nodded once.

“Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, it is my duty to inform you that you must remain true to the evidence you have seen today. If there is any doubt in your mind, you must vote innocent,” Bagnold called out, her voice tight and clipped.

“With a show of wands, those who believe the accused guilty?”

Arcturus looked around anxiously as he chewed on his bottom lip and almost wept at the number of small white lights that lit up the dark chamber. It was less than a quarter – his boy would be free!

“Those who believe the accused is innocent of all charges?”

The room lit up, with a sea of white wand-tips and Arcturus almost felt his knees give out beneath him.

“Let the record show that Sirius Orion Black, heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, is found innocent of all the charges before him,” Bagnold announced to the chamber, a number of cheers from the Vassal Lords of House Black answering her.

Arcturus swept from the box of House Black and almost sprinted down the stairs, despite his protesting knee. He was held back from rushing onto the central floor by a pair of large Aurors, both with their wands pointed in his general direction. He would give them credit, neither flinched under his gaze.

“Arcturus,” Dumbledore called from the centre of the floor, a shaking Sirius in his arms. “Come and get your boy.”

Chapter 2: Arcturus II

Chapter Text

The study was dark that evening. Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting dancing shadows along portraits and large stone pillars in a strangely relaxing waltz. Perhaps it was the stress of the day, or perhaps it was merely his age, but everything seemed a little duller in Blackwall Manor as the sun began to make its final steps beyond the horizon. Colour did not appear as vibrant; smells were less delicious, and fabric felt that little bit coarser.

He had long since divested himself of his leather, instead desiring a little comfort for his old and beaten body. It had been many, many years since he had worn any kind of armour – even one as light and forgiving as his studded leather. Perhaps it had been the adrenaline of the situation – the last of member his house that meant a damn facing the peril of Azkaban-- that had stirred him into such an action. Though, if the trial hadn’t gone the way it had, he didn’t know if even his own fearsome reputation would have been enough to help Sirius.

Images and thoughts of Azkaban flittered through his mind for a brief moment as he idly brushed a thumb back and forth over his moustache. There were many, many magical prisons throughout the country – Azkaban was held as the most severe punishment. The presence of the Dementors was enough cause for any inmate to wish for death. Not even in his deepest, darkest nightmare could he imagine living in constant, abject despair. Was the Ministry so desperate to provide the illusion of doing something in the wake of all of this that they would leap at the possibility of throwing an innocent man in there? He’d have to think some more on it.

A slight sigh whispered past his thin lips as he leaned back in his chair, the leather contorting and wrapping him in its embrace. He had spent many a day in this room. As his eyes swept across the room, he could spot the various knickknacks that he’d purchased over the years. Ghosts of the past flittered across his vision – his father standing before the fireplace, a weathered pipe in his hand as he glared at the flame; his wife, long since departed, sitting across from him in her favourite chair, knitting a small cardigan and every now and then gently stroking the swell of her stomach. Sirius, upside down on the small settee on the far side of the room, his feet up on the wall and his head hanging in the air as he read a book, idly swiping the pages as he looked at the pictures.

A soft smile crossed his face at the memory. Had it really been so long ago? Everything had gone so wrong in his family these last few years – the betrayal of most of his family, one by one. Where had they all gone so wrong? He hadn’t raised Orion to be a manic Pureblood! He’d raised Orion by the same ideals he himself had been taught – magic, in all its forms was sacred. It didn’t matter if you were Elf, Centaur, Muggleborn, Half-Blood or Pureblood – magic was magic. It seemed only Sirius had remained true and pure to the family traditions.

The Black family had a dark and sordid history. It wasn’t uncommon for members of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black to be called Dark Wizards and Witches. Perhaps, once-upon-a-time, that may have been true. But what truly was dark? Of course, the family library had tomes upon tomes of magic that in the wrong hands could cause untold destruction and death. But had they used it? Not since the days of Camelot. Perhaps it had been hubris to assume that his children, and by extension the rest of his family, would conform to the same ideals and principals that he had. He just wished… What did he wish? For his son to still be alive? That Sirius hadn’t been beaten and whipped bloody for years?

Reaching out, he took a piece of parchment in his left hand. He wished a great many things, but they were the regrets of an old man, worn down by time and circ*mstance. Ah, if only he were young again, how he would do things differently. But was that not the curse of hindsight?

His eyes darted along the neat script on the page, the graceful curves and flicks of the quill forever captured.

The dark oak door to his study opened with a quiet click, the hinges moving silently. He’d have to make a point of thanking the Elves at some point this evening. His eyes slowly moved to gaze upon the young man standing at the precipice. With a slight inclination of his head, he gestured for his grandson to enter.

“Grandfather,” Sirius began, bowing just so at the waist and inclining his head in respect. It was incredibly formal for the child that used to sit up on the stairs with a cold bucket of water, waiting for the next helpless victim to walk beneath him. Where had the laughter and the cheeky smiles gone? Where was the boy that he’d sat on his knee and pretended he was a broomstick for?

“Sirius, sit. Please,” He croaked, gesturing the chair directly opposite him. As Sirius sat, the candle flame on his desk illuminated his face. His eyes were still haunted, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, but his facial hair was once again neat, his hair falling in thick glossy curls to his shoulders, and his cheeks a bit less sallow.

“Grandfather, I-“ Sirius began, his voice catching in his throat, seemingly overcome with emotion. It had only been a handful of hours since Arcturus had literally carried Sirius out of the Ministry, lifting him bodily through the Floo.

“Sirius,” He interrupted, holding up a hand. “you have been, and always will be my boy. I’m just sorry it took me so long to bring you home.”

Sirius’ eyes got noticeably shinier in the warm light, and the young man seemed to be sucking on his cheeks in an attempt to hold it together. “Thank you. Truly.”

“How are you coping, son?”

“It’s… hard. James and Lily… I just can’t believe they’re gone,” At this, Arcturus gently put the parchment down and laced his fingers together over his stomach.

“It doesn’t get any easier, you know,” he replied gently after a moment, his voice soft, barely on the edge of hearing. “You learn to manage the pain, to push past it. It’s never the same though. James was a wonderful lad, and Lily was such a joy. Wicked sharp tongue, if I recall properly,” he added with a wry smirk and a chuckle.

For the first time in a long time, there was laughter in his study – the two men sharing a sweet moment in which they simply remembered. Sirius had many, many more memories of his dear Lily, having gone to school with the late Lady Potter.

She had been a bright witch, the smartest of her generation if the whispers were any indication. Unlike many of the more noteworthy names in the wizarding world, she had no magical ancestry that anyone was aware of. She had been a muggle-born witch and hadn’t had any clue as to how truly special she had been until her eleventh birthday. By all accounts, she had attacked the Hogwarts library with a passion in the seven years she had attended the school, soaking up as much knowledge as she possibly could. According to Sirius, she had been brilliant at potions, and was Merlin reborn when it came to charms. Such a tragedy that her life had been cut so short.

James Potter, on the other hand, had been an absolute terror and joy. In James, Sirius had found a kindred spirit – another young boy who simply wanted to make people laugh and smile. News of the pair’s exploits throughout the school had reached him on an almost fortnightly basis, informing him of yet another detention for whatever prank they’d pulled this time. Seeing the boys together had been a sight to behold. Practically joined at the hip, the two had ran circles around anyone they could, jumping from one prank to another with an enthusiasm found only in children. It was hard to begrudge them, what with war on the horizon. It was a glimpse of the innocence they would lose all too quickly.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Lily set me on fire?” Sirius asked suddenly, his eyes vacant and unseeing as he lost himself in the memory, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth that bordered on a smirk.

“I don’t believe so, no,” he smiled.

“It was at Godric’s Hollow. Harry must have been, oh, just over a year? Something like that. Anyway, we were all round in the summer, and we’d all picked little things up for his first birthday. Moony had gotten him a copy of Beedle the Bard, Wormtail had bought him a few toys, Prongs had bought a few stuffed toys – all stags, obviously. I bought him one of those baby brooms, y’know the ones, with the straps and all?” he said, his shoulders shaking in a slight chuckle.

“Anyway, James and I end up strapping Harry into the broom while Lily’s out the room. Then, before we know it, the pup’s off, flying around the room like he was born to it. All the while, he’s giggling and clapping, right, but before we could close the door to the rest of the house, he’s out. I remember James looking at me, pale as anything and wincing when we heard Lily screeching from the kitchen. ‘James Charlus Potter, just what is your son doing on that broom?!’” he laughed, imitating Lily’s voice as best he could.

“Then, James goes, ‘Has he caught the cat yet?’ Well, you can imagine that didn’t go down well – in she comes, livid as anything, and all of a sudden, we hear a crash and the cat scream. So, we all rush out and see Harry’s taken a nose-dive into Lily’s potted plants on her windowsill. He’s got herbs on his head, covered in soil, and he’s laughing and clapping away still. Meanwhile, the cat was dangling from the light. So, with nobody saying anything, I just asked – quite innocently, mind you, ‘So, Seeker, then?’” He was in full belly laughs now, tears forming in both their eyes.

“I remember Lily spinning on me, and everyone took a step back. She started slapping my arms and chest, screaming, ‘Don’t you dare get any stupid ideas you bloody, bloody dog. I swear, why we let you in the house is beyond me!’ So, I start running out into the back garden, everyone’s laughing, and at some point, she must have grabbed her wand, because the next thing I know, my jacket’s on fire and then my trousers! Everyone’s laughing, of course.” There were a few quiet moments once the laughter died down.

“That was the last time we were all together,” Sirius sniffed quietly, his eyes coming back into focus.

The fireplace crackled and spat a handful of embers into the air as a log collapsed, the air thick with something that even with all his years, Arcturus couldn’t quite name or place.

“You know who you could tell these stories to, don’t you?” Arcturus said, standing slowly as his grandson watched him. He stepped around his desk gingerly, his knees burning after the day’s events. He almost fell into the chair next to Sirius. “Harry.”

“I-“ Sirius began, before catching himself as Arcturus held a hand up.

“You’re the boy’s godfather, Sirius. He’s all that’s left in the world of James and Lily. They trusted you with their boy, and wherever they are now, if there’s even a place we go to after all of this,” he gestured around himself for a moment. “then you know they would want you to have him. Who else would, or even could?”

“Remus- “

“-is a werewolf. As much as I love the boy, he’d never be granted custody of a Potter.”

“Lily had a sister- “

“-who, you yourself told me hated magic.”

“I’m not- “

“Sirius, I watched you protect Regulus from everything until you went to Hogwarts. I know you will love that boy as if he were your own, and you’d move Avalon itself for him,” Arcturus said, with an air of finality. He gently placed a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “It would be nice to hear the sound of a child in this house again.”

There was a heavy moment where Sirius said nothing, staring at the dark floorboards beneath his feet. A hundred different emotions crossed his face as the candlelight flickered.

“Okay,” Sirius whispered, his breath shaky and heavy.

Arcturus nodded and pulled the man up to his feet as he himself rose, the tunics on both of them dark and loose, almost hanging off of their athletic frames. With a force he didn’t know he still had in him, Arcturus pulled Sirius into an embrace, threading his liver-spotted fingers through the younger man’s hair, while his left hand grabbed a handful of the tunic on his boy’s back. He felt Sirius bury his face in the crook of his neck as his shoulder shook gently. They remained like this for a few minutes, until eventually Sirius stood taller, his shoulders squared as only a Black could.

“Where is he? Last I saw, Hagrid was taking him to Dumbledore, but that was at least a week ago?” Sirius asked, a grim determination settled in his eyes, even if his breath was still heavy and his eyes still wet.

“Hogwarts,” Arcturus smiled, reaching over and lightly picking the parchment up that he’d looked at earlier. He handed it over silently as Sirius began to read it.

“By all accounts, the faculty and the students love him. Been running McGonagall ragged. If you ask me, I think she’s rather enjoyed having him,” he chuckled.

“I always knew she was a softie.”

“They’re expecting you tonight. Do you want me to come with you?” Arcturus said, moving to the large marble fireplace. This, like many fireplaces across the wizarding world, was connected the Floo Network, allowing almost instantaneous travel between two fixed points. Many, such as the ones belonging to homes or families, required passwords or the Wards around them to be de-activated. Albus Dumbledore was taking a large risk tonight, having lowered the Wards at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of which he was headmaster, to allow them access.

“If it’s not too much trouble…” Sirius whispered, a hint of fear and panic in his words.

Arcturus didn’t even hesitate, instead grasping a handful of Floo Powder from a small jar that sat on a small shelf to the side of the fireplace. The mantel legs were so tall, he could step into position without having to lower his head. He turned, his eyes sweeping the room as Sirius stepped up to gather his own powder. The fireplace on the far wall – the practical one, at least, was still burning brightly and would continue to do so for a few hours yet. Throwing the powder down at his feet, he called out, “Hogwarts, Dumbledore’s office!” and felt the large green flames swallow him whole.

Stepping into the office of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was like stepping into a room of a thousand and one gadgets and gizmos. All around the multi-tiered room were cabinets upon cabinets of knickknacks and various paraphernalia. The cold moonlight cast the room in a cold blue light that even in his advanced age took his breath away. It had been over half a century since he’d last set foot in this legendary room. Even now, he still felt a child in its presence.

The whoosh of the Floo behind him alerted him to Sirius’ arrival as a voice from the far end of the room called out a greeting to the two new arrivals.

“Ah, Arcturus, Sirius! I’ll be with you in just a jiffy!” Albus called down, his grandfatherly voice barely needing any effort to carry itself down to them. Within moments, the Headmaster, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W stood before them in his deep violet robes. His silver hair fell down to the middle of his back and appeared to be held in place by a small stout cap. In companion to his long hair, the beard of Dumbledore was something to behold indeed. The thick mass of hair was perfectly groomed, falling over the slight swell of his belly and was neatly tied halfway down.

“Arcturus, my friend! Sirius!” the man greeted them jovially, a twinkle like no other dancing in his eyes as he peered at them over half-moon spectacles. The two of them bowed slightly in respect.

“Sirius, allow me be the first to apologise for the grievous error. I allowed myself to form judgements when I should have been impartial and known better. I am afraid nobody is without fault, as much as we may all want to be. Tell me, how can I make this better, my boy?” Dumbledore apologised, looking directly at his grandson.

“It’s no issue, Albus. I can understand why everyone thought as much. There’s nothing to apologise for,” Sirius replied, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly.

“As you wish,” Dumbledore replied, nodding slightly. There was a pause before he gently clapped his hands together. “Now, I understand that young Mr Potter is off to a new home this evening. Would you like to see him? I fear he may have melted Minerva’s heart!”

There was a light chuckle as the three cast their thoughts to the strict Scottish woman in question. Minerva McGonagall was a stern woman on the outside, though once you learned what to look for, she was a delightfully loving woman of 77 years with a wickedly funny husband. While politically the family of Black and McGonagall had rarely agreed, he did so enjoy their company.

Arcturus followed Dumbledore and Sirius down the winding staircase that led from his office into the rest of the school. Despite the hour, it appeared that curfew within the school had yet to be called, as every now and then the trio would pass a stunned student. While both his own and Sirius’ clothes were plain and comfortable, the sigil of House Black was still stitched in fine detail quite proudly on their left breasts, and their clothes were in their house colours – black, of course.

As they meandered the brick and stone hallways, his mind wandered back to his own brief tenure as a student, rising through the academic and social tiers of Slytherin – one of the four Hogwarts houses, and typically the one that the cunning, ambitious and determined are placed into. Sirius, he knew had been sorted into the house of Gryffindor, the house of the brave and courageous. When the time came, which would Harry be placed into? Slytherin? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw, the house of the house of the wise and creative, or Hufflepuff – the house of the loyal and dedicated? As much as he liked to think he would be happy to see the tyke grow up into any of these houses, a part of him hoped to see the boy follow in his parent’s footsteps.

Not a moment later, the three of them arrived at the hospital wing, the large double doors all that separated them from the domain of the infamous Madame Pomfrey. While young, she had garnered a reputation among recent graduates for a strict no-nonsense attitude towards her charges. On the one hand, he was delighted to know that the young were under the care of someone so dedicated, but he couldn’t help a barely contained shiver of fear at having to endure it himself.

It seemed Sirius had spotted his momentary lapse of control and smirked at him.

Arse.

With a gentle push, the doors to the infirmary swung inwards, and the smell of a dozen different healing potions tickled their noses, while the sounds of childish glee bounced off of the walls. This was it.

Striding past the elderly wizard, Sirius burst into the infirmary without a second’s hesitation – bloody Gryffindor. Arcturus, in comparison, walked past Dumbledore alongside Sirius in a much more determined fashion – a decidedly Slytherin approach, of course. He’d hex the fist person to dare tell him he was as dunderheaded as a Gryffindor. If his memory of statistics served him correctly, he remembered seeing a note somewhere that Gryffindors were the most common infirmary patients. He would have to find it again and throw it in Sirius’ face the next time he decided to act the cheeky git.

“Where is he?” Sirius whispered, his head snapping back and forth as he searched the room. The sound echoed out once more, coming from the far side of the room in a closed-off section.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the two were off again, hurrying over to the partition that had been set up. Sirius ripped back the curtain, having seen the silhouettes of two figures playing with a child from the Lumos charm.

Before them, sat on two simple wooden chairs, were Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey. A small boy with wild black hair and emerald eyes waddled back and forth between the two, his tiny teeth set into a childish grin as drool dribbled down his chin. Dressed in simple striped baby pyjamas, he held a little stuffed black dog in his fist and was holding it up at Minerva as if it were the Tri-Wizard Cup. A part of Arcturus’ heart melted at the sight.

“Pa’foo!” little Harry giggled, pointing at the dog as Minerva nodded and marvelled at how handsome a dog he was. The boy was being positively spoiled rotten.

“Prongslet…” Sirius breathed, causing the three heads to turn towards them. Minerva’s face attempted to contort itself into its usual stern countenance, but Arcturus merely raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, too late, I already saw you. She huffed stubbornly when she realised the game was up. Sirius dropped to his knees as the young boy waddled as fast and animatedly as he could into the waiting arms of his godfather.

“Pa’foo! Pa’foo!” he squealed, barely slowing enough to avoid injury as the boy leapt at Sirius.

“Harry…” Sirius whispered into the boy’s hair, pressing half a dozen kisses into the boy’s thick, wild hair that seemed to stick in every direction possible. Sirius cleared his throat and looked at the boy.

“Hey kiddo, how’ve you been? Old McGonagall given you detention yet?”

“If he’s anything like his father, I give it a week,” Minerva shot in return, raising a challenging eyebrow at the young man on the floor.

“It’ll be a day if I have anything to say about it,” Sirius replied, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Minerva, Poppy. Thank you for looking after him,” Arcturus said after politely clearing his throat. “The House of Black owes you a debt.”

“Oh, it was nothing, really. The boy’s a delight,” Poppy smiled, her hands clasped over her heart as she mooned over the boy.

“I agree, it was pure pleasure,” Minerva agreed, smiling at the group. He sensed Dumbledore shifting behind him slightly.

“Is there anything we should be aware of?” Arcturus asked, moving to the side slightly to allow Dumbledore access.

“Nothing noteworthy besides the scar on his head. It seems to be the result of some dark, dark magic – nothing we have available here would be able to treat it. Besides that, he’s a perfectly healthy baby boy,” Poppy replied as she stood, dusting off her gown as she did so.

“Dark magic?” Sirius asked, his brow furrowing as Harry began climbing over his outstretched legs – at some point, Sirius had sat down on his arse.

“I suspect young Harry here, may be the first and only person here to have survived the Killing Curse, though the how still eludes me. Perhaps the dark magic is a residual energy left behind?” Dumbledore chimed in, his voice low – almost conspiratorial.

“He tried to kill a baby?!” Sirius growled, low and dangerously.

“Ba’bee!” Harry clapped, oblivious to the conversation around him. Sirius’ mood instantly brightened as he agreed and ran his hands through the boy’s hair.

The adults remained silent for a few minutes, simply basking in the actions of a small child who was completely at ease and carefree. There was a distinctly Minerva sounding sniffle just to his right. With his right arm, he reached around the younger woman’s shoulders and affectionately gave her a supporting squeeze, though if anyone asked either of them, the two would deny it vehemently. It was a matter of principle.

“Harry,” Arcturus said, getting down on one knee before the child who was now engrossed in showing Sirius all the benefits of his toy dog. The boy looked up at him with intensity in those stunningly emerald eyes. For a moment the old wizard was taken aback slightly.

“Harry, how would you like to come and stay with us for a while?”

The boy looked at Sirius, who was nodding encouragingly.

“Pa’foo?” Harry asked, uncertainly.

“That’s right, do you want to come and stay with Padfoot? I know he misses you,” Sirius replied, brushing a thumb over one of Harry’s baby cheeks.

“M’ma? Pa’pap?”

“Mummy and Da’da have to go away for a little bit, so they’ve asked me to take care of you. They said we could have lots of fun,” Sirius croaked, his eyes once again brimming with tears. “Mummy and Da’da love you very much.”

Poppy blew her nose into a handkerchief.

Harry nodded slowly, burying his face into Sirius’ tunic while Sirius buried his face in Harry’s hair.

“Will you be alright with everything tonight? We managed to recover some of his items from the house,” Minerva asked, her Scottish brogue seemingly heavy with her own emotions.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Arcturus smiled as he stood – proud of the fact he hadn’t winced as he did so. He watched quietly as Sirius scooped the now sleepy Harry up into his arms, his chubby little fingers gripping his tunic tightly.

“We shrank it down and placed it into a case, but the largest thing was his crib. I’ll just go and-“ Poppy began, pausing when the tears threatened to overcome her once again. “-get it.”

The adults watched her hurry from the room, her heels click-clacking on the marble tiles. It would be a simple thing to get one of the Elves to set the crib up in Sirius’ room for the night. Then, in the morning they could find Harry a room all his own.

Tomorrow seemed such a long way away, he thought with a sigh. There were so many things to do. Harry’s future had to be assured – his happiness nothing less than guaranteed. Arcturus, and Sirius especially, would settle for nothing less.

Perhaps populating the house a little more wouldn’t go amiss, after all. Blackwall Manor – the ancestral seat of House Black was a large house, and an even larger estate. But who to bring in? He’d have to think about it some more and speak with his grandson. Though, as he watched Poppy return with a non-descript case, he couldn’t help but be excited for the first time in a long time at just what tomorrow could bring.

Chapter 3: Arcturus III

Chapter Text

It was a quiet evening in February when it happened. They had been sat in the room that had been converted into Harry’s playroom – gone were the gothic paintings, the intimidating colours and the frankly depressing furniture.

Now, the room was brightly lit, with a bold red and gold colour scheme – Sirius was convinced Harry was a Gryffindor through and through. The wooden floorboards had been replaced with a soft carpet that you could sink into, and its deep crimson colour complimented the red walls perfectly, with a skirting board of gold separating the two surfaces.

Arcturus would have gagged at the sight on reflex if it hadn’t been for Harry’s reaction a week after they’d brought him home—the Slytherin in him had been pouting for months. In the time since they’d brought the boy home, young Harry had gotten into all kinds of mischief and mayhem – usually because of his own grandson -- and had been driving his Elf around the bend the second he became confident on his feet.

As he sat on one of the rich couches along the side of the room, he watched with a small smile at Sirius, cross-legged on the floor with the young boy. He playfully levitated a few toys over to him, only to bring them back just out of reach as Harry squealed in joy.

“Oh, gonna get it, Harry? Gonna get it?” Sirius would tease, his voice soft and indulgent.

It happened just as Arcturus took a sip of his tea. Harry had looked so intently at another toy – a plush Phoenix that had been made from the finest material money could find. After the Stag, Doe, Grim, and Wolf, the Phoenix plushie was Harry’s favourite. There had been a moment of pure concentration -- which, quite frankly was mildly disturbing on a child just a few months shy of two years -- and then, all of a sudden, Harry had stretched out an arm. The toy had slapped into his tiny little palm almost instantly, the grinning face of the child buried into the crook of the bird’s neck.

Arcturus had spat his tea out in a quite undignified manner, while Sirius had sat there with his jaw hanging open. Lispy, Harry’s Nanny-Elf, began hopping from one foot to the other, worrying the thin flesh of her bat-like ears between her fingers as she glanced between Arcturus and Harry.

“Did he-?” Sirius began, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I think…?” Arcturus tried, noting absently that Kreacher had popped into the room, clicked his long, gnarled fingers to clean the tea up, and popped back out.

Arcturus leapt off of the couch and positioned himself on the floor, grasping Harry’s toy owl in front of him. “Harry,” He began, drawing the boy’s attention immediately. “Harry, do you think you can do that again?”

The boy was quiet for a moment, looking between the two adults in the room cautiously. When they both nodded encouragements, the boy raised an arm again and the owl flew into his embrace. Harry giggled excitedly as he fell backwards.

“That wasn’t accidental magic…” Sirius breathed, replacing his wand in his wrist-holster.

“That was directed intent. I’ve never heard of a child do that so young before,” Arcturus agreed. In all his years, never had he heard of a child consciously directing their magic at such a young age. Sure, there were the occasional bouts of accidental magic that were usually caused by extreme emotions, such as a childish temper tantrum, but that was mostly found among the Muggle-born.

“Do you think we should tell anyone? Dumbledore, maybe?” Sirius asked after a moment, moving over to Arcturus slowly as Lispy began to play with Harry. The little Elf had instantly taken a shining to the boy, doting on him every opportunity she was presented. It hadn’t taken long for Arcturus to assign her exclusively to him.

“I’m not sure. We should take a step back and evaluate all of our options. Too much has happened since October to make any decision hastily,” he replied slowly, stroking his stubbled chin. With a grunt, and a creaking of his knees that he was positive hadn’t been there last week, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Lispy, keep playing with Harry. I need to talk with Sirius in my study. Alert me if you need anything.”

“Yes Master Arcturus, sir.”

Lispy curtsied elegantly before returning her attention to her charge.

“Sirius, come,” he commanded, his thoughts running a mile a minute.

It was common knowledge in their world that Pureblood and Half-blood children were taught magic, or at the very least how to control their magic from a very early age; it was often a reason why Muggle-born students struggled in their first few years, and often never truly embraced their gift as their peers did.

There were many different kinds of witches and wizards in their society, some far more common than others. There were the average, every-day citizens of their world – those who possessed the power, knowledge, and ambitions of those that had graduated school and were happy to just be. Some would rise high in society, like the recently appointed High Prosecutor, Cornelius Fudge.

There were others, such as those that often found themselves in physically demanding positions like the Aurors, or the Hit Wizards. While they were far less frequent in Britain, they were much more common in other places he was aware of. These were men and women who had an innate understanding of combat and strategy, more often than not. Of course, there was always an exception to the rule, he supposed.

Then, there were the passives-- those who performed magic for the benefit of others. The drive to use their magic to help others tended to result in a high number of passive Healers. There were many different ways of helping others, of course, though passives seemed to have a natural inclination toward healing.

Finally, there were the Mages. These men and women were so intrinsically tied to their magic and the magic around them that they had no defining category to place them into. Throughout history, mages had appeared in every discipline known, often leading their field. The last two known mages had been Dumbledore, and later Voldemort. It had been one of the theories as to how he had amassed such a devout following. There were perhaps a handful of mages across the globe. Even the distinct possibility that Harry could perhaps be one? He almost paled at the thought.

Over the last three months, he had noted just how wild and powerful the boy’s magic was, though he had chalked it up to his youth. Perhaps there was more to it? He was, after all, the last of the Potter bloodline – an ancient and distinctly powerful bloodline that could trace its lineage all the way back to Arthur’s round table and even beyond. Could this be Magic’s way of ensuring that the bloodline continued, especially in these dark and uncertain times?

They came to the study before his thoughts could spiral any further. With barely a pause in his stride, the door was open, and he was making his way to his chair. Sirius took his usual seat opposite him.

“We should keep this to ourselves,” Arcturus began, holding a hand up to halt Sirius’ protests. “With everything that’s happened, I think it best. That business with Bellatrix could have quite easily happened here.”

Sirius snorted.

“If you think Bellatrix could get the best of either of us…”

“Neither of us are invincible, nor neither of us are infallible, Sirius. You should know that most of all,” he retorted, sharper than he had intended.

Looking suitably cowed, his grandson nodded. “So, what do you propose?”

That was the real question, wasn’t it? What could they do? Both of them were powerful, there was no question about that, but if his suspicions were correct – and a part of him desperately wished he was, if only for Harry to be able to grow up and be happy -- then neither of them would really, truly be able to keep up with the boy.

They could hire tutors, buy every book they could get their hands on, and hope for the best until the boy could go to Hogwarts. Perhaps… Yes, that might work!

“For now, we treat him as if he were any other child. His lessons will start earlier, to teach him control, of course. When he’s a little older, we’ll take him to the Capital and have him checked over. At least then, we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with and how to best teach him.”

“The Capital? You can’t seriously mean to-“ Sirius began.

“I do and I shall see that he makes it there. You know as well as I that there are many, many advantages to taking him there. Or are you forgetting that Britain is merely a colony?” Arcturus replied, his voice firm and unyielding.

“Of course I know that! But to travel there, while his magic is still so young-“

“Enough!” Arcturus cut him off, his magic flaring briefly and causing a candlestick to wobble uncertainly for a moment.

“I’m not happy about it either, but it’s the best chance we have of getting some bloody answers. He shall go there, and then, before returning to this house, he shall visit his ancestral seat of power in this domain. We shall also introduce to him his other seat of power while we are there. Is that understood?”

“Yes grandfather,” Sirius mumbled, running a tired hand down his face as he slumped back in his chair.

“Now, this brings me to another problem that I’ve been debating about for some time,” he sighed, mimicking his grandson. “I would have that boy carefree and happy. I would give him the bloody world,” pointing his finger in the direction of the room they had been in not so long ago.

“I would see us re-evaluate our political alliances.”

Sirius blinked heavily at that, almost as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Not that I’m against throwing out everything your predecessors have worked so hard to build, but why?”

“Because, we are a neutral house on the brink of extinction. You and I are the main line, Sirius. That’s it. Not to mention, many of our alliances are with those who swore themselves to Voldemort. I would not have us bow to that upstart for anything.”

“And we’re raising Harry,” Sirius breathed, suddenly looking far older than he was.

“Indeed. We have the last Potter. The war wiped out all the other lines, according to the Wizengamot. He is integral to a number of alliances that are the polar opposite of our own.”

There was a pause for a time.

“I think it best if we stand behind him, regardless. Call it an old man’s worry, but I fear for that boy. I worry he won’t get a day of peace.”

“But he killed him!”

“Aye, he did. And how many do you think would like nothing more than to avenge their fallen Lord? How long until we have another Dark Lord? How long until there’s another war, and we’re not fighting it, but Harry is?!”

He’d worked himself up, he knew that, but the blood pumping through his veins wouldn’t be calmed. His fear for the innocent child was overwhelming him in that moment.

“If he fights, I’ll be there alongside him. Just like I was for his father,” Sirius replied, a steel in his voice that was becoming more and more common whenever Harry’s future was discussed.

“And if you’re old? If you’re dead? Who stands with him then?”

Sirius sighed and frowned. “Who did you have in mind?”

“A number of families, if I’m honest. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Prewett, Bones, Abbott… Longbottom.”

“You can’t be serious! Augusta would curse us out of the country before we could say a word!” Sirius exclaimed, his voice rising.

“As of this morning, I’m deadly serious. This arrived,” he replied calmly, passing a small piece of parchment over the desk.

Sirius took it, and he watched as his eyes darted back and forth across the page, then for a second and a third time. “This is real? Seriously?”

“As real as you and I,” he replied with a solemn nod.

“But she’s in Azkaban! How in Merlin’s name did you manage to get the Ministry to sign off on this?”

He smiled briefly, remembering the rather forceful conversation he’d had with Bagnold a week ago. She would agree to this, or… well, he hadn’t given her any other option, if he was honest with himself. It was awfully Gryffindor of him. He refused to gag at the thought.

“I have my ways. In any case, it matters very little – Bellatrix will die tomorrow evening. She will be cast from the family in perpetuity and erased from any family grimoire. In addition, I sent Andromeda an owl this morning offering a place in the family once more.”

“Andromeda? But, I thought-“ Sirius began, his jaw working, though no sound escaped.

“She ran off in haste and made assumptions in anger. I never cast her from the family – she has, and always will be a Black. Once Bellatrix’s assets have been seized and audited by Gringotts, Andromeda shall be given everything.”

Arcturus smirked. He did so miss little Andromeda.

The two of them sat there for a moment, the conversation having taken something out of both of them. There was so much to do now; so much to discuss, so many people to talk to.

“What about Augusta? You still haven’t said how you’re going to approach her,” Sirius finally asked.

“Well, now that would just be telling,” Arcturus winked as a decidedly Slytherin smirk spread across his lips.

“You’ve got some bloody nerve!” Augusta Longbottom snapped as he stepped through the fireplace. The two were long-time friends from their years in the Wizengamot together. While Augusta hadn’t officially held a seat, as she had married into the family, many of the political motions her husband, Rupert Longbottom, had pushed forward had been at her insistence.

As he stepped into her office properly, he quickly took everything in. The room was light, lit through the many, many windows that made up the walls. All around the room were various potted plants, arranged in such a way that the colours often complimented one another. The smell was earthy and fresh, while the temperature was cool and inviting-- a far cry from his own study.

The woman he’d come to see, however, was anything but inviting. She stood there, wand pointed in his general direction, with her face flushed a furious red. She looked quite the sight in her signature vulture hat and tweed suit.

He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Augusta, I promise you, I mean no ill intent.”

“No ill intent?! My Frank is beyond mad thanks in no small part because of your family!” she screeched, a vein visible protruding from her forehead. “Poor Neville is all but a bloody orphan because of your Bellatrix!”

“Ah, I’m glad you mentioned her, actually,” he said, clicking his fingers. “I come with a gift. Kreacher!”

Within moments, the ugliest of all his House Elves appeared before him. He was not alone, however. Alongside him was the corpse of his former relative, her skin only slightly paler than it had been in life, and her infamously wild, curly hair lay limp and mangled.

“What is the meaning of this?” Augusta demanded, her wand instantly moving to the corpse.

“This… creature has been executed for her crimes with The Kiss in Azkaban. She has been stripped of any relation to the House of Black in perpetuity as well as been removed – with extreme prejudice --from any mention in our family grimoires. We offer you her remains for you to do as you please – in the extent of the law, of course -- in the hopes that it can help in part with our formal apology to the House of Longbottom,” Arcturus replied formally. “Personally, I suggest burning the bitch.”

Cremations were a tricky business for magical society. Witches and wizards weren’t traditionally a religious lot, but tended to revere magic itself. Magic had many, many different forms. Over the thousands of years, many aspects of it had been given names, as it often felt alive, in a sense. Through these beliefs, it had become tradition for many to simply be buried in a location of their choosing – usually with an item of personal importance. Many chose their wands, of course, but others took books, brooms, or personal treasure – one witch famously attempted to take a dragon with her. As a result, it had become an unofficial insult to be cremated, as the body was considered to be a blessing from magic – something special in and of itself. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped, and witches and wizards got themselves killed through explosions or by dragons anyway. Honestly, some people were just born to die stupid deaths.

Augusta was quiet for a long time, merely eyeing the corpse and the wretched Elf next to it. Eventually, she took two determined strides forward, spat on Bellatrix’s face, and ordered Kreacher to take it to one of her own Elves and begin setting up a pyre.

“Feel a bit better?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her once Kreacher had left.

“I’d make an Inferi out of her just to kill her myself if I could,” she spat, her hands trembling in rage.

“Frank was a good lad, Augusta. I’m truly very sorry.”

Augusta sat down heavily in her chair on the far side of her desk and stared at him with a look that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“He was. The best a mother could ask for.”

“I understand he was close to James Potter.”

Augusta snorted.

“Your days in the Wizengamot are well and truly over if you’re going to be as transparent as that, Arcturus. Yes, James looked up to him like an older brother.”

Arcturus shrugged. “I didn’t come here to play word-games. I would have us be friends, allies even.”

She laughed, even as a House Elf appeared, wearing a uniform of a pair of denim dungarees and a tiny, child-sized checked shirt underneath it.

“Oh, Arcturus, why on Avalon would House Longbottom and House Black stand as allies? Especially after what the bitch and her friends did?”

“House Black is re-evaluating its political and social standing following the fall of the Dark Lord. We know we can’t remain neutral in the future if another threat arises. We would stand faithfully behind the House of Potter.”

He reached out and stirred a bit of cream and sugar into his tea that had been provided by the Elf. He thanked it politely as it popped away with a small smile.

“You would stand behind Potter?” she asked finally, her white-china cup halfway to her mouth.

“I should have done so before now. My heir did what I could not, and even now is sat in the boy’s den, playing with the last of the Potter line. In the time I’ve spent with the boy, I’ve come to love him as my own. Sirius is as devoted to the boy as any parent.”

“It could upset a great many houses that Longbottom is allied with. Merlin, man – even our own vassals would be outraged.”

“To the void with our vassals. They fall in line behind us. They owe fealty to us. I’m not hoping that it happens today, but House Black will begin removing itself from any previous alliance that would not support House Potter as of tonight. The quaffle is in your court, so to speak.”

He smiled slightly around his cup. The tea was fantastic.

“And what would you want from this alliance, hm?” Augusta’s cup was completely forgotten now. Her face was set in a slight frown he knew had nothing to do with her mood, but everything to do with how she was concentrating – attempting to find every angle to his motivations. If she had been able to keep her face less obvious, she could have made a fantastic Slytherin. He’d best not mention that to the aged Hufflepuff.

“Agreement on political agendas, an agreement to take up arms in defence of one another, and I believe some supervised play-dates between young Harry and Neville. I understand from Sirius that the two of them are godbrothers?”

“Aye, your boy is right on that front, I suppose. He’s a quiet lad, prone to shyness – hard to believe he’s Frank’s,” Augusta scoffed.

Arcturus frowned at that.

“If my sources within the D.M.L.E are to be believed, Augusta, they found Crouch Junior and one of the LeStrange brothers playing with the boy while the other two tortured your son and daughter-in-law in the next room. Things like that will affect a child – try being a little more patient with the lad. Maybe Harry and Neville will be good for one another, hm?”

“Don’t presume to tell me how to raise my grandson, Arcturus,” Augusta sniped in return. “I know full well what the report said, and I’d thank you not to mention it again in this household.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I apologise if I insulted you, I don’t mean to presume to tell you how to raise your grandson. In any case, we’ve wandered from the topic. Besides those previously mentioned points, House Black is more than willing to offer financial recompense for the loss of its Lord and Lady. This can be done either through monetary means, business endeavours, or even a combination of the two. House Black has greatly slighted your House, Augusta. Let me try and make it right somehow.”

“You can’t buy your forgiveness, Arcturus!” Augusta snapped, her left eye twitching slightly.

“You know as well as I that my intentions are not to recompense forgiveness, Augusta. I’m offering your house a Werguild as tradition demands, and because it’s the least I can bloody well do. You’re smarter than this. Stop taking every other sentence I say as insult, purely because some tart from my family wronged yours. You know me! We’ve been friendly for decades.”

Augusta was silent for a while, stewing in her anger. The angry huffs of air being shot out of her nose would have deterred a Hungarian Horntail.

“Very well, Arcturus. House Longbottom will accept the Werguild. Any further alliance will depend entirely on how honest your motives are. We can discuss it further after the next Wizengamot session in March. I assume you’ll also be approaching the other like-minded houses for a similar alliance in the meantime?”

“Of course,” he nodded. He stood as he did so, wrapping his knee-length coat around him absently.

“Very well, I-“

Whatever Augusta was about to say was interrupted when a young, chubby-faced child burst through the large oak door, a pair of House Elves trailing behind him worriedly in an almost comical way.

“Gram! I did a-“

The boy halted his thought when he spotted Arcturus standing there with a grin on his face.

“Neville, what have I told you about barging into rooms?”

The boy looked down, all his excitement drained from his face and he sniffled at his shoes. “It’s not polite Gram. Di’nt know you had company, sorry sir,” Neville apologised, bowing a little in Arcturus’ direction.

“Neville Longbottom, correct?” Arcturus asked as he stepped up to the boy. When the lad nodded, he got down on one knee and flicked his chin playfully.

“What was it you wanted to tell,” he looked over his shoulder at Augusta briefly with a twinkle in his eye. “Grams about, hmm?”

“I did a bit of gard’nin’ with the Elves an’ they said it was good n’stuff,” Neville mumbled, looking more proud toward the end of the declaration.

“That’s good, hm? You’ll have little green thumbs before you know it. I know another little boy who likes playing with House Elves, do you know who?”

Neville shook his head slightly, his mouth forming an adorable little O, and his eyes were equally as wide.

“My great-grandchild, Harry. Would you like to meet him someday? He’s your age.”

Arcturus’ heart nearly broke at how quickly the child nodded.

“Well, we’ll have to arrange something now, won’t we?”

Arcturus stood to his full height once again as Neville ran out the room excitedly, babbling something about telling his Elf friends.

“You’re incorrigible, even after all these years,” Augusta scoffed as she came to stand next to him.

Arcturus snorted, “I’d be a piss poor Slytherin if I wasn’t underhanded now, wouldn’t I?”

There was a moment of silence as the two of them moved to the fireplace.

“I just want what’s best for Harry, and that involves other children his own age. Do you want to leave him to Sirius and me for eleven years?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he grasped a handful of powder.

“Merlin forbid. Sirius doesn’t need to corrupt anyone other than himself, thank you. Now, get going so I can burn the bitch,” Augusta said, pushing him into the fireplace. With a wink, Arcturus was engulfed in the green flames as he called out the name of his home.

Chapter 4: Sirius I

Chapter Text

“This Wizengamot session has been called to order on the first of June, nineteen-eighty-two!” Bagnold called out from her pedestal. The accompanying thuds of the gavel echoed throughout the chamber and silenced any on-going conversations.

“All rise for the Chief Warlock!” the Speaker called out – the shuffle of feet as everyone stood until Dumbledore gestured for them all to sit was louder than he’d expected.

All around him, he saw in detail for the first time the various reactions of those around him at the aged wizard’s presence. Some had carefully constructed neutral expressions, others were pleased and finally, there were those small few who dared to outright scowl at the man.

As everyone adjusted themselves once again in their seats, the Wizengamot scribe fiddled with a quill for a moment before nodding over towards Bagnold.

“We have a number of items on the agenda today, so let us begin. First, petitions to the court. The Noble House of Abbott, you have the floor.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as Thomas Abbott stood. He was a middle-aged man, recently widowed in the war. If his memory served him correctly, Abbott had worked for the Ministry for a few years as a glorified clerk in some department or another before assuming the head of his house. His robes were of a traditional cut and appeared far more ceremonial than functional. The cloak that hung from his shoulders seemed to be lined with Hippogriff feathers, while the actual fabric was a pale blue. Sewn onto the back of his cloak was the large family sigil displayed for all to see – a pale tower wrapped in vines.

“Thank you, Minister. I come before the Wizengamot today to raise the issue of the recently proposed legislation that pertains to the House Elf Tax.”

Groans filled the room, and someone had the audacity to call out for Abbott to sit down. Despite it all, Abbott held fast and didn’t rise to any of it.

“Now, I know this discussion isn’t ready for debate quite yet, but I felt it my duty to point out some issues for everyone to think about in the meantime.”

“House Elves are listed under the Ministry as sentient creatures. While they do indeed have their quirks and such, it isn’t for us to tax the existence of these creatures in a family. As it is, they serve our every need and want without complaint. How would this tax effect houses such as Malfoy, Black, or even your own, Chief Warlock? How would this effect institutions that have stood for hundreds of years, like Hogwarts? My daughter will be attending in a number of years, and frankly, I don’t think it worth almost bankrupting the school just to refill our coffers in the short-term.”

With that, the man sat slowly in his chair as the room erupted in response.

“Order, order!” Bagnold called, waiting until the room was silent once again.

“While it was an odd petition, I’ll allow the motion. As it was unorthodox, are there any currently in attendance that would offer a rebuttal or counter-argument at this time?”

The room was silent. There were many months until the legislation was opened for debate and changes in the court, so it came as no surprise to him when the Minister continued through the houses.

“The Ancient and Noble House of Black has the floor,” Bagnold called, almost spitting the name. It was of no surprise, of course – her career had been drastically shortened by the trial months prior. Perhaps he should bring his combat robes in the future, on the off chance she attempted to curse him.

“Thank you, Minister,” he replied as he stood. There were muted whispers throughout the public viewing gallery. Many had expected Arcturus, but they seemed surprised to see Sirius here in his stead. It was a good prank.

“The House of Black, after a number of months in discussions with various houses, would like to formally declare a number of new alliances before the Wizengamot.”

Those whispers turned into full blown conversations now, and he struggled to keep the grin from his face.

“Very well. Lord Arcturus announced in the last session the end of a number of alliances, so I think we’re all interested to hear of your new political position.”

He ignored the lack of respect from Bagnold – he could go back to ruining her career later.

“House Black declares alliance with the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom. This is an alliance of politics, trade, and defence.”

Augusta, who sat as the regent for her grandson, stood from her position further down the row to his right.

“I, Augusta Longbottom, regent of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, do hereby acknowledge and confirm this alliance.”

There was a smattering of noise. He’d purposely chosen to begin with Longbottom for the shock value. If House Black was seen to be close to that house in particular after the escapades of Bellatrix, then there was no telling where they would ally themselves with next. It was brilliant thinking on his grandfather’s part.

“The Wizengamot acknowledges this alliance,” Dumbledore called before Bagnold could say anything. Her face appeared to be turning a few shades of red he hadn’t realised existed before.

“House Black also declares an alliance with the Noble House of McGonagall. This is also an alliance of politics, trade, and defence.”

Minerva stood just below him, not far from Augusta herself and confirmed the alliance. Now for the finale.

“Finally, The Ancient and Noble House of Black swears allegiance to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter.”

The room went wild. Voices called out. Men and women stomped their feet. One man threw a handful of parchment in the air, and journalists flashed their cameras in his direction. He winked up at those – he had an image to uphold, after all. Somewhere throughout all the racket, a gavel was beaten and promptly ignored.

As he waited for the racket to fade away, he remained standing there, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as his eyes swept the room. It was unheard of for an Ancient and Noble House to swear allegiance to anyone. The houses worked on the same structure that they had for hundreds of years – each family held swaths of land, and those that lived on that land were sworn to defend that house in perpetuity. The average family was sworn to a Vassal House, and Vassal Houses were sworn to Noble Houses. The Ancient and Noble Houses were the most powerful of them all, though Noble Houses weren’t sworn to them.

To qualify a family to the status of an Ancient and Noble family, the lineage had to be traced back all the way back to at least the 17^th century, not to mention the specific number of Vassals a family had to have. The financial and political power of the family was also a requirement. Unfortunately, over the years, the number of these families were trickling away. As it stood, there were only thirteen left in the entire country. There were others, but they were beyond the reach of this Wizengamot and didn’t direct their attentions to this small colony.

“Order, order!” Bagnold finally managed to call over the din. “Heir Black, you intend to swear fealty to House Potter?” she demanded, ashen faced.

“Aye, Minister – this is the shared desire of myself and Lord Arcturus Black. We swear fealty in perpetuity to the Lord of House Potter, from this day, until the end of our days. We shall keep their counsel, guard their backs and offer our magic in whichever way they require,” Sirius intoned formally, placing his fist over his heart as was required.

“Objection!” A deep voice called from the far side of the room. Ah, someone from Malfoy’s lot. Excellent.

“The House of Black can’t possibly be allowed to do this, Chief Warlock! Think of the precedent it would set for future generations – we could see the Wizengamot split into familial factions in a way that’s unthinkable!” Augustus Passel cried, his usually sallow and pockmarked complexion flushed a furious colour. If memory served, Passel was a family sworn to the Malfoy family in Wiltshire.

“Heir Black, do you offer any response?” Dumbledore asked, his voice curious.

“I do, Chief Warlock.”

He cleared his throat.

“As many of you know, the House of Black is currently raising the heir to the Potter bloodline. At the end of next month, he will be two years old, and in just shy of a decade, he’ll be attending Hogwarts itself. I am his godfather; his father was my best friend and I think of him as my own son. There is nothing Lord Black and I wouldn’t do for the boy – we just happen to be making it official.”

Sirius grinned back at Passel, who had paled noticeably.

“While it is… rare, for such an agreement between houses, I can think of no reason to object to this motion,” Dumbledore spoke up before anyone could say anything in response. He nodded up at Sirius.

“Motion allowed. The Ancient and Noble House of Black is now sworn to House Potter from this day, until the end of days.”

The Wizengamot session continued for a number of hours after that, though none of it was nearly as fun. He tried to make for the exit in a somewhat dignified manner once the doors were unsealed, but he was on the fence as to just how dignified it actually looked. His boots clicked against the marble tiles, and his fur-lined cloak billowed in his wake as he made his way through the underbelly of the Ministry. If he could leave now, he could make it in time for Harry’s evening meal and hear about his day.

Luck, as it would turn out, wasn’t on his side.

“Sirius! Sirius Black!” A voice behind him called his name. He came to a halt and stepped against the wall as wizards and witches of every disposition filtered past him. As he turned his head to see who had stopped him, he drew up short.

“Lady Newt, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you for a moment there.”

He truly hadn’t, it had been years since he’d last seen the witch, and even then, he’d been a boy. The woman before him was in her fifties, though you wouldn’t tell from the way she held herself. Her robes were a deep maroon colour, her family sigil proudly displaying the animal her family was named for. Like Arcturus and himself, her robes were function over style – and it wasn’t for the first time that he was reminded of the more modern appearance of what were essentially medieval-styled clothes. Less tights, more leather, as he often said.

“It’s no issue, my Lord,” she huffed; her cheeks rosy. “I was hoping to trouble you for but a moment of your time?” she asked, gesturing to an empty conference room they were stood by. He nodded after a moment before leading her inside.

With a quick flick of his wand, their privacy was ensured, and they could speak freely.

“Lord Black,” she began, though halted when Sirius raised his hand.

“Sirius, please. You’ve known me since I was running about Blackwall Manor naked, I think we can forgo the titles.”

“Ah yes, a habit that you didn’t grow out of until you were halfway through Hogwarts, if I remember rightly,” she chuckled, winking at him. “I’m sure you’ve nothing to be ashamed of, lad.”

Sirius had felt his cheeks heat immediately. He coughed into his fist awkwardly and gestured for her to get to the point, lest he die of embarrassment.

“I had some questions about the little Lord, Sirius. What you did in there was the first time anyone of your position has done so. I and some of the other vassals are wondering just where that leaves us.”

“As far as everything goes, there’s no change. When we call upon you, you answer the call to arms. You continue paying your rents through my family and you follow in our political footsteps.”

“Aye, lad, but what about conflict of interest?”

“There’ll be no conflict of interest, Bethany. House Black is no longer the same house it once was. All of our attentions will be focused in supporting House Potter. In that line, it may be worth passing on to the other vassals to safely destroy any dark artifacts you’ve all hoarded over the years-- if you have any, of course,” he sighed, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall as the woman before him paced.

She scoffed, waving a hand through the air. “Please, yours was the darkest of all of us. We’ve none of the artifacts. I shall assume then, that you’re doing a similar purge?”

At Sirius’ nod, she continued pacing back and forth.

“Why now, though? Why not let the lad know when he’s older? Why not hand him over to one of his own vassals?”

“His own sworn families would use him to advance their own standing, and this way, I keep my godson and put any of those ideas firmly in the ground. I have no political aspirations beyond making sure Harry is as happy as he can be. Arcturus is of a like mind.”

“Merlin, the boy already has the two of you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?” she laughed after a moment.

“Quite securely, I’m afraid.”

She nodded after a time, the words having settled something within her. Were many of the other vassals of their house of a like mind? Were they questioning the motivations? He’d have to speak to Arcturus when he returned – as the current lord, he’d be in a unique position to get them to fall in line.

“Now,” he clapped, pushing off from the wall. “If that’s all, I have a godson to get home to. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. You have a good evening, my Lord,” Bethany replied, bowing at the waist as he nodded and stepped from the room.

The previously bustling corridor was noticeably calmer now. Without the press of bodies, he could walk at a much more relaxed pace and calm himself before returning to the manor.

It was a few minutes later when he stepped out onto the main lobby of the Ministry and saw that awful statue that he noticed him. It had been just shy of a year since he’d last seen him, but the other man appeared to have aged at least twice that.

“Sirius! You old dog!” Remus Lupin called, striding up to him, a wolfish grin split across his face. He’d been looking for Remus bloody Lupin since November! Where the hell had he been?

“Remus? What are you doing here? Where have you been? I’ve had Elves out looking for you for months!” Sirius replied, swallowing the man in his strongest embrace. With the death of Prongs and the betrayal of Wormtail, they were the last two Marauders – for now, if Sirius had anything to do with it, at least.

Remus chuckled, patting him on the back before pulling away.

“It took time to break away from the packs on the continent. I came as soon as I could after I heard about the attack.”

Remus’ face lost its smile as the grief threatened to swallow him whole.

“Hey, none of that. We have nobody to blame but Peter. We’ll find the rat, and when we do, he’s nobody’s but ours, understand?”

Remus nodded silently as he stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. He always did enjoy muggle clothes more.

“So, I heard that you made quite the splash in the Wizengamot today,” Remus snickered, raising an eyebrow as he took in Sirius’ robes.

“Teasing me about sitting in a Wizengamot session will earn you an arse kicking the likes of which you haven’t experienced since sixth year, Moony,” Sirius warned, giving him the finger. He slung his other arm around Remus’ shoulders.

“Now, before you say otherwise, you’re staying at the Manor tonight and seeing Prongslet.”

“Oh, I couldn’t imp-“

“It’s not imposing if I’m telling you to get your arse to Blackwall. Now, get some powder and go. I’ll be right behind you.”

He watched as Remus rolled his eyes, before throwing a nearby Ministry House Elf a handful of knuts in exchange for a vial of powder. He repeated the process and watched Remus call out for Blackwall as he was engulfed in the green flames. A few seconds later, Sirius was stepping out of the fireplace in his home as Remus was looking around the room.

“You know, I don’t think any of us came here.”

“James did, on house business once or twice. Charlus and Arcturus were close.”

Sirius shrugged off his cloak and handed it to one of the Elves that appeared. With a pop, it was off again – he could barely tell them apart, besides Lispy and Kreacher. He was half convinced they dressed in each other’s clothes just to confuse him at this point.

“Come, they should be just finishing up,” he said, clapping his friend on the arm as he stepped past him.

Following the sounds of childish laughter through the house was easier than expected, and within a few short moments, they were walking through the door into the family dining room. The room was well lit and held portraits of notable family members throughout their history. What drew his attention, however, was the eighty-year old man attempting to feed a giggling Harry. It seemed he was having more luck in getting the chocolate mousse around Harry’s mouth, rather than in it.

“You’re getting too slow for him in your old age, grandfather,” Sirius chuckled as Remus entered behind him.

Arcturus, to his credit, looked up at Sirius as he said that and got the spoon in Harry’s mouth without even so much as a glance.

“Still quick enough for you, boy.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I see we have a guest.”

“Remus Lupin, Lord Black. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Remus bowed, his voice drawing Harry’s attention immediately.

“Uncle Moony!” Harry cried, practically launching himself out of his chair and charging full-tilt at his honorary uncle.

“Hello, pup! Haven’t you gotten big, eh?” Remus chuckled, kneeling down just as Harry collided with him. They were quiet for a few moments, and Sirius thought he spotted a small tear running down Lupin’s cheek, but decided to keep quiet. He’d been in pieces for days after seeing Harry.

“A pleasure to meet the infamous Moony of the Marauders. I hear you were the brains behind the operation,” Arcturus smirked.

“Well, I wouldn’t claim as much, but I’m Moony, aye.”

“Ah, and humble as well, I see. I like this one, Sirius. Please, sit and eat – you must be starved.”

Sirius made to sit down, leaving a seat between himself and Harry for Remus. Even Harry sat in his chair again without complaint. Within moments, food was placed before the two of them – a medium rare steak with roasted vegetables and peppercorn sauce for Remus, and roast chicken with vegetables and gravy for himself. The two of them began eating almost immediately, with Harry giggling at the gusto with which they ate.

“Now, Remus, may I call you Remus?” Arcturus began, continuing only once he received the nod from his friend. “What can I do to help you?”

Remus audibly swallowed his food in surprise. Sirius slowed his eating and sat back; his brow furrowed in thought. What did Arcturus want from Remus? His Grandfather, until recently had never really been known for his generosity and offering of favours. Arcturus was known as the fearsome and intimidating Lord Black. You wanted someone’s day, month, year, or even life ruined, you just made sure they crossed Arcturus.

“My Lord?” he asked, his voice impressively even.

“You’re Sirius’ friend, though I understand you had your differences during the war-“

“That’s the same for anyone, grandfather. We suspected everyone,” Sirius interrupted quickly, his voice soft as he stared at his plate morosely. He felt Remus’ hand on his shoulder and the affectionate squeeze that came with it. He turned his head to see the sad smile he was wearing – he hoped his attempt was half as convincing.

“I don’t blame Sirius for suspecting me. Dumbledore had me on the continent reaching out to… specific groups.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at that.

“You mean the werewolf packs, I assume?”

He saw Remus pale frightfully fast. While they had managed to keep it secret for the most part at Hogwarts, it wasn’t so easy to keep it hidden elsewhere. Werewolves were judged and shunned all throughout the magical world for their lycanthropy affliction. Nobody was born with the condition, and nobody really knew where it originated. As such, those afflicted with the curse gained it by having been bitten. Sirius, and by extension, The Marauders, all knew Lupin’s story-- bitten at the age of four by Fenrir Greyback and forced once a month for the rest of his life to become a dangerous animal. It was the whole reason they had all agreed to become Animagi, to keep their friend company during his worst days.

As a result of the social shunning, werewolves were rarely tolerated around other witches and wizards. They were often passed over for jobs and fired immediately once they were discovered. It broke his heart to see his friend suffer through it.

“I-I mean, uh… That is to say,” Remus tried nervously.

“Relax, dear boy – I won’t be throwing you out of my home.”

Arcturus smiled slightly, holding a hand up to relax Remus.

“I merely ask what I can do for you, because you’re family to this young man here,” he added, reaching out a hand to ruffle Harry’s hair. The boy grinned at the mention of his name.

“My Lord,”

“Arcturus, please,” Arcturus interrupted softly.

“Arcturus, you’ve already done more than enough for me by putting food in my belly and allowing me to spend some time with the pup. Anything else would simply be more than I deserve.”

There was silence after that, the clinking of cutlery on plates the only sound in the room besides Harry’s giggles as he leaned into Moony. Throughout it all, Arcturus absently ran the side of his finger back and forth against his chin, seemingly deep in thought. Knowing Arcturus, he was creating plans for his plans – and then some plans just in case.

Once the food was eaten and the plates popped away by the House Elves, Remus picked Harry up carefully and plonked him on his knee, his scarred face lighting up in joy as he looked at the boy.

“You went to Hogwarts, yes?” Arcturus finally asked, his eyes still shrewdly peering at his friend.

“Aye, one of the best in the year – isn’t that right Moony?” Sirius grinned, remembering just which of them it was that was the brains behind all the many, many pranks.

Remus, on the other hand simply blushed and attempted to shrug off the praise.

“Well, I’m sure there were many other smarter students.”

“Nonsense! You set a record for D.A.D.A, and you were the first of us to manage a corporeal Patronus!” he shot back. Remus merely shrugged.

“I find myself in need of a steward and a tutor. I would offer you these positions. We can arrange a generous salary, monthly doses of Wolfsbane, and we’ll construct a bunker for you to spend one night a month in. Not to mention, outside of your usual duties for the House of Black, you would be close to Harry every day,” Arcturus offered suddenly.

Sirius watched as Remus’ jaw dropped open in shock – this was likely the best job offer he’d ever receive, simply because of what he was.

“I… I don’t quite know what to say,” Remus began, his voice shocked.

“Say yes, you fool!” Sirius grinned, reaching over to take Harry from Moony’s now limp arms. He bounced Harry a little.

“What do you say, pup? Would you like Uncle Moony to stay with us?”

“Stay with us Uncle Moony!” Harry cried, clapping his hands together happily.

Remus looked at the two of them for a moment, his eyes growing shiny before he rapidly blinked the oncoming tears away with a light sniff.

“I,” he began, his voice cracking a little. “I would be honoured, Lord Black.”

“Excellent!” Arcturus clapped, a grin on his face as his eyes twinkled happily. “You start tomorrow, and I’ll spend the day explaining your duties to you.”

Harry yawned in his arms and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Welcome to the family, Remus. Let me just put this one to bed, and we’ll celebrate!” Sirius grinned, standing as Harry tucked himself into his shoulder and wrapped his little arms around his neck.

All in all, it had been a bloody brilliant day, he thought.

Chapter 5: Arcturus IV

Chapter Text

The knock on his door momentarily drew Arcturus’ attention away from the piece of parchment he was writing on. For how hidden their world was, being the head of a Noble Family still seemed to warrant a large amount of paperwork. The Ancient and Noble House of Black had investments all over the world in both the muggle and magical markets.

Not so many years ago, before the hunts and the mobs, the two societies had lived in an uneasy peace. Even so, as the years passed on and the Wizarding society withdrew from the world stage, they kept their money circulating in both markets through the Goblin Nation via the various Gringotts branches dotted across the globe. There were none so crafty and savvy with gold as Goblins.

“Enter,” Arcturus called, continuing to scratch his response to Castor Greengrass. There was a business opportunity that had come to his attention that very morning concerning supplies. Greengrass could supply the ingredients, while the House of Black could supply the labour and storage - for a generous share of the profits, of course. The sooner the missive was sent, the quicker he could increase the standing of the Black and Potter families.

The door clicked open, and after a quick glance, he spotted Remus Lupin in the doorway. His suit appeared a little worn and of lower quality, though with the prejudice against his kind, it wasn’t unexpected. Werewolves were unfortunately some of the less looked after citizens of their world. It didn’t escape him that the prejudice was mostly a Ministry stance, rather than a worldview.

Other countries, such as Russia and the United States, actively treated their afflicted as equal citizens. Of course, the bigotry still persisted, as it always would. Unfortunately, the human race was still as moronic as ever.

“Sit, please,” Arcturus said, feeling the corners of his mouth lift slightly. Once the man was seated, there were a few quiet moments as he finished his sentence before he sprinkled a little sand on the page to dry out the ink. Looking up once the page was set aside neatly, he reclined in his chair, one silver brow raised as he took the man in before him properly.

“Do you understand the duties that will be asked of you as a Steward?” he asked after a moment.

“I admit, I find myself in a bit of a quandary, my lord. It was never in any of the texts at Hogwarts, and with the war…”

“Understandable, given everything that’s happened.”

Arcturus nodded to himself as he leant forward in his chair and crossed his arms before him on the desk. His gaze on Remus was intent.

“You will be acting as my right-hand. As such, you will be responsible for managing my estates and household, and in the event that Sirius or I are away, you shall be in charge of anyone and anything in my employ. If I ask it of you, you shall also represent the interests of House Black in any financial or business ventures alongside myself or Sirius. As of this afternoon, you will also have permission to withdraw items and currency from the Black Vaults as needed.”

Remus sat there for a moment, his mouth attempting to work, but no sound came out.

“Do any of these responsibilities fall outside of your teachings at Hogwarts?” he asked after a moment. Remus shook his head slowly.

“Excellent. Now, in addition to these responsibilities, you will also be required to instruct my Ward, Harry James Potter, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, until such as time as he is expected to attend Hogwarts. You are to instruct him in reading, writing, our society, and etiquette. More lessons will be added as required or deemed necessary. You may also hire any experts you may feel are needed to assist you in this.”

“When would you want these lessons to begin?” Remus asked, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Not for another month or so. I want to give you time to settle in and develop a lesson structure for me to look over.”

“Very well, that seems reasonable,” Remus smiled. From what Sirius had told him over the years, Remus had always aspired to be a teacher – it seemed only right that he be given this opportunity.

“Now, your salary,” Arcturus began, leaning forward and retrieving a Gringott’s Writ from a draw.

Writs were essentially pieces of parchment that Witch or Wizard could take to a bank. As long as the signatures were approved, they would be given the amount of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts described. Apparently, it was an idea the Goblins had gotten from the Muggles.

“How does a monthly salary of five-hundred galleons a month sound? This doesn’t include the extra stipend for clothes… and your Wolfsbane, of course.”

“My Lord… That is too much, surely,” Remus began, sitting up in alarm.

“Nonsense, Remus. You’re the Steward of House Black – we shall pay you accordingly!”

“But, most families can get by on that much for six months!”

“Most families aren’t serving House Black, Remus,” he reminded him gently, waving a hand dismissively at his concerns. He carried on as he wrote the amount and signed the parchment.

“Besides, I’m asking more of you than most Stewards are ever asked for. You will be managing the estates, providing financial and business advice, and also tutoring a child. This is the least I can offer,” Arcturus responded, already writing down the amount and signing the parchment.

Remus slumped in his chair, running a tired hand down his face before nodding slowly. “If it pleases you, my lord.”

“Excellent!” he replied, rolling the parchment up before melting a bit of wax and affixing it with his seal. “Now, your quarters. Traditionally, a Steward would be housed separately from the family, but I think placing you near Harry would be for the best – the room opposite, do you think?”

The family wing of the house was a long corridor just around the corner from the study he was in currently. It had the capacity to house six family members in large, spacious rooms. Arcturus himself held the Master bedroom – situated at the far end. Sirius held the next largest – to the right of his room, as was befitting the heir. Next to Sirius’ was Harry’s, and opposite his would be Lupin’s. In the history of his house, there had never been a Steward housed with the family.

“Thank you, Lord Black. Truly.”

“Nonsense, Lupin; the lad considers you an uncle. As far as this family is concerned, you’re his family. Perhaps one day, you’ll be his Steward, hm?” Arcturus smirked.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Remus chuckled, “I’d be an old dog by then, I’m sure.”

“Well, don’t count it out just yet, lad. Now, lets get the oath out of the way and we can continue discussing a few things.”

He grunted as he stood, his muscles tense after poring over the papers. He had been at it for a number of hours and had enjoyed the sun rising on his back. While it was still early in the morning, he found that as he got older, he required less sleep. Perhaps it was his age, or simply the ghosts of his past not letting him get a full night anymore. Either way, it gave him more time to focus on the family, and the legacy he would leave Sirius and Harry – there was always work to be done.

“I, Arcturus Black ask you to pledge your loyalty to House Black, to serve as our Steward, and to come to our aid whenever called upon.”

Remus stood also, before getting down on bent knee, his head bowed.

“I, Remus Lupin, do so swear to serve the House of Black faithfully and to offer my wand in times of conflict.”

“Stand,” Arcturus instructed, watching as Remus stood. “Welcome to the family, Remus.”

He offered his hand and grinned as Remus clasped it firmly. He gestured to the seat opposite his own once more.

“Now, onto the secrets of my house. Would you like a drink at all? I feel we may remain here for some time.”

Remus inclined his head slightly. “I wouldn’t mind some tea, Lord Black.”

“Please, as long as we have no guests, it’s Arcturus. Woopy!” he called, smiling softly at the Elf who appeared beside him. Woopy wore the pristine black uniform, the sigil of the family proudly displayed on the front and back of the tunic.

“Master Arctury calls for Woopy, sir? How may Woopy serve?”

“Some tea for Remus and me, please. Thank you, Woopy.”

“Woopy glad to serve, Master Arctury, sir.”

With that, the Elf bowed and with a snap of his fingers and a little pop of air, the creature was gone. Moments later, he returned with a tray of two fine-china cups, some cream, sugar, and a pot of tea.

“That will be all, Woopy,” Arcturus said, moving to serve the tea himself. Woopy bowed and was gone again in an instant. “How do you like yours?”

“Cream and two sugars, please,” Remus smiled, muttering a quick thanks once the tea was handed to him. Arcturus himself preferred it black with a single teaspoon of sugar.

“Now,” Arcturus began after a sip. “We have a number of things to cover. Where would you like to begin? The estate, our businesses, our politics, or the tyke? I understand all of this has been rather sudden.”

“I suppose the estate would be the best place to start as that will be my primary focus, correct?”

“Right you are. Very well. House Black owns a number of estates across many countries. Some are rented, while others are left empty for family use. For example, while we’re in the ancestral home at the moment, Sirius grew up in London at twelve Grimmauld Place. It will be your duty to routinely check on these properties to make sure nothing untoward is going on. If you find anything that requires fixing, make a note of it and simply let me know.”

Remus nodded, setting his own cup in his lap as he crossed his legs. “That seems fairly straightforward.”

“Indeed. It will be one of the easier tasks you’ll have. We’ll schedule regular visits once a year, I believe. This will include our foreign properties as well. Portkeys will be provided for you, of course. Any questions so far?”

Remus shook his head, a gentle smile on his face.

“Very well. As for your duties here, you shall essentially make sure there is food in the house and that the House Elves are happy and provided for. When we have guests, you will assign rooms and will be the first point of contact for them. We also need to go over any specifics for your shelter during transformations. We could have it underground and hidden, or simply disillusioned. Which would you prefer?”

“I would rather it be underground, if that’s at all possible. Sound-proofed as well – I wouldn’t want to give Harry any nightmares.”

“All easily done. Now, in this house there are six Elves. Get to know them and understand them. Milpy is our Head Elf, Woopy is our cook, Lispy is Harry’s Nanny, and Goldey is our gardener. Kreacher and Deeny fill in where needed and have no specific role. Milpy is excellent at managing them all, so most of your contact will be with her, though feel free to call any as needed.”

Remus nodded as Arcturus handed him a piece of parchment with the information on that he’d taken the time to note down earlier.

“Now, our businesses. We have investments throughout the muggle and magical world. For the most part they go through me or Sirius. We also have a number of philanthropic ventures as well, such as donating money towards Hogwarts, Ilvermorny, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Castelobruxo, to name a few. We deal in wand materials, potions and alchemy ingredients, property, and metals.

“If I require it of you, you’ll join me at meetings, or represent the family with Gringotts. If you face any issues, or don’t understand a particular subject, simply inform me and we’ll work through it together. In time, I expect you’ll also be able to ask Sirius as I teach him. Though I think it rare you’ll need to worry about this part of your duties,” Arcturus smiled. “Any questions?”

“How much of your capital is invested in our world in comparison to the muggle world?” Remus asked, stroking his chin with a finger thoughtfully.

“Interesting you should ask. It’s mostly in the magical world, though about 37% of our income is generated in the muggle markets.”

Arcturus nodded to himself as he reclined in his chair, the leather creaking. He placed his hands on the arm of the chair and crossed his legs.

“We also own a number of shops in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Cardiff’s Bazaar, a few properties in Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow and other communities in the country. These are fairly self-sufficient, however,” he shrugged.

“Very well. I was just curious.”

“Now, the last two items we should discuss for now are based on the same thing-- Harry. You may have heard when you met Sirius yesterday, but House Black has sworn fealty to House Potter in perpetuity. Our wands and politics are now his. Our stance is that we shall be his most loyal supporters. We shall be the first to offer our wands in conflict, and the first to back him in the Wizengamot.”

Remus sat there for a time, simply staring with a look of absolute shock on his face. “You swore fealty?”

Arcturus nodded solemnly, “We did. There were a number of reasons for it, but it made sense, to be succinct. After all, we are raising the lad. Any of his own vassals would use the opportunity to advance themselves. After the war…” Arcturus trailed off, sighing heavily.

“I was ill for a number of years, Remus. In my illness, my family tore itself apart and swore allegiance to the Dark Lord. If I had been healthier-- younger, perhaps-- it may not have happened. As it was, Orion courted Walburga without my permission or consent. Before I knew what had happened, they were wed and Walburga was pregnant with Sirius,” he paused before confessing, “I am trying to correct my mistakes, Remus.”

Silence engulfed the room. The chirping of birds in the distance seemed to reverberate in the room.

Remus seemed to be allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. If it had been the Steward his father had employed, Arcturus may have suspected he’d use his words against him later on. As it was, from what Sirius had told him over the years, and from what he’d seen of the man last night, Arcturus had no such suspicions about Lupin.

“Harry is the key to everything I hope for this family. He’s a kind, gentle boy – but he has such power, Remus. This is why he needs to begin his lessons soon. Not so long ago, Harry summoned his toys to his hand - wandlessly and silently. I’ve never heard or seen such a thing in one so young.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t Sirius playing a prank?” Remus asked, leaning forwards in his chair now, his cup placed back on the silver tray between them.

“He was busy levitating something else,” Arcturus replied, shaking his head slowly. “It was pure, directed intent.”

“But how-“ Remus muttered, his brows furrowing.

“We shall take a trip in a few years, when he’s older. We’ll be going home for the first time in years. You may choose to join us, or you can remain here – the decision will be yours. But we shall take him before the Council and see what they think of him.”

“Home? You don’t mean the myths are true, surely!”

“All myths have a grain of truth in them. During this time, we shall take him to the Potter seat in Wales for him to claim his birthright.”

Remus slumped back in his chair, his fingers rubbing at his temples in slow circles as he blew out a sigh. “Why? Why and how are you taking him there?” he asked after a moment.

“Why? We need to understand what he’s capable of and teach him accordingly. As for the how? Well, there are some secrets that not even you may know. Nevertheless, we have the means and the ability to travel there.”

“Is there anything else I thought to be myth or legend that I should know about?” Remus asked after a moment.

“Not off the top of my head,” Arcturus chuckled. “Families as old as the Blacks have many secrets, Remus. Just know that there are a great many things about our world you’ve yet to learn. However, we’ve gotten away from the topic at hand. Once we know how we can provide for him, he needs to learn control – I’ll not have any accidental magic in this house if we can help it.”

“That makes the most sense, I suppose. I’ll teach him some simple breathing exercises to begin with, starting tomorrow.”

“Excellent! I’m in the process of arranging a playdate for Harry with Neville and Augusta Longbottom. I should be expecting a reply in a day or two. I want you to supervise this, as I’ll need Sirius. I want to propose a business deal with Castor Greengrass and begin making headway into a possible alliance sometime in the future. I hear he has a daughter of Harry’s age.”

“You mean for a betrothal?” Remus gasped. Arcturus chuckled.

“No, nothing like that. Harry needs friends. Not three grown men. I wouldn’t want him to go to Hogwarts when he’s eleven and not know anyone. When he comes of age, he’ll have the full weight of every alliance I can make behind him – he needs allies, and more importantly, friends to keep him grounded.”

Remus nodded at that. “Very well. Is there anything that needs my attention today?”

“Not today, no. However, go to Twilfitt and Tatting’s and tell them I sent you. Get yourself plenty of clothes and tell them to forward me the bill. We need to get you dressed for your position – you’re a member of House Black now, son,” Arcturus chuckled, watching as Remus nodded and excused himself from the room.

Just as Remus placed his hand on the handle of the door, the man paused and turned to look at Arcturus, a small smile on his lips.

“Lord Black – Arcturus… Thank you for the chance to watch Harry grow and be a part of his life. It means more to me than you could ever imagine.”

“The honour is mine, Remus. Welcome to the family,” he nodded, allowing his lips to lift just enough as he nodded. Remus bowed momentarily before he stepped out of the room.

“Kreacher, please inform Sirius and Remus that I’ll be out for a few hours. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner,” Arcturus called as he shrugged on his fur-lined cloak and attached the clasps to the leather armour he had donned.

He wasn’t planning to need the armour, but since the dissolution of their previous alliances, as well as their newfound allies, he thought it prudent to be prepared – it had actually been one of Sirius’ more reasonable ideas.

The armour, while plain and unassuming, was actually covered in protective enchantments. If he was caught unaware, the armour would give him a moment or two to either retaliate, get cover to escape – all things that were unlikely if he weren’t wearing it.

There were other items of protection he was wearing as well, such as the steel gorget embellished with his house sigil in fine detail, dragonhide knee-high boots, light mithril chainmail under the armour, and a pair of steel-plated leather arm-guards – the one on his right arm also containing his Blackthorn wand. Of course, he wasn’t only armed with his wand – he also had a pair of silver daggers, one on his belt next to a finely forged Goblin dagger, and another silver blade in his left boot.

Far too many wizards and witches throughout history, even in today’s uncertain times, had been killed or fallen prey to their enemies by being un-prepared. It was now an unspoken rule for the House of Black to wear armour and be sufficiently armed when venturing into public. Even Remus and Harry would have to adopt this approach.

“Yes, Master Arcturus,” Kreacher replied, bowing so low that his large hooked nose was practically skimming the floor.

With his preparations sufficiently complete, Arcturus nodded to himself and blew out a breath. He could feel his hair tickling the tops of his shoulders where the few loose strands had managed to slip between his armour and clothes. His hair was in its usual efficient style, the sides and top pulled back and tied into a knot at the back of his head, while the rest of it fell neatly. It was a common enough style throughout the wizarding world, particularly in the older families, as it was a reminder of their origins. Just because he was admittedly dressed for war didn’t mean that he couldn’t be presentable.

With a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fireplace and called, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

In seconds, he was walking out of the fireplace and into the dingy and dark room that was the Leaky Cauldon’s main space. Tables and chairs were full of patrons – some in their regular robes, be they leather, cloth or something else entirely. Was that steel plate armour he could see in the back? Interesting. It also seemed a number of Aurors were in attendance, chatting and eating in small groups – no doubt eating their lunch, or trying to squeeze in some mead or butterbeer on a short break.

As he finished sweeping his eyes across the room and dusted off a slight amount of ash from his clothing, it seemed someone had noticed his presence.

“M’lord Black! An honour to meet you, M’lord!” a pimple covered man called as he shot to his feet. He had to forcibly keep his face neutral as the overwhelming smell of body odour, rotting teeth, and alcohol wafted up his nose. It was terribly hard. He wanted to do nothing but grimace at the scent. As soon as his name was called, however, the entire room stood and bowed to a chorus of “M’lord!”. He fought the urge to sigh.

“Good day. Please, enjoy your food and drink – I’m just passing through. Tom!” he called to the well-known barkeep.

“M’lord?” the toothless, ancient man asked, nervously passing a cloth from one hand to the other from his position behind the bar.

“A drink for every patron in here – my way of apologising for disturbing their day. Send me the invoice this evening!”

A chorus of cheers, clapping and stomping followed him out the back of the building as he approached Diagon Alley, the largest of all the wizarding shopping districts in the United Kingdom. Most cities had a shopping district of some kind, though if you were to compare them to Diagon Alley, it would be like comparing the muggle Champs-Élysées in Paris to a regular muggle High Street, or whatever it was they called them. However, he had no intention of going into Diagon-proper.

One of his many, many informants throughout the wizarding world had just this morning informed him of a plot he was most unhappy to hear of. He could have apparated from his study; however, he didn’t want to startle the young boy before he went for his playdate with the Longbottom boy. He was pleased with how quickly Augusta had gotten back to him in regards to that – the letter had arrived the day after his conversation with Remus and had been the first official missive the young man had passed to him in his duties as Steward. The no-nonsense woman had given today, her approval for a number of hours in the afternoon. Hopefully, tonight at dinner, Harry would share news of his first friend.

With a flick of his wrist, his Blackthorn and Thunderbird Tail Feather wand slapped into his awaiting palm. He smiled at the weapon in his hand slightly, for that was exactly what the item in his hand was – a weapon. He had been surprised on his eleventh birthday when his father had taken him to Ollivanders. When told the make-up of the wand that had chosen him, he’d spent the next fortnight researching all he could on the properties of it. The Blackthorn wood was most associated with warrior-wizards, or Battlemages, as they were most often referred to in the many, many texts society had published over the years. While he had never fought in the Blood War, as he’d been confined to a bed for years, he had fought in the Global Wizarding War on a number of battlefields as a young man. He had seen it as his duty to protect their way of life, and had fought here in Britain, France, Romania, and even in Germany alongside Albus Dumbledore. He had even witnessed the clash between Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald in 1945.

What a sight that had been – two of the greatest sorcerers clashing in an all-out duel to decide the fate of their world. The screams of cries of that particular battlefield had remained with him for years. The ground had been soaked with blood and entrails. Curses had outright blasted the earth into a disgusting, pock-marked mess while spells flew every which way. Bodies had lain there, either still and un-moving, or in pieces all around. There had been so many that had taken part in that battle – everyone knew it was the battle to decide the fate of the war, and not a single person had held back.

Bombardas, Diffindos, Reductos, and countless other curses had thrown the world into chaos around him. He had just blasted a blonde witch’s head from her shoulders – he could even recall her garish pink trench coat – when the cheering had begun. The battlefield had come to complete halt, everyone turning to watch Dumbledore and Grindelwald battle. The spells he’d born witness to still amazed him to this day, though he had no intention of attempting to repeat any – they were far too much for even his own impressive power.

Then, just as soon as it had begun, it was over. In the years that followed, the Acolytes--Grindelwald’s followers-- had been hunted down wherever they were found. Many were rumoured to have been The Dark Lord’s initial followers once he had begun his own rise to power.

With a quick, encompassing swish of his wand, Arcturus cast a quick and temporary Silencio before putting his wand away. A booming Crack later, he found himself stood in Godric’s Hollow in the village centre.

Godric’s Hollow was one of the smaller wizarding communities in the west country of England, named for one of the founders of Hogwarts- Godric Gryffindor. Even hundreds of years later, the village remained just that – a village. It was quaint and unassuming, never growing any more than a mile or two in diameter. Throughout history, some of the most noteworthy men and women had been born and raised here- Albus Dumbledore, Godric Gryffindor, and most recently, Harry James Potter. Ignotus Peverell was buried here – one of the Brothers Three.

It was for that very reason that he was here.

The village looked breath-taking in the middle of June, the warm summer sun and a comfortable, gentle breeze gently nudging his cloak. The flowers were in full bloom and the cobblestone paths appeared new. All about, there were couples moving this way and that, either hand-in-hand or comfortably at one-another’s side.

There were also children of all ages. He hadn’t heard so many children laughing and playing in such a long time. Nobody would think a war had been ended here only months before. He smiled as he saw a group of boys no older than fourteen charging down a street towards him after a little golden snitch that bobbed and weaved in the air.

Paying them no mind as he stepped from their path, he looked around for a moment. He hadn’t been to the Hollow in many years and for a moment was confused. It took only a few seconds, but once he had righted himself, he was off.

Men and women looked at him curiously – the entire village was a magical community, many of which were from old families, though none resided here from the Noble families off the top of his head. It was all Peverell land – a long dead family, whom the Goblins refused to announce the successors to. There was a long-standing argument between the Goblin Nation and the Ministry of Magic to declare the Peverell successor so that the land and families could be divided up within the Wizengamot. According the Goblins, a successor family had been declared and a contract prevented them from announcing it, though they had announced that the family was active within the Wizengamot. Whoever it was, the family seemed determined to keep it to themselves for the time being. In either case, the Ministry contested it at least once a decade, but it meant little to himself. The Blacks didn’t own it, and no Black had ever married into the Peverell family to his knowledge, which was extensive.

Despite the stares and curious whispers of a wizard in full armour, he remained unbothered by the locals as he made his way through the village. All around, houses had ivy climbing the cottages, small businesses had their wares proudly on display, and potted plants sat in windows offering as much colour as they could.

He heard the sound before he saw what he was looking for. Coming out of a small street, he stopped and stared at a mixture of Dwarves and humans in practical clothing, all hefting tools of some sort as they bustled back and forth in front of the blasted remains of a cottage.

He approached the group with his magic rolling off of him in waves. Furious didn’t even begin to cover how he felt.

The wizards must have sensed him, as each one stopped what they were doing and turned in his direction. Some panicked and reached for their wands, holding them in trembling fingers, while the Dwarves looked on in confused silence, their own tools held casually in their hands.

“Bloody ‘ell Mick, that’s wizard armour!” one of the men called, nervously casting a glance at the man – Mick – next to him.

“Shut up!” Mick snapped, a clipboard tucked under one arm and a wand that was nervously shaking in the other. “State your business, stranger!” he called out to Arcturus as his voice cracked.

“Which one of you is in charge here?” Arcturus snapped, his magic begging him to release it.

“I am, but what’s it to you?” a large, rotund man announced, pushing to the front as a Dwarf followed him in his wake.

“It is my business because I asked. Now, just what do you think you’re doing to that cottage?” he growled dangerously, barely restraining the magic that threatened to slip out from his fingers.

“Ministry business,” was the gruff, uninterested response.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, nor do I care. Leave before I call the Aurors, you up-jumped sh*t.”

As the man turned to walk away, Arcturus stepped into his face, his wand out and held to the man’s quivering jowls. The amount the point sank into the loose, dangly, and sweaty flesh almost caused him to gag. The man was almost wider than he was tall.

“Boss, that’s Lord Black you just insulted!” a new voice called – it seemed someone had recognised his sigil. The mound of flesh in front of him paled considerably.

“Ah, erm, well, m’lord, I– “ he attempted, visibly sweating.

“You shall halt all work on this building now,” he called out, loud enough for all around him to hear.

Immediately, tools were dropped, and wands were put away. Drawing a wand on a member of a Noble family had a heavy punishment for any found guilty. Punishments ranged from hefty fines to Azkaban, if the noble was particularly vicious. Nobody wanted to go to Azkaban.

Choruses of “Yes M’lord!” rang out across the street. The Dwarves were the first to lay down their tools, seemingly already aware of just who he was. It was no surprise that they hadn’t said anything – any opportunity to stick it to Ministry employees was practically part of the species culture at this point.

“Show me what you’ve done. Now,” Arcturus demanded, shoving the disgusting man away from him, and pointing to the head Dwarf.

“Yes, Lord Black. If you’ll follow me,” the Dwarf answered, bowing at the waist. All around, the Dwarves received scowls and angered stares. Choosing a creature over a fellow witch or wizard was considered an insult. Good. It was intended to be one.

The Dwarf, who didn’t provide a name, gestured for him to follow. They stood outside of a blasted cottage, where half the roof was missing and whatever remained was charred black. The stench of black magic permeated the air so much that he could taste it on his tongue.

The door was blasted off of its hinges, laying in three separate pieces along the hallway. From his position directly through the doorway, he could see into the lounge, where it appeared a small battle had taken place. The coffee table was on its side with a dozen scorch marks and chunks of varnished oak missing. Small groupings of dark, dried blood stained an otherwise pale green carpet just behind it, though more appeared on the sofa just beyond the makeshift cover.

He knew then that this was where James Charlus Potter died.

He ignored the Dwarf and stepped into the room, allowing his imagination to run wild with the possibilities of the boy’s final moments. Turning his head over his shoulder, he could see a number of similar scorch marks and various amounts of damage to the doorway. At least James had put up a fight.

He stepped toward the small table, barely large enough for someone to hide behind and touched it gently.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off– “

Arcturus gasped and stumbled away from the table. An echo had remained. He couldn’t witness the final moments, of course, but he could hear them. The shock of it settled over him for a moment.

It wasn’t common knowledge, though it had happened a number of times throughout history – Magicals, for it didn’t matter their species or gender, could sometimes leave a trace of a thought or feeling at the sight of their death. It took extreme emotions and a lot of power to do so, and was often done accidentally – just as James Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, had done.

Finally recovering from the onslaught of emotions that took over him, he stepped towards the table once again before taking a knee and placing his hand firmly on the wood this time. He closed his eyes, focusing his magic on the wood and released it.

In his mind’s eye, he was in the room, standing over James as he took cover. On the far side of the room was the dark hooded cloak and glowing red eyes of Voldemort. The creature, for that was what he had become, hissed spell after spell at Potter, almost playing with him.

James lay on the floor between the table legs, his wand firmly clenched in his grasp. His wild hair was matted with blood from half a dozen cuts, and his glasses were skewed. He was also clutching his side.

“For Harry…” James whispered to himself, “For Harry.”

James jumped, his wand flicking this way and that as he sent curse after curse in a steady stream of attacks at his opponent, eventually getting a grunt of pain from the Dark Lord himself. It appeared things may have been turning in his favour, until Arcturus spotted something from the corner of his eye.

From the shadows of the bay window, he watched a common garden rat transform into a stunted, pox-ridden wizard. Peter Pettigrew! It seemed James had also spotted the transformation, though was far more stunned than Arcturus.

“Wormt–” James began, the words frozen on his lips as the burst of green light from Peter’s wand struck him in the chest. The impact threw him back against the far wall, only to fall in a heap on the sofa, his eyes empty and unfocused.

Arcturus was back to himself with a jolt. While he had never doubted Sirius, it was good to know that it had indeed been Pettigrew.

With a deep, shaky breath, Arcturus stood and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. James had been a fine lad and would have been a good father. It was a shame that he had fallen to betrayal – the world was lesser for it. With a final nod to the room, Arcturus turned on his heel and made his way to the stairs.

“My Lord, the upper floor isn’t secure!” the Dwarf called after him. He ignored him.

The upstairs was in even more a state than the lounge. It appeared as if a tornado had gone through the place indiscriminately. He stepped over mounds of rubble, edged around holes in the floor that allowed him glimpses of the floor below him, and ducked under the large, heavy wooden beams.

The room at the end of the corridor was in the worst state, though the décor hinted at it once being a nursery. He knew most, if not all, of Harry’s belongings had been removed from the room and now resided in his room at Blackwall, but to see the remains of the room was something else entirely.

How long had the child been here on his own before he had been retrieved? How long had he sat in his crib, and wept for the mother who lay still, unmoving, and lifeless at his feet? He shuddered involuntarily.

He ducked under a half-fallen doorway and gazed in horror at the room. It appeared as if a gentle breeze would collapse it all in moments. The taste of the black magic was the most potent here – it overwhelmed his tongue, mind, and soul. There was also a sense of… pain, anguish… loss? It felt far too different for it to have been Harry’s fledgling emotions, and neither was it dark enough to be Voldemort or maternal enough to be Lily’s. Strange.

The room was free of any blood as far as he could tell, for which he was thankful. He thought for a moment about attempting the same feat of magic as he had in the lounge but thought better of it. While he was interested in what happened to the Dark Lord, he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing a wand levelled at the boy and the killing curse hitting him.

He knelt among the wreckage for a moment, dusting aside small chunks of wood and brick as his knee sank into the same pale green carpet that he’d seen downstairs. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, feeling the enormity of being in this place. The deaths of the Potters would haunt this village for a long time.

After a few quiet moments of contemplation, he sent a quick prayer to Tora and Emis, the Goddess of Life and the God of Death, for the souls of James and Lily Potter before standing up and leaving.

Once he was back down the stairs, and before the assembled workers he’d been looking for, he levelled a steely gaze at each and every last one of them.

“You will explain what you were doing here, and you will explain it now,” he growled dangerously.

“M’lord, we were o-ordered to convert the c-cottage into a memorial by Minister B-Bagnold. The land’s been claimed by the M-Ministry,” a nervous, middle-aged wizard called as he twisted his cap between his hands nervously.

“Consider your orders rescinded. This dwelling belongs to House Potter, and the House of Black will defend our Lord’s lands with force if need be. Now, leave.”

“Yes, M’lord,” was echoed here and there among the small crowd. The Dwarves merely nodded and shrugged before moving to pack up their tools and supplies.

He stood there, watching until the last of the workers departed one way or another, before stepping into the middle of the street and Disapparating away with a crack that shook the nearby windows.

When he arrived at the entrance to the Ministry on Diagon Alley, the shocked looks on those around him barely registered. It was no surprise that the two red-robed Aurors levelled their wands at him.

“Announce yourself!” one of them commanded, the tip of his wand held steadily at the centre of his chest. All around him, people scrambled out of the way. Perhaps wearing his armour wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all.

“Lord Arcturus Black. I require an audience with Minister Millicent Bagnold immediately,” Arcturus replied, holding his hands out to his side to allay their – justified – fears.

“Do you have any proof that you are Lord Arcturus Black?” the second Auror demanded, a step further away from her partner so she could cover both with her wand.

“Do you think anyone would have the audacity to wear my House sigil that wasn’t a Black?” He asked, tapping the silver serpent that adorned the gorget about his neck. The first Auror nodded quickly, bowing politely, speaking before their partner could say something even more stupid.

“Very well, Lord Black. If you’ll make your way inside, someone will be available to see to your needs,” the first of the Aurors said, bowing as they both holstered their wands.

A voice in the crowd behind him called out, “Why does he get to skip the queue? We’ve been waiting for hours!”

“Shut up, you idiot! That’s Lord Arcturus Black!” another voice hissed. “Not even You-Know-Who dared to approach him!”

That wasn’t entirely accurate.

Representatives of the Dark Lord had approached him many times over the years – some when he was ill, others when he was healthy. In the early years of the Dark Lord’s rise, there had been a number that had outright begged him to put his family behind their Lord, but he refused each and every one. The House of Black would not betray the ideals it was built upon for some up-jumped sh*t – not while he was the head of the family.

Unfortunately, it was during one of his long, protracted illnesses when he had heard of the news of his family’s betrayal. Individual members of his family pledging support to this Lord of theirs, taking his brand on their arms proudly. If only he had been younger and healthier…

Ignoring the voices around him, he stepped forward through the entrance into the Ministry and briefly cast his eyes about the dark tiled floor and ceiling with its many arches and marble pillars. Across every surface, there was a gold trim. The trim was garish to the eye, but meant to impress the visitor with the greatness and the wealth of the Ministry of Magic. No wonder he got letters once a year asking for a loan from them.

As he walked along the long entrance corridor, he saw the occasional burst of green flames from the huge Floos that lined the entire corridor. After each burst, a wizard or witch would emerge, striding off to whatever task they needed to complete. Snapping his eyes to the front once again, he caught sight of the monstrosity which took up the centre of the atrium.

There, in marble and gold, was the infamous Fountain of Magical Brethren. Gold statues depicted a wizard with his wand pointed in the air, a witch, a Centaur, a Goblin and a House Elf. It never failed to escape his notice that the wizard and witch were elevated above the other races, as if they were better. He’d met plenty of Centaurs, Goblins, Dwarves, and House Elves that were far more pleasant and better educated than scores of witches and wizards.

As he walked past it, he purposefully tore his eyes from it and walked to the desk at the front.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, how can I help you today?” a young witch asked, her voice pleasant but bored. As his eyes darted about her face, he would have to guess she had recently graduated from Hogwarts.

“Lord Arcturus Black here to speak to Minister Bagnold. Immediately,” he replied, ignoring the fact all work around him suddenly stopped.

Apparently, it seemed he had a bit of a reputation.

“C-certainly, Lord Black. If you could just take a seat for a moment while I let the Minister know?” she asked hopefully, wincing when he rose an eyebrow at her. He made her sweat for a moment before nodding sharply and took a seat nearby.

It was five minutes later, in which he’d spent a fair chunk of that time simply watching the people around him, when he heard his name called.

“Lord Black? The Minister will see you now. I just have to ask for your wand – for security, of course.”

He turned his head to see a young man in a sharply tailored suit looking at him with his hand outstretched, waiting for his wand. His face appeared as if it had been pinched at birth, with a large forehead and hair so slicked, Arcturus was shocked it wasn’t sliding off of his head.

“Your name, lad?” Arcturus asked as he stood up. He noticed he was taller than the boy by half a head.

“Augustus Ironbark, of House Ironbark, My Lord. Personal Secretary to Minister Bagnold,” Augustus replied, smiling at his own self-importance.

“Ironbark… Sworn to House Crouch if I’m not mistaken?” Arcturus asked, his hands clasped together before him casually.

“Yes, Lord Black.”

“Excellent. Now, if I hear another word from you, I expect your head would look fantastic on a pike in front of Blackwall Manor. Do not presume to demand my wand from me, boy. Remove yourself from my presence immediately and tell your Lord that his slight against my house hasn’t been forgotten.”

The boy stood there for a moment, paling as Arcturus’ words sunk in. Each word cut deeper and deeper in its delivery. Indeed, there would be a reckoning for House Crouch, and if this up-jumped quill-pusher thought he could demand his wand? Well, he’d see about that.

He pushed past the child and marched to the elevator that would take him directly to the Minister. Once inside the golden cage, he grunted out his destination and arrived moments later.

The corridor was short, but lavishly furnished in portraits of previous ministers, all of them watching him carefully as he marched past them.

With a flick of his hand, the large double oak-doors to Bagnold’s office flew open, banging on the interior walls and bouncing back slightly. The woman in question jumped in shock, her eyes wide and a quill flying out of her hand. She knocked over no less than three bottles of ink.

“You dare confiscate land not rightfully yours?” he roared. The Minister wasn’t the only one whose office was up here. The more witnesses the better.

“Arcturus, what is the blo–“ she began, attempting to scowl as she sat down in her chair once more. Her beady black eyes narrowing.

“Silence!” he roared, slamming his hands down on her desk as he leaned into her. “You thought to appropriate land that belonged to the Potters. Why?”

“I– “ she began, visibly taken aback. “That– “

“Answer me!”

There was a moment of silence before he could hear the shuffling of feet as people peered out of their office doors to see what the commotion was.

“Potter Cottage was to be renovated into a tourist site to celebrate the death of You-Know-Who.”

“Are you sure you’re a woman, Millicent? You’ve got some balls to presume to have that kind of authority. Don’t even get me started on the fact you’re forgetting it’s the site where the heir to House Potter’s parents were murdered!”

“How dare– “

“How dare I? Do not forget just who and what you answer to, Minister. You are in that seat because you are allowed to be. And do not forget just who and what I am,” he hissed in return.

Millicent paled considerably.

“I was voted– “

“And how long will those votes remain once your public discovers that you attempted to merchandise my Liege Lord’s tragedy? Do you suppose they’d side with you, or the vanquisher of Voldemort?”

“Do not speak his name!” Bagnold snapped, her eyes darting about the room – looking for some Death Eater to appear out of thin air, no doubt.

“If you ever attempt to claim what isn’t yours again, the power I’ll bring to bear on you will make Voldemort look like a friendly first-year duel. That goes for anyone listening,” he announced, turning to look venomously down the corridor from which he had come. “Lord Potter may not be able to protect his lands at this moment, but let me promise you – House Black can.”

“Are you threatening me, Arcturus?” Millicent hissed.

“No, Minister. I’m simply delivering a warning to you. Believe me, you’ll know if I threaten you. I’ll raze this entire magic-forsaken country before I let anything happen to Harry or his lands.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Millicent gasped.

“Would you like to ask your superiors if I’d be out of line, Millicent? I promise you; you wouldn’t like the answer they give you. Now, you will order your people to leave anything signed to the Potters alone. You will also forget about attempting to merchandise anything to do with Harry and Voldemort. Am I understood?”

There was a tense silence as the two scowled at one another.

“Very well, Lord Black. It shall be done immediately. Now, if you’d kindly piss off,” Bagnold muttered. No doubt she had a lot of posturing and such to get on with in front of her staff in the foreseeable future.

“I’ll be watching your career from here on, Millicent. You can be sure of that,” Arcturus growled before sweeping out of the office.

Chapter 6: Harry I

Chapter Text

The room before him was dark, hidden away from the rest of the house in its little corner, buried beneath stone and mortar. Despite the feeling of no one having passed through the heavy oak doorway in many years, the room appeared fresh and clean – nowhere he looked showed evidence of the passage of time. Indeed, even the stonework in the walls appeared newer than the rest of the house he had grown up in. Was it some kind of spell he had never heard of?

He felt Sirius gently place his hand on his left shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. Even through the leather armour and the heavy wolfskin cloak, he could feel the strength of his godfather’s fingers and the subtle back and forth of his thumb.

Arcturus passed him on his right as he stepped up to the large floor-to-ceiling mirror before them. The mirror was wide enough for perhaps two people to stand next to one-another, but the surface was so black and dull that it seemed a singularly pointless endeavour.

Like himself, both Sirius and Arcturus were in their armour, all three similar in its design, save for one small detail. While the gorgets of both Sirius’s and Arcturus’s had the snake of House Black, his own was adorned with the prowling wolf of House Potter.

As Arcturus approached the mirror, Remus closed the door behind them. He briefly turned his head over his shoulder to look back at the man. He grinned at the werewolf as he tucked his dark hair behind an ear.

Turning back to Arcturus, he was just in time to see the aged wizard place a hand on the oily looking stone before the glass came alive in a rainbow of colours. The room lit with reflection as the colours danced across one another like the waves of the ocean, always mixing and changing. Merlin, he loved magic.

Arcturus turned from the mirror and grinned. What did it do? Why was it so hidden within the house? Not even all of his and Neville’s exploring over the years had revealed this room to them – not even when they’d talked Daphne into helping them.

He had grown up surrounded by magic. His grandfather was one of the more powerful wizards in the country. Yet he still struggled to grasp what was before him.

“What does it do?” he breathed; his eyes wide as they took in the sight before him. Sirius chuckled as he stepped forward a little, his hand still on his shoulder.

“This, Harry, is how we go home,” the older man replied, his armour creaking ever so slightly as he knelt before him. “We have a little business to do when we get there, so I need you to stay close to me. Can you do that?”

Harry nodded mutely, eyes never leaving the mirror. “How?” he croaked, lifting a weak arm to point absently at the artifact.

“Oh, that’s easy – you walk through it, of course,” Sirius chuckled.

Remus snorted behind him. Ah yes, easy.

For the first time, Harry tore his eyes from the mirror… door… thing and narrowed his eyes at the man who had raised him. “Why do I not trust you?”

Sirius rocked back on his heels as if he had been physically struck, a hand clutching at his breast and his jaw hanging open. “You don’t trust me? Why Harry, that’s positively Marauder of you!”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Arcturus called across the room, gesturing to the mirror. “Sirius, you’re first.”

Sirius winked at Harry before he stood and marched his way over to the mirror. He expected to hear a dull thud and the crack of Sirius’ nose breaking. Instead, without breaking his stride, the man continued through the surface of the mirror as if it wasn’t even there to begin with. A blink later, and the wave-like surface had swallowed him whole.

“Remus, you’re next. I’ll bring Harry,” Arcturus commanded.

Remus clapped Harry on the shoulder and stepped around him with child-like glee before following in Sirius’ footsteps.

Harry followed after him, pausing only long enough to allow Remus to step through as Arcturus joined him at his side. Compared to Harry’s average height and nine years of age, Arcturus was practically a giant at six feet. Besides Sirius and Remus, there was nobody he felt safer with.

“Ready, lad?”

Harry blew out a quick sigh. “Does it hurt?” A completely valid question, he thought – though Arcturus’ deep chuckles said otherwise.

“No, Harry. You won’t even feel it. Come on,” he replied after a moment, gently tugging on Harry’s shoulder.

He winced and closed his eyes as the surface came up to meet him. Any second now, he was going to bounce off of the mirror, and Sirius and Remus were going to appear out of thin air laughing. He sucked in a deep breath and took another step.

It didn’t hurt exactly, but it also wasn’t entirely pleasant. The feeling of stepping through the surface was similar to stepping through a bubble. There was a moment of resistance and pressure, then there was nothing. He felt light and heavy at the same time. Colours swirled around him, and then they didn’t.

Before he could take anything else in, they were through the other side and in a courtyard full of the mirror-like objects. A low mist hung around his knees, and the sky was an odd purple with unfamiliar star constellations. They were the only ones around.

“Where are we?” he asked, hearing his voice echo slightly – though it had nothing to do with the acoustics. His eyes darted around, taking in the various tile mosaics of silver serpents dotted throughout the area.

“This is the courtyard of the Ro’rim. From here, we can access any part of our domain,” Arcturus replied, gesturing around him in a grand sweep of his free arm.

“Can’t you just apparate or Floo?” he asked as they walked to where Sirius and Remus were already waiting. Remus looked positively giddy as his head turned this way and that.

Arcturus chuckled, “Not where we hold most of our power, pup. This entire courtyard is made from magic – there’s no other way of getting here. You have to use the mirror in the manor.”

The entire place was made of magic? That was unheard of from any of the books he’d read cover-to-cover over the years-- and he’d read a lot of books. If they had something like this, did other families have something similar? Did they all go to the same place? He had so many questions!

“Do you want to go through first, Prongslet?” Sirius asked, pointing to the mirror beside him as they arrived.

This time, Harry didn’t even hesitate as he stepped through and had the same experience of everything and nothing. When he arrived on the far side of whatever it was that he’d stepped through, he was atop a raised stone dais in a well-maintained courtyard.

All around him were gasps of shock as men, women and children stopped going about their tasks and stared at his arrival. An odd but short hum behind him announced the presence of the rest of his family.

Everyone in the courtyard knelt on one knee at the sight of Arcturus, their heads bowed. There was a beat of silence before his powerful voice called for them to stand.

As one, the courtyard rose, their hands clasped before them and their shoulders back. Just who were these people? Why were they bowing and kneeling to them?

Growing up in House Black, he knew they were a powerful and old family among magical society. They made sure he was loved and cared for, but also educated. He knew of the various families, their political stances, who was allied to whom, and what traditions each followed and why. What confused him though, was in none of those lessons had anyone been described as doing what he’d just witnessed. It was a scene from history played before his very eyes – the conquering lord returning to his castle and his loyal subjects.

“Lord Black, an honour to see you again,” a middle-aged woman called as she performed a flawless curtsy. Her skin appeared tanned in a way that only working outdoors could provide, and her long blonde hair was braided elegantly and draped over her left shoulder. Her clothes, however, appeared to be taken straight out of history.

Her dress was simple in design, a straight light brown dress with a stripe of a darker brown running on either side of her front. Her arms were bare, while her shoulders were covered in a brown shawl that appeared a part of the dress, plunging toward her breasts where the ties of the dress were.

“It’s good to be home. Tell me, is there anything I should be aware of?” Arcturus replied, shrugging his cloak off as he spoke and handing it to a man that darted forward to take it. Sirius and Remus followed the action silently, and Harry copied their response.

“No, Lord Black. Everything has been well in your absence.”

Harry idly turned to peer back at the mirror and noticed for the first time that it had returned to its dull, grimy appearance that he’d first seen back in Blackwall. The calling of birds in the sky drew his attention to a small flock of the creatures gliding over the courtyard, only to land on a large square tower just beyond. Once he spotted the first tower, he began to notice the others, all with immaculate windows and banners flapping proudly in the wind.

The sigil displayed on the banners caused his mind to stall and grind to a halt. There, displayed proudly for all to see, was the silver serpent of House Black on a field of green and black. He had grown up reciting the various sigils of families under the instruction of Remus – there was no doubt that he was looking at the coat of arms of House Black.

Arcturus moved down the steps, his back straight and his shoulders squared. He looked every bit the lord from the stories he’d devoured in his evenings. For a brief moment, he thought of Aragorn from his favourite series, The Lord of the Rings.

Sirius and Remus each clapped a hand on his shoulders and gestured for him to follow the patriarch of the family. As they moved, his eyes never stopped their devouring of the scene before him. To his left, there was what appeared to be a stable – it seemed there were a number of horses housed there. On his right was what appeared to be a blacksmith’s forge, though he did note that while the smith watched the goings on, the tools continued to work.

Carts laden with food and hay stood throughout the yard, the men and women working them paused in their duties to watch them. As each of them passed, the crowd would nod, bow or curtsy as they offered a quiet “Mi’lord.”

Once inside, his breath was once again stolen. While the stone and woodwork outside had been dark and weather-beaten, the inside was white-washed stone and marble with silver gilded designs wrapping around large pillars or arching over alcoves. The ceilings were tall, vaulted things that he almost had to squint to see the highest point of.

Sirius chuckled behind him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“This place… it’s like something out of a book!” Harry replied, his words whispered in awe.

“Aye, that’s the truth of it. I was much the same when I first saw the place,” Sirius replied, ruffling his shoulder-length hair slightly.

Harry tried not to scowl as he ran his fingers through it in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over it. Did Sirius not understand how much of a pain his hair was to make presentable?

They came to a halt in a large hall with a raised seat at the far end. The hall had an unassuming tiled floor, while the walls and ceiling were much the same as the others they had travelled through. There were a few differences, however.

From the rafters, above what appeared to be a high viewing gallery, were the banners of House Black – they hung high and proud, each one evenly spaced down the length of the hall and fluttering lightly back and forth in whatever air-current the room seemed to have.

The walls were adorned with large tapestries that appeared to depict specific events – he assumed it was the history of the house. Some showed large-scale battles, while others depicted men or women in either courtrooms, laboratories, or facing off against some magnificent creature.

While there were no clear windows in the room, the entire space was well lit with floating balls of white light, held aloft in little serpent sconces. None of it compared to the sight at the far end of the hall, however. There, upon a raised dais, was the most magnificent chair he had ever seen.

All along every surface, there was a carving of some sort – some was floral, others depicted warriors in combat, or great beasts. Throughout it all was the silver serpent. The wood of the chair-- if it even was wood – appeared to be the same material that had made up the frame of the mirrors. It was black and shiny, almost oil-like in its appearance. The chair exuded an air of power that he hadn’t felt in his life, nor did he expect he would for the remainder of it.

He came to a halt as Sirius and Remus did, and for the first time, he was aware of the crowd that had followed them through the rooms. Ahead of them, Arcturus marched up the few steps that led to the chair and sat down swiftly. Arcturus sat as still and stiff as a statue, his eyes closed. A second later, his eyes snapped open and glowed while a light mist trailed from them eerily. At the sight of this, everyone in the room bent the knee once more. Harry nervously followed a fraction later than everyone else.

“Rise,” Arcturus commanded from his seat of power. As one, the hall stood again – all eyes were on the wizard. All around him, Harry could see the looks of awe and disbelief.

“I, Arcturus Black do reclaim the seat of House Black in magic and in blood. From this day, until the end of days.”

There was a rush of power around him from each person in the room, as if a small gale had suddenly blown past. He noticed that everyone appeared a little paler than they had a few moments before. Closing his eyes, he focused on the magic that had rushed around him, and nearly gasped when he felt it slam into Arcturus.

The man grunted for a moment before slumping forward in his chair. Never in his life had Arcturus appeared so tired. There was an oppressive silence in the room until Arcturus gathered himself and stood proudly. What had happened?

“I thank you all for your loyalty and fealty. Curse those who would try to break that bond. You may all return to your duties.”

Is that what had just happened? Had everyone just sworn loyalty and fealty? Why had nobody spoken any words? As everyone trickled from the room, he tugged on Sirius’ sleeve.

“What just happened?”

Sirius smiled at him, his nose crinkling slightly in the action.

“All those in here have sworn loyalty to our house. In so doing, they are allowed to draw upon the Black family magic in times of need – but, to do so a trade is needed.”

Sirius once more knelt before him.

“The family magic is not unlimited, Harry. It needs to replace that which is given. So, what you just witnessed was everyone in this room offering a little bit of their magic in exchange.”

“They gave their magic?” he gasped, mouth falling open.

“They did. They’ll never notice it gone, and it didn’t hurt them. For as long as they are loyal and true to us, they will live a little longer, be healthier, and be provided for. It’s old magic, Harry,” Sirius smiled, lightly cupping his cheek in his hand.

“Will Grandfather be alright?” he asked after a moment, his eyes darting to Arcturus as he stumbled down the steps.

Sirius nodded, his curls bouncing ever so slightly from the movement.

“He’ll be alright, pup. We should have come back sooner, but we wanted to wait for you. It’s just taken a bit more out of him than he’s used to. One day, it’ll be me up there instead.”

Sirius seemed to shiver at that thought slightly.

Harry nodded slowly; his brow creased in thought. “Why did you wait for me?”

“Well, that’s the million-galleon question, isn’t it?” Sirius grinned. “We need to take you before a few people, Harry. We have a few questions that only they can answer about you. But don’t you worry, as soon as that’s done, we’ll have lots of fun.”

Sirius winked as he stood and placed one hand on each of Harry’s cheeks gently. There was a moment that he thought Sirius would say more, but a heartbeat later and the moment had gone. He watched Sirius blink hard and clear his throat.

“Sirius, come here,” Arcturus called, gesturing with his hand for Sirius to approach. As Sirius left, Remus replaced him.

“What did you think, pup?” Remus asked with a small smile. Harry loved Remus – he knew so much! If ever Harry had a question, Moony knew the answer to it.

“It was strange. I’m not sure what I think,” Harry shrugged, idly clasping his hands behind his back.

“Aye, I’m sure. I knew there were rumours, but to actually be here – it’s just…”

“Magical?” Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the old wolf impishly.

Remus chuckled and wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders in the way that was distinctly Moony.

“Aye, Harry. It’s definitely magical.”

The two stood there for a short time, simply content to be in the other’s presence. While Sirius and Harry were like father and son, Remus had adopted the honoured position of favourite uncle. There were precious few adults in Harry’s life that he felt completely at ease around. It seemed that whoever he met or was introduced to seemed to want something or another from him.

Some were simply after the political clout of claiming they were in the inner circle of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Others saw a young boy of nine and sought to use their wealth into bullying him into business deals and alliances unfairly. There were also those rare few that would sneer down their noses at him, as if he’d somehow insulted their ancestors simply by breathing.

No, there were precious few adults Harry trusted as he did Arcturus, Sirius and Remus. Though the term adult was a stretch for Sirius.

“Are we staying here all day?” Harry asked after a time, turning to look up at the man beside him.

“No, we’ll be going to the capital shortly. It should only take a few hours to get there – a day at the most, I should think,” Remus replied, shrugging.

“A few hours? How far away is it?” Harry gasped. His arse would be numb by the time they arrived!

“Oh, I’d say… forty or fifty miles?”

Harry must have heard him wrong. How would that take hours to get there? Remus must have seen the look on his face, because he started to snicker.

“Oh, we won’t be travelling by broom, Harry. Brooms, Floos, and Apparating don’t work here, I’m afraid. It’ll be the good, old fashioned horse for us.”

“A horse?” Harry moaned, though if anyone were to ask, he would deny it. Harry didn’t moan; he was almost ten! And when he was ten, he’d get his letter to Hogwarts, just like his mother and father!

“Yes, Harry – a horse. It’ll be fine, just like an adventure. How do you think you’ll tell Neville and Daphne about riding a horse?”

“Oh, he’ll have Daphne swooning quicker than he can blink!” Sirius chuckled as he returned to them. Arcturus departed in the opposite direction towards a small side-door.

Harry’s cheeks were red before he could retort.

“Daphne wouldn’t swoon,” he muttered and grumpily toed the floor with his boot.

Sirius snorted quietly before leading them out the way they had come.

“Of course not, pup. She’s more likely to punch you in the nose for even thinking she would.”

“Does that mean I can tell her and watch her punch you?” Harry asked, perking up. Remus attempted to cover a chuckle with a cough – it was a good effort, he thought.

Sirius, who had looked back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes replied, “What’s the first rule of being a Marauder?”

“If any mischief is being done, it had better be Marauder mischief,” Harry replied immediately with a proud nod.

“No, no, the other first rule!” Sirius said, waving his hand absently.

“Don’t co*ck-block a fellow Marauder?”

“No, not that one, the other one!”

“Don’t be a snitch?”

“That’s the one!” Sirius grinned, clapping his hands. It was then that they arrived back in the courtyard, though now it was full of activity.

Everywhere he looked, people went about their business. Hay unloaded itself, tools pounded away, guards patrolled the walls or stood to attention, and children ran back and forth playing their games.

Sirius led them around the throngs of people to the stables. Arcturus must have ordered their cloaks to be placed with their horses and supplied for a trip, as their beasts of burden were saddled and prepared by the time they had arrived.

The horses were huge creatures, with rippling muscle and shiny coats. Sirius leapt atop a black one – Harry had to keep from rolling his eyes at that -- while Remus climbed atop a sand-coloured stallion. That left Harry with the deep brown horse that reminded him of chocolate.

How in the bloody hell was he supposed to get up there?

“Pup,” Sirius called over to him as his horse moved to the side idly. “Look to your right… There’re some steps.”

Harry felt a little moronic. With pink-tinged cheeks, he scrambled for the steps and dragged them to the side of his – thankfully patient – horse.

With uneasy feet, Harry climbed the steps and put his left foot in what he assumed was a stirrup and swung his other leg over the seat. For a moment, he was sure he was going to tip over the far side until he managed to centre his balance.

Grasping the reins in his hand, he briefly started at just how good the quality leather felt in his fingers before looking down at the horse.

“Move. Go on, step over there,” he commanded.

Belly laughs answered him from a few metres away. Harry scowled at his godfather and uncle. It wasn’t his fault the horse was broken!

“What are you two laughing at?” he scowled, glaring at Sirius, who leaned back in the saddle, one hand on the reigns and the other clutching at his stomach.

“Harry,” Remus chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Lightly apply pressure with the sides of your feet.”

Grumbling as he did so, he gave a startled yelp when the beast below him began moving of its own volition. A panic-stricken Harry passed a howling Sirius and Remus at an easy walk.

“Don’t you worry, pup! By the time this is all over, it’ll be like you were born in the saddle!” Sirius chuckled as he trotted past him.

Now, Harry had been raised to be polite and courteous to everyone he met. Disarm them with your polite words, Arcturus had lectured countless times. In that moment, those lessons abandoned him as he petulantly stuck his tongue out at his godfathers back.

“Okay, I have to stop for a bit!” Harry called out, shifting awkwardly in his saddle. They had been riding for hours – most of the day, in fact if the sun was any indicator, and he hadn’t had feeling in his arse for most of it. His back hurt, his arse was numb, and the inside of his thighs felt like they were on fire.

“Alright, Harry,” Remus chuckled as he led his horse to the side of the cobblestone road. They had passed a number of people throughout the day – some walking, others on horses, and one couple appeared to be riding quite comfortably on the back of a donkey.

“We’ll camp here for tonight – give you a night to recover.”

“You’re so kind,” he grumbled as he guided his horse next to Remus’s. A groan escaped his lips as he stood in the saddle to lift his leg over and dismount. Harry narrowed his eyes at Sirius as he quietly chuckled behind him.

With shaky knees, he stumbled backwards, while the ground below him shifted and moved beneath his feet as if he were standing on water. Sirius, the arse, appeared no worse for wear. He leapt from his mount with the grace of a cat before snatching the reins up and leading the horse to a nearby tree.

A handful of moments later, when Harry had successfully found a handy log to sit on and Sirius had secured the horses, Remus began to unload the saddlebags. They didn’t appear large, or even particularly full as Remus lifted them effortlessly before separating the bags based on whose horse they came from.

“Come on, I may be your Steward, but you can set your own bloody tents,” Moony grumbled with a grin.

With a wince of effort, Harry pushed himself off of the blanket of moss atop the log and knelt before his own pack. It was a dull tan leather bag with brass clasps that came undone with an easy flick of his fingers. Inside was a bundle of a coarse material and some ropes packed efficiently together.

Making quick work of emptying the bag, he quickly set about building his small shelter. Over the years, Sirius, Neville, and he had spent a number of nights on the Blackwall estate under the stars, listening as Sirius told them both stories of their parents.

Sirius would be the first to admit that he knew James and Lily Potter far better than Frank and Alice Longbottom, but he shared what he could. A small part of him felt guilty about his many more stories of his own parents, but a larger, more desperate part of him yearned for any little story Sirius or Moony could tell him.

When he was younger, Sirius had told him about his parents’ academic achievements. Lily had been a prodigy at Charms, while Transfiguration had been his father’s own specialty. Since that night under the stars, Harry had sought any and all information on magic like a crazed Hippogriff – he devoured books as he ate, in his free time, and before going to bed. He had to make his parents proud.

There had been many a night he had stared up at the canopy of his bed and wondered what his parents would think of him. He pondered how his mother’s hugs would feel. Would she kiss him on the forehead or the cheek? What stories would his father tell him before bed? How often would he have to plead for his father to put him on his shoulders and run around the house?

It was those quiet nights, with nothing but the darkness of his room to comfort him, that he found himself drifting off to sleep with fresh tears on his cheeks. He would be the best son he could be, and wherever they were, they would look upon him and be proud of who he had become. Perhaps, one day, when they would meet again, they might just tell him themselves.

His tent was up in minutes, with the pegs firmly hammered into the dark soil and his bedroll rolled out easily. They could have brought wizard tents, with all the luxury they would entail, but it just wasn’t the same. He enjoyed the breeze dancing across his skin, the sound of crickets chirping among the grass, and the damp blades of grass that would tickle his nose. There was something about camping in the traditional sense that just appealed to him.

Rocking back on his heels with his hands on his thighs, he nodded at the job he’d accomplished. Behind him, he could hear Sirius going through the same motions before the adult stood and began moving methodically around the area. He knew what he was doing – he’d done it every time they’d camped, even on the Blackwall Estate.

Sirius was fiercely protective of Harry, and a part of him would always feel warm at the thought. He loved Sirius dearly – and knowing his protective streak, he always expected the Wards he would place whenever they were out of the house for a night. If it made Sirius feel better, then it made him feel better. Besides, who would be dumb enough to try anything with Sirius and Moony?

He smiled over his shoulder at the sight of Sirius idly flicking his wand back and forth. A heartbeat later, the familiar warmth of Protection Wards flittered across his skin, securing them for the night against any threats. Even Harry knew they were not fool proof, however. A strong enough effort to break through would shatter them in seconds, and a determined enough foe could sneak through them – but they served their purpose of a first line of defence well enough.

Remus, in the middle of the trio of tents, appeared to be building a campfire. With precise wand-movements, he enlarged a small pebble into a fist-sized rock and placed it carefully into the ring. In no time at all, all that was missing were some branches to feed the fire.

“What are we eating tonight?” Harry asked, as he sat by the fire and watched Sirius and Remus continue to work.

“We’ll find something, won’t we Padfoot?” Remus replied, arching an eyebrow at Sirius. Sirius, on the other hand simply rolled his eyes before setting off towards the treeline they had set their tents against. Just as he was to disappear among the shadows, Harry watched with fascination as his Godfather casually turned into the large, Grim-like dog known as Padfoot.

While it was a common sight to see the transformation, it still took Harry’s breath away. He knew the reason why his father and Sirius had become Animagi, but the feat itself still left him with no little bit of wonder.

What would it be like? To run on all-fours? To prowl the forest and pounce on his prey? To hunt with his family? He had decided as a small child that he would follow in his father’s and Sirius’s footsteps and become an Animagus.

It wouldn’t be for years, he knew that. It had barely been safe when his father had attempted it. Harry knew his magic and body had to mature a lot before he’d be allowed to attempt it, but Merlin, did he want it.

“I’d expect it’ll be rabbit tonight, pup,” Remus smiled, breaking him from his thoughts.

Harry shrugged – he’d eaten rabbit plenty of times. It was damn near the only thing Sirius could catch, it seemed, though that didn’t come as too much of a surprise. Sirius was, after all, just a dog – a big dog, but a dog, nonetheless.

It was an hour later when Sirius returned, a rabbit firmly clutched in his jaws. Remus and Harry shared a knowing smile as the twigs Remus had collected from the nearby trees crackled and snapped in the approaching dusk.

With a dull thud, the animal was dropped onto the grass – its lifeless eyes staring unblinking into the darkening sky. Sirius returned to his own body, spitting out blood onto the grassy floor.

“That never gets any better, you know,” Sirius grumbled, snatching the offered waterskin from Remus with a scowl. “You’d think they’d never washed before.”

Remus chuckled as he pulled out a knife and began the process of preparing their meal. The rip and tear of flesh always made him a little uncomfortable, though he knew it necessary for them to eat. Already, Harry’s stomach groaned.

“It’s a rabbit, I hardly think it has a sense of personal hygiene,” Harry replied cheekily, grinning as Sirius threw a leaf in his direction.

“I hardly think Sirius has a sense of personal hygiene at times,” Remus added in quietly, earning a cuff around the back of the head.

“I’ll have you know I have a wonderful sense of personal hygiene, Moony. It’s not my fault Padfoot looks like a mangy mongrel.”

“You said it, not us,” Harry chuckled, clutching his knees to his chest as he looked into the fire. The oranges and yellows of the flames flickered across the twigs in an elegant dance.

Sirius grumbled a protest before he unceremoniously fell backwards to lay down on the grass. “Anyone would be thankful I brought them food.”

“I’d argue it’s an appetiser, rather than a meal – but it’ll do for tonight,” Remus snickered as he withdrew his wand to vanish the unwanted remains. A few seconds later, and the skinned rabbit was hovering over the flame and rotating slowly – the eventual hiss of the juices dripping into the fire the only break in the ensuing silence.

“Please tell me it’s done, I’m starved!” Harry moaned as his stomach rumbled once again sometime later.

Remus’s appraising eye swept the meat before him for a moment before he nodded. Not a moment later, the meat was divvied up between them, and the three set about consuming their meal in silence.

Once satisfied, they continued their silence – happy to listen to the quiet call of owls in the night-sky and to gaze upon the new and unfamiliar constellations of stars above them.

“So, what’s the Capital like?” Harry asked eventually, his hands behind his head and his cloak draped over his front.

“Big,” Sirius chuckled quietly. Harry rolled his eyes.

“As big as London?”

“No, though I suppose it could seem that way,” Sirius replied tiredly. “The Capital is home to half-a-million people, but it’s like no city you’ll have seen or read about in those books of yours.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, the curiosity evident in his voice.

“That’s all I’ll say. I’m not ruining the surprise for you.”

He could hear Remus’ huff of protest. It was interesting that Remus seemed to know as little as he.

“I was wondering,” He began slowly, ignoring the snort of amusem*nt that came from Sirius. “why does it feel like this place is a secret? I’ve never heard of anything like this place in any of the books at Blackwall.”

“Aye, you have the right of it, I suppose,” Sirius sighed, sitting up on his elbows. “A long time ago, Magicals, like us, lived peacefully among Muggles. Over time, that changed, and we were hunted and shunned. Our leader at the time, a man that we all looked up to decided enough was enough.”

Harry’s attention was rapt – his eyes wide as he took in the tale Sirius was weaving. It seemed Remus too was just as focused, as he was also sitting up on his elbows.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, almost as if he were deciding on what to say.

“In the end, he and others created this place for us. There are similar places in other parts of the world, but they all started here.”

“You mean there are other places like this?” Harry asked, pushing himself to his elbows and looking between Sirius and Remus. Sirius nodded.

“Aye, there are. This is the home of magic, Harry. Every person you meet here is a witch or wizard. Muggle-born are a thing only on, well – I suppose only on Earth.”

“Earth? You mean we’re on a different planet?” Harry gasped, looking around with a renewed vigour.

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head and waving a hand back and forth.

“No, no. We’re still on Earth, Harry. The best way I can describe it is…” Sirius paused for a moment; his chin tilted into the air as he absently picked at the grass around him. “We’re in a world within a world. To the outside, this place is no larger than an apple – but in here, it’s almost endless. Does that make sense, Harry?”

He pursed his lips as the idea bounced around in his head slowly.

“I suppose so,” he said slowly after a moment. “So, nobody can get in without those mirrors then?” he asked.

“The Ro’rim, Harry. There are… entrances, here and there, but they’re tightly guarded. Some Muggle-born are given the opportunity to come here, though most prefer to stay where they were born,” Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Travel back and forth is difficult without a Ro’rim. They were gifted to the old families a long time ago, and nobody knows how to make them anymore.”

“But what about the Ministry?”

“The Ministry answers to the wizards and witches here, Harry. The Magical population of Britain is a colony. It’s a complicated and convoluted system, but it’s what we have. The knowledge of this place is the greatest secret most families carry – so secret in fact, some families have completely forgotten it exists.”

Harry frowned. “But how could they forget? If this place is made of magic, it’s the most wonderful place for us!”

“People die before they plan to, Harry,” Remus said quietly before Sirius could respond. “I assume the knowledge is passed from Lord to Heir?”

Sirius nodded slowly, his eyes on the fire.

“Harry, if only two people in the family know a secret, what happens to that secret if those two people are killed in battle? Or they both die of disease before they can pass it on?” Remus asked gently.

“The secret is lost,” he gasped, his eyes wide. “How many families don’t know about this place?”

Sirius shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Families go extinct or are absorbed into other families now and then. Others are the victims of war or plague. There used to be hundreds of families in Britain alone. Now, I’d hazard a guess that only a few dozen remember.”

For some reason, despite not knowing any of those families himself, he found that inexplicably sad. How many would never be able to return, simply because they had no idea of what they had forgotten?

“I assume some family lines continue here?” Remus asked after a while, poking the fire with a stick idly.

Sirius nodded. “Aye, some remain – the Gryffindor family still remains here, for example.”

The Gryffindors? The family that was responsible for Godric Gryffindor himself? Would they be anything like their famous relative? One of Harry’s favourite books was a chronicle of Godric’s life, from his birth in Godric’s Hollow, to his death in battle at the hands of his son. Would he meet any of them? Why hadn’t they returned to Britain?

“I think that’s enough for tonight. Get some sleep, I’ll take the first watch, Remus,” Sirius grunted, making a shooing motion with his hands.

How was he supposed to sleep now? With a roll of his eyes, he stumbled to his feet and trudged his way to his bedroll, his cloak bundled up under his right arm. Unceremoniously, he flopped onto the thin material and dragged his cloak over him like a blanket.

With his eyes shut, thoughts raced through his mind. What other families could still exist if the Gryffindors were still around? What about House Ravenclaw? House Ruccall? House Goodridge? How much knowledge had the world lost because they hadn’t returned?

He shuffled as he turned on his other side and blew out a harsh breath. How could Sirius just drop something like that on him just before going to bed? He and Remus knew Godric was his hero – the man who battled Dark Wizards, who helped found Hogwarts, who was crowned a king! It was too bloody much.

He remained in that fitful state for hours, trying in vain to quiet his mind. At some point, he heard Sirius and Remus trade their vigil over their small camp. It was as he lay on his back that he felt it.

It was a whisper at first, just beyond the edge of his hearing. Slowly, his eyes opened and he frowned up at his tent. The whisper grew stronger, almost like a voice on the wind, and a small tug at the back of his mind caused him to shift uncomfortably.

He pushed himself to his elbows as his leather armour creaked a little at the motion and his cloak pooled around his waist.

“Remus?” He called.

“Pup? Everything alright?” Remus asked a moment later as he knelt before the tent and ducked his head through the hanging flap.

“Yeah, everything’s fine…” he mumbled, frowning.

The whisper returned.

“Can you hear that?” he asked, scrambling to the entrance of the tent. As he came to his feet, it appeared Sirius, too, had been woken by his voice.

“Hear what, pup?” Sirius asked, his wand shooting from its holster on his wrist and into his hand.

“That voice…” Harry replied softly, straining to hear it again. “It’s sad.”

If anyone had asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them how he knew that. It was a feeling, but he felt it as if it were his own. It was all very odd.

“We don’t hear anything, Harry,” Remus replied after a brief look with Sirius.

“It’s coming from over here,” Harry said, ignoring the two adults. Without waiting for them, he approached the inky blackness of the treeline, stepping around the log he had sat upon earlier.

The treeline was a wall of black, the trunks of the trees thick and strong, while the canopies blocked out any light that may have thought to trickle down from the stars. Along the edge, however, were a number of small bushes, and it was towards one of these that he went.

As he approached the bush, the voice got louder and louder – it was so loud he thought he was going deaf! Clutching his head tightly in his hands, he stumbled to a halt and collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

“Pup!” the distant voice of Sirius called, but something was tugging on his shoulder. He shrugged it off and almost leapt into the foliage before him.

He was reckless in his desperation to find the source of the noise. Perhaps, if he found it, he would be able to think again. A small trickle of something ran down the side of his face. He paused long enough to touch a finger to it, and when the finger was before his eyes, a hint of moonlight revealed it to be blood. Was he bleeding?

He dropped his right hand and looked back to the bush. His left hand was still holding back the branches in his search.

A pair of overly large, black, glossy eyes peered up at him from the darkness, the moon reflected in their depths. A small, stunted, and hooked beak was just below them.

The soft chirp of the creature greeted him curiously. Softly, with his right hand, he reached out with as much care as he could. The voice was strongest now – a deep, primal noise that drove him on.

The beak was hard as his fingers came in contact with it, and the creature’s eyes blinked slowly. In the darkness, he noticed that the creature had no feathers to speak of – it was an ugly, tiny thing with little tufts of something sticking out at odd angles on its dirty pink skin.

It hopped into his palm without an ounce of hesitation, gently nipping at the still blood-slicked fingers.

It took a longer nip, once he brought it up to his chest, and for a moment, something tickled his blood-slicked digits.

There was a sudden sensation of something snapping in his mind, followed by a powerful booming thunder that echoed through the trees, before he was thrown a dozen meters behind him, landing among the remains of his tent. The cries of Sirius and Remus remained in the distance as blackness crept along the edges of his vision.

He awoke sometime later – the passage of time unclear besides the appearance of the sun above him. He groaned as he pushed himself up – everything felt stiff and uncomfortable.

“Harry!” Sirius shouted, rushing to his side in a short sprint. Sirius’ hand came to rest at the nape of Harry’s neck, tangled in his thick hair. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…” he grumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position. He looked down when he heard an unfamiliar squawk of indignation.

There, in his lap, was the ugly little creature from before. It appeared a little healthier – less starved, its body having filled out a little. His confused expression must have been clear as the blue sky above them.

“Couldn’t get that thing away from you. No matter where we put it, the second we turned back to you, it was on your chest,” Remus grumbled, having joined Sirius at his side.

“What is it?” he asked eventually, his voice scratchy.

“Not a clue. It’s been with you for the last few days.”

“Days?” Harry demanded, his head snapping to the two adults beside him as his eyes grew wide. They nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he began, the apology spilling from his lips before Sirius shushed him.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re just glad you’re alright. You had us worried when you charged off to the bush,” Sirius said in as soothing a voice as he could, gently stroking back his hair from his damp forehead.

“What happened, pup?” Remus asked, offering him a waterskin.

After a gulp, his throat felt much better. “I heard a voice, but I couldn’t make out any words. It got louder and louder the closer I got to that…” Harry stalled as he saw the remains of a chunk of the treeline. It appeared blasted and scorched – like something from a nightmare.

“What in Merlin caused that?” he asked after a moment.

“You did.”

“What?” Harry gasped, looking between the two adults. They both nodded slowly.

“When you were thrown back, there was a flash of light and everything around you burst into flames. Took us an hour to put it out once we knew you were okay,” Sirius shrugged.

“Woah…” Harry breathed, looking down at the creature in his lap. Gently, he scratched it under its chin, eliciting a soft – almost musical cooing noise.

“What is this?” he asked after a moment.

“Not sure, but it’s an ugly little thing. Damn near-“ Sirius paused mid-sentence before looking between Harry, Remus and the blasted trees. “I think you just found your familiar, Harry,” Sirius muttered dumbly, his eyes staring into the middle-distance somewhere as he said the words.

“My familiar? But I’ve not got my Hogwarts letter yet!”

“Not all familiars are found in shops, Harry. The events of that night and the events while you were asleep make more sense if this creature is indeed your familiar,” Remus replied as Sirius continued standing there, his arms limp at his sides.

“So, I’m… bonded to this?” he asked eventually. Familiars were commonplace in their world, being used as companions and within rituals. The bond was deep and intimate, and it wasn’t uncommon for the lifespan of a familiar to match that of its owner. There were exceptions, of course, with the more long-lived species, but all the books he’d read in the Black library went on to say that those that out-lived their human often went on to lead solitary lives afterwards.

“What is it?” he asked after Moony nodded.

“We’re not sure. It appears to be a bird of some-kind. Whatever it is, it’s obviously very young. It will be your responsibility now, Harry. You will feed it, you will train it, and if it should die, you shall bury it. Is that understood?” Remus asked seriously, placing a firm hand on his nearest shoulder. Harry nodded mutely.

“Is Sirius going to be okay?” he asked, the sounds of the birds in the surrounding trees echoing around them.

As if the question itself snapped him back to reality, Sirius shook himself like a dog and seemed to come to. He looked around for a moment, as if attempting to remember where he was, before his eyes fell on the creature in Harry’s lap.

“Harry,” Sirius breathed, with what Harry assumed was a proud smile on his face. “I’m so proud of you, pup. You beat your dear old dad by a mile,” he grinned as he placed a hand on the back of Harry’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. Remus had since stepped back to allow Sirius to kneel next to him again.

Harry grinned at that. “What about my dogfather?”

“Oh, it wasn’t even a competition. I didn’t find mine until my sixth year! Mine was prettier, though,” Sirius chuckled, winking.

The two drew apart, and Harry pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. With both Sirius and Remus supporting his elbows, he looked down at the animal clutched to his chest and smiled.

There was something about this little creature that felt right. It felt as if a part of him that had been missing had finally clicked into place, making him whole. He couldn’t wait to see what it grew into – was it an owl? A bird of prey? Whatever it was, he’d be sure to be the best wizard a familiar could ask for – that was a promise.

Chapter 7: Harry II

Chapter Text

Their travel had continued on once he had regained some of his strength; his small avian companion perched comfortably on his left shoulder. While the casual banter between the three of them continued, there was a definite undercurrent of concern from the two adults.

When their belongings had finally been packed away into their saddlebags, the sun had been high in the sky and its warmth had blanketed them comfortably, even with their leather armour. With feeling returned to his arse from the few days break, he found himself more confidently approaching the horse. Perhaps the travel wouldn’t be as painful as it was before?

They had continued along the cobblestone road, with the quiet clip-clopping hooves of the two stallions and his own mare steadily passing the time in the intervals of comfortable silence. On either side of the road, huge trees of all shapes and sizes surrounded them, sometimes arching over the path to provide some cool shade.

On the edge of his hearing, the sound of rushing water accompanied them. Sirius had mentioned at one point that all the rivers in the area congregated at the Capitol and provided fresh water to the city. If that were the case, perhaps it wouldn’t smell as much as he thought it might – half a million people in a city must be foul.

The sun indicated early afternoon when they finally crested a nearby hill and Harry caught his first glance of the city. His small familiar squawked excitedly on its perch.

It was magnificent. Large plains stretched out for miles around, the deep green grasses causing the glittering white stone walls that looked huge to stand out even more. From where they stopped to take in the view, he could easily see the tight press of buildings contained within the large walls. At first glance, there were no easily discernible districts, as each clump of buildings seemed arrayed every which way.

A second inner wall bisected the city – a defensive measure, he supposed. It wasn’t uncommon for cities to have another line of defence to fall back to in the event the outer wall was breached. These appeared to have many more gates if the regular squat towers were anything to go by.

Then, as his eyes followed the gradual rise of the city, he saw it. There, standing tall and proud over this city, was the most magnificent castle he had ever seen. He had seen images of his own ancestral castle, Rosestone, but even that paled in comparison to this.

Huge stone towers, keeps, and holdfasts created a sprawling citadel that stretched proudly into the sky, the highest points just tickling the lowest clouds. It was like something out of a story. His eyes snapped to Sirius.

“That is our capitol?” Harry breathed, listening to the soft tune of trumpets as they were carried on the wind.

“That it is, pup,” Sirius grinned as he raised a hand and pointed at the keep. “That’s the Citadel. Our ruling council rules from that seat of power, and has done since it was founded.”

“It’s… beautiful,” Remus exhaled, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“Race you down there?” Harry challenged, his confidence in his riding vastly improved.

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Go on then, pup! I’ll see you at the bottom of the hill!”

Sirius was off as he cracked his reins. Harry grinned, doing the same, only to see his horse remained still.

“C’mon! After him!” he ordered, lightly pressing his feet into the flanks of his mount as he usually did to get it moving.

Remus’s amused chortles echoed across the hilltop as Sirius became a distant figure.

“Not working out the way you hoped, is it pup?”

“Bollocks!” Harry grumbled dejectedly, huffing petulantly as his horse trotted along after Moony’s. Had his horse simply been following along, ignoring his orders all this time? A part of him felt decidedly cheated at the thought.

It took a lot longer than it had taken Sirius to reach the bottom, the adult in question looking decidedly smug upon their arrival as he lounged in the saddle.

“Did it not work out the way you’d planned, Harry?” Sirius winked. It was an incredibly smug looking wink.

Harry, ever the mature one of the three, stuck his tongue out in reply. Sirius laughed harder – the bastard.

It was an hour later when he finally saw the roaring rivers cutting across the green fields towards the city. In his excitement atop the hill, he hadn’t thought to notice them. They were a deep, clear blue as they rushed along their meandering paths towards the white-walled city.

As they got closer and closer, they came across larger and larger groups – most travelling on foot. It wasn’t long until they were directly in front of the large gates, imposing towers on either side. Above them, the banner of a large golden dragon with a trio of crowns hung upon a field of deep crimson.

He didn’t recognise that banner. But before he could take another glance at it, they were pushed along by the ever-growing crowd and under the short tunnel that took them into the city-proper.

Once inside the walls, the crowd began to disperse in different directions. Sirius appeared to at least know his way to wherever they were going. All around them were buildings with smooth white facades broken up by wooden beams hung with colourful streamers and bolts of variously coloured cloth.

Men and women on either side of him were selling their wares, and children ran freely among the crowds. To his left, the smell of a bakery tickled his nose and caused his stomach to grumble. The tiny beak of his newest companion nipped at his ear.

Gently pulling on the reins and urging the horse towards the smell wasn’t as difficult as he’d imagined. Sirius and Remus came to a stop a moment later when they realised what he was doing.

Leaning down from his saddle a little to see into the bakery, he called out, “Can I have a small loaf of bread, please?”

There was a brief clatter of cooking utensils, and a muffled curse before a gruff-looking man, who’s hair was thin and balding waddled out the front as he wiped his hands on an apron.

“Just a single loaf, milord?”

His voice was deep and booming, clear even through the multitudes of voices around him.

“Aye, just a small one if you have it. This little one is hungry, I think,” Harry grinned, hooking a thumb at his familiar.

“I’ve got just the thing. Fresh out the oven, it is,” the baker replied, retreating momentarily into the building. He returned, seconds later with a small chunk of bread wrapped in a swath of cloth. “That’ll be six Knuts, milord.”

Sitting up slightly, Harry pulled on the small drawstring pouch that was tied to his belt and fished the copper coins out. With a smile and a thankful nod, the exchange was made. The baker returned to his shop, and Harry began breaking small chunks off for the creature on his shoulder.

The bird, for that’s all he knew it was, flapped its wings excitedly and devoured the food as it hopped from one foot to the other. For how gangly and misshapen it appeared to be, it seemed to have excellent balance.

Once his familiar had consumed its body weight in bread, Harry urged the horse to move once again. Sirius took the lead, while Remus remained at his side. They travelled the remarkably clean streets in quiet conversation, the two of them pointing out details as they passed.

They saw what appeared to be a large, finely decorated building of worship. There was what seemed to be a tournament ground and as they drew nearer to the Citadel, there was the keep itself.

It had been a sight to behold at a distance, but here, up close, it was something else entirely.

The stonework appeared flawless, but entirely practical. It wasn’t some delicate thing that would crumble from a single siege-spell – no, this keep was designed for war. How many times had it been attacked? How many defenders did it take to hold it? How many staff? Was there a staff, or were they all House Elves? He had so many questions!

When they finally reached the keep itself, Harry found himself looking up at a third wall – which made sense when he really thought about it. Unlike the other walls they’d passed through, this one had a single entrance and was guarded by a number of men and women in an odd combination of armour and robes.

They appeared to be wearing tight-fitting tunics over chainmail that was dyed a deep red not too dissimilar from the banner he’d seen at the entrance of the city. Their left shoulders had a large studded leather pauldron, and there was a short bolt of cloth that hung from the back of their belts down to the back of their knees. Their forearms, hands, right shoulder, calves, knees, and feet were protected by well-fitted steel plate armour. Some wore hoods sewn into their tunics, while others didn’t.

He could also spot an assortment of weapons; there were the expected wands, but also swords, bows, halberds, pikes, and staves! He had only seen renderings of a wizard’s staff, and all had appeared to be long, gnarled pieces of wood. These appeared to be something else entirely. Some were simple wooden poles with a crystal ball at the top – others, had a blade for the bottom third of the weapon!

Then there were the more outlandish staves that seemed to be made entirely out of some kind of metal with large, strange shapes the size of an adult’s head. Some were sharp and jagged, while others were smoother and more complicated in its design. Overall, the sight was brilliant!

“Halt! State your business!” One of the staff-wielding guardsmen ordered, placing the bladed lower half of his weapon on the floor before him. A second, a woman, placed herself next to her partner as she fingered the hilt of a sword.

“Sirius Black, heir to the House of Black. With me is our Steward, Remus Lupin,” Sirius replied, his voice powerful. At the mention of his name, Remus bowed his head politely.

“And the heir of House Potter. Our business is with the Council.”

The two guards looked between themselves briefly before nodding.

“Very well, you may proceed, Heir Black. The Viscount will see you housed for the duration of your stay.”

The two guards stepped back and to either side of their party, bowing at the waist as they passed between them.

As they entered the courtyard, his eyes attempted to capture all they could. There were guards patrolling, men and women loading and unloading carts, and what he had to assume were Nobles taking casual strolls. As the shadows became longer and the sun had lowered considerably, there was even a number of wizards and witches going around casting those small balls of light he’d noticed when Arcturus had sat in his chair.

A stable boy rushed up to gather the reins of his horse and led him over to the stables, other stable boys doing the same for Sirius and Remus. The dismount was much easier than last time, even with the awkward weight of his familiar on his shoulder. A little nip on his ear reminded him to give it a scratch under its chin. It preened at the attention, causing Harry to giggle.

“We’ll take your saddlebags, My Lords,” said the eldest of the boys, roughly similar to Harry’s own age if he had to venture a guess. Harry smiled at him.

“That’ll be excellent, lads,” Sirius replied, nodding his head slowly. “Have them taken to whichever rooms we’re assigned.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The three of them turned, Sirius leading the way, with Remus and Harry following in his wake, and made their way to the far side of the courtyard. As they passed, people stopped and looked at them curiously. Some, mostly the Nobles, began muttering and whispering amongst themselves.

The doors were flanked by two guards on either side, and as they arrived, the guards threw the doors open for them. If Harry had thought the exterior of the castle was a marvel, the interior blasted that standard out of the Quidditch pitch.

Tall sand-coloured marble pillars lined the walls with fine carvings of intricate patterns spiralling up them. The walls, also marble, stretched high into the air with tapestries and banners hanging proudly. There was the occasional weapon mounted below a moving portrait, re-enacting some feat of bravery or skill. The ceiling was high and arched, much like the Black castle, but in a much grander scale. High above them were balconies of even higher floors!

The click-clacking of heels against the polished marble floor drew his attention forwards. There, beyond a small entryway and approaching them, was an aged-looking man with a bald head and blonde mutton-chop facial hair. His countenance was stern and severe, while his figure was lithe and well-trimmed. Despite his apparent age, his shoulders were broad and strong. His piercing green eyes passed over him and made him feel as if he had been judged and found wanting.

“Heir Black. So gracious of you to take the time out of your busy schedule and join us… finally,” the man’s deep, richly accented voice drawled. An eyebrow had raised itself almost imperceptibly. He offered no bow or hand to shake as he stared at the three of them.

“Viscount Trevelyan, we didn’t expect to receive the honour of your visit,” Sirius replied, bowing politely.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” the Viscount replied. His face remained stony and expressionless as he peered at Sirius as one would an insect.

Is this who the guards had been talking about? What was a Viscount? Better yet, why was he looking at Sirius that way? He fought to keep the frown off of his face.

“And this must be your Steward,” Trevelyan continued, eyeing Remus carefully. “I do hope you can keep him muzzled.” Harry saw Remus’s shoulders sag ever so slightly – despite how welcome they had all made him feel in their small family, Harry was well aware of other people’s attitudes towards his soft-spoken uncle.

“And who might this be? Don’t tell me your family has slipped so far as to taking in strays, Black?”

Harry felt his face flush in anger as he glared at the man.

“My name is Harry. Harry Potter.”

A brief expression of surprise flittered across Trevelyan’s face for a moment before it disappeared completely. “Indeed? Well, you may not be as stupid as we all believed, Black.”

“My intelligence is always vastly underestimated, Viscount,” Sirius replied, his voice tight with anger.

“We shall see,” replied Trevelyan evenly. “Come, your quarters await. I’m sure you’ll want to wash and rest from your travels.”

Harry would have muttered a scathing response to the old fossil, if not for Arcturus’s many lessons and knowing he was not only representing House Black, but House Potter as well. They followed the man through the winding corridors and up spiralling staircases. By the time they arrived at their apartments, he was thoroughly lost.

“You shall stay here. I shall have the servants bring your… possessions to you presently. If you require anything in the meantime, simply ask a guard and they will pass your needs along. If that is all?” Trevelyan left immediately, not awaiting a response.

Gesturing for them to follow him, Sirius led them into their lodgings. The entry room was lavishly furnished in rich mahogany furniture with red cushions. The table that took up the large space in the centre was large and could easily seat a dozen or more. The couches were the same deep red he’d seen throughout the rest of the keep, all with the same odd sigil.

Sirius dropped onto one of the four couches before the spitting fireplace and groaned as he rubbed at his eyes. “Moony, before we leave, I’m hexing the pompous twat.”

“Who is he?” Harry asked, dropping into the couch opposite as he removed his belt. The small sheath of his dagger clunked against the table before him as he placed it unceremoniously in a small mound of leather and silver.

“Viscount Carth Trevelyan, the glorified caretaker of this castle. His family has ruled here for a few hundred years and will likely rule for a few hundred more,” Sirius replied.

“He’s an arsehole. I don’t like what he said about Remus,” Harry growled, leaning forward as his familiar leapt from his shoulder to the table. It burrowed its way into the mound that was his belt.

“Leave it, pup. It’s not worth it,” Remus replied softly, throwing his cloak over a stand by the door.

“It’s not right!” Harry shot back, his anger causing his fists to tremble.

“No, it’s not but there’s nothing we can do about it. Outside of the Council, he’s the next figure of authority – even we have to answer to someone, Harry,” Sirius sighed, sitting up finally and rubbing his temples.

“But why does he have to be a prick?” Harry grumbled, rubbing his own tired eyes. “I won’t have him bad-mouth Remus again.”

“And what shall the little pup do, hm?” Remus asked, affectionately tousling Harry’s hair as he passed behind him.

“Kick him in the shins and prank his balls off,” he replied immediately, grinning.

“Not this time, Harry. Trevelyan could easily have you executed if you cross him. He’s a ruthless, cunning and brilliant man. Never underestimate him, do you understand me?” Sirius ordered, rushing before him, and dropping to a knee.

Harry had never seen Sirius so earnest, his dark eyes unflinching as he stared into them. Harry licked his lips nervously before he nodded. “I swear.”

Sirius nodded as he rocked back on his heels and stood.

“Good. Now, go and wash up – you stink,” Sirius grinned, playfully scrunching his nose in disgust.

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved Sirius away playfully as he stood.

“Like you smell any better, you mangy old dog.”

“Hey, who’re you calling old?” Sirius called as Harry ducked into one of the rooms with a chuckle, already fiddling with the clasps and buckles on his armour.

He groaned as the clasps came undone, feeling the tightness of the clothes lessen. He looked about the room. It appeared to be a small antechamber that led into three other rooms, all with studded wooden doors in stone archways. Shrugging, he moved to the central one and toed the door open as his fingers fiddled with his vambrace on his left wrist.

The room was larger than he expected, with a large canopy bed dominating the space. The rich reds and golds glittered in the light cast from the fireplace – its warmth comfortable but not overbearing. Large panelled windows flanked both sides of the bed, and the final rays of daylight flittered through onto the thick rugs.

Before the fire, sat atop a large pedestal, was a golden tub with a small grouping of runes carved into its surface. He stepped over to it and gently ran his fingers over the polished metal. His eyes focused on one of the runes specifically as his finger traced the lines. He closed his eyes and searched for his magic like Remus had taught him.

The maelstrom inside him was like a wild storm, lashing out this way and that. He kept it contained most of the time and had yet to perform any accidental magic, as Remus had called it. It yearned to be set loose, to impose his will on the world around him, to shape everything to his desires. It whispered sweet nothings into his ears, promising him power, control, family. His focus became razor sharp and his brows pulled together furiously – the storm withdrew a little. Who was his magic to attempt to seduce him with that?

He had a family! He had Arcturus, Sirius, Remus, Lispy, and all the other Black House Elves – he even liked Kreacher, for Merlin’s sake! Furiously, he grasped his magic and forced it into submission. His magic answered to him.

With his magic sufficiently cowed, he allowed the smallest drop to whisper through his fingertip and caress the rune. Immediately, the bottom of the tub began filling with water that had the faintest scent of vanilla and mint. It was an interesting combination.

The steel gorget came off first, the small ties on each side of his neck coming loose with a practiced tug. It separated easily down the seam on either shoulder as he lifted it over his head. He placed it carefully on a small nearby table, his fingers absently tracing the prowling wolf.

Next, came the sleeveless leather gambeson with its diamond quilting. It slid over his head easily enough, and the loss of the weight was immediately felt and welcomed. He took a quiet moment to enjoy the sensation with his eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose. He grimaced – Sirius was right, he was positively ripe.

The vambraces quickly followed once the leather gambeson was draped over a nearby mannequin. These joined the gorget on the small table, their small metal buckles clinking together. The long-sleeved padded shirt was the next to be removed – it was awkward and bulky over his chainmail and was always a pain in the arse to remove. Through the years of experience of putting it on and taking off all by himself, however, he managed to eventually shimmy it over his head.

The chainmail was the trickiest of the lot. Mithril chainmail was light and flexible, but it did have some weight, and as with all armour, there was a degree of movement that was lost in its use. The main tie was at the nape of his neck, which was easy enough to tug loose. However, the ties on his side were awkward and difficult as they were just out of his reach. Through a little tugging and stretching, the ties came loose, and he allowed the mail to fall over his head as he doubled over.

He almost fell backwards as the weight suddenly left him, and the dull thud of the metal echoed throughout the room. With a barely contained moan of absolute bliss, Harry rolled his shoulders comfortably. The constant weight and pressure were no more – he was free!

After that, his tunic and undershirt were peeled off – he tried not to gag at the sound and the feeling of it-- and once his upper body was bare to the gentle breeze of the open window, he got to work on removing his boots. The tall, knee-high boots were made of quality leather, with two buckles running up the calves to secure them. The came undone easily, and with a few tugs, his feet were free.

He’d barely removed the rest of his clothes by the time the water in the tub stopped rising, a light mist of steam already wafting from the water. Slipping in gently, he couldn’t help the groan that whispered past his lips as the warm water soothing his aching body.

He sat there in the tub for a time with his arms draped on either side. This was bliss. While Blackwall had tubs, baths, and showers, he found something truly relaxing about sitting in a tub before the fireplace. It allowed him to relax in a way that sitting in a bath couldn’t compare with – perhaps it was the pop-crackle of the fire in the background, rather than the oppressive silence of a bathroom.

Time stopped having any real bearing as he became completely relaxed. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the water. Could he stay here forever? He’d be more wrinkled than Merlin, but at least he’d be comfortable – though he was quite stumped on just how he’d eat.

There was a knock on his door, and he groaned.

“Pup, we’re to eat in the hall tonight. Hurry up – the House Elves should have laid out a fresh change of clothes on your bed for you,” Sirius’s voice called.

“Alright! I’ll be out in a minute!” he called in reply, lightly brushing a finger against the rune that would turn the water soapy.

He furiously scrubbed at his skin, watching as the dirt and grime almost peeled off him. Once his skin was thoroughly pink, he dunked his head under the water and washed his hair with his fingertips.

Harry hadn’t given much care for his appearance as a child, content to have unruly, wild hair sticking up this way and that. It had been Sirius, just two years previously, who had taken him aside and explained the reasoning behind a well-groomed appearance. As a result, he had bathed far more frequently and allowed his hair to grow out in a parody of Sirius’s own shoulder length curls. Sirius never failed to complain once a week how Harry was blessed with naturally straight hair, while he’d been cursed with ridiculous curls. He had even gotten Arcturus to take him to Saint Mungo’s and have his vision corrected by a specialist. It had been a transformation that had caused Neville and Daphne a second to realise it had been him when he had arrived some weeks later when they were all three next met.

Neville had known he was allowing his hair to grow, an effort which Sirius had assisted him in with a little magic, but he had been unaware of his plans to discard his glasses. The only real downside of the whole thing was he now sported a centre-parting, meaning it was far more difficult to hide his scar. Daphne had briefly forgotten to check for the scar, and instead demanded to know who he was. A few moments later, she was hitting him with her latest book on runes for not telling her his plans.

A few days before Harry had been told of the trip, the three of them had sat under one of the large trees on the Greengrass estate, swapping hopes and dreams about their magical education at Hogwarts when they had gotten to the topic of Houses. Neville had surprised him with his desire to be sorted into Gryffindor, the house of his father. Harry had been sure Neville would be better suited to Hufflepuff – he was a loyal friend, his best friend even.

Daphne had been no surprise, hoping for Slytherin. Her sharp tongue and quick mind were often overlooked as she cunningly hid behind a façade of cool indifference. Neville and Harry were going to pull another prank on Sirius? She’d huff, call their idea foolhardy, and then go on to point out all the ways they could go about it without getting caught. She was downright Slytherin when she got going.

Harry, as well as Neville, had his eyes set firmly on Gryffindor – Sirius had done the math a year ago and giddily told him that the chances were high that he’d be assigned to their old room. He determined to sleep in the same bed his father had used throughout his Hogwarts years – it was a way of connecting physically with the man he only ever got to hear tales of.

Harry sat back up and gulped in as much air as he could. Water dripped from his nose into the tub in a steady stream, and he had to blink away the few droplets that made it into his eyes. He brushed the same rune once again and watched as the suds and grime from his wash were drawn to the sides of the tub before promptly vanishing, leaving the water clean once again.

With a final dunk and rinsing of his hair, Harry rid himself of any remaining suds and finished his bath. He stood slowly, aware of the smooth surface of the bottom of the tub, and looked around for something to dry himself with.

Draped over a small table between the tub and the fire was a cotton towel large enough to wrap around himself. Raising his hand absently, he felt the towel leap into his awaiting hand before wrapping it around himself and stepping from the container fully.

One final tap of the original rune, and the water receded into the bottom of the tub before disappearing completely, with not a single speck of dirt or dampness to betray its previous use.

He dried himself quickly and efficiently as he padded his way over to the bed. The House Elves must have been some of the most efficient and quiet he had ever come across – he hadn’t even heard them enter the room.

The simple dark tunic was trimmed with the colours of House Potter, a saturated blue and grey, while the rest of the tunic was a rich black to match his hair-- Sirius told him it made his eyes pop. The main reason he wore it, however, was to honour House Black in his own little way. The dark trousers were form-fitting but comfortable, and he’d be wearing his usual boots, though they’d been cleaned of the dust and dirt they had been covered in.

He quickly dressed, shrugging the clothes on before he attacked his hair with the towel once more. The resulting mass of hair was quickly combed and tied into a manageable knot at the back of his head.

Feeling presentable once more, Harry nodded as he checked himself over in the mirror before striding out the door. He found Sirius and Remus sittin comfortably on the couches in the main room in similar clothes to his own, though their trimmings represented House Black. While Remus was thumbing through a book idly, he noticed Sirius was feeding his familiar a few crumbs of something.

Clearing his throat, he smiled at the two adults as he moved over to the table to retrieve his belt. Arcturus would skin him alive if he went anywhere without some means to defend himself. As a result, the dagger was a constant weight on his belt.

“We’ll be back soon, alright?” Harry whispered to the small bird.

A slow blink and a noise that could only be described as a tweet was his only response. He gently scratched the top of its head where a small crown of feathers was beginning to appear before he looked at the two adults waiting for him.

“I’m ready,” he sighed.

Sirius led the two of them through the corridors once again, and Harry was quite convinced that whoever had designed the layout of the keep had been insane. There were so many twists and turns, and Gods, don’t get him started on the stairs!

After a time, they arrived at what appeared to be a throne room. The banner depicting the golden dragon hung proudly from the rafters on the left-hand side. Interestingly enough, on the right-hand side were banners displaying a silver griffin with a wand in each talon atop a field of sage green.

The multiple tiers of viewing galleries were empty, and the room was lit with the soft, silver-white glow of the floating balls of light.

The room was filled with tables from the large entry doors all the way to just before the large throne sat within the gaping maw of a huge metallic dragon. Each table was crammed full of men and women, each staring at the three of them as they entered.

Sirius stepped forward first, as his name was called.

“Introducing the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Sirius Black!” the announcer proclaimed. Sirius bowed politely to the room at large before he was directed to the head table where the Viscount sat.

“Introducing Remus Lupin, Steward to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black!”

Mimicking Sirius, Remus bowed a little lower before he was led to one of the lower tables. As he sat, Remus nodded to Harry with a small smile.

“Introducing the Lord-apparent of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, Harry Potter!”

At the declaration of his family name, frantic whispering broke out among the occupants of the chamber. Ignoring them all, he too bowed at the waist and allowed himself to be led to his seat.

It wasn’t until he arrived at his chair that he realised he’d been seated between Sirius and the Viscount. His eyes wildly sought Sirius, who nodded ever so slightly to him. Sirius would look after him. He gulped a little as he sat in the chair.

For a moment, there was an absence of noise in the cavernous room. All the eyes before him were peering up at the head table curiously, wondering just what was to happen. Slowly, Trevelyan stood and clapped his hands – food appeared on every table at the sound – and called in his powerful voice, “Let the feast begin!”

Immediately hands reached out to snatch at food all around the hall. Harry would have thought that none of them had eaten a meal in a month based off of the ferocity with which everyone attacked their food.

To his right, Sirius gathered a light meal of chicken, potatoes, and a small variety of vegetables with a little gravy. Harry opted to instead have a serving of a dish that had minced beef, vegetables and potato combined into some sort of pie.

The table was quiet, besides the clattering of cutlery, murmured conversation, and occasional barks of laughter from the lower tables. Harry remembered his etiquette lessons and kept his elbows tucked in tightly, forkfuls of food small, and his back straight. He would not engage in conversation until someone spoke to him.

“It is fortunate you arrived when you had, Lord Potter,” Trevelyan spoke for the first time, his face impassive as he sipped from his goblet.

Harry turned to look at him once he’d swallowed his food, “My Lord?”

“There were rumours that the last remaining heir to the Potter lands and title had died along with his parents. There were many in this court that believed your lands and wealth should be divided up between them.”

Harry flinched at the mention of his parents and fought hard to keep the scowl from his face.

“I imagine they would think themselves so lucky, My Lord.”

Sirius snorted quietly into his goblet.

“Tell me, young Harry. What plans have you for the future of your house?” Carth Trevelyan asked after a time – both of them, including Sirius had pushed their plates away.

“Plans, Lord Trevelyan?” Harry asked as he sipped his own goblet – it was a sweet summer wine from the tang on his lips.

Carth huffed out a quiet noise of amusem*nt.

“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you boy?”

“The last person to underestimate me was killed, or so the story goes,” Harry stared back, before he slowly added, “My Lord.”

“My daughter would like you, I’m sure.”

“You have a daughter, Lord Trevelyan?” Sirius asked, attempting to change the direction of the conversation.

“Aye, a daughter and a son – both old enough to be the boy’s parents. They are away from the city for now, but will return soon enough, I’m sure.”

“You must be very proud of them,” Sirius offered politely. Carth, however made no inclination one way or another. “I trust the Council has been informed of our desire to meet with them?”

“They have, you are expected to present yourselves before them at noon tomorrow.”

Sirius nodded and lifted his goblet in thanks. “You honour us with your assistance, Viscount.”

“Indeed.”

The rest of the feast passed in an oppressive silence as the rowdiness at the lower tables became louder and louder. It wasn’t long until both Harry and Sirius stood from the table and excused themselves, pleading exhaustion from the long journey. Upon their departure from the hall, Remus joined them. By the time Harry stumbled into his room, he barely had the strength to divest himself of his clothes.

“You are to comport yourself with honour and dignity before the Council, do you understand me?” Sirius asked, his hand gently cupping Harry’s cheek. Harry nodded slowly.

He was dressed in a similar way to the previous night, only this time his tunic had the prowling white wolf of his house stitched proudly on his left breast.

“Good,” Sirius nodded in return as his hand dropped back to his side. “Come, it’s time.”

Sirius led him through a small garden courtyard that had a dazzling array of colour – there were reds, purples, whites, yellows, oranges and more. The fragrances were sweet and inviting and helped to relax him immensely.

He had so many questions about this Council – who were they? Why were they seeing them?

Sirius stopped before an ancient looking door – its wood was flaking and peeling, with large knots providing dark spots all throughout the wood. The thing looked positively ready to crumble. Sirius gave a slight nod to himself before heaving the door open with a groan of its hinges.

Within was a large domed room. There were the large, intricate pillars that supported the walls. They were made of full granite, and their carvings were both crude and simple. Indeed, the entire room looked to have been carved out of a single, enormous boulder.

Around the room in regular intervals were metal sconces that held an eerie blue flame. If the cool feel of the room were any indication, there appeared to be little, if any, heat given from it, but Harry knew it had to be Magefyre. He had never seen it in person, but many of the tomes in the Black family library had references to the substance.

Despite the appearance of flame, Magefyre was in fact the magical imprint of flames long extinguished. While he wasn’t entirely clear on the specifics, as he understood it, only a witch or wizard with an innate and intimate relationship with fire were able to summon it. There were other connections for other people that connected with the other elements. Sirius had told him that his father had been able to summon Magefyre from his fifth year.

“Greetings to the House of Black and the House of Potter,” an ancient voice croaked, the sound echoing throughout the chamber.

Harry’s eyes were torn from the flames and found themselves fixated upon a large circular table in the centre of the room on a large stone dais. Around the table were twelve high-backed stone chairs with exquisitely carved statues in them.

Harry approached the table slowly and cautiously. He felt his magic calling to him, and before he could wrestle it under control, it rushed from him in powerful waves and into the stone table.

The sensation of so much magic leaving him was surprisingly soothing and left his chest feeling tingly. He had slammed his eyes shut at the first hint of his magic stirring, though when he opened them, he could barely believe his eyes.

Flowing in a steady stream towards a rune he hadn’t noticed in the centre of the table was his magic! It was visible! He’d never heard of anything like this, and the startled noise Sirius made behind him told him he was equally shocked. Spells were often visible as they took form, but the innate magic in a person had only been theorised. His magic appeared like water. It was dense, viscous, and dare-he-say, pure. It was beautiful.

“Long have we awaited your arrival…”

“… to awake the sleepers from stone…”

“… to greet our magic with yours…”

“… we welcome you…”

“… Lord Harry Potter.”

As the staccato of voices came to their end, the eyes of the statues snapped open with a flash of pale blue light. Their cold blue eyes bore into him as his magic continued to trickle into the table.

“To whom am I speaking?” Harry asked after a moment.

“We are one and we are twelve, unified in our duty to our Lord… To our King.”

Harry frowned, that answered absolutely nothing. “But who are you?”

“We had names once, long ago. Families both great and powerful, though our names were forgotten.” One of the voices replied mournfully. “We are bound to this place to await his return.”

“Who’s return?”

“The King’s.”

“Are you the Council?” Harry asked after a short silence, his gaze sweeping across the unblinking statues.

“That is what we have become known as, aye.”

“My Godfather, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black has begged an audience with you.”

“We know. Come forth, scion of my blood,” a new voice called, no less ancient but somehow more… tender?

Sirius slowly moved to stand by Harry, his eyes darting between the trickle of magic and the statues warily. He clasped his hands before him.

“My Lords, myself and my grandfather – the Lord Arcturus Black, have questions pertaining to our charge.”

Harry looked up at Sirius – he hadn’t known they were seeing the Council about him! Had he done something wrong? Was something wrong with him? Sirius looked down at him and smiled reassuringly as he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You will leave here today with no answers, only questions.”

“My Lords?” Sirius asked, surprised.

“Place the boy on the table before us.”

Harry looked to Sirius nervously. Sirius seemed torn before nodding to himself.

“Do it, pup.”

With a grunt, Harry pulled himself onto the stone table easily enough before walking to the centre. He noticed for the first time that each of the statues had different facial features and varied armour, though they all displayed the same sigil of the dragon and three crowns. He also noticed that the entire surface of the table was littered with various runes he didn’t recognise. Slowly, from the outside in, they lit up with the same eerie blue as the eyes of the statues.

In a rush of magic that blew his hair about him wildly and flapped the loose material of his clothes, Harry gasped as he dropped to his knees and screamed.

His head felt like it was going to implode as his scar seared his forehead. The scar had always drawn the attention of those around him, as it appeared to have never healed. The angry lightning bolt above his right eye was a constant ugly red that was raw to the touch.

In all the years of it occasionally aching and throbbing through the darkest of nights, it had never compared to the agony he now suffered. He gripped at his head as the blood ran in thick trails down his face. His throat was raw and strained, and in the distance he thought he could hear Sirius screaming spells at the statues around him.

The magic continued to attack him mercilessly, and behind his eyelids, the statues began to move and change. The rough stone fell away in large chunks, revealing the polished silver plates of armour and tanned skin of those inside them. They stood from their chairs and gathered around him, kneeling in a circle upon the table and placing strong hands on his shoulders.

Time lost its meaning as he continued to scream. He could have been there for seconds, minutes, hours, or even days – he felt nothing besides the blinding pain.

Some time into it, when he thought he could take no more, there was a dull crack beneath him, and he fell backwards. He opened his eyes groggily to see a large, oily mass writhing above him angrily. He tilted his head to the side and saw the statues had remained in place. Had he imagined them changing?

He groaned as he sat up on his elbows and returned his gaze to the mass above him.

“What is that?”

“A remnant of twisted magic. No longer shall it torment you.”

“Harry!” Sirius called, slamming his fists against a milky white barrier that hadn’t been there before. He noticed for the first time that Remus also seemed to be there. How long had he been screaming? Both men looked shaken and haggard.

“I’m alright!” he groaned in reply, forcing himself to his knees slowly. There was a pulse of light above him and he turned just in time to watch as the substance shredded mercilessly.

“Your time with us is over. Go forth and return in time. We shall await you.”

With that, the blue eyes around him closed and the barrier that had been keeping Sirius and Remus away dropped instantly. Neither man wasted any time in climbing upon the table and gathering him in their arms.

“Harry! Merlin you put years on me!” Sirius moaned, wiping hair from Harry’s face as he was pulled bodily into the man’s lap and gently rocked back and forth.

“What happened, Harry?” Remus asked softly, kissing his brow.

“Not sure. Everything hurts,” he groaned softly in reply.

“Remus, help me get him to our rooms,” Sirius ordered, throwing Harry’s right arm around his neck – by the time he was pulled upright, he was unconscious.

He groaned as he sat up, his shoulders aching. He felt like he’d been trampled by a raging herd of Hippogriffs. A soft chirp from the pillow next to him revealed his little familiar, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Hello, you.”

The little bird hopped across the pillow and nuzzled his cheek affectionately. He scratched it under the chin in return before throwing aside the covers. The last thing he remembered was Remus and Sirius worrying over him after whatever happened with the Council.

And what was it that had happened? Had that mass of oily, dark magic been inside him this whole time? He had to admit that he felt lighter, more carefree – unburdened of a strange weight he couldn’t name.

He moved over to a nearby mirror and washbasin and splashed the fresh water on his face and neck. He placed his hands on either side of the basin for a moment, allowing the water to drip from the tip of his nose. Tilting his head back slightly, he peered at his reflection, his eyes immediately drawing themselves to his scar.

He gasped – no longer was the scar ugly, raw, and fresh-looking. Instead, it was a thin red line that appeared completely healed. It was too wide to expect it to fade into pale skin and become almost invisible, but at the very least it was no longer as obvious as it had been. Perhaps people would stare at it less.

Gently, he allowed his fingers on his right hand to trace it. It no longer throbbed and would likely never weep again. He felt his eyes brimming with tears a little at the thought.

He blew out an unsteady breath and sniffed defiantly. He would not cry – that was what children did, and he was almost ten. In another year, he would be going to Hogwarts where he could become a proper wizard. He cleared his throat as he pulled away from the mirror.

The sounds of the city outside trickled through the open window, and he found himself shivering slightly at the gentle breeze that ghosted across his bare chest. He resolved to dress himself before doing anything else.

He selected a tunic similar to the one he’d worn to meet the Council, though the neckline was slightly different-- a little more relaxed and breathable. With the garment neatly arranged, hem lightly hanging around his mid-thigh, he moved to the door after collecting his familiar.

He really needed to think of a name for his new companion, but he was torn. On the one hand, having a name for it would help to train it, but on the other hand, he had no idea what the Hell it was. Did he really want to call it, say, Snowy, when it could be a Thunderbird for all he knew? Though, a part of him couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of a Thunderbird called Snowy, of all things.

He stepped into the main apartment to see Sirius scribbling on some parchment, and Remus reading a book on what appeared to be some take on charm spells.

“Morning,” Harry groaned, slowly lowering himself into one of the spare couches.

The heads of both Sirius and Remus snapped in his direction. It appeared they had both been so preoccupied with their own work that they hadn’t heard him enter the room.

“Prongslet!” they both called, using the most private of their terms of endearment. He smiled at the name – he knew it hurt them both to call him that, being a reminder of his father and what had befallen him, but it was also Harry’s favourite name. It was another connection to his father.

“How are you feeling?”

“Are you alright?”

“Does anything hurt?”

“Are you dizzy at all?”

The rapid-fire questions that came at him caused him to blink dumbly for a moment as the two adults leapt to their feet and rushed to him. A gentle nip to his left earlobe reminded him there was also someone else who was interested in hearing how he felt.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I have a bit of a headache and I ache a little, but that’s it. I swear,” Harry replied, holding a hand up to stop any further questions while he massaged his forehead with his other hand.

“Harry…” Remus began, gasping.

“Your scar!” Sirius finished, the two adults peering at it closely.

“Yeah, I noticed it when I woke up,” Harry grinned, allowing a finger to trace it. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not for long, pup. Just for the night. You had us worried. What happened?” Sirius whispered, pulling Harry into a strong hug.

Harry felt his familiar squawk a protest and hop from his shoulder and onto the back of the couch at the action of his Godfather. Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius and buried his face in his thin leather tunic, inhaling deeply. Sirius always smelt of a strange combination of leather, the deep musky aftershave he was partial to, and just the faintest hint of dog.

“I don’t know. I got on the table, and then the next thing I know I’m looking up at that black mass above me.”

“Harry, that came out of you,” Remus murmured quietly. Harry pulled away from Sirius at that.

“You’re sure?”

Remus nodded slowly. “We saw it. Did they say what it was?”

“I think they called it a ‘remnant of twisted magic’? That was all they said.”

Sirius and Remus looked between themselves for a moment before Sirius sighed.

“Pup, when Arcturus and I arrived at Hogwarts to collect you, they told us there was some Dark Magic attached to your scar, but they had no idea of what it was, nor how to remove it.”

Harry sat there quietly, letting the words process themselves in his mind. So, it had come from him. Merlin, there was so much of it! How could that have gotten inside him? Was it some dark reflection of his own magic or maybe…?

“It was something to do with Voldemort, wasn’t it? Something he did to me that night.”

Sirius nodded slowly, but it was Remus who spoke.

“We can’t be sure, but that’s our best guess.”

“He is gone, right? He’s not coming back?” he asked, his voice tight with emotion. He fell back against the cushion behind him, his familiar cooing against his cheek.

“Yeah, pup. He’s gone.”

Harry nodded absently, running his hands down his face tiredly. “How long until we go home?”

“We leave at first light for the Potter lands here. Arcturus will meet us in Wales when we leave here. We’re introducing you to your ancestral seats,” Sirius smiled, taking the seat next to him.

“Seats? As in plural?”

“Of course – there’s the one here, and the one in Britain.”

“So, what’s the one here called? You’ve had me study Rosestone until I could walk around it blindfolded,” Harry murmured as he stared up at the ceiling tiredly. He felt so exhausted, but he’d only just woken up.

“Arpton Keep. It’s close enough to Rosestone’s layout and design, but just on land rather than an island. It’s on a cliff, sat between two huge waterfalls.”

“It sounds impressive.”

“It is.” Sirius leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Your father showed it to me just before our final year at Hogwarts.”

“Then I’ll get to see it with your and Remus just before my first year,” Harry grinned at both men. Remus smiled at him warmly before they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Sirius frowned before he stood to open the door, and from the murmured voices, he wasn’t impressed. Harry sat himself up a little more.

“I’ve a message for the Lord Potter?”

Ah, so it was a messenger then.

“What’s the message?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to his familiar.

“Lord Trevelyan requests your presence in his solar promptly. Lord Black is to remain here,” the gaunt looking woman replied with an air of aloofness, her copper hair tied back in an intricate braid that complimented her dress.

He looked at Sirius, who shrugged.

“If he’s requested your presence and I’ve been ordered to stay here, there’s not much I can do, pup.”

Harry nodded slowly as he felt the familiar on his shoulder shift from foot to foot.

“Very well. I’ll be back soon, Sirius. Remus, keep an eye on him, will you?” He had tried to sound casual, but it felt hollow, even to him.

The woman nodded and gestured for him to follow. He hadn’t noticed, but she appeared to have been escorted by a pair of burly looking guards. The echo of the quartet’s shoes and the clinking of metal armour plates were the only accompaniment to their short journey.

They arrived promptly at an opulent set of apartments, presumably the home of the Viscount. The woman knocked three times before the command to enter was called through the wood. The woman opened the door for him before saying, “Lord Potter, as you requested My Lord.”

The guards moved to take position on either side of the door in the corridor.

“Very good, you may leave us,” Carth intoned gravely from his desk. He was sat at a large oak table covered in a neat sort of chaos as he scribbled away at some parchment. Between himself and Carth Trevelyan sat a blonde-haired woman, whose hair was braided into elegant waves that fell to the small of her back. As she turned to peer over her shoulder at him, he noted her sage green sleeveless dress, high cheekbones, pouty lips, and green eyes.

His escort curtsied once and left the room promptly. Harry bowed properly at the waist and waited patiently with his hands clasped at the small of his back and his feet a shoulder’s width apart. The woman had turned dismissively back to the Lord Trevelyan and continued to sip from the crystal goblet she had been holding.

“Sit,” came the eventual command. Harry bowed his head, despite nobody in the room looking in his direction, and did as he was told. Carth continued scribbling.

The silence continued on, save for the gentle tapping of Trevelyan dipping his quill in more ink. The silence suited Harry just fine. It gave his eyes a chance to dart across the desk and to take in the details of the room that he could see.

The room was furnished with the same hue of green that he had seen on the banners in the great hall, with that same Griffon on almost every item in the room. It appeared to be the banner of House Trevelyan – he wondered what their House Words were? We who make people wait sprang to mind.

“I suspect you wonder why I summoned you,” Trevelyan finally remarked, still scratching away.

“It had crossed my mind,” Harry replied evenly.

“Allow me to introduce my daughter, Lady Alara Trevelyan – my second born,” Carth said, finally looking up from his parchment and placing his quill alongside half a dozen others in a neat line.

Harry inclined his head politely in Alara’s direction. “My Lady.”

“Lord Potter,” she replied evenly, returning her own nod.

“Now, onto matters of business. As you are no doubt aware, you are the last with any claim to the lands and titles of the House of Potter.” Carth sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers before his chest. “As such, there are certain obligations that have to be met.”

“My Lord?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“Heirs. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter is one of the oldest families in our world. It is your duty to continue that bloodline. You are aware of this, I take it?”

“I am, Lord Trevelyan.”

“Excellent. I trust you can understand my concern when we hear there are wars being fought beyond the Ro’rim?” Trevelyan asked, an eyebrow quirking.

“I can certainly understand your point of view on this, yes.”

“And as the young man lauded for ending the last conflict, as a babe no less, this puts us in an interesting position.”

“And what position would that be, Lord Trevelyan?” Harry asked, his own eyebrow raised curiously.

“I propose, instead of returning through the Ro’rim with the Black’s, you instead remain here at the Citadel. You shall be afforded the highest education money can buy, and in time you will join your house to mine.”

Alara, to his right, choked on the mouthful of her drink she had taken. He looked at her confused.

“Are you offering a betrothal, Lord Trevelyan?” The man nodded. “I wasn’t aware you had any children my age.”

“I don’t. You will wed my daughter. She is widowed, but still of an age to have children.”

The words echoed through his mind. He was being offered the Viscount’s daughter. Why? It was political manoeuvring; of that he was sure. But why now? Did he know they were leaving in the morning?

“What?!” Alara snapped, finally having regained control over her breathing. Her cheeks were flame red. “He is a child.”

“And he shall reach his majority in only a few short years. This will be a benefit to both Houses, and you shall hold your tongue and do as commanded.”

Harry shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “I thank you for the offer, Lord Trevelyan, but respectfully I have to decline.”

“On what grounds?”

“Respectfully, My Lord, I decline on the basis that I’ll be attending Hogwarts as my father and mother both did. I also intend to return to Blackwall Estate with the men that have raised me since I was a babe,” Harry replied evenly – he noticed Alara’s fury had tempered itself a little.

“In that case, I will not be able to protect your lands and titles were something to befall you, Lord Potter. It is my understanding that you plan to travel to the Potter lands before returning home?” Trevelyan asked before continuing at Harry’s nod. “I must warn you that the roads are… ill-maintained and are often prowled by dangerous creatures. It would be a shame if Heir Black were unable to protect you adequately.”

The subtle threat hung in the air, and Harry found himself gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

“I assure you, Lord Trevelyan – Sirius Black takes any and all threats to my person with the utmost seriousness.”

“We can only hope he lives up to your ringing endorsem*nt. It seems our business is concluded. The guards at the door shall escort you back to your chambers, Lord Potter.”

Chapter 8: Harry III

Chapter Text

They had departed the Capitol early the following morning, all eager to be rid of the Viscount Trevelyan and his not-so-subtle schemes. According to Sirius, Carth Trevelyan had a reputation for ruthlessness – they were glad to be rid of him.

Upon their departure, they had enlisted the services of half a dozen guards to escort them to Potter lands. They rode in a loose formation around Sirius, Remus and himself – their eyes constantly scouring their surroundings.

They had moved south of the Capitol and had followed the cobbled road easily enough, enjoying the occasional cover of shade that the tall trees on either side provided. On his shoulder, his familiar slept, curled up in the crook of his neck, burrowed between the doublet beneath his gambeson and his skin.

It had relaxed him, to a degree. He had been on edge, almost jumping at shadows since Trevelyan’s less than subtle threat the night before. It was obvious even to him, that the older man had expected to bully and intimidate him into agreeing. It was another thing to be thankful of Arcturus for – he doubted he’d have the courage and fortitude to have refused the Viscount otherwise.

His mind drifted to his eldest guardian. It had been some time since he had seen Arcturus – the longest length of time he’d gone without him in his entire life, in fact. He couldn’t help but recall just how exhausted he’d appeared as he’d stumbled from the hall after renewing the fealty of his people. He had never truly been concerned for the man before, but recently Harry couldn’t help but take a little more notice of his age.

While Arcturus was in fact, for a wizard at least, just a little over halfway through his life expectancy, he looked a number of decades older than he should. Witches and wizards, he had learned, don’t age in the same way Muggles do – it was due in part to their magic. Magic was an energy source – almost infinite in supply, and as those born with the gift had learned over many thousands of years, how to allow their bodies to tap into this resource almost subconsciously.

It was almost a forced evolution, in a way – it was also why being stripped of your magic was considered as a more humane death penalty. Without access to that magic, the body would deteriorate and age in a much more Muggle fashion – though, it was far more dangerous to be stripped of magic as an adult rather than a child. Children could survive the process and live out their lives – the same could not be guaranteed for adults. Rapid aging over the course of a few hours was often documented in the books he had read in the Black family library.

He blinked lazily as the motion of the mare beneath him rocked him side-to-side slowly. He had enjoyed the trip if he were honest with himself. While it could never compete with a broom, there was something natural in it. Perhaps it would make an interesting hobby when they returned to Blackwall – at the very least it would make his next visit to the Capitol less embarrassing.

He looked to his right and smiled slightly at the young witch that had become his unofficial shadow on the journey. She had a friendly face, with a sharp jaw and dark hair that was braided over her shoulder. Her robes and armour were the same as those he had seen in the rest of the Capitol, and the staff that had been constantly gripped in her left hand practically oozed with power.

“Did you make your staff, or were you given it?” He asked after a time, watching as the corners of her mouth struggled not to rise. Unlike her companions, she hadn’t raised the small hood sewn into her armour over her head.

“I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d finally ask me about it, Little Lord.” She replied evenly, keeping her eyes on the nearby treeline to her right.

“I’ve never seen staves like them before. Everyone uses wands in Britain.” He shrugged, eyeing the red crystal ball the size of his head atop the staff, and the wicked looking double-edged blade that took up the bottom third of the shaft.

“Not surprisin’. Wands are easier to hide.” She chuckled, the sound deep and low. It was a contrast to her voice, which was soft and kind.

She wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t imagine attempting to pass off a staff in the Muggle-world. At least with a wand it could be held in a holster of some-kind – most witches and wizards used either a wrist holster or a similar one on their waist.

“To answer your question, Little Lord, I made it myself. Cypress wood for the shaft, Mithril blade and a blood-ruby focus.” She replied quite smugly.

“Blood-ruby? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. It’s not common, to be true.” She shrugged, idly shifting her grip on the weapon in her hand. “Blood-rubies are found under old battlegrounds where enough blood and magic were seeped into the soil. They make deadly foci for staves.”

Harry nodded slowly at that, eying the smooth sphere atop the staff even more appreciatively. “How does the staff compare to the wand? Sorry, I also realised I never asked your name?”

He received a quiet chuckle for his words. “The name’s Clara Appleton, milord. Not often a Lord like yerself would take an interest in someone of my station. You honour me, Little Lord.” She glanced at him and smiled kindly. “As for staves… They’re more powerful, but less focused. Not to mention a little tricky in a fight.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Harry replied slowly, eyeing the cumbersome looking weapon. He peered at the rest of their company.

Besides Clara, there were two others with staves – though their designs were much different. One seemed to be a simple large chunk of wood, while the other was an elaborate design of sharp angles and spikes at the top, with a scythe-like blade at the bottom.

The other three members of their escort had a weapon of some kind attached to their belts – a mace and two swords between them and assumed they would rely on their wands. While Clara had been professional and friendly, the other guards had been distant and stoic. He was glad she had taken position nearest him.

They continued in silence for a time, with nearby birds singing away in the branches around them. The temperature was pleasantly cool, and the sky was littered with a number of large white clouds – idly he began attempting to form images out of their wispy forms.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the cloud that looked a little like a Grim – he wondered what Sirius would think of it. Though, a part of him didn’t want to inflate Sirius’s ego to the point where he thought the clouds were imitating him. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

His familiar stirred a little on his shoulder, nipping at his ear playfully. He had noticed in the night that the stunted beak he had first noticed was becoming more pronounced and hooked – almost like an Eagle’s.

He chuckled at the action and reached absently into one of the small bags hooked to the front of his saddle. After a moment of idle fumbling, he offered a small piece of burned bacon to the little creature and smiled when it was snatched from his fingertips.

It seemed to be growing quite well, with its frame filling out a little more on an almost daily basis. Even in comparison to the day before, the body of his little friend appeared much healthier – even the skin appeared a much more normal hue of pink.

A noise in front of him drew his attention to Sirius, who was muttering angrily with Remus – no doubt about the Viscount’s threat. What the man would do in response was anyone’s guess, and Sirius had barely been held back from challenging the older man to a duel. Sirius had pouted and scowled all day – his magic had been wild and barely restrained as a result.

But what could they do? They had been staying in the man’s home for all intents and purposes, and even Harry knew that breaking the honoured tradition of Guest-right was to invite chaos upon those who did.

Besides, soon enough they would all be safely beyond the reach of Trevelyan and any danger within the Potter lands – though he had to admit, he had absolutely no idea what the Potter lands actually held. He knew they were vast, according to the late-night conversation he, Sirius and Remus had had in an attempt to distract themselves.

“Little Lord,” Clara began hesitantly. He turned to face her curiously. “I know it’s not my place to ask, but I was wondering what your plans were once you reached your lands?”

“I suppose that’s up to Sirius and Remus. I don’t know much about my duties here.” He shrugged, nodding in his guardian’s direction.

“I was unaware, Little Lord. I take it this is your first visit?” She asked, a finely shaped eyebrow raised slightly.

“Aye, it is. It’s like nothing I could have imagined.” He grinned, earning one in reply. After a moment he asked, “Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what, milord?”

“Little Lord.”

“You’re little and you’re a lord.” She shrugged in response, as if it made perfect sense. He had to admit, she wasn’t wrong.

“True. Can’t imagine it would go over too well with many others, though.” He grinned cheekily, earning a snort of amusem*nt.

“Aye, you’re not wrong on that account. Though, not much interaction with noblefolk like yerself in my day-to-day.”

He nodded at that. Indeed, he couldn’t imagine it would be particularly common for a guard to interact with anyone from the noble families on a regular basis. Perhaps their household guard, but that was about it.

“What are they like? The other nobles, I mean.” Harry found himself asking, shifting in his saddle as they meandered around a lazy bend.

“They’re like nobles, milord. Not my place to question them.” She shrugged, her dark eyes darting to the shadows as they passed. What she was looking for, he couldn’t say.

As the road straightened out once more, they were greeted with an odd sight. A hundred metres from them sat a man in a dark cloak leaning against a gnarled stick that seemed thicker in width than Harry’s waist – even from this distance.

The party came to a stop – they hadn’t come across anyone else on the road all day. Immediately, the guards closed in around them, forcing Sirius, Remus and himself into the centre with a pair of guards on each side. He glanced nervously at Clara, who winked at him in return.

“Don’t you worry, Little Lord. You stick close to me, and I’ll protect you.”

His heart was hammering in his chest. After Trevelyan, he’d been on edge all day to some degree. He had tried to distract himself, but in the seriousness of the situation it all came flooding back.

“Leygood, ride out and check him.” One of the guards commanded – the grizzled man, who’s face Harry had noticed earlier that morning was covered in scars was the one that had claimed seniority.

“Aye sir.” Leygood replied – he was a younger wizard and the one Harry had noticed had carried the mace on his hip.

They watched in silence as the young man galloped towards the stranger. At this distance, they couldn’t hear what was said, but after a moment Leygood appeared to edge his horse forward and nudged the stranger with the toe of his boot.

The stranger collapsed in three pieces. “It’s a tra-“ Leygood yelled, spurring his horse back to the group. Even at this distance his voice was panicked, though his words were cut off as he fell backwards off of his horse like a doll. His horse continued galloping, though Leygood’s foot was still caught in one of the stirrups and was dragged along behind.

“Form up! Shields and barriers! Nothing gets through!” The same grizzled guard yelled – instantly snapping a large white shield into existence with a sharp slash of his wand.

Noises on either side of him revealed a dozen or so men in patchwork armour and chainmail that lazily strolled out from the undergrowth. All were of varying size and build, and all were wearing matching smirks. One of the brigands waved their wand and twin columns of flame cut off the road ahead and behind them. They were trapped.

“Off the horses! Close ranks!”

Harry leapt from his mare, hurrying to Sirius’s side – Clara was right behind him, her eyes never leaving their attackers.

“Harry, stay close to me.” Sirius commanded, his own wand in-hand. Remus was next to him with his own.

“Lay down your weapons and we’ll make it quick!” A voice called out imperiously. “You’re outnumbered!”

“Allow us passage and no-one need die!” Clara called back angrily.

“Kill them.”

Chaos erupted around them. Spells were shot from wands and impacted on the strong shields the guards had erected. Over their shoulders, Sirius and Remus threw their own volleys at those they could. A pair of screams indicated their hits. On his shoulder, his familiar was hoping up and down angrily.

“Anyone that dies without taking at least one of them with you, I’ll make an Inferi out of your f*cking corpse!” One of the guards growled before letting loose with a number of rapid cutting curses.

Harry watched from among the press of bodies as the dark red bursts of energy slashed at one of the brigand’s shields before the shield shattered under the onslaught. The final burst of light opened his stomach up from hip to shoulder. The wet slaps of his innards spilling from the wound were followed shortly by the limp corpse following it moments later.

Harry screwed his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

A nearby scream caused him to open his eyes. To his left, one of the guards had taken a blasting hex to his leg and had toppled to the floor clutching at his bloody stump. Another flash of light reduced his chest to a large crater. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes from the vacant, pain-filled expression that had been frozen on his face.

His gaze flicked up at one of the approaching brutes. There was nothing between him and Harry. Just as he was about to panic, a flash of yellow struck the man in the shoulder and he was thrown backwards with a sickening crunch against one of the many trees. Sirius stepped before him, his wand flicking this way and that. If Sirius was there, he was safe. He was protected.

The circle of warriors closed in, covering the gap in their defences. Through the press of bodies and the gaps between his defender’s legs, Harry spotted the results of his defence: bodies lying in the dirt motionless while others clutched and grabbed at bloody wounds.

Another guard fell, the remains of his head falling around them in a spray of gore and bone. A piece landed at Harry’s feet that still had clumps of matted hair attached to it. Before he could stop himself, he was doubled over and spilling his lunch onto the ground.

A sharp whip-like crack pierced in the air, and he was sent flying. He landed in a crumpled heap a few metres from the wall of flame that had cut off their retreat. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. His ears were ringing. He shook his head as he looked for his familiar.

It seemed that whatever attempt had been made to knock them down, had also knocked their attackers down. There was a short reprieve while everyone stumbled back to their feet. Clara rushed over to him, her staff in her right hand and his familiar held carefully in her left. She pushed the bird into his hands and pushed him in the direction of a large boulder roughly. Her words were slow and muffled by the ringing in his ears, but he obeyed.

From where he crouched, he watched the battle renew. Without the need to protect a child, the guards rallied alongside Sirius and Remus, slowly advancing on the less organised attackers. Remus twirled a quick motion with his wrist just before a brilliant white light shot out of its tip, the light piercing the chest of one of the largest men he had ever seen. He collapsed in a boneless heap.

There had to only be eight attackers now, but in that moment two of them rushed the remaining two guards. Clara, he noticed, caught a short, wicked looking sword on the blade of her staff before slapping it out of the way and spinning the staff in her hand. With a powerful swing, she cracked her opponent across the jaw with the heavy crystal. As her opponent staggered away, she aimed with the crystal and unleashed a powerful arc of lighting at his exposed back. The man was launched half a dozen meters as his back was blown to pieces.

She looked his way for a brief moment, shouting something to him with a panicked look. She barely managed two words before something impacted the side of her head and blew it to pieces.

Her remaining dark eye stared at him vacantly from where she had crumpled to the ground.

The tears were freely flowing down his cheeks.

He cried out in surprise as a hand roughly covered his mouth and he felt the tip of a wand stabbing into his throat just behind his jaw. Sirius turned to look at him in alarm, his wand raised. Remus stood at his back, his forehead slick with sweat. One guard remained standing but was also being held at wand-point.

“One move and I kill the boy!” The voice behind him snarled.

“Harm a hair on him and I’ll rip you to pieces.” Sirius growled dangerously. Harry looked at his Godfather pleadingly as he struggled. “It’ll be alright, pup.”

Harry noticed there were only four of their attackers remaining, all with their wands pointed at those of their own party who had survived.

A startled yelp from his captor drew his attention to his familiar. The loyal little bird had buried its wicked looking beak into the soft flesh of his attacker’s arm, and Harry couldn’t help the spike of fear that went through him. What would this person do to his familiar? If they were capable of such bloody murder, were they also capable of murdering his defenceless little friend? He wouldn’t allow it!

The hand on his mouth was removed, only to quickly wrap a tight fist around the creature. “No! You can’t!” Harry screamed, fighting against the other arm that had wrapped itself around his neck. He threw his elbows back and kicked backwards with his heels as his hands struggled to loosen the grip.

With an angry curse, the man – beast, as he refused to believe a man could be so evil to have done all of this, threw his familiar through the air.

He watched; his throat clenched in fear as his companion arced through the air. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

There was a brilliant flash of orange light as a small sun exploded where his familiar had been. The roiling mass of flame lashed out angrily before the dull snaps of wings beating matched the thumping of his heart.

With flames still licking its body, the gorgeous red feathers caught the sunlight and looked like small flames themselves. The previously stunted beak that had only just begun to hook was now longer, fully pronounced and looked deadly. The ugly oversized glossy black eyes were now proportionate to the rest of the bird and surrounded by a dark, almost black skin. A crown of red feathers capped the bird’s head.

A screech from the creature echoed in the silence angrily. A burst of light from his captors wand leapt towards the magnificent bird, but just before it could impact, the bird burst into bright flames once again and the curse passed harmlessly through where the bird had been.

There was a momentary burst of heat behind him, and he looked over his shoulder suddenly to see wicked-looking talons bury into the shoulder of the beat behind him. A startled scream of pain and surprise and both creature and beast were swallowed by another burst of flame.

The clearing was silent as those on opposing sides looked at one another and around their immediate area for the man. A small tugging sensation in the back of his mind pulled his eyes skywards. He caught sight of the creature high above them, holding a struggling human in its grasp. With a horrifying scream, the beast was released and left to fall to the ground.

The body impacted the ground heavily, the skull smashing open on the hard cobblestone road as blood began to pool beneath it.

Another burst of flame and another of their attackers disappeared. His resulting scream as he plummeted to his death spurred both Sirius and Remus into action. Sirius lashed out with his wand, launching his captor in two separate directions with a powerful cutting curse and a blasting hex. Remus, who had been freed of being held at wand-point lashed out at the remaining brigand and cleanly beheaded him. The remaining guard slumped to the floor, exhausted.

Harry stumbled into the road and watched with wide eyes as the creature elegantly glided down to the floor before him – its talons clacking against the rough stone and its head tilted curiously to the side. Stood before him, the bird came to his waist and was half as broad as himself. It hopped curiously forward, a soft trill escaping its maw.

Sirius rushed over to him and swept him into his embrace. “Harry, are you alright? Are you hurt? Tell me, son.” He whispered, sweeping his hair behind his ears. Harry nodded numbly and continued to stare at the bird.

“She’s a Phoenix, Sirius.” He whispered, barely able to hear the words himself. Had he said them aloud?

Sirius turned his head and regarded the bird carefully. Remus and the remaining guard joined them, both looking a little worse for wear. “I dare say she is, pup.” He said slowly.

Harry reached out a trembling hand, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him as the adrenaline left his system. Had it only been a few minutes? It had felt so much longer. The Phoenix hopped a step closer before it nuzzled into his open palm.

“I think she needs a name.” Remus whispered as the remaining guard dropped to his knees.

Harry was quiet for a time, his gaze locked on his familiar. He had heard of Phoenix’s becoming familiars, but it was so rare it was almost unheard of. The only other Phoenix that he was aware of was Fawkes, Dumbledore’s familiar, which in itself caused a huge uproar when it had happened shortly after Grindelwald’s defeat.

Harry stared into its eyes, his head pounding with the rhythmic thumping of his heart. “Clara.” He murmured after a moment, gently rubbing his thumb over the crown of feathers on its head. Clara trilled her agreement softly as she shook her body slightly.

Eventually, he tore his eyes from the bird and looked around at the devastation around them. “What do we do?”

Remus sighed as Sirius rocked back on his heels wearily. “We’ll bury our fallen and mark their final resting places. The others we’ll burn.” Sirius nodded his agreement to Remus’s plan.

“I want to help.” Harry replied, feeling the tears form once again.

“You’ve done beautifully, Harry. Let me take it from here.” Sirius replied, affectionately cupping his cheek, and wiping a tear away with the pad of his thumb. Harry nodded numbly and allowed himself to be walked back to the boulder he had hidden behind.

Clara followed alongside him, hopping into the air, and gliding the short distance. Sirius sat him down facing the treeline. His hands shook violently, and he balled them into fists in an attempt to hold them still. Clara nipped at his ear as she nuzzled his cheek.

As Sirius moved to help the remaining guard he didn’t know the name of and Remus, he found himself fit to burst. With a shuddering sob, he threw his arms around his familiar and wept into its feathers in sporadic gasps.

The Phoenix moved into the embrace, its neck curling over the filthy leather gambeson on his shoulder. He felt so helpless. Clara died because she was distracted by him. If he’d have grabbed a wand, surely he could have helped! Distracted someone long enough for Clara or one of the others to focus on the fight!

His one saving grace of the entire ordeal was that both Sirius and Remus had survived and seemed unscathed. Was this what fighting was like? How often would he be in this situation in his life? His parents had been murdered when he was a child – he couldn’t handle it if anyone else he knew was murdered.

He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose as the sobs ebbed from his body. The tears continued their way down his cheeks, but he felt oddly… numb. He leaned back and took in the face of his familiar and attempted to offer it a small smile of thanks – though he noticed the small pool of tears in its own eyes.

“Don’t cry.” He sniffled, swiping the sleeves of his tunic across his cheeks. He pulled the hem of his sleeve down over his hand a little and dabbed away the Phoenix’s tears with as much care as he could manage. “All better.” He murmured.

A sharp crack and a bloom of light and heat behind him caused him to turn around. He saw the remains of their attackers dumped into a pile of bodies alight with yellow-orange flame. They had been thrown onto the pile unceremoniously by a still furious looking Sirius, while Remus and the guard appeared to have finished burying the fallen and were fashioning some markers.

His gaze returned to Sirius, who remained before the burning brigands. With the soft glow from the flames on his face, and the way his half-tied-back hair blew in the breeze he could think of no greater man to look up to. He remembered the first moment he truly felt like he was going to die – when there had been nothing between him and that brigand, only for Sirius to step unflinchingly between them with his wand raised. Sirius hadn’t hesitated.

He loved Sirius deeply, and in many ways he was his father. James Potter was a stolen from him in Godric’s Hollow, and for all Sirius and Remus had told him, he was a man made of stories who had passed his blood and name onto him. He loved his first father deeply, he truly did, but for all intents and purposes he was a Black.

It was Sirius who had been with him on every birthday. Sirius who had tucked him in at night and kissed his forehead. It didn’t lessen the profound impact and moments Remus and Arcturus had on his life, but they didn’t share the connection he and Sirius did.

In that moment, with the image of Sirius stood before the impromptu pyre in his gambeson and gorget, he knew who he wanted to make proud above all else. Never again would he be helpless and afraid.

He drew in a shaky breath and walked over to his Godfather. Sirius noticed his presence and turned before he knelt before him, the scowl disappearing completely as it was replaced by a look Harry could only describe as utter relief. Harry threw his arms around the older man’s neck, the steel of their gorgets scraping together as Sirius rocked back from the force a little.

“I love you, Sirius.” He whispered, feeling Sirius’s right hand begin gently stroking the back of his head.

“I love you too pup.” Sirius croaked quietly, wrapping his free arm around Harry’s waist.

“Promise me you’ll always be there.”

There was a quiet moment between the two of them. Sirius nodded slowly, “I’ll always be there, Harry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to go home.” He murmured as the stench of cooking flesh threatened to empty his stomach once again.

“Why don’t you go over to Remus while I go and round up the horses, hm?”

He’d forgotten about the horses in all the chaos. They must have bolted at some point after they’d dismounted. “Clara can help you. I don’t want you going off alone.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the responsible one, remember?” Sirius grinned weakly as he pulled away to look Harry in the eye. “I’ll take Clara and we’ll both be careful, okay?”

Harry nodded tiredly.

“Good. Come on, let’s get you to Remus.”

They arrived at Arpton Keep just as the sun began making its final descent beyond the horizon, with the warm orange glow bathing the stonework in its glow.

On either side of the path, two metres below them on either side were a pair of rushing rivers – they were each a light crystal blue, and on occasion Harry thought he could spot the odd fish darting between the rocks.

The castle itself was nestled on a cliff-top, its tall curtain walls protecting it from all directions while the rivers cascaded over the precipice in what must have been gorgeous waterfalls. A part of him wished to look up at the keep from the fields he imagined were below it.

The keep itself was a fairly traditional castle, with a mixture of circular and square towers of varying heights surrounding a large central keep. It didn’t feel right that it was his.

Harry sighed quietly as he took in the state of their beleaguered party. He had paid his respects to the graves of the guards who had given their lives, though he had lingered at Clara’s. It was only natural, he supposed, that he would feel a greater connection with her as she was the only one who he’d had any real form of interaction with.

The remaining guard, a forty-year-old wizard by the name of Felix Cale, was the wizard he had noticed with the angular staff. He seemed a friendly sort, if a little withdrawn but Harry didn’t blame him with everything that had happened.

Above him, he heard Clara give a small trill of excitement as she swooped through the air, with her long tail feathers leaving a small trail of flames in the approaching night’s sky.

A trio of horn-blasts called out from the castle.

It was a few minutes later when they stopped before the gate and a voice called down to them from among the crenellations. Now they were closer, he also noticed there were a number of hoardings on the towers that appeared at regular intervals along the wall.

“State your business, strangers. Who comes before Arpton Keep at this hour?”

“The Lord Potter has come to claim this castle and its lands!” Sirius bellowed in return. Harry noticed his Godfather was clutching the reins tightly in his grip. “We were ambushed on the road and have little patience to remain outside of a castle that by rights belongs to the Potters!”

There was silence from the keep, no doubt those on the other side of the wall were debating back and forth. The clunk of the lone portcullis’s chain being winched drew his eyes to the gatehouse before them.

The metal gate rose slowly, as the chain clinked and clanked in the silence of the evening. Harry swayed side to side a little as his mare shuffled a little nervously at the noise. He reached forward and gave it a reassuring pat on its neck. It had taken Sirius hours to track the horses down. He hadn’t found the one that had dragged Leygood’s corpse off, and some others had disappeared too. Luckily, Sirius had found his own, Remus’s and Harry’s easily enough – though he had only been able to find one of the guard’s horses for Felix.

The heavy gate swung open and a small group of men strode out nervously – their hands nervously twitching towards the weapons that hung from their belts. He noted that their armour was similar to Felix’s besides the colour and the sigil. Rather than the deep reds the guards in the Capitol had favoured, these men wore the blue and grey of House Potter and the prowling wolf emblazoned proudly on their chests and gorgets.

“Which of you is the Lord Potter?” A gruff voice questioned from within the detachment of men. Harry noted that they were all looking at Sirius and Remus, dismissing him out of hand.

“I am.” He announced in as strong a voice as he could manage, given the day’s events. He swung himself from his horse and stepped before the group. “I, Harry of the House Potter, son of James and Lily Potter claim this castle and its lands by right of blood and magic.”

As the words left his mouth, Clara swooped to the ground elegantly beside him, hopping forward once imperiously. At the sight of the Phoenix, the men dropped to a knee and bowed their heads, murmuring a quiet “Milord”.

“May I enter my castle?” He asked, quickly gesturing for them to rise. He looked over his shoulder at his three companions, all of whom nodded at him encouragingly. When he looked back at the men before him, they practically tripped over themselves to make way for him. One guard had run back through the gate and announced the return of their lord.

A guard rushed to gather the reins of his horse as they were led through the gate, the oak doors looked to be at least eight inches thick and banded with what appeared to be bars of Mithril reinforced the wood. These gates would not break easily, at least.

As he stepped into the courtyard, Sirius, Remus and Felix had dismounted and walked their horses through behind him, he noticed everyone gathered and staring in his direction. The courtyard was beautiful, with colourful flowers and twisting ivy growing up and around the buildings – though what those buildings were for, he couldn’t say.

The entire courtyard knelt as one.

“Rise.” He called, his voice echoing in the silence. He looked around at the guards that were spread throughout the courtyard and along the walls, all with just as much variety in their weapons as there were in the Capitol.

The population of the castle rose silently, and a middle-aged wizard stepped forward. His shoulder-length brown hair was greying at the temples and the top and sides were pulled into a knot at the back of his head. His leather tunic and boots were of a fine quality and cut in a similar style to his own though there was no sigil beside the wolf on his breast. “My Lord,” The man began, bowing his head and clasping his hands at the small of his back. “My name is Brandon, of House Aves. I have been the Steward for this castle ever since your father assigned me. It would be my honour to introduce you to your keep at your convenience. Shall I arrange for you to take the Lord’s apartment tonight or would you prefer other quarters?”

“I would like quarters near my Godfather, Sirius Black and my uncle Remus Lupin. Where Felix wishes to stay is entirely up to him – it has been a difficult day for all of us.”

It seemed in that moment that Brandon noticed the dried blood on all of their armour. “You encountered trouble on the road?” He gasped, shocked.

“A dozen brigands ambushed us. Our party departed the Capitol with six guards, unfortunately Felix here was the only survivor.” Sirius replied, clasping a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “The fallen will be mourned.”

Brandon nodded; his face drawn in a concerned frown. Clara chirped at Harry’s side, affectionately nipping at his fingers. “I see you have found a friend in your travels.” Brandon chuckled, eyeing the swan-sized bird with a raised eyebrow. “Well, nobody could ever say Potters do anything by half-measures.” The man chuckled, winking playfully at Harry. Harry grinned in response. “Shall we feed your friend let her be on her way?”

“She is my familiar, I doubt she’ll be leaving my side any time soon.” Harry replied, scratching the bird under her chin. Clara closed her eyes at the sensation and lifted her wings a little.

“You are bound to a Phoenix? You really are a Potter, it seems.” Brandon chuckled. Sirius and Remus snickering behind him.

“Do we have anywhere she could rest?” Harry asked, hearing the quiet murmurs of those around the courtyard.

“There is the upper-most floor of the Owlery. She could comfortably have the entire floor to herself – the owls prefer to avoid that level.”

“Good, she can have that then. Off you go, girl.” Harry agreed, smiling at the bird as she leapt into the air and went in the direction of one of the taller, rounded towers.

“Come, I’ll show you to the family wing and we’ll get you settled in.” Brandon smiled, gesturing for them to follow. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Felix meander over to one of the nearby guards, no doubt arranging his own lodgings. The man looked over at Harry once he felt his gaze and nodded respectfully in his direction. Harry returned the nod and turned to follow Brandon.

The interior of the castle was made of dark stone, an odd contrast to the lighter stone that made up the exterior walls. The shape of the many stones that made up the corridors were left in their natural shape, rather than the neat bricks that had formed the interior of the Citadel.

A marble tiled floor caused the sound of their footsteps to echo along its length, while the dark mahogany ceiling made the ceiling look almost pitch black. Evenly spaced throughout the many corridors were scones of howling wolves that held a silver-white ball of light, illuminating the many corners.

“Don’t worry My Lord, you’ll soon know this place as if you’d been running about the place as your father had wished you to.” Brandon said over his shoulder, having noticed Harry’s curious gaze.

“You knew James?” Sirius asked casually, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

“Aye, I knew him. Not as well as our fathers wished, of course. Charlus Potter and my own father, Rickard, were good friends.”

“Did my father come here often?” Harry asked, peering out of a window as they passed. Below were a series of magnificent gardens with a large oak tree in the middle. From this height in one of the upper floors of the main keep, he realised the garden was laid out in a large heptagram with the tree in the centre.

“He came more as a boy than as a man. He was to rule here in his father’s name until he claimed the lordship as many heirs do. Unfortunately, Lord Charlus was killed and your father never returned.” Brandon shrugged. “There were rumours that James married a young witch and had a son, but they weren’t confirmed until your arrival.” Brandon smiled back at Harry. “We’ve often wondered if someone would come to claim the Potter lands. We are all loyal to the family and would have fought fiercely to defend your lands from any vultures.”

Harry balked at that. These people didn’t even know him, and they were willing to fight to protect his land and his name. Memories from earlier in the day threatened to claw their way back to the front of his mind.

“Thank you, Brandon – but truly, I don’t want anyone to fight and die for me. I would see you all reach old age peacefully.” He replied shakily. He felt Remus grip his shoulder comfortingly.

“Aye, you’re a Potter alright.” Brandon chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked at Harry. “The Potters have earned the loyalty of your subjects many times over throughout the years. You seem to have a knack for putting others before yourselves, My Lord.” Brandon winked. Sirius snorted behind him.

“I’ll try to live up to my family’s reputation.” Harry smiled in return as they came to a stop before a pair of large oak doors that must have been two metres tall and almost four across.

Brandon gestured to the doors before he heaved them open. Inside, their saddlebags had been placed on a large central table in three separate piles. “The Elves will have brought these up but thought it best to leave their storage to you, what with not knowing which rooms you would prefer.”

Harry stepped into the room, and instantly noticed the pale blue colour scheme with grey trimmings. The family banner hung proudly on the far wall from the door. To his right was a large fireplace and a number of seating areas with half a dozen nearby bookshelves. To his left were a number of doors that no doubt led to various sleeping quarters.

It was with an odd sort of realisation that he noticed that he felt at home for the first time since they had left Blackwall. Something deep inside him felt at peace for the first time in his life. The feeling burst into existence in his chest and spread steadily through his extremities and into his mind with a pleasant buzz. He let out a contented sigh.

“It’s been a long time since I saw the Family Magic at work.” Brandon smiled. Remus and Sirius turned to look at Harry.

“You’re looking better, pup.” Remus smiled.

“I feel… I don’t know how I feel, but it’s good.”

“The castle has been home to the Potters since before this world was formed. Potter blood and magic has seeped into the castle for generation after generation – it will protect you and yours until the last.” Brandon explained from his position by the door. Harry frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“If the castle is besieged, there are passageways that only someone of the blood can open. The wards will defend the castle until they fall, and if anyone were to garrison the keep without your permission, they would find the castle itself rebelling against them. The odd step missing here or there on the stairs, shelves or roof tiles dropping on unsuspecting guards, that sort of thing.”

“Not even Blackstone Castle would react like that.” Sirius gasped, with his eyes wide. At Harry’s confused frown, he added. “The Black’s family seat. Where we arrived.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to settle in, My Lords. If you require anything at all, just let me know. I’ll assign a pair of guards to the hallway outside.” Brandon smiled, bowing as he backed out of the room. “Oh, and Lord Potter? Welcome home.”

They remained at Arpton for a week, and Harry found himself falling in love with the garden he had found with the large oak tree. The oak was oddly shaped, with a strange arch in its trunk tall enough for a grown man to walk through easily. A small pond surrounded the tree, with a single two-metre-long arched bridge allowing access. It hadn’t taken long for Harry to find peace with his back resting against the trunk and the sounds of the castle echoing in the quiet.

He could find himself enjoying this spot well into his old age. He wondered what he would look like, as his future wife would come out to find him with his children as he sat there and polished whatever weapon he would choose to wield. Would he sharpen a sword? Polish a wand? Oil the blade of his staff or clean its crystal ball?

He could see them now – a small army of children running along the path towards him. He would stop in his work and sweep them into his arms, spinning them around before kissing his wife. He smiled at the scene behind his eyelids.

A gentle breeze tickled its way across his upper lip, and he found his lips twitching at the sensation briefly. He sighed, opening his eyes as the image disappeared. He winced as he opened his eyes and sat up off of the large root he’d been leaning on. The sky above him was clear and a trio of birds flew by overhead. He heard Clara’s cawing before he saw her. He grinned as he watched the large bird swoop lazily between the towers of his family home as she flew toward him.

Moments later, she came to an easy landing on the carpet of dried leaves beneath the oak and nipped at his boots playfully. “Knock it off, you oversized chicken.” He chuckled, reaching into a pouch on his belt before tossing a handful of hard bacon towards her. He watched as she snatched the meat up from the floor and tossed it down her gullet.

He had read somewhere that Phoenix’s were herbivores, but Clara seemed just as happy consuming meat as she was consuming plant-matter. Perhaps it was a difference in environment, or maybe nobody had witnessed a Phoenix consume meat in the wild. It did seem odd that they had evolved to have such sharp beaks if they were just going to eat berries and seeds.

Clara hopped towards him before she nuzzled into his chest. He grinned as he slowly stroked her neck. He knew why she had sought him out – it was almost time for him to return to the matters of the castle.

Magical families were incredibly private in many aspects, so it wasn’t unexpected for them to know so little about many topics. To that extent, for the most private of family secrets, it was often in the Goblins and their banks that families turned to, storing their secrets and prized possessions deep within their vaults.

Even as a sort of adopted son of House Black, Harry knew nothing of their personal traditions, plans or secrets. There were simply some lines that were not crossed – not unless he renounced the Potter name and took the Black one, though despite often considering it over the years, he knew it to be impossible.

While his childhood had been filled with family and lots of laughter – thanks to Sirius and Remus – he had also been raised by Arcturus Black. He had been educated in his duties and what was expected of him, he knew that it was up to him to carry on the magical lineage of the House of Potter. There were no cousins, or aunts and uncles to pass the duty to – just him. Every other line of House Potter had been murdered by Voldemort and his Death Eaters in an effort to draw his parents out of hiding in the last war.

No doubt, when he came of age in seven years, it would be a birthday to remember. The House of Potter was rich in land and wealth both in Britain and here, and there would be many families that would want access to some of that wealth. While the prospect of a wife and children was exciting to him – to a degree, he was in no personal rush and wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with any betrothal offers. That wasn’t even considering those who thought of him only as The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Perhaps, he would one day follow in his father’s footsteps and find a Muggle-born he could fall in love with. He couldn’t help the snort that escaped him at the thought of Trevelyan hearing that bit of news.

In any event, they would be leaving for Wales in a day or two for Rosestone – Arpton had its own Ro’rim chamber and they would travel directly there. He had plans for the coming months. While he would claim the castle and lands in Wales, he knew they were returning to Blackwall shortly after. Once there, he would ask Arcturus and Sirius to arrange a number of lessons – specifically, sparring with a blade and horse-riding.

The horse-riding was a given. When he had to return here, and eventually he would return here, he would have to ride a horse again, and there wasn’t a chance he was going to suffer it ill-prepared like he had.

The blade training was a more recent decision, if he were honest with himself. He had been exploring two days previous when he had found a room in the heart of the castle with a set of Mithril plate, of the like he had never seen before, and an elegant sword of the same metal.

It had taken him exactly thirty minutes to drag both Sirius and Remus into the room, where they too marvelled at the craftsmanship. Sirius had guessed that the armour pre-dated the creation of the realm, but by how much he couldn’t say – only that he had never seen the design before, while the sword was identified to be a bastard sword. The blade had taken his breath away, with its milky-white surface that caught the light, wolfs-head crossguard, brown dragonhide leather grip and spiked pommel.

The blade had captured his imagination immediately. How many times had it been used in battle? Did it have a name? All the best swords had names – his favourite was Excalibur, the sword of Arthur Pendragon, King of Kings. He had fallen asleep each night since, dreaming of wielding the blade against fearsome dragons terrorising towns, and rescuing the damsels.

Harry grinned as Clara nudged his chin with her beak. Clara had been wonderful in their time here – she had appeared in his darkest moments, as he woke yelling and screaming in the night with his magic lashing out wildly as memories of the attack on the road tormented him. He would wake, covered in sweat, and his room half destroyed by his magical maelstrom in his terror – not even Sirius had been safe of it.

The first night they had stayed at the keep, Sirius had ran into Harry’s room in an attempt to calm him. With his magic lashing out erratically, Sirius had been caught unaware and thrown from the room. It hadn’t been until his familiar had arrived in a burst of magical flames that he had been able to regain some control. He had often found his room half destroyed in the mornings regardless. Thankfully, the House Elves and his immediate companions knew enough magic to repair any broken furniture.

His nights had been better since then, though the nightmares remained – at the very least, if Sirius or Remus attempted to console him, they weren’t hit with any magic. Both Sirius and Remus, who were each veterans of Voldemort’s Blood War, had assured him that the dreams would fade in time, though if they got any worse he was to let them know immediately and they’d arrange for a Mind Healer.

He sighed and leaned his head against the trunk of the tree behind him. Hopefully they would fade from his mind. With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and dusted the leaves from his clothes. No doubt they would be expecting him in the Great Hall any time now.

All day he had been greeting his various vassals who had been trickling in since news of his arrival had gone out. Some were little older than children, and others were old men who had barely contained their sneers of derision at being answerable to a child. Sirius’s presence behind him and clearly dissuaded anyone from speaking on such thoughts in his presence.

He gave Clara one last affectionate pat before beginning his journey through the gardens. He passed the clumps of lavender, magnolias, roses and various other flowers that were in full bloom and inhaled their sweet scenes deeply. At some point, when he next returned, he would make sure a portion of the garden was given to a number of lilies. It would be his own way of honouring his mother.

As he entered the castle, he turned right towards the Great Hall, remembering that turning left led down towards the crypts. He had discovered that the previous day in a moment of forgetfulness. It had been a moment of indecision in which corridor led to the castle-proper and had led to him discovering some of the dusty stone tombs and effigies of his ancestors. The closest relation he had discovered had in fact been his Great-Grandfather, Eddison ‘Edd’ Potter who had died – according to his inscription – of natural causes at the ripe-old-age of 143. He had been succeeded by Charlus James Potter, his only son and Harry’s Grandfather.

He had spent a number of hours walking among his ancestors in the well-lit cavernous chambers, feeling their stone gazes following his movements silently. It had felt like an experience which had really settled the weight of his family’s history on his shoulders. He had heard accounts of how old his family was, and how far back his lineage ran, but to be able to actually see it had been something else.

He nodded politely as he passed the staff in the halls, each of them curtsying or bowing politely. That was something that he hadn’t gotten used to in the slightest since the whole trip had begun. It had thrown him initially in the Capitol, having been expected to be called Lord or My Lord or some such variation – but he hadn’t counted on the bowing in the slightest. It felt so strange for an adult to defer to him in such a manner. On his next visit, he’d make it an unofficial rule not to bow or curtsy among the staff.

He sighed as he finally arrived at his destination – a side door to the Great Hall that he was to enter through. He had performed the Fealty Ritual with the occupants of Arpton keep the first morning after his arrival with the help of Sirius and Brandon – now it was time to repeat the process with his vassal lords.

He nodded at the two guards that stood on either side of the door, their staves that were entirely different from one another and any other design he had seen thus far held proudly at attention by their sides. One of the two guards nodded – a woman with copper hair that spilled out from under her hood, he noted – smiled slightly at him and opened the door.

He was hit with a wave of noise – evidently there was some form of silencing charm or rune-work that was at work most of the time. He tried not to wince as his head started to throb with the early signs of a migraine.

He stepped into the room, the noise of the door closing behind him had an immediate silencing effect on the room at large. Easily over two dozen pairs of eyes stared at him as he slowly made his way to the throne upon the raised dais. It was vastly different to the Black’s throne he’d seen Arcturus sit. This one was simple in its design – an elegant Mithril frame with prowling wolves for armrests with rich light-blue velvet cushions. The banner of his house hung proudly from the rafters behind the chair on either side. It was subtle but the whole thing exuded an air of subtle power that even at his young age he had to appreciate.

He sat the throne quietly and closed his eyes and reached out with his magic like Sirius and Brandon had instructed him to do so. It took a moment, but he recognised the familiar presence of the castle easily enough.

His eyes snapped open as his body thrummed with his family magic – it was as if he could feel a little of every Potter before him. His eyes swept the room with a pale blue tint to his vision. He saw Sirius and Remus proudly standing at the far side of the hall with smiles on their faces. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t force even the slightest twitch of his mouth.

The lords in the room were quiet, their collective gaze focused entirely on him.

“Anyone that desires to renew their fealty to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter may do so now. Bend the knee and say the words and be protected by my wand and magic. Let anyone who would break fealty sworn today or betray the trust of my house be cursed as an oath-breaker.” He called calmly, his voice deep and radiating the power he felt darting through every limb he had. His own magic was practically singing in response.

As one, every single lord and heir in the room dropped to a knee with their heads bowed.

“Do you all swear to come to the aid of House Potter when called upon? Do you swear to add your magic to ours in times of strife and hardship? From this day, until the end of days?”

“We so swear, from this day, until the end of days.” The hall chorused, their voices echoing throughout the room. The rush of magic at the end of their words caught him entirely unprepared. This was so much more than what he had seen Arcturus go through, and by extension his own experience of claiming his seat just days before.

He felt not just the magic from the men before him, but the magic of those sworn to them. It was a heady feeling, and one he was sure to make him feel utterly spent once the ritual was over. At the very least, he would have a decent sleep – though he’d be impressed if he made it out of the hall conscious.

“I thank you all for your loyalty and fealty. You may rise.”

The room rose as one, each man regardless of age looking a little healthier and younger. He hadn’t realised his family magic would affect them so visibly – he suddenly felt a terrible sense of regret for not coming sooner.

“My Lord Potter.” Sirius called as he approached the front of the crowd, Remus at his side proudly. He gazed upon them from his seat. Please, Merlin don’t let Sirius prank him now.

If he could have gasped, he would have. He watched as both Sirius and Remus took a knee with their heads bowed low. “Lord Potter, I come before you as both the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and also as a proud father.” Sirius paused; his voice shaky in the silent room. “I would pledge the loyalty of my house and our own vassals to yours. We would shield your back, keep your counsel and give our lives for yours if need be. We swear this by all the Gods of magic.”

His mouth responded with the words he didn’t know, “And I vow you shall have my wand and my magic in times of strife. I pledge to ask no service of your house that may bring you shame nor dishonour. I swear this by all the Gods of magic. Arise.”

He watched as Sirius stood shakily as their respective magic was exchanged. It was an even more potent experience than before. He noticed that his limbs were visibly trembling in the chair – what that meant for him, he knew not.

“My Lord.” Another voice called. This time it was Felix – the guard they had travelled from the Capitol with. He hadn’t noticed him in the mass of bodies. He took a knee where Sirius and Remus had been only moments before. “You know me as Felix of House Cale. I am a fifth-born son and a proud warrior. I would pledge myself to your household. I would guard you and yours with my life and my magic. You saved my life, Lord Potter – allow me the chance to do right by you.”

Harry recited the same oath he had given Sirius and barely managed to control the closing of the ritual as no others came forward. It seemed there was a reason that this was usually held when a wizard came of age – he was barely hanging on by a thread.

He sagged in the chair as the magic left him and watched with closing eyes as Sirius began climbing the few steps toward the chair with a proud smile.

“Sleep, pup. I’m so very proud of you. So very proud.”

Chapter 9: Hermione I

Chapter Text

Today was officially the day. For months, countless books and accounts had been consumed in an effort to prepare for today’s trip. Her parents were sitting in the front of the 3-series E36 BMW her father had bought the previous year. It was a delightful sky blue that was as close to periwinkle that she had ever seen on a car.

In front of her, her parents joked back and forth as they always did. She smiled to herself as she listened to her mother laugh at one of her father’s terribly cheesy jokes. She couldn’t even concentrate on any of the books she had brought for the trip!

As she was stuck with nothing to do other than gaze out of the window, she imagined what it would be like in a few months. Would she be flying a broomstick with a pointy hat? She wrinkled her nose at the thought – her feet would remain firmly on the ground if she had anything to say about it. If human beings were supposed to fly, they would have evolved to have wings.

Perhaps she would have a familiar? The most common, according to the literature she had devoured ever since her letter had arrived, claimed that a cat would be the most likely candidate. She hoped it wasn’t a toad, or worse a rat. There was something decidedly underwhelming at the thought of having a pet rat.

Of course, they were adorable pets and she loved their little whiskers and tiny hands, but they hardly seemed magical.

She allowed her gaze to continue sweeping the various buildings of London as they passed by. London was such a fascinating city, and far busier than her own home-city of Reading. London was a city that had been home to Kings and Queens! She had read everything on the city she could, of course. When she had been told by that delightful professor that there was a wizarding district in London of all places, she absolutely had to learn everything she could.

Yes, Hermione Jean Granger was positively thrilled to be making this trip into London. It was a delightful Saturday, with just the faintest breeze to keep it from being stifling and it also happened to be the day she would finally be able to purchase her school supplies before she left for Hogwarts in September. She was practically giddy.

The slowing down of the car, and the unmistakable sensation of her father pulling into a road-side parking space had Hermione unbuckling her seatbelt in record time.

“Hermione, you stay right there until the engine is off, young lady.” Her mother, the successful Dr Jean Granger ordered, her brown eyes trained on Hermione through the rear-view mirror. Her father, the equally well-known Dr John Granger, snickered from the driver’s seat.

She pouted a little and began to chew on her bottom lip absently. Honestly, this whole parking-business was taking far too long. With a quiet click, and a rattle of keys, the engine cut off and she lunged for the door.

Opening it slowly and checking both ways for any traffic, she stepped out and smoothed down her summer-dress before carefully closing the door – careful not to close it too hard. Her father practically worshiped the machine. It was a side of him that she would never understand.

She skipped around the car, the soles of her shoes scuffing the tarmac with each step. She grinned as she stood expectantly before the passenger door as her mother stepped out. Her mother rolled her eyes, closed the door, and promptly began fixing Hermione’s cardigan. Hermione rolled her own eyes as her mother began her worrying.

“Now, you remember to stay close to us while we’re in there. This will be new to all of us, and I won’t have you running off because you get excited. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mum.” She replied automatically, already eyeing the gently swaying sign to the pub they had been told to look for.

“Don’t make me put you on my shoulders.” Her father threatened, his grinning expression betraying the joy he’d feel at being able to do just that.

“I’ll behave.” She replied in a small pout before grasping her parent’s hands and dragging them towards the pub.

They followed with little difficulty and she soon found herself walking between the two of them. She had been so excited for this day for so long. For years she had retreated into books and stories for a way to escape a world that felt so mundane. She excelled in school and devoured the books she checked out from the library, but for all of that, there had been something missing. Some part of her that wasn’t satisfied that the world around her didn’t match up to the world she read and dreamed about her entire life.

Where were the adventures of brave knights? Of gallant nobles? Where were the likes of the characters that Jane Austen had written about? They were all absent, instead having been replaced by cruel children who mocked her for her bookishness, her wild curly hair and her teeth that were a little too large.

No, where she was going was for special children, who were no doubt just like her. It made perfect sense, after all. When she arrived at Hogwarts, she would be surrounded by fledgling witches and wizards all eager to learn and explore the mysteries of their magic. It was as if all her dreams were coming true.

Her father opened the front door and ushered the two of them inside. The room was like nothing she had expected. It was dark and grimy looking, with a single candle on each table and a large fireplace tall enough for a grown man to step into on the far wall.

That gave her pause for a second. The interior of the building was far too large for the dingy little pub-front they had just walked into. Was this one of the applications of magic? Could magic make things bigger on the inside? Oh, the possibilities!

All the eyes of the pub were on them now. Many were in odd clothes – large red leather coats that appeared padded with something or another, tunics that looked like they were lifted straight from a museum, and one elderly man was even sat in a corner in a set of full steel armour! In comparison, the Grangers must have looked delightfully odd to their eyes. Hermione had her periwinkle blue summer dress and a white cardigan over the top, while her father stood in denim jeans and a casual shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and her mother was in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Ah, can I ‘elp ye?” An old man asked from behind the bar. He appeared to be positively ancient, but he held himself as if he were decades younger. Hermione noticed he was wiping a mug with a cloth.

“Just looking for some school supplies, if you wouldn’t mind pointing us in the right direction?” Her father asked, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and giving it a casual squeeze.

“O’course, o’course! If you’ll just follow me, I’ll show ye the way.” He replied in a friendly manner, grinning – at least that’s what Hermione assumed he was doing. He gestured for the trio to follow him as he weaved his way around the bar and stepped over a sleeping cat the size of which she had never seen before. It must easily have been twice the size of a Maine Coon! It lifted its head up and lazily blinked its yellow eyes at her before laying down once more.

“Ah, don’ mind ‘im, little lady. Ol’ Rupert is my pet Kneazle. Excellent judge o’ character, he is. The name’s Tom. I run this fine ‘stablishment.”

“Lovely to meet you, Tom.” Her mother replied. A quick glance at the older woman revealed that she too was eyeing the feline with no small amount of fascination. “No, Hermione, we’re not getting one.”

She frowned slightly at that. “I didn’t say anything!” She protested.

“No, but you were definitely thinking it.” Her father chuckled as they stepped out into a tiny courtyard barely large enough to hold all four of them. Where was Diagon Alley?

Tom chuckled to himself as he withdrew a large stick from his pocket. Hermione’s eyes darted to it instantly, watching every motion and brick that was tapped. As the barkeep began putting the wand away, the bricks began moving themselves away from a central point, rolling over one another in an organised chaos. When it was all done, they stood beneath a tasteful brick archway and Hermione gasped.

Spread before them was the busiest shopping district she had ever seen. Men, women and children moved around one another effortlessly in the great throng of people. From at the top of the alley, the sheer mass of humanity appeared little more than waves of colour.

Along either side of the wide street were brightly coloured storefronts. Some had large signs, such as Flourish and Blotts, Magical Menagerie, and Potage’s Cauldron Shop – this one had a large cauldron above its front door that would occasionally shoot silver sparks out of it. It was all just so magical!

She grinned and looked at her parents, who seemed equally in awe of the street. Tom had disappeared while they had been staring at the new world before them. “Do you have the list?”

“The list?” Her father asked, confusion on his face as he snapped out of whatever thoughts had been running through his head.

Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes as she hooked her arm around Hermione’s shoulders and began walking into the district proper. It was when they were a few steps into the ‘alley’, if it could even be called such a thing, that she noticed there weren’t really any people wearing regular clothes like her own.

Were there not many witches and wizards like her, who came from families with no history of magic? She began nibbling her bottom lip as a few eyes were cast in their direction.

“The list of school supplies, John. Honestly, I don’t know how you’d remember to comb your hair if it weren’t for my lists.” Her mother replied, causing her father to frown and self-consciously run his fingers through his thick, dark hair – though Hermione had wisely kept quiet about the occasional grey hair at his temples that had been appearing lately.

“That’s why I married you, dear.” He replied with a cheeky grin. A quick glance between Hermione and her mother, and both were rolling their eyes with smiles of their own.

“Now, what shall we get first? Your wand, uniform or your school supplies?”

“Books are going to be last, young lady.” Her father interrupted as her mouth began forming the words.

She huffed and blew a stray strand of hair from her face.

“I think we should go to the bank first and exchange the currency.” Hermione replied after a moment. “After that, I’d like to get my wand, if that’s okay?” She asked shyly.

Both her parents nodded, and began moving towards the large white building at the far end of the district that had the words Gringotts Goblin Bank in gold above the entrance. In the late-morning sun, the words glowed with an otherworldly beauty that helped light the street up.

“Goblins, huh? Wonder what they look like.” Her father mused as they approached the building. It was oddly shaped, in that it appeared triangular at the front and the supporting pillars that supported the entryway were slightly skewed. A pair of short, menacing looking guards eyed them on either side of the large glass doors as they held their halberds at attention. Were the guards Goblins too?

Hermione opened the door for both her parents, and all three almost missed a step as they took in the large room they had stepped into.

It was a large room, with huge mahogany benches lining the sides. All along the walls were large gold-marble pillars with a ‘cracked’ patterning which matched the walls perfectly. The floor was a white marble with dark accents, and above it all hung the largest and most gorgeous chandelier she had ever seen. It was then that she noticed the beings sitting behind those mahogany benches, scribbling away as men and women spoke to them.

“Well then, shall we find a queue and join it?”

She nodded at her fathers’ question and joined the end of the nearest queue. While they stood there waiting patiently, every now and then taking a step forward, she allowed her eyes to properly inspect the people she would be surrounding herself with in the coming years.

There were all sorts, as to be expected of any society, she mused. There were the aristocratic types, brought scenes from Pride & Prejudice to her mind and even more ideas of nobility. Looking even further around the bank’s lobby, she noted the plain, unassuming cloaks and tunics, and everything in between.

She watched one group stride up to a large gold-trimmed desk with an elderly looking Goblin. They spoke in hushed tones before they were ushered through a door behind the desk by another Goblin.

The Goblins themselves were fascinating creatures. They were short beings, if their size in comparison to the desks they were sat at were anything to go by, with domed heads, pale complexions, and long fingers. Their pointed ears reminded her of many fictional depictions of Elves, though much larger by far.

A gentle tap on the top of her head drew her attention to her father. “We’re about to be seen. Just giving you a heads up.”

She smiled in response, feeling the tension in her forehead lessen. She knew she had a habit of frowning when she was deep in thought, and it would do absolutely no good to have been lost in thought when it was their turn to be seen.

“Next!”

They stepped forward as one. All three peered up at the creature above them, who was busy scribbling something with a delightfully beautiful quill.

“Hello, we’d like to exchange some currency?” Her mother asked pleasantly. The Goblin paused in its task before peering down at them.

“And how much would you be interested in exchanging today?” Hermione noticed for the first time that Goblin’s teeth were extremely sharp, especially when they grinned.

“One-thousand pounds.” Her father replied, shrugging at Hermione’s shocked expression. “We have no idea how much your supplies cost.” He added in response to her unspoken question.

“Very well. That will be two-hundred Galleons, thirteen Sickles and eighteen Knuts. Take this writ to a teller on the far side of the room and you shall make the transfer there.”

“Thank you.” Her mother replied as her father nodded and accepted the parchment. They moved off as the Goblin called for the next in the line.

A few minutes later, they had exchanged the money and were making their way out into the alley when she saw the shop in the distance. Ollivanders – Wandmakers since 382 B.C.

“Can we get my wand now?” Hermione asked, practically bouncing up and down on the spot.

Her parents chuckled and nodded their heads. Immediately, she grabbed their hands and began marching them towards the shop with the red façade and large glass window.

They were barely ten metres from it when a man burst through the glass, accompanied by a brilliant golden flash. There were startled yells and screams all around the street as the man landed in a crumpled heap.

He was still for just a moment before he began pulling himself to his feet and dusting off the shards that had landed on his clothes. He seemed to be grumbling to himself, but the hands of Hermione’s parents stopped her from getting any closer.

“I’m alright, I’m alright!” He called out at those around him. The glow from the inside of the store had disappeared now, and in the window stood three children and two adults, both of whom were laughing loudly while the children just stared with wide eyes. “Go about your business, nothing to see here, damn it.” The man called once more to the lingering masses before re-entering the store.

Where the wand had appeared from, she had no idea, but with a few simple gestures, the glass was picking itself back up and clicking itself back together in moments. By the time the strange man with curly black hair was done, the storefront looked as good as new.

“Was that magic?” Hermione’s mother asked after a moment of them standing there.

Hermione nodded. What else could it have been? She had to learn that spell.

“I bloody love magic.” Her father murmured, before wincing as both mother and daughter told him to mind his language. Suitably chastised, he cleared his throat before saying, “Well, shall we get you your own wand then?”

They entered the store to see that same man, along with those she had seen through the window. The adults were still snickering while two of the children were gaping openly at the third.

The adults all looked different, though all three had the same emblem on their clothing. Clothing, which she realised after a moment was armour. She didn’t know much about armour, but from the little she did know, they were wearing leather gambesons with a steel gorget – even the children were wearing armour, though theirs had a different design to the adults.

The adults had a silver serpent, while the brown haired, brown-eyed boy with chubby cheeks had a roaring bear, and the dark-haired blue-eyed girl next to him had a charging stallion. The third boy, who was still the subject of the other two children’s stares had emerald eyes, black hair that hung to his shoulders and a prowling wolf stamped into the metal around his neck.

“I still can’t believe you threw Sirius out of the window, Harry!” The chubby-cheeked boy gasped, jumping a little as the bell above the door announced their entrance. The girl in the group swept her eyes over her family quickly.

“It seems we have company.” She said after a moment, her tone neutral. Both boys offered her a small smile.

Before she could say anything, an older gentleman ran back into the store with a wand held delicately in his hand. “Here we are, one Blackthorn wand with a Vinewood handle and a Phoenix tail feather core – very rigid in its flexibility. It was an honour to craft it, young man. I shall watch your career with great interest.”

Hermione watched as the man with wild white hair, and thick bushy eyebrows reverently placed the wand in the green-eyed boy’s hand. The second his fingers closed around it, she noticed everyone scramble away from the window before the room trembled with power. A wild wind began whipping at her hair, and she struggled to keep her eyes open as boxes were strewn about and papers were carried about. In the corner, a glass vial shattered with a small pop.

The boy was grinning as he tucked it away into his belt, the dark wood blending into the colour of his armour, while the handle’s lighter colour stood out like a sore thumb.

Once the wand was sufficiently secured, the children were ushered towards the door. Hermione and her parents shuffled out of the way as best they could in the tight confines of the room, what with the shelves upon shelves that lined the walls, all with small boxes stacked haphazardly.

“A pleasure as always, Lord Black.” The proprietor called, causing the eldest of the three adults to turn and nod in response. Lord? Were some of the peerage of Britain wizards? She didn’t recognise the name.

As the group left the shop, with a little jingle of the bell above the door, the older man’s eyes snapped to Hermione. “Ah, I see another young witch has come to claim her wand, yes?”

She nodded as an excited grin split her face. Her father chuckled behind her.

“Well then, we had best get started, hadn’t we?” Hermione watched him as the eccentric man turned in a swirl of his burgundy coat and darted over to a nearby shelf before he carefully removed a box. When he returned, the box was open and he offered the small shaft of wood to her.

Her fingers curled around the wood delicately as she lifted it. After a quick examination of its mid-brown colouring, she held it and looked at it expectantly.

“Go on then, give it a wave, dear!”

Hermione blinked and did as she was told, wincing as a number of boxes flew from their shelves.

“No, no, that won’t do at all!” The man exclaimed, taking out his own wand before casting some sort of spell to tidy the store. He darted off after a moment, before returning with a handful of new boxes.

One after the other, she tried them all out, giving the slightest flick only for some cataclysm to befall the store. Was she not supposed to have a wand?

“I believe that I have the perfect wand for you, my dear.” The shopkeeper mused after a moment of quiet contemplation. She watched as he revealed one more box, this one a faded yellow as if it had been there for some time. “A fine Vinewood shaft, with a Dragon Heartstring core. An unusual combination, but one more suited for yourself, I would think.”

She grasped the wand carefully, noting the similar colour to the boy’s handle when he had stashed it in his belt. Was it the same type of wood? The wand in her hand was far simpler in its design, being a straight tapered shaft, though the elegant vines that spiralled from the base to tip were beautiful in their design. Her fingers gently traced the patterning.

“Give it a wave, dear.” Her mother said, her voice encouraging.

Chewing on her bottom lip absently, she gave it a firm flick and couldn’t help the excited grin on her face as that same invisible wind swept the store. Her thick, wild hair blew about and the candle flames that illuminated the store grew in brightness. The shopkeeper looked on, an unreadable expression on his face as the magic died down.

“Curious. Most curious.”

“Curious?” Her father asked as she continued to look upon her wand. She couldn’t wait to begin her schooling. If she had been excited before, it paled in comparison to the feeling of longing she had now.

“Indeed. It is most rare for a witch or wizard to have an experience like that upon meeting with their wand. As it happens, it has now happened twice in my shop today. We live in exciting times, it seems.” The man shrugged, though a slight smile was on his face.

Another flick of his wand, and anything that had been left out from her experimenting with the various wands was neatly tidied away. Once done, the man hurried back behind his large desk and began scribbling on some parchment with his quill. “That will be seven Galleons.” He said after a moment, looking up from his parchment and smiling.

Her father quickly withdrew the coins and passed them over the counter. She could barely stand still; she was so excited! Surely they would see that it would be best if she could go and get some books on spells now rather than later!

She looked up at her father, the question just on the tip of her tongue.

“Don’t even think about it, little lady. If you step foot in a bookshop now, we won’t have any money to get the rest of your supplies.”

She pouted a little, causing her father to chuckle as he led them out of the store.

“We’ll get your uniform next, and then we’ll see to your class essentials, and then get your books. Maybe some mint-chocolate ice cream on the way home if you’re lucky.” Her mother said, her voice playful as she winked down at Hermione.

“Pretty sure the letter said Madam Malkins would be the place to go for that.” Her father added, as they meandered along the street.

“Oh, so you do remember things occasionally.” Her mother quipped, while Hermione rolled her eyes at the playful back and forth of her parents.

“I’m honestly hurt that you would think me so forgetful, dear.”

Her mother made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat and shot her father a pointed look, to which he just grinned cheekily back. They had bantered this way all her life, and despite her exasperated outward attitude towards it, Hermione loved to see her parents laugh and smile with each other. She considered herself very lucky that her parents loved one another so deeply – she knew it wasn’t the case for every child.

Whether it was by luck, or by magic, they stumbled upon the storefront that had Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions proudly painted above the door. In the large window were a number of outfits of all occasions – casual wear, formal and school wear – though there were apparently two different types of the school uniforms from what she could see.

On the far right were the clothes she could see being worn in nearly every other school in the country – both boy and girl’s uniform stood next to one another. Did the store cater to more than one school? It had to.

They entered the store quickly, hearing the familiar jingle of the bell above her head. A woman’s voice called out from the back, hidden among the many racks of clothes and partitions.

“Janet, dear can you get that? I have my hands full right now!”

“Yes, Madam.” A second voice called. A moment later, a young woman stepped into view, a yellow tape measure hanging from her neck. She was a friendly looking woman with large square glasses and her blonde hair tied back loosely in a simple ponytail. She smiled at the three of them.

“Welcome to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. How can I help you today?” She asked, her hands clasped casually in front of her.

“Hogwarts school uniform, please.” Her mother smiled in return, gently stroking Hermione’s hair. Her mother had an unusual fascination with Hermione’s thick, curly hair – she’d claimed it had reminded her of her own hair as a girl, until she had grown into the graceful curls that Hermione wished she had. As far as she was concerned, Hermione was all too happy to make the trade.

“Ah, of course. Your first year, I presume?” Janet asked, gesturing for the three to follow.

“Yes, I’m ever so excited.” Hermione replied with a smile.

“I should hope so – magic is such a wonderful thing. Now, I assume you are a Muggle-born, correct?”

Hermione nodded. Professor McGonagall had told them what Muggles were when she had come to visit almost a year ago.

“Excellent, now if you would like to step over here, I can show you our uniforms.”

As they followed Janet, Hermione caught a glimpse of the uniforms that looked positively normal for almost every other school in the country. There were racks upon racks of them, all hung based on size. There were trousers, girls pleated skirts, sleeveless and long-sleeved jumpers, cardigans, white shirts and blouses, ties, scarves and even winter hats. On the far end, she spotted what looked like large black cloaks with long sleeves.

“We’ll get you measured quickly and then get you a little of everything for your school year, hm?” Janet asked as she pulled the tape measure from around her neck and directed Hermione to a small stool. “Now, I need you to stand straight for me and lift your arms out, there we go.”

Hermione complied silently with the woman as she went about her work. The measurements were done in short order and before long, she was passed half a dozen shirts, skirts, trousers and a little of everything else. In the end, the pile of clothes in her arms were almost too high to see over.

“Now, Hogwarts has a house-system. When you arrive there, you’ll be sorted into one of the four. Each house has its own colours, but don’t you worry about that. The clothes are charmed to adjust accordingly based on where you end up.” Janet smiled at her from around the pile. Hermione nodded and blew a cardigan sleeve from her face.

“Is this everything she’ll need?” Her mother asked, while her father snorted somewhere in the background.

“Besides shoes and underwear, yes.”

“Excellent, we can sort that lot out easily enough.”

“Very well, are you ready to pay?” Janet smiled once more, finally taking the mountain of clothes from her arms. Her parents nodded, and her father playfully tapped her on the nose as he passed.

While her parents were busy at the counter, Hermione found herself being pulled towards the displays of the other set of uniform’s she had seen in the window.

It was a decidedly odd uniform, though a part of her appreciated that there seemed to be no gender difference in its design.

It seemed to be made of a fine quality tunic, with long sleeves that seemed rather form-fitting, and a pair of dark trousers that again, seemed to be far more form-fitting than she would have expected. The large, knee-high leather boots had a number of silver clasps running down the sides. Over it all was a large sleeveless black leather coat with a flared collar that folded over itself, while the bottom of the coat came down just past the knees with some strips of fabric hanging from the inside. What school did this belong to?

“Hermione! Time to go!” Her mother called from the door. She smiled at the older woman and darted over to her.

“Where’s Dad?” She asked, looking about for her father.

“Oh, he went to take the bags back to the car. Far too many for us to carry around, what with everything else we need to get.” Her mother replied with a grin. It was an unspoken rule between her parents that her father would be saddled with all the shopping bags.

“Are we meeting him here?”

“No dear, we’ll meet him in that shop across the way that sells trunks.”

Hermione nodded, eyeing the store itself. While it wasn’t painted the same garish purple as the store they just left, it was a decidedly odd shade of brown, which didn’t seem to sit well between the bright green and bright yellow buildings on either side of it. She tried not to sigh. The sooner they got through these tedious stores, the quicker she’d be able to browse the books and read ahead of her classes for September. Maybe they had a book on the history of the school?

Chapter 10: Harry IV

Chapter Text

Breakfast had been a quiet affair, with a tearful Lispy sniffling and wiping away the occasional tear as she filled Harry’s plate for him. He had tried to protest, but the small Elf had a will of Mithril, and a stubborn streak to rival Sirius. She had created a small mountain of bacon and eggs on his plate, to the point he was genuinely fearful he would have to be rolled onto the train.

The Elf, who had raised him just as much as Sirius, Remus and Arcturus, she’d barely left his side as he ate, and a part of his heart shattered when the little sniffs punctuated his meal.

The second he could stomach no more food, for he knew Lispy would berate him tirelessly and fuss over him if he didn’t eat what she deemed enough, he threw his knife and fork down and swept the tearful Elf up in a hug. She squeaked in surprise, but after a moment returned the embrace. Her tiny shoulders shook with a barely contained sob as he lowered her back to the floor.

“I won’t be gone for long, Lispy. I’ll be back for Yule, and then you can stuff me full of your cooking to make sure I grow big and strong.”

“Lispy must bes making sure Master Harry Potter eats enough. Can’t bes trusting Hogwarties Elves to feed yous properly.” Lispy murmured, patting Harry affectionately on the cheek. He grinned down at the Elf.

“I’ll write you letters to make sure you know I’m doing alright. How does that sound?”

The little Elf nodded and threw her arms around Harry’s neck once more, the sound of her sniffling the only noise in the dining room.

Today was a big day for the family. Today was September the first, and in just a little over half an hour, the family would be leaving for Platform Nine and Three Quarters for Harry to board the Hogwarts Express. This morning, he had woken in his bed, just as he had for as long as he could remember, and tonight he would be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses and be assigned quarters at the same school his parents had attended – both his Black and Potter parents.

He sighed as he got to his feet, sweeping his eyes across those that were also sat at the table. It was a small family tradition, to start the morning together. They would share their plans for the day with one another, often with Arcturus asking Remus to perform some task or another, while Sirius and he would plan something fun and exciting.

He would have it no other way and would miss them fiercely.

Arcturus had remained quiet the entire meal, his eyes sad but proud. Remus had attempted to read the morning’s Daily Prophet in an attempt to pretend it was like any other morning, while Sirius had glared at his food as if it had personally offended him.

“I’ll go and get my trunk, shall I?” Harry asked the table at large as he fiddled with the hem of his long-sleeved tunic under the sleeveless leather coat. It was rather odd that Hogwarts had two uniforms, though Arcturus had said it was the uniform of the older, more traditional families that kept ties with the Capitol.

Arcturus inclined his head slowly, and Harry found himself striding from the room with far more confidence than he felt. He loved Blackwall and the people that made it home, but he knew he would miss them something awful. Besides the excursion to the Capitol two years ago, he had never been separated from any of them for an extended period, with each trip since then having been taken from Rosestone’s Ro’rim.

Would they miss him as he would them? Surely. Sirius would be a mess for the coming months, he was sure of it. Maybe he would mope around for a few days as Padfoot until Arcturus threatened to stick him in a kennel outside.

Remus would bury himself in work, as he always did when something was bothering him while Arcturus would return to his political arena in the Wizengamot with a vengeance that almost made Harry feel sorry for his opponents. Almost.

Harry took the steps two at a time and hurried to his room, throwing open the door and watching as his two favourite girls startled a little. Clara had only continued to bloom in the last two years, her plumage becoming brighter and fuller. He had done a little research over the two years since their bonding, though what little information he’d been able to discover about their Burning Day’s was less than he’d have liked. As it happened, Clara had yet to have one, but he wanted to be prepared so as to make it as comfortable for her as he could.

Next to her, on a separate golden perch, was his most recent companion – a beautiful snow-white owl that he had named Hedwig, in honour of a witch he had read about in Hogwarts: A History. She was a feisty and proud thing, with gorgeous white plumage with little black spots on the ends of her wings.

Despite their size, the two familiars had not had any trouble pushing, shoving and nipping at one another for the right to rule the perch when he had first brought Hedwig home in July, forcing him to have to order a second perch, all for Her Royal Hedwigness, as he had taken to calling her.

Hedwig leapt from her golden tower and flapped her way across the room to land on his shoulder, nipping playfully at his left ear. He glanced at her, chuckling and couldn’t help but notice that she was looking in Clara’s direction rather smugly. Clara, seemed to be watching the Snowy-Owl with something akin to exasperation, if the red and gold oversized pigeon could feel such a thing.

“Now, no fighting while I’m away, otherwise there’ll be no treats for either of you. Hedwig, you’re to stick to your own perch, and Clara,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at his Phoenix. “no cooking Hedwig.” Clara lifted her head snootily and refused to look at him.

While it was technically possible for a witch or wizard to bond with many familiars – the record, he had found out was twenty-six – it was an unwritten rule that students were only permitted to bring one. As a result, Clara would be joining him while Hedwig would take up the role of handling his correspondence.

He felt the weight on his shoulder disappear as Hedwig flapped back to her perch. With the weight removed, he moved over to his trunk. It was an older model that was designed with plenty of storage space. If one were to open the lid, they would find a simple set of stairs that would lead to a small storage space with enough room for all of his belongings. It had a wardrobe, a set of draws for his clothes, and various stacks of shelves, boxes and draws for his books and writing equipment. He had enough quills to cover a dozen Claras.

What was the most special about this trunk though, wasn’t the magic that had been woven into its construction, or the faded red and gold dyed leather. No, it was the three initials stamped proudly between the heavy golden clasps: J.C.P.

Sirius and Remus had sat him down the morning before they had gone to Diagon Alley and presented him with his father’s trunk. He had assumed he would get one of his own during their brief shopping adventure, but to have something physical that he could reach out and touch that was his fathers was almost too much. He had thrown himself at Remus and Sirius, too emotional to say anything. The two men had swept him up in their arms and told him all about what his father would store in there – pranking materials, plans with dozens of diagrams of how to woo his mother and more. He snickered, picturing his teenage father writing down his plans late into the night like some evil megalomaniac from the stories he had read.

He sighed happily as his fingers traced the lettering tenderly. He may love Sirius like a father, and in some ways Sirius was his father, but there was a part of him that longed to know the man and woman who had given their lives for him.

With a sniff and a short, throaty cough, he stood and lifted the trunk easily in his hand. Whoever had charmed the case to be light was a genius. He gave one last look at the two birds from his doorway. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, Clara. I’ll see you soon, Hedwig.”

He walked down the stairs easily enough, the trunk in his hand bouncing easily with each step. At the bottom of the stairs were the three adults, all adorned with their armour and fur cloaks resting on their shoulders. He smiled at them and fought hard to blink the tears away. Part of him truly didn’t want to leave them – would it be so terrible to be home-schooled?

“Gods, you look so much like your father did, pup.” Sirius breathed. Harry smiled at him as he walked down the last few steps.

“Except for his eyes – he has his mothers’ eyes.” Remus added, reaching over and ruffling Harry’s loose locks of hair. Harry scowled, putting the trunk down in the hallway for a moment as he attempted to tame his hair once again.

“Aye, he’s becoming a fine young man.” Arcturus grinned at them. “Come, we should leave now to avoid the rush.”

They all nodded, Sirius bending down and picking up Harry’s trunk before he could reach for it. He looked up at Sirius, one brow raised. Sirius winked down at him. “Let me do this for you at least, pup.”

Harry nodded, silently following the adults into Arcturus’s study. It had been announced the day prior that they would be using the Floo to travel to the platform, rather than Apparating – something which Harry was immensely glad for. He had experienced it for the first-time last month, when he had gone and visited Neville and Daphne at the Greengrass estate. It had been an awful experience, and even now he had to force down his meal, lest it end up on the floor.

The quiet pitter-patter of tiny feet on the wooden floorboards brought him to a halt just outside Arcturus’s study as the adults entered. He turned around to see Lispy running down the hallway with something wrapped in a napkin while her other hand worried the flesh of one of her flappy bat-like ears.

She leapt the last metre and wrapped her arms around his leg, her quiet sobs breaking his heart all over again. He had known for many years that Lispy thought of him as her own, and he was thankful that she cared so much.

“Master Harry will bes hungry on the train. Can’t bes having that. Still a growing boy.” She managed through the tears.

He smiled and knelt down before her as she handed him the napkin. He opened it up a little to reveal a small pastry in the shape of a House Elf. He looked at Lispy and quickly pulled her into a hug. “I’ll miss you, Lispy.”

The little Elf grinned before shooing him towards the door. As he entered the room, he saw the three adults standing patiently for him, each with a small handful of Floo Powder already in their grasp.

“What have you got there, pup?” Sirius asked, a crooked smile on his face.

“Lispy didn’t want me getting hungry on the train.” He chuckled in return, affectionately pulling the small Elf into his side as best he could.

“Come on then, lets get a move on.” Remus chuckled, stepping into the fireplace as Harry re-wrapped the pastry. There was a flash of green flames and Remus was gone.

Arcturus went next, shortly followed by Sirius. When it was Harry’s turn, he stepped into the hearth with his powder in one hand, and wrapped pastry in the other and called out clearly, “Platform Nine and Three Quarters!”

There was the familiar sense of weightlessness as the green flames swallowed him. When they receded, he found himself stepping onto a train platform with large brick pillars and a high ceiling with dirty windows. There was a large walkway that hung above the tracks, where a beautiful red train sat, puffing large clouds of steam.

He grinned as he took in the front of the engine: Hogwarts Express. It was really happening.

“Over here, pup!” Remus called, waving over to him as he moved away from the Floo. He jogged over to the group, unable to wipe the excited smile from his face.

The adults around him all chuckled as he took the trunk from Sirius. “Now, I expect you to behave yourself and excel in your subjects, do you hear me?” Arcturus said, his voice commanding and powerful. The wink he gifted Harry with belied his seriousness.

“Do you have the map?” Sirius whispered as he knelt and pulled Harry into a powerful hug. Harry nodded into his Godfathers shoulder. “Good. And the mirror?”

“Both are in the trunk.”

“Excellent. And you remember all those charms and spells I taught you?”

Harry did remember them. For the last most, Sirius had been teaching him spells to clean his teeth, dry his hair, fold his clothes – all sorts. They were mundane spells, but they were the first bits of magic he had performed with his wand – he had been using them every day since they had returned from Diagon Alley. Harry nodded.

“Wonderful. I’m so proud of you, pup. I know you’ll do me and your parents proud.” Sirius grinned, his eyes shiny. Harry didn’t complain when Sirius pressed a kiss to his brow as he stood.

“You do this old wolf proud, Harry. Remember, if you have any questions, you just owl me and I’ll answer them as best I can.” Remus said, pulling Harry into a hug. Harry nodded and murmured a quiet promise. If he could, he’d be writing to them all each day.

“Now, you go get yourself a cabin and find Neville and Daphne.” Arcturus grinned, making a shooing motion with his hands. Harry nodded and with another round of goodbyes, began walking towards the carriages.

A quick glance around the platform as he boarded showed no signs of his two friends. With a shrug, he stepped into the train and began moving through the long corridors between the cabins, quickly glancing in each one as he passed, checking for his friends.

He stopped halfway down when he eyed a young girl his age with large bushy brown hair in the Muggle-born uniform curled up on a bench reading Hogwarts: A History. He thought it a little odd – most of the children his age were busy trying to make friends or chattering to friends they had boarded with. He considered asking if she were waiting for anyone but thought better of it. She seemed to be enjoying the book, and he would hate to interrupt her reading. Perhaps later, when they arrived at Hogwarts, he’d seek her out.

He continued on down the train a little more, only to grin widely when he caught sight of his friends in a cabin. He threw the door open and snickered at Neville’s slight jump at the noise. Daphne just rolled her eyes.

He quickly closed the door behind him and pushed his trunk up onto one of the overhead racks before sitting down next to Neville. Daphne had her back against the outer wall and her feet up on the bench as she flicked through a book.

“Harry, you scared the bloody life out of me!” Neville griped, playfully shoving Harry in the arm. Harry grinned in response.

“Ah yes, it wouldn’t be Harry if he hadn’t made an entrance.” Daphne quipped, hooking some of her raven hair behind an ear. Like Harry, both of his friends were dressed the same way.

“I like to think I’m consistent, thank you.” Harry replied, leaning against the wall with the door and placing his own feet on the bench, though he bent his knees to allow Neville plenty of room.

“Did you bring Clara?” Neville asked after a moment. His best friend had been fascinated by the creature ever since he had returned with her two years ago, and Clara knew it. She would always preen and stand a little taller when Neville visited, or she would show off as she flew in the air.

“Could you imagine the reaction of the train if he had?” Daphne snickered – while she too had been fascinated by the creature, she took far more pleasure in teasing him over essentially bonding with a burning Peaco*ck.

“That’s a good point, we wouldn’t get five minutes of quiet.”

“Exactly. I have far too much to read without the two of you creating a circus of students in our cabin.” Daphne sniffed, flicking a page delicately.

“What are you reading?” Harry asked as he fiddled with the wrist holster on his right wrist that Sirius had bought for him last week.

“A book on Merlin Hawks. Father bought it for me once I bonded with Merlin.”

Neville snorted as the train gave a loud whistle and students of all ages passed their door. “I still can’t believe you named him Merlin.”

“In comparison to Trevor The Toad?” Daphne replied, her dark eyebrows rising almost to her hairline as she looked at Neville, who pulled the small amphibian to his chest. Harry hadn’t noticed he had been holding him.

“I’ll have you know Trevor is a noble name! He’ll be the most feared Toad at Hogwarts, just you wait.”

Harry snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh aye, feared because we’ll never know where he ends up.”

Neville turned to reply to him but was interrupted by the lurch of the train pulling away. All three of them looked at each other and grinned.

“This is it.” Harry breathed, waving at the window as they passed his guardians.

“Aye, the next time we board this train, we’ll officially be witches and wizards.” Neville replied wistfully.

“We’re already those things.” Daphne replied, rolling her eyes as she opened up her book once again.

Harry and Neville looked at each other and shrugged before leaving her to her book. They talked for hours, each coming up with their own ideas of what the coming years would hold.

Harry imagined himself returning home to Blackwall with enough spells under his belt to begin duelling with Sirius, though he knew it to be nothing more than a dream. Likely they wouldn’t be taught spells advanced enough to duel until the later years – although, perhaps he could be wrong.

The truth was none of them had any real idea of what the school curriculum would be like outside of the books they had bought for their classes. Each of them had read the books cover to cover, of course – not wanting to be caught unprepared for the classes, though they had all been stuck when it came to the practical application of things.

Daphne’s family, while Harry knew they traded in Alchemy and Potions supplies for the most part, actually didn’t have any facilities to practice either of those trades in their ancestral home. Perhaps they had, long ago, but the room had likely been converted into something else by some ancestor or another.

Neville’s ancestral home did have a Potions laboratory, but his grandmother Augusta had expressly forbidden him from using it until after his third year, when she felt safe in his using it. Augusta was a stern and protective woman, but she was a lovely person once you got past that awful vulture hat and sharp words. He couldn’t blame her of her protectiveness – not after what had happened to both of Neville’s parents.

He had gone with Neville to visit them a few times – Neville’s mother had been his own Godmother, after all, so as far as Harry was concerned, they were family. It had been difficult, seeing them in that room, screaming and yelling as they thrashed about in their restraints. They had calmed somewhat at Neville’s presence, but they still mumbled incoherently every now and then.

He and Neville had been friends for as long as he could remember – the two of them had practically grown up together. He considered Neville his brother, if not in blood then in spirit. He would be there for his friend whenever called upon – if that meant offering his support when those trips became too difficult, then he would do so.

Daphne had joined them some years into the friendship, and while at first she had been distant and aloof, she had eventually become the third part of their group. Daphne had been introduced to them at Blackwall, while her father conducted business with Arcturus.

Harry and Neville had wanted to run around and swing sticks at one another, but Daphne had insisted they simply sit and talk. It had taken some convincing on her part, but eventually the three had sat down and introduced themselves. In hindsight, and the benefit of age, he couldn’t fault the dark-haired girl – being introduced to the two rambunctious boys must have been daunting for her.

A few hours later, they had convinced her to play with them, and she had. Though, she had nearly punched Neville in the face when he had suggested she be the princess in their adventure as gallant knights. She had proceeded to wipe the floor with both of them, leaving them wheezing and a little sore as she towered above them, holding her stick triumphantly. He hadn’t underestimated her since.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door sliding open, and an elderly woman pushing a trolley poking her head in. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

“No thanks, I’m all set.” Harry answered, holding up his still wrapped pastry with a smile.

“I’ll have a chocolate frog, please.” Neville replied, while Daphne just shook her head.

With a chocolate frog in hand, Neville returned to his seat – his toad long since placed in his travel container. With deft fingers, Neville opened up the box and grabbed the chocolate frog as it leapt into the air – Harry had to supress a grimace as his friend bit the animated chocolate amphibian’s head off.

“Doesn’t that bother you? What with Trevor and all?” He found himself asking.

Neville shrugged as he frowned a little before swallowing what was in his mouth. “Never really thought about it. Besides, he’s a Toad – they’re completely different.”

“They are?” Harry found himself asking, but ended up forcing himself not to groan as Daphne chimed in.

“Of course they’re different. They’re two different species, Harry. For example, a Frog has teeth, while Toads do not. Frogs have a mucus covered skin, while Toads do not.”

“Forget I said anything.” Harry replied, rolling his eyes as he opened up the napkin of his pastry.

As he took a bite, savouring the sweet taste of the strawberry jam filling, Neville let out a small cheer as he held a small card in his hand. Daphne rolled her eyes in her seat and returned to her seat, muttering something about boys and obsessions with stupid cards.

“Who did you get?”

“Only bloody Morgana!” He exclaimed. The quiet slam of Daphne’s book closing made him jump a little.

“You did? Show me!” Daphne demanded. It was a well-known secret between the three of them that Daphne had a great deal of respect and admiration for the ancient witch – indeed, Harry did too, but he’d always prefer Merlin. Sometimes he did it just to wind Daphne up.

Neville offered her the card, and the two of them watched as Daphne gazed upon it almost reverently. “Morgana Le Fay, a witch renowned for her great magical successes and ultimately held responsible for the death of King Arthur. Morgana Le Fay was a known Animagus, taking on the form of a Raven and a recognised Mage. It is unclear what finally became of her, though it is rumoured she retreated from the world alongside Merlin.” Daphne read out, before flipping the card and gazing at the woman depicted.

Harry moved to Daphne’s side as he took the image in. She was beautiful, with thick dark hair that was pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head – though strands seemed to be arranged to mimic feathers.

She wore a deep burgundy shawl that left her arms bare and cinched around her waist, leaving a generous amount of her skin bare. Both arms had wraps and trinkets of some kind along them, as well as a number of dark tattoos. An elegant gold necklace hung around her neck with a brilliant sapphire.

“She’s gorgeous.” Harry breathed – he had never seen any depictions of Morgana Le Fay, and all the descriptions of her in the books he had read, had described her in not so many kind words.

“She did much for witches during her time. It is because of her that we can attend schools and vote. That she is held accountable for the death of Arthur, even all these years later is naught but the result of vile propaganda put forth by bitter old men.”

Harry tore his eyes from Morgana, who he could have sworn winked at him, and looked at his friend. Daphne had admitted her admiration for the historical witch just this past Summer when they had ended up relaxing in her room when they visited her home. Harry had been looking for something to read, from her many books and had stumbled across a number of tomes dedicated to the woman.

It had been the first time he could remember seeing Daphne blush – that in itself had been something that he had never thought he would see. It had been weeks and he was still stunned.

“Keep it.” Neville smiled from across the aisle. Daphne’s head snapped up, her mouth wide in surprise.

“No, I couldn’t.” She began, already holding the card out to him.

“No, we all know how much she means to you. I’ll get another one – just another excuse for more frogs.” Neville winked, throwing his feet up on the seat and turning from the dark-haired girl opposite him.

“Well, that settles it. Congratulations, Daphne.” Harry chuckled as he returned to his seat. He looked over at the girl and saw her beaming smile. It wasn’t often she smiled, but each time she did he would swear it lit up the room.

Speaking of girls who’s smiles lit up a room…

“Is Astoria going to be alright without you around?”

Daphne rolled her eyes as she stood and tucked the card into her trunk on the rack above her. “I think she’ll miss Her Harry more than she’ll miss me.”

Harry grinned cheekily, “I always knew I was her favourite.”

“Oh, that was never in question.” Neville snorted.

It was true. If Neville was his brother, then Astoria had stolen his heart and become the little sister he had always wanted. Each time he visited the Greengrass family, he always had something for Astoria for her to enjoy – sometimes it was a soft toy, or a doll that was charmed to have a tea-party. The last time he had seen her, he had given her a small framed photo of himself with Clara and Hedwig on either side of him. She had attached herself to him for the remainder of his stay, regaling him with tales of her many tea-parties with the House Elves and her dolls, and her adventures on the grounds and how many monsters she had slain.

“Hey, it could have quite easily have gone to Hedwig.” Harry snickered, casually folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the wall.

“Evidently, we’re not talking about the same Astoria.” Daphne snorted as she sat back down and crossed her legs.

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger.” Neville snickered. It was true – little Astoria would be the death of him.

“Guilty as charged.” Harry replied, chuckling.

The daylight had long since faded into night, but by his guess, they still had an hour or two to go. Some of the older students had passed the room every now and then – some going so far as to stick their heads in the room to make sure they weren’t up to something. On each of the uniforms of these students, Harry had spotted a small silver pin with the word Prefect on it. Sirius had warned him about the Prefects – apparently they were humourless students who lived and breathed the rules.

Remus, on the other hand had refuted that claim and instead told him – in a much more believable manner – that they were young witches and wizards who showed maturity and responsibility, and were trusted by the teachers to look after their fellow students. He had also pointed out that his mother had been a Prefect, and that both his mother and father had gone on to become Head Boy and Head Girl.

As it happened, each Prefect he had come into contact with so far on the journey had been perfectly polite and friendly. Harry figured Sirius had been caught once or twice by the Prefects of his time for some prank or another – Harry loved Sirius, he truly did, but he knew damn well that Moony had been the brains behind the Marauders.

That wasn’t to say Sirius couldn’t be devious and sneaky – far from it. Harry had suffered enough of his pranks over the years to say otherwise, but Sirius had a habit of acting without thinking, while Remus was much more cautious.

Harry let out a contented sigh as he shifted in his position and felt his back pop a little – the action causing little tingles the spread through his body.

“Must you do that?” Daphne asked from across the aisle. Harry looked over and noted she hadn’t looked up from her book.

“Do what?” He asked, glancing at Neville who seemed just as confused.

“Crack your back – the sound is revolting.”

Harry shrugged, “I don’t mean to do it, it just happens.”

“I’m sure.” Daphne replied, her tone of voice making it quite clear she didn’t believe a word he had said.

A knock on the door halted any reply he would have had. He turned to look at a group of children similar in age to himself.

“Have any of you seen Harry Potter? We’ve been looking for him up and down the train.” A red-haired boy with freckles and dressed in the Muggle-born uniform asked.

The three of them looked to one another. Ever since his return from his trip a little over two years ago, his scar had almost completely disappeared, leaving only a thing white line to indicate it had in fact ever been there.

Harry shook his head ever so slightly.

“I’m afraid not. We’d certainly know if he had been in here.” Daphne replied for them, quirking a brow at the group and the copper-haired boy in particular. It was the same look that Daphne had thrown in both his and Neville’s direction a number of times – they’d usually done something to deserve it, though there were times Harry thought she did it just to make them sweat.

The group behind the boy groaned collectively, with one witch going so far as to stamp her foot petulantly. Harry noted for the first time that the boy had a streak of dirt on his nose.

“Excuse me,” Harry began before pointing to his nose, “You have something on your nose. A bit of dirt.”

The boy scowled and rubbed at his face, doing nothing more than to spread the smudge further. Before he could say anything more, the boy turned and stomped off, likely to bother another group – the small herd of children followed behind him.

Neville stood and closed the door with a scoff, “Honestly, the manners of some people.”

Harry shrugged and returned to leaning his head back against the wall as he listened to his two friends.

“It’s to be expected. There are many who worship Harry Potter.” Daphne pointed out, her voice even and measured.

“True, but they only know the person from the columns in the Daily Prophet – not Harry.”

“Aye, you’re right but remember that the child that destroyed You-Know-Who is also that same eleven-year-old boy sat next to you.”

“What do you mean? He’s Harry!” Neville replied, quite obviously confused.

“Come now Neville, you’re a powerful wizard yourself – surely you can sense the power Harry has at his fingertips? I know I certainly do. People will be drawn to him, one way or another – mark my words.”

Harry squirmed at that. He didn’t want to draw anyone to him – he’d rather just fade into the background of the school and do well in class. He didn’t want to be paraded about as some poster child.

He had been lauded and celebrated ever since his supposed defeat of Voldemort, but nobody besides his friends and family had taken time to think about just what he’d lost. He had lost his mother and father, the two people who had given him life. Merlin, he didn’t even know what he’d done, if he’d indeed done anything at all – nothing of Voldemort had ever been recovered as far as he was aware, not even his wand. It was anyone’s guess what had truly happened – personally, he liked to think his parents had done The-Dark-Prick in. When he came of age, he already had plans to create a memorial statue for his parents in Godric’s Hollow.

That was a place he hadn’t thought of for some time. The last time he had been there, had been shortly after his return from Arpton Keep and gaining the fealty of those sworn to him. He had begged and pleaded with Sirius and Remus to visit their graves – he had to see them, to look upon them and be there. With them.

It had been shortly after he had recounted his life to them over the course of a warm summer afternoon that he had decided to have them entombed at Arpton Keep, with his father buried in the halls of his forefathers, with his mother buried alongside him. It had felt right, and in this way Harry could honour them as he wanted to – not as some Ministry official had some days after their deaths.

They had been moved six months later with all the honour and dignity possible – he had even enlisted the help of the House Elves that were bonded to him through Rosestone Castle. Those small, honourable creatures had proudly carried the coffins of his parents atop their shoulders through the Ro’rim and into Arpton. Sirius and Remus had followed him, both with tears freely flowing down their cheeks.

One of the benefits of the two adults were their memories and the castle Pensieve. He had hired an Artisan from the Capitol who was regarded as a Master Stone Smith to carve the statues of his parents to stand proudly above their final resting place. He had been assured that the stone wouldn’t age as the Artisan weaved spell after spell into his creation. By the end of it, there had been a man and woman standing proudly before him that looked as real Sirius and Remus. He had sat there that whole night and simply looked at them, committing their faces to memory.

“Can we not talk about the power at my fingertips?” He begged as his eyes opened slowly. He blew out a breath.

Daphne sniffed as the train began to slow down. “I’m simply stating a fact. Not even Arcturus himself compares to you.”

Harry rubbed at his temples as the lights from the Hogsmeade Train Station inched past their window. Both Neville and Daphne stood quickly – leaving their luggage in the racks for it to be collected and taken to their dormitories by the staff.

“You know it makes me uncomfortable.” Harry grumbled as he too got to his feet, following Daphne out when Neville gestured for him to go first. He grinned at his friend.

Daphne shrugged a shoulder lazily as she looked over her shoulder while they inched down the corridor towards the door. “I don’t know why, Harry. You’ll be a magnificent wizard someday – I’m positive of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, just keep walking, you impossible witch.” He grumbled as he gave her a playful shove, pointedly ignoring the heat that had crept up his neck at his friend’s words.

They stepped down onto the concrete platform as Harry awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. All around them was a sea of black robes, with the occasional splash of red, yellow, blue and green. There were hundreds of students!

“Firs’ years, this way! C’mon now! Firs’ years, this way!” A loud voice called over the din of children nattering to one another. Harry turned to look for the source of the voice, only to have his breath leave him in a stunned gasp.

There, standing in a large moleskin coat with the thickest bushy beard he had ever seen, and an equally bushy head of long hair that fell down to his shoulders was an absolute giant of a man, with a large lantern held in his hand.

“Bloody Hell!” Neville murmured as his own eyes caught sight of the huge man.

“Keep it down, you idiots and pick your jaws off the floor!” Daphne hissed as she elbowed them both in the ribs as they took positions on either side of her.

Harry winced as he rubbed at his ribs and snapped his mouth shut.

All the children their age gathered before the man, who up close had a pleasant smile and kindly dark eyes hidden amongst the hair. “Right then, this way ter the boats then. C’mon now!”

They followed along silently, though Harry noted that it was only the first years that followed the large man. All the other students it seemed were walking towards a large grouping of carriages that were attached to large skeletal horses with black skin and large wings. He nudged Daphne in the side and pointed to the carriages and whispered, “What do you think those are?”

“What do I think what are?”

“Those horses attached to the carriages, of course.”

There was a moment of silence as both Neville and Daphne looked towards the carriages before they were out of sight. His two friends looked at one another for a moment before turning to look at Harry.

“Harry, there was nothing there. The carriages were pulling themselves.” Neville replied.

Harry frowned. Had he imagined them? If Neville and Daphne hadn’t seen them, he must have been – it was likely the dark, playing tricks on him.

They continued away from the station, following the large man down a well-worn path that seemed to meander down a gentle incline. In the distance, behind the mass of feet and chattering children, he thought he could hear the sound of gentle waves on a shoreline. It reminded him of a beach that Sirius had taken him to when he was five.

“Righ’ then! Four to a boat! C’mon, mind yer step!”

It took a moment for him to realise they were gathered on the shore of a lake, with dozens upon dozens of small boats tied to a series of small piers. He certainly hadn’t expected to be arriving at Hogwarts in a boat – especially at night.

The crowd thinned as groups of students secured themselves in the boats, though as Harry peered closer, he noted the absence of any oars. How were they to move in the water? The realisation struck him a moment later, and he had to stop himself from burying his face in his hands – he felt like a fool. They were magic, of course!

A few moments later, they found themselves a boat with only a single occupant – that same bushy-haired girl he had seen on the train that morning. He suddenly felt guilty about forgetting about her sitting there on her own with her book.

She peered at them as they all climbed into the boat, and she appeared to be worrying the cloak of her Muggle-born uniform between the finger and thumb of her left hand.

“Hello,” Harry smiled, “is it alright if we share your boat?”

“Of course.” She replied, a shy smile of her own on her lips. “I’m Hermione, Hermione Granger.”

Harry noted her accent – decidedly southern, and from around London if he were to take a guess. There were a number of wizarding families in that area – Merlin, her accent wasn’t far off of Daphne’s. Oh, Merlin, there couldn’t be two of them!

“Daphne Greengrass.” Daphne replied, offering her hand to the girl.

“Neville Longbottom.” Neville added, offering a toothy grin.

“Harry. Harry Potter.” He finished, wincing as she gave an astonished gasp.

“Holy cricket! I’ve read all about you! It’s a pleasure to meet all three of you.”

“Hear that, Harry? You’re in books!” Neville snickered, causing Harry to cuff him over the back of the head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“ Hermione began, her eyes wide. She paused and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to say that I thought it an awful thing that happened to your parents.”

Harry was stunned, and for a moment didn’t realise that the boat was moving slowly away from the pier. Nobody, besides Neville and Daphne had ever said anything like that before – most often completely forgot he had lost his parents at all. He remembered one particularly callous ponce who had asked how they were doing. Sirius had leapt at the man, with Remus having to bodily lift him even as his fists and feet continued to swing.

“Thank you.” He murmured as his gaze lowered to a particularly interesting bit of wood between his boots.

“Why do you think they’ve got us in boats?” Neville asked. Harry smiled at him, grateful for the change in topic.

“I would suspect, it’s likely for that.” Daphne replied, pointing into the darkness as they rounded a bend.

The boat rocked side to side ever so slightly as they shifted to look where Daphne was pointing. Harry gripped the side of the boat as it dipped a little too close to the surface of the lake for his liking – he had no intention of arriving at Hogwarts soaked to the bone.

He quickly darted his eyes from the murky black water to where Daphne was pointing. There, ahead of them and rising eerily out of the mists on the far side of the body of water, was a huge castle perched atop the rocky slopes of the surrounding countryside.

Its large circular towers rose powerfully into the sky, with their cone-shaped caps stretching even further still. It wasn’t like any castle he had seen before – there were no curtain walls, though he certainly did spot what appeared to be a great hall of some kind that dwarfed any of the other buildings that were sequestered away in the darkness.

The entire castle was lit with the warm orange glow of lanterns and candle light flickering out of the many windows. It looked breath-taking.

All around him, the excited murmuring of the children in the nearby boats whispered across the lake until a girl shrieked and pointed out into the darkness.

Harry’s head snapped towards the noise, and he saw a blonde girl pointing a trembling finger out across the lake where a large tentacle was idly waving to them. Harry definitely didn’t want to end up in the murky water.

“It’s beautiful.” Neville breathed excitedly, looking over at Harry.

Harry grinned at his friend’s excitement – it was true, the school was indeed beautiful. What would it look like in the daytime, he wondered? Today was a Sunday, which meant it was unlikely he would get a chance to see it tomorrow. The first chance he got; he would find a spot on the grounds overlooking the castle that would be his.

“Aye.” Daphne whispered; her eyes wide as she continued to stare at the school. Harry gave her a poke in the ribs with his finger, though his snickering at his friend’s expense was cut short when she directed her glare in his direction. The tongue she stuck out lessened the impact a little, he supposed.

It wasn’t long before the giant of a man bellowed a warning as they approached one of the cliffs the school sat atop, “Heads down!”

Harry stared up at the high ceiling and couldn’t imagine anyone needing to keep their heads down besides their odd guide. They were carried along a long tunnel that was wide enough for four boats to sit comfortably side-by-side – Harry had to slap Neville’s hand away from a wriggling plant that hung from the ceiling as he went to touch it. Neville shrugged unapologetically – he couldn’t blame him; Harry had long known of Neville’s green-thumb.

They reached an underground harbour, much like the one they had boarded the boats on. Harry couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he sat comfortably while their boat glided itself into an empty space. The four of them scrambled out of the boat, the dull thuds of their shoes and boots on the remarkably dry wooden planks echoed loudly throughout the large chamber the tunnel had opened into.

The large man lifted his large lantern in his meaty fist as his gaze swept the boats – once he was seemingly satisfied, he called for them all to follow him up a flight of smooth stone steps towards a huge oak door emblazoned with the sigil of the school.

“Everyone here?” The man asked, as they all nodded their heads. Harry thought there must be at least a hundred students looking at the man. “Good.”

The man raised a gigantic fist and gave a booming trio of knocks that shook the door. Any harder, and Harry was sure the door would shatter.

The door swung open at once, revealing a black-haired witch of average height in emerald-green robes. She had a stern face as she peered over a pair of spectacles that were perched on her nose.

“The firs-years, Professor McGonagall,” The man grinned.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take it from here.”

The door swung wider, revealing a room so large it rivalled Blackwall’s. His eyes swept the meticulous stonework, eyeing the four animals that made up the Hogwarts sigil. The lion of Gryffindor, the snake of Slytherin, the badger of Hufflepuff and the Eagle of Ravenclaw – all were illuminated by flaming torches, whose light reflected on the gleaming marble staircase.

Professor McGonagall, he knew, had looked after him for a time as a babe shortly after the death of his parents. At least now he had a face to put to the name and the stories from Sirius. It eased his mind somewhat to know at least one person in the castle outside of his friends.

He found himself being carried along by the sheer number of bodies as they moved to follow the Professor up the stairs, though Daphne and Neville never strayed from his side – though he noted Hermione was a little ahead of them as he saw her large, bushy hair turning this way and that as she looked around.

The sound of hundreds of voices quickly reached his ears through a pair of large doors, similar to the ones they had already entered through just minutes before, once they reached the top of the staircase. Rather than lead them into the room however, the Professor instead led them to a small room just a little further down the corridor. It was plain and unfurnished but was large enough to fit at least twice their number inside. The Professor remained by the door.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” The Professor began once everyone was inside. “The start-of-term feast, will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. These houses will become your family.” A few students shuffled from foot to foot, and Harry heard someone scoff behind him – he fought the urge to frown and turn around.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points.” The Professor paused and swept her eyes over them, though for some inexplicable reason, he felt her eyes linger on him for a moment.

“At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

“The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered on the copper-haired boy with dirt on his face. “I will return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” She swept from the room with the hem of her robes trailing after her.

“What do you suppose we’ll have to do?” The voice of a boy in the back whispered loud enough for the rest of the room to hear.

“Fred told me we have to fight a Troll. Said they had to fight an Acromantula in their sorting – I reckon he was lying, though.” The copper-haired boy replied confidently as he squared his shoulders.

A blonde-haired boy, who’s hair was slicked entirely back with far too much hair product, scoffed and pushed his way to the front of the room as he sneered at the boy. Harry noted the blonde boy was flanked on either side by a pair of burly boys who were as wide as they were tall – they reminded him of Gorilla’s.

“Of course they were lying, you idiot.” The boy sneered as he rolled his eyes. “It’s no wonder your family can’t afford proper clothing if they’re all as thick as you, Weasley.”

Harry noted for the first time that the blonde boy was attired in the same uniform as himself. He looked at Daphne, who just shrugged and pursed her lips in thought. Harry knew of the Weasley family – their house was also afforded the rank of Ancient and Most Noble, just like his own. Though, from his lessons with Arcturus, he also knew they barely managed to scrape-by and had a strong progressive stance when it came to Magical Culture – one of the many sons of the main line, the third-born called Arthur Weasley, if he remembered correctly, was a loud advocate for adopting Muggle traditions. It hadn’t earned him, or the Weasley family as a whole, many favours.

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy.” Weasley growled, and even from here Harry could see the tips of his ears turning a similar colour to that of the hair on his head.

Ah, so this was the Malfoy heir? No wonder he seemed a prick.

Lucius Malfoy was the head of the Noble House of Malfoy. While they could trace some of their lineage back to the Norman Invasion, they were a French family primarily. They held some weight in the French political arena, though the branch of the family that had finally settled in England had only truly arrived a hundred or so years ago. According to Arcturus, they liked to flaunt their money and small amounts of power to make themselves feel more important.

It was also a well-known fact in the Wizengamot – according to both Sirius and Arcturus, that the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge was so deep in Malfoy’s pocket, he may as well have been sewn in.

“Please,” Malfoy scoffed. “As if I’m concerned that you’d do anything, especially after your failed hunt for your vaunted Boy-Who-Lived.”

Harry winced – he really hated that name. He noticed Hermione look over her shoulder at him and smile a little. He smiled politely in return.

“How did that go? I bet he’s not even here – likely thinks he’s too good for your rabble.” Malfoy sneered, casting his eyes at the children around Weasley. Harry noted they were all wearing the Muggle-born uniform and felt his fists clench at his sides as his heart began pumping a little harder.

“Don’t.” Daphne hissed in his ear as she grasped the wrist of his right hand. “Let him make a fool of himself.”

“He’s treating the Muggle-born like dirt, Daphne. My mother was Muggle-born.” Harry hissed in return.

“She’s right, Harry. No need to make a scene before we’ve started school.” Neville chimed in, patting Harry gently on the back. Slowly, he reined his temper in and took some slow, steadying breaths.

McGonagall returned at that moment with a thick scroll in her hand as she looked between Malfoy and Weasley. With a pointed look, she said, “I do hope the two of you weren’t on the verge of doing something foolish. It would be a shame to begin your academic careers with detentions.”

“No Professor, just a healthy debate.” Malfoy replied, bowing a little and offering a smile. From the look on the Professor’s face, it was anything but convincing.

“Indeed. In any event, the ceremony is about to begin. If you’ll all follow me.”

They did – the mass of black coats and cloaks followed in an orderly line out of the door and through the large doors that had barely been muffling the din of hundreds of noises before. This time as they approached, the noise was absent.

Professor McGonagall pushed the large doors that were easily six or more times his height and the sight that greeted him threatened to steal his breath. Along four long tables that took almost the entire length of the massive hall were hundreds of students of all ages from twelve to seventeen. Above each table hung the banners of each house, with Slytherin on the far left, then Gryffindor, the Ravenclaw and finally Hufflepuff on the far right.

Above them were thousands of floating candles and even higher than that was a large arched ceiling that was so high, he couldn’t see the highest point.

“It’s bewitched to look like the night’s sky. I read it in Hogwarts: A History.” The voice of Hermione spoke up, proudly informing the whispering students next to her that were looking up at the bewitched ceiling with looks of wonder on their faces. The students pinned Hermione with an odd look, but he thought nothing of it.

His head lowered, and he found his eyes drawn to the far end of the hall, where a large table sat upon a raised platform. All along it were adults in various robes, coats, suits and tunics. The staff appeared to be made up of all sorts, from young witches and wizards, to men and women who upon first glance seemed to be as old as the castle itself!

In the centre of the table was a man sat in a large golden throne with a long white beard that was pinched by a band in the middle of its length and had the appearance of a kindly, eccentric grandfather with halfmoon glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

Between the awaiting students and the table, however, was a simple stool and an ancient-looking pointed hat with a wide brim.

They came to a halt a few steps from the stool when Professor McGonagall held up a hand. He also noted the had come to a halt between the Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw tables. He looked around nervously. He looked at Daphne who gave him an encouraging wink, while Neville gave him a confident nod. No matter what happened, they would remain friends.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” McGonagall called into the silence. She unrolled the parchment, which was longer than he was expecting.

“Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line, carefully perched herself on the stool and put the hat on her head. There was a moment’s pause before a deep voice called, “Hufflepuff!”

Where had that voice come from? Harry looked around the room for a few moments until his eyes caught sight of the hat moving! The hat was bewitched! That was bloody brilliant!

“Bones, Susan!”

He knew the Bones family. Amelia Bones, the current regent for the family until her niece came of age, was the head of the D.M.L.E – the ‘police force’ of magical Britain. He had met Amelia a number of times over the years, and she was a kind but stern woman with a sharp jawline, high cheekbones and full lips with her hair always tied up in a blonde knot at the back of her head. Sirius always insisted on trying to flirt with her.

“Hufflepuff!” The hat called out to the cheers of the Hufflepuff table. He watched the girl scurry off to sit next to Hannah Abbott.

“Boot, Terry!”

“Ravenclaw!” This time it was the Ravenclaws turn to erupt in a cheer and Harry winced at the din.

Harry began tuning out the names and the cheers until a name he recognised was called for.

“Granger, Hermione!”

He watched as Hermione practically sprinted to the stool and jammed the hat on her head. He chuckled – no doubt, wherever she ended up she would do well with that enthusiasm.

There was a moment of heavy silence in the hall before a resounding, “Gryffindor!” was called.

The table to his left erupted with cheers, just as they had done with all of their other new students. He grinned and waved at Hermione as she ran to the table – she waved back and sat down to pats on the back from those on either side of her.

“Greengrass, Daphne!”

Daphne sucked in a breath from his side as she nodded to herself. She nodded at both Harry and Neville before she strode confidently towards the stool with her head held high. He didn’t know who was more nervous, himself or Daphne. She donned the hat slowly.

“Slytherin!”

Harry and Neville were cheering just as much as the Slytherin table and received a few odd looks from those around them. Daphne blushed a little before darting towards the table as she sat besides a girl that he remembered to be called Davis.

Eventually, it was Neville’s turn, and as he stepped from the line, Harry gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. Neville sat slowly as his coat pooled around his legs. The hat barely touched his head before, “Gryffindor!”

Again, the Gryffindor table erupted in noise and cheers and Harry was no different as he clapped his hands together. Neville was so excited; he began moving to the table before he realised he was still wearing the hat!

Harry listened to the names as they were rattled off. Malfoy, Mallard, Moon, Nott, Newt, Parkinson, Passel, Patt…

“Potter, Harry!” Professor McGonagall called out far more proudly than she had any of the others, he thought.

He stepped forward, the whispers hissing all around him. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

The Professor gently laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze as he stepped before her. He looked at her and thought her eyes looked a little shinier than they had been just a few moments before. “It’s good to see you all grown up, lad. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

He nodded shakily, as he turned to face the hall. With a deep breath, he sunk onto the chair and closed his eyes as the hat was lowered onto his head.

“Oh, a Potter, eh? It’s been some time since I’ve had to place one of your lot. It can only be… Gryffindor!”

The table of Gryffindor erupted like it hadn’t for anyone else – each member having leapt to their feet as they cheered loudly. Harry grinned as he looked to the Professor who beamed proudly at him, with a nod of her head, she shooed him off to the table.

He passed two identical lanky red-heads that were proudly stood on the benches and chanting, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

He took his spot next to Neville who grinned and swept him into a one-armed hug. He looked over to Daphne who was beaming proudly at him from the Slytherin table.

He was immediately caught up in a wave of well-wishers, handshakes, and pats on the back – even Hermione was grinning at him from her spot a little further down the table.

He looked over towards the stool, who had another student already perched on it and his eyes were drawn to the man in the golden throne – Albus Dumbledore. He watched as the man gave him a smile and a wink before raising a golden goblet in his direction. Harry nodded back with a grin and lost himself in the rest of the sorting.

The list quickly got to the young Weasley boy who was sorted into Gryffindor and tried to sit between himself and Neville, only to be denied with a pointed look from the two of them. He quickly plonked himself down on Harry’s other side though.

Zabini Blaise, was the final student to be sorted, and as he moved to sit at Slytherin, Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment and moved the stool and the hat to the side of the room before joining the high table at Dumbledore’s right hand side.

As she sat, Dumbledore rose, and the hall became deathly silent.

“Welcome!” He called, a beaming smile on his face. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

The hall clapped and cheered as Dumbledore once more took his seat.

“He’s mad.” Neville whispered in his ear, causing Harry to snicker.

There was a rush of magic from the tables, and immediately the plates and dishes arranged on the table were filled with all sorts of food. There were sausages, potatoes, vegetables, whole chickens, legs of lamb and even some venison steaks!

His mouth was watering at the sight and more importantly, the smell.

He reached out and began spooning vegetables onto his plate, followed by a juicy venison steak lathered in a moderate portion of gravy. He began carving into his food with his knife and closed his eyes in contented bliss when the meat from his first forkful melted on his tongue.

“Careful there, Harry. If your eyes go any further into the back of your head, they’ll get stuck!” Neville chuckled after swallowing his own mouthful – a quick glance at Neville’s plate told him it was chicken.

Both of them sat with straight backs, with their elbows tucked tightly into their sides as they ate. The Weasley boy to Harry’s left, however, was all elbows and loud smacking lips and slurping gulps of gravy.

Harry watched as a pale, grubby hand snatched out to grasp a chicken leg. It was so terribly fascinating; he just couldn’t look away.

After only a few minutes of eating, Harry found himself fully sated and it wasn’t much longer until the plates and dishes disappeared, only to reveal mountains of desserts. There were ice creams, pastries, fruits, chocolates – all sorts! Harry cut himself a small slice of treacle tart and grabbed a juicy looking apple.

A conversation on the far side of the Weasley boy that drew his attention – apparently the conversation on the table between the first years had turned towards their blood-purity – frankly the oddest dinner topic he could think of.

“I’m half and half,” A boy was saying, his Irish accent thick between mouthfuls of food. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mam’s a witch. Bit of a nasty shock he found out!”

There was a smattering of laughter around the boy, and Harry couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his lips as he listened in.

“What about you, Longbottom?” Someone asked – a dark-skinned Muggle-born judging from his uniform.

“Don’t be stupid, Longbottom is an Ancient and Noble House! Of course he’s a Pureblood!” Someone called out further down the line of students.

Neville had turned scarlet next to him as he glared at the offending students.

“What about you, Potter?”

“Everyone knows House Potter is even older than Longbottom!”

“I heard he’s Muggle-born!”

“Quiet!” Harry snapped as he threw down his fork, suddenly far less hungry than he had been before. The voices around him had silenced themselves as each student shifted awkwardly in their seats.

Dozens of eyes were staring at him, wondering what he was going to say. He took a deep breath.

“Why does it matter?” He asked after a moment, casting his eyes along the table.

“Well, you defeated You-Know-Who, surely you’re a Pureblood to be that powerful!” Someone asked.

“Yeah, you’d have to be powerful!”

“You all honestly believe your blood determines how powerful you are?” Harry gasped. He knew it was a common train of thought that founded the Traditionalist political agenda, but to hear it come from those no older than himself?

“What else could it be?” A Muggle-born asked – he noted Hermione was watching the events play out quietly as she slowly ate from a bowl of fruit.

“Magic?” He asked the table at large. He looked at their confused faces and sighed. “Your blood could be a contributing factor, but so can magic.”

“What do you mean?” Weasley asked after a moment with a frown on his face.

“What separates us from Muggles? Magic. Magic chose us!”

“What, so magic is alive? Is that it?” Weasley snickered as he snapped a biscuit in two.

Harry shrugged, “I have no idea – but there are plenty of records of wizards and witches with little power being born to Purebloods, as with anyone else.”

“So, which are you?”

He heard Neville sigh next to him, and Harry fought the urge to rub at his temples. He could feel a headache coming on.

“Did you not just listen to him? He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.” Neville snapped, throwing down his own fork. “Why does it matter in any case? We’re here to learn about magic, not family lines. Have some regard to his privacy, for Merlin’s sake!”

There was a beat of silence before Weasley spoke up, “Well, I’m a Pureblood!”

The conversation started up again, and Harry gave Neville an appreciative smile before turning to talk between themselves as they tried furiously to ignore the conversation around them. It wasn’t long until the plates emptied once more and the attention of everyone was drawn to Dumbledore, who had moved around the table to stand before a golden podium with owls decorating it.

“Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” Dumbledore’s eyes swept the room. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils, while a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Harry snickered alongside Neville as Dumbledore’s eyes settled on the pair of red-haired twins at their table.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, our caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” At this, Dumbledore gestured to an odd-looking man with wild eyes that was lurking at the side of the hall cradling a cat.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madame Hooch.” At this, Dumbledore turned to gesture to a severe-looking woman with short, spiky silver hair.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry and Neville both scoffed but paused when very few others on the table did.

“He’s mad – this is a school!” Harry whispered to Neville, who likewise was looking around with wide eyes.

“How many do you think will end up trying to check it out?”

“Too many.” Harry groaned.

“Now, I believe it’s late enough and you all have busy days ahead of you tomorrow. Please follow your Prefects to your dormitories.”

At that, every student in the hall rose to their feet as one, with the murmuring noise of whispered conversations, while the Prefects themselves called out for houses to follow them.

He followed the crowd of Gryffindor’s out of the hall and up the great marble staircase. As he walked alongside Neville, he felt his eyes beginning to droop and he stifled a yawn behind his hand. Despite his tiredness, he did take the time to note the figures waving to them politely from their portraits.

A number of staircases and corridors later, they came to a halt at a portrait of a large woman in a garishly pink silk dress.

“Password?” He heard her ask one of the Prefects at the front of the mass of students.

“Caput Draconis.” Someone said, causing the portrait to swing forward to reveal an entryway large enough for two adults to stand side-by-side.

Everyone scrambled through it, eager to reach their beds. It had, after all been a long day, full of excitement and good food.

The room they stepped into was large and circular, with large glass windows high up on one wall that allowed the pale moonlight to spill into the room. The fireplace was already roaring, bathing the large room in a comfortable heat, and large plush sofa’s and armchairs surrounded it. There were little tables hidden away in various nooks and crannies where he could see himself working on his assignments quite contentedly.

There were four large staircases, with two on each side of the room, splitting in opposite directions.

“First year girls are up this staircase here – you’ll find your belongings and such already in your rooms. Each dorm has a common space for studying and a shared bathroom, while each of you have individual rooms branching from that room. Boys are not permitted into the girl’s dormitories – there are Wards in place that make it impossible and the staff will be notified if you attempt it.” A girl’s voice called out. Immediately, the girls scrambled for the staircase.

“First year boys, your quarters are up the opposite stairs. You all have the same set-up. Everyone else, you already know where your beds are. Get to bed, everyone!” The same boy that had given the password called.

Everyone shuffled off, breaking away in their own directions. Neville and he both found themselves circling the tower twice before they came to a small landing with their names on golden plaques outside a simple wooden door.

Harry looked to his friend when he noted the other names on the plaque. Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas and Ronald Weasley. Both shuddered a little – thank Merlin for the separate rooms.

They opened the door to find a comfortable looking common room, with a number of tables and chairs dotted around. There were portraits that hung proudly, no doubt men and women who had once lived in this set of rooms and had distinguished themselves somehow in history.

His attention was drawn to the doors that branched off from the small room, which in itself wasn’t very large to begin with.

“Neville, yours is here!” He grinned, as he eyed the room next to his own. Neville opened the door, and over his shoulder Harry could see all of his belongings had been delivered and neatly put away.

“Let’s see yours, Harry!” Neville grinned. Harry just rolled his eyes.

“You just want to see Clara.”

“You’re right, I do.” Neville grinned cheekily as he opened Harry’s door.

There, perched beside the bed on her golden perch was none other than his Phoenix familiar as she preened the feathers on her left wing before she gave herself a quick shake.

Harry rushed to the bed, looking for a particular part of the support by the headboard of the four-poster-bed.

“Can you find it? Have you got it?”

Harry grinned as his fingers found the initials: J.C.P

Harry had his fathers bed – this was going the be the best year ever.

Chapter 11: Harry V

Chapter Text

Harry groaned and rolled over in his bed as sunlight filtered in through his window at the side of his bed. The heavy quilt was soft against his back and legs as he attempted to bury himself further into the soft mattress.

It was a few moments later that a familiar weight landed on his back. He groaned and squirmed a little as the familiar feeling of sharp talons poked and prodded him through the material that covered him.

“G’way, Clara…” He mumbled sleepily, waving a tired arm behind him. He only managed a single feeble swipe before the arm dropped to his side heavily.

There was a series of gentle taps against the back of his exposed head – harmless, but increasingly annoying.

He scrunched his eyes tighter and made a feeble groan of protest.

“Clara…” He muttered, frowning into the soft cotton of his red pillows.

There was a lengthy pause before another, single tap echoed in his skull.

He opened his eyes slowly and glared at the bird perched on his chest – he thought she looked far too smug for his liking – at least this early in the day. Despite her avian nature, there were times when she seemed far too human – and he definitely recognised that mischievous glint in her black eyes.

“Don’t you fuc-“ Harry began as he pointed a finger in his familiar’s direction. She tapped him again.

He jumped out of bed; his hands outstretched as he scrambled to get a hold of the bird. “Come here, you bloody pompous chicken!”

With two powerful flaps of her wings, Clara was in the air and gliding back to her perch. Harry, in his haste to follow, kicked his legs from the bed and leapt to his feet as the quilt pooled around him on the floor.

He took a step forward, a menacing glare on his face that would put even Daphne’s to shame, only to cry out in alarm as he tipped forwards and groaned as he lay in a crumpled heap. Clara gave a quiet trill of amusem*nt before she circled the room in her own victory lap before landing on her perch once more.

As he lay there, contemplating his defeat and staring up at the ceiling, he let out a quiet sigh as his mind began to clear of the sleepy haze that had encompassed it only moments before.

The memories of the previous night danced through his mind, and he found himself smiling at the images in his mind’s eye. There had been the journey on the train, the trip across the lake, the sorting and the feast! If he closed his eyes, he could remember every smell of the cooked foods – he could feel the fresh air on his face out on the lake, and even feel the coarse material of the seat on the train.

He groaned as he pushed himself to his elbows and glared at his familiar. The glorified pigeon was staring at him unblinkingly, her hooked black beak glinting in the early morning light. He pushed himself onto his hands and took in the dark grey of his nightshirt that clung to his skin with a frown.

He had woken up in a panic again last night – it had been months since his last night terror. It had felt so real, so visceral. He could feel the smooth stone of the cobbled road, the sound of the spells flying past his head in every direction, the heat of the flames as Clara forced her maturity to protect him.

Even now, the cries of pain from those long dead echoed in his ears as he breathed deeply. The time since the battle had been time well spent. He had begun to use a blade under the instruction of a tutor that Arcturus had hired, and he was pleased with the steady progress he had been making.

His tutor, a woman named Kina Parren – a member of a minor family sworn to the service of House Black, had begun instructing him not long after their initial return. She had been ruthless in her teaching, not afraid to throw his arse to the dirt to prove a point. They had begun with daggers; the small blade had become a constant fixture on either his belt or in his boot ever since.

The sword had become a part of his training after two months of lessons three times a week. It had taken some getting used to, with the long blade and the increased weight as opposed to a dagger – especially with his own limited size, but he had persevered.

Kina had become even more punishing in her drills. For hours, he would repeat the same movements, drilling the repeat motions into his subconscious with her barking voice and rough shoving. Outside of the training, she was a soft spoken and had a kind smile – the second they each hefted their training blades, that persona was replaced by a gruff, loud and seemingly angry young woman. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had one or two nightmares about her.

He scrambled to his feet, the bare flesh slapping against the smooth floorboards with each shuffle as he extricated himself from the mound of duvet. With a final tug, he stumbled backwards into one of the chest of drawers that lined the walls of the small room. He turned quickly and snatched at the wobbling black-iron candle stick that threatened to topple over.

He let out a small sigh as he looked about the room – besides the mess of his bed and Clara, who now had her head ducked beneath a wing as she preened herself. He had spent some time, after showing Neville the carving of his fathers initials, sorting his belongings into the various drawers, chests and along the occasional shelf to make it into something resembling a home – a refuge from the chaos of the days where he could relax.

His clothes were all folded and stored by item – he was absolutely convinced Lispy would pop into the room and bend him over her knee if he didn’t abide by her system, and his boots were neatly lined by the door next to a small hamper that he assumed was for washing.

Gathering the quilt in his arms, he threw it on the bed and quickly tidied it – tugging at little creases and making sure everything was straight. While he was aware of the House Elves of Hogwarts, thanks to Sirius and Remus’s many tales of their adventures, he refused to give them any more work than he absolutely had to.

With the bed straightened, he went about gathering his toiletries and a fresh change of clothes. He had no idea if anyone else was awake, but with the bloody chicken having woken him up, he knew going back to bed – regardless of the time, would be impossible.

He paused as he pulled a fresh tunic from a draw by the window as his eye caught something he hadn’t noticed in the darkness of the night. Quickly placing the items in his hands down atop the furniture, he moved to the window and lifted the large metal latch and pulled the frame towards him. It didn’t open large enough for a human to fit through – for obvious reasons, but it was large enough for something smaller.

He looked over his shoulder and raised his brow at Clara expectantly. “Come on then, I assume this is why you’re so insufferable this morning.”

Clara hopped across the room slowly. He knew she was doing it on purpose because she could have easily crossed the room in a glide from her perch. He rolled his eyes at her smug countenance as she hopped up onto the ledge where she shuffled side to side for a moment. With a smirk on his face, he closed the window with a little force that shoved her from the ledge in an undignified squawk.

There was a quick burst of flame after a moment, and he winced as he felt Clara appear behind him. He turned slowly as she hovered in the air, her wings beating in a steady rhythm as she glared at him. Her eyes held a challenging glint to them as she lifted her beak a little higher. There was a dull thud across the top of his head as she caught him purposefully with her right wing before she burst into flame once again. He pouted as he rubbed at his skull.

Gathering his clothes under his arm, he grumbled about lazy familiars and stupid windows. Harry snatched at a towel that he’d set aside the previous night and shuffled from the room. He left his coat – that he’d noticed had the red of Gryffindor lining the inside, hanging by the door. There was no need to be dragging it into the bathroom with him.

The small common area was empty, the chairs and small tables all with the red of Gryffindor or the golden lion incorporated in their design somehow. There was a large recessed window that matched the curve of the tower that stretched for a few metres above his, Neville’s and Seamus’s doors.

He padded over the plush crimson rug with golden patterning and shouldered the door to the shared bathroom open.

The white marble tiles caught the light from the small window and reflected it easily enough, illuminating the room nicely. Along the far wall were the five separate shower stalls, while an equal number of private toilets sat opposite – their thin wooden doors shut. Along the wall closest to him were a number of sinks, each with bronze coloured faucets and a mirror above them. Like with the tiles of the room, the porcelain of the sinks was white and seemed to sparkle in the early morning light.

He moved along the row to the far stall and laid out his clothes in a small area between the door and the shower curtain, hanging what he could, while the rest was laid neatly in an efficient pile on a small white stool. He arranged the pile sensibly – his breeches on the bottom, then his socks and on top was his underwear. His hung his tunic on a hook on the door, while his boots sat below it. The towel he draped over a second hook along the wall by the curtain.

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, grimacing as the still damp material almost peeled off of him and slapped against the floor. Next were his pyjamas, which thankfully were far more pleasant to remove.

Stepping behind the curtain, he brushed the rune with his thumb, sighing as the warm water cascaded over his body. He stood there for a time, just allowing the water to sooth his cramped muscles in his shoulders and neck.

A small sigh whispered past his lips as he pushed the hair from his face, the thick locks of his hair plastering themselves to him wherever they fell. Blinking the water from his eyes, he brushed another rune, and began washing both his hair and body. Whatever soap the water was charmed with, it smelled of strawberries and practically vanished any tension that remained in his body. He could get used to this.

He rinsed himself quickly before shutting the water off. He threw the curtain open and palmed the towel from the hook before throwing it over his head. He rubbed at his dark hair and face, scrubbing away what water he could.

Harry moved methodically down his body before laying it down on the floor before the stool. He quickly went about drying his toes before pulling on clean underwear and breeches. The tunic came next – it was baggy, but as he tucked it away, it began to conform to his figure a little more. The light material was breathable and in an off-white colour that complimented his dark boots, breeches and coat.

He opened the door once he was dressed and gathered his washing in the towel on the floor before rolling it up. With towel-turned-bag in hand, and his left hand running through his damp and wild hair, Harry moved to return to his room – noting how there was still no sign of his classmates. Perhaps Clara had woken him too early? If she had, he’d make sure to contact Sirius to plan the appropriate revenge.

With a sigh, he placed the towel and dirty laundry into the hamper and moved to his small bedside table. On it were a few things – namely his wand, a few leather ties for his hair, a book on charms he had perused a little before falling asleep and a large sheet of parchment that had been folded a number of times in different directions.

Grasping his wand, he muttered a pair of incantations under his breath. The first, required him to move his wand in a clockwise spiral around his head, with the tip pointed towards the floor. He smiled to himself as he felt the magic dry his hair, give it a little volume, and brush away the knots painlessly. The second required a sharp upwards flick of his wrist with the tip pointed at his mouth. Once the small rush of magic disappeared, he ran his tongue over his teeth – there was a distinct hint of spearmint on his tongue.

With his hair dry, Harry snatched up one of the leather ties from the table and tied his hair in a comfortably loose knot at the back of his head, grumbling as a few strands came loose, though he didn’t bother to fix them. Next was his long-sleeved black doublet with the lion of Gryffindor on the breast beside the wolf of Potter that he had placed on his bed as he had gathered his clothes for his morning shower.

His arms threaded into the sleeves comfortably, the hem just slightly past his wrists. The material was soft and smooth against his fingertips as he tied the leather fasteners down his front with deft fingers. He quickly strapped his wand-holster, with his wand already placed inside it, against his right forearm before pulling the fabric of his sleeve over it.

All that remained was his coat, the fine black dragon leather garment cinched around his waist with a tan-coloured leather belt. Normally, the belt would hold his dagger, but as it was a school, he decided that in his time here, it would remain sheathed in his right boot.

He looked at himself for a moment in the wall-length mirror on the other side of the door to the hamper. He tugged at any perceived wrinkles or flaws in his appearance – Arcturus would accept nothing less than perfection in his appearance.

With one final rallying breath, he nodded to himself and picked up his satchel from the hook on the door.

As he stepped into the small common area, he noticed Neville sitting on one of the wooden chairs looking a little bored. Neville did happen to perk up as he stepped into view, however.

“Harry! About time you showed up. I was beginning to think you’d stay in there for the rest of the day trying to make yourself look pretty.”

Harry snorted as he moved across the room and took in Neville’s appearance. Much like himself, Neville wore the traditional robes of Hogwarts students, though his doublet held the bear of Longbottom. Neville’s face was clean, which was a rarity in itself considering the boy’s love of plants, and his brown mop of hair looked glossy and clean.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to be presentable, Longbottom.” Harry sniffed, winking as his friend rolled his eyes and followed him out the door with his own satchel over a shoulder.

“There’s presentable, and then there’s the level you take it to, Potter.” Neville replied as they began the spiral down the steps.

“Were any of the others awake?” He asked as they walked lazily through the empty common room – besides the half dozen sleeping cats in front of the fire, of course.

“I didn’t see anyone. I don’t think it’s long past seven in any event – they have plenty of time.” Neville shrugged as they stepped through the portrait.

The inside of the castle looked vastly different in the daylight. They were in one of the large square towers he’d seen on the lake, with staircases leading to all sorts of corridors and doors – though a quick glance over the railing told him they were on the seventh floor.

What was a really marvellous sight though, were the staircases themselves, moving this way and that as the few students that were awake moved up and down them. Neville grimaced over his shoulder as he took in the sight for himself.

“I forgot we were so high up.” He groaned, “It’s times like this I’m going to wish I’d been placed in Hufflepuff or, Gods forbid, Slytherin. No safer place to be than on the floor.”

Harry chuckled and slapped Neville on the arm. “House of the brave, remember? You’ll get used to it in no time.”

With that, they made their way down the staircases to the ground floor. They passed an untold number of portraits in their descent – all in various stages of alertness. One particular portrait of a group of old men were busy shooing a knight in full steel plate swinging a sword at invisible enemies away from their table of cards.

With their feet firmly on the ground floor of Hogwarts, Neville visibly relaxed – his shoulders, which had been tense throughout their short journey, slumped in relief. It took no time at all to retrace the previous night’s footsteps to the Great Hall.

The doors were wide open this morning and seemed even larger than they had the night before. The ceiling was no longer bewitched, and the sheer emptiness of the room was astounding. Along all of the tables, there were only perhaps two dozen students, all in various states of alertness – one boy, who appeared to be a fifth year, barely caught himself from pitching forward into his porridge.

Harry’s eyes swept the Slytherin table and caught sight of the long, dark hair he was looking for. He gently tapped Neville on the shoulder and pointed in Daphne’s direction as the two of them gave her an enthusiastic wave and grin.

It seemed she had seen them, not that they were hard to miss, all things considered. With a short wave of her own, a roll of her eyes and a smirk, she stood up and moved to join them – a dark haired girl with shoulder-length hair joining her a moment later.

Harry and Neville sat themselves down at the Gryffindor table as they placed their satchels on the floor either side of them. Daphne and the new addition slid in gracefully opposite them.

“Harry, Neville, meet Tracey Davis. Tracey, these are the idiots.”

Harry and Neville both grinned cheekily at the blue-eyed witch.

“Now why would you say something cruel like that?” Harry asked, clutching a hand to his heart.

“That was positively slanderous, was that.” Neville added, holding the back of his right hand to his forehead as he leaned back dramatically.

Tracey giggled shyly and offered the two of them her hand to shake. Unlike the three of them, she was attired in the Muggle-born uniform. “Pleased to meet you both.”

Neville and Harry shook her hand with no hesitation. If Daphne was introducing her, they trusted her – Daphne had an instinct about people that was down-right terrifying at times.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Harry began as he placed a small assortment of fruit and crispy bacon on his plate. “how do you know Daphne?”

Tracey shifted in her seat a little. “We share a dorm. We met last night after the sorting.”

“Well, you’ll find no better friend than our Daphne.” Neville smiled before taking a bite from a red apple. Daphne smiled at the praise, and he was positive he could spot the faintest hint of red on her cheekbones – though when he looked closer, it was gone.

“So, excited to start your day?” Harry asked, his eyes on the two girls opposite him. Daphne, he knew, was excited despite her cool exterior. Tracey, on the other hand, was barely keeping herself from bouncing up and down on the bench.

“I can’t wait!” She grinned as she clapped her hands together. “What do you think will be our first class? Oh, I hope it’s Charms! I heard Professor Flitwick is brilliant!”

Harry grinned at her enthusiasm, though it was a stark contrast next to Daphne – never in his wildest dreams could Harry picture his friend acting like Tracey.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of them, though the two Slytherins returned to their own tables when more students began to filter into the room. With their plates long since emptied, the two remaining Gryffindors turned to one another for entertainment until Professor McGonagall arrived.

The older woman stood over them as she cleared her throat. Both Harry and Neville jumped a little at the noise and looked over their shoulders with a light pink staining their cheeks.

Harry darted to his feet as he saw the Professor, though the sound of his knees catching the table did cause him to wince and bite on his lower lip for a moment. Neville, likewise, got to his feet.

They both offered the older witch small bows, while her eyes twinkled with amusem*nt. “I trust, Mr. Potter, that you found your accommodation most suitable?”

Harry paused for a moment. “It was, Professor – I mean, that is to say, it is most suitable… Professor.” Harry winced at the words.

“Good, I would hate for you to have been disappointed. Your Godfather passed along your hope that you would be assigned to it.”

“You and Sirius…?” Harry gasped, his jaw dropping slightly. He’d made a passing mention of it years ago, but he had never thought Sirius would contact the school!

“Indeed. In any event, I came to offer the both of you your timetables for the year.” Professor McGonagall said, handing the both of them a piece of parchment each.

“Thank you, Professor.” Neville replied, his smile still a little nervous at having been caught unawares by the emerald-robed witch.

McGonagall nodded once and then moved further down the table as more and more students started sitting down. The two of them sunk to the bench quickly, their eyes scanning the contents in their hands.

They had five one-hour lessons a day – three classes in a morning, followed by an hour’s lunch, with two lessons in the afternoon. Then, they would have a three-hour period for study and research before the evening meal was served at six. Another two hours of free time would see them through until curfew was called in the castle at nine.

As it was a Monday, their first lesson would be Introduction to Magic with Professor Selket, followed by Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall and his first Elective, Magical Languages with Professor Dots. They would have an hour for lunch before they went on to Basic Healing with Madame Pomfrey and to end the day they had…

“Oh, Merlin.” Harry groaned as he wiped a hand down his face. He had forgotten about this class.

“What’s wrong?” Neville asked, frowning as he looked up from the parchment.

“We’ve got Care of Familiars last.”

“So?”

“I might have pushed her out of a window this morning.” Harry muttered slowly, his eyes finding an absolutely fascinating spot of varnish on the table.

“You what?” Neville gasped, his eyes bulging wide.

“Hey, she started it!”

“What do you mean ‘she started it’?”

Harry groaned pitifully and leaned his head on his folded arms atop the table. “She woke me up by tapping on my head. Repeatedly. She wanted me to open the window for her, even though she didn’t need me to.”

“Who didn’t need ye to, Harry?” Seamus Finnegan asked, his thick Irish accent causing Harry to momentarily wince from within the comfort of his arms. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes.

“Familiar troubles.” Neville chuckled. Harry scowled at him.

“We’ve all been there, mate.” Ronald Weasley said as he patted Harry on the shoulder sympathetically. Seamus and Dean had sat down opposite the two of them, while Ronald had taken the seat next to Harry.

“What could be wrong with it?” Dean asked, the tall, dark skinned boy asked. Upon first meeting him last night, just before they had gone to bed, Harry had decided he quite liked the boy. He was polite, well spoken and had a brilliantly sarcastic sense of humour.

“She’s a bloody git, is what she is.” Harry grumbled, earning a scoff from the Muggle-born.

“Careful Harry, she might hear you.” Neville winked.

“Hear him? What do you mean?” Ronald asked, a fat sausage already impaled on his fork. Harry shrugged.

“She’ll come if I call her name, is all.”

“I didn’t know ye had a dog, Potter.” Seamus grinned excitedly. “What kind is it? Is it a big or a small one?”

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. “She’s not a dog, she’s a bloody oversized pigeon.”

“How long have you been bonded with her?” Ronald asked as he reached a free hand into a pocket on his robe. “I got Scabbers over Summer. Percy had him before me. He’s bloody useless.”

At this, Harry’s eyes were drawn to the brown garden rat in his hand. Its nose twitched this way and that, and its beady black eyes seemed to focus unnaturally on Harry for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he could have sworn something hadn’t been quite right. He shrugged – it was probably nothing.

“I bonded with her about two years ago on a trip.” He replied, giving himself a little shake as he tore his eyes from the rodent.

“Two years?” Seamus gasped. “I ‘eard most kids get theirs from Diagon Alley!”

“Most do, but you’re not limited to there. I found Trevor in the Magical District in Cardiff.” Neville smiled.

“What do you two have?” Harry asked, eager to divert attention away from the bloody hook-nosed peaco*ck.

“I have a cat called Bishop. I named him after the captain of West Ham.” Dean grinned.

“Mine’s a Barn Owl called Ava.” Seamus smiled.

Harry noted that Ron was eyeing his Rat nervously. “Say, you don’t think they’d go for Scabbers, do you?”

Neville snickered, “I’d be surprised – familiars tend to ignore other familiars they would otherwise regard as prey. Something in the magic, I think.”

Ronald let out a breath as he slumped a little in relief and Harry chuckled to himself.

Professor McGonagall returned a short time later, handing each of their dorm-mate’s similar pieces of parchment before swiftly moving on. There was a quiet moment as those around him gazed at their lesson plans.

“Wahey, free period before lunch!” Ron cheered, his grin barely holding the food in his mouth from hitting the table.

“You have a free period? What were your Electives?” Neville asked, surprised.

“Oh, I just chose Alchemy. I’m no good with languages – I leave that kind of thing to Percy.” Ronald shrugged, nodding his head over towards a tall, skinny boy with curly red hair that Harry recognised as one of the Prefects.

“I assume he’s a brother?” Harry asked slowly.

Ronald nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of food. “Oh yeah. There’s seven of us! Bill’s the oldest and is working as a Curse-Breaker in Egypt for Gringotts. Then there’s Charlie – he graduated last year and has gone off to Romania to work on the Dragon Reserves. Then Percy, the twins; Fred and George. Then there’s me, and Ginny should be coming next year.”

“That’s quite the family, Ronald.” He murmured, blinking several times as his brain struggled to imagine that many children in one house.

“Call me Ron.” The boy smiled easily.

“I can manage that.” Harry smiled in return. He was about to ask after Ron’s oldest brother – Bill, if Harry remembered the name correctly, when the sound of a large bell echoed slowly throughout the hall. Students rose as one, gathering their bags and slinging them over their shoulders.

“Come on, that’s the bell for first class. Best get a move on.” Neville murmured in his ear as they both stood with the crowd.

Introduction To Magic was the first class of the day, located in a room on the second floor on the north-side of the castle. The room was spacious and cosy, though Harry noted the distinct lack of any tables and chairs.

The class was larger than he had expected. Sirius and Remus had told him the classes were often large for the core subjects, but he had expected two houses to a class – not all four. The boys and girls of his year shuffled awkwardly as they awaited their teacher.

Harry took the opportunity to allow his eyes the chance to take in the room, strange bags on the floor and all. The walls were the same unadorned stonework that made up the rest of the castle, though there were a small handful of bookshelves dotted around the edge – all were stacked with untold numbers of books and tomes.

Sunlight filtered in through a series of windows on the far wall, and the smell of incense wafted through the air. The combination of the warm lighting and the smell of jasmine helped to make the entire room warm and relaxing.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply for a moment, simply basking in the smell. Beside him, Neville did the same – it seems this teacher, whoever they were, had two fans already.

The sound of heels clacking against the stone floor of the hallway outside caused him to turn slowly, watching as a woman with auburn hair and blue eyes entered the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

She was tall and dressed in light-blue robes and her hair hung loose at the back of her head. Her hair was wavy, rather than straight and shimmered in the sunlight.

Her complexion was pale, but not unhealthily so, with just the hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose and a pleasant smile on her lips.

“Good morning class, and welcome to your first lesson here at Hogwarts.” She called out as she walked to the front of the class. “My name is Professor Selket, and in this class I’ll be instructing you in how to control and harness your magic.”

Harry looked at her expectantly as her gaze swept the class.

“Now, how about you all take a seat on the beanbags, hmm? I find them much better suited to meditation than tables and chairs.”

Harry moved to the side of the room closest to the bookshelves, the smell of musty parchment and old books mingling pleasantly with the jasmine in the air. He could enjoy this class very much.

Neville followed along a step behind him, plonking himself down on the bag next to him. Daphne and Tracey appeared over his shoulder while the bushy-haired girl – Hermione, sat down carefully on a bag in front of him. The brief glimpse of her face he had seen as she carefully put her bag down at her side couldn’t help but make him think she seemed a little put out he had snagged the seat closest to the books.

He shrugged to himself as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his coat.

“Harry,” Neville whispered as he leaned over to him. Harry looked at his friend, an eyebrow raised curiously. “If I fall asleep, kick me if I start to snore.” Neville grinned.

Harry couldn’t help but smile as Professor Selket’s voice called out once again. “Now that you’re all settled and comfortable, I understand that there’s a disparity among the class common in all years.”

She began pacing the room slowly, her hands clasped at the small of her back. “Unfortunately, because of the nature of how many of you were raised, that leaves those of you who were Muggle-born or Muggle-raised to be a little behind your peers.”

Murmuring broke out among the Muggle-born.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry – nobody is at fault in this situation. It’s unfortunately a harsh reminder that our two societies are separated. For example, I’m sure many of you raised in the Muggle-world had episodes of Accidental Magic?” The Professor asked, her blue eyes sweeping across those in the Muggle-born uniforms slowly. All nodded slowly, besides one or two.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” Professor Selket smiled kindly, her voice soothing. “Wizarding families will often teach their children control very early on to avoid these episodes. As a result, the first weeks at Hogwarts are often easier for them as they’re already familiar with the feel of their magic.”

She took a deep breath, and Harry found himself sinking into the seat a little more.

“That’s what this class is for – together, we’ll spend the year teaching you all different methods of becoming familiar with your magic, how to control it, and most importantly, how to trust it.”

The sea of heads nodded slowly.

“Now, does anyone know the most common method?”

Hermione’s hand shot up in front of him.

“Yes, my dear. What’s your name?”

“Hermione Granger, miss.” Hermione replied confidently. At Professor Selket’s nod, she continued, “Meditation, Professor.”

“Excellent, take five points for Gryffindor.” The Professor beamed.

The Gryffindors in the room gave a quiet cheer, with Harry and Neville clapping their hands together. Harry turned to look over his shoulder at Daphne and gave her a playful wink. They may be friends – the closest of friends, but it was an unspoken rule to be smug about the winning of house points. Daphne rolled her eyes playfully.

“As Miss Granger said, Meditation is the most common method. Other ways include methods such as subjecting the body to great stress, exercise, as well as a handful of other, less savoury methods.” The Professor said, noting each one down on the board at the front of the class with her wand.

“Now, it is my hope that you shall all become familiar with your magic through meditation – as such, there will be a regular homework for you each night to meditate a little before going to bed. The more you explore, the stronger that connection will be.”

The Professor swept her eyes over the class as she clasped her hands before her. “Now, who can tell me of the different types of magic? Anyone?”

Harry raised his hand, Hermione’s in front of him just a blink behind.

“Ah, yes. Your name, my boy?”

“Potter, Professor. Harry Potter.”

There was a moment of silence as the Professor took in his appearance before she shook herself slightly. “Sorry, continue, Mr. Potter.”

“There are several types of magic, Professor. There’s Wild Magic, that is found in all living things, including Muggles and is what we use mostly. There’s also Ritual Magic and Familial Magic.”

“Excellent, Mr. Potter. Five points!”

Harry grinned at Neville. He could hear Daphne scoff behind him and resisted the urge to chuckle.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter is correct. While we won’t be exploring Ritual or Familial magic in this class, it is important for you to know of them and be aware of them for your Magical Theory class later in the week.” Professor Selket smiled before clapping her hands together. “Now, I want you all to close your eyes, take a deep breath and get comfortable. Anyone falling asleep will find themselves losing house points.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He knew the feel of his magic and had been wrestling it under control for years. It was wild and untamed. Seductive and yearning to be released, to bend the world to his desires – despite how much tamer it was before his experience with The Council.

He found it quickly, a writhing mass of magic that he kept firmly under control. Unlike before, as he caressed it, it seemed to almost go docile. No longer was it banging on the gates of his control, always in the back of his mind. In all the years since he had first been taught by Remus in how to manage his magic, how to feel it, never had it felt so submissive to his wishes.

It was calm at his touch, warm but powerful. He smiled at the thought of working in tandem with it over the coming weeks and months for the first time in his life. In all his years, he had only ever allowed the tiniest trickle to seep through – activating a rune or summoning something across a room. There were so many possibilities.

With the smell of jasmine and old parchment, the warmth of the early morning light and the suppleness of the beanbag against his back, Harry thought he could enjoy this class very much indeed.

Transfiguration was held in a classroom on the ground floor of Hogwarts on the western side of the school. The room was large and airy and was a stark difference from the previous classroom, with only the occasional cabinet holding everyday items lining the sides.

Rows and rows of chairs and desks lined the length of the room in three rows, with a single large desk and chalkboard at the front.

Upon their arrival, the room was absent of any teacher besides a small grey and black cat that was perched on the desk and peered at the students filtering into the room.

The gong of the school bell echoed throughout the room, the large wooden doors booming shut behind him as the last of the students entered. Harry slid into a seat next to Neville halfway down the far-left row, with Daphne taking up the seat across the aisle with Tracey. Ron and Seamus sat behind him, while Dean and a Hufflepuff took up the bench behind them.

Hermione, he noted, had gravitated to the far side of the room with another Gryffindor girl. He chuckled a little to himself as he saw her extract book after book, quill after quill and place them on her desk. How did she fit so many in her bag?

“Where do you think ol’ McGonagall is?” Ron whispered behind him.

Both he and Neville shrugged at the question, keeping their heads turned to their bags as they pulled their own books and parchment out. The tome for first year Transfiguration was a thick volume, with a fine leather cover with a gold embossed wand on the front. It had been one of Harry’s favourite books to read over the Summer, swallowing entire chapters of it in an evening.

He looked towards the desk as he put the bag down on the floor by his feet, careful not to jostle it too much – he’d hate to damage any of his other books with his carelessness.

The cat stood lazily, before it leapt off the desk and morphed into the form of Minerva McGonagall. Harry gaped as the room gasped collectively. He had no idea she was an Animagus!

“Good morning, class.”

“Good morning, Professor McGonagall.” The class replied as one.

“Welcome to first year Transfiguration. In this class, you will learn how to change the shape and appearance of inanimate objects, and later animals to serve various purposes. Are there any questions so far?”

A student in the middle row raised their hand slowly, and Professor McGonagall nodded at him. “Are we going to learn to transform like that?”

The emerald-clad professor’s lips quirked a little at the question. “No, I should think it unlikely. The Animagus transformation is a difficult and arduous process that few can achieve for various reasons – not to mention, it can be quite unsafe to do so. Any other questions?”

A few hands went up in the air.

“That aren’t related to Animagi?”

The hands went down.

“Very well. I believe you have all just finished your Introduction to Magic class?” She asked the room at large, receiving a sea of nods. Harry had his parchment out and his quill ready to be dipped in ink to take notes.

“Excellent. In that case, I want you all to open your textbooks and copy the first chapter word-for-word. Afterwards, we shall discuss as a class the importance of safety when performing Transfiguration, and magic as a whole.”

Harry nodded to himself as the class groaned quietly. His book was open a second later, with his quill already dipped in a light coating of black ink. The scratching of quills against parchment accompanied his methodical notes for the rest of the lesson as he tried to take everything in.

“Welcome to Magical Languages, class. I’m Professor Jaran Dots.” The kindly looking older man smiled as everyone found their seats.

Professor Dots wore a simple tunic and breeches under a leather coat that stretched down to his mid-thigh. His hair was shoulder-length and silver and was parted neatly in the middle. The lower half of his face was covered in a well-trimmed beard, and his brown eyes were warm and friendly.

All around the room, which was located on the sixth floor, just a short few minutes’ walk from Gryffindor Tower, were large framed phrases in a variety of languages that he didn’t recognise. Some appeared to be alphabets, while others appeared to be short paragraphs.

Magical Languages was the first of his Electives, and as a result, the class was much smaller than his previous two. Many wizards and witches didn’t put much stock in learning other languages – even if they were other human languages, but Harry thought that notion was idiotic at best.

Why would you limit yourself to your mother language, particularly in a society whose economy was ran by an entirely different species? Not only that, but it was a matter of politeness – he understood that English was the Lingua Franca of both Magical and Mundane societies, so why not meet the being opposite you in the middle and speak in their tongue?

The whole thing baffled him to no end.

Luckily, he wasn’t alone in the class – both Neville and Daphne sat on either side of him, with Tracey taking a seat next to Neville this time. She seemed like a nice girl, if a little excitable at times – though he could see why Daphne liked her. She was intelligent, quick-witted and seemed the kind sort.

He was glad that Daphne had found another girl to be friends with – Merlin himself knew just how much he and Neville would drive her up the wall with their boyish boorishness, as she often put it.

The shuffling and scraping of chairs quietened, and Professor Dots clapped his hands before him and rubbed them together with a grin on his face.

“Now, I see you’ve all got your textbooks out, excellent, excellent. First of all, does anyone in here speak any other language? Muggle or Magical, either is fine.”

Hermione raised her hand and Professor Dots nodded excitedly at her.

“I speak French, Professor.”

“Ah, le langage de l'amour. Comment est ton accent?” The Professor replied – whatever he was saying was completely lost to Harry.

“Un peu rude, mais passable dans la plupart des domaines, me dit-on.” Hermione answered, her shoulders shrugging easily as she finished.

“Excellent pronunciation, my dear. French is a wonderful language, and I commend you for learning it – five points to Gryffindor.”

Harry turned to Daphne, who was sat to his right, and grinned. “Better start answering questions, or there’ll be no competition for the House Cup.” He whispered.

Daphne rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. He fought the urge to wince. Her elbow was sharp.

“Now, what languages do you think you’ll learn in this class, hmm?”

Daphne’s hand shot into the air before he could blink.

“Aqosa?” She asked when the Professor pointed to her.

“Excellent! The language of the Dwarves! Two points! Anyone else?”

Daphne looked decidedly smug as he looked at her. He’d deserved that, he supposed.

“Lubian? The Giant’s language?” A blonde-haired Ravenclaw asked as he lowered his hand.

Professor Dot clapped excitedly – it seemed despite his seemingly advancing age, the man was still every bit as giddy about teaching as he must have been as a young man. Harry smiled at the sight – if this was how the rest of his lessons would go, he could enjoy it very much.

“Excellent – it’s the language often most forgotten! Two points for Ravenclaw, young lady! Any others?”

A few hands went up, and the Professor made a point of slowly waving his hand back and forth indecisively before settling on a dark-skinned Hufflepuff boy at the front of the class.

“Itopeti?”

“Yes! The language of the Centaurs! Very well done – two points!”

“Gobbledegook?” Malfoy asked in a bored voice from the back of the room.

At the word, the Professor’s smile disappeared, and his countenance became stern. “Young man, I will not have you referring to the Goblin’s language in such a derogatory manner, am I understood? Five points from Slytherin for the use of the slur.”

The Slytherin’s in the room groaned and glared at the Malfoy heir. Draco seemed nonplussed and just shrugged in response.

“As to your intended question, yes – you will be learning The Old Tongue, as it is properly called. In fact, this is the language we shall be beginning today! Everyone, to chapter one if you will!”

Lunch had been a quiet affair, with a light meal of chicken, potatoes and vegetables. Even now, as he walked to his fourth lesson of the day, he smiled a little at the feeling of the food in his belly. The meal had been fantastic, though he would be the first to admit to feeling a little groggy ever since – a nap after a meal was always welcomed, as far as he was concerned.

Basic Healing was a core subject taught in a small auditorium located off of the Medical Wing by Madame Pomfrey, the school’s resident Healer. He shouldered the large doors to the infirmary open and immediately his nose was assaulted with the sting of antiseptic and a concoction of potions – all of them no doubt tasting nothing like they were supposed to.

It was a universal law, in Harry’s opinion, that if a medical potion was supposed to taste like strawberry, raspberry or any kind of fruit, that it would taste absolutely nothing like it.

He stepped past the beds quickly, his boots clicking against the smooth marble tiles and echoing against the high ceiling. He was alone, and admittedly running a little late after a short stop at a bathroom along the way.

Thankfully, he was just in time as he stepped up to the plain wooden door and opened it quietly. It had been his hope that he could sneak in and get a seat in the back row if the lesson had already started. As it was, his dreams were dashed as Madame Pomfrey called his name.

“Mr. Potter, do you have a reason for your tardiness?”

“No, Madame – I just stopped at the bathroom on the way from the hall.”

The Healer appeared to be mulling the information over in her head for a moment before she finally gave a short nod and gestured for him to take a seat.

He did so, sliding into a bench in the tiered room next to a mousy-haired Ravenclaw boy. He nodded and offered a polite smile, which the boy returned, before he pulled his parchment, quill, ink and textbook out.

“Welcome to Basic Healing. As I am the only fully-trained Healer on-staff, I will be teaching you all how to perform basic first-aid on yourselves or others in the event that you are ever injured. Those of you who feel drawn to the Healing Arts will have the option to continue the subject to OWL and NEWT-level, in which event you will find yourself regularly assisting me in the Medical Wing. Any questions so far?”

The room was silent.

“Excellent. Now, as this is our first class, and we only meet once a week, we shall begin with studying the theory behind healing magic. Does anybody care to take a guess as to how you heal a broken bone?”

A number of hands went up, and Madame Pomfrey pointed to one of them. From Harry’s perch at the back of the room, even elevated as he was, he couldn’t see who she had chosen.

“If you understand how bones form, break and are made, the odds of you successfully repairing one are much higher.” Daphne’s voice called out. Harry grinned as his friend earned her house five points.

“Excellent answer, Miss…?”

“Greengrass, Madame. Daphne Greengrass.”

“As Miss Greengrass said, to heal something, you must understand it as best you can. Take a broken bone, if you heal it without understanding it, you run the risk of a fracture, or deformation in its shape. As a result of this, this class shall run on a two-week schedule.”

Madame Pomfrey raised her wand elegantly in her hand and uttered a spell. Bright light burst from the tip and began swilling before her. Slowly, the magic began to take shape – at first it was a pair of feet, then two calves and up and up the figure was formed, ending in the shape of a full-grown man that was semi-transparent.

The figure floated there, completely immobile with its arms out to the side slightly as a number of girlish giggles echoed throughout the room, accompanied by a few boyish snickers. It took him a moment to realise the figure was completely nude. Harry rolled his eyes, though the faint heat in his cheeks was hard to ignore.

“Yes, yes, get your amusem*nt out of your system.” Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Now, if you’re all quite finished?” She cleared her throat. “Now, as I was saying. We shall work in a two-week system. In one week, you shall cover theory and biology. In the second week, we’ll cover useful spells and continue rotating between the two.”

With a flick of her wand, the figure morphed into the skeletal structure of the human body.

“First, I shall teach you human anatomy. Once I believe we have covered it sufficiently, we shall look into Goblins, Dwarves and so on until the for you to choose your Electives.”

The room was silent as they all absorbed Madame Pomfrey’s words.

“I’ll take the resounding silence as a cue to move on with the lesson. Now, if you would all open your textbooks, we shall begin with the human skull.”

They had been released from Madame Pomfrey’s lesson a little earlier than the bell for their next lesson, as many students would have needed to rush back to their rooms to gather their familiars. Not all students had one, however.

As a result, he found himself stepping out of the classroom a little more lethargically than the rest of his fellow students, with his hands clasped easily at the small of his back, and his satchel hanging easily on his right shoulder.

The class would be taking place at the Groundskeeper’s Hut, as there was plenty of open at the foot of the hill it rested on – not to mention the access to the fresh air for both the students and the animals.

Merlin, he hoped Clara would behave during the lesson. He loved her dearly, he really did – but he often couldn’t help but compare her to Sirius at times. She was playful and mischievous, and fiercely loyal to him, as he was to her.

Clara adored attention, and he tried to give her as much as he possibly could – though she had given him the cold shoulder for a few days when he’d returned home with Hedwig. The two would argue and shunt each other every chance they got, both vying for his attention to the point he often had to physically separate the two.

Clara had size and a healthy number of flaming feathers – which thankfully had yet to set anything on fire, but Hedwig had enough attitude to make up for her shorter stature. No matter which he had brought to Hogwarts as his familiar, this class would have been a nightmare.

He stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, and he squinted up at the mountains on the far side of the Black Lake, which was only just visible above a dusting of trees thanks to the height of Hogwarts itself.

He turned right, and stepped around a number of older students who were returning from some lesson or another and began meandering his way down the path towards a long wooden bridge.

The bridge itself had a canopy to protect it from the elements, though the wind whistled loudly between the many periodic support struts on either side – though they had wonderfully intricate carvings and designs on them.

The lesson itself would take place on a generous stretch of flat land halfway down the hill. He made his way over and smiled to himself a little when he noticed the giant of a man from the day before already waiting with a huge dog at his side. The faint call of birds from the Forbidden Forest at the bottom of the hill punctuated the quiet with their songs.

“Ah, ‘Arry! Lovely to see ye!” The man called, grinning widely behind his bushy beard.

“Pleased to meet you too, Groundskeeper Hagrid.” Harry smiled back politely, bowing a little at the waist.

The Groundskeeper waved a large meaty fist dismissively. “I’ll ‘ave none o’ that now, ‘Arry. Ye can call me Hagrid. My, you’ve grown quite a bit, ‘aven’t ye?”

“We’ve met?” He asked, a frown on his face. He’d have thought he’d recognise a behemoth like Hagrid.

“Aye, a few times. I knew ye parents, lad. Dear friends o’ mine. I’m the one who brought ye to ‘Ogwarts that night. Carried ye all the way m’self.”

Harry smiled a little at the mention of his parents – the man seemed earnest enough, and despite his size and obvious strength, the way he scratched absently at the back of the dog’s head spoke of a tenderness he hadn’t expected.

“Any friends of my parents are friends of mine.” Harry replied, noting absently that Hagrid’s eyes appeared quite shiny.

The Groundskeeper gave a loud sniff and cleared his throat as he shifted from foot to foot. Behind Harry, he could hear the approach of a number of students – even without calling Clara, he was shocked he had arrived first.

“’Ave you got your familiar, ‘Arry?” Hagrid asked after a moment, tugging on the sleeves of his moleskin coat absently.

“I’d rather call her when needed, if that’s okay? I’m worried she’ll make a fuss if she’s here before she absolutely has to be.”

Hagrid nodded and patted Harry on the shoulder with the same gentleness that he had used with his dog.

“Alrigh’ class, gather round, gather round!” Hagrid called to the students.

Harry took in the sight of everyone. Many had owls perched on their shoulders, or cats held in their arms. There were a pair of students with large snakes draped around their necks, and a number of various dogs sat, rolled or lay on the grass panting happily.

Harry stepped to the side of the class and found himself next to Hermione, who he noted didn’t seem to have a familiar. If her studiousness from the day was anything to go by, he’d put his money on her bonding with an owl of some sort.

He smiled politely as she glanced at him, earning a shy one in return before her attention snapped back to their teacher.

“Now, I’m ‘Agrid and I’ll be teachin’ ye ‘ow to look after yer familiars. Meet Fang – e’s mine.”

“Gonna need a bucket for all that drool.” Someone muttered from the back, earning a number of chuckles, including Hagrid himself.

“Aye, e’s a messy on alright. Now, I want ye all to spread out with your familiars. ‘Arry, migh’ be worth callin’ yours now, eh?”

Harry sighed as he placed his bag on the floor and tried to ignore the stares.

“Potters got to call his? What is it, a racing pigeon?” Draco snigg*red as a number of students from all houses chuckled quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked over at the castle. “Clara!” He called.

There was no brilliant burst of flame, nor the sound of her calls on the wind. He bloody knew it. He knew she was going to pull something like this.

“Clara!” He called more forcefully this time, frowning as once more went unanswered.

“Potters lost his pet.” A Ravenclaw chuckled. Harry glanced over his shoulder and glared at the boy who was cradling a rabbit.

“Clara, I won’t call you again.” Harry tried once more, this time hearing the familiar whistles and calls of his companion. He sighed in relief.

Everyone in the class looked towards the castle as they too heard the answering call. There was a dim burst of light behind one of the far towers, before he spotted her graceful swoops around the tall buildings.

There were gasps all around him before the murmuring began – even Hagrid stepped up next to him, his mouth open in wonder.

Clara approached slowly, banking this way and that on the wind and a small trail of flame following in her wake. It took far longer than it should have for her to fly over the bridge, even as she dropped beneath it out of sight, only to swoop back up.

She came to a hovering halt just above them all, her powerful wings beating steadily as her black eyes swept over all gathered, though they lingered on Harry the longest.

“Come here, you bloody peaco*ck.” Harry sighed, pointing at the floor.

She landed gracefully before taking a short hop towards him. She tilted her head slightly, and Harry scratched her feathers lightly with his fingertips. There was utter silence.

“What is that?” Someone asked – no doubt a Muggle-born. Harry turned to look at the amazed expressions on the faces of the class – besides Neville and Daphne, of course.

“That is a bloody Phoenix!” Someone else muttered, immediately starting a small chain of whispers.

“’Arry, where did ye bond with a Phoenix, of all things?” Hagrid asked, kneeling before the creature and offering a finger slowly. Clara preened at the attention and allowed Hagrid to stroke her feathers.

“I was… on a trip, and I found her in a bush – I think she’d had a recent burning. She’s not had one since, though.” Harry shrugged.

“Wait, you’ve had a Phoenix for two years?” Ron gasped; his rat firmly clutched in his hands.

“About that. I bonded with Hedwig over the Summer too, but she just handles the mail, mostly.” Harry replied and rubbed at his forehead.

“You have two?” Dean asked, his cat perched on his shoulder as it pawed at his short hair.

“Aye, it’s more common than you’d think.” Harry shrugged, trying to deflect the attention.

Clara took that moment to hop over to Neville and Daphne, who were standing nearby. Harry sighed and rubbed his temples as both gave her a friendly scratch. Neville even threw her a piece of meat, which she scarfed down. Bloody traitor.

“You two knew about this?” Someone else, a Hufflepuff, asked. The girl looked between both of his friends.

“Aye, we’ve known Clara for almost as long as Harry.” Neville shrugged as Trevor croaked in his hands.

“And you didn’t say anything?” A Ravenclaw demanded. Harry frowned at that.

“Why would we? She’s Harry’s familiar, not ours and certainly not any of yours.” Daphne shot back, scowling.

“Can we pet her?” A quiet voice asked to his side – he noticed absently that it was Hermione, who appeared as if she were physically stopping herself from rushing the bird as she chewed on her lip and toed the floor absently.

“She’s going to be impossible after this,” Harry groaned as he sat down on the floor, completely exasperated. “Yes, you can pet her if she lets you. Fair warning, she’ll burn you and bite you before asking any questions. I’m not responsible for either.”

Harry groaned as almost the entire class rushed the bird. From what he could see between the legs of the students and Hagrid – who had moved far quicker than he had thought the man capable of, Clara was proudly strutting from student to student, basking in the attention and adoration.

Neville sat himself on Harry’s left, snickering to himself as he gently scratched the back of Trevor’s head, and Daphne elegantly folded her legs beneath her as she scratched her Hawk, Merlin, under the chin.

“You’ve nobody to blame but yourself.” Daphne chuckled, rolling her eyes at him as he pouted.

“Bloody chicken.” Harry muttered to himself as the corners of his lips twitched upwards.

Chapter 12: Harry VI

Chapter Text

October thirty-first dawned grey and overcast – almost as if the day was there as a physical manifestation of Harry’s glum mood.

He went about the castle with the same straight back and impeccable appearance, but there was something about him that caused those in his classes to avoid him – with the exception of Neville, Daphne and Tracey of course.

Neville and Daphne immediately knew the cause of his despondency, it happened every year, and no amount of cajoling, distracting or joking could lift his spirits.

Today was the anniversary of his parent’s murder.

On each Halloween, or Samhain as the traditionalists called it, the day seemed a little duller, smells weren’t as nice, and colours seemed saturated. He would go through his daily routine almost as if someone were controlling his actions and he was merely an observer.

It had gotten a little easier following the trip to the Capitol – his grief was a little easier to manage, but only just.

As it was, he found himself in the Charms classroom with Professor Flitwick atop a small stool as he instructed the class in the proper way to perform Wingardium Leviosa – a simple levitation for inanimate objects.

Normally, he would be writing copious amounts of notes and enunciating his words clearly as instructed, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Merlin, even when he thought about making it onto the Quidditch team, he couldn’t even crack a smile! He hated Halloween, Samhain, whatever the bloody holiday was called.

The class had been partnered in pairs for today’s lesson, with the idea being to help and support each other in the learning process. He had yet to speak to his Hufflepuff partner on the bench next to him and hadn’t even picked up his wand from where he had almost thrown it onto the desk.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked from the pew in front of him.

Harry tried not to frown at the wording. He was well aware that Ronald Weasley had made it his mission in the last two months to get close to The-Boy-Who-Lived and not Harry Potter. He was easy enough to get on with, that was for sure, but his general attitude often rubbed Harry the wrong way.

He was often impolite, lazy, and usually only wanted to talk about two subjects: Wizards Chess and Quidditch. Harry was a fan of both, but how anyone could talk about only those things was completely beyond him. Harry wanted to discuss spells, wand-work, applications of magic and a dozen other subjects!

The way Ron practically ignored Neville grated on his nerves immeasurably, too.

Neville was a little further down the bench, partnered with a Ravenclaw girl with brown hair – he couldn’t recall her name. Both were muttering to one another in between attempting to cast the spell.

“I’m fine.” Harry sighed as he rubbed at his face with his hands. He offered a polite smile before Ron’s partner, Hermione tried to get the ginger boy to focus.

Hermione was a whole other headache. The girl was lovely, and he enjoyed seeing someone who enjoyed learning as much as he did, but for the last two weeks she had given him the cold shoulder whenever he had attempted a friendly conversation.

In Hermione, he saw a study partner that could push him to be better, to write that extra paragraph in his essays, even though he was already almost double the required length of parchment. He had spotted her a number of times, huddled away behind a mountain of books in the Library, in a nook by a window – even Daphne didn’t read that much.

She had impressed him.

It had all started in Introduction To Magic, when he had made a break-through on harnessing his magic. It had been halfway through a Monday morning lesson two weeks ago, when he had felt his magic conform to his desires. There had been a small pop in the back of his mind, and suddenly the world had felt so much fuller, so much more alive.

He could sense the others in the classroom, he could feel the Professor as she walked around slowly and offered soft, gentle words of encouragement. He could even feel the location of the small fly that was buzzing around in the ceiling before it escaped out an open window.

He had opened his eyes to see the world through that familiar blue-haze that he recalled experiencing at Arpton Keep. His eyebrows tickled as wisps of smoke filtered through the small, dark hairs.

Professor Selket had turned to look at him and gasped in astonishment, drawing the attention of every pair of eyes in the room. He had felt Neville’s congratulatory pat on the shoulder and had grinned at Daphne’s knowing smirk before closing his eyes and relaxing. The film on his vision had disappeared and the world had returned to normal, though he could still feel everything. Even his eyesight felt a little clearer.

Hermione had caught his eye, her brown eyes looking at him with such a stubborn determination that he had been momentarily taken aback. By the time he had recovered, she had resumed her meditation with such a ferocity, he thought she might combust on the spot.

It hadn’t been until the following week that she had experienced something similar, quickly followed by Daphne, Neville, Terry Boot and Draco Malfoy.

He had thought that was the end of it, and things would return to normal. Oh, how wrong he had been.

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had decided to perform a mock-test, to see how well the students in her class had been performing. It was a combination of basic theory and turning a matchstick into a needle. Magic had become much easier ever since his breakthrough in I.T.M.

He had taken to the test with such a ferocity, Neville had been making jokes for the next few days. Daphne had been proud, and when they received their results, he had been swept up in a hug between his three friends – there had been a moment where he had genuinely thought he would suffocate.

The following day had been tense, as Hermione had glared at him from her spot further down the breakfast table. He had looked at Neville, completely baffled. He didn’t remember doing or saying anything – in fact, he had been perfectly polite in the few words they had shared. Neville had simply shrugged and returned to his bacon.

The icy glares and the cold shoulder had continued even into this lesson. Before whatever it was that happened, there would be the occasional polite, shy smile between the two of them. They were far from friends, but he thought he wouldn’t mind the chance.

His dark hair hung limply on either side of his head as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. The Hufflepuff at his side made a noise of annoyance, but he paid them no mind. He did feel a little bad about ignoring the boy, but really – he just couldn’t concentrate, damn it!

A little of his frustration must have seeped out into his magic, because the next thing he knew, his feather had gone up in a small burst of flame without so much as a twitch.

“Mr. Potter, would you like me to get you another feather?” Professor Flitwick asked, his voice kind and patient.

Harry sighed again – it seemed to be all he was doing today. “I’m sorry, Professor – it’s not a good day for me, is all.”

There was a moment of quiet thought on the half-Goblin’s face as he turned Harry’s words over in his head before his eyes widened and he nodded understandingly. “That’s perfectly acceptable and understandable, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry nodded as his shoulders slumped. He leaned back against the hardwood and turned his eyes to the rest of the class.

He watched as students waved their wands back and forth – barely a swish and a flick between them. He caught Weasley beneath him waving his wand back and forth frantically, as if that would do anything other than take someone’s eye out if he lost his grip.

“Look, stop, stop, stop!” Hermione finally snapped at Ron as she held out a hand, stopping him from hitting her with his wand. Harry folded his arms across his chest and prepared himself for the oncoming show.

“You’re going to take someone’s eye out. Besides, you’re saying it wrong. It’s Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sar, not Levio-sar.”

“You do it then, if you’re so bloody clever. Go on, go on!” Ron snarled, the tips of his ears visibly red from where Harry was sat.

Hermione rolled her eyes before she turned away to look at her feather, her wand delicately held in her fingers. Harry noticed she sat a little taller and held her chin a little higher as she incanted the spell and gave the correct swish and flick of her wand.

The feather rose from the desk steadily and moved inch by inch up into the air under Hermione’s direction. When it came to a halt, about four feet above their heads, the entire class was silent until Professor Flitwick commended her efforts – Gryffindor got a whole five points.

He stuck his tongue out at Daphne across the room as he caught her eye. She rolled her eyes and went back to her work.

Terry Boot was the next successful student to levitate their feather, followed shortly by Draco Malfoy. Fourth was a Hufflepuff by the name of Patricia Mallard, a willowy girl with a heavy Scottish brogue and dark hair. Seamus caused his feather to explode in a flash of magic, covering his face in a black soot and singing his eyebrows almost all the way to the skin.

The rest of the lesson went on with little to note, besides Daphne, Neville and Tracey levitating their feathers. He remained the only one in the room that hadn’t levitated anything.

“Mr. Potter, can you wait a moment, please?” Professor Flitwick called as the bell sounded. The students in the room filtered out slowly. He noted a still angry Ron shuffling off with Dean and Seamus out of the door. Neville, Daphne and Tracey hovered by the doorway and Hermione was muttering to herself as she packed away her books methodically.

“Professor?” Harry asked, his satchel slung over his shoulder and his wand firmly tucked away in its holster.

“I understand today is a difficult day for you, Mr. Potter, but I was hoping you could show me your own attempt at the spell? I require evidence of your understanding for your grade, I’m afraid.”

Harry nodded sullenly at that, watching as Flitwick placed a large white feather on the desk between them. It was white in colour and frayed at the edges a little. With a flick of his wrist, his wand leapt into his hand.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Harry grumbled, his wand movement quick and tight. He levitated the feather a foot above the desk before allowing it to drop. “May I be excused, Professor?”

The Professor nodded, a sad smile on his face as Harry stowed his wand once more and made a move to the door, his three friends following silently in his wake.

He appreciated that they kept him from any conversation as they went down the stairs and into the small courtyard. They passed Hermione on the way down, who had her satchel slung over a shoulder and three books clutched to her chest. She seemed deep in thought and didn’t even so much as react as they passed.

He came upon Ron a few seconds later, grumbling something to the boys around him. He passed them too, his boots clacking against the stone cobbles.

“It’s Levi-o-sa!” He heard Ron say, his voice high and mocking. “She’s a nightmare, honestly! It isn’t any wonder she hasn’t got any friends! No one can bloody stand her!”

Harry came to a halt, his left eye twitching slightly. His nerves and patience were strained enough today, just as they were every year. He felt Daphne and Neville place their hands on his shoulders.

“Leave it Harry, I doubt he means anything by it – he’s just sore about getting shown up in class.” Neville murmured in his ear.

He nodded slowly as he prepared to carry on to lunch in the Great Hall. He’d bring it up with Ron later in private.

A bushy, brown head of hair brushed past him roughly. He recognised Hermione’s hair in an instant – her head was down, and he caught a brief glimpse of tears sliding down her cheeks as she ran into the castle.

“sh*t.” Daphne muttered, massaging at her temples as Harry spun on his heel.

“What in Avalon was that, Weasley?” Harry snapped, dropping his bag to the floor. He took two long strides to the red-headed boy and jabbed a finger in his chest.

“What was what?” Ron asked, confused. Dean and Seamus took a step back.

“Don’t you two even think of going anywhere.” Harry growled, darting his eyes at the two other boys. The two of them nodded awkwardly. “You all just reduced a girl to tears – how does that make you feel? Feeling pretty good about yourselves right now?”

The three boys shook their heads simultaneously – Ron in particular looked quite pale.

“The first chance you get, you are all to get on your knees and apologise.”

“To a Mugg-“ Ron began, though his words were cut short when Harry took a step closer – his eyes blazing.

“On the anniversary of my parent’s death – one of which was Muggle-born, tell me why you object to such a thing.”

Ron clamped his mouth shut and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I’ll apologise the next time I see her, I swear.” Ron paused for a moment before he frowned, “Is that why you’ve been acting odd all day?”

Harry barely kept his anger in check as he spun on his heel and snatched at his bag. He didn’t bother waiting for anyone else – Merlin, he wasn’t even hungry anymore.

He sighed as he stormed into the castle. His magic felt wild and barely under his own control, despite the breakthroughs in recent weeks. He wanted to punch something, kick something over – anything!

“Clara!” He called as he stepped into an empty classroom.

The bird appeared immediately, gently lowering herself onto a nearby table. She looked at Harry with those dark eyes and Harry felt his shoulders sag. He stepped up to her and wrapped her in a gentle hug. “Take me away from here, Clara. I just want to be by myself and think.”

There was a brief rush of heat, and suddenly he found himself atop of one of the many cliffs that overlooked the school. He could see Hogwarts on the far side of the lake, and even spotted a brief flash of the Giant Squid as it moved about in the water.

They had appeared next to a large boulder. It was smooth and, thankfully, clean of any dirt. The spot seemed to be quite peaceful and they were far enough away from the school that he couldn’t even make out any students moving about the grounds.

“Thank you.” He whispered to the Phoenix as he stroked her feathers.

She made a small noise and playfully nipped at his fingertips. He smiled a little despite himself. Sighing, he looked up at the boulder before hoisting himself atop it. The day was as good as written off – he wouldn’t be able to concentrate with his thoughts running amok.

He stretched his legs out before him, his feet just slightly hanging over the smooth edge – he kicked them a little, watching as they hung limp in the air.

Clara jumped up on the rock next to him. He leaned back on his hands as he looked over at her. “You can go and hunt if you’d like. You don’t have to stay on my account.”

His familiar peered at him, and if it were possible, he could have sworn she had rolled her eyes. Harry scoffed as the Phoenix sidled a little closer into his side as she made herself comfortable. It seemed she planned to remain out here for as long as Harry did.

How long would he stay out here? Neville and Daphne he knew would not be worried about him. They knew it was a difficult day for him – Merlin, Neville was scheduled to go through something similar in just a few weeks’ time himself.

He sat top his boulder – it would forever be known as Potter Rock – and stared out at the sight before him.

The sky was still overcast, colouring everything a dull grey. There were even some dark, angry clouds on the horizon, but with the wind blowing behind him, he had no reason to fear any rain. His hair danced about the sides of his face in the gentle breeze, and Clara’s constant heat warded off any chill.

What would life be like, if his parents had lived?

It was a thought that often wormed its way into his mind this time of year. How would his father treat him? He knew the mischievous and playful side of James Potter, thanks to the stories from Sirius and Remus, but how would he be in private, surrounded by his family?

Would they go hiking in Wales? He had inherited vast swathes of land around Rosestone – including Snowden, of all things. That had taken him by surprise when he had heard of it, then of course he had burst out laughing, thinking it surely had to be a joke of some kind.

Then he had heard how much revenue it generated him – of course there were various intermediaries between himself and the group that ran and maintained the tourist destination, but it still generated a little over one-hundred million pounds a year, which was mostly then directed to the running of Rosestone.

He enjoyed being outdoors, and to a degree, he liked to think it was a trait that had been passed on from father to son.

Given what little he knew of his mother, he knew that she was a determined witch, who was lauded as the brightest of her generation at Hogwarts. His parents hadn’t always been close – Sirius and Remus had told him plenty of his father’s attempts to gain the then Lily Evans’s attention.

She had been utterly brilliant, by all accounts, with a real knack for Charms and Potions – reportedly even had a desire to earn a Mastery in the former to return to Hogwarts as a teacher. He liked to think she also liked to bake.

It was an image that had appeared in his head early on in his life. He had stumbled across Lispy in the kitchen of Blackwall while she baked him a treat. While he loved Lispy dearly, there had been a moment when it hadn’t been the small, kindly Elf who had taken on the role of his mother.

No, it had been a slim woman of average height with red hair and green eyes that had stood before the counter. She had been whisking a cake mixture in a porcelain bowl – if he closed his eyes, he could smell the mixture of flour, eggs and sugar.

She had turned to him, her brilliant white teeth set in a loving grin as she turned and held her arms out for a hug, dropping to a knee before him. Before he could set off towards her, he blinked, and she disappeared.

His family had tried to fill the void, but nothing ever really replaced his parents, now lost. He had learned to manage the pain, for the most part – but Halloween was always the most difficult. In years previous, he would hide himself away in the library in Blackwall, or sit in his room with Clara.

He didn’t have that luxury this year. The castle was full to bursting with students that were excited to eat sweets and chocolate, who were ready to celebrate the fall of the darkest wizard since Grindelwald. It made him sick.

His thoughts returned to the family he couldn’t remember.

They would sit around the table and share stories of their day while they ate their meals. His father would crack cheesy jokes, while his mother would roll her eyes and get him while trying to get his brother and sister to eat their vegetables.

He had always wanted a sibling – two at least. He would fly his broom with his brother, weaving their way across the sky as they threw a Quaffle to one another before his father would race up between them and steal it, laughing as he did so.

He would look at his brother, and his brother would look at him and they would grin at one another before tearing off through the sky after him. His brother would grow up to be a fine wizard and go on to play Quidditch professionally, and Harry would be at each and every game – his loudest supporter, no matter the outcome of the match.

They would remain thick as thieves all throughout their lives, with their children being just as close. Harry would go on to inherit the Potter lands and titles, allowing his brother the freedom to enjoy life and marry whomever he chose.

Should he have a sister instead, she would be the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts when it was her turn. She would be kind and smart, more like their mother in appearance and temperament. Harry and his brother would make it their mission to safeguard her against those who looked in her direction. His sister would be brilliant when it came to magic and go on to study whatever she wanted – he would support her whole-heartedly. At some point, she would meet a wizard, or a witch, whichever made her happy, and she would be married.

He could picture her now, in a flowing white gown, her wild red hair, tamed for once, in a beautiful braid that hung over her shoulder. The light dusting of freckles on her face would be hidden by the adorable blush his sister had whenever she was the centre of attention, as she walked down the aisle with her arm hooked with their father’s. Her green eyes would be shiny with unshed tears, while she practically radiated happiness.

She would grow old and enjoy the company of her grandchildren – to whom she would dote on tremendously and show him picture after picture of them.

He sniffed as he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. It was a pretty dream – easy to get lost in.

But as he sat there, he could see them before him, smiling at him as they stood with his parents on the edge of the cliff. They were dressed casually and didn’t seem bothered by the gusts of wind and the creeping chill. They just looked… proud.

They stood there, closer enough to touch. He shifted a little as his mother beamed at him – she was just like he had always imagined, always smiling. He sat up a little, and Clara shifted beside him, her head darting between himself and where he began reaching towards. He was so close to them; he could almost feel the heat from their bodies on the tips of his fingers.

There was a sharp tug on the back of his coat, and the next thing he knew, he was looking up at the much darker sky. How long had he been out here?

He shook his head slowly and looked at a clearly disgruntled and stressed Phoenix.

“Clara?” He asked after a moment, blinking as he tried to get his vision to focus.

Clara squawked and nuzzled his cheek. He smiled a little and patted her neck. “It’s okay, girl. I’m here.”

There was a quiet moment between the two of them. He didn’t know how long it lasted – it could have been seconds, or even hours – time had stopped meaning anything to him on Halloween a long time ago.

“I saw them, Clara. I saw them.” He whispered, feeling the sharp prick of her talons as she clambered onto his chest. She sat down – not an easy feat for a Phoenix, what with their long tails – and he watched as small tears formed in her black eyes. They would take a second to form, before trailing down the dark skin and dripping into his doublet, right on the Potter sigil on his breast.

For the first time in a long time, he wept. The cliff was silent but for the sounds of a boy wishing for a family he would never know and a Phoenix that wept for her wizard. There were no words murmured from wizard to bird – just the gut wrenching sobs that had been held in for far too long.

His arms were wrapped around Clara’s body – at some point he had sat up, and she had settled herself in his lap. Her large wings were spread wide and similarly wrapped around himself. He rocked side to side as his body shook, his tears leaving slick tracks along his cheeks.

Eventually, he managed to gather himself somewhat and he pulled back and wiped at his cheeks and eyes with the heels of his hands. He gave a mighty sniff and made a show of pulling himself back together. No doubt when Hedwig returned tomorrow, he would write to Sirius, Remus and Arcturus and tell them about today – perhaps Sirius and Remus would have a good idea as to what a brother and a sister of his would have been called.

“Come on, girl. I suppose we should get back.”

There was another flash of light, and a feeling of heat before he found himself sat on the floor of the abandoned classroom he had ducked into earlier. His bag was still where he left it, and the light from the moon cast its cool light through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He scrambled to his feet and brushed off his coat and hands. Clara hopped twice on the spot before he knelt and kissed the crown of feathers atop her head.

“Thank you. Now, go and hunt. I’m going for a walk.” He whispered, giving her one last scratch under her chin before she was engulfed in flame – just the slight smell of burning ozone to ever hint at her passing.

Harry scooped up the bag from the floor and threw it over a shoulder. He flicked his wand into his hand and muttered, “Tempus.”

A small dial made of bright orange light fizzled into existence before him. There were three hands, one of them ticking steadily. It was half six – the feast was already half complete. He didn’t particularly feel like eating in any case.

He swiped his wand through the dial, watching as the magical time-piece fizzled away into nothingness.

He stepped from the classroom, instead choosing the head towards the nearest staircase. He had no intention of dealing with anything right now, let alone the rest of the student body. He trusted Neville, Daphne and Tracey to have made sure Weasley, Thomas and Finnegan had apologised to Hermione in his absence.

He really did hope that it was all sorted by the time he returned to the tower. He would be sharing a living space with the three boys for the next six and a half years – he had no desire for any drama or animosity between them, but he would not apologise for his actions.

They had been mocking a girl who, even he had noticed, didn’t appear to have any friends at Hogwarts. He couldn’t stand bullies at the best of times, and he wasn’t about to go making any exceptions.

His boots clicked and clacked against the marble steps, and he found himself wandering along a second-floor corridor before long.

He stopped and looked out of one of the many windows along the corridor. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the sky had cleared remarkably while he had been lost in his thoughts.

The stars were bright, and the moon was almost full – Remus would be feeling the effects of that on top of everything else, and the air felt crisp and cool. Rejuvenating, almost.

He watched as a familiar bright silhouette pirouetted above the lake, the song of his familiar sad and mournful on the slight breeze that tickled at his cheeks from the slightly ajar window. He watched as Clara was joined by another similar shape, though this was noticeably smaller in size, though no less bright against the black sky.

It seemed Clara at least had Fawkes for company on her hunt tonight – he wouldn’t begrudge her that. He remained there, watching them, and somehow he knew Clara was aware of his eyes on her. Harry smiled a little before he saw them fly towards the mountains on the far side of the lake.

Harry turned from the window and continued walking, his pace lazy and his hands clasped at the small of his back. He had no particular destination in mind, so he resolved to simply bask in the quiet and think – though, he wasn’t sure if he could emotionally take much more of his thinking today. What he really needed was a good sleep – ideally of exhaustion. Merlin forbid he wake up in a cold sweat tonight of all nights.

He grunted a little as he felt his lip curl at the thought. No, tonight he would remain awake until the last possible second, before allowing himself to fall into that dreamless sleep. He would suffer for it tomorrow, no doubt, but he refused to suffer more than he had to today.

He let out a sigh before a booming thud shook the end of the corridor. Harry stumbled to the left a little, catching himself on a nearby stone pillar covered in intricate carvings of Badgers.

Another thud followed it, accompanied by a grunt from around the corner. Harry ducked behind the pillar as a large shadow came into view.

The smell assaulted his nose before the sight of it assaulted his eyesight. Never had he wished for poor vision more than he did in that moment. He quietly cursed Arcturus for getting a Healer to correct his vision all those years ago.

There, passing the end of the hallway, was a twelve-foot Mountain Troll. Its body was lumpy and made of a thick, dull granite-grey hide. Atop its shoulders was a small head with large ears and a tiny eyes beneath a heavy brow. Tusks jutted up from its lower jaw, stretching almost all the way up to its nose.

Its legs were thick as tree trunks, but short and stubby in comparison to the rest of its body. The feet, which were the cause for its not-so-quiet steps, were flat and covered in small horn-like protrusions.

Its arms were long as they were thick – the knuckles barely brushing the floor on either side of it. It dragged a heavy looking club that resembled an up-ended tree-trunk more than anything.

The smell was as foul as its appearance, reeking of rotten eggs and manure.

He edged himself out from behind the pillar slowly as the Troll continued on its way. With a morbid curiosity, he approached the end of the corridor. He had read about Mountain Trolls in the various books in Blackwall’s library but the opportunity to see one in the flesh was too good to pass up – even with the smell!

Mountain Trolls were the largest of their species, and often the most foul-tempered. They usually roamed the lands around Hungary and Ukraine. What was remarkable about them was their diet – many assumed, that, due to the tusks that Trolls were carnivores, when in actual fact they ate stone! The tusks were there to entice females – he scrunched his nose at the thought of a female Mountain Troll and shuddered.

So, what in Merlin’s Saggy Balls was a Mountain Troll, a creature that usually roamed the lands of the Eastern-European countries, doing on the second floor of Hogwarts in Scotland? They were notoriously foul-tempered, and many a witch and wizard had met their end by the creatures – who knew what chaos and destruction a displaced and confused Troll could cause in the castle filled with children.

The Troll stopped suddenly and sniffed curiously at a nearby door. What could it smell?

There was a beat of silence before he heard the quiet sniffling of someone crying. Harry’s eyes widened – he wasn’t the only one in the corridor! Who else could it be? He edged a little closer – maybe he could distract it long enough for whoever it was to make a break for it?

The Troll shouldered its way through the door, knocking the large piece of wood clean off of its hinges. There was an almighty bang as it collided with the floor.

“Who’s there?” Came the voice of Hermione, her voice still clogged with tears.

Harry felt his heart stop. What was Hermione doing up here at this time? More importantly, how was he going to get the Troll away from her? He mentally ran through the floorplan of Hogwarts. Hermione must have been in the girls bathroom.

He groaned as he shrugged the bag from his shoulder as he took a few steadying breaths. He paced back and forth on the spot a little as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, Potter. You can do this, it’s just a Mountain Troll. Just run in there, call it a wanker and run off.” He muttered to himself. “Ah, Hell.” He muttered as he shrugged his coat off and dropped it atop his bag.

There was the quiet click of a door from within the room followed by a heavy silence. He crept forward and crouched low – he needed to startle the twelve-foot idiot if it was going to have any hope of working. Shock and… well, Shock and Run.

He heard the Troll grunt angrily before the tremors of it plodding on its feet shook the stone beneath him. He winced.

“I swear, Hermione… if you’ve gotten out of that bloody toilet…”

There was an echoing crash and a piercing scream. He sprinted the rest of the way, the sound of gushing water from broken pipes and the clattering of splintered wood making him fear the worst.

He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the Troll pulling its arm back for another swing at the row of cubicles. He spotted a shuffling mass of black robes beneath a small pile of splintered wooden debris.

“Hermione, move!” He yelled, pulling his dagger from his boot with his right hand. He watched her shuffle forwards before the Troll annihilated more stalls.

He sprinted forward; the blade held in a reverse grip. Already water gushed about his feet in increasingly large puddles – a small part of him in the back of his mind was relieved to see it all clear.

He leapt in the air and planted his right foot on the obliterated stump of wood a few feet behind the Troll. He pushed with all his might, willing himself to be high enough for it to work. He arced through the air; the Troll still bent forward from the momentum of its club. He brought his blade down with as much strength as he could and grinned as it sank to the hilt into the thick flesh.

The blade had lodged firmly into a spot just above the right shoulder-blade and right below the crook of its neck. Troll-hide was notoriously thick – his little toothpick wouldn’t do anything against the behemoth. He wrapped his free arm around the creature’s neck and held on for dear life.

If there was ever a flaw with his plan – this had been it. The Troll reared up sharply and dropped its club as it attempted to reach over its shoulders to dislodge him. He noted absently that Granger had crawled across the floor to hide beneath the row of sinks.

The beast bucked this way and that, and Harry’s legs felt like they were going to fly off as they whipped back and forth. “Granger!” He yelled above the grunts and growls of the Troll.

“Hermione!” He yelled once again as he was almost thrown in her direction. If there was ever a time to develop a firm grip, it was now. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt his hold on the hilt of the blade slip a little. “f*cking run!” He screamed.

She seemed rooted to the spot in utter terror. He didn’t blame her. He’d likely be in the same position if it weren’t for the fact he was holding on for dear life.

“Hermione!” He tried again, cursing as she remained where she was.

Time seemed to slow as he felt the Troll latch on to his feet. “Oh, sh*t!” He cursed, letting go of both the dagger and the beast’s neck lest he be ripped in half.

The Troll held him before its furious face for a moment as Harry felt the blood begin to rush to his head. It smelt even worse up close and he fought the urge to vomit. Its bloodshot eyes seemed crazed as the eyelids twitched. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

He winced, taking an educated guess at what was going to happen next. One moment he was hanging upside down and staring into a Troll’s eyes, and the next he was careening through the air towards the far wall. In a panic, he drew his magic into himself and attempted to cushion the impact a little.

The back of his head impacted the marble tile with a sickening crack, and for a moment he couldn’t see. He blinked, attempting to clear away the never-ending blackness in his vision. It took a moment, but slowly the world around him returned, though it was blurry and out of focus. He could feel something running down the back of his neck – was he bleeding?

He lurched to his left and threw up what little was in his stomach. Everything hurt, and he wanted to go to sleep.

Harry looked up and took in the approaching form of the Troll. Pure fear flooded his system. He was going to die, and there was nobody around to save him this time. It was the ambush on the road all over again, and this time, there was no Sirius, Remus or Clara around to save him. He couldn’t even work his jaw to call for her.

Merlin, he was tired. No, he couldn’t sleep yet – Hermione was still trapped. He’d buy her enough time to get out of the bathroom, at least.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he listened to the steady drip-drip of the water leaking from ruptured pipes.

The fear was still there, as well as the panic – he felt like he was drowning. Was this what his parents had died for? For him to be crushed underfoot by a Mountain Troll in a girl’s bathroom? At the very least, he would be able to be with them soon.

His right hand twitched, and he felt the smooth handle of his wand in his hand. When had that gotten there? It must have been knocked loose when he hit the wall. Gods everything hurt, and he still felt sick. He raised his wand as best he could – his arms felt as heavy as the Troll before him must have been, and it trembled something fierce in front of his face – or perhaps that was his blurry vision? It was hard to tell.

He didn’t know any defensive spells, but he just wanted it away from him. Through the panic and the fear, his magic answered.

A huge burst of angry red magic erupted from the tip of his wand, similar in colour to the feather Clara had gifted him for its core. It impacted the Troll in the chest and carried it bodily into the far wall, even that didn’t hold up under the force of the impact.

The Troll slumped to the floor as the magic dissipated in the air, its purpose complete. Trolls were made of sterner stuff, however, and it began pushing itself to its feet, shaking its head roughly. Harry’s gaze locked on the club and he pointed his wand at it, though this time he didn’t have the strength to lift it. He was so tired.

All he wanted was for it to hit the Troll on the head hard enough to knock it out until Hermione could find a teacher. Perhaps he could have a nap while she went looking for one.

Instead, the familiar burst of magic impacted the club and sent it whistling like an arrow through the air at the Troll’s face. The club embedded itself in the stone, while the head of the creature simply disappeared in a spray of red, white and grey. It slumped to the floor in a heap.

Had he stunned it? Was it knocked out? What was that spray?

“H’nie…” He groaned weakly. He felt something leak from his mouth. He blinked slowly.

“Harry!” He heard her panicked voice as a black blur with a brown brushy blur on top rushed towards him.

“’ired…” He whispered, his head lolling to the side a little – he couldn’t see anything but blurs of colour now.

“Harry, you have to stay awake!” Came the distant, frantic voice.

The pain in his head didn’t hurt any more when his vision faded to black. No more pain felt like a wonderful idea.

He blinked his eyes open slowly as he stared up at a high-vaulted ceiling. It took a moment for his vision to focus as he blinked rapidly, frowning a little as what little light filtered through the high windows burned the back of his eyes.

There was a distinct buzz of activity that seemed muffled for a moment before it snapped into focus. A woman, Madame Pomfrey by the sounds of it, was directing people to place things in certain areas and how to label correctly.

“-attended Hogwarts in the years fourteen-oh-seven and fourteen-fourteen. She went on to-“

He started at the voice, listening as it rattled off information as it continued to read in a clear and concise manner. He felt something resting on his thigh.

He looked down and saw a familiar mane of brown bushy hair buried in Hogwarts: A History. He smiled a little, though he thought it might appear more a grimace as the rest of his body caught up to his heightened state of awareness.

A traitorous groan escaped his lips, and he felt himself shifting a little in the bed. He had barely stilled when what could only be described as a brown missile collided with his chest. His arms were pinned to his sides as he was engulfed in a hug.

“You’re awake! I thought for sure you’d be asleep for another week! I’m so glad you’re okay – I’ll bet Neville, Daphne and Tracey will be here as soon as I tell them!” The words were spoken so quickly he had no idea if he’d actually heard them or if they were just his imagination.

The mane of bushy brown hair pulled back a little and the girl before him began worrying at her bottom lip as a pink tint covered her cheeks. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I’m sorry, I was just so happy and excited-“

Harry held a hand up and tried not to chuckle – it hurt too much to do that right now. Merlin, his entire body felt like it had gone six rounds with a Dragon. “I’m alright Hermione. I’m glad you’re safe and unhurt. What happened? Where is everyone? Did they get the Troll?”

There was a heavy pause as Hermione moved her chair closer to the head of the bed. He noticed she wasn’t wearing her cloak – instead just opting to wear the uniform underneath it. She fiddled with the hem of her cardigan.

“Harry, you took care of the Troll all by yourself.”

He blinked. He did? When? He’d just stunned it.

“I thought I knocked it out?”

Hermione shook her head slowly and her eyes travelled along his body, hidden by the sheets of the bed. “I don’t know what happened, Harry – it was all so fast. The Troll threw you against the wall – it should have killed you on impact!”

Harry noticed her eyes had started to get quite shiny. She sniffed a little and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. He remembered being thrown and trying to use his magic to cushion the blow. After that, everything was rather fuzzy and out of focus – like a distant dream.

“It didn’t kill you though, and you pointed your wand at it, and the spell you used blasted the Troll through the wall, Harry. You used the same spell on its club – it was dead instantly.”

Harry swallowed and realised then just how dry his throat felt. “Water.” He gasped. Hermione was on her feet instantly, lifting a glass carefully to his lips.

The water felt cool and fresh against his throat, and when the glass was moved, he couldn’t help the soft exhale that ghosted its way over his lips.

He turned Hermione’s words over in his head. Had he really killed that Troll? He hadn’t meant to, but in that moment when the Troll had grabbed his legs, he could remember the very real feeling of pure fear. He shivered involuntarily.

“Are you cold? I can get a blanket from Madame Pomfrey if you’d like?”

He shook his head slowly, and the room was quiet for a moment. He was thankful Madame Pomfrey hadn’t noticed him waking just yet.

“Why are you here?” He asked after a moment, his eyes sweeping to the pair of chocolate brown ones at his bedside.

Hermione was quiet for a moment as she blushed a little – he also noticed she shrank in on herself a little too. “You saved my life, Harry… I wanted to say thank you. I can go, if you’d like?” She began to stand, reaching for her book that was still propped against his thigh.

“No, no it’s okay.” Harry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I was just wondering why – you’ve made it seem like you hated me for the last two weeks.”

“The last two…?” Hermione muttered, frowning. “Oh!” She gasped, returning to her seat. “I’m sorry, I got confused for a moment – you see, you’ve been in here for two weeks.” She replied, waving her hand absently at the room. Harry frowned at that.

He’d been in the Medical Wing for two weeks? Oh Merlin, he’d missed so many classes! Sirius would have his hide – that wasn’t even taking into account Arcturus! Suddenly another Mountain Troll didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“As for your question, well, it’s a little embarrassing, really.” Hermione muttered, looking down at her lap. She murmured something that he didn’t quite hear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“I said I was jealous.” She replied, a little louder but still barely audible.

“You were jealous?” He asked dumbly, “What in Merlin about?”

“You! Your magic and how easy it is for you!” She answered, waving a hand at him. “I’ve always been top of my classes, and it… it wasn’t easy for me not to be.”

“You realise I only beat you on the practical side of that Transfiguration test because of my breakthrough in I.T.M, right? Once you manage it yourself, you’ll smash me out of the running, easily.” Harry scoffed, wincing as a lance of pain struck his chest.

This time it was Hermione that snorted, “Please, you’re a brilliant student – not to mention you’ve lived in this world your whole life. I’m sure you were just taking your rightful place.”

Harry rolled his eyes at that. “I grew up keeping my magic firmly under lock-and-key. I’d use a little to activate a rune to wash, but that was it. I’m just as new to using magic as you are – though I might know one or two more things than you.” He said cheekily. He grinned when she reached out to swat him on the arm, only to halt mid-swipe with her eyes wide as she remembered his injuries.

“You’re an arse.” She sniffed, placing both her hands in her lap before sitting a little straighter and lifting her chin a little.

“That might be Sirius Black’s fault.” He shrugged, chuckling a little despite the pain.

There was silence between them for a while, and Hermione’s posture relaxed some. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was pleasant enough.

“Have I missed any homework?” He asked after a time.

“Three essays. Charms, Alchemy and Potions.” Hermione answered immediately. Harry fought the urge to groan.

“Snape’s going to skin me alive.”

“Professor Snape.”

“What?”

“Professor Snape.” Hermione corrected him, her voice disapproving.

Harry blinked dumbly for a moment, before he realised what Hermione was saying. He scoffed a little – the Potions Professor had taken an immediate disliking to him in his first class. Harry could take an educated guess at the reason behind it.

He shrugged, “Sorry, Professor Snape is going to skin me alive.”

“No, he won’t.” Hermione answered him. He was about to offer a rebuttal when she placed a small stack of parchment on his legs and separated it into three smaller piles. “I, uh, I made notes for you – I thought it the least I could do, after everything.”

She was worrying the hem of her cardigan between her fingers again.

He opened his mouth to thank her when Madame Pomfrey rushed over, her voice shrill. Both he and Hermione winced. “Harry Potter! In all my years as a Healer, never did I think I’d be as worried over a student as I have been over you, young man!”

He squirmed under her furious gaze. “Sorry Madame Pomfrey.”

She sniffed, “Well, you’re lucky that I have a history of having to wipe the drool from your face.”

Harry cringed, though he noticed Hermione’s eyes had gotten a little wider.

“Would it help if I said I’ll try my best to avoid Mountain Trolls from now on?”

“Indeed, it may, though just what you were doing in that corridor is beyond me.”

Harry squirmed once again under her piercing stare as she waved her wand over his body. Tendrils of orange light spread themselves evenly across his body and slowly sank through his skin. There was no sharp pain – not even a mark, as he looked down at himself. He had expected a little blood to seep through into the nightshirt he was wearing.

There was a moment of nothingness, and then in a small orange flash, a representation of his body floated above him. He moved his right arm to reach up and touch the shoulder of the image above him and watched in fascination as the image mimicked his movement. From where he lay, he could see his skeleton – that looked like it had seen better days, his muscles and even his internal organs!

“I love magic.” He grinned; his eyes wide. He looked over at Hermione to see her equally wide-eyed as she looked upon the spell.

“You seem to be healing nicely, Mr. Potter. Much better than I expected, all things considered. If you behave, I may just allow you to return to Gryffindor tonight.”

“Better than expected?” Hermione asked.

Madame Pomfrey turned to look at the girl at his bedside with a raised brow and pursed lips. “Indeed. When he was first brought in here, he was almost dead. It is… unusual for someone to recover from such severe injuries in a mere fortnight.”

Harry gulped, and in the silence, he could have sworn it echoed throughout the room.

“I almost died?” He whispered, his eyes losing focus as he stared directly ahead.

How would Sirius have reacted if he had? Remus? Arcturus? Neville and Daphne? He missed his parents immensely, but he wished to meet them as an old man, with tales of his life and the knowledge that he had made them proud. What would have happened to those sworn to his family? To those protected by Arpton Keep? He would never know the magic of that place again. What about Hedwig? Clara?

A hand gripped his, and his vision snapped back into focus with a blink. His breath was shaky, and he gulped in what he could. With wild eyes, he looked at Hermione – his hand clasped between both of hers.

“You’re okay, Harry – everything’s okay.” Hermione said, her voice soothing.

“Indeed, you’ve shown you’re nothing short of remarkable, Mr. Potter. Just like when you were a boy.” Madame Pomfrey said, giving him a small smile. She swiped her wand through the magic above him, and he watched as it dissipated into nothing. Once her wand was tucked away, he leant down and clasped his free hand. “Do try not to scare me like that again, Harry. I became very fond of you when Minerva and I looked after you.”

She patted him gently on the cheek before hastily moving away from the bed to go about her other duties. He blinked slowly as his jaw worked – though no sound came out.

“What was that?” He asked eventually.

Hermione grinned before replying. “I do believe she admitted to having a favourite.”

“Is that what just happened?”

Hermione nodded once before she looked down at his hand still held in her own. She blushed a little as she let go and slid her hands under her legs.

“It was really brave, you know… What you did, I mean.” Hermione said after a moment, her voice quiet.

Harry shrugged, “I would say it was stupid to jump on the back of a Troll.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his words, “What I’m trying to say, is that there aren’t many who would do what you did. I’ve said it before, Harry – but I’m fully aware that you saved my life that night.”

“It was nothing, really.” Harry mumbled uncomfortably.

“It isn’t nothing. Especially after I treated you so terribly beforehand.” She frowned, sniffing a little. “Besides, if neither of us were in that bathroom, it could have stumbled onto someone else.”

“Hang on, why were you in that bathroom? I thought you’d have been at the feast.”

Hermione’s eyes dropped to the bed and she shifted uncomfortably. “I had been in there ever since I overheard Ronald.” She murmured.

He sat up fully at that, wincing as he put weight on his arms. “You were in there all afternoon? Did he not apologise?”

“Oh, he did – the next day in the common room. It was really strange, actually. He, Seamus and Dean all did it on their knees – it was sort of embarrassing, really.” Hermione answered him, her face turning into a slight frown as her mouth moved a little in silent words. “Wait, you were the reason they did that?”

Harry cringed a little as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “You, uh, you weren’t supposed to have been able to work that one out.”

“Why would you do that?” She asked quietly – her eyes looked shiny again.

“I heard what he said, and after you raced off, I tore into him. He was supposed to have gone looking for you immediately, but I didn’t stick around to make sure.”

She collided with his chest again, and just as he thought he could see the edge of his vision start to darken, she released him, and he gulped in as much air as he could. “Thank you.” She sniffed as she returned to her seat, dabbing at her eyes.

“You don’t have many friends, do you?” He asked quietly after a moment. She flinched and shook her head sadly. “Well, in that case Hermione Granger, I would be honoured if you would be my friend.”

The beaming smile he received was the only warning he got before he found himself tackled once again.

Chapter 13: Harry VII

Chapter Text

Hermione had left an hour before for a class – he had woken up during the lunch period, and she had promised to let his friends know he was awake and feeling much better.

The time had passed slowly, with Harry idly watching Madame Pomfrey and the occasional upper year assistant busy about the large room. He watched as they organised shelves, labelled bottles and went about a dozen other mundane tasks with a focus that was startling.

It seemed that Harry was the only resident in need of actual care, though, seeing as Quidditch hadn’t started yet and it was so early in the school year, perhaps that was likely to change as the months went on.

He debated taking a nap when the large double doors of the Medical Wing were thrown open and a large black Grim charged along the marble floor, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth and bouncing with every stride.

One of the students, a girl in Ravenclaw colours with dark hair, shrieked at the sight of the dog and fainted. He was so used to seeing Padfoot that he often forgot that Grims were looked upon as portents of doom – though why anyone would be scared of a large, shaggy black dog was utterly beyond him. In his mind, ‘Creatures of Doom’, was a category that held Dragons and the like.

The dog leapt in the air a foot away from the bed and landed easily atop the sheets. Harry grimaced as the animal began nuzzling and licking his face. “Ah, get off!” Harry grumbled, glaring at the dog as he wiped at the slobber covering his face with the backs of his hands.

The dog hopped from the bed and quickly transformed into his Godfather. Sirius threw his arms around him and buried his face in his hair.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, pup.”

Harry smiled as he wrapped his arms around the man, his irritation forgotten – even if he would no doubt smell of Padfoot until he could stumble into a shower.

“You had me so worried.” Sirius sighed as he pulled back from him. His Godfather gently combed his fingers through Harry’s hair, and Harry had to fight the urge to lean into the touch.

He had missed Sirius something fierce ever since his departure on the train.

“Poppy had to chase me out of here when we first heard you were injured.” Sirius whispered conspiratorially, with a small wink.

“And don’t you think I won’t do it again, Sirius Black.” Madame Pomfrey sniffed as she approached the bed, a small scowl on her face. “You’ve just hospitalised one of my assistants with that stunt of yours.”

Harry watched as Sirius grimaced a little and couldn’t help the tiny grin that threatened to split his face. “Where’s Arcturus and Remus?” He asked, looking towards the door.

“I believe both are rounding up your friends, though Remus is likely having to physically hold onto Lispy.”

“Lispy is here?” Harry gasped; his eyes wide.

Sirius gave a short nod and playfully tugged on a lock of his hair. “Oh yes, she was quite… unhappy when she heard you were injured.”

Harry grimaced and attempted to sink into the bed. At his movement, Madame Pomfrey gave a quick swish of her wand, and Harry found his pillows adjusted comfortably.

“Now, I trust you shan’t be troubling anyone else, Mr. Black?” She sniffed, sticking her wand into the waistband of her white apron.

Sirius shook his head slowly as he shuffled back half a step from the Healer.

“Excellent. Now, do try not to get up to any mischief – it would be such a shame if I had to inform Minerva of your activities.”

Harry heard Sirius audibly swallow. He quirked an eyebrow at the man beside his bed, but the small look of panic on his Godfather’s face gave nothing more away. Perhaps he could ask Professor McGonagall about the story sometime.

Madame Pomfrey left the bedside after that, her boots clacking against the hard marble as she walked to her office. If there was one reason to never return, it was that Madame Pomfrey could be more terrifying than any Mountain Troll.

Sirius pulled a nearby chair to the side of his bed and sat down heavily. Now that he had a moment, Harry could see the lines of stress in Sirius’s face, not to mention the large bags under his eyes. His pale skin was a stark contrast to the darkness of his hair, which appeared dull and limp.

“You really had us worried, Harry.” Sirius murmured, taking Harry’s left hand in his own much larger paw.

“Sorry.” Harry murmured, smiling a little as Sirius traced his thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you just meant to jump on the back of a Mountain Troll.” Sirius smirked.

“I didn’t even mean to do that.” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes at his Godfather’s teasing.

“What do you mean? Details of the whole thing have been disappointingly… lacking, as far as we’ve been concerned.” Sirius frowned, his face turning stony.

“Would it be alright if I explained it all when everyone’s here? I don’t really want to repeat myself.” Harry asked, pleadingly. He took a moment to tug at the collar of his nightshirt.

“Of course. Now, why don’t you tell me what you left out in all those letters about your time here, hm?”

Harry grinned at the change of topic. Harry had written countless letters to Sirius, Remus and Arcturus in the weeks since being placed into Gryffindor. He had told them about finding his father’s bed, his lessons in the various subjects and how excited he was to explore the famous Hogwarts Library!

“Well, Professor Seller had us researching basic transmutation spells just before Halloween. I swear, she’s one iron ingot short of a gold necklace half the time. Besides that, Alchemy has been interesting.” Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes at the thought of the borderline-mad Alchemy Professor.

She was a wonderful instructor, but at the same time, he would be wary around anything she happened to be brewing when she really got going. She was less of a ‘Follow the recipe’ kind of Alchemist, and more a ‘Let’s throw a bit of this and this in and see what happens’.

He imagined she didn’t get on very well with Professor Snape, who was the polar opposite, if his lessons so far were anything to go by.

“Didn’t you tell me you blew someone up?” Sirius asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion for a moment.

“Oh! That was Seamus – don’t worry, he’s fine! He has a habit of blowing things up, so it wasn’t really his fault. Professor Seller just suggested adding a little vinegar to his brew and he put in too much.” Harry snickered – it was a miracle that Seamus had any hair left, really.

“What about Defence? I remember you said you were most excited about that course.”

Harry grimaced, remembering the few classes with Professor Quirrell. “They’re not too bad, but the man reeks of garlic and has the most awful stutter. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t jump at his own shadow, I suppose.”

“From what I hear, he’s fairly new to the position. It’s likely just his nerves.” Sirius smiled kindly. He looked as if he were about to say more when the doors to the room opened and in marched a small army of people.

There was Arcturus at the head of them, his cloak billowing in his wake – Harry noted that, for the first time, that neither he nor Sirius were wearing their usual armour. They must have wasted no time in rushing here once word reached them of his waking up.

Right behind Arcturus was Remus, a large wolfish grin on his face that was marked only by a new scar on his cheek. Harry frowned a little at that.

Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall followed at a slightly more sedate pace and were overtaken by five Hogwarts students and a downright furious House Elf.

Lispy reached his bed first, her little boots slapping against the floor before she dove at him. Her tiny arms wrapped around his neck and her large bat-like ears smothered his face as she would bury her tiny head in the crook of his neck, pull back a moment, and then swap sides.

Once the others arrived, with Daphne, Neville, Tracey and Hermione crowding the bed, Lispy pulled back one more time before waving an angry finger between his eyes. He tried not to go cross-eyed as he watched it.

“Young Master Harry bes giving Lispy a poor fright! Lispy bes telling Master Harry he bes better off staying at Blackwall! Did Master Harry listen? No, he didn’t!”

He heard Tracey snicker behind her hand before he turned his gaze upon her. The snickering stopped instantly, though her eyes still twinkled in amusem*nt. He looked back at Lispy.

“I’m sorry Lispy, I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Not just poor Lispy – you worried all of us.” Arcturus chimed in from the far side of his bed to his school friends. He clasped Harry on the shoulder gently. “We’re all glad you’re alright, Harry.”

There were nods from around the bed, all with gentle smiles.

“I can’t believe you picked a fight with a Troll, Harry.” Neville gushed – it seemed he’d been holding it in for a while by the way his entire face turned red. Everyone turned to look at him, and he watched as Neville cringed under their collective looks.

“Indeed, it is something that has the staff quite perplexed.” Headmaster Dumbledore added, his voice soft and his eyes curious.

“It kind of found me, Headmaster.” Harry shrugged. He felt comfortable enough around the man from their brief conversations about their familiars. “I’d just returned from spending time with Clara…”

“Ah, that reminds me!” Remus interjected as he moved to a window and threw it open. Immediately Clara swooped into the room, followed shortly by the much smaller Hedwig. Both landed on either side of his head, their talons curled around the metal frame of the bed.

Harry bolted upright and spun to fuss the two birds. He hugged Clara, while she responded with an affectionate nip of his ear, and he scratched Hedwig under her beak and chuckled as she closed her eyes and spread her wings a little.

He turned to look at the assembled gathering around his bed and coughed awkwardly as he relaxed in the bed once again – though this time Hedwig hopped to his shoulder, though not before glancing in Clara’s direction. Lispy had retreated to the foot of the bed in his mad scramble and sat with her legs folded beneath her.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, his cheeks burning a little. All looked upon him with either smiles or were simply rolling their eyes.

“Should’ve known the girls would get a better reaction than all of us.” Daphne sighed, flicking her hair over a shoulder. Tracey snigg*red at her side, while Hermione chewed on her lip.

“I believe Mr. Potter was about to tell us what he was doing with Clara?” Professor McGonagall spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the gathered students.

“I like to be on my own on Halloween, and it was getting to me.” He sighed – there were knowing nods around the bed, though Dumbledore, Hermione and Professor McGonagall looked confused.

“Whatever for, my boy?” Dumbledore asked.

“It’s the day my parents were murdered, Headmaster.” Harry replied quietly and looks of understanding dawned across their faces. Sirius and Remus appeared solemn as they shared a look – Arcturus just nodded slowly and gripped Harry’s shoulder again.

At the very least, there was little to no pain from his injuries now – just a dull ache across his body. The potion Madame Pomfrey had almost forced down his throat as Hermione left seemed to be doing its job.

“Ah, that is understandable. I assume then, that you had sequestered yourself in an unused classroom for the afternoon?”

Harry cringed at the Headmaster’s question. “Uh, not quite, Headmaster. I was worked up, and angry and just wanted to get away. I had Clara take me to one of the nearby cliffs with a big boulder on it.”

To his left, just behind his head, Clara stood a little taller, as if proud of her helping him break the rules.

“I see – I trust, Mr. Potter, you are aware of the school rules?” Professor McGonagall asked, her voice clipped and her face severe. Harry nodded glumly. “Ten points from Gryffindor for your actions.”

“Yes, Professor.” He answered, gently running the back of a finger down Hedwig’s plumage.

“Minerva…” Arcturus began, his voice shocked.

“Don’t Minerva me, Arcturus. There are school rules for a reason – not to mention Mr. Potter skipped his lessons that afternoon. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him until it was almost too late.” Professor McGonagall snapped – Arcturus, to Harry’s surprised merely snapped his jaw shut and nodded. Now he was really wary of ever crossing Professor McGonagall.

“Now, Harry… How did you find the Troll? Professor Quirrell told us it was in the Dungeon.” Dumbledore asked, his voice startlingly soft compared to Professor McGonagall’s clipped tone.

Harry shifted in the bed a little as his eyes darted to Hermione for the briefest of moments. “I was taking a walk – I didn’t feel like going to the feast, and I wasn’t particularly hungry either, and I hid behind a pillar when I heard it.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I heard Hermione call out when it made a noise by the girls bathroom.”

Sirius squeezed his hand from where he had remained seated across from Arcturus. Daphne, Neville, and Tracey were all gripping the bedsheet in their fists beside him.

“As soon as I heard Hermione, I was just going to call it names and get it to chase me – but it went for her instead. I took my bag and coat off and charged in. I took my dagger out of my boot and launched myself on its back.”

“That’s our boy.” Remus and Sirius said at the same time, grinning at one another. Arcturus scoffed and rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You went at it with your dagger?” Neville gasped, his jaw hanging open.

“I just meant for Hermione to make a break for it – she was hiding under the sink by that point.” Harry shrugged, wishing he could hide himself under the covers of his bed and never come out again.

“It seems,” Professor McGonagall began, “that Miss. Granger hasn’t been entirely forthcoming with the events of that night.”

Harry winced – he hadn’t meant to get Hermione in trouble, and he saw how she was cringing – though she did stand a little taller.

“Five points, from the both of you.” Professor McGonagall snapped. She took a breath before continuing. “Twenty points, to Miss. Granger, for her loyalty, and fifty points to you, Mr. Potter. For sheer dumb luck.” She nodded at the two students.

The three Gryffindor students all grinned at one another, while the two Slytherin’s rolled their eyes. Sirius and Remus chuckled while Arcturus just sighed.

“Harry, what can you tell us about the spells you used on the Troll?” Dumbledore asked, clasping his hands behind his back. Harry noted he had a small frown on his face. Hermione shifted uncomfortably at the foot on the bed.

“I don’t know, Professor. It was after I hit my head, and I just remember being so afraid. I haven’t been that scared in…”

“It’s okay, Harry.” Sirius said, lightly squeezing his hand.

“Is there something I should know?” Dumbledore asked, his expression one of concern as he looked at the members of the Black family and Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably as images flashed across his vision in short bursts. They cleared after a moment and he could see his guardians sharing a look – Arcturus and Sirius shared a nod between them, while Remus sighed and turned away as he paced a few steps and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Two years ago, we took a trip…” Sirius began slowly. “It was a little while after Harry had met Clara, and we were ambushed on the road. Five of the six accompanying us were killed, while the dozen that ambushed us were all defeated. Clara matured during that fight.” He sighed, nodding in the direction of the Phoenix, who leaned forward and nuzzled Harry’s cheek.

Harry smiled at the contact and closed his eyes in contentment for a moment. When he opened them, he saw the various reactions of those around the bed.

Dumbledore and McGonagall both looked mortified – he could imagine the horrors they were picturing in their minds.

Hermione appeared shocked, her face pale enough for him to notice she had a slight dusting of freckles on her nose that appeared to usually be hidden by her slightly tanned skin.

Daphne and Neville gripped each other’s hands as they shared a look, and Tracey just stared dumbly as her mouth attempted to form the words in her mind.

“My boy…” Dumbledore sighed sadly. He removed his glasses and rubbed a tired hand down his face. “Nobody should be witness to such horrors so young. I am truly sorry.”

“What happened to these attackers?” McGonagall asked, her voice quiet as she looked at him with an indecipherable expression. Her hand had travelled to cover her mouth during Sirius’s explanation, and for the foreseeable future, it looked like it would remain there.

“All dead.” Remus sighed. “They had us at the end. One of them had snuck up on Harry and grabbed him from behind the rock he was behind. Clara matured when she was thrown from his shoulder – she dropped the man onto the road.”

“Phoenixes are immensely loyal companions.” Dumbledore sighed. Hedwig chose that moment to hop from her position on Harry’s chest, to Hermione’s shoulder. A wide-eyed Hermione stared at the beautiful owl in amazement. “I fear the same cannot be said for owls.” The Headmaster smiled.

A small ripple of quiet chuckles broke the silence while Hermione turned a deep red.

“I’m sorry, I-“ She began, but Harry waved her off.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t go trying it with Clara, though.” He smiled, hooking his thumb at the Phoenix.

“I trust,” Professor McGonagall began, “that you have received the appropriate care?”

Harry nodded. It was true, he had. Sirius and Remus had talked it through with him many times, and over time he had learned to push it from his mind as best he could. Arcturus had even hired a Mind Healer for him to visit once a week and talk about it with. It had helped immeasurably.

“Would you wish to see a Mind Healer after your ordeal with the Troll?” Dumbledore asked kindly. “It is my responsibility to ensure all the students in my care are suitably looked after. I would hate for you to suffer in silence.”

“I… I think I’ll be alright, Professor. I remember the exercises.” He answered, attempting a polite smile. The Headmaster nodded and smiled in return.

“If you ever feel any different, Harry – just inform either myself or Professor McGonagall.” Dumbledore took a moment to look around at the rest of the faces around Harry’s bed. “I believe that concludes my business here. Minerva, I do believe we should allow young Harry to catch up on lost time with friends and family.”

“Of course, Albus.” Professor McGonagall agreed. The two heads of the school inclined their heads politely before making their way from the room.

Once there was more space readily available, his visitors spread out around the bed a little more. Daphne hopped up on the side of the bed and kicked her feet a little as she eyed him.

“You’re an idiot, you know that, don’t you?”

“Daphne!” Tracey squeaked, swatting her friend on the arm. Neville just chuckled, while Hermione looked on awkwardly.

“It is known, yes.” Harry replied with a sigh, rolling his eyes. Remus and Sirius chuckled quietly.

“Good.” Daphne nodded, before launching herself at Harry. With no time to prepare he found himself in his first hug from the girl. He knew girls hugged, but he had never really expected one from Daphne of all people – he still remembered the day he had met the girl, and how she had thrown Neville and himself into the dirt. “I’m glad you’re okay, Harry.”

He patted her awkwardly on the back as he looked around at the others for help. Neville appeared just as shocked as was, so he was no help. Sirius and Remus were too busy staring open-mouthed in equal shock, while Arcturus continued to look on in amusem*nt.

Daphne pulled away and glared at him, “If you tell anyone not in this room about that, I’ll hex you into term, Harry Potter.”

He nodded as he felt the blood leave his face for a moment. He had no question in his mind as to whether she would follow up on her threat.

Neville was next as he wrapped an arm around Harry, “I’m glad you’re alright, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned at the boy, “Glad to hear it, Longbottom.” Once Neville pulled away, he looked at the five friends at his side. “So, what have I missed?”

Neville informed him of everything Herbology and Gryffindor related – apparently, Harry had earned himself the nickname of Troll Slayer among their house, most notably from the Weasley twins, Fred and George.

The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin had been postponed due to his injuries, which no doubt had Oliver Wood, the team Captain, chomping at the bit. No doubt he’d be paying for the delay in the match with extra practice and drills.

“That reminds me!” Sirius exclaimed as he sat a little straighter in the chair. “Lispy, can you go back to Blackwall and fetch Harry’s gift?”

“Gift?” He asked, stunned. The little Elf disappeared with a small pop, only to return a moment later with a long, neatly wrapped box.

The box itself was easily four feet in length, maybe a little less, and wrapped expertly. The little Elf smiled toothily as she handed it to Sirius, who in turn, handed it to him.

“This was from the three of us,” Sirius began, gesturing between the three adults. “We were going to send it to you as a congratulations for making the team. We know first years aren’t supposed to have their own, but you get an exception with being the new Gryffindor Seeker.”

His Godfather passed him the box, which was shockingly light. The bow was removed carefully and methodically, and he could practically feel Sirius bouncing in his chair. The wrapping paper was made short work of after that, and once the box itself was opened, Harry gasped in surprise.

“It’s a Nimbus Two-Thousand!” He whispered breathlessly; his eyes wide as his fingers slowly traced the lines of polished wood on the handle. “Thank you.” He said, looking up at the three adults.

“Just make sure you kick Slytherin’s arse, Harry.” Remus chuckled, earning, and ignoring, glares from the three Slytherin’s – two who were current students, and one long since graduated.

“I’ll do my best.” He grinned in return.

They continued talking for a time, with his friends filling him in on those events or scandals around Hogwarts that he had missed. It seemed all of them, including Tracey, had gone out of their way to make extra notes for him in class, so he wouldn’t fall behind.

It seemed that life had continued on while he had been asleep. Even this early in the year, there were those in the upper years who were found in broom closets, and younger years who would attempt to sneak-out past curfew. Hermione had had a number of interesting points to make on the futility and childishness of such actions. Hedwig had remained perched on her shoulder throughout it all, standing as tall and as proud as she could.

It was odd, seeing Hedwig perched on someone’s shoulder that wasn’t his own – though that hadn’t stopped Clara from hopping down onto the pillow next to his head and practically sitting on him.

“Children, would you give the four of us a moment? We have some family business to discuss.” Arcturus said after a while, a kind smile on his face. Harry frowned at him.

The four children nodded, and Hermione attempted to coax Hedwig from her shoulder. The owl, whose large yellow eyes had been closed, startled awake with a small flap of her wings before hopping onto the bed. The owl took one look at Clara before she hopped onto Harry’s stomach – her talons were not quite as careful as they usually were. He tried not to wince.

His friends filtered out of the room, while Lispy popped away after receiving a nod from Arcturus. Not before patting his leg affectionately, however.

When they were all alone, Harry looked between the adults. Arcturus looked stern, Remus looked amused, while Sirius looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Tell him.” Arcturus said, eyeing his Godfather severely.

“I don’t see how now is the appropriate time-“ Sirius began, gesturing at the room at large.

“Well, if he faints, at least he’s in the Medical Wing.” Remus quipped, having taken to standing at the foot of his bed. He threw Harry a playful wink, while Sirius made a rude gesture that would have had Lispy clipping him over the head with a newspaper.

“You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice, Sirius.” Arcturus continued as his arms folded over his chest. He looked every bit the powerful wizard that Harry knew him to be.

Sirius scoffed, and Harry eyed him carefully. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” Harry asked after a moment.

Sirius grunted quietly and rolled his eyes. “It’s actually quite good news, all things considered.” He sighed.

“Sirius…” Arcturus said warningly.

“I’m working up to it, damn it.” Sirius shot back – Remus continued to snicker.

“What our dear Padfoot is trying to say, is that he’s begun courting someone.” Moony grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry as Sirius shot him a glare.

Harry’s eyebrows shot so far up his forehead; he was surprised they didn’t touch his hairline. “Damn, who’s the unlucky woman?” He asked after a moment, a smirk on his lips. Sirius flicked him on the nose.

“You have gotten a bit cheekier since you started at Hogwarts.” Sirius sighed, running his hands down his face. “You know I always said that you come first, in everything?” He asked after a moment – Harry nodded. “Well, now that you’ll be spending the majority of the next seven years in this fine establishment, I have to fulfil my duty to House Black.”

Harry looked to Arcturus, who nodded sagely.

“So, you’re to have a wife?” Harry asked after a moment. Sirius nodded. “I assume it’s one of your Vassals?”

“Actually, it’s not.” Arcturus chuckled. “A betrothal contract between our House Black and House Bones has been finalised.”

“Bones?” Harry asked incredulously. The Bones and the Blacks had never gotten along – in fact, Harry recalled reading a number of times when the two houses had nearly gone to war with one another.

“I knew Amelia at school, and we were… close. During the war, we drifted apart and after, well… My entire focus was on you, pup.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “Sirius, we really need to talk about you and your penchant for putting your life on hold for me.”

Sirius managed a weak grin and squeezed his hand gently. “Aye, that’s the understatement of the decade.” Remus chuckled, and Harry grinned.

“So, I assume I’ll meet her over the holiday?” Harry asked after a brief pause.

“Aye – I suspect she’ll likely be bringing her niece, Susan, with her to stay at Blackwall.” Arcturus replied with a smile.

“Does that bother you, Harry?” Sirius asked quietly.

“Of course, it doesn’t! I want you to be happy, Sirius.”

“Now, there are a few consequences of the betrothal, Harry.” Arcturus said as he sat on the edge of his bed and squeezed his shoulder a little.

“Our alliances are gaining the attention from our opposition. This is something I’ve lectured you on well enough over the years. More attention will be placed on you – you’re the key to it all, Harry. Not to mention the smear campaigns we’ll likely have to endure in the coming months.” Arcturus sighed tiredly.

“House Bones are an old and well-respected family. By tying Amelia to our house, we gain trade agreements, some land deals and not to mention the allegiance of the Head of the D.M.L.E. We’ll have access to a powerful voice within the Ministry of Magic. It also helps that she’ll make something of Sirius.” The Black patriarch winked playfully.

“House Black are the sworn Vassals of House Potter. We already have close ties with House Longbottom and House Greengrass – by bringing House Bones into the fold, we’ll have a strong support base for anything you wish to do in the Wizengamot once you come of age.” Arcturus smiled at him.

“Until such a time, Sirius will continue to act as your regent – if you have anything you wish us to take before them, simply let us know and we can discuss it and work out the best course of action.”

Harry nodded at the man and fought the urge to chew on his lower lip. It was an awful lot of responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders, and a part of him would always second guess and doubt whether he was up to it. At the very least, he would try and make his parents, and his Black family, proud.

“Yes, Arcturus.” He murmured.

“We’re only an owl, or a Floo call, Harry.” Remus smiled at him, his hands behind his back. Harry smiled in return – they were also just a single word away if he used Clara.

As if sensing his thoughts, Clara shifted next to his head and pinned him with an exasperated look with her dark eyes. He scratched her under the chin a little.

“Well, I would think that we should take our leave. Sirius here has a week’s worth of work to catch up on after he sat by your bed.” Arcturus chuckled, gently cupping Harry’s cheek as he stood. “We’re very glad you’re okay, Harry.” In a rare display of affection, Harry watched stunned as Arcturus bent forward and kissed him on his brow.

Remus was next, wrapping an arm around him as best he could and pressed a kiss into his tangled mass of hair. “We’re all so very proud of you, Harry. Just don’t go scaring us like that again, hm?”

“I solemnly swear I’ll not go looking for Mountain Trolls, Moony.”

“That’s our boy.” Remus grinned, patting him on the shoulder as he pulled away.

Sirius was last, holding him for the longest time. “I’m so very, very proud of you Harry. Your parents would be too.”

The two of them were quiet for a moment, simply content to hold each other and quietly sniff and blink away the tears that threatened to run down their cheeks. Sirius pulled back and cleared his throat. “Now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sirius began, before he paused and frowned. “And don’t do anything I would do.” He added, causing Harry to chuckle. “Although, I suppose there are some things I’d say you should do.” He finished with a wink.

Sirius swept him up in another quick hug. “Also, make sure to tease Daphne about that hug mercilessly.”

“Do you want me to end up back in here?” Harry gasped, already imagining all the ways Daphne would exact her revenge. She was ruthless.

“Good point, but if she takes you down, make sure you take her down with you. Marauder Rule number thirteen.”

“Yes Padfoot.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“That’s my boy. We’ll see you at your Quidditch game.” His Godfather added, and Harry noticed him shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously.

“Sirius?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Get going.” He chuckled, playfully shoving the older man in the direction of the door. Sirius grinned as he moved towards Arcturus and Remus. It wasn’t long until he was left in the care of his two familiars.

He looked at them both warily before he sighed. “Okay, which of you wants to berate me first?”

He was to be released into Neville and Hermione’s care by Madame Pomfrey shortly after the dinner hour, so as to avoid all of the hustle and bustle of the castle. The Healer had provided him with a loose tunic, a pair of his black breeches and his usual boots for him to get changed into behind a partition.

It had been a slow process, having really not moved for the last two weeks. His joints ached, and his muscles burned but, at the very least, he had been kept clean and otherwise healthy as he recovered in his deep slumber.

He had sported one or two tiny scratches and cuts – tiny little things that didn’t even draw any blood, as Clara and Hedwig had nipped and scratched at him for getting himself injured. While they were both very careful normally, both aware of their sharp beaks and talons, that care seemed a distant thought once they were alone.

Hedwig had danced all over his stomach, while Clara had her way with his shoulders. He couldn’t fault them – no doubt they weren’t allowed into the Medical Wing until he had woken up, and even then it was likely a near thing. It wasn’t often that animals were allowed in a hospital environment – no doubt he’d be hearing from Madame Pomfrey at some point if she found any feathers.

The day had long since faded into night, and he sat on the side of his bed by the open window as he was fussed over by a much calmer Hedwig and Clara. When the doors finally opened, revealing his two fellow Gryffindors, Harry grinned. With a gentle push to both birds, he shooed them out of the window and hopped down from the bed, wincing a little as his knees buckled under his weight for a moment.

“Ready to get out of here, Harry?” Neville asked as he stepped up to him and wrapped him in a quick hug. Hermione smiled shyly at him.

“More than ready.” He replied excitedly, returning the hug.

“Come one then, Hermione, you take his other arm.” His best friend ordered, throwing Harry’s left arm over his shoulders, while Hermione ducked under his right. He frowned as he looked between the two of them.

“One of you mind explaining what’s going on?”

“Madame Pomfrey said you’ll feel exhausted by the time we get to the end of the first corridor after being on your arse-” Neville began.

“Language.” Hermione interrupted with a huff.

“- for the last two weeks. Atromphy or something.”

“Atrophy.” Hermione muttered from his right.

Harry looked between the two of them and noted the easy way they acted around one another with a raised eyebrow. Neville caught his look and chuckled.

“We took shifts sitting with you and did a fair bit of talking between the five of us over those two weeks.” Neville grinned. “Hermione and I get on like two peas in a pod.”

There was a small snort to his right, and Harry chuckled a little at his friend’s expense.

They continued through the castle in a comfortable silence. Harry did his best to support his own weight when he could – particularly on the stairs, but soon found himself exhausted and leaning against the wall.

“Come on, Harry. Just a little further.” Neville wheezed – he was doubled over with his hands on his knees. Hermione, by all accounts, seemed utterly unfazed. He fought the urge to scowl at the girl who was leaning casually against the bannister.

“I just… need a minute.” Harry groaned, grimacing when his words came out in an almost pitiful whine.

“Honestly, I simply can’t understand how you two are so out of shape.” Hermione sighed, folding her arms over her chest and crinkling her nose.

“Seriously?” Harry asked, gesturing to himself with a free hand.

“Okay, I can understand you, Harry – but Neville, I mean, really.”

“Hey!” Neville grouched, looking up briefly. “I’m carrying me and half of him!”

“And I’m not?” Hermione retorted with an arched brow. Neville cringed a little. “I thought so.”

“Alright, I think I’m ready to go again.” Harry sighed, pulling himself to his full height. He took a few tentative steps forward, his legs still shaky, before Neville and Hermione ducked under his arms once again. It was an odd position, with Neville being slightly taller than himself, while Hermione was just that little bit shorter.

The rest of the staircases went fairly quickly after that – the three of them more determined than ever to make it back to Gryffindor without any more stops. Harry felt the droplets of sweat that ran down the back of his neck and noted that the collar of his tunic was much darker than that of the rest of the material. He grimaced.

Hermione had a flush to her cheeks, and her breathing was much more laboured than it had been earlier, while Neville looked no better than he felt. As much as he loved Gryffindor, why couldn’t they have been on the ground floor?

The Fat Lady had watched their approach with an amused expression on her pale features. “I trust you have learned your lesson, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, yes, no more Mountain Trolls – just open the bloody door, I’m about ready to drop.” Harry grouched, his limbs trembling. He hadn’t felt this exhausted ever since he had begun his training.

The Fat Lady made a noise of protest before asking for the password.

“Sensibilities.” Neville replied, his shoulders lowering a little in relief as the portrait swung open and they could see the Common Room. “Thank Merlin.” He muttered, stepping through the hole first and taking the majority of Harry’s weight as he followed him through.

“Harry, please don’t forget to take that potion Pomfrey gave you before bed. I couldn’t do this again.”

“Neither could I.” Harry agreed as they waited for Hermione to follow them through the doorway – the portrait closing softly behind her with an audible click.

“Let’s get you to one of the couches, Harry.” Hermione said softly, guiding himself and Neville into the main area – only it wasn’t empty as it had first seemed.

“If it isn’t the mighty Slayer of Trolls!”

“The Rescuer of Damsels!”

“The one!”

“The only!”

“Harry Potter!”

Harry groaned at the sound of the Weasley twins before the entire room erupted into a cheer. From somewhere in the back of the gathering of students, there was a loud pop as colourful streamers shot through the air.

The noise of his house cheering for him was enough to shake the portraits on the wall as the three of them stood there. Harry tried not to grimace, while it seemed Neville and Hermione were shocked into silence.

There were a trio of stamped beats on the floor before a chorus of voices shouted, “Potter!” It continued in that rhythm for a few moments, with the twins themselves even getting up on a table to lead the chant.

Neville snapped out of the daze first and began tugging him to one of the many armchairs in the room. Students from all the years patted him on the back or the shoulder, offering him their congratulations, until he almost fell into the chair as his legs gave out.

He groaned as his body was almost swallowed by the plush crimson cushions and allowed himself to close his eyes for just a moment. There wasn’t a chance he was forgetting that potion tonight. Madame Pomfrey had sent it ahead of him to be placed next to his bed – it was a simple concoction to reverse the effect of atrophy, apparently, but was required to be taken before going to bed as it induced a deep sleep as it rebuilt muscle tissue.

Harry opened his eyes slowly to see the entire Common Room looking at him expectantly. “What?” He blinked.

“What, he says, Fred.”

“I know, George – the humility of the Potters lives on in little Harry.”

“Stop!” Harry exclaimed, resting his head in his hands. “I could really do without the headache tonight.”

The twins blinked before they looked at each other and grinned. “Okay, Harry.” They said in unison. He didn’t know what was worse, the back and forth they did, or them speaking in unison.

“So, how long until you can hop on that broom that was brought up earlier?” Oliver Wood asked. Harry looked to his Quidditch Captain with exasperation clear on his face.

“I would assume when Pomfrey clears me when I go for my check-up in a few days.”

“A few days?” Wood gasped, his face paling. “But we need to practice now!”

“Leave off it, Wood – let Harry rest up.” Alicia Spinnet, one of the team’s Chasers said, lightly cuffing Wood over the back of the head. Oliver grumbled to himself as he wandered towards one of the side tables.

Oliver Wood had quickly shown himself to be a fanatical Quidditch player after the two of them had been introduced. It had all happened after a strange set of events, if truth be told. It had been right after their first flying lesson with Madame Hooch, and a bushy haired Hufflepuff boy had lost control of his broom.

The boy had been sent flying around the courtyard, as the broom had zipped this way and that. More than once, Harry had found himself buried under Neville’s weight as the two of them had leapt in the same direction. The boy, whose name Harry had never learned, had eventually been thrown from the handle and had broken his wrist and dislocated his shoulder.

Once Madame Hooch had rushed the boy to the care of Madame Pomfrey, Draco Malfoy had gotten it into his head to take the boy’s wand and hide it on the roof. Harry had torn off after him, having grown up flying a broom around Blackwall. It seemed that the Malfoy heir had also had some experience, as the two of them had zipped beneath archways and around towers until Draco had tried to throw the wand away from him.

Harry had sped past the blonde Slytherin and had to fight the urge to kick the boy from his broom as he did. He hadn’t known if it were intentional or not, but the Slytherin had aimed the wand at a nearby window. Harry had barely managed to catch the Hufflepuffs wand before it collided with the glass – no doubt it would have snapped or broken the glass.

Harry had returned to the ground to the cheers of his fellow classmates, while Malfoy had sulkily landed within his small crowd of Slytherin sycophants. The sharp voice of McGonagall had put a halt to the celebrating of the children, and he had turned to his Head of House with a wince.

She had led him through the corridors without saying a word until they had arrived at a large archway that led into a cavernous room filled with display cases. She had taken him before one in particular, and his eyes had zeroed in on the name engraved on the golden pin.

James Charlus Potter, Chaser.

He knew his father had been on the team, but he hadn’t yet had the time to seek out the trophy room to look for his father’s name. McGonagall’s offer of the position of Seeker on the Gryffindor team had come as a complete surprise. He had accepted on the spot. The Deputy Headmistress had put a hand on his back as she guided him further into the castle, at which point she had introduced him to Oliver Wood, who had been only too thrilled to have him on the team. Apparently finding a good Seeker was difficult.

Harry had been introduced properly to the rest of the team a week later at their first practice session. It was there that he had met the three Chasers: Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet. All seemed friendly enough, and Harry had discovered just how fanatical Wood was when it came to training – after all, Wood had told him to get the Snitch or die trying.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Angelina asked, her voice soft even amongst the boisterous noise of the Common Room.

“Tired.” Harry grumbled, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

“Why don’t you get to bed, Harry? You look like you could do with a decent night.” Katie smiled as she poked his arm.

“I’ve been asleep for two weeks; I think that’s more than enough reason to stay awake.”

Hermione snorted, “That’s a weak excuse and you know it. If you don’t get off to bed this instant, I’ll have no other choice than to set the twins on you.”

He glared at his newest friend. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Harry, I don’t think she’s bluffing.” Neville chimed in from the arm he was perched on. Harry watched as Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously before she began to turn towards the twins.

“Alright, alright, I’m bloody going.” Harry grumbled, weakly pushing himself from the chair. Neville stood with him as he threw Harry’s arm over his shoulder.

Hermione turned to look at him smugly. “Excellent. Remember to drink that potion, Harry.” She nodded before leading the way to across the room where their two staircases split from the Common Room. “I look forward to seeing you in class tomorrow.” She smiled before hurrying up the stairs.

Neville sighed from his side as the two of them turned to look at the staircase ahead of them. “Alright Harry, one more set of stairs and we can both sleep like the dead.”

“I’ll be happy if I never have to see another staircase again.” Harry groaned as they began their ascent.

“Should’ve been sorted into Hufflepuff. I’ve been telling you this since we were six. Did you listen to me? No, you didn’t.”

“Hey, I listen!” Harry shot back, wincing as his legs began to tremble half-way up.

“Of course you do, Harry. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Neville grunted.

“You’re an arse when you’re tired. Definitely not Hufflepuff material.”

“And you’re a dead weight, what’s your point?”

“Bite me, Longbottom.”

“Shove it, Potter.” Neville snickered as they reached their door, both panting from the effort. “Come on, let’s get you to your bed before Clara torches the tower.”

“She wouldn’t dare – she enjoys the snacks people bring her too much.” Harry scoffed as they entered their small shared room of tables and chairs. Neville half carried; half dragged him to his door.

The two of them practically fell through the wooden door as it opened, stumbling the few steps to Harry’s bed, where Neville threw him as best he could atop his sheets. Clara squawked from her golden perch, and Hedwig barked from her seat on the window ledge. He turned a questioning look to his best friend, who shrugged.

“We thought she’d prefer it in here rather than the Owlery. You know how fussy she can get.”

Harry scoffed as he shuffled back against his pillows. “That’s an understatement.” Harry turned his head a little to look at his bedside table. His wand sat atop the large piece of folded parchment right next to a brown-grey liquid that sloshed back and forth slowly within a small vial.

“That looks disgusting.” Harry grimaced, wrinkling his nose at the thought of having to suffer through it.

“Disgusting it may be, but I swear, if I have to carry you tomorrow, I’ll put you back in the Medical Wing myself.” Neville groaned, having doubled over to rest his hands on his knees. “Merlin, Harry – I can’t do that again.”

“Oh, quit your whining, I’ll drink the damn potion.”

“I’m going to watch you do it, Potter.” Neville warned, pointing a finger in his direction.

“You don’t trust me? Of all people?” Harry asked, clutching at his heart.

Neville rolled his eyes, “I trust you – I just don’t trust Granger not to skin me alive if you forget. I’m acting out of self-preservation.”

“Coward.” Harry muttered, reaching over and clasping the glass vial in his palm. He pulled the cork free with a pop and threw the contents into his mouth, slamming his eyes shut and screwing up his face at the foul taste. “That’s vile!” He choked out between coughs.

“And that’s my job done – you can take your own bloody boots off, Harry.” Neville laughed as he began to head towards the door.

Either that potion was working quicker than he expected, or he was far more exhausted than he had first realised. By the time he heard the door to his room click shut, Harry found himself falling into a pleasant, dreamless slumber.

Chapter 14: Harry VIII

Chapter Text

The rhythmic thumping of feet on the wood above his head shook small clouds of dust loose as they marched in unison along the walkway. Harry licked his lips as he clutched at his broom in his right hand. He looked to his left to see Angelina, who gave him a reassuring smile.

They were all dressed in their respective armours, with the bright red coats of Gryffindor over them. Harry couldn’t help but notice that they appeared as if they were marching off to war.

The last week had progressed quickly. Once he had been given the all-clear by Madame Pomfrey, Oliver had wasted no time in dragging the team down to the pitch almost every night – his excuse being that Slytherin had likely taken advantage of the extra time to prepare for the match while Harry had been bed-bound.

The Captain had been ruthless in his drills, and Harry had often thanked the fact he had grown up riding a broom when Oliver would inevitably call it a day. Each night after practice, he would stumble up the stairs, utterly exhausted, before collapsing into his bed.

He took a deep breath as the chanting above became a little louder. He had played the occasional game with Sirius as he had grown up – his Godfather having played alongside his father in the Gryffindor team as a Chaser. He had developed a love for flying as the years went on, relishing in the freedom of riding a broom. In later years, once he had bonded with Clara, he and his Phoenix would often dance around one another in the sky above Blackwall on clear days.

There was little that could compare with the feeling of the wind in his hair or performing a successful manoeuvre. Perhaps he would get the chance to try some today? If he didn’t choke in front of the entire student body and the guests that had come to the castle to watch.

He had caught a brief glimpse of Arcturus, Sirius and Remus as they had arrived for the match, but in the hustle and bustle of a morning before a match, he hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to them. He’d seek them out after the match.

They all came to a stop before a small flap that gently wafted in the breeze. Oliver was in front of them all, with Harry and Angelina behind him, then George and Alicia and finally Fred and Katie.

“Nervous, Harry?” Oliver asked over his shoulder.

Harry nodded a little and licked his lips, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “A little.”

“That’s alright. I felt the same way before my first game.”

That made Harry feel a little better. “What happened?”

“Uh,” Oliver winced, turning back to look ahead. “I don’t really remember. I took a Bludger to the head two minutes in. Woke up in the hospital a week later.”

Harry gulped, his spirits plummeting into his boots. “Excellent. Really rousing speech there, Wood.”

The team chuckled at their Captain’s expense and Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“Remember Harry,” Fred – at least he thought it was Fred, began.

“Catch the Snitch or die trying!” George shouted; his voice deepened in an attempt to mimic Oliver. The girls snickered, while Oliver didn’t appear to have heard the twins’ joking.

“You’ll do just fine, Harry.” Katie added. He felt himself nod – he wasn’t entirely sure if he believed her, but he appreciated the thought.

“Just remember not to end up in a hospital bed.” Alicia grinned, punching him lightly in the shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes.

“That’s the last place I want to go back to.”

A voice called out about the muted cheers above them, “Please welcome to the field… Gryffindor!”

The voices above them went wild, and Harry scrunched his nose as some dust fell in front of his face and tickled it.

The team all held their brooms in front of them as they swung a leg over the handles. Harry was immensely glad for the cup he was required to wear – with all the flying he was likely to do, there was a very real threat of rupturing something.

As one, they left the walkway one at a time and the cheers became much clearer. It was an enormous racket, he couldn’t help but grin and revel in the noise. There was an energy about the place that simply went beyond his understanding – the air felt alive and crackled with an anxious energy.

Harry flew in formation as the team circled the large wooden stadium, taking in the sights of all the students at Hogwarts lining the pitch on tall walkways, while large towers stretched high into the sky for those who were visiting. Each quarter of the stadium was draped in the colours and sigils of the four houses.

His eyes sought the Gryffindor stands as they passed, and for a moment he could make out Neville cheering him on with the most enthusiasm – although Hagrid seemed to be a close second. Hermione looked torn between pained and excited.

They weaved around the Slytherin team who were evenly spaced out on their side of the pitch, sitting idly on their brooms with their arms folded and looking down-right bored.

“Go on, Harry!” Wood called from ahead of him, and Harry grinned.

Harry broke off from the formation and steered his broom in a lazy one-eighty as he took off towards the Gryffindor section. As he approached, he tightened his thighs around the handle and allowed himself to tip to the side. He grinned as he flew lazily past the stands with an arm extended, gently slapping his hands against those of his fellow house-mates as they cheered louder.

“Go, go, Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go, Gryffindor!” They chanted in unison, stomping their feet to the beat, waving red and yellow scarves in the air.

With a twist, Harry was once more upright on his broom and he took his position on the Gryffindor side of the pitch above the rest of the team.

“Hello, and welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season! Today’s game: Slytherin versus Gryffindor!”

Cheers erupted around the field as Harry watched from above as Madame Hooch walked out into the centre of the field in her black robes, trimmed in white. A broom and a large trunk were already in the middle of the field, awaiting her arrival.

As she came to stand below them, she summoned her broom to her right hand and levelled a steely glare at all assembled players. “Now I want a nice clean game. From all of you!” She ordered. There were nods from both sides before she kicked the trunk open.

The lid sprang back, and both Bludgers shot into the sky so quickly, Harry felt his broom rock back and forth. A smaller, golden ball barely half the size of his palm flittered up far more erratically – the Golden Snitch. He blinked, and it was gone.

Madame Hooch bent over to pick up the remaining ball – it was larger than the others and had large chunks missing from it. The Quaffle. With a mighty heave, Madame Hooch launched the ball into the air, each player following it with their eyes.

As it began to fall, the two teams launched towards the ball – the game was on!

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –“ Lee Jordan, a close friend of the Weasley twins began, his voice echoing across the pitch.

Harry ducked under a Slytherin Chaser that was closing in on Angelina.

“Jordan!” McGonagall’s voice snapped.

“Sorry, Professor.”

Harry pulled back on his handle and shot up from under the Slytherin, forcing the dark-haired boy to swerve out of the way – he’d bought Angelina a little time, but it wasn’t much.

He was about to make a move on another Chaser when he heard the familiar whistle of a Bludger on his left. He dropped his broom a few metres, not risking a glance as to where he had been. His eyes searched the field for a moment before he took off.

He raced across the field, ducking, and weaving around players as he made his way over to the Slytherin goal posts. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the three Chasers passed the ball between themselves, only for a Slytherin to intercept at the last moment.

Harry grimaced and tilted his body a little. Until he could spot the Snitch, it was his job to help out the team and run interference. He pointed his broom at the lone Slytherin Chaser, noting that his team-mates were pre-occupied avoiding Bludgers – the Weasley boys were in fine form.

Harry ignored the on-going commentary for the match as he narrowed his eyes at his target. The Chaser was leaning forward on his broom with the Quaffle under one arm and a grin on his face. Time slowed as he drew near – he could see each individual ripple in the thin green coat of the Slytherin player. He had to time this perfectly.

As he cut diagonally in front of the player, he kicked out with his right foot and punted the Quaffle up into the air. Harry wrapped himself tightly around the handle and stretched out a hand – and caught it!

The stadium erupted in noise as time felt normal again.

“Potter has the Quaffle! A magnificent steal from Flint!”

Harry lurched his broom over a Bludger and threw the ball back to Angelina with a grin.

“Johnson has the Quaffle, and a clear pitch ahead of her!” Lee called out, the excitement in his voice palpable. “Johnson takes the shot – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – Gryffindor Score!”

“Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor!”

Harry pumped his fist as he circled around and clapped Angelina’s hand as he passed.

The game continued on, with Gryffindor pulling ahead in points, though Slytherin managed to get their first goal past Oliver when he had to duck under a Bludger. The Gryffindor crowd booed their displeasure – even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were shouting their protests at the Slytherin stands.

His thoughts idly turned to his two Slytherin friends – who would Daphne and Tracey be cheering on? He wouldn’t blame them for cheering on their own house, but he would be quite smug if they beat the snakes.

Harry patrolled high above the match, watching as players zipped this way and that, the colours of their coats the only distinguishing feature between them. It wasn’t an overly bright day, with it being the tail-end of November, and the air was chilly and had a sharp bite to it. No doubt he’d have frostbite by now, if not for the runes and charms woven into the broom beneath him.

He winced as he saw Katie catch a Bludger to the back end of her broom, spinning her wildly into the grassy pitch beneath them. After a moment of shaking her head, her dark braid whipping back and forth a little, she was mounted on her broom once more and streaking through the air.

He watched as a Slytherin grabbed the Quaffle and took a shot at the goal, only to be denied by Wood. The Slytherin hovered there a moment before streaking across the field – had Oliver said something?

Harry took off through the air once again, aiming for a pair of Slytherin Chasers who were passing the ball between themselves. He flew between them with such speed that they appeared to simply be blurs, though as he looked over his shoulder, he was proud to see that his distraction had allowed Alicia to intercept a panicked pass.

He was turning his broom in a lazy turn when it stopped suddenly and began to buck wildly from side to side, back to front, up and down. Harry held on for dear life, very aware of the large drop should he lose his grip.

He wasn’t sure for how long he managed to hold on for, but at some point, the back of the broom bucked so violently, that Harry was tossed into the air. Luckily, his grip on the handle was so tight, he managed to hang on.

His legs swung back and forth and side to side as his broom attempted to shake him off. The wind wasn’t doing him any favours. All around him, the game continued on as if nothing were amiss. He grimaced and tried to swing himself up onto the handle, but the broom was bucking too wildly to do it.

Eventually, thankfully, the broom stilled. He eyed it warily before swinging his legs back and forth. He grimaced as he swung himself up, his arms burning from the effort. He took off immediately but wasn’t quick enough to help Oliver intercept the Slytherin Chasers, who managed to score another point.

Cautiously, Harry removed one hand from the handle, wincing as he flexed it, then repeated the action with the other – they had become sore and stiff as he held on for dear life above the field. If it weren’t for his leather, fingerless gloves, he was positive his hands would be red and blistered, despite the smooth varnished finish of the handle.

With what little feeling he could recover in his hands, he tore off across the pitch, swooping past a Slytherin Beater. The Beater panicked and crashed into one of the nearby stands as she lost control of her broom.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A little glint of gold just behind the Hufflepuff benches. He tore off towards it, his eyes refusing to give up the glimpse they had caught.

It seemed the students in the stands were completely oblivious to the ball hovering just behind them, and some called out in surprise when they saw him hurtling toward them. Just a few metres from the Snitch, the tiny winged ball darted out of the way and began leading him on a chase around the pitch.

It stayed low for the most part, flittering just a metre above the grass before it suddenly sky-rocketed upwards. A powerful shunt to his side revealed the mousy-haired Seeker from Slytherin who grinned challengingly at him. Harry grinned back and tore off into the sky, his opponent not far behind.

As they reached the peak of the towering stalls, the Snitch dropped back down to the floor, whizzing past his ear as it did so. He cursed himself for not reaching out and snatching it. The tell-tale whistle of a Bludger racing towards him reached his ear.

His Slytherin counterpart pulled back on his broom, performing a tight flip as he chased after the Snitch. Harry caught sight of the Bludger rapidly closing in on him, and he had nowhere to go in time. He grimaced as he brought his feet up onto the broom beneath him – Sirius would either kill him or applaud his decision – maybe both. Just as the Bludger was about to collide with his ribs, Harry pushed off with his feet, and hauled himself up and over, putting all of his weight on his hands and forcing his legs up and over his head.

The Bludger shot through where his body had been, and he used the momentum of his body falling back to the broom to twist it around. He landed cleanly on the wood, silently thanked his cup, and took off. The distraction provided by the Bludger had given the Slytherin Seeker a few seconds advantage.

The air whipped around him as he charged after the Snitch – the scores were so close, whichever of them caught the golden ball would decide the game. The pressure was on.

He caught sight of the Snitch darting to the left – this was his chance! He cut left just before the Slytherin had a chance and closed the gap. The two of them were side-to-side again, lightly jostling one another back and forth with their shoulders.

The Snitch levelled out for a few seconds before plummeting once more – the two of them followed relentlessly. Harry narrowed his eyes at the ball, ignoring his fellow Seeker. The ground came closer and closer. Any moment now.

The Seeker next to him pulled out of the dive a dozen metres above the ground, and Harry pulled out the second the Snitch did, the bristles of his broom rustling the grass. Harry tightened himself around the broomstick, willing it to go a little faster – he could almost reach it!

He stretched out his right hand, his fingertips just grazing it. He looked below him with an idea forming in his mind. It was a desperate shot, but it could work – he was only two metres up, though that distance was slowly increasing as they travelled towards the Gryffindor hoops.

He pulled his feet up underneath him once more and took a steadying breath.

Now!

He leapt forward, his broom dropping to the floor beneath him from the force of his kick as he dove at the Snitch. His right hand clasped around it as he saw the grass coming up to meet him.

He rolled as he landed, his legs flailing as he tried to use his arms to protect his head. It was easy to forget all the way up in the air, but the grass was solid – particularly with the cold chill in the air. He groaned as he came to a stop and stared up at the sky.

“Not one of my best ideas.” He moaned to himself, wincing as he sat up slowly. He couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face as he held the Snitch up in the air. All around him the game came to a halt as the stadium erupted in applause.

“Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!”

The cheers rocked the stadium as he got to his feet, stumbling a little as he did so. His team-mates landed next to him, throwing their brooms onto the pitch as they swept him up in a hug – the twins throwing him up on their shoulders the moment he was free.

Above him, the Slytherin’s looked on with pouts and scowls from their brooms. Their Seeker caught his eye and gave him a small grin and a nod. Harry nodded in return before the thundering feet of the students rumbled across the field.

Harry twisted around to see Gryffindor leading the charge across the pitch, with Neville in the lead. The twins lowered Harry to the floor and took a quick step back as his best friend collided with him, throwing the two of them to the floor, laughing.

“Harry, you won!” Neville yelled above the cheering, laughing as the two of them scrambled to their feet.

“Let’s see it, Harry!” One of the first years shouted – Lavender Brown.

Harry held the Snitch above his head, grinning as the cheers became louder. By this point, Harry could make out the scarves of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and even a few Slytherins. The teachers were slowly making their way across the field.

“Harry Potter!”

Harry cringed as the shrill voice cut through the air. As one, every student around him took a step away. Harry scowled at them all. Cowards.

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey?” He asked, grimacing. The Healer was hurrying through the crowd, evidently having made her way over the second she was able.

“Are you trying to end up in my care again?” She snapped as she waved her wand over him once she had pushed her way to the front.

“Uh…” He tried, only to be cut off by the irate Healer.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck, Mr. Potter! You’re lucky I don’t suspend you from the team for reckless behaviour.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad-“ Oliver began, only to silence himself as she directed her glare to him instead. Well, it was the thought that counted.

“Madame Pomfrey, I trust young Mr. Potter is in good health?” Dumbledore asked as he stepped through the crowd of students, peering over his half-moon glasses at the Healer.

The woman huffed and angrily shoved her wand into her apron. “Indeed, though I would advise him not to repeat such a foolish thing again!”

“Yes Madame Pomfrey.” He muttered, ignoring the playful knocks to his shoulders from the twins behind him.

“Now, may I suggest we all return to the Great Hall? I believe we’re all quite cold.” Dumbledore called out, shooing the students towards the exits of the pitch.

“Players, return to your changing rooms before you leave the pitch. Stow your brooms and armour away.” Madame Hooch called out from above, the spiky-haired woman still perched atop her broom.

Many among both teams groaned audibly at that, and Harry could imagine there were a fair few on both teams that were tired and sore. Even as he was handed his broom by Tracey – who had appeared out of nowhere with it in hand, he could start to feel the aches in his body.

His thighs were the worst, followed quickly by his arms and shoulders. He’d be taking a long shower before he got into bed. Until then, he would have to make do with the quick rinse in the changing room.

The crowd dissipated quickly, with the two teams returning to their changing rooms. The changing rooms were located underneath the Quidditch pitch, in a short set of tunnels with moderate sized rooms for male and female players, with each house having their own rooms.

Harry had thought that the smooth stone walls and the echoing drip-drip from the showers had been eerie and suffocating before the match, but now it was a welcome change from the open air and screaming crowds.

The tunnels had a musky smell to them that was an odd combination of sweat, leather and broom polish. It was a strange combination to be sure, but it was pleasant. He breathed deeply as he was led into the male changing room while Fred and George bantered back and forth about their best plays throughout the match.

There were sixteen lockers set above wooden benches in the room, each in the deep crimson of Gryffindor with golden hinges and handles. How many players had used this room over the years? How many times had his father and Sirius bantered back and forth as they got ready for a match, or returned from one?

Harry hadn’t had time to really consider it before the match, having been caught up in the terror of his first match. In a way, he felt like he was walking in his father’s footsteps – using the same bed, joining the Quidditch team… It made him feel closer to him.

He grimaced as he pulled the coat from his back, seeing the large letters across the shoulders that proudly displayed his name in gold. It was covered in grass stains and smears of soil – luckily the weather had been clear for the last few days. He dreaded to think what he would have looked like if the weather had turned.

He dumped it unceremoniously on the bench as he began peeling the armour off of himself. It pulled away with a sickening squelch, and for the first time he realised just how wet-through with sweat he was. The odour assaulted his nose next, and he forced himself not to gag. That shower couldn’t come quick enough.

Harry pulled out a change of clothes and his towel before rushing towards the stall. The twins already occupied one each a little further down the way, singing some jaunty tune he didn’t recognise. He went through his shower routine quickly, before drying himself with a towel and hurriedly pulling on his clothes.

It was with a contented sigh that he stepped from the cubicle and moved back to his locker. He had stored his wand inside it before the match, along with the holster. As it was a weekend, he hadn’t bothered to wear his uniform – instead, he opted for the large leather doublet that hung down to his mid-thigh with the prowling wolf of Potter on his breast. It was long sleeved, comfortable and warded off the chill.

He had noticed a that the children from families that were far more progressive, such as the Weasleys, opted to wear wool jumpers with jeans, or some sort of trouser – something the Muggle-born wore. He thought the colours were sometimes a little garish, but the clothing looked fine enough – not to mention it all looked a little easier to put on.

His hands moved automatically, doing up the few ties along his front, before strapping his holster to his wrist. Once it was secure, a flick of his wrist sent the wand into his hand, which he quickly used to dry his hair. Once the wand was holstered once again, it was all neatly tied up at the back of his head.

He sighed happily to himself, feeling much more relaxed than he had when he had entered the changing room, and gathered up his dirty clothes. There were hampers by the door for laundry, and along with the others, he unceremoniously dumped his clothes into one of them.

The others, he’d noticed, were already waiting for him outside the door. He blinked at the sight – he had thought he had been quite quick in getting changed – apparently not.

“There he is, our little Seeker, looking all pretty for his adoring fans.” Alicia grinned. The changing rooms for the fairer sex were located directly opposite their own.

Harry frowned and self-consciously patted his doublet.

“Ignore her, Potter – she’s just jealous that she’s not as pretty.” Katie smirked, elbowing her fellow Chaser in the side with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes as one of the twins threw an arm around his shoulders and began leading him down the corridor. “Little Harry here is the man of the match!”

“Why am I suddenly nervous?” Harry asked, looking between the two boys. They clambered up the steps in pairs.

The air felt fresher than it had when the game had been running, and the sun seemed a little brighter. It wasn’t as overcast as it had been, or perhaps it had entirely been in Harry’s head. He took a moment to breathe deeply of the fresh Scottish air, basking in the smell of pine, and the crisp, cool air.

“Come on Harry, time for your grand entrance!” The other twin grinned at him – he’d stopped trying to tell them apart.

They marched back up to the castle with their shoulders back and their heads held high as they basked in the glow of their victory. As they stepped through the threshold of the main entrance, they could each hear the loud bellowing laughter from the student body as everyone chatted, laughed, and attempted to re-enact parts of the match.

The second the team stepped into the Great Hall, they were met with loud cheers as students rushed them, wanting to congratulate the players in some fashion – each voice clamouring to be heard over the others.

Harry received his fair share of well-wishers, but at every opportunity he could get, he made sure to extoll the virtues of the rest of the team. He hadn’t won the game single-handed, and so he made sure to give credit where credit was due.

It took some time, but eventually he managed to slip from the crowd and made his way to the Gryffindor table, where he spied his small group of friends. As he approached, they all stood excitedly.

A brown missile struck him in the chest, and Harry looked down to see a mass of fuzzy brown hair. Hermione pulled back after a moment and pointed her finger in his face.

“Harry Potter, don’t you dare scare me like that again!”

Harry blinked as he looked to Neville, Daphne, and Tracey, who appeared amused at the whole thing.

“Do what?” He asked dumbly, turning to look at the witch, who looked positively furious.

“That stupid handstand!” She shot back, placing her hands on her hips.

“You’d have preferred I took a Bludger to the ribs?”

“Well, no, but-“

“He’s been wanting to try that move for the longest time.” Neville chuckled, though he quietened when Hermione’s glare turned to him.

“As amusing as all of this is, I’m sure Harry’s ready for a drink.” Daphne smirked, having sat back down on the far side of the bench. Harry mouthed a quiet Thank you to his blue-eyed friend before he took his seat.

The long table was covered in goblets and jugs of various juices. There was a nice chilled jug of apple-juice he spotted before he quickly poured himself a cup. He took a deep pull of it, relishing in the sweet taste on his tongue.

He sighed as he placed the goblet back on the table and took in the bemused expressions of those around him – even Hermione’s initial anger seemed to have given away to a small grin. “What?” He asked. “I was thirsty.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t need to come up for air.” Tracey snigg*red, rolling her eyes.

Harry narrowed his eyes playfully at his Slytherin friend. “You’re just sore Slytherin lost.”

The girl stuck her tongue out at him and scrunched her face a little. Harry chuckled quietly to himself. “We thought we had you when you lost control of your broom.” Daphne said, a single, dark brow raised.

He shrugged, not having given it much thought. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“We do.” Neville said darkly, glancing at Hermione next to him. “We caught Snape-”

“Professor.”

“jinxing your broom.” Neville finished, ignoring Hermione’s correction.

“Jinxing my broom? Why would he do that?” Harry asked, frowning. He peered up towards the head table. None of the staff were seated, instead choosing to mingle with those that had visited the grounds to spectate the match – it was mostly parents of students. He even caught a glimpse of Sirius, who threw him a wink.

“Could be because he didn’t want you to beat the snakes.” Neville shrugged, taking a sip of his own goblet. “Or maybe it had something to do with why he’s been so hard on you in Potions.”

“So, how did you get him to stop the jinx?”

“Oh, Hermione set him on fire.” Neville answered casually with a grin.

“Wait, what?” Harry demanded, eyeing the girl on the far side of Neville who was attempting to appear like the picture of innocence.

“I set his cloak on fire, Neville. It’s two very different things.” She said matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders. Daphne and Tracey were laughing into their goblets across from him.

“Did I take a Bludger to the head when I wasn’t looking?” Harry asked loudly, his head whipping back and forth. He could feel a headache coming on.

“I had to break his concentration.” Hermione replied, sitting a little taller as she rolled her eyes. “Do try to keep up, Harry.”

“I’m dreaming. I’m still in bed, and this is all a dream.” He murmured, rubbing at his temples.

“Honestly, Harry – you should see her when she gets an idea in her head.” Neville murmured around his cup. “Bloody brilliant, she is. Scary, but brilliant.” Neville shuddered a bit.

Harry could only nod as he saw the bushy haired girl in a new light. In the short time they had been friends, he had quickly discovered that she had a very particular worldview. Rules were there for a reason, and those in positions of authority were to be respected – and yet, here she was freely admitting to setting a teacher on fire.

“I for one, commend Hermione, even if it did cost us the game.” Daphne chimed in, raising a goblet in the blushing girl’s direction.

“You’re just sore you owe me five Galleons.” Neville smirked.

“You were betting on me?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Are you really surprised?” Tracey asked, rolling her eyes.

“Not really, but it’s the principle of it.” Harry shrugged, reaching out to grab the jug once more. He hadn’t realised just how thirsty Quidditch made him. “What was the bet?”

Daphne let out an exaggerated sigh, “Neville was sure you would pull some foolhardy stunt to end the game.”

“Privileges of being your best friend, Potter.” Neville chuckled, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I get to throw you in the dirt and make some money on the side.”

“Since when have you ever thrown me in the dirt?”

“We were seven, and I tripped you up when we were fighting with sticks.” Neville grinned proudly, puffing out his chest a little, causing the girls to laugh.

“That doesn’t count!” Harry protested, putting his goblet back on the table after taking another sip. He frowned and poked his friend in the chest. “You used dirty, underhanded tactics – and it was one time!”

“Boys.” He heard Hermione grumble, and caught Daphne and Tracey nodding solemnly at her.

“I think they’re both forgetting the time I threw them both in the dirt.” Daphne smirked, and Harry caught the glint in her eye.

Whatever words were about to be shared between the two best friends, died quickly on their tongues. Both Harry and Neville looked at one another and gave a little shudder. Neither of them enjoyed being on the receiving end of whatever Daphne thought of when she had that look in her eye.

“Good, I hope they learned from the experience.” Hermione sniffed, refilling her own goblet with more juice.

“Oh, we did.” Harry and Neville replied in unison, glaring at the table.

Harry looked up to see Daphne looking rather smug. “We’re both well aware who the boss is around here.” He sighed, wincing as he felt the girl opposite kick him in the shin.

“Harry! Still being pushed around by Daphne, I see!” Sirius bellowed, sliding into the seat next to Harry, a bottle of Butterbeer in his hand.

“Queen Greengrass demanded our fealty on the first day we met. We are naught but loyal Vassals.” Harry announced in a pompous voice, chuckling as Daphne rolled her eyes and Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

“As you should be, pup. Now, how about that game? You did fantastic, Harry!” Sirius gushed, grinning down at him – it was an odd sight, seeing his Godfather grinning down at him while dressed in his leather gambeson and armour.

“You expected anything less from him?” Neville snickered, rolling his eyes as Harry thumped him in the arm.

“True, he was born to fly. Did I ever tell you about the broom I bought him as a baby?”

“You didn’t!” Tracey gasped; her eyes wide. Hermione, likewise, was just as surprised.

“First birthday. He took off giggling and clapping around the house – damn near dive-bombed the cat.” Sirius replied proudly, beaming at the table at large.

“You dive-bombed a cat? The poor thing!” Hermione cried, glaring at Harry.

Harry held his hands up in front of him in an effort to delay the inevitable. “Hey, I was a year old – it was this old dog that’s to blame.”

Neville started snickering, “Is this the time Lily Potter set you on fire?”

“Okay, so the end result wasn’t ideal, but, my point is, is that Harry has been flying a broom almost his entire life.”

“Oh, to have seen Sirius Black with his arse on fire.” Daphne smirked around her goblet.

Sirius looked at her, about to say something, before he closed his mouth and looked at Harry instead. “I’m beginning to understand why you say she’s scary.”

Both Neville and Harry joined Sirius in shuddering in fear at the look Daphne shot them. “I call it survival instincts.” Neville muttered. “Anybody stupid enough to anger Daphne is looking to get killed.”

“I could take offence to that, Longbottom.” Daphne replied quietly, her eyes narrowed at the Longbottom heir.

Neville shrugged, “Take it however you want – doesn’t make it any less true.” He chuckled, wincing with a jolt. Harry was thankful he wouldn’t be the only one with bruised shins.

“Now, Harry – tell me about that handstand you did.” Sirius said, taking a swig of his Butterbeer.

“It was awful.” Hermione muttered, glaring at her goblet on the far side of Neville.

Harry shrugged as he leaned back a little, Sirius having finally released him. “I’ve been doing it ever since I started flying with Clara. She likes to try to plough into me – it’s her way of playing, I suppose.”

“Clara’s such an interesting bird – nothing like I expected a Phoenix to be.” Tracey grinned.

“It was as much a surprise to us, as it was to Harry.” Neville chuckled, gesturing to himself and Daphne. “You should see Hedwig and Clara when they start competing for his attention. It’s ridiculous.”

“Has she singed Hedwig yet?” Sirius asked with a grin. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not yet – she knows I’ll stick her in the Owlery if she does that. Although, Hedwig’s getting a little braver – I’ve never seen an owl with so much attitude.”

“They’ll settle eventually.” Sirius sighed, his eyes darting to the head table.

Harry followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of Arcturus talking with Professor McGonagall. “Where’s Remus?” He asked, not spotting the man.

“He had to rush off, I’m afraid. The Wards triggered on Blackwall halfway through the match – nothing threatening, mind you – just someone requesting access.”

“You have Wards on… Blackwall, is it?” Hermione asked, leaning around Neville.

“Aye, we do. Most families have protective Wards around their ancestral homes and properties. Some Wards function as defences, other’s alarms, that kind of thing.” Sirius answered with a smile.

“And Blackwall is your home?”

“That’s right – Backwall Manor is the ancestral home of House Black, in Nottinghamshire.”

“That’s fascinating.” Hermione sighed, before she looked at Harry. “Do you have something similar? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just I read that House Potter were a powerful family, and I thought it stood to reason you might have something similar, and-“

Harry chuckled as she began babbling. “I do – it’s on an island just off the coast of Wales. Rosestone Castle.”

Hermione blinked, “An actual castle? Not one of those Edwardian Estates that call themselves castles?”

“Aye, a proper one – it was built in five-eighty-nine, so it’s good and proper.”

“Wow.” She breathed. “Could I see it one day?”

“Of course.” He smiled, before nodding towards Neville. “Neville has one too – Long Valley Keep, in Lancashire.”

“That’s right – the Potters and the Longbottom’s are old families. There aren’t many of us left.”

“More than you’d think.” Harry muttered, earning a flick to his temple from Sirius. Of course, Harry couldn’t mention anything of House Trevelyan, and the hundreds of old families from their visits to the Capitol.

“Fascinating. I’ll have to see if the Library has anything on the subject.” Hermione grinned with a far-away look in her eyes.

“Careful, Granger – wouldn’t want your ranking in the classes to slip.” Tracey chuckled, earning a glare from the girl.

“Yeah, if you slip, that means Potter’s head will grow so big he won’t be able to fit it in the Hall.” Daphne smirked, hooking a thumb at him. Harry frowned as he looked at Sirius, who was struggling to hide his laughter behind his hand.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, you big bloody dog.”

“Language.” Hermione reprimanded him, reaching around Neville to swat his arm. Harry rolled his eyes and elbowed Sirius playfully in the ribs.

“Me? Laughing? Perish the thought!” Sirius snickered, winking down at him.

“You’re all impossible, you know that?” Harry muttered, glaring at those around him. Harry noticed for the first time that the Hall was far emptier than it had been. How long had they been here, just talking?

“Where’d everyone go?” He asked after a moment.

“Back to the common rooms, most likely – or down to Hogsmeade, I suppose.” Daphne shrugged, her gaze falling upon the approaching Dumbledore and Arcturus.

Harry stood and hugged Arcturus, before bowing politely to Dumbledore. The Headmaster returned the gesture with a small smile.

“I just wanted to pass on my congratulations, my boy. Excellent performance today – you did my old house very proud.”

Harry smiled at the Headmaster, “It was a team effort, Headmaster. I’m just proud to have done my part.”

“Indeed. In any event, well done my boy. I’ll take my leave – I fear all the excitement has made these old bones quite weary. Children, Sirius, Arcturus.”

The small group watched as Dumbledore walked from the hall, his hands clasped at the small of his back, and his garish pale-blue robes floating around his feet.

“Well done, Harry.” Arcturus grinned, clasping him on the shoulder. “You were brilliant. We’re all very proud of you.”

Harry blushed at the praise and scratched at the back of his neck. “I just caught the Snitch and ran interference.” He sat down as Sirius slid along the bench for Arcturus to sit beside Harry.

“Indeed, you did, and you did it magnificently. You parents would be just as proud as we are.”

“All joking aside, Harry – you were brilliant today.” Neville smiled at him.

“I appreciate it.” He murmured, shrugging a little.

“Now, tell me what you’ve all been up to since I last saw you.” Arcturus grinned, pouring himself a goblet of juice.

The Common Room had quietened down somewhat with the closing of the celebrations. Most students had either retired to their rooms or were murmuring quietly amongst themselves. It hadn’t escaped his notice that ever since he had awoken, he had been eyed differently by a number of students across all the houses, and that hadn’t stopped simply because he’d caught the Snitch earlier in the day.

Harry sighed as he thumbed a page of his book, The Permutations of Dynamic Charms. It hadn’t been on the reading list for the course, but he simply had to read it once he’d discovered it in the Library.

Across from him, Hermione had her nose buried in her copy of Phenomena of Rare and Arcane Familiars, which she had checked out from Madame Pince two days ago and had been annihilating it ever since.

Neville, who was sat on Hermione’s left, had his back against the wall and his feet propped up comfortably on a spare chair and was perusing his personal copy of Weird Shrubs.

It had been a pleasant afternoon once Sirius and Arcturus had left, and the three of them had retired to Gryffindor’s Common Room when Daphne and Tracey had returned to Slytherin. They had stepped through the portrait of The Fat Lady to see the house in the middle of their own private post-game celebrations.

There had been more than he expected, having believed some of the older students would have taken a quick trip down into Hogsmeade. The party hadn’t even taken note of their arrival, and, as such, the three of them found themselves tucked away in a small alcove in the corner with their books.

The Weasleys had been the loudest – the youngest of the three putting the twins to shame as he stood atop a table, re-enacting plays from the game to the other assembled first years, extolling the virtues of each player, pointing out their strengths and weaknesses.

Hermione had immediately busied herself with her book, pulling it out of the small satchel bag she had been carrying around, that he hadn’t even noticed until she removed it. Neville and he had quickly darted up into their rooms and returned with their own books, joining the cardigan clad girl at the table.

The had remained in companionable silence as the party wound down and its participants dispersed. As it was, they seemed to be the only three in the room. The fire continued to crackle and spit, while beams of moonlight shone through the large windows. Had they really been here that long?

Harry sat up with a groan, his back stiff. Neville looked up from his book, while Hermione scrunched her nose a little at the sudden noise – she continued to read, however. “You alright, Harry?” Neville asked.

“Aye, I’m fine. I think it’s past curfew, though.” He replied with a shrug.

Neville flicked his wand out from the holster that was covered by his own doublet’s sleeve. A muttered spell later, and the shimmering orange mist of magic formed into a clock-face – the last time Harry had seen this spell, it had been when he had cast it shortly before his wrestle with a Mountain Troll. Harry shuddered a little at the memory.

He had found himself far calmer about having killed the Troll, and even the events leading up to it, than he would have expected. Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to it all, or perhaps his ordeal two years prior had numbed him to an extent. He hadn’t had any nightmares or woken up in a cold sweat since – even his usual night terrors seemed to have excused themselves for now.

As a result, he had slept far better than he had in years.

“You’re right, it’s eleven.” Neville sighed, swiping his wand through the spell, and dispersing it into a fine orange cloud that faded after a few seconds.

“I can’t believe we missed the meal.” Harry sighed, closing his book gently and placing the leather-bound tome on the table.

Neville gently placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and gave her a quick shake. Instantly, the index finger of her left hand shot up and hovered before Neville’s face. His friend went cross-eyed before moving his head back as he looked at it.

There were a few quiet moments, and Harry could see Hermione’s eyes darting back and forth across the bottom of the page as her mouth moved ever so slightly. Harry chuckled – nobody got between Hermione and her books.

“Yes, Neville?” She asked eventually, dropping the hovering finger, and delicately closing the book.

“I think it’s time we got some sleep, Granger.”

“Oh, must we? I’d just gotten to the most fascinating passage about Mooncalves – did you know they will perform a mating ritual that looks like a dance once every two years when exposed to a full-moon?” She gushed, pulling the book to her chest as she grinned and looked between the two of them.

Harry blinked, “No, I didn’t know that.” Harry admitted – Mooncalves had never really been at the forefront of his mind, never mind their mating habits.

“You read some of the most peculiar things, Hermione.” Neville muttered, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“There’s just so much to learn about being a witch.” Hermione replied, blushing a little as she ducked her head.

“Oh, there is. We grew up in it, and there’s plenty of things we don’t know.” Harry grinned, waving a finger between himself and his best friend. “In any case, we should probably get to bed.”

“I’m with Harry, I’m exhausted.” Neville yawned as the two of them stood.

“Are we not going to talk about what happened?” Hermione asked after a moment in a quiet voice. Harry found himself looking between Hermione, who was staring intently at the varnished wood, and Neville who looked equally as confused.

“Talk about what?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Professor Snape jinxing your broom, Harry. You almost died.”

“Oh, that.” He sighed, falling back into the chair slowly.

“Yes, that.”

“Okay, why don’t the two of you tell me why you think it was Snape.” Harry muttered, folding his arms on the table as he leaned forward. Neville had retaken his seat, and now that the topic was clear, looked equally as serious as his newest friend.

“I was looking through the Omnioculars, and that’s when we saw your broom start to try to throw you off. Hermione worked out it was jinxed right after she grabbed them to see for herself.” Neville shrugged, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he frowned.

“To perform a spell like that, one must maintain eye-contact at all times. I was looking through the stands when I saw Professor Snape staring at you and muttering to himself constantly.” Hermione added.

“Okay, so what happened then?”

“Well, Hagrid was worried, obviously. He was behind us in the crowd and we told him – said Snape would never do something like that to win a game of Quidditch.” Neville replied.

“Professor.” Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes as both Harry and Neville smirked at one another.

“So how did he get set on fire?” He asked, fixing Hermione with a pointed look. “Also, just to be clear, it’s perfectly acceptable to set Professor Snape on fire, so long as he’s referred to as such?”

“Honestly, it’s not like I did it maliciously. I did it to save your life – if you’d have lost your grip, and nobody could have caught you with a spell, you’d have died. I stand by what I did.” Hermione replied, lifting her chin in the air a little.

“In any event, I simply snuck into the faculty stand and used an Inflamare on his cloak – it was easily put out, but it distracted him from you.”

“Thank you, by the way.” Harry nodded, returning the smile Hermione gave him.

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

“So, what do we do about Sna- sorry, Professor Snape?” Neville asked. “It’s not as if we have any proof.”

Harry frowned. There wasn’t much they could do, truth be told. With no proof, it would simply be their word against a member of the faculty that had been teaching here for years.

He chewed on his bottom lip a little – he could ask Sirius and Remus, though Sirius would most likely explode at the thought that Severus Snape had attempted him harm, and then mercilessly prank him into the next century. While the idea of Snape walking around in pink polka-dot robes was amusing, and would likely be what carried him through the next Potions class, he had no desire to be the one that would ultimately be the subject of his retaliation.

Going to Dumbledore or McGonagall was out of the question as they lacked evidence. Perhaps Arcturus? There were precious few who were not cowed by the man when he was vexed and hearing that Snape had been responsible for his brush with death on the Quidditch pitch, would definitely get the wizard’s blood pumping.

What if they did nothing at all? That was another idea – simply watch. Surely the man would let it slip if something were amiss.

“I propose we do nothing at all.” Harry said after a moment.

Neville looked surprised, while Hermione frowned. “We have to tell Dumbledore, Harry.”

“Headmaster.” Harry corrected with a smirk, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Why would doing nothing be the best thing to do?” Neville asked, frowning as he shifted in his seat – the wood squeaked a little as it rubbed against itself.

“If he wants something to happen to me, he’ll mess up eventually, right? We just have to catch him in the act.”

“Harry, we are not using you as bait!” Hermione scolded, wagging a finger at him.

“Do you have any better ideas?” He shrugged, looking between his two friends.

“We could sick the twins on him?” Neville suggested, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione. “We wouldn’t get the blame for it then, either.”

“That could work…” Harry muttered, rubbing his chin.

“I much prefer that to using you as bait. I’ve had quite enough of watching you be reckless for one year.” Hermione said, finally standing with a sniff, pulling the book she had been reading earlier to her chest. “Now, I trust the two of you will head to bed yourselves and cease thinking of any more hairbrained ideas that could see one of us killed, or worse expelled?”

Without awaiting a reply, Hermione spun on her heel and marched across the room and disappeared up the stairs towards her dormitory. Harry and Neville remained sitting there for a few moments, staring at the spot she had previously occupied.

“Those are some skewed priorities, right there.” Neville grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Harry followed, sliding the tome off of the wood and tucking it under his arm.

“Aye, I won’t argue that.” He murmured, feeling his back pop a little as he stretched.

“Come on, we should probably head up ourselves – I wouldn’t want to subject myself to a Granger scolding first thing tomorrow morning.” Neville chuckled as he began walking to the staircase across the room.

“Had many of them, have you?” Harry grinned cheekily as he fell into step beside him.

“One or two, while you were in the Medical Wing. She’s just as terrifying as Daphne when she gets going – you expect it from Daphne, not from Hermione.” Harry laughed as Neville shuddered a little – evidently the boy was reliving something as they clambered up the steps.

“I’m glad you all befriended her; you know. She seems nice.”

“Aye, she is. Scary smart, too.” Neville chuckled, shouldering open their door.

The candles were low in the small common area, their warm orange glow illuminating the room just enough to be able to manoeuvre around the tables and chairs.

“Shall I meet you in here or the Common Room before we head down for breakfast in the morning?” Neville asked as he moved to his door, looking over his shoulder as he grasped the handle.

Harry shrugged, not at all fussed. “Common Room would be the best, I’d say. We can wait for Hermione too.”

“Sounds good to me.” Neville grinned, shouldering open his door. “Goodnight, Harry – and well played.”

Harry waved once before the door closed with a quiet click, and Harry shouldered his own door open. The noise must have woken Clara, because as he stepped through the threshold, he caught her glare from her perch and winced.

“Sorry, girl.” He whispered, noting Hedwig’s absence at the window – most likely out hunting. He sighed as he placed the book down on a side table and pulled his wand from his holster.

With his wand carefully placed on his nightstand, Harry kicked off his boots and fell backwards onto the soft mattress. He groaned as he stretched out, feeling his tense muscles relax, and joints pop. Merlin he was going to be sore in the morning, but it would all be worth it.

Harry felt his eyes close, the smile still on his face.

Chapter 15: Arcturus V

Chapter Text

The meal was as succulent and delicious as always – the sirloin steak was cooked just enough that there was just the faintest pink in the middle, while the top had a healthy spread of sliced peppers. The sweet tang of the red and yellow vegetables complimented the rich flavour of the steak perfectly.

Across the table sat both Remus and Sirius, both eagerly eating their own evening meals. He enjoyed this time in the day, when the tasks of the day were complete, and he could spend time with family. Though, one member of that family was missing, and wouldn’t be with them for another week.

It was coming to the end of Harry’s first term at Hogwarts, and he couldn’t wait to hear all about it. What spells had he learned? What did he get up to with his friends? While it hadn’t been that long since the three of them had seen Harry’s first Quidditch match, he found himself missing the boy more than he had expected to.

Was it the fear that had settled into the pit of his stomach following the news of the Mountain Troll? The sight of Harry in the infirmary, as pale as a corpse with thick, bloody bandages wrapped around his head, was firmly planted in his mind and hadn’t been able to shake itself loose for weeks. He needed to see Harry, to make sure he was safe and happy.

Arcturus had dealt with the stress in the same way he always had – he threw himself into his work, into politics. The Wizengamot was his battlefield these days, and he had charged into it like a rabid Hippogriff. The betrothal between House Black and House Bones was one such result – as Harry grew older, he would need alliances and a secure powerbase to work from, and Arcturus would give him that.

Arcturus cut another slice of his steak and speared it with his fork, his eyes darting between his two companions.

Remus had proven himself time and again as a capable Steward, but also as a friend and confidant. If it were possible, Arcturus would bring him into the family properly, but as the current Wizengamot legislation stood, it was nearly impossible – though he was working on rectifying that.

Sirius had taken to his orders surprisingly well. Many years prior, when Harry had just arrived, and the war was fresh on everyone’s minds, Arcturus had tried to persuade his heir to marry and further the family line. Sirius had argued, and claimed Harry was as good as his son. Arcturus had claimed Harry could never further the Black line, as he was a Potter – the last Potter, at that.

A compromise had been reached – Sirius would enter a betrothal contract once Harry went off to Hogwarts. It had seemed Sirius had forgotten that particular agreement, as Arcturus had brought it up almost the second they had lost sight of the Hogwarts Express. It had been a source of amusem*nt for his Steward many, many times since.

There was a small pop, and one of the House Elves appeared at the far end of the table. Deeny stood there, worrying her bat-like ears frantically. Arcturus swallowed his mouthful and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.

“Deeny?” Sirius asked. He frowned as he put his own utensils down.

“Master Arctury, sir – the orb be glowing, sir!” Deeny squeaked, hopping from foot to foot frantically.

Arcturus leapt from his seat and rushed from the room as quickly as his battered body would allow him. There was a moment of silence before two more chairs scraped against the wooden floor just as he left the room.

He scrambled along the corridors, and through a room with a recessed door on the south-side of the manor. The door led immediately into a steep stone staircase that spiralled into the earth. The steps were smooth and worn, and the occasional ball of white light floated within sconces that were bolted to the wall.

The stairs evened out eventually into a series of branching corridors. This was the oldest part of the estate, remains of the castle that had once sat on the grounds, before it had been torn down and modernised by Cygnus Black II in the late sixteen-hundreds.

The passageway split in three directions – on the left was the passage that led to the Ro’rim, while the passage on the right led to a similar room with another artifact. The passage directly in front of his was the one he needed.

His heels clicked against the smooth stone, punctuated by the quiet drip of water from somewhere. At the end of the corridor was a large mahogany door, studded with metal in neat rows. It was slightly ajar, no doubt left that way in Deeny’s haste to inform him, and an eerie green light trickled out of it.

In all his years, indeed in all of his father’s years before him, never had the Lia Fáil activated. He pushed the door open hard enough that it swung and collided with the wall – Sirius and Remus arrived on either side of him as he took a knee before the squat pedestal.

It was a small thing, only reaching to his waist, though it was as wide as it was tall. It sat on six metal legs that held up a resting basin. Around the edge of the basin were an equal number of small metal claws that would normally hold a floating, dull stone sphere between them.

Now, that sphere was floating almost a foot above its usual resting place, and it pulsed with the geometric lines that were carved into its surface. A wispy cloud swarmed around it, darting this way and that, despite the eerie stillness of the orb.

With the three of them knelt, there was a faint pulse before a form began to take shape before them. The figure had no discernible features, only that of the upper half of a human torso, and spoke with a voice that was neither male, nor female.

“The House of Black is summoned to a Great Council by Viscount Trevelyan.”

They had been summoned to the Capitol? It was almost unheard of for a Great Council to be called, though the last had been shortly before the rise of Grindelwald, there hadn’t been one before that in centuries.

“Yes, my Lord.” Arcturus replied, bowing his head as he brought his fist to his chest.

“You have three days to arrive. Failure to present yourself and your heir will be seen as intent to incite a rebellion.”

“A rebellion-“ Sirius began, his voice shocked, as his head darted up momentarily.

“Silence, Sirius!” Arcturus snapped. He took a deep breath before addressing the shade once again. “We shall arrive at the Capitol in two days, my Lord.”

There was silence in the room, before the dull humming that had been so constant just moments before, stopped along with the green light. The orb gently floated back to its place within the claws and began rotating slowly.

Arcturus was the first to stand, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. Sirius was next, while Remus stood slowly as his eyes remained fixed on the artifact before them.

“What was that?” Remus asked, his voice quiet.

“That, was a Lia Fáil– a way for our… ruler to summon sworn Lords to his court, no matter whether they be here or through the Ro’rim.” Arcturus grunted, pacing back and forth slowly. His hands were on his hips and he chewed the corner of his lip slightly – a habit he had developed as a child that he had never outgrown.

“But the figure?” Remus continued to gesture to the spot where the wisp had been hovering.

“A magical imprint of whoever made that.” Arcturus grunted, hooking a thumb at the Lia Fáil.

Remus was quiet as he wandered around the ancient artifact. Sirius continued to stare at him unwaveringly.

“What are we going to do?” Sirius asked. Arcturus rubbed at his jaw absently.

“We have no choice; we have to attend.” He sighed. He looked to Remus, who was hovering over the Lia Fáil, gazing intently at the ancient runes along its surface and the deep geometric shapes that intersected one-another. “Remus, you’re to manage the estate in our absence.”

“What of Harry?” Remus asked, clasping his arms behind his back as his attention returned to the conversation. “My transformation falls on the twenty-third – as much as I love him, it wouldn’t be safe to be near me.”

Arcturus nodded slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well – I’d forgotten about the damned transformation. He’ll have to stay at Hogwarts.”

“No.” Sirius snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “I refuse to abandon him at the last minute because some up-jumped Lord has decided to summon us last-minute!”

Arcturus’s head snapped to the younger man, and he fixed him with a hard stare. “You think I don’t know that, boy? Very well, call Harry back for the holiday – he can join us when our heads are mounted on spikes for refusing the summons!”

Sirius paled a little as he took a step back from Arcturus’s anxious fury. “I taught you better than this, Sirius!”

The room was quiet for a moment, but for the rapid breathing of Arcturus. Sirius nodded slowly before moving to leave the room. “I’ll inform the Elves and write a quick letter to Harry.”

The door clicked shut, with the small rattle of the handle bouncing against the wood. Arcturus stood there, his hands limp at his sides as he glared at the Lia Fáil.

He knew the stories – he’d read the accounts in the family library. A Great Council wasn’t called for just anything. It was a gathering of all the Lords in the dominion of the Capitol, which was vast. There were hundreds of them all – possibly even a thousand, though there hadn’t been a census in his lifetime.

Great Councils were used to determine matters of war, rebellion, and the line of succession. The Royal Line had disappeared long ago, and there wasn’t a war on the horizon – at least to his knowledge. Had a Lord rebelled? Had a plot been discovered? There were too many variables for him to make accurate assumptions. As much as he loathed to admit it, they would be entering this Council blind.

“My Lord…” Remus spoke softly, stepping to his side. “Arcturus, what is it that you’ve been summoned for?”

“I have no idea, Remus, and that terrifies me more than you could know.”

“I take it this Great Council is an important matter?”

“Aye, you could say that. It’s a gathering of all the Lords – it’s used to settle issues that The Council and the ruling Viscount can’t settle themselves. Declarations of war, lines of succession, you get the gist.” Arcturus sighed, running a hand through his loose hair.

“I see. Is there anything I could do to help?”

Arcturus smiled and clasped the man on the shoulder. “No, Remus – just continue to be your usual self, and I’m sure this will all be sorted upon our return.”

“And when will that be?”

“It’s hard to say – some of these gatherings have been known to take months to come to a decision. Whatever is decided, a clear majority must win. Think of it as a large Wizengamot, but less complicated.”

“I see.” Remus frowned.

He sighed as he looked around the room one last time. “Come, it seems we have some last-minute preparations to make.”

Arcturus led the two of them out of the door, making sure the door was closed after Remus stepped through. Their boots echoed through the quiet hallway in a much more sedate pace than they had when they had raced there. As they climbed the stairs, and stepped into the Manor proper, they were greeted by the six House Elves, all looking up at them with large green eyes.

“Master Arctury been summoned?” Milpy asked, wringing her hands.

“Aye, we’ve been summoned. We could be gone for a while – you’re all to answer to Remus in our absence, is that understood?”

The Elves nodded – all but for Kreacher, who began grumbling about filth. Sirius nodded, ignoring the Elf. It seemed that no matter what Arcturus did, Sirius or even Remus, nothing seemed to overcome the Elf’s prejudiced views of the world. He chalked it up to having been Orion and Walburga’s personal Elf for so many years – according to Milpy, Kreacher still popped to Grimmauld Place once a week to talk to the portrait of the vile woman – even after Arcturus had confined the crazed with to Grimmauld Place.

Arcturus moved around the small creatures, hearing their quiet pops as they returned to their duties as he moved down the hall. He moved towards his bedroom, jogging up the wooden stairs in some effort to burn off the anxious energy that had been building.

The door to his room practically slammed shut as he moved to the stand that held his armour. He began throwing it on, his fingers still nimble after all of these years, buckling belts and tying straps.

In no less than ten minutes, he was fully dressed in his gambeson, gorget, and leather – his wand strapped securely in its holster on his right forearm, and a dagger sheathed on his belt. The cloak went on last, making sure his arms could still freely move and were comfortable.

By the time Arcturus left his room, Sirius was stood outside, dressed similarly in his own armour. What a pair they made – both dressed as if they were going off to war. Were they? Merlin, he hoped not.

“Did you send the letter?” He asked, eyeing Sirius before him and tugging on a strap that looked a little loose.

“It’s sent – Hedwig left just as you were coming up the stairs. It’s going to devastate him.”

“He’ll understand. He’s growing up quickly.” Arcturus sighed, squeezing Sirius’s shoulder through the armour and cloak.

“Too quickly.” Sirius grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Come, we’d best make a move. We’ll stay the night and ride hard for the Capitol with an escort in the morning.”

Sirius nodded, and fiddled with the sleeve he knew covered his own wand. The two moved down the stairs, and back into the ancient stone corridor that housed the Ro’rim silently. Remus joined them on the way down, hanging back a step with his arms clasped easily before him. Arcturus watched Remus and Sirius share a small smile and hug before he strode up to the large mirror and activated it with a pulse of his magic.

The glass flared to life, the small ripples of bright colour dancing across the surface in no particular direction. Sirius stepped through almost instantly – Arcturus lingered a moment, giving Remus a short nod before he too stepped through.

In less time than it took to blink, he was standing in that same courtyard he had entered with Harry two years before. The mist swirled around his feet as he followed in Sirius’s wake, and the echo of his boots bounced off of invisible walls – there was no larger construct for this courtyard. If one were to leap the high walls, they would simply be swallowed by the void of magic. He had no such intentions. When he arrived on the far side of the stone yard, it was Sirius who activated the mirror, allowing Arcturus through first.

He stepped into the same courtyard he remembered. It was quieter this time, the sun having set some time ago. The Forge was quiet, and the carts remained still – though they were covered from the night-time chill. The horses stirred a little in their stable, but otherwise the courtyard was quiet – serene, almost.

He turned toward the largest building, the main hall, and marched across the cobblestone – Sirius quietly on his heels. The windows of the castle were all a warm orange, and the whisper of laughter and merriment reached his ears. They passed a number of guards on their way, each just as shocked as the last at the unexpected arrival of their Lord. They would stand a little taller at his approach, clutching their staves tighter, or locking their arms behind their backs. One or two fell into step behind them, acting as a small honour-guard.

They stepped into the hall, with large benches being taken up by those who worked and lived in the castle – it was a tradition within the family. Those who worked and maintained their home were welcome at their table. Row upon row of large trestle tables were full of food – there were pies, cooked birds, whole roast game, and an assortment of vegetables. If he hadn’t eaten his own meal only a little over an hour before, he’d have pulled up a seat and eaten with them all.

The hall was as large as he remembered it, though the air was heavy with sweat and, with the press of bodies, the heat was almost palpable. He found his hair quickly beginning to feel damp, and he tucked his loose locks behind his ears. It already felt limp and wet, and they’d only just stepped in from the cool air.

All sound ceased upon their entrance, and a hundred or more eyes turned to watch him – some with mouths open in surprise. Arcturus ignored them, instead focusing his eyes on the Captain of his guard. “Donnel Newt – I require a contingent of your best by sunrise. Two dozen at least.”

The Captain of his household guard was a stout man, with a bushy mutton-chop beard and a bald head. He wasn’t that much younger than Arcturus himself, though he was far more disfigured. Scars littered his face, and his right eye had been replaced with an enchanted sapphire. It was off-putting to look at, and when questioned about it, the man had laughed heartily and claimed that if it could put Arcturus off, it had every chance of throwing off an enemy in a fight. Arcturus couldn’t refute him.

“Yes, my Lord.” Donnel responded, immediately jumping to his feet, and rushing out of a door on the far side of the room. The door banged open for the briefest of moments, and he could faintly hear Donnel’s bellowing voice echoing through the corridors as he moved further into the castle.

“The rest of you, continue to eat and be merry – Sirius and I are simply passing through on our way to the Capitol. Please, continue!” Arcturus called, clapping his hands once. He bowed slightly to the room and gestured for them to continue their meals.

The two of them backed out of the room quickly, and one of the guards closed the door with a dull thud. He and Sirius moved through the corridors of Blackstone Castle with the same familiarity as they did Blackwall. While he had put off coming to claim his seat for many years, with one reason or another, he hadn’t been idle when Harry, Remus and Sirius had visited the Capitol.

He had seen to the needs of the castle, ordered a handful of changes and improved the Wards and defences where he could. In that time, he had committed the many hallways and rooms of the large stronghold to his memory. As it was, he led Sirius to the Family Wing of the castle with sure feet. The Family Wing was on the eastern side of the main keep, on the fourth floor.

It was a little removed from the regular day-to-day happenings of the castle, but the Lord’s room had a small stone balcony so that anyone could look out on the castle first thing in a morning and soak in the warm rays of sunlight. Whoever had the forethought to design that feature was equally genius and stupid. For while it was excellent in times of peace, there was every chance an assassin could climb through the window and cut his throat.

They arrived at the Lord’s Chamber shortly. It was at the end of a long corridor, with portraits of past notable family members hanging regularly between doorways. The heir’s chamber was directly opposite his own. Donnel must have been busy, as there were already guards posted outside their chambers.

“This is yours.” Arcturus said, pointing at a room directly opposite his own. Sirius nodded before moving toward it, already in the process of shrugging his cloak off. Arcturus dismissed the two guards that had flanked them through the halls with a small smile and a thankful nod.

While it hadn’t been quite as late in Nottingham, Arcturus felt his eyes beginning to feel heavy. Perhaps it was his age, or the stress of the day. Either way, he found himself stepping into the Lord’s Chamber, with a nod to his two guards for the night and shrugging his cloak off with a grunt.

Tomorrow would be a hard day of riding – if the weather was good, they would make the journey to the Capitol in a day. If the weather turned, they would have to camp for the night and finish the journey the following day. He’d prefer to get it over with in one day – his aged body just couldn’t deal with sleeping rough.

His fingers went through the regular motions of removing his armour while his mind pondered the travel they would be facing in the coming days. The gorget came undone easily enough, and he grunted as the gambeson lifted over his head, the heavy leather a dead weight in his arms. The chainmail was easy enough, and his boots were kicked off unceremoniously. He stored his armour and cloak on the awaiting mannequin at the side of the hearth – the solid wood taking the weight of it all easily enough.

Arcturus found himself dressing in a nightshirt and quickly crawling into the large bed, the feather pillows soft and welcoming to his tired neck and head. The quilt was light and airy and threatened to swallow him whole – just as he liked it. Even with the light breeze through the slightly ajar window, his eyes closed quickly, though his dreams were plagued with thoughts of the days ahead.

They arrived at The Citadel the following day, just before the evening meal was due to take place. Arcturus had never visited the Capitol before, and for a moment he was in awe of the tall towers, and the glistening white stonework.

When his eyes fell upon the various Lord and Ladies that were watching him from a number of high balconies, such thoughts were banished from his mind and he fought the urge to scowl at them all. It wasn’t their fault, he knew that, but the urge to march up to Trevelyan and knock him on his arse was almost uncontrollable.

He grimaced as he swung a leg over his Stallion, his eyes momentarily falling upon the pair of guards who were holding his house banners up proudly.

“Arcturus, so good of you to join us – early, might I add.” Trevelyan greeted. Arcturus had never met the man, but Sirius had described him well enough after their last visit.

He ignored the disregard for his title, and simply nodded in return. “Lord Trevelyan. I thought it prudent to make all haste to your wonderful city.”

“Indeed. As you are the last of the Noble Families to arrive, the Great Council shall convene tomorrow. Chambers were prepared for you the moment we saw your banners. I shall leave my staff to see you to your chambers.” Trevelyan replied, his tone icy and his face impassive.

Arcturus nodded and stepped away from the horse after giving it a final pat on the neck. They had ridden hard throughout the day – stopping for only an hour to feed and water the animals before continuing on.

The journey had started at daybreak, and they had thundered over the drawbridge of Blackstone at a full gallop. It had been many years since Arcturus had ridden in such a way – indeed, he could clearly recall the lessons his father had insisted on when he was a child. He had loved the feel of the wind whipping through his hair, and the rhythm of the horse below him.

As he had gotten older, and he found himself taking on more responsibilities, he had distanced himself from riding – he’d always make time for it next month, or the month after. On and on it had continued for years – at first during his betrothal, then throughout his marriage, and even as a widower. How many years had he made excuses to himself? How long had it simply been a habit?

He shook his head slightly, as if to dislodge the thoughts running amok in his skull. It was the hindsight of age that seemed to trouble him the most these last few years. His eyes flickered to Sirius, who was quickly giving his own steed a quick pat goodbye. He watched as the horses for the entire company were led toward the edge of the courtyard.

Arcturus looked around at the eyes that were still trained on him. There were dozens of Nobles, all displaying a number of various sigils that he recognised from a dozen different tomes. Some were prominent families in Britain, while others had long since retreated into this realm and away from the frontier.

A kindly looking gentleman approached them and offered a short bow. “My Lord, I am Steward Hornette, if you’ll follow me, I’m sure you would like to freshen up before the evening meal?”

“Aye, that would be appreciated, thank you.” Arcturus nodded in reply, falling into step behind the man, Sirius at his side. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the guards being led to another doorway that no doubt would lead to the Barracks.

The small crowd of Nobles parted before them easily, the slight murmured greetings and the curious stares revealed nothing to him, and so he chose to ignore them.

The inside of the castle was much like Harry and Sirius had described it. He knew Sirius had once visited with Orion when he was a small boy, but it had been once, and Sirius had barely been older than six – hearing the descriptions of the castle was nothing compared to looking upon it himself.

The Steward led them through the corridors, and Arcturus made note of the path in his mind. They travelled down three different corridors and up no less than six floors via spiralling stone steps. When the Steward finally stopped and made a grand, sweeping gesture at a large door, Arcturus had to stop himself from weeping in joy. He didn’t know what had been harder, riding all day, or forcing his battered body up all of those steps.

“Your quarters, my Lords.” The Steward smiled toothily. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction. The evening meal will be in an hour if you wish to freshen up.”

“Thank you, that will be all.” Sirius replied, watching the man carefully as he walked away after a small bow. When he finally disappeared around the corner of the corridor, the two of them stepped into the room and took it all in.

Everything was draped in the house colours of House Black, with the silver serpent emblazoned on it proudly. The hearth crackled, and the room was warm and comfortable – a stark difference to the cold and dreary day they had spent atop their horses.

“Wash yourself and be ready as soon as you can.” Arcturus grunted as the two of them shrugged their cloaks off. Their leather armour creaked and groaned as they moved – or was it simply his bones? He couldn’t tell at this point.

Sirius gathered his saddlebag and made his way to a door on the right-hand side of the room, while Arcturus moved to the left.

He went through the routine of washing and dressing himself absently – all his thoughts focused on the morning to come. What would be discussed? If only he had some way to gather the information for himself. It was a downside to having never cultivated a reputation in the Capitol’s politics. In the Wizengamot, he had a number of informants throughout the various families, and as such, he could more often than not make educated guesses based on information he obtained – it allowed him to remain one step ahead of his political rivals. Here, he had no such advantage.

With his hair still damp and tied in a knot at the back of his head, Arcturus stepped from the room and patted down his fresh leather doublet. It was plain and unassuming, cinched at the waist by a dark leather belt with silver accents on it, while the silver serpent of his house was coiled proudly on his left breast.

He entered the room just as Sirius did – his appearance similar to his own. He knew, like himself, Sirius had his wand holster strapped to his arm underneath the long-sleeved doublet he wore.

The two nodded to one another before they made their way back through the door – two of their household guard had taken up position outside their door and stood to attention when they came into view.

He looked at them once, nodded, and began to move back towards the Great Hall. The heavy footfalls of the guards flanking them was a reassuring sound in the otherwise silent halls.

The descent down the stairs was much easier than the ascent, Arcturus noted, frowning when he realised he would have to return to his quarters later on. He let out a quiet sigh as they came to the ground floor and began meandering through the corridors.

When they finally came into sight of the large oak doors, there was a small crowd waiting to be let in. He spotted men and women of all ages – some young with what appeared to be well behaved children, and others older with men and women even older than Sirius at their sides.

“Ah, if it isn’t Lord Black.” A rotund man with the sigil of a leaping whale on his breast called out – Arcturus rather thought the man resembled his coat-of-arms a little too much. The man had a large, bushy grey beard that appeared a little greasy, and a bald head that glistened with the early signs of perspiration.

“Lord Minks,” He replied with a small smile, recognising the sigil easily enough. “An honour.” Arcturus inclined his head a little. “May I present my heir, Sirius Black.”

Sirius stepped forward and bowed to Lord Minks and placed his hand over his heart as he did so. Arcturus then watched as Sirius turned his attention to the young woman at the Lord’s side and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “My Lord, my Lady, truly a pleasure.”

Arcturus had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the little sigh that escaped the young lady’s lips as she brought her hand to her breast, fanning herself lightly with her free hand. The Lord Minks simply guffawed and slapped his heir on the back heartily.

“I’d heard you Blacks were charmers – you’ve got my granddaughter all in a bother. Good show, lad.”

Sirius appeared to stumble a little under the force of the blow but grinned devilishly at those that had gathered around them. Arcturus noted the assortment of sigils – the Eagle of Ravenclaw, the Lion of Gryffindor, the Unicorn of Snowpear, the Rose of Selpie, the three flames of Shore – there were more than he could count.

Any further conversation was halted by the sounds of the large doors opening, as all the heads in the corridor turned to look. From his place towards the back of the crowd, Arcturus caught a glimpse of the impressive Dragon Throne set all the way in the back atop a tall pedestal – no doubt it towered over all those in the room.

Sat just below it and to the right was Carth Trevelyan, at the high table sat in an opulent chair that was fashioned after the Griffon of his house. A large trestle table was stretched before him, covered in fine silver cutlery. At a lower level were more long trestle tables, though, it seemed, that the cutlery was of a lesser quality.

The crowd shuffled forward as the first names were called, “Lord Tytos Gryffindor, and his heir Lancel Gryffindor!” A pair of broad looking men, each with impressive beards strode into the hall with their heads held high and their shoulders pushed back. Both took a seat upon the high table by Trevelyan.

“Lord Eddard Ravenclaw, and his heir, Jaxar Ravenclaw!” This time, an absolutely ancient looking man shuffled forward with the help of a man much closer to Arcturus’s own age entered the hall. They, like those of Gryffindor joined Trevelyan up at the high table. Lord Eddard looked close to dozing off the moment his arse touched his seat.

“Lady Regent Kyra Serrett, and the Lord Markas Serrett!” An attractive, middle aged blonde woman strode forth, with a small child at her side. Unlike the previous Lords, she sat herself at one of the lower tables. If he remembered correctly, the Serrett’s were just as powerful as the Ravenclaw’s and the Gryffindor’s. Perhaps this was a small glimpse at a political rivalry – if so, could he exploit such an opportunity?

“Lord Alix Selwyn, and his heir, Lady Vysenna Selwyn!” A pair of strikingly blonde heads stepped from the crowd, though these too sat with Trevelyan.

The crowd continued to slowly step into the hall as their names were called, until it was only he and Sirius awaiting their turn. Their guards had long since stepped to the side of the corridor, squeezing in alongside the guards brought by other Nobles.

“Lord Arcturus Black, and his heir, Sirius Black!”

Arcturus stepped into the hall and made a quick note of the families sitting on either side of Trevelyan – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Selwyn, Graves, Yaxley, Prince, and Crouch. Some, like Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were large, powerful families, while others, such as Prince and Crouch were smaller houses that could barely muster more than a few hundred men between them.

He moved to one of the lower tables, though he inclined his head slightly in Trevelyan’s direction. He received no such courtesy in return – only a cold, calculating glare. There was a seat between Lord Minks, opposite the Lady Serrett, that he moved toward. Arcturus settled himself to Lord Minks’s right, and Sirius sat next to him.

There was a small murmur of surprise as he settled himself at the table – it seemed many had assumed he would be seated closer to the Throne and Trevelyan, the up-jumped Steward that he was. He had no such inclination to rub elbows with the man – especially after he had attempted to bully Harry into marrying into House Trevelyan.

There was a specific pecking order in their world, and Carth Trevelyan, it seemed, considered himself at the top of it.

“Lord Black, you surprise us with your presence.” Lady Serrett remarked, lifting a brow ever so slightly.

Arcturus swept his eyes across the table and took in the mixed reactions he had gathered. “My Lords, my Ladies. I thought I would seek out your excellent company this evening.”

“Indeed, Lord Black. Can’t get much better than down here!” Lord Minks chuckled, his three chins wobbling enthusiastically as he slapped Arcturus on the back. A few quiet gasps could be heard from further down the table.

While normally, the likes of Lord Minks and himself would rarely, if ever, interact – he found himself smirking at the reactions. While House Black did have a reputation of power, wealth and prestige, they were still human, and after years of living with Sirius and Remus, Arcturus couldn’t help but enjoy the Lord’s company. Sirius snickered to his right.

The room quieted as there was a single clap from the high table. Carth Trevelyan’s voice boomed out across the room. “Let us enjoy this feast! Begin!”

Food appeared along the large tables instantly and their aromas instantly wafted up his nose. He found his mouth salivating as he simply stared at the food for a moment. There were all sorts – honey roasted venison, links of spicy sausages, stuffed peppers, pies of all sorts and crispy roasted chicken.

Hands reached out instantly, grasping for plates and dishes all along the table. The sounds of tearing meat, and cutlery clinking against one another was all he could hear for a few minutes. Once everyone else had full plates, only then did he reach out with his own hands, making sure to take only what other people had sampled. While he didn’t think to be poisoned under Trevelyan’s roof, for that was a great betrayal even by wizarding standards, he was still cautious. There had been many instances throughout their long history where guests had consumed tainted food and drink, and he refused to be another.

He speared a juicy venison steak onto his plate, alongside a number of small cheese-stuffed red peppers and some thin-sliced potatoes in a creamy sauce.

Despite the many years their culture had existed, it appeared table-manners were still in the medieval period. Goblets of ale and wine were splashed about as men and women made merry, and the occasional piece of flying food whistled past his nose.

To his left, Lord Minks was busy regaling the Lady Serrett about a recent hunt he had embarked on. Despite how he was warming to the man, the image of the man actively hunting for his food, or even just for sport was unfathomable. The man took up the space of three adults, and likely weighed the same – how could he sit a horse?

Opposite him, the Lady Serrett nodded politely and laughed when it was expected of her – all the while, she took small bites of her food – no doubt limited in how much she could consume through a combination of social expectations, and that uncomfortable looking bodice.

It was moments like this that he found himself longing for his Melania. She had been utterly divine, with her porcelain like skin, and her wavy brown hair. Melania and he had met at a social gathering at an event hosted by the MacMillan family, during the summer of nineteen-twenty-two. It had been a gorgeous day, and the fresh air of the MacMillan estate had allowed them all to relax and mingle.

If he closed his eyes, he could still remember walking alone through the gardens – the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots, the buzzing of the insects in the air, and the sweet smell of freshly bloomed roses. He had rounded a corner, only to stumble upon the most breath-taking woman he had ever seen.

She had been in a summer dress – it had been periwinkle, and her brown hair had been braided elegantly over her shoulder, with small gems interwoven seamlessly. Her hazel eyes had been so focused on the flowers before her, with that small mischievous smile of hers that, for a moment, the world had stood completely still. His heart still thumped painfully against his chest as he recalled that moment.

She had caught him staring, mouth open like a fool, and she had laughed. It had been a rich, genuine one, and from that moment on, he had been doomed. They had talked and meandered throughout the garden for the rest of the afternoon – for so long, in fact, that his father, Sirius, had sent one of their guards looking for him.

For the rest of that year, Arcturus spent as much time at the MacMillan estate as he possibly could. He had done everything he could to show his affections, and to see that smile once again. They had danced beneath the starlight, lay amongst the grass, and stared up at the constellations above. That following Yule, his father had organised a betrothal contract between the two of them, and he had been so happy at the news, he had wept.

They had the most incredible time together, though he remembered the heartbreak on her face when the Healers had warned her off of any more children after Orion. He had been a difficult birth, and Melania had been so incredibly weak afterwards – they worried another child would kill her. She had doted on Orion and showered him with love – as he himself had. Orion had been such a happy boy, always running around the house and playing with the Elves. Sometimes, he wondered if an imposter had returned after that first year at Hogwarts.

Orion had returned cool and distant – he treated both himself and Melania with a distance that hadn’t been there before. While he had been hurt by it, and often fought to close that growing chasm between the two of them, it had been Melania who had suffered the worst.

As Orion got older, Melania became weaker. She was regularly ill and bound to their bed, covered in a cold sweat and her limbs trembling. He had cared for her as best he could, and even all the magic in the world hadn’t been enough to save her. He had wept at her side and cradled her delicate hand between his own as he rocked back and forth on the floor.

She had died in her sleep, curled up next to him. She had looked so peaceful that at first, he thought that she had simply still been asleep. Indeed, she had passed on with the smallest of smiles on her face. He had been inconsolable for weeks – everywhere he looked, he saw her memory. He could smell her perfume on their sheets, and as he walked past her favourite chair in his office.

In that time, his own health had deteriorated as well, and the chasm between himself and his son grew further than ever. He had been bed-ridden for months, years even with the occasional temporary recovery until just before the end of the war.

Then, everything had changed.

Orion was dead, helped along by both his own stupidity, and another Wizard’s wand, and Sirius was held in Ministry custody on charges of conspiring to murder the Potters.

He had stormed into the trial of Sirius, freshly recovered from his latest illness – a souvenir of Grindelwald’s war, fully prepared to throw curses at anyone who would deny him his heir. Part of him had been hoping for a fight, almost praying for a curse to hit him – but then Sirius would have been sent to Azkaban or executed. No, he had kept it together for the boy – his boy, for that is what Sirius had become over the years. A second son – the boy Melania and he should’ve had.

He sniffed quietly, tearing his eyes from those around him and skewered a red pepper with a little more force than he had intended. Sirius nudged him, and he found himself looking into the face so similar to Orion, that it sometimes hurt – though there were far more laughter lines around his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Sirius whispered, leaning over to him a little.

Arcturus nodded slowly, and clapped Sirius on the back. “Just the memories of an old man.”

Sirius scoffed around his goblet. “Please, if you’re an old man, then I’m positively f*cked in a decade or two.”

Arcturus rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but smirk. It was true, he wasn’t old – not by a wizard’s standards, at least. He was really only middle-aged, but he knew he looked and felt far older. All thanks to that damned war of Grindelwald’s.

He found himself throwing the pepper in his mouth whole and biting down on it roughly. The immediate sweet tang of the pepper mixed with the savoury cheese in his mouth, and the sensations on his tongue distracted him for a moment.

He looked around the room, his eyes darting from face to face. Which of them were the reason for this Council? Sirius passed him a goblet of wine, and he took a small sip – the sweet fruity taste mixing deliciously with the lingering taste of the pepper and cheese.

The meal continued on, with many a Lord inevitably falling over drunk – some went so far as to pass out there in the hall, their faces buried in whatever dish they had been eating or spread across one of the benches.

With the meal having come to its inevitable conclusion, Arcturus and Sirius quietly excused themselves when it was deemed polite to do so. He had made the decision not to be the first to retire, but also not the last. As long as they were somewhere in the middle, it would pay dividends in the future.

What those dividends were, he couldn’t say, nor would he presume to attempt such a thing. For now, he would simply content himself with avoiding Trevelyan’s wrath should he feel slighted in any which way.

He found himself half carrying Sirius back to their shared apartment – the man having been taunted into joining a drinking game towards the end. Ever the competitor, Sirius had thrown himself into it, matching each opponent cup for cup until he was barely left victorious. Arcturus, who on the other hand, had kept himself to a single goblet all night, held no sympathy for the agony Sirius was likely to be enduring during the Council tomorrow.

“My Lord, allow me to assist you.” One of the House Black guards gasped, seeing him come to the top of the stairs with a giggling Sirius draped over his shoulders. Arcturus grinned and handed him to the woman.

“Yoush pr’ty la’dy.” Sirius slurred. “Shame ‘m betroiwhatsit…”

Arcturus shook his head as the guard stifled her laughter behind pursed lips. She co*cked a brow in his direction, over the head of a now slightly snoring Sirius. He shook his head and chuckled quietly.

The door opened to their apartment easily enough, and he led the way towards Sirius’s chamber. He was thrown unceremoniously onto the bed – still entirely unconscious and propped on his side. Arcturus quickly pulled Sirius’s boots off and placed a small bucket by the side of the bed.

The guard left first, quickly striding from the room when Sirius began to snore noisily. A small, childish part of Arcturus was actually looking forward to the morning, if only to see Sirius suffering with a hangover.

“All rise for the Lord Trevelyan!” The speaker called into the cavernous room. The morning light filtered in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows and bathed the white marble in its warm light.

The chamber was large and circular, with a small floor-space in the centre. It was eerily reminiscent of the Wizengamot chambers, but quite obviously far older and far better lit.

All around him, Lords and Ladies sat in their family seats, with their heirs sat just head and below them. Each family seat was different, depending on the family it belonged to. Some, for the smallest of families were the closest to the floor and were simple carved marble. Others, such as the Gryffindor seat were on the highest row and were decorated with motifs of the family sigil.

House Black was in an interesting position – traditionally, they were a house of equal standing and power as those such as House Gryffindor, House Potter and House Ravenclaw to name a few – the only house with more power than them were House Trevelyan. However, House Black had gone and sworn fealty to House Potter, making them the most powerful Vassals in the history of the kingdom – it also had the effect of making House Potter much more powerful.

Above them all, however, was a large throne-like chair that was shaped like a Griffon, with its wings flared out on either side. It was there that Carth Trevelyan stood, watching with cold eyes as all the assembled might before him, rose in respect to him. In deference to him.

“Sit.” The quiet word echoed around the chamber, and as one, they all resumed their seats. Trevelyan sat stiffly in his small throne, and Arcturus felt his lip curl a little at the sight. There was something about the man that set Arcturus’s instincts on edge.

“We are gathered in this Great Council of Lords, to discuss a most dire topic, my friends.” Trevelyan began, his voice cold and calculating as his gaze swept all before him. “The intention to incite Rebellion.”

Murmuring swept throughout the chamber, and Arcturus found his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in shock. Rebellion?

Trevelyan sat there for a time and allowed the murmuring to continue. Arcturus watched as his eyes continued to dart this way and that, while his hands interlocked themselves over his stomach. What was he up to?

“My Lords.” Trevelyan spoke up once more. The room silenced itself immediately, and the tension in the room was palpable. “It grieves me to say this, but we have been betrayed by the power-grasping ways of one of our most respectable houses.”

“Who is the filthy traitor?” A loud voice called out from the crowd of faces.

“Aye, let us know so we can put their head on a spike!” A woman called, furiously.

Trevelyan stood, and took two measured steps away from the throne. He gently leaned against the golden railing that stood between him and a sheer drop of twenty feet. “Lord Black, do you have anything to say?”

Arcturus felt every pair of eyes in the chamber on him in that instant. His back stiffened, and his shoulders were tense under the leather gambeson he wore. What could he mean? He had a few choice words for Carth Trevelyan, but nothing pertaining to the current situation. “Nothing that comes to mind, my Lord – though this is the first I’ve heard anything of rebellion.”

“Indeed. Pray tell then, how it was that you saw fit to swear fealty to the likes of the would-be Usurper!”

Arcturus was on his feet immediately, his fists clenched and trembling in rage. “You dare-“

“Careful now, Lord Black. We wouldn’t want you to sully yourself with the likes of House Potter, would we?”

Arcturus felt the presence of guards just behind his family chair. He looked over his shoulder and saw two of the house guards of House Trevelyan stood behind him, both with wands in hand and their steel plate shining in the chamber’s light.

“And just what is it, my Lord, that you believe House Potter has done?” Arcturus growled, spinning to look upon the impassive face of the Viscount above him.

This time, Trevelyan addressed the room at large. “My Lords, we are all well versed in our history. Our society, our very way of life is built on a careful structure based on trust, loyalty and fealty.” Trevelyan was pacing back and forth slowly, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

“What are we to make of it then, I wonder, when one of the most prominent families in our society – one who has only recently truly returned to the fold, swears fealty to another family of equal standing? I find myself concerned for our very way of life.”

Arcturus stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“We swore fealty to House Potter because he is, for all intents and purposes, a member of House Black! There is nothing we wouldn’t do for the boy – if he weren’t the last Potter, I would make him Sirius’s heir.” He spat. He heard the guards take a slow step towards him.

“Trevelyan, call your guards off – let the man speak!” Lord Minks bellowed from the opposite side of the chamber, on the row below his own. Arcturus nodded his thanks once Trevelyan snapped his fingers and gestured for the guards to leave.

“Aye, I’d like to hear Lord Black’s side of the story!”

“Where is Lord Potter? He should be here!”

“What do you all know of Lord Potter, my fellow Lords and Ladies?” Arcturus asked, moving to the railing just before Sirius’s own seat. “How many of you wondered what became of House Potter following the deaths of Charlus and James?”

“Nothing – nobody has told us a thing!” Someone hollered in return.

“Allow me to inform you of this rebellious Lord, then! Harry James Potter is an eleven-year-old boy! Studying through his first year at Hogwarts in Scotland – he is a sweet boy, who loves to fly and read.” There were quiet murmurings throughout the hall. “Pray tell, Lord Trevelyan, were you planning on spinning a tale of a manipulative, power hungry young man?”

Trevelyan was silent, and Arcturus could see the flexing of his jaw muscles.

“Harry Potter is a boy who would prefer to live a quiet life, surrounded by family and live out his days in peace – he is not a rebel.”

“Then why haven’t we seen him?” Someone called, their voice angry.

“You have, my Lords and Ladies! He visited the Capitol two years ago and feasted in this very castle – he sat on the right hand of Lord Trevelyan himself – my own heir can confirm it, for he was the one who brought him here.”

“Your heir will say whatever you tell him to!” The Lord of Gryffindor bellowed, jumping to his feet in outrage.

“My Lord Gryffindor, if you can get Sirius to do something by simply telling him to do it, you are a much more powerful and wiser man than I.” There were a number of quiet chuckles in the room, and the Lord of Gryffindor slumped into his seat red-faced and furious.

“You have yet to provide a valid reason as to why you swore fealty to a house of equal standing, Lord Black.” Trevelyan spoke up once more. “I do not doubt your sincerity in that you love the boy dearly, but how can we be sure you are not under the Imperius, or other mind-altering influences?”

Arcturus was stunned silent. Did Trevelyan really just insinuate that an eleven-year-old child was capable of magic dark enough as to cast one of the Unforgivables? A child, who had survived the Killing Curse itself?

“Are you implying, my Lord Trevelyan, that an eleven-year-old is capable of such hatred, as to cast an Unforgiveable?” He asked, his voice sharp as he gripped the railing before him in a white-knuckled rage.

“Of course, he isn’t!” Someone called out. It didn’t matter who they were – Arcturus’s vision was focused on the man above him.

“I would hear from Lord Trevelyan, Ser!” Arcturus growled.

“Anything is possible – what do we know of this boy, hm?” Trevelyan asked, waving a hand dismissively in the air.

“You knew enough to attempt to bully him into marrying your daughter.” Arcturus spat acidly. The room went silent.

“Lies!”

“Impossible!”

“Lord Trevelyan is honourable – he wouldn’t dare!”

“How dare he!”

The voices all spoke out at once, and Arcturus only caught the occasional line from some stranger or another. Many Lords and Ladies stood in outrage, all of them yelling at either Lord Trevelyan, or himself. Trevelyan, simply ignored it all, instead focusing his gaze on Arcturus.

“Silence!” Trevelyan eventually bellowed.

There were a brief handful of moments where the rising tension in the room was thick enough to have been cut by a knife. The magic that swirled within the room was wild, erratic, and intoxicating. This. This was why Arcturus loved politics – of course, he loathed the situation he was currently in. There was nothing worse than being ambushed with false allegations.

“This Great Council was called to put to rest these malicious rumours that reached my ears. I would have us all leave this Council as strong friends allies – stronger than when we arrived, even!” Trevelyan announced.

It was an interesting turn of events. What was Trevelyan’s game? What little he knew of the family, he knew them to be shrewd and calculating in recent years, and the powerful performance Trevelyan was putting on attested to such claims.

The Trevelyan line was a powerful one. In the absence of a Royal Family, they had taken Stewardship of the kingdom, and over the many hundreds of years, had built firm alliances and ties to many of the most powerful of the ancient families.

House Trevelyan, through its alliances and oaths of fealty could call on more than three quarters of the power of the realm – so why had Carth attempted to tie House Potter to his own line? There were so many questions that Arcturus simply didn’t have the answers to, and it infuriated him to no end.

“Aye, House Trevelyan has always had the best for the realm in mind!”

A chorus of agreement rose up throughout the hall, and Arcturus felt Sirius step up beside him. Arcturus closed his eyes for a moment and simply allowed himself to bask in the presence of his Grandson for a moment.

“Let this Great Council remain until such a time, that we can discover the root of these accusations and take appropriate measures. I shall not have a rebellion, even a rumoured one, break out during my lifetime. It is simply unfathomable to me – what next, Muggle-born husbands and wives for our children? No, we shall be getting to the bottom of this.” Trevelyan asked the room, receiving a loud stomping of feet and cheers in response.

“We seem to be in a spot of trouble.” Sirius muttered, his eyes glancing around the room. “Do you think we’ll be able to get out of it?”

Arcturus sighed. “I don’t know, Sirius. I don’t know.”

Chapter 16: Harry IX

Chapter Text

The letter had been the start of his sour mood. It had come on a Friday morning – no doubt Hedwig had flown the entire night; she had looked utterly exhausted as she had landed before his plate of eggs and bacon. Her blinks had been slow, her breathing heavy and she had been teetering dangerously from side to side.

He had never seen his small familiar in such a state – usually she would make at least one stop on her journey to and from Nottinghamshire.

He had immediately poured a small goblet of water for her, and Hermione had scooped the bird into her lap. Poor Hedwig had been so tired, she had fallen asleep in his friend’s lap, the bushy haired girl idly stroking her soft feathers with the backs of her fingers.

Neville, who had been sitting on his left, with Hermione on his right, had leaned over his shoulder and seen the state of Hedwig. His shocked gasp had drawn the attention of Daphne and Tracey, who had instantly leapt from their bench and hurried over, sitting down opposite the Gryffindor Trio.

Some of the House of Gryffindor had objected to the Slytherin Duo sitting among them, though they had been ignored easily. All focus had been on the exhausted owl in Hermione’s lap. Daphne had taken one look at the owl and immediately began to cut up slices of bacon into small chunks. Tracey, on the other hand, had darted over to Hagrid, who had been at his usual up at the teachers table.

The gentle giant had wasted no time in joining them, kneeling on the flagstone floor of the Great Hall, and gently examined the bird. She hadn’t been injured, thankfully – just exhausted. A good day or two of rest, and she would be right as rain, he had said.

It was during the giant’s examination that Harry had noticed the note tied to her left leg. With gentle fingers, Harry had removed it and unrolled it between his fingers. Hagrid had departed shortly after that, his heavy steps heading back to his breakfast.

The parchment was small and stained with ink – it had every appearance of having been written quickly in Sirius’s messy scrawl.

Harry’s eyes had darted left to right three times, having to re-read it twice to make sure he understood what had been said. Like that, Harry had been left with a dozen or more questions, and a sense of disappointment of having to stay at the school over the holiday break.

Originally, the plan had been to have Daphne and Neville stay with them at Blackwall – it would have been the longest visit that either of them had ever had, and they had all been excited. Daphne had planned out which books she would devour from the Black Library, while Neville couldn’t wait to wander the extensive gardens in the middle of winter.

Harry had just been excited to have his friends nearby.

Hermione and Tracey had plans of their own – Tracey had a holiday with her parents booked in the Alps, and Hermione had her parents to return to in Reading. Likely, his two newest friends would only have the opportunity to visit Blackwall over the summer break.

As a result, on the day that everyone was set to leave, his four friends had found him buried in a stack of books in the Library, going over the different uses of Charms in Defence Against the Dark Arts. If he was to be stuck in the school, he may as well be productive while he was there.

Professor McGonagall had awarded him points for being productive and proactive with his studies. Harry had accepted the points grudgingly – he would much rather spend the holiday in the company of friends and family, sitting around a table with a full belly from Woopy’s cooking. What had the enthusiastic Elf planned for this year? A bird? Pork? Beef?

He could still remember the sight of the previous year’s meal – the smell of the turkey wrapped in streaks of bacon, and the skin a crispy gold brown. His stomach rumbled loudly from his corner in the Library, and with how empty the castle had been over the last few days, he wouldn’t be surprised if Madame Pince came over to tell him to keep it down.

The Library had become his refuge. He would wake early in the morning, break his fast in the Great Hall – one of only five Gryffindors left in the castle, and then meander his way to his favourite corner amongst the bookshelves.

He had found the table in the second week of the term – it was a small nook hidden amongst the last row of bookshelves before the Restricted Section. It was a moderate sized oak table, with scuffs and smears from years of students having sat here and was nestled in front of a large window.

The weather had been awful in the time since his friends had left – almost as if it were trying to match his glum mood. The soft pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the thin glass was a steady rhythm to his reading, and he found himself losing track of time.

As it was, his current book was absolutely fascinating – Applications of Spiritual Magic. There was something about the way it was written, the way the words flowed into one another seamlessly that he found utterly enthralling.

He had never heard of Spiritual Magic before – of course, he knew of Elemental witches and wizards – those who had an affinity for certain elements. He also knew some basic Rituals and had even experienced the Family Magic first-hand at Arpton Keep.

If he understood the, admittedly advanced, text, Spiritual Magic was most associated with Seers and Prophets – those witches and wizards with a unique connection to the wild, chaotic magic of the world.

The applications were obscure for the most part – many of them being jobs he knew nothing about, or had never heard of before, but there was one entry that caught his eye: Curse-Breaker.

Harry had heard of Curse-Breakers, though only in passing conversation between Arcturus and Sirius. They were witches and wizards who spent their lives diving into tombs and making them safe – most commonly for Gringotts. More recently, he had overheard Ron Weasley spinning tales of his eldest brother, one William Weasley, who was apparently living in Egypt as one.

The idea sounded fascinating, and so full of adventure! He could imagine himself leaping into a tomb and tearing down Wards and Curses that had been in place for thousands of years. There would be some great treasure at the end, and a final trap – something that would make his escape daring and death-defying. He let out a quiet sigh and propped his head on his hand – it was a nice dream, he supposed.

The sad reality was that he would likely never be able to find a profession he could enjoy. If his parents were still alive, he may have had a few years to enjoy a short career, but inevitably he would have to leave it behind when he took up leadership of the Potter family.

As he was the only living heir to the family, it meant that the responsibilities that came with it would fall squarely on his shoulders when he came of age. He would graduate Hogwarts and likely become the youngest member of the Wizengamot in this generation – and that wasn’t even considering the responsibilities with the Capitol.

It would have been nice to find something he could enjoy for a few years. There were so many professions out there in the world – which would have suited him best? The life of an Auror sounded interesting – chasing down Dark Wizards and delivering justice. Teacher? He liked the idea of passing on what he had learned – could he have taught in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts? There were so many possibilities.

He sighed again and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Perhaps teaching at Hogwarts wasn’t the best of ideas in any event. Ever since Halloween, students had been quietly distancing themselves from him. It wasn’t anything overt – Merlin forbid some of the Purebloods in the castle say anything to his face directly. No, it was the little things – like not involving him in a conversation in the Common Room or sitting a little further away than necessary at the table or in class.

He still had his group of friends, and he would always be thankful for them. He couldn’t imagine his life without Daphne and Neville – even the imagined absence of Tracey and Hermione hurt immeasurably. The two new girls had become a welcome addition to his life. Tracey was witty and a constant source of joy, while Hermione was, well… she was Hermione.

Perhaps it had been the life-threatening situation the two of themselves had found themselves in, but he found himself comfortable around the girl in a way he couldn’t replicate with Daphne or Tracey. Admittedly, his experience with the fairer sex was largely limited to a Nanny Elf and two avian familiars, but there was something so easy about his relationship with the Muggle-born.

The two of them had grown close in the time since he had woken in that bed. The two of them would study together, even if the other three were unavailable – they would discuss the books they had read and compare their notes. Daphne was a studious girl, but for the first time in his life, Harry felt like he had a peer – someone who’s love of books and new information rivalled his own.

Of course, she still trashed him academically. He frowned at the book in front of him in thought. Hermione had a brilliant mind – but there was something that she was doing, or reading, that was absolutely thrashing him in their tests. The practical applications of magic, he had her beat – but the theory? She simply outclassed him.

Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair and ran his hands down his face. Perhaps his studying in the Library over the holiday would give him a small edge on her in the coming term – though he wouldn’t attempt to convince himself that it would last any longer than a week.

Not only had his friendship with the bushy-haired girl been welcome, but so had her own blossoming friendship with Daphne and Tracey. It had quickly become apparent that he and Neville were forever outnumbered – for the first time, they found themselves on the receiving end of not only Daphne’s sharp wit, but Tracey and Hermione’s.

Harry couldn’t help but snicker at the memory of Tracey berating Neville in their latest Potions class. It had been a double-lesson, and a practical at that. Professor Snape had made them brew a Wiggenweld Potion – a common enough healing potion. Neville had been partnered with Tracey, while he had been partnered with Hermione – Daphne had drawn the short-straw and had been partnered with Seamus and had kept a healthy distance from the boy the entire time.

He hadn’t seen what had happened exactly, but he could still hear the sound of the odd gloop sound as the potion shot out of the cauldron and soaked both of his friends. Harry hadn’t been able to help himself – when he had turned at the sound, he had nearly fallen to the floor at the sight of his two friends covered in a thick, green goo that dripped from their noses. Before Snape could make a comment, however, Tracey had picked up their textbook and began beating Neville on the shoulder with it.

It had been the funniest thing he had seen all year.

Both he and Neville had lost Gryffindor fifty points each, and Seamus, who had blown up his cauldron not five minutes later had lost them another fifty. It had been well worth it. He wondered if that had been the first time Snape’s dungeon classroom had been filled with the sound of laughter – he couldn’t imagine the greasy-haired teacher laughing. Harry suppressed a small shudder at the thought of the man laughing. What would Snape find amusing? Potion puns? Billowing robe banter? Wretched witticisms?

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the table. It seemed his time in the Library was well and truly over if he was thinking of ways to amuse the bat-like Potions professor. He gathered the books on the table slowly, making sure to be gentle with their fragile covers – some looked older than Dumbledore.

He went through the usual motions of placing the books back on their shelves, each sliding back into place among their literary companions just so. There was a sense of rightness at seeing a bookcase full of volumes – something that tickled his innate curiosity to know everything he could. How many years could he spend in the confines of this room, simply absorbing all he could? It was ever so tempting – perhaps, years in the future, he would do his own research into magic at Arpton Keep, or Rosestone Castle and make use of the Library here.

With the books safely stored away, Harry began his slow journey back to Gryffindor Tower. With a quick Tempus, he discovered it to be mid-afternoon. What could he do for the rest of the day? Clara was hunting, and Hedwig was at Blackwall now that she was recovered. He passed a Ravenclaw second year, and he found himself smiling politely. They ignored him and continued on their way – he sighed quietly to himself and continued walking.

He was just passing the Great Hall when a familiar mop of red hair caught his eye. Sat there, on his own, was Ron Weasley. The boy had mostly kept to himself in the days since everyone had departed the castle, and despite how much of an arse he could be to Hermione, Daphne and Tracey, he found himself pitying the boy he saw playing chess on his own.

Harry stood in the entryway for a moment, simply watching a boy his own age that looked as alone as he felt. The two of them were the only ones their own age that had remained from Gryffindor – even all three of his elder brothers had left for a Romanian Dragon Reserve, the age restrictions forcing them to have to leave the youngest behind. He was torn with indecision for a moment before he finally set his shoulders and slowly approached the other boy.

“Ron, are you okay?” He asked, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

The boy looked up, startled. “Oh, Harry, it’s you!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “It is. I noticed you sitting by yourself – would you mind if I joined you?”

“Sure!” Ron beamed, gesturing for him to take a seat. Harry slid onto the bench easily – his doublet softly squeaking as it rubbed against the wood.

“Playing chess again, I see.” He remarked, nodding toward the small set before the boy.

“Yeah – my grandfather taught me when I was little, and Bill tried to play with me when he was home during the holidays. Not as fun as Quidditch, mind you, but still fun.”

“Your grandfather – Septimus Weasley?” Harry asked, curiously. Before coming to Hogwarts, he hadn’t paid much thought to the Weasley family. They were old, much like his own, and were regarded as another Ancient and Noble family, but they were of middling importance. Their wealth had been gambled away generations before, and more often than not struggled to keep their Vassals in-line with their progressive advocacy – not to mention the fact they bred like rabbits.

“Yeah, that’s him! You heard of him, then?”

Harry shrugged. “In passing – Arcturus told me he managed to save your family from collapsing in on itself after the war, but that was about it.”

“Yeah, Dad said it had been rough – but I never really gave it much thought, you know? Besides, if anyone is going to make the family collapse, it’ll be the twins!” Ron chuckled as he palmed a chess piece and rolled it between a finger and thumb absently.

“Those two are terrifying.” Harry chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Can I ask you something?” Ron asked after a moment as he looked at him. Ron was frowning, but it appeared more out of thought than any anger.

“Of course.”

“You’re from an old Pureblood family, right?” Ron began slowly – it seemed he at least remembered Harry’s reluctance to talk of his blood-history. Harry suppressed a sigh as he shifted to get more comfortable. “But your Mum was Muggle-born. Why are you so traditional?”

Harry mulled the question over in his head for a moment and pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t say I’m traditional – at least, not in the sense that you probably mean. I was raised by Arcturus Black and taught a lot of the finer aspects of our society.” He began slowly, watching as Ron nodded slowly. “That isn’t to say he’s moulded me after himself – I have my own views and opinions on all sorts of things. I just tend to keep them to myself, is all.” Harry shrugged. It was with a small jolt of surprise that he realised this was the longest conversation he’d had with his fellow Gryffindor that hadn’t been about Quidditch.

“But… you wear those old robes.”

“Aye, I wear them – just as my father wore them before me, and his father before him. It’s my way of honouring the man I never knew.” Harry replied, shrugging a single shoulder. “Not to mention – they’re comfier than they look.” He grinned.

Ron snorted and looked down at his home-made jumper. Harry could see the time that had been put into it, but the material looked itchy and it was frayed around the hem. “Probably is.” Ron grinned.

“That isn’t to say that I dislike how Muggle-born dress, or families like your own – jines look quite comfortable.”

“Jeans.” Ron corrected him with a snicker.

“Jeans.” Harry chuckled, looking around the room absently. “I notice you don’t have Scabbers with you?”

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes again. “Nah – I left him in my room. There’s more cats around here than I thought there would be. Can’t afford to replace him if one of the buggers got him.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Where’s Clara?”

“Oh, off hunting, no doubt.”

“It must be wicked that you’ve got your own Phoenix – what’s it like?” Ron gushed, turning to face Harry fully.

“She’s certainly a handful. I didn’t know what she was when I first found her – she was this little featherless thing with big black eyes that I found in a bush.” Harry grinned, holding his hands out as he described her size. “Ever since she matured, she’s always been there. She’s playful, and mischievous, but I wouldn’t have her any other way.”

“Where did you come up with her name? I heard that you just know when a name’s right, y’know?” Ron propped his chin on his hand.

“I named her after someone I met.” Harry murmured. For a moment, his eyes lost focus and he was atop that horse again, marvelling at the wicked-looking weapon in Clara Appleton’s hand as she called him Little Lord and grinned at his questions.

“Must’ve been someone special to name a Phoenix after them.” Ron murmured, snapping Harry’s focus back to reality.

“They were.” He nodded solemnly. He shook himself after a moment and clapped his hands quietly. “Enough about me – how about a game of chess? I’m warning you, I’m utter sh*te.”

“Sure – here, let me just set up the board.”

They played for a number of hours – at least, long enough for the evening meal to be called for. Harry had lost each and every game he played with Ron, but he didn’t particularly mind – it was nice to see the red-haired boy laugh and joke. Ron had been almost as sullen and withdrawn as he had been.

The Hall quickly filled with the scant few who remained in the castle – only two dozen or so students and almost the entire faculty. Upon Dumbledore’s arrival, the tables were gently moved to the side and a number of House Elves, all dressed in a small toga-like uniform with the Hogwarts sigil on their breast, popped into the centre of the room with a large circular table and matching chairs.

The teachers sat first, quickly followed by the older students. The younger ones, such as himself and Ron simply stared in confusion at the scene before them. Harry knew in his head that they were no doubt meant to join them, but for some reason his body wouldn’t react.

“Come, Harry – Mr. Weasley, join us!” Dumbledore called from where he had taken his own seat. He sat with Professor McGonagall on his right, and Professor Flitwick on his left.

Harry shook himself from his stupor and settled himself into a chair to the left of Professor Cantrill – the young Enchantment Professor offering him a kind smile. He had seen her about the castle once or twice, and she had always been polite and greeted him by name – though how she knew his name was a mystery to him.

On Harry’s left was Professor Reyne, his Magical Theory Professor – she was older than Professor Cantrill, but only by a decade or two. The whispers among his peers were that she had modelled herself after Professor McGonagall – she was strict, but fair. She preferred blue and white robes and her blonde hair was always tied back – rumour was that she was likely to become the next Head of House, whenever that would be.

Ron sat a little further down the table in the only free chair left – Harry offered him a small smile and a nod, to which Ron offered his own smile and a shrug. Ron was sat between a Ravenclaw sixth year and a Hufflepuff seventh year.

“Excellent – as there are so few of us left in the castle, I thought it might be nice for us all to eat together, rather than spread out across the Hall.” Dumbledore smiled kindly. Harry noticed Professor Snape roll his eyes a little.

With a small clap, the dishes on the table filled with an assortment of food. There wasn’t as much as there normally would be during a term-meal, but then, there were far fewer mouths to feed.

Harry allowed the Professors on either side of him to fill their plates before reaching out to help himself. He chose a simple meal of Toad in The Hole and helped himself to a decent portion. The smell of the spicy sausages and the large Yorkshire Pudding made his mouth to water.

He poured some gravy onto his dish and quietly enjoyed his meal. All around him, the sounds of cutlery on plates and the quiet sighs that accompanied a good meal whispered around the table. As always, the Hogwarts Elves had outdone themselves.

The sausage melted on his tongue, and the gravy was thick and rich. There were slices of carrot mixed in with it all, and short stems of broccoli that crunched as he ate them. For a few blissful minutes, he wasn’t alone in a castle and he could simply enjoy a good meal.

Sooner than he would have liked, the meal was over, and everyone relaxed in their chairs – though it seemed Ron had made it his personal mission to clear every last dish on the table.

“Harry, how are you finding your break?” Professor Cantrill asked, as she delicately dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

Harry folded his hands into his lap and looked at the woman beside him. She appeared to be in her thirties, and she had long dark hair that was tied back in an elegant up-do that must have required magic to achieve. Her green eyes peered at him, and a friendly smile was on her lips – though it appeared more a playful smirk than anything. No doubt Sirius would have liked her.

“It’s going well, Professor. I spend most of my days in the Library – I just read the most fascinating book on Spiritual Magic earlier.”

The Professors brow rose a little. “Indeed? I’m surprised you could understand half of what you read, Harry. Aspects of magic such as that are usually third- or fourth-year material. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Professor. I just enjoy reading.” Harry shrugged with a small smile.

“Indeed – if you keep it up, I dare say we’ll run out of books in the library by the time you graduate.” She grinned at him.

“And then I’ll have the Potter and Black libraries to fill the void.” He replied with his own grin.

Professor Cantrill laughed at that and placed a hand to her chest. “Oh – you inherited Lily’s love for books then, it seems.”

Harry’s gaze focused on the woman beside him. “You knew my mother?”

Professor Cantrill’s smile lessened somewhat at the question, and her eyes focused on somewhere over his shoulder. “That’s right – we were friends while we were here.” She paused as her green eyes focused on his face. “The world is a little less without her.”

“I had no idea…” Harry murmured – the other conversations around the table were irrelevant to him now. Harry had learned a little of his mother through Sirius and Remus, but it had been stories from after she had become involved with his father, or stories of how his father had attempted to win her affection over the years. There was precious little he knew of her before then.

“You look just like him, you know. James, I mean.”

“Except for my eyes – Sirius says they’re my mother’s.” Harry finished, with a sad smile. “I’d have liked to have known her.”

“If what I’ve heard of you so far has been true, you’re more like her than you know – though I hear you have your father’s cheek.” Professor Cantrill chuckled. She turned slightly in her chair towards him.

A question bubbled up from deep within him, yearning to have the words spoken. It was a mounting pressure in his throat, and it almost hurt to keep it contained. After all, he barely knew the woman before him – of course, she was a Hogwarts Professor, and therefore she was to be trusted with his well-being in mind, but apart from that, he knew nothing of her.

“How well did you know my mother?” The question forced itself past his lips, and Harry had to fight the urge to scowl as he gripped the arms of his chair – the varnished wood creaking a little as his knuckles turned white.

The Professor was quiet for a moment, and he found himself under her gaze. Her eyes swept back and forth over him before settling on his eyes after a moment. There was something in her eyes, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

“She was my best friend.” She said after a moment.

“Do you…” Harry began, and for a moment his throat seized up. “Do you think you could tell me about her? When you have time, of course – I wouldn’t want to impose, or assume…”

The Professor held up a hand and chuckled quietly under her breath. “I would love to, Harry.” She smiled, and Harry felt something in his chest swell. He would learn more about his mother! He couldn’t help the beaming smile that split his face.

“I… I don’t know where to start.” Harry chuckled as he ran his hand through his loose hair. What did he want to know first? What were her hobbies? What did she do in her free time? What was her favourite spot in the castle? There was so much he wanted to know!

“That’s okay – how about I tell you a little secret?” The older woman mock-whispered, leaning in as if it were some great conspiracy. Harry found himself leaning in too.

“Of course!”

“I was the one who persuaded Lily to go to Hogsmeade with James!”

Harry gasped and leaned back a little as Professor Cantrill held a finger to her lips and winked at him playfully.

“But… Sirius said,” Harry began, his eyes wide as he remembered the tale of James Potters Master Plan to Woo Lily Evans. It was a wonderful story of pranks and determination, and the resulting maturity of James Potter as he grew into a strong young man.

How much of it was true?

“Oh, no doubt Sirius told you about how James pranked all of Lily’s dates on their Hogsmeade trips?” Harry nodded as the Professor paused for his answer. “That’s all true – what he forgot to tell you; was I was one of Lily’s room-mates. It was how we met. Girls talk, and we notice things boys often don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Professor Cantrill giggled and held a hand up to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself when you’re a little older. Besides, Lily always thought James was perfectly charming – just a little immature.”

Harry sat back in his chair and ran a hand down his face – he could hear the blood pumping in his veins. “I don’t know what to say. Does Sirius or Remus know?”

Professor Cantrill snorted into her goblet as she lifted it. “I doubt it. Sirius, while talented with charming the girls of Hogwarts, was about as clueless as the rest of them – although I remember Amelia setting him straight in the corridors once or twice.”

Harry snickered at the thought of Sirius being given what-for.

“Remus… He was always a shy one. He was more interested in his books than his classmates. How is he doing, by the way? I hear he’s the Steward of House Black now.”

“Moony’s alright – he’s a little ill at the moment, and Arcturus and Sirius were called away on urgent business, so that’s why I’m here. I couldn’t have asked for better people to raise me.” Harry smiled sadly.

“Indeed – you’ve become a fine young man, Harry. No doubt you’ll be the talk of the castle in a few year’s time.”

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks and he scratched his jaw absently. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He replied awkwardly.

The Professor chuckled again as she crossed one long leg over the other. “You’re a Potter, Harry. Your lot don’t do anything by half.” She said, rolling her eyes playfully – Harry couldn’t help but grin.

For the first time in their conversation, Harry noted that the table and the hall had emptied, and the sky through the windows was dark. How long had they sat and talked?

“My, it seems we lost track of the time. Why don’t you get back to your Common Room, and we’ll continue this another time, hm?” The Professor suggested with a smile. “Wouldn’t want you to be caught by mean old Filch past curfew, would we?”

“No, Professor.” Harry grinned, standing and offering a small bow. The Professor raised an eyebrow but smiled and nodded.

“Oh, and Harry?” She said, just as he turned to leave the Hall. When he turned to look at her, she grinned at him. “When we’re in private – call me Hope.”

“Yes Prof-“ He began before he stopped himself. “Yes, Hope.” He said, bowing once more and striding from the Hall.

Perhaps these few weeks without his friends wouldn’t be so bad after all.

On December twenty-fifth, Harry found himself walking out of his room slowly. He was dressed in a long, loose tunic that hung down to his mid-thigh and was baggy on his athletic frame, and his usual dark breeches were tucked into his boots, while his hair was tied loosely at the back of his head.

As he stepped from the small communal area that he shared with his fellow Gryffindors, he could hear the sounds of laughter reach him from the Gryffindor Common Room at the bottom of the stairs.

His books clicked against the marble stairs as he meandered down them, simply basking in the laughter and glee. His mood had improved somewhat ever since that fateful meal with Professor Cantrill – they had spent some time together since then, and Harry had learned more of his mother than he had ever expected to.

For instance, one of her hobbies had been collecting flowers from the Hogwarts grounds and preserving them with a series of Charms in an old scrapbook. Another had been photography – taking any opportunity she could to snap photos of her friends.

It wouldn’t seem much to a casual observer, but to Harry it was everything. It was a way to connect with the woman who bore him, who protected him until her dying breath.

He came to the bottom of the stairs and smiled slightly at the sight of the six Gryffindors that were sitting around the tree opening their presents.

“Harry!” Ron called, gesturing for him to join them. The other five Gryffindors, all in the seventh year, if he remembered correctly, stopped laughing and were looking at him cautiously. He refused to let their looks bother him – in the time since the Troll, he had become almost numb to it. It was just disappointing that it had seeped into his own house.

“Hello everyone.” Harry smiled, moving to sit in one of the plush chairs a little removed from the rest of them.

“Happy Christmas,” Was echoed throughout the room quietly – though far more enthusiastically from the local Weasley boy.

“Here, Harry – you’ve got some!” Ron grinned, pointing at a small pile of gifts. Harry blinked, surprised. He honestly hadn’t expected any, what with Arcturus and Sirius having to go away for an indefinite time, and with Remus having been caught up with his affliction.

He had sent his own off before everyone had left the castle. He had bought Neville a number of books on Herbology from Denmark.

Daphne had received a thick tome called Morgên y Dylwythen, another book on her favourite character from history to add to her collection.

Astoria had, of course, received a dozen stuffed Hippogriffs – she’d mentioned she had wanted a Hippogriff herd just before he left for Hogwarts, and this had been the best he could do.

He had gifted Tracey tickets to see the Weird Sisters live in concert over the Summer – her favourite group, by all accounts.

Hermione had no doubt already opened her new books on wizarding society and their most popular myths and stories.

He hoped that upon their return, Sirius would appreciate the new wand holster he had bought him, and that Arcturus would like the whiskey. Remus had been tricky to buy for this year, but Harry had settled with a new trunk with his initials proudly emblazoned upon it – he’d seen Remus eyeing it in Diagon Alley.

Ron pushed the first of the pile into his lap before turning back to his own gifts. Harry peeled the paper away carefully, mindful not to damage anything inside accidentally. He was almost done when he realised he hadn’t taken the time to see who it was from. A quick glance at the paper, and he found the small note that had been stuck to it with a bit of tape.

Ah, Neville.

Harry grinned as he removed the last of the paper and grinned at the book on combat spells. He’d always found the idea of duelling utterly fascinating, and unfortunately, as first years they weren’t allowed to learn anything that even came close. At the very least, he’d be able to try a spell or two out over the Summer.

Harry placed the book down at the foot of the chair and moved to pick up another. There was a quiet rustle of movement as the older students all stood and began to move towards the Portrait, quietly murmuring to one another. Ron remained where he was, dressed in his light blue pyjamas and a garishly burgundy knitted jumper with a golden R on the front.

The next gift was smaller, but from the weight, it was also a book. A quick glance at the tag revealed it was from Daphne. He grinned as he pulled at the paper, only to reveal the most exquisite book he had ever seen. It was a leather-bound hard-back volume with the finest engravings he had ever seen. The title was Myrddin Emrys: The Wandering Mystic, emblazoned in gold in large letters on the front cover. Already he could smell the earthy smell of the parchment – he knew what he was reading tonight, at least.

It seemed Hermione’s gift was next – wrapped carefully in a light blue wrapping paper. Harry had to resist rolling his eyes – she was even a perfectionist when it came to wrapping gifts. He opened it carefully but couldn’t help his mouth opening in surprise at the tub of saddle soap and leather conditioner in a small basket. They were the perfect gift for maintaining his leather gambeson, which begged the question – how did she know? He set the small basket to the side carefully.

Sirius’s scrawl was visible on the next, and Harry resisted the urge to shudder – what would it be this year? Exploding socks? Shampoo that turns his hair a ridiculous colour for a week? There had been many over the years, and each one made him that little bit more cautious. The paper came away easily to reveal a simple leather-bound journal with an embossed Stag, Wolf and Dog on the front.

He opened it slowly and gasped at the sight of the forward, and his eyes devoured the text before him.

Harry, you are at Hogwarts now, and you can’t begin to understand how proud I am of the young man that you’re slowly becoming. It seems like only yesterday that I was sat on the floor in front of Poppy and Minerva while you asked where Mama and Papa were.

I know that their loss has always been a difficult burden for you to bear. I know that Remus, Arcturus, and I could never compare to your parents, and each day I wish that they could look upon you the same way I do – as a proud parent.

I’m not James or Lily, nor do I wish to replace them in your heart. but I will stand behind you when you take your rightful place in the coming years. Know that you may always turn to me in your darkest moments for support.

In this book, you will find a number of notes that we Marauders passed between ourselves over the years as we decided our names. It is my hope that you can feel closer to your father, and one day add your own notes and name and pass it down to your own children.

Know that I love you dearly, and that those who have left us are never truly gone.

Sirius

Harry sniffed and wiped his eyes on the long, baggy sleeve of his tunic. He cleared his throat quietly and thumbed through a few pages. There were notes in Sirius’s handwriting, some in Remus’s and others in his fathers. Slowly, gradually, Harry realized he was seeing his father’s penmanship for the first time in his life.

He traced the lazily looping letters with the tips of his fingers and let out a quiet laugh as his shoulders shook slightly.

“You alright, Harry?” Ron asked, startling him for just a moment.

Harry sniffed once more and wiped at his eyes roughly. “Yeah, yeah I’m alright. Just an unexpected gift, is all.” He said, smiling weakly. Ron looked at him for a long moment before nodding.

“What is it?”

“A scrapbook of notes between my father, Sirius and Remus when they were at Hogwarts – trying to pick their nicknames, of all things.” Harry grinned, sniffing a little.

“What were they?” Ron asked, pulling his knees up to his chest and taking a bite out of a mince pie.

“Sirius was Padfoot, Remus was Moony, and my father was Prongs.”

Ron was silent for a moment as he frowned, seemingly deep in thought. “Those names sound familiar.”

“You might have heard me refer to Sirius or Remus by their nicknames when I’ve been talking to Neville.” Harry shrugged, placing the book delicately atop the pile.

“Probably.” Ron shrugged, popping the rest of the pie in his mouth. After a moment, he offered Harry one, but he waved it off.

It seemed Tracey’s gift was next – a small hexagonal box that rattled as he moved it into his lap. The paper came off easily to reveal a box of Honeydukes’ chocolate. He grinned and set it aside – he’d share them with everyone when they returned.

Astoria’s gift was a small box. It was wrapped in emerald paper that was no doubt meant to represent his eyes – something she often said was almost as pretty as his hair. The paper tore off to reveal a small wooden box – it was plain and had a simple lid with some brass hinges. With a quick flick of his thumb, the brass clasp on the front flicked loose and the lid sprang back.

Inside was a small, dark velvet cushion with a small golden ball perched delicately in the middle. Harry picked it up gently with his fingers and grinned as its delicate wings unfolded and began to flap gently. Astoria had gotten him a practice Snitch!

He carefully placed it back on the cushion and smiled a little as the wings folded themselves again. It would be perfect to practice his reflexes. He placed it at the side of the small pile of books, double checking to make sure the clasp was secure.

Next was Arcturus’s gift – it was large and thin, and impossibly flexible. Harry lifted it into his lap with the same care he had given to the other gifts. The paper tore easily, and what was inside took his breath away almost as much as Sirius’s gift had done.

Harry knew there were a number of artifacts and trinkets that House Black was well known for, and it seemed Harry held a copy of one such artifact in his lap.

He had visited Grimmauld Place once. It had been a dingy London Townhouse that had seen better days, even with Kreacher maintaining it once a week. The décor had been dark and suffocating, and the House Elf heads mounted on the wall had been utterly horrifying.

He had been wandering one of the many floors to the house when he had come across the room with the family tapestry in it. All around the room, men and women of years past had stared back at him as he wandered throughout the room. He saw Sirius had been scorched off of the wall, as had a number of other names. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from staring at the small portraits of his Grandfather, Charlus Potter, and his wife, Dorea Potter née Black.

In his lap sat a copy of such a tapestry, without all the scorch marks that ruined the original. His fingers traced the name of Arcturus, followed by Sirius, who was grinning and winking up at him, and…

His breath caught in his throat.

There, directly beneath Sirius Orion Black…

Harry James Potter

His own face grinned back up at him – he remembered the photograph being taken. It was the day of the Quidditch game – Sirius had insisted on getting a quick photograph before he left, saying he could never have too many photos of Harry, especially on such a happy day.

Harry felt the tears well up in his eyes again.

He stood suddenly, carefully rolling the tapestry up as he did so. Ron looked at him, a puzzled look on his face as his attention was torn from the Chudley Canons magazine in his lap. Harry wasted no time, spinning on his heel and sprinting up the stairs. He threw open both doors – the one to his common room, and the other to his bedroom. Clara gave a startled squawk and flapped her wings once.

Harry flicked his wrist, shooting the wand into his hand as he approached the wall nearest the window – it had the largest space of open wall. The tapestry unfolded easily, and with a quick flick of his wand, he stuck it to the wall. He grinned and wiped at his eyes once more before holstering his wand.

He had felt so lonely over the course of the year – the homesickness had been almost overwhelming at times. He had dealt with it the only way he knew how, by throwing himself into his studies and spending time with friends. This would help immeasurably.

Harry jogged back down to the Common Room, a delirious smile on his face as he jumped the last two steps.

“What was all that about?” Ron asked, nodding up the staircase.

“Oh, Arcturus sent me a tapestry – I just wanted to get it up on the wall straight away.” Harry replied, looking at the last two gifts in his pile as he sat back down.

“Must be some tapestry.” The red-haired boy grinned, taking another bite of yet another mince pie. How the boy was always so hungry was completely beyond him.

Harry turned the thought over in his head, weighing the pros and cons. After a moment, he just settled on telling him – he had to tell someone! Harry leaned forward a little, “You’ve heard of the Black Family Tapestry, I take it?”

Ron perked up at that, sitting forward so quickly he almost ended up on his face. “Do I! There’s nothing like it in the world, apparently! I heard it’s really something to see, but only fa-“ Ron began, before he paused and looked at him wide-eyed. “You have a copy of it hanging in your room?”

Harry nodded excitedly. “Not just that… Arcturus added my name to it!”

Ron sat there; mouth agape as he attempted to formulate words. “That’s wicked!”

Harry grinned excitedly, almost bouncing in his spot on the floor. He reached out and palmed the gift from Remus. The paper, like all the others, came away easily to reveal another book. This one was old and battered and looked to be stained with a little soot and was slightly singed in places.

Harry opened the cover and gasped before dropping it from limp fingers.

Property of Lily Rose Evans

He was holding one of the few physical connections to his mother left in the world. Harry snatched it back up and began flicking through the yellowed pages. On each page were two polaroid photographs, with a neat little time and date next to each in the margin – some had little anecdotes too, something to give context to the images that cycled in each picture.

Some were simply young girls sitting around laughing before one would notice the camera and leap towards the picture. Others were of beautiful landscapes – views of the Hogwarts grounds. The final page had two pictures and one stuck to the inside cover – almost as if it had been squeezed in, all were in colour rather than the usual black and white that had been prevalent throughout.

The first were his parents laughing and spinning around in front of the camera in their own little dance. His parents were bundled up in warm winter clothes. His mother wore a squat cap and a lilac scarf, while his father proudly had his Gryffindor scarf draped around his neck, while his hair blew wildly in the wind. The image finished with them grinning up at the camera.

The second was the two of them sat in front of the camera on a comfortable couch – they looked a little older, but only by a year or so. Merlin, they were so young. His mother wore a simple black long-sleeved top, and blue jeans, while his father was similarly dressed in trousers and a jumper.

They were both fussing over a baby in her lap, grinning and waving at the camera.

Him.

And they looked so happy.

Harry breathed in deeply and stared at the photograph, watching as the image played over and over again – he could watch it for hours. He noticed small things, like the way his mothers nose crinkled a little when she smiled, and how she would thread her fingers through his messy mop of hair.

He saw how proud his father looked, looking upon the two of them. He would press a kiss into his mother’s hair before tickling Harry’s chin with his finger.

The final image was of just him and his father, both asleep on a sofa – the same sofa in the previous photograph. Rather than the clean-shaven and well-groomed appearance of the man in the previous image, this man appeared exhausted and had a fair amount of scruffy stubble on his face – his glasses were crooked, and his lips were quirked into a contented smile. Upon his chest, with a small stuffed toy of a Stag was Harry, gently kicking his feet in his sleep and dozing away.

Harry looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply, willing the tears back. He blinked long and slowly. It helped, somewhat.

“Blimey, Harry – what is it this time?”

“Pictures of my parents – this is my mother’s photo-scrapbook. I own very little of either of them. So much was lost at Godric’s Hollow…” Harry murmured, gently closing the book and placing it atop the notebook from Sirius.

“I don’t know what to say.” Ron shrugged, watching as Harry dragged the last gift over to him. It was wrapped differently from the others. While it was large, it was also soft – almost like a cushion, and the paper was fastened with string. A small note was tied to the top.

“Who’s that one from?” Ron asked, scooting a little closer.

“I’m not sure. There’s no name – it just says my father left this with them before he died.” Harry muttered, first removing the string and them tearing away the paper. It was a dark kind of shimmering material.

Harry pulled it from the paper before his eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, almost falling over the chair. His breathing came in rapid bursts and the world around him seemed muffled. He knew that piece of cloth was – he’d heard the stories from Sirius and Remus. It had been thought to have been lost or destroyed when the house was blown to pieces – Arcturus had commissioned investigators to try to find it, but everything had come up empty.

And now, it lay in a pile in the Gryffindor Common Room before the Christmas tree.

Harry glared at the fabric.

He approached it slowly, bending down and threading it through his fingers. It was soft – impossibly so and didn’t look anything other than brand new. How many times had Sirius told him stories of his father using this in the school? Of pulling off the next big prank with it? It was half the reason for their success, after all.

And when his father and his mother had needed it the most, where had it been?

Harry felt a rage surge from within him, unlike anything that he had ever experienced before. It was a deep, primal thing. If this had been in the cottage, he might still have his parents – he wouldn’t be an Orphan.

He took in a deep, shuddering breath and felt his control snap.

For the first time in his life, Harry gave into his anger and basked in it. Whoever had kept this from him owed him answers – they were just as guilty of his parent’s murder as Voldemort was, and he deserved to look them in the eye.

Harry was unaware of the sonic boom that echoed throughout the tower, or the tinkling of thousands of shards of glass as the windows exploded – nor was he even aware of the small white dome that had snapped into existence around himself and Ron.

No, all Harry cared about right now was the cloak that threaded around his trembling fingers.

“Clara…” Harry whispered, not blinking as his companion materialised from a ball of flame on the floor. She hopped to him once and nuzzled his thigh softly – no doubt she could feel his distress, his anger. “Clara, take me to whoever sent this to me.”

It was reckless – they could be anyone. Rationally, he knew that – but there was nothing about this moment right now that he could be rational about. His Phoenix nuzzled the cloth for a second before she spread her wings to either side of her.

As he knelt, flicking his wand into his hand, he felt himself be engulfed in the bright orange flames. The light tinkling of the windows putting themselves back together reaching his ears as he left the room.

He stood immediately as he materialised in a familiar office, spinning, and pointing his wand at the startled man behind his large oak desk.

“Harry, my boy – what brings you here?” Dumbledore asked, his voice soft as his eyes darted between the wand, Phoenix and Harry.

“Why?” Harry whispered, his arm trembling in rhythm with his bottom lip. He would not cry – he was furious!

“Why? I’m sorry, my boy, but I require some context. Why don’t we start with putting the wand down, hm?”

Harry held the cloak out before him with his left hand and Dumbledore’s eyes finally glanced at it – instantly, he appeared his age and so very sad – almost heartbroken. Harry wouldn’t be fooled.

“Ah, I see you received my gift.”

“Gift?” Harry snapped, advancing towards the desk furiously. Fawkes squawked and fluttered his wings from his perch. Clara hopped onto the table between himself and the other Phoenix, her larger body shielding him from the smaller bird. She felt just as angry as he did – or was that his own anger he was feeling? “This cloak is a Potter heirloom, Headmaster! Better yet, it should have been with my parents – I might still have parents if they had it!”

Dumbledore slumped in his chair and ran a tired hand down his face. “Indeed, and I do not fault your anger. I take it you are who is responsible for the Wards reacting a few minutes ago?” Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before he slowly withdrew his own wand and conjured a plush chair. “Sit, and I’ll explain all. And please, lower your wand.”

Harry found he could hold his arm up any longer, even if he had wanted to. His limbs were trembling, and tears were silently running down his cheeks. He practically collapsed into the seat – Clara joined him, perching on the arm, and nuzzling the crook of his neck.

“Harry, you must understand – I would have returned it sooner if it had been in my power to do so.” Dumbledore began. “In the year nineteen-seventy-nine, your father came to me with an offer – I was doing a bit of research, you see, but that isn’t what is important right now.”

Dumbledore paused as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Harry, your father may not have always been the most honourable man in Britain, but he was a pragmatic one. Before he and your mother went into hiding, he left the cloak with me, under a very strictly worded contract. He said that I could do all the research or whatever I wanted with the cloak, I just had to keep it safe; safe for you.”

“Why did you not give it back when they went into hiding then?” Harry demanded, rubbing the backs of his hands on his cheeks as he sniffed.

“I simply couldn’t, Harry.” Dumbledore replied, holding his hands up. “He had the contract drawn up by the law-goblins of Gringott’s, and there was no way around it – believe me, I tried. When word got out that Voldemort was actively hunting your parents, he wouldn’t let me give it back to him. He said that it was far better for me to have it and the Potter line die out than risk getting into the Dark Lord’s hands. As it is, I had to wait an extra two years so that I could ensure that you, personally, received it.”

“You should have cancelled the contract!” Harry screamed – even in his anger, he knew how notoriously iron-clad Goblin contracts were. His fury fled from him, only to be replaced with a deep and aching emptiness, so profound that he couldn’t begin to describe it. He curled in on himself, sinking to his knees, as sobs wracked his body. “I miss them so much…”

He clamped his eyes shut as his face scrunched up. There was the soft sound of a chair scraping against stone and a series of soft, padded footsteps before he found himself pulled into a strong embrace.

“There, there, Harry – I know. I know.” Dumbledore whispered, gently rocking him back and forth as he wept into the Headmasters robe.

Years of longing came to the surface, and Harry found himself grasping the robes of the man who held him. It wasn’t Sirius, or Remus, or even Arcturus, but he clung to the man like he was the only lifeline he had left.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained that way, sobbing uncontrollably, but by the end of it, he simply felt… numb. He was exhausted, completely, and utterly so. Dumbledore pulled back from Harry, his own eyes bloodshot and wet.

“Harry, not a day goes by where I do not feel the loss of your parents. If I could do it all over again, I would make some very different decisions – alas, the ability to turn back time is impossible, and I must live with the consequences.” Dumbledore sighed and cleared his throat. “As it is, I have their son before me – a young man, who by all accounts, is a delight to be around. You are the best of both of your parents, Harry Potter, and they would be so proud of you. Never forget that.”

Harry found the corners of his lips turning upward slightly at that thought. He sniffed and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic. He saw Dumbledore turn to look at Clara with a sad smile.

“Perhaps it would be best if you return young Harry here, back to his room? I believe him to be quite exhausted from the events of the day.”

Harry nodded absently and reached for the cloak that had pooled at his feet. The silky cloth bunched in his left hand, and his wand hung limply in his right – he couldn’t even bring himself to grip it properly right now.

Clara made a noise over his shoulder, and he found himself leaning into her as he sat back up. Before the flames engulfed him, Harry saw the sad look on the Headmasters face and idly wondered how true his words of comfort had been?

Were they the words of regret? Of a man who realised his mistakes and continued to live with the consequences? Or were they simply the words of a man comforting a boy, robbed of his parents to a war? How many others were out there today, orphans of Voldemort’s war?

His thoughts dwindled away as he reappeared on his bed, the canopy above him. He felt the bed shift a little and found himself smiling a little as Clara nestled herself into the quilt next to his chest – her head laying on his chest as she gazed up at him with her dark eyes.

He found the backs of his fingers gently running down her neck feathers as his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke in the middle of the night, if the appearance of the moon through his window was anything to go by. He sat up slowly, first pushing himself to his elbows, and then to his hands – Clara stood and flapped her wings a little, and Harry found himself smiling tiredly at her.

While he was still exhausted, he had no real desire for sleep – he had slept the day away as it was. With the events from earlier still rampaging around in his head, he would have preferred to go for a fly on his broom – no doubt, out of the question given the time of night.

He sighed as he got to his feet, the soft noise of falling fabric pulling his attention to the cloak bunched at his feet. And here lay the crux of today’s problems – an invisibility cloak that could have kept his parents alive eleven years ago. How many more photographs would have been in that journal? Would there have been photos of him sleeping in his mother’s arms?

What about his first steps?

His first broom-ride?

His first day of school, perhaps?

Harry felt his heart break all over again but willed himself not to fall into the pit he had done earlier. No – he would remain composed and strong – for his parents. He would be strong for them.

Harry found himself wandering around his room, with the cloak thrown over a shoulder. It tickled his ear a little, or perhaps that was the hair that had come loose in his sleep – either way, he didn’t care.

He grunted quietly to himself before he moved to the door. It wasn’t locked, and it seemed someone had moved his gifts onto the small tables by the side of it at some point. Perhaps it had been Ron, or maybe one of the many Hogwarts House Elves. Either way, it didn’t matter right now – he just needed to get out of the room.

He strode across the small room, and quickly made his way down the stairs. Even the Common Room felt suffocating as he stood there for a moment.

Ignoring how queasy it made him feel, Harry ripped the cloak from his shoulder and threw the huge swathe of material over his head. It was easier to see through than he had expected and was much lighter than he thought it would be – though why he had thought it would be heavy after carrying it on his shoulder down the stairs baffled him.

He moved to the entrance to the Common Room and slipped from the Gryffindor Tower with a quiet click – though he had enough presence of mind to leave it slightly ajar. No need to wake The Fat Lady if he was going for a midnight stroll.

He moved down the stairs as quietly as he could, wincing every time his boots would scuff the marble.

Upon reaching the ground floor, Harry began walking lazily among the corridors. It was eerie, to be walking the castle at night rather than during the day – it almost felt like a tomb.

Every now and then, he would pause and listen for the faintest hint of anyone else wandering the corridors. Even then, nothing but silence answered him.

He could have been walking for minutes, or hours – he didn’t know. He stopped caring.

He found himself walking around the small Transfiguration Courtyard near Professor McGonagall’s classroom on the western side of the castle. He had sat on the wall many times with his friends over the course of the year – it was a nice spot to stop and simply watch the people around them go about their day.

Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his magic, feeling the faint traces of those that had been there over the years. They were familiar, but so different and so unique. Some were stronger and more prevalent than others, and Harry chalked them up to the more recent students, but there was something else – something that wasn’t quite right.

Harry followed the feeling, and found his feet moving of their own accord. It was elusive but teasing at the same time, but it was… familiar. It almost felt like Arpton Keep, but that was impossible – Hogwarts didn’t have a Ro’rim, did it?

Harry gasped as his foot came into contact with a wooden door and his eyes snapped open. He didn’t recognise the door, and it seemed to shimmer before him uncertainly until he reached out with his hand and grasped the handle.

The door snapped into focus, and suddenly it appeared as if it had always been there. Had he just stumbled on a hidden door? Had one of the Professors hidden it for some reason? Or had it been a student?

His curiosity got the better of him as the familiar feeling returned. He lifted the latch and shimmied inside.

The room was empty and larger than he had expected. He shrugged the cloak off, but kept it bundled in his arms. He swept his eyes back and forth, noticing only stone pillars and stone walls until…

He stepped forward a few steps and there, on a lower platform to the right of the door, was a shimmering golden mirror. He approached it slowly, that sense of familiarity getting stronger and stronger with each step. When he was close enough, he reached out and brushed the metal with his fingertips.

It snapped into focus the same way that the door had, and all of a sudden, he was struck by the magic it seemed to ooze. There was no other way to describe it – it simply dripped with magic.

It was large, at least twice the size of him, and the glass was milky and appeared worn towards the bottom. Above the glass, were the words Erisedstra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

What did they mean?

Harry reached out and ghosted a finger across the smooth surface of the glass, blinking as a pair of figures began forming in the mist.

They were faint at first, and as they walked closer, their forms became more defined. He could make out gender, height and eventually their hair. The one on the left had brilliant copper hair that hung just past her shoulders, while the on the right had short, wild black hair that stuck up at all angles.

They came to a stop and appeared as if they were stood right behind him. The two were young, only just out of school, really. They smiled down at him, sad, but oh-so proud.

Harry dropped to his knees before the mirror, the cloak pooling at his side limply. He didn’t know how much more he could take – had he not had enough already?

The two figures knelt on either side of him, and he felt his lip quiver all over again. “Mother…” Harry whispered, earning the most beautiful smile he had ever seen from the woman before him. “Father…” Harry gasped, his eyes becoming misty. He saw James Potter nod proudly as he grinned.

“I missed you so much…”

Chapter 17: Harry X

Chapter Text

The birds flew high above him, singing their songs as they danced around the tall towers of the Keep. They ducked and dived, banked, and climbed around one another in their own little private dances.

He watched one in particular – a younger bird, with its white plumage almost glowing in the early evening light. He watched it chase playfully after another similar bird, often flying wingtip to wingtip as it called out in glee.

Harry smiled, watching it from his spot underneath the Great Oak of Arpton Keep, a small smile on his face as he idly ran an oiled cloth down the length of his sword. The quiet sounds of the castle and the steady roaring of the twin waterfalls on either side of the fortress were his only companions in his quiet sanctuary.

He sighed happily as he placed the blade down carefully on the soft grass beside him – the blade had been recently sharpened and was now well oiled, anything further would be just an excuse not to leave his shaded haven.

His head fell back slightly, the hard wood of the tree behind him was a familiar comfort. It was moments like this, when he was covered in the shade of the canopy that he felt truly at peace. He gave a little contented sigh as he stretched his legs out before him.

“Here you are! Shirking your duties again, I see!”

The voice caused him to groan as he cracked open an eye. There, striding across the grass with a large grin of pearly-white teeth was Rob, with his unruly red hair that stuck up wildly in every which direction. His father’s hazel eyes sparkling with mirth.

Harry grinned as he pushed himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, clapping him on the back.

“You always know where to find me.” Harry scoffed, returning to his spot at the base of the tree and patting the empty spot beside him. He watched as Rob hitched the material of his breeches and sat down.

“You look like sh*t.” Rob teased, smirking in that way he’d heard the girls around the castle giggling about. Harry rolled his eyes and gave his brother a small shove with his elbow.

“Aye, you would if you’d returned from the Capitol in the early hours of the morning.”

“Better you than me.” Rob grinned, idly scratching the rough stubble on his chin.

“How’s Daphne?” Harry found himself asking, eager to hear of one of his closest friends and the wife of his brother. He watched as Rob’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the beautiful, dark-haired witch. As usual, Rob sat a little taller when speaking of her and his shoulders were set a little further back as his chest puffed out in pride.

It had been a surprise to the family, for sure. Daphne Greengrass, heiress to the Greengrass family, had been a constant childhood companion to Harry, along with the Longbottom heir, Neville. They had grown up around one another, forming a bond of friendship so strong that they were as good as siblings.

While Neville had grown into a fearsome, broad man with a thick beard and square shoulders that spoke of his Norse heritage, Daphne had grown into a stunningly beautiful woman. Her long dark hair and piercing blue eyes would draw the attention of all the men around her.

From the moment she had become a woman, Daphne had been swarmed with an endless number of suitors, vying for her hand – some far more honourable than others. While many quickly gave up their pursuits easily enough, it had been Rob, two years younger than Harry, who had made it his life’s mission to win her hand.

Rob had been eighteen when she had finally succumbed to his charms and flirtations. It had been amusing to watch for years. Originally Rob had been a bumbling fool, tying his tongue in her presence and sweating profusely.

As the years went on, and Rob’s confidence grew, his attention to his friend had never wavered. The stumbling words paved way for confident compliments, and playful flirtations. Rob had grown into a handsome man, with broad shoulders from his years training with a sword that stood as tall as Harry, and he was a powerful wizard.

With Rob’s transition into adulthood, Daphne’s lingering glances to his younger brother hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. While Harry considered himself a capable man, and a strong wizard, he knew better than to tease the witch, whose eyes had lingered on his brother. He was happy for the two of them and had barely been able to contain his joy when they had shared a kiss during a dance at a House Longbottom tournament.

The announcement of their impending marriage had been swift and full of excitement. Harry still remembered the loud shrieks of protest and the black eye he had earned when he had scooped Daphne up and spun her around as he welcomed her officially into the family. He had walked around in a happy daze for two days after that, something that his own wife had found hilarious.

“When I left her, she was trying to pull Astoria out of the helmet she’d gotten stuck on her head.” Rob snickered.

“Merlin, what did she do now?” Harry chuckled, picturing the two Greengrass sisters trying to get the helmet off. Astoria had become another honorary family member as they grew up – she was wild and fierce, a stark contrast to Daphne’s cool, calculating demeanour. While Daphne would preach caution, it would be Astoria who leapt into a situation headfirst.

Harry fondly remembered the time he had to rescue Astoria, who was well into her teens at that point, from a herd of wild Hippogriffs, because she’d plucked a wing-feather from the alpha – he still had the scars on his side from that little adventure.

“Oh, just trying to sneak into our Household Guard again.” Rob grinned, rolling his eyes. It had been a long-standing dream of Astoria’s to join the Potter Guard – she wasn’t one for the dresses and the courtships of regular girls, and Harry loved her for it.

“It’s the day she finds herself in a dress, willingly, is a day that we need to be concerned.” Harry grinned, imagining the petite, dark haired young woman in a dress.

“Aye – that’ll be the day.” Rob hummed, threading his fingers together over his stomach and resting his head against the trunk. “Say, why did you return so late last night?”

“We overstayed our welcome, I believe.” Harry chuckled, pursing his lips. Rob turned his head and raised a brow curiously. Harry shrugged. “What do you want me to say? Trevelyan is a wanker – I call them as I see them.”

“You didn’t!” Rob gasped, grinning.

“Not in so many words, mind you.” Harry laughed.

“Father’s going to murder you – oh Gods, that means I’ll have to be the heir!” Rob wailed, dragging his fingers down his face in horror.

“Aye – no more Quidditch for you. Whatever will your adoring public do without your smiles and winks?”

“Learn to stop sneaking into the changing rooms, most likely.” Rob snigg*red, slugging Harry in his right arm playfully.

“Oh aye, I’m sure. Do you remember that girl, what was her name – blonde, fourth year that stumbled into the locker room in my last year, looking for you?”

“Aye, oh Merlin, what was her name? Bethany? Becky? Something like that. I remember you trying to hide yourself in your locker, too.” Rob chuckled, a far away look on his face as Harry rolled his eyes.

Of course, Rob would remember that.

It had been in Harry’s final year of Hogwarts, and Rob’s fifth. They had been playing Slytherin, and Rob had performed excellently as the lead Chaser, scoring points left and right while Harry broke up the opposing formations and kept an eye out for the Snitch.

The celebrations in the locker room had them all re-enacting parts of the match and laughing loudly until a fourth year Hufflepuff had barged into the room, screaming for Rob and that she would be his. Harry had panicked and thrown himself bodily into his locker, what with him standing there in his underwear after he’d washed the sweat and grime of the match from his body. Rob, in comparison, had stood there shocked and shirtless.

“I wonder how she’s doing now?” Harry mused quietly, staring up at the high walls of the Keep as he rubbed at the short beard that had grown over the years.

The years had passed quickly – far too quickly for his own liking. He had left Hogwarts a decade ago and spent a few years as a Professional Dueller in Europe, before returning to take up his duties in Arpton Keep under the guiding hand of his father.

“There you fools are!” Came the voice of his sister – Jasmine Potter, the spitting image of her mother, fiery red hair framing her porcelain face and emerald eyes.

“sh*te – we’re in for it now.” Rob grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

“Speak for yourself, I’m still the eldest – not to mention her favourite.” Harry muttered from the corner of his mouth as he offered Jasmine a smile and a wave as she marched across the lawn.

Rob scoffed. “Aye, but only because you’re wrapped around her finger.”

“Harry James Potter, just where do you think you’ve been, hm?” Jasmine demanded, poking him roughly in the chest as she finally reached the two brothers. While Harry and Rob were handsome young men, they were known for their skill and power; Jasmine was the jewel of the Potter family scions.

It had been no surprise that Rob’s Fraternal Twin had taken after their mother, with a keen intellect and sharp wit to match her beauty, she had been the smartest witch of her year at Hogwarts, thrashing all the previously set records and setting her own.

She had railed against the expectations that came with her birth, and had made it her life’s mission to set new laws and customs to protect women in the wizarding world – already some of her earlier work was being taught at Hogwarts, held up as something to aspire to. It had come as no surprise when she had been made Head Girl, while Rob had been made Quidditch Captain.

She stood before him now, her nostrils flared, and her face flushed as she stared up at him with her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea how inconsolable poor Neville is, that you didn’t go and see him the moment you returned?”

Rob snorted at his side, “Anyone would think he was Harry’s wife.”

“Don’t get me started with you, Robert Charlus.”

Rob silenced himself immediately under his sister’s firm glare. Harry quickly pulled her into a firm hug, and softly kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry about Neville, Jas. I know how he can get.”

Rob snorted at his side, and Jasmine shifted suddenly before Rob yelped in pain, clutching his shin.

There had been something about Jasmine growing up that had often confused him. While he doted on her, and loved her unconditionally, she had always appeared nearby whenever Neville had been around. Neville had paid it no mind, and in their younger years, the two of them had tried to involve Jasmine in whatever game they were playing – often taking turns to rescue her from whichever foul wizard held her captive.

It was Neville, more often than not, would end up rescuing her – if only because Harry loved to see her face light up when Neville would stand victorious. She would clap and pretend to swoon before placing a quick peck on the boy’s cheek.

Harry had assumed that all girls were like that.

As they got older, her attention to Neville became more pronounced and Harry began to get an inkling as to why. Neville had grown into a fearsome young man, with powerful arms, a thick beard, and dark, wild hair that was always kept swept back.

While Neville was like a brother to him, it hadn’t quelled the protective instinct in him when he had caught Neville leaning against a wall, leaning into his sister with a lock of her hair wrapped around his finger. He still recalled standing behind an oblivious Neville and loudly clearing his throat. The older boy had panicked and stumbled away from him, tripping over a bucket of water and landing on his arse.

After making Neville sweat for a moment – perhaps it had been longer, but that was his prerogative, he had helped his best friend to his feet and threatened him bodily harm if he ever hurt sweet Jasmine. He was going to say more, but the moment was ruined when his darling sister dumped the rest of the bucket over his head and he had been forced to run for cover as she flung hex after hex at him.

Jasmine burrowed a little deeper into his chest as she took a deep breath – even in her mid-twenties, she would still be that same little girl he remembered following him around the castle, asking to ride on his back.

“How is my dear brother-in-law?” Harry chuckled, leaning back a little and cupping his sister’s face. She rolled her eyes.

“Still as wild as ever, I’m afraid. He’s trying to teach little Ubbe how to wield an axe.”

“He always did say he’d start him young…” Rob muttered, stepping away just in time to avoid the foot that flew towards his shins.

“He’s four, Rob!” Jasmine snapped, scowling at her twin. Rob snickered quietly and rubbed at his jaw in an attempt to hide it – Harry too, was struggling to contain his amusem*nt.

As Neville had grown, there had been something about his ancestry that had called to him, and he had thrown himself into it. He was every bit the model Pureblood wizard, he was also every bit the warrior – as children, the two of them could often be found in the training yard, sparring with blunted weapons as often as they sparred with their wands. Harry had favoured bastard swords and Neville had gravitated toward the axe.

It came as little surprise that he was trying to get little Ubbe, named for the founder of House Longbottom, to take to the axe.

“I’m sure little Ubbe will be just fine – besides, just you wait until he gets his hands on little Astrid, hm?”

Jasmine’s eyes widened a little at that, and Harry couldn’t help the little smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. The thought of little, sweet Astrid running around in her arctic blue silk dresses with an axe was almost too funny to imagine.

If Harry were honest with himself, he was a lost cause when it came to any of the next generation of Potters, Longbottoms and Greengrass’. As Daphne was the heir to her house, technically Rob had become Robert Greengrass, and Jasmine had joined Neville’s house. As far as Harry was concerned though, they were all one family.

It was at that moment that the three of them heard the unmistakable bang of the oak door on the stone wall of the castle. There, striding through the door with his son on his shoulders and daughter tucked under an arm as if she were a coat, was Neville.

Harry grinned and bent down to pick up the sword, sliding it quickly into the simple scabbard that he had left resting against the tree behind him. Better to be safe than sorry with the arrival of the children.

As he turned to look back at his brother-in-law, he chuckled as Neville, without breaking his long stride, lifted little Ubbe from his shoulders by the scruff of his neck, the little boy laughing and his legs already kicking as he landed on the floor running. Astrid, who was giggling uncontrollably took a moment to straighten her skirt before waddling on unsure feet toward her mother, who bent and held her hands out for her.

Before he knew it, he had been picked up and spun around as the much larger man roared with laughter and made his ribs creak. “There’s my Little Wolf!”

“Neville – can’t – breath.” Harry groaned, gasping for breath as he was dropped on the ground.

“And you wonder why people think you’re married.” Rob laughed, slapping Harry on the back. Harry just cuffed him over the head.

“Ha! Now there’s a thought-“

“No!” Jasmine snapped, glaring at her husband as she poked him in the ribs. “I’m selfish, I refuse to share.”

“Maybe next time, Neville.” Harry grinned as he bent down to pick up Ubbe, who was tugging on his trouser leg, his tiny hand stretched into the air as high as it would reach. Harry made a show of picking the boy up. “Oh, you’re getting too big for me, Ubbe! Soon I won’t be able to pick you up!” Harry said, holding his nephew against his right hip and tapping him on his little nose.

The boy scrunched his face up and went cross-eyed for a moment as he focused on his finger. It was far too adorable.

“No! Uncle Harry!” The little Ubbe cried, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck, and burying his face into his shoulder. Harry grinned and hugged the boy back, stroking his dark hair with his free hand.

“Oh, alright then, I think I can manage it for a little longer.” Harry whispered, earning a giggle from the boy. “And how’s little Astrid doing, hm?”

He turned to look at the little girl that was bouncing on her mother’s hip. She looked as content as ever – her chubby little cheeks flushed red and her eyes scrunched up as she giggled and tried to hide behind her hands. He gasped and pretended to look for her. “Where’s little Astrid gone?”

She dropped her hands with a loud giggle, and he peppered her forehead with little kisses. “There she is!”

“Harry!”

The unmistakable sound of Astoria’s excited shout echoed across the garden and he looked around at the assembled adults with a befuddled expression. “Was there some pre-arranged meeting I didn’t know about?”

Rob snorted as Harry put Ubbe on the floor and prepared himself. He noticed everyone – even the little boy stepped back. “Everyone’s missed you, what can I say?” Rob grinned, slapping him on the shoulder again while Neville chuckled.

Harry winced as the dark-haired missile struck his chest, her lithe arms wrapping around his torso with such a strength that he could hardly believe it was the petite woman before him. “’Storia – ribs – bending – hurts.”

Astoria let go with a little blush and took a step back with a grin. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Aye, even in the spare pieces of armour laying around, apparently.”

Astoria’s blue eyes widened a little at that before she awkwardly glanced at the floor, briefly shooting both Neville and Rob a glare as they snickered – both quelled under her gaze, however.

“Astoria, how many times do I have to tell you not to run off?” Daphne sighed, shaking her head as she joined the group – a six-year-old boy with messy black hair and blue eyes at her side, and a three year old girl in each arm.

“I was wondering where you were.” Harry quipped, quickly planting a kiss on Daphne’s cheek as he greeted her with a one-armed hug.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Astoria groaned. Harry chuckled, rolled his eyes and placed one on her cheek too.

“Looks like you’ve got competition, Neville.” Rob winked, leaning casually to the side as Astoria took a swipe at him. The youngest of them growled dangerously and Harry watched as his brother’s eyes widened a little bit as he held his hands in front of him. “Now… Astoria, don’t do anything hasty. Daphne, dear?”

“Yes, dear husband of mine?” She replied airily, as if nothing of consequence was happening.

“She’s got that look in her eye again.”

“Astoria?” Daphne grinned, looking at her husband.

“Yes, dear sister of mine?”

“Get him.”

There was a small yelp as the children and remaining adults all laughed loudly. Astoria had thrown herself bodily at Rob, knocking them both to the dirt as they rolled around. The youngest Greengrass used her smaller stature to her advantage, nimbly avoiding his brother’s attempts to shake her loose. It ended with Astoria, dressed as she was in her tunic, breeches and boots, sitting quite proudly on his brother’s chest, beaming up at the lot of them – she was soon joined by the two boys, who leapt atop Rob happily.

“That’s eight to nothing.” Neville murmured, quietly handing Harry a trio of Galleons.

“I told you that you were a fool for thinking otherwise.” Harry chuckled back, tucking the gold pieces into a small pouch on his belt.

“Men.” Jasmine sighed, rolling her eyes. Little Astrid on her hip tried to mimic her mother, rolling her eyes while she sucked on her thumb.

“Aye, but we love them in any event.” Daphne sighed, as if it were some great burden.

“You know, we could be quite offended by that.” Harry replied, raising a brow at the woman opposite him.

“You’ll get over it – you’re a big boy.” She replied, smiling sweetly. Harry scoffed and turned to watch the small pile of bodies atop his brother. Astoria had remained in her place of triumph, encouraging the boys to tickle the youngest Potter brother – Rob’s giggles and barks of laughter were always a welcome sound.

They stood there for a time, just watching as tears ran down Rob’s cheeks as he squirmed under the ticklish torture of his son and nephew. It was moments like this where Harry was reminded of just how fortunate they all were – all happy and content. They had grown and matured quickly after Hogwarts, and now they all had small families of their own. How quickly the years went by.

It would be his own brood that went off to Hogwarts first – little Sirius and Remus, the twins named for his Marauder uncles, with their wild hair that refused to be tamed, and their sparkling eyes. It was hard to imagine it would only be a few more years until he stood on that platform, waving them goodbye. Where had the time gone?

“You’re brooding again.” Daphne and Jasmine said at the same time, both looking at him fondly. The gentle breeze gently swaying the skirts of their dresses – Jasmine in her emerald dress, and Daphne in her usual black and silver.

“I don’t brood.” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes as his gaze lifted and flittered to the two women who were looking at him with little smirks.

Neville snorted at his side and clapped Harry on the back. “Harry, all you ever did at Hogwarts was brood.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!” Astoria chimed in, causing Harry to roll his eyes again.

Harry folded his arms across his chest and ignored the quiet chuckles of those around him and simply continued to watch as his nephews continued to torment his brother – before long, they had tired of their game with his brother and flopped into the grass beside Rob.

There was a soft caw above him, and he tilted his head a little and caught a glimpse of his faithful companion as she swooped down from between the tall towers of Arpton, her large wings tucked tightly into her body and her long tailfeathers trailing behind her.

She came to a sharp stop just before them and took to perching on one of the thick branches of the great oak. Harry sighed as he reached up and scratched her chin – the Phoenix leant into his touch, trilling quietly.

“Told you we’d find him if we followed the chicken!” Came the chuckling voice of his father. It was a deep, soothing voice that had read him stories like The Tale of the Three Brothers, and The Fountain of Fair Fortune after tucking him into bed.

Harry spun and took in the sight of Lord James Potter, Lord of Arpton Keep and Rosestone Castle, and proud father to three children. On his left were Sirius and Remus, his Marauder uncles – Sirius with his wildly curly hair and easy smirk, and Remus with his neat brown hair that was streaked with grey. On his right was Lily Potter, devoted mother, Lady of House Potter, and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

His father was dressed in his usual dark doublet, and his mother was in a dress that resembled Jasmine’s. A pair of nine-year-old boys sprinted around the four of them, screaming in joy – their faces were flushed with happiness and their mouths were set into excited grins.

Harry bent down and held his arms out as the two boys collided with him. He laughed as he scooped them up as best he could. “I was wondering where the two of you trouble-makers were!”

Little Remus, with his hair tied back neatly, laughed as he wrapped his arms around Harry, while little Sirius was busy trying to climb his way onto his shoulders. “I think I regret naming you after the Marauders.” He grouched, glaring at the two men they were named for – both of whom were snickering quietly.

“Uncle Sirius showed us how to talk to girls!” Remus grinned bouncing up and down a little on the spot.

“Did he now?” Harry asked, co*cking an eyebrow at the man in question. Harry’s father laughed loudly alongside Neville while Harry’s mother, Jasmine and Daphne rolled their eyes.

“Just passing on my talents where they’re needed.” Sirius replied with a wink.

“But girls are so boring!” Groaned Rob’s son, David – named for their mother’s Muggle father. Astoria leaned over and gently flicked him on the forehead, having abandoned her seat atop Rob, who was busy pulling himself to his feet.

“I’m not boring, am I?”

“No! You’re the best, Auntie ‘Storia!”

“That’s right, and I’m a girl.” She replied smugly, watching as David worked that one out in his head. After a moment, he seemed to understand and nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Just goes to show, Gryffindors are the best.” Neville grinned.

Daphne snorted while Jasmine simply rolled her eyes.

“I hate to break it to you dears, but you’re vastly outnumbered.” His mother chuckled, patting both women on their shoulders as she fussed over the girls in their arms, cooing and making little faces at them.

With little Sirius James Potter perched on his shoulders, and little Remus Charlus still holding onto him, Harry thought there was no better place to be – even if his little moment of quiet solitude had been disturbed.

“What brought you all out here?” He asked, looking to his father.

“Is it so wrong to wish to spend time with my family?” The Potter patriarch grinned, moving to pick little Remus up – despite Harry approaching his thirties, his father didn’t look any older than himself. Indeed, there had been a number of times people had asked if they were indeed brothers.

“Of course not – I’m just surprised is all.” Harry smiled, reaching up and taking hold of Sirius’s hands, which were gripping his hair.

“We missed you, dear.” His mother smiled, before planting a kiss on his cheek. Sirius snickered above him.

“What’s so funny, hm?”

“Grandmama kissed you!”

“I happen to know for a fact that your mother kisses you each night.” Harry grinned, tipping his head back a little to peer up at his son’s scrunched up face. “That’s what I thought.” Harry winked.

“Where is my darling daughter-in-law?”

“With the girls, most likely.” Rob replied with a chuckle. Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.

“She could be doing other things – you never know.” He shrugged, looking at Rob.

“No, no, the girls are a safe bet.” His father chuckled, rubbing at his jaw in an attempt to hide his smirk.

The door to the garden opened, and a pair of giggling girls – both dressed in light blue dresses skipped along the stone path. The oldest, Jean, was seven, while the youngest, Traya was five – the pair were utterly inseparable, and utterly adorable as they skipped along the path side-by-side holding a small bouquet of flowers.

“Harry!”

He looked up to see his wife walking toward him, but his view of her was cut off as everyone stepped forward to greet her. She was well loved by his family, he knew, even as little Sirius squirmed on his shoulders with his arms outstretched for her. He chuckled and remained in place, content to simply wait.

“Harry!”

He blinked slowly, his smile content as Rob swept her up in a hug, spinning her around in place, her hair loose and…

“Harry!”

The world snapped into focus, and he found himself sitting before the large mirror – its golden frame sparkling in the moonlight as the figures in the glass disappeared from view. He looked to his right, where he could feel someone shaking his shoulder.

“’Ermione?” He mumbled, still a little dazed. Hermione was kneeling next to him, her legs tucked under herself as she shook his shoulder. “What you,” He paused for a moment as the room spun. “doin’ ‘ere?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That’s the first question you have? Honestly Harry, it’s no wonder you’re second in class.”

Harry frowned at her but hissed as it caused his temples to throb painfully. He buried his face in his hands for a moment and let out a pitiful moan.

He vaguely noted the sound of Hermione shifting beside him on the step. When he finally mustered the strength to pick his head from his hands, he noticed she was sat much more comfortably now, with her hands threaded together in her lap.

Harry groaned again as the moonlight that trickled into the room made his eyes sore.

“What are you doing back?” He asked after a moment, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands.

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, looking at him with an odd expression.

“Why are you back so soon? Shouldn’t you be with your parents?”

There was a beat of silence as Hermione nibbled her lip. “Harry, it’s January twenty-first.”

Harry blinked and then laughed tiredly. “Yeah, right. Good one.”

“No, I’m serious, Harry. We’ve been back for two weeks. When did you think it was?”

Harry found himself rubbing his forehead tiredly as he stifled a yawn. “Early morning Boxing Day, I suppose?”

“No wonder you look so exhausted!” Hermione cried, throwing her arms in the air as she stood and began pacing. “We’ve been worried sick about you, Potter!” She added, spinning around to look at him with a raised finger and a furious look on her face.

“Huh?” He asked, dumbly.

“Harry, you’ve looked no better than a corpse for weeks! Neville says you barely go to your room!”

“I was in it earlier-“ He began, about to recall waking up with Clara at his side as his defence, only to have the girl before him cut him off furiously.

“No, you weren’t! You spent the whole evening on the couch and staring at the fireplace. I put a tracking charm on you and followed you here – honestly Harry, do you have any idea how much trouble we could be in? How may rules we’re breaking?”

“Probably the same number as when you set Snape on fire…” He muttered, scrunching his face a little again as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Professor – and technically, there are no rules against that. Besides, I did it to make sure you were safe!” Hermione snapped, beginning her furious pacing once again.

“Hermione, please sit down – you’re giving me a headache.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. She gave a small huff of protest before stomping quietly – he had no clue how she managed that – over to where he was sat and plopped down beside him, with her arms across her chest and a scowl on her face.

Harry’s head throbbed, but the pain was less severe than it had been minutes before. Harry ran his fingers through his hair and realised for the first time that it was completely loose – when did that happen? It had been tied back when he had ventured down here.

Slowly, his eyes began to take in other details – his boots looked less than presentable, and the breeches and baggy tunic he had been wearing were replaced by a wrinkled school uniform. Where had his clothes gone?

“Is it really January?” He whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. Hermione turned to look at him, her face softening at his stunned expression.

“Oh Harry.” She said before throwing her arms around him. “We were all so worried.” She added after a moment. Harry merely sat there, his wide eyes staring at the mirror before him, tracing the soft curves of the patterning – even now, the mist in the glass called to him, tempting him with the promise of what he had seen.

“Hermione – what do you see?” He asked, watching as she pulled back from him and followed his gaze to the glass. She looked at the mirror curiously, though not without a bit of hesitation.

“I see,” She began slowly. “I have my own library – it looks rather cosy. I’m reading, but I’m,” Harry watched as she gasped a little and put a hand to her mouth – she blushed a little, her cheeks turning scarlet. “I’m holding someone’s hand.” She murmured and quickly averted her eyes. “I couldn’t see their face though.”

“That sounds nice.” He hummed.

“Harry… What did you see?”

He was quiet. Did he want to tell her? Why wouldn’t he? It had felt so real, so tangible. He could still feel the weight of little Sirius on his shoulders and hear the laughter of Rob as his nephews and Astoria tickled him mercilessly. He could smell the garden at Arpton as clearly as if he were there.

“My family.” He sighed, running a hand down his face with a groan. “It was so real, Hermione. I could touch them; I could smell them – I saw them as real as you are now.”

“No wonder you kept coming back to it.” She murmured, her eyes becoming shiny for a moment. Harry cringed – he didn’t want her to cry, especially not because of him.

“It was perfect.”

The two were quiet for a time, simply content to sit in a comfortable silence with the other. There were no words of comfort that Hermione could offer, and he appreciated her silence – more than she likely realised. Many were often too quick to offer their words of regret, or their consolations, wanting to fill the awkward silence. They underestimated the comfort of a quiet moment.

There was something deeply wrong, he thought, about growing without the unconditional love of a mother and father. He had Sirius, Arcturus, Remus and even Lispy, but it wasn’t the same. Yes, they were a family, but he had never been tucked into bed by his mother – had his hair patted smooth as he sat in her lap. He had never been taught to ride a broom by his father, or had his hair ruffled after catching a Quaffle – at least, not that he could remember.

He longed for it more than anything – if there was ever something he wished for more than anything, it would be his parents.

As it was, he had been raised in a loving family. He had grown up being tucked into bed by Sirius, and Remus read him bedtime stories. He had been congratulated and had his hair ruffled by Arcturus. He was incredibly fortunate.

It still didn’t help the sharp stabbing pain in his chest when he’d hear Hermione or Tracey talk of their parents. It was part of the reason he and Neville were so close – they had that fundamental link that bonded them together.

They were both orphans.

Neville, while his parents were technically still alive – the people they had been were long since passed, driven into the depths of insanity and beyond hope of recovery. All Neville could do now was make sure they were well taken care of. Sometimes he wondered what was worse – the lack of parents, or knowing they were alive but beyond your reach.

Harry turned his head a little, and found his nose tickled by Hermione’s bushy hair – the wild, untameable strands that were just so intrinsically Hermione. At some point, she had moved closer and put her head on his shoulder. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even felt noticed.

“Back again, Harry?” Came the familiar, soft voice of Headmaster Dumbledore. The two of them scrambled to their feet and spun to face the silver-haired man who was standing calmly at the entrance to the room. He lifted an amused brow at Hermione and his eyes sparkled over his half-moon glasses. “And I see you brought a friend with you.”

“Sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore, we were just-“ Hermione began, only for the elderly professor to hold up a hand.

“I see that you both, like so many before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.” Dumbledore looked between the two of them as he approached slowly, his eyes briefly locking on the pale glass over Harry’s shoulder. For a moment, Harry thought he saw Dumbledore’s shoulders sag a little. “I trust, by now, that you understand what it does?”

Harry frowned and glanced at Hermione.

“In that case, allow me to give you both a clue.” Dumbledore offered before either could really respond, coming to stand directly before the mirror as he gazed upon the two of them. “The happiest man alive, could look into that mirror, and see only himself – exactly as he is.”

“It shows us what we want – whatever we want.” Harry murmured, his eyes darting to the floor.

“Yes – and no.” Dumbledore replied, his eyes darting to Hermione.

“Erised – it’s desire backwards! It shows us what we truly desire!” Hermione gasped at his side; her eyes wide. Dumbledore smiled down at her.

Harry’s own eyes widened – no wonder the mirror had shown him his family. There was nothing he yearned for more.

“Indeed, Miss Granger – it shows us no more than our deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts. It does not take a great mind, to guess at what you have been seeing these past weeks, Harry.”

“Aye, Headmaster.” He replied quietly. He felt Hermione squeeze his hand gently.

“But remember this, Harry. This mirror gives us neither knowledge, nor truth. Men have wasted away in front of it – even gone mad. I can see from your appearance, and Miss Granger’s obvious concern, that you have felt these effects for yourself.” Dumbledore said softly, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“That is why tomorrow, it will be moved to a new home.” Harry looked sharply up at the man before him – that familiar feeling from the mirror that had drawn him into the room screaming in the back of his mind. “It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.”

“Professor,” Hermione began hesitantly. The Headmaster turned to look at her, a small smile on his face as he removed his hand. “Where is the mirror from?”

“Ah, that is a question that minds far greater than my own have been pondering for centuries. All we can say for certain, is that the method of its creation has been lost to time.”

Harry frowned and looked back at the mirror. The magic of it was so different to the magic of Hogwarts – it was rich, full, and sweet. It felt so much like Arpton Keep that…

Harry gasped, his eyes widening as he looked up at Dumbledore. “It’s –“

“Miss Granger, please see to it that the two of you return to Gryffindor Tower, won’t you? I believe Harry has something that shall see you both to bed without drawing the ire of our Caretaker, hm?” Dumbledore smiled gently. Hermione nodded quickly.

“Of course, Headmaster.”

Harry groaned at the thought of walking back to the Gryffindor Tower but reached out a hand for his father’s cloak – which he had noticed was gathered into a neat pile on one of the steps – and summoned the silky material.

Hermione gasped at his side; her eyes wide as she took in the display of magic. He looked at her a little strangely for a moment before shrugging, he would ask her about it later. He turned to say goodnight to the Headmaster, as was only polite, but instead caught the old wizard staring sadly into the misty glass.

Just as they reached the door, and Harry was about to throw the cloak over both himself and Hermione, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of a man in Dumbledore’s glasses. He had pale skin, and thick, white-blonde hair that was slicked back on top and shaved at the sides. He had a moustache on his top lip as he smirked cheekily, while his piercing, mismatched eyes stared unblinkingly.

Harry blinked and it was gone, and Dumbledore turned to look at him with a sad smile. Harry bowed politely, as he had been taught, and threw the cloak over his head before leading Hermione through the door.

Harry didn’t remember much of the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, nor getting into his bed, so it was with a bit of surprise that he found himself waking to the soft cawing of his Phoenix companion. Clara nudged his cheek with her beak gently, and her dark eyes looked sadly down at him.

He sat up quickly and wrapped his arms around the bird, drawing her into his chest and ignoring the sharp poking of her talons as she hopped into his lap. He buried his face in her plumage and softly stroked down her back.

He pulled back after a moment and saw a small tear trail down her face. He wiped it away with a gentle swipe of his finger and kissed the crown of her head. “I’m here, girl. Sorry for worrying you.”

Clara ruffled her feathers and gently nipped his ear. She hopped out of his arms and allowed him to go about his morning routine.

Once dressed, he moved toward the door, feeling fresher than any other day he had spent at Hogwarts – his clothes were perfectly presentable, his hair was neatly tied back, and his satchel hung from his shoulder. Today would be a difficult day, if only because he no doubt had so much to catch up on – he’d be damned if he let that comment from Hermione about being second in the class go unanswered.

The door opened and Harry was immediately swallowed in a hug from Neville, the boy spinning him around much like he had done in the dreamscape the Mirror of Erised had shown him. “Harry! Hermione told me you were back to normal! Oh, I’ve missed you so much!”

“Nev’le – ribs – breaking –“ Harry gasped, kicking his feet a little as his toes searched for the floor. Neville dropped him with a bit of a blush and scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry – got a little carried away there.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry chuckled, reaching down, and picking up his satchel. He looked up at his best friend as he stood back to his full height. “What have I missed?”

“Well, we have an essay due today for Magical Theory – something about how intent is different from desire, and the repercussions of it through spell-casting. I’m not sure, but Daphne and Hermione know more about it than I do.” Neville shrugged, holding the door open for him as they made their way to the stairs for the Common Room.

“Well, I don’t remember anything from the past month, so I think it unlikely I wrote the essay. I’ll have to ask if I can hand it to her next lesson. Do you think Reyne will let me?”

“Beats me.” Neville shrugged, their boots clicking on the marble stairs. “Hermione mentioned you didn’t remember anything but didn’t say why. What happened?”

Harry frowned a little and pursed his lips. “I’m not sure – I found a mirror, here in the castle.” Harry replied before placing a hand on Neville’s arm. The two stopped on the stairs, and Harry looked up and down them before he pulled his friend to the side. “It’s called the Mirror of Erised.” He whispered.

“That sounds like a daft name.” Neville murmured, though he crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to be frowning in thought. “So, it was this mirror?”

“Aye. It… showed me things.”

“Like what?”

“My family – what could have been, I suppose.” Harry replied, his voice still low.

“Harry, where is it? I have to see it!” Neville said, his eyes going wide and his mouth hanging open a little. Harry thought he heard his heart break a little.

“I can’t – I looked into it once, and I lost a month. I’d never let you suffer that.” He began, only to be cut off by the boy opposite him.

“Harry – they’re my parents, I have to know-“

“Dumbledore moved it.”

“Bollocks!” Neville growled, running his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth on the step a little.

“I’m sorry.” Harry sighed; his eyes trained on his friend.

“It’s not your fault. It would have been nice though.” Neville muttered, waving away his apology. Harry nodded sadly and let out a quiet sigh.

“That’s not all – I don’t think the mirror is from here.”

“What, Hogwarts?” Neville asked, confused.

“No, no – as in Britain.” Harry whispered with a pointed look. Harry watched as the words slowly sunk in – Neville’s eyes went wide again, and his mouth formed an O.

“You mean it’s from-“

“Yes! Or at least, I think so.”

“How do you know?”

Harry frowned and placed his hands on his hips. “I don’t know. It felt like Arpton Keep – it’s the only way I can describe it.”

“You still need to take me there, you know.”

Harry rolled his eyes – Neville had been begging him to take him to Arpton ever since he had first told him and Daphne about the fortress and everything he had seen in it. “I’ll take you this summer when I visit. Daphne too, if she wants.”

“You’d better, Potter.” Neville grinned excitedly. “Now come on, before Weasley eats all the food.”

Harry laughed and let Neville drag him down the stairs as he rolled his eyes. While the comment itself was funny, it also wasn’t inaccurate – Ron Weasley was sure to be responsible for half the school’s food budget by the end of their seven years. How someone could have four servings of breakfast was utterly beyond him.

“Oh! Before I forget, I think I owe her this much…” Harry said, stopping for a moment and stepping into the middle of the stairway. “Clara!”

The bird appeared in a ball of flame above him, her wings beating steadily as her head turned this way and that, searching for the reason as to his call.

“How do you feel about coming to the Great Hall for breakfast, hm?” Harry offered, pointing to his shoulder – she would be heavy, he could manage her for the few minutes it would take for them to walk down the stairs. At the very least, she could fly around the moving stairs while they got to the Ground Floor.

It wasn’t uncommon for familiars to join their bonded witch or wizard in the Hall for meals. Usually it was the dogs, or birds of prey such as Daphne’s Merlin Hawke. He had avoided taking Clara down thus far in the year for the simple fact that he didn’t want to cause a scene – but he felt like indulging the proud bird after everything that had happened. No doubt, she had been worried sick while he hadn’t been himself.

She let out a soft caw as she lowered herself to his shoulder. He felt the weight immediately and winced a little. He gave a little grin to Neville and the two descended the last few steps. At the bottom, they were greeted by a thankfully empty Common Room – besides the bushy-haired witch that was perched on the far sofa with a book in her hand.

Neville chuckled at the sight. “Hermione – you able to put the book down and eat?”

Hermione looked up from the volume she was perusing and rolled her eyes as she got to her feet. “I’ll have you know I can read and eat if I have to.” She paused as she took in Harry and his familiar and she gave him a small smile. “Good morning Harry, Clara.”

Clara let out a single squawk and sat a little taller, while Harry just rolled his eyes at the bird and offered Hermione a small smile in return. Harry’s stomach rumbled a little and he winced as Neville and Hermione laughed quietly.

“Alright, let’s get this one fed.” Neville grinned, moving toward the door. Neville opened the portrait and allowed Hermione through first, her book clutched to her chest and her own satchel balanced precariously on her shoulder. Harry followed, sighing as Clara leapt from his shoulder and began to fly between the moving stairs.

“I’d forgotten how pretty she is when she’s flying.” Neville muttered, his eyes following the large bird as she ducked under a moving staircase with a twirl – the two Hufflepuffs gasping and leaning over the railing as she passed. All around them, the startled words of surprise and awe from the hundreds of portraits echoed around the large chamber.

“Ever noticed that she doesn’t do too much flying in Care of Familiars?” Hermione asked, taking the lead as she began moving down the stairs.

Harry snorted. “Aye, she enjoys the treats and the attention too much.”

“Harry, don’t be so mean!”

“He’s not being mean if it’s true.” Neville chuckled. “She’s always enjoyed being made a fuss of. Used to drive Harry up the wall when he’d try to get her to do something.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked, looking back at them as they came to the first landing.

Harry shrugged and shifted the strap of his satchel. “I played Fetch with her mostly in the beginning. Besides the ability to travel, at the time I didn’t really know much about what they could do.”

“Did you not have any books available?”

Neville snorted. “What?” He asked, as Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “The book was pretty useless.”

“Obviously, you had the wrong book.” Hermione sighed, as if she were explaining something to a child.

“Hermione, there’s only one book on Phoenix’s. There’s a reason they’re so rare as familiars.” Harry replied, skipping the last step as they stepped onto the landing of the fourth floor. “And I learned most of what people think about Phoenix’s is wrong within the week after she’d matured.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Harry began with a shrug, stepping around a Ravenclaw that was heading in the other direction. “For one, the book claims Phoenix’s are herbivores. It’s bollocks,”

“Language!” Hermione hissed, looking at him furiously.

“They’re omnivores but they prefer meat. A single look at Clara’s beak and talons could tell you that – not to mention her eyes are at the front of her head, not at the sides.” Harry sighed, ignoring Hermione’s glare.

Harry glanced up and smiled as Clara flew through the air above them. He reached a hand out to steady Neville, who stumbled a little as he focused more on the Phoenix than where his feet were going.

“Like he said – they’re rare. Most people go their entire lives without seeing a Phoenix – people will hunt for decades and not see a single feather. Harry’s a lucky wizard.” Neville grinned, playfully elbowing Harry before they continued down the stairs.

Once on the Ground Floor, the three of them quickly hurried to the Hall as Clara resumed her perch on his shoulder. No doubt she was enjoying it as she hadn’t been able to sit with him since he first found her. He’d admit only to himself that he had missed it also – perhaps, when he was older, it could become a regular thing between them again.

The reaction to Clara as they entered the Hall was exactly as he had expected. Eyes were glued to them as they quickly moved to their benches – Daphne and Tracey standing from the Slytherin table to join them.

The occasional yip and bark of the various dogs in the Hall were the only sounds that reached them for a minute or so until Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly, stirring the Hall back into the comfortable buzz it had been. Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief and began piling bacon and sausages onto his plate for Clara.

The Phoenix, on the other hand, was comfortably perched on the table with her wings tucked into her body as she stood at her tallest. Harry rolled his eyes at her preening and held up a chunk of sausage on a fork. Immediately drawn to the meat, he watched as Clara’s beak ripped and tore at it, before tossing her head back and throwing it down her gullet.

“You’re going to spoil her for her regular food, you know.” Daphne sighed, shaking her head slightly. “Don’t come complaining to us when she refuses to hunt for herself.”

“Bold of you to assume she isn’t already spoiled.” Tracey muttered, staring wistfully at the magnificent bird.

“Wrapped around her little talon, he is.” Neville added solemnly as he dunked some toast into an egg.

“Do you guys really have nothing better to do right now?” Harry groaned, spearing a chunk of bacon.

“No.” The three of them responded. Harry rolled his eyes and looked to Hermione, who had sat on his left, on the far side of Clara – it seemed her boast about reading and eating wasn’t without merit. She was eating small bites of sliced fruit as she read from the book propped open against a glass goblet of orange juice.

Harry chuckled before his eyes caught the title at the top of the page and blinked in surprise. “Hermione, what are you doing reading about Wandless Magic? That’s beyond even Hogwarts!”

“She’s what?” Tracey gasped; her eyes wide as she choked on some food.

Hermione looked up and blushed a little. “I wanted to look into it a little, after last night.” She replied, before looking at Harry. “You summoned your cloak to you without your wand.”

“Hermione, I’ve been doing that for years – Merlin, Neville and Daphne can do it too. I’d bet even Tracey has done it once or twice.”

Harry watched as the three nodded slowly. Daphne and Neville were a little confused, but Tracey seemed to understand better than anyone, it seemed.

“Harry, she’s a Muggle-born. She wasn’t raised with magic like we were.”

Realisation dawned on their faces, and Harry found himself blushing a little. He had forgotten that about Hermione – she knew more than most Pureblood adults at times, it seemed. Harry reached out and picked up a green apple and a similar red one.

Passing the green apple to Hermione, he turned to face her as he held his own apple in his hand. “Okay, you understand everything we’ve been taught about magic so far, and you connected with your magic before the holiday, so this should be fairly easy for you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little at the sudden impromptu lesson and turned to face him. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Clara began helping herself to the meat still on his plate.

“Okay, now, there’s no spell for it and no incantation. It’s simply directed intent. You have to want the apple to hover. Demand it.” At this, Harry flickered his eyes to his own fruit and watched it slowly rise into the air above his palm, wobbling lazily in place.

He watched Hermione focus on her own apple, only to scowl at it when it wouldn’t budge.

“No, no, relax. You’ll pop an artery if you keep looking at it like that.” Harry chuckled, directing his magic to move it slowly around Hermione’s head before it slapped into his waiting palm. He took a bite out of it with a smile. “Relax.”

Hermione blew out a puff of air and focused on the fruit in her hand again. This time, after a few moments, it lifted a few centimetres from her hand before dropping suddenly. “I did it!” She gasped, her smile beaming.

They all applauded her quietly with their own grins.

“I knew you’d manage it Hermione.” Daphne winked. “Took Harry months to do it on purpose.”

“Hey, I managed it as a baby!” Harry defended himself, scratching Clara under the chin for a moment.

“You did – but you always did it by accident after that until you were seven. I still remember having to duck out the way when you made those plates come flying at us.” Neville grumbled.

“How you two ever survived without me is unfathomable.” Daphne muttered, pulling a grape from a small bushel.

“You summoned plates?” Tracey demanded, leaning forward, and looking between the two boys.

“We were hungry.” Neville muttered to himself as he stabbed at another egg with a bit of toast.

“In any event,” Harry said a little louder than necessary, raising a brow at his group of friends. “You’re doing well Hermione. Keep practicing and you’ll be able to do it as well as any of us.” He grinned.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and turned back to her bowl of fruit and the book. Harry leaned back to Neville and whispered, “When did she get the chance to get that book?”

“Not sure – she already had it when I went downstairs this morning.” Neville shrugged, causing Harry to frown a little. Had Hermione woken up early to go to the library, just because she’d seen him call his cloak to his hand? Who was he kidding – of course she had.

It wasn’t much longer until the call for class rang out in the Hall. As it was a Wednesday, it meant Magical Theory was the first class of the day. He looked at Clara as he stood with the others and gave her a quick scratch before shouldering his bag. “I’ll see you later. Off you get – go do whatever it is you Phoenixes do.”

Clara leapt into the air and flew up towards the ceiling with powerful flaps of her wings before she was swallowed by flames. A moment later, and she was gone.

“Come on, Harry – let’s see if we can get you that extra time on that essay.” Neville sighed, clapping him on the shoulder gently.

The five of them walked through the halls of Hogwarts quickly enough. Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey led the way, the three girls walking side-by-side as they discussed something or another, while Harry and Neville were simply content to follow.

When they got to the classroom on the second floor, they found the rest of their year-group standing outside waiting to enter. All around, there were various expressions of boredom and tiredness – of course, Magical Theory wasn’t a practical subject, though it did have its applications in every subject Hogwarts taught.

Harry found it fascinating – Neville always joked that Harry found every subject fascinating. While not wrong, Harry would never admit to such a thing. After all, he detested History of Magic with Professor Twinkle as much as the next student. Contrary to his name, he was anything but twinkling. He was dull and could make even the most exciting subject as interesting as watching a potion boil. At least he wouldn’t have to suffer through his lesson until tomorrow – no doubt they would learn about another fascinating way of Magical Farming in twelfth-century Slovakia.

Harry leaned against the stone wall casually and let out a quiet sigh. At least in Magical Theory they learned useful and applicable things. Before the holidays, they had been exploring latent magic, and how it affected the senses of witches and wizards. It was all very interesting.

He knew that magic was in all living things, and to some degree a witch or wizard could sense the intent of a creature easily enough. It wasn’t just creatures it was limited to either – it was also common between humans, though they were far more difficult. If the witch, or wizard, was about to be attacked, their magic would warn them. Sometimes it was that warning that saved their life.

“Enter!” The voice of Professor Reyne called through the door. Immediately, the class began filtering through. As usual, the first students through the door were Ravenclaws, quickly followed by a medley of Hufflepuff and Slytherin students with the Gryffindor contingent bringing up the rear.

They entered the auditorium-style classroom quickly enough – none of them wanting to attract the ire of the Professor who was standing before a large chalkboard. They filtered through the rows of benches until they found their usual spot – halfway down and in the centre of the room with a clear view of the board.

Daphne lead their group, followed by Hermione and then Tracey. Harry followed Tracey in, and Neville just behind him. Once the scraping of the benches died down and the rustling of parchment settled to manageable levels, Professor Reyne greeted the class.

“Good morning Professor Reyne.” The class responded as one – some more enthusiastic than others.

“Your assignment will be handed in at the end of class and your grades shall be handed back to you next week. Now, for today’s lesson – Foci.”

Harry scribbled the word onto the top of his sheet of parchment with his quill and underlined it.

“Now, what can you all tell me about foci?” The blonde-haired witch asked the class. “Anyone?”

Harry raised his hand slowly and cleared his throat when the woman nodded at him. “Well, theoretically anything could be a magical focus. The most common in Britain, historically, are wands, staves, swords, and daggers.”

“Excellent answer, Mr. Potter. Five points.”

The Gryffindors cheered quietly.

“Now, does anyone know why some are preferred over others?”

Draco Malfoy raised his hand on the left side of the room while his gathering of Slytherin’s looked on.

“Mr. Malfoy.”

“Wands are the most common because they’re the easiest to make and bond to a witch or wizard.”

“Very well done – two points.”

Susan Bones raised her hand on the far right of the class. Despite knowing that Sirius was betrothed to her Aunt, Harry still hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Susan – though, in all fairness, she hadn’t gone out of her way to speak to him either. Professor Reyne nodded at the Hufflepuff girl.

“Swords don’t conduct magic well, and neither do daggers. Wands and staves are the best because of the wood and the cores of such things. Furthermore, staves don’t require a core like wands because they tend to have a focus at the top – the most common being rare gems.”

“Excellent answer – ten points to Hufflepuff.”

Harry thought he heard Hermione huff as she put her hand down on the other side of Tracey. From Tracey’s quiet giggles, he figured he had heard right.

The lesson continued on easily enough. They learned that while staves were capable of much more powerful magic, it was inherently less accurate, and swords and daggers could only channel passive magic.

There was only fifteen minutes of the lesson left, when there was a knock on the door and Harry already had almost three sheets of notes. He looked up at the noise and looked towards the door, much as the rest of the room had done.

“Enter!” Professor Reyne called. The door clicked open and there stood Headmaster Dumbledore.

“Ah, sorry to interrupt, Professor – but I was hoping to borrow young Mr. Potter.”

All eyes in the room turned to him and he felt his face flush in heat.

“Of course, Headmaster. Potter, gather up your things.”

Harry nodded and quickly tidied his things away into his bag. At Neville’s confused look, Harry simply shrugged and threw his satchel over his shoulder. He edged past Neville and the three other students on their row before taking the stairs two at a time as he hurried toward the door.

Dumbledore smiled softly and stepped into the hallway, and Harry followed – making sure the door closed behind him.

“Headmaster?” Harry asked, confused.

“I have something for you in my office – something I think you’ll be most pleased about.”

Harry nodded and simply followed the Headmaster through the corridors in silence. They walked up to the seventh floor, and Harry felt the burn in his legs. It wasn’t much longer until they were before a large stone gargoyle. Dumbledore muttered a word and the stone statue stepped to the side. Harry quickly followed the Headmaster as he stepped onto a rising spiral staircase.

The stone steps stopped their grinding ascent, and Dumbledore stepped through a simple wooden door. Harry followed, his eyes darting around the spartan foyer as the Headmaster pushed open an ornate pair of oak doors, each covered in the most gorgeous golden embellishments of the four houses he had ever seen. The gold almost looked alive under the floating balls of white light.

Harry looked up as he found himself once more in Dumbledore’s office, Fawkes cawed at him from his golden perch.

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the figure by the hearth. His silver hair was unmistakable, as was the armour that he wore.

“Arcturus!” Harry cried, dropping his bag, and sprinting to the patriarch of the Black family.

Arcturus turned with a smile and let out a huff as Harry collided with him. Harry looked up and saw the longer than normal stubble and dark circles around his eyes.

“I’ll leave you both to catch up, I think. Feel free to use this office for as long as you require – the portraits will remain asleep.” Dumbledore spoke. Harry looked over his shoulder to see the ancient man smiling slightly before bowing and leaving the room. Harry spun back to Arcturus as the door clicked shut.

“Where were you? What happened? What did you do? Is Sirius alright? Is he here?” Harry asked quickly, looking around the room for a moment before Arcturus began chuckling and led him to a pair of chairs at the desk. Harry blushed a little and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He grinned.

“Don’t worry yourself about it. I’m just as excited to see you.” Arcturus sighed, reclining in the chair, and closing his eyes for a moment as he relaxed. “It’s been a long month, Harry.”

“Where were you?”

“The Capitol.”

Harry blinked. “You and Sirius both had to go?” He asked, slowly as his shoulders tensed. Whatever reason they were summoned, it likely hadn’t been a good one.

“Aye – we both went. Viscount Trevelyan summoned us – Someone was spreading of you planning a rebellion.”

Harry’s mind screeched to a halt as his jaw worked, but no sound came out. “Rebellion?” He finally managed.

“Rebellion.” Arcturus nodded slowly before he sat forward, his hands clasped together between his legs. “Sirius and I set them straight.”

“What did you do?”

“What we did isn’t important. I spent the month playing politics and talking to Lords and Ladies in private – I only spoke directly to Lord Trevelyan twice, believe it or not.”

“But if they think I’m planning a rebellion, they’ll think-“ Harry went quiet and stared open-mouthed at Arcturus, who was nodding slowly.

“Aye, they implied that, and worse, but don’t you worry.” Arcturus grunted roughly as he shifted in his chair a little. “They had no evidence, and besides, we know that you’re doing no such thing.”

“If they had no evidence, then why would they say I am?”

Arcturus sighed and rubbed at his forehead tiredly. “Because that’s politics. They hoped to slander your name for some reason or another – why it’s been brought up now rather than years ago, I don’t know.”

Harry shifted in his seat a little. “The two of you are alright though, right?”

“Oh, we’re fine.” Arcturus smiled, waving away his concern with a tired smile. “Exhausted, annoyed and more than a little fed up, but we’re fine. I had Sirius get some rest while I came to see you.”

Harry stood and wrapped his arms around Arcturus again, squeezing as tightly as he could. “I missed you both.”

“We’re back now, Harry. We’re back.”

Chapter 18: Harry XI

Chapter Text

The sound of their feet on the marble staircase echoed around the cavernous chamber far louder than usual. With the close of the school year, and with the ending of their exams, most students had already retired to their respective common rooms.

It had been gruelling, and he had seen more than one student in the higher years sniffling to themselves as the stress became too much for them. Perhaps, he had been given a glimpse into his own future – maybe when the time came for him to take his own OWLs and NEWTs he would be found sniffling into a textbook. Though, with Hermione and Daphne enforcing their strict revision schedules, he doubted that he would be so stricken.

As it was, the two girls had drafted a revision schedule for their small group all the way back in February – it even had allotted time slots for Quidditch and ‘being unproductive’, as Hermione had helpfully pointed out. No doubt that had been one of Daphne’s suggestions.

Because they had begun revising so early, their exams had been an utter breeze. He had flown through the written and practical’s with nary a pause nor stutter. He had watched, more than a little amused, as others in his year panicked and floundered under the pressure. Perhaps, they had been given the necessary push to improve their school habits as a result. He had hope for some – not so much for others.

Thinking about his classmates, Harry had to fight the urge to smirk at the thought of Seamus. He and his fellow first years had a running tally of the number of cauldrons that the boy blew up. The most recent, Harry had been at the bench next to him – Daphne had explicitly stated she was never working next to Seamus again – and he had caught a glimpse of his fellow Gryffindor adding just a little too much Newt Eye. Harry had just enough time to duck under the bench before the tell-tale Fwoom and the bench shook.

As he had peered out from his small, impromptu shelter, Harry had the pleasure to see Seamus covered in soot with his eyebrows completely gone and staring in shock. One of these days, he felt, Seamus was going to burn his eyeballs beyond repair.

Despite the improvised, and completely expected, explosion during his Potions exam, their assessments had gone swimmingly. Oh, Hermione and Daphne were fretting over their answers on each and every test, a constant throughout the entire week. He, Tracey, and Neville had been content to let them vent and worry to one another, making the appropriate supporting comment when necessary.

“I’ll never understand how you can be so excited over plants…” Harry sighed, glancing up at the head of their small group. Neville had decided to show them a room he had found on the seventh floor when he had gone for a stroll after lunch.

“Hey, when you find a room that’s overgrown like a jungle, I’ll act all put out and see how you like it.” Neville retorted, looking back at Harry as they stepped onto the landing of the second floor.

Tracey groaned. “But did you have to find it on the seventh floor? Morgana forsaken Gryffindors and their bloody stairs.”

“Hey, it’s an adventure, alright?” Neville huffed, stepping onto the staircase for the third floor. “Besides, when I looked in there, there were some really fantastic plants.”

“I’ve always said he was part Fae.” Daphne muttered to the two girls. Harry rolled his eyes. It had been a theory Daphne had clung to when they were younger. Daphne Greengrass, lover of all things Morgana, had once claimed that Neville’s love for plants came from his Fae ancestry. The only argument that had put a stop to that, was that Neville’s family were originally Norse.

He still remembered the pout that Daphne had sported for an entire week with some amusem*nt.

“Fae… As in Fairies?” Hermione asked, looking between Daphne and Neville. “Don’t you think he’s a bit big?”

Harry groaned from the rear of their small group. “Nice one Hermione, now she won’t shut up about them for the next hour.”

Daphne scowled over her shoulder at him before sniffing haughtily and turned to look at his fellow Gryffindor. “That’s the classic misconception. The Fae were a race, just like humans – according to the older texts, of course. Over the years, the term has been applied to all manner of creatures. It’s quite fascinating, really.”

“So, what did they look like?” Tracey asked, and Harry sighed quietly and focused on climbing the stairs. The things he suffered through for his friends – they should really consider offering him a medal of some sort.

“Nobody knows – only that Morgana La Fay was raised among them, hence her name. Morgana La Fae.” Daphne grinned, standing just a little taller as they reached the third floor.

Just as he stepped off of the staircase, Neville jumped back and nearly bowled the girls over. The staircases, which had a penchant for moving at odd times, had just cut off their access to the fourth floor. He watched it lazily swing to the far side of the room where it connected with a smaller landing.

Harry sighed and turned around, only to watch the staircase for the second floor do the same thing. They were stuck there – and he knew from the stories of his fellow first years, only a professor or the Headmaster could move them back.

Excellent – now all it would take would be for Filch to spot them and they’d be in detention for the last week of school. The perfect way to cap off the year.

Harry looked around – the only way they could move from where they were was a long corridor that finished in a dead-end. While there were doors all along it, each with a small sconce with a floating ball of silver-white light, the doors were all shut. There weren’t even any portraits around.

He sighed and moved to sit down against the wall – Neville moving to sit opposite him. The girls, on the other hand, were whispering frantically between themselves. Harry shrugged at his best friend and grinned a little.

“Just what do the two of you think you’re doing?” Hermione demanded, looking between the two of them. Perhaps it was the light, but her hair seemed a little bit bushier at that moment.

“Sitting?” Neville replied, uncertainly, as he glanced at the floor and where Hermione was standing – her hands on her hips and looking positively furious.

“Sitting? Sitting? What good will that do us? If we get caught here, we’ll be in detention until fifth year!”

Harry got to his feet and stepped over to her, moving her away from the others. He could see the first indicators of her anxiety making themselves known. The way her brow furrows and her eyes tightened in the corners – even the way she pushed her thumb and index finger tightly together absently. He placed a hand on her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze – of all of them, she seemed to respond to him the best. After a moment, she relaxed and let out a long breath.

“Can you call Clara?” She whispered, her eyes darting to their three other friends.

“I could, yes,” Harry sighed, putting his hands on her shoulders, and gently leading her back to the others. “But she’s out hunting. Nothing is going to happen. Even if Filch found us, he’d have to go get a professor to free us. They can’t blame us for Hogwarts being Hogwarts.”

Tracey was the first to join Neville, sliding down the wall and placing her satchel between her legs. It wasn’t long until Daphne and Hermione also took up positions on the floor, with the latter immediately pulling a book from her bag.

“So, Daphne… Those Fairies.” Neville grinned, shooting Harry a cheeky grin. Harry scowled.

“The Fae and Fairies are two completely different things, Longbottom.” Daphne sniffed, tilting her chin in the air a little.

“I think it is absolutely fascinating.” Hermione added, looking up from her book, scooting a little further back against the wall.

Harry mouthed a few choice words at the Longbottom heir across from him, and a glare for added effect – to which the boy responded with a quiet snicker, until Tracey elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He was suddenly thankful that all four of his friends sat against the wall across from him.

“Oh, it is!” Daphne sighed. “There is so much we don’t know, or that has faded into myth or legend.” “And even those have been lost to Muggle religion and revision, even we don’t know what they were anymore.”

“Sounds like fairy tales to me.” Neville shrugged, pulling his knees up to his chest and tilting his head against the stone behind him.

“Of course you would, Longbottom – if it doesn’t grow in a pot, you’re simply not interested.” Daphne retorted, giving him a pointed look as she leaned forward. Harry quietly chuckled to himself – she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t think you’re out of the woods, Potter – if it’s not flying, or spell-casting, you’d rather be asleep.” Tracey added, and Harry gaped at her.

“Lies and slander right there. I have a deep respect for the written word!” He gasped, holding a hand to his chest.

“Boys.” Hermione muttered, loud enough for them all to hear. The two girls on either side of her hummed their agreement.

Harry looked at Neville and then at the trio of girls. “We could be quite offended by that, you know.” Neville nodded his agreement.

“You’ll be the first to know if I ever intend to overtly offend you.” Daphne sighed, as if explaining something to a child. He watched her pull out one of her own books from her satchel – one of their books for Charms, judging by the familiar cover. Tracey, likewise, removed a book about Familiars.

“I think they’re purposefully ignoring us, Harry.” Neville muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Nothing ever gets past you, does it?”

“You’re mean when you’re stuck in a corridor, has anyone ever told you that?”

“No, I think you’re the first, actually.”

“Well now I just feel special.”

Harry chuckled and caught Daphne rolling her eyes behind her book. Tracey seemed to be torn between amused and exasperated, while Hermione just seemed completely unaware of the world around her.

They remained there for a while – the three girls reading quietly with the occasional whisper, while Neville and himself were simply content to talk between themselves.

They discussed a number of things – from who they thought would take home the Seasonal Cup in August, to what Harry was most excited to do over the Summer Break. The question had given him pause, and he had tapped his right knee – which he had pulled towards him at some point, with his left remaining stretched out – and chewed on his bottom lip. What was it that he was the most excited about?

Was it finally attending the Wizengamot? He would be confined to the viewing gallery with the other heirs of his age, but it was wonderfully exciting – well, as exciting as watching a room full of stuffy old men and women argue back and forth while speaking in circles could be, he supposed. Or perhaps that was simply Sirius’s comments over the years colouring his expectations.

Maybe it would be his opportunity to continue his martial skills? Oh, he had no doubt that he would be battered, bruised and tossed into the dirt the entire time, but there was something about holding a sword that sang to that childish part of him that still dreamed of Knights and Damsels in distress.

He also could barely wait to ride his stallion – Arlan. He was a large, powerful Friesian horse with the most beautiful slate coat. Sirius had bought him for Harry for his tenth birthday – much to the protests of Remus and Arcturus. At the time, Harry had been riding for only a year, and was a far cry away from being able to ride what was the modern equivalent – in Britain, at least – of a War Horse.

Contrary to his expectations, however, Arlan was patient and took to Harry almost as much as Harry to him. At first, they had thought that he had bonded to the horse – it wasn’t uncommon, after all. Many witches and wizards bonded to several animals, of all kinds, from the lowliest toad up to and including the fiercest dragon; horses were no exception. However, the bond that formed between Harry and Arlan was different.

His bond with Clara and Hedwig was different on a number of levels. He would always know the mood of both of his companions, as they would always know his. It was a deep, instinctual understanding between them that couldn’t be put into words. He loved them both deeply, fiercely, and there was little he would not do for them.

His relationship with the stallion was based on a trust that had been built through Harry tending to the horse himself. It was Harry that would brush him down. It was Harry who would clean out his stall. It was Harry who fed and watered him and had done so up until the day he had left for Hogwarts.

He would be the first to admit that he had fallen in love with riding a horse during his first visit to the Capitol and took every opportunity since to do so any time he could. If his studies were done, and his responsibilities at Blackwall taken care of, it was far more likely he could be found on the back of Arlan than on his broomstick.

He loved flying – and truly, he did – there was something artificial in the way that it was so safe. There were so many charms and runes built into the broom, that he often felt detached from the experience. There was rarely a gust of wind that would be so powerful as to cause him to make a correction. On the back of Arlan, however, he could feel the muscles of the stallion below him as he galloped – he could hear the puffs of breath as his lungs worked. He felt so alive in a way that he just couldn’t with flying a broomstick.

Or, perhaps he was the most excited about Sirius’s wedding? He had been exchanging letters with Sirius over the course of the year and more often than not, found himself answering the hastily written scrawl that passed for handwriting when his Godfather was stressed over something or another that pertained to his upcoming vows.

He had met the future Lady Black over the Easter Break in April. She seemed just the sort of woman to keep Sirius in line. While Sirius was, for the most part, easy going and not at all like his name implied half the time, he was still a passionate and dedicated man. Merlin, Harry was the living proof of how passionate and dedicated Sirius was – after all, he held Sirius up as someone to aspire to be – though, not all the time, he supposed.

Amelia Bones had immediately struck Harry as a stern, no-nonsense woman. While she may appear that way at first glance, she was in fact, quite warm and welcoming, with a dry wit that often he Sirius scrambling for a rebuttal.

He thought he could see himself coming to care for Amelia as much as the rest of his family. It would be nice to have an adult woman in his life that wasn’t a House Elf. While he cringed at the thought of her tucking him in and reading him bedtime stories, he found himself imagining other scenarios. When he was older, he thought he could go to Sirius and ask the old dog about girls. Then, he could promptly ignore said advice and go and ask Amelia. Lispy was out of the question – she would suggest tidying their house, or something.

No – if there was something he was terribly excited about; it would be returning to Arpton Keep. It would be the longest stay in the castle they had ever done. Their trips to the Potter estate in the past had only lasted a week, this summer, though, they would be staying for three!

He had plans to take Arlan, of course, and they would be arriving directly there from Rosestone, whose Ro’rim was more easily accessible than the one in Blackwall – at least for the horse. He could imagine it now, waking up with the rest of the castle in the Lord’s Chambers – breaking his fast with his family and spending his days riding and practicing with his sword.

While he doubted that he would ever truly use a sword, it was still a fun hobby and an excellent way for him to keep fit. He had seen far too many overweight witches and wizards visit Arcturus over the years – if swinging a sword around for a few hours a day and eating the dirt kept him fit, well he was all for it. Perhaps those at Arpton, who extensively used their weapons and trained with them would be willing to pass on their knowledge if he asked nicely.

“Did you say something?” Tracey asked, looking up at Harry, interrupting his train of thought. He blinked, looking back at the witch across from him.

“I’m sorry?” Harry asked, tilting his head a little.

“I thought I heard you say-“

Whatever Tracey was going to say was interrupted by the loud clang against one of the doors further into the corridor – the metal latch rattled noisily as dust from the stone above it lazily fell through the air.

Daphne and Hermione looked up from their books for a moment, curiously looking toward the door. Harry stood slowly and began walking towards it.

“Potter, are you stupid?” Daphne called, scrambling to her feet behind him.

“What? I’m only having a look!” Harry tried, rolling his eyes as the raven-haired Slytherin blocked his path and held him in place.

The door rattled again, though this time it was far gentler. What could possibly be making that racket? Was it some kind of creature, or perhaps a student had been trapped in there by something – but then, if it was a student, why were they simply banging the door now and not calling out for help?

Harry blinked as Tracey stepped around both himself and Daphne – her bag, much like both of theirs, had been left where she had been sat.

“Hang on, why does she get to have a look?” Neville asked, looking pointedly at the terrifying Slytherin that was preventing Harry from advancing on the door. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Because she won’t go running through the door. Bloody Gryffindors.” Daphne muttered, releasing her grip on Harry as she turned to look at her fellow Slytherin who was busy looking through the keyhole.

“I can see… something, I guess?” Tracey replied slowly, though she leapt back from the door a second before it rattled again, visibly bending under whatever force was striking it. Harry rushed over to help her up.

After helping Tracey back to her feet, Harry turned to look at the others, who were all staring at the door with varying expressions. Daphne was visibly wary – he could understand that. After all, whatever made that much noise obviously wasn’t to be taken lightly. Hermione, ever the curious one, was obviously fighting the urge to look, and Neville it seemed was trying to visibly hold himself back from opening the door.

He sighed, looking around at his friends. “Look, it’s bad enough that we’re stuck here – do you really want to be caught looking at something we’re not supposed to?”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t, right?” Neville asked.

“No Longbottom,” Daphne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, and shaking her head slowly. “That’s not how that works…”

Tracey stepped back up to the keyhole as Harry rubbed his face tiredly. “Whatever it is, at least it’s stopped moving... I think it’s asleep?” She said slowly, her face contorted in confusion.

Harry wanted to take a peek even less now – whatever made that kind of racket in its sleep had no business being anywhere near himself. The last thing he wanted was some repeat of the Troll on Halloween – he still woke in a cold sweat sometimes.

“If it’s asleep, it shouldn’t be an issue then.” Neville said, pulling his wand out and hitting the lock with a quick Alohom*ora before any of them could stop him. The door opened with a click and swung into the corridor a little, and Harry winced. When nothing happened, he spun on Neville.

“Neville, in all the stupid things you could have done!” He snapped, that pit of anxiety still settled deep in his stomach.

“Relax, Harry – it’s asleep. We can lock it up after having a peek.”

“Oh my!” Tracey gasped quietly. Harry spun on his heel and looked over at the Slytherin, who had her head poked through the door. “It’s an Occamy!”

“A what?” Neville asked, hurrying to her side, and opening the door a little wider. From his position behind them, Harry caught a glimpse of the purple and teal feathers and the rich, turquoise skin.

“It’s a Far Eastern serpent. It has a beak, and two wings. Their shells are made of pure silver!”

“You’re joking!” Daphne gasped; she too had joined the pair at the door. “It’s gorgeous!”

Harry and Hermione, it seemed, were the only ones sensible enough to stay away from the door – although, he would be the first to admit to his growing curiosity. Hermione was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet at his side. He rolled his eyes and finally stepped over to the door – his bushy-haired friend following him immediately.

He suppressed a gasp of his own now that the door was almost entirely open to accommodate them all. It was huge – easily fifteen long and coiled throughout the room. It appeared the banging, upon first glance, was a result of one of its wings twitching – which had obviously shifted a little, judging by the fact it was still twitching and not threatening to break the door down.

Its large head, and what he could see of its wicked looking beak, was tucked comfortably under that very same wing. Harry gulped a little.

“Say, Tracey – how do you know about this?” Neville asked after a moment.

Tracey shrugged. “I like exotic animals. Not as much as you like plants, mind.”

“Is that a trap door?” Hermione asked, pointing to a dark patch that was just a little darker than the rest of the floor.

“Looks like it.” Daphne sighed, rubbing her temples. “No – we’re not going to open it, Neville.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it!”

“But I didn’t say anything!”

“Shut up, before you wake it up!” Harry whispered, pointing between his two friends. He rubbed at his forehead. “How did it get in here?”

“Oh, that’s easy – it was placed in here. Occamies can change their size, depending on the space.” Tracey replied happily, her hands clasped comfortably at the small of her back and a small smile on her face.

“Where did you read all of this?” Neville asked slowly, leaning into the room a little more.

“Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them, of course.”

“Of course it was a Newt Scamander book.” Daphne sighed, nudging her fellow Slytherin with her elbow playfully. Tracey stuck her tongue out.

“It’s perfectly safe while it’s asleep – just don’t step on its tail, I guess.” Tracey smiled, stepping into the room a little.

“Tracey-“ Harry whispered, reaching out to grab her a moment too late. And she had the audacity to mock Gryffindors for not thinking things through? He was going to murder her, and no jury would ever find him at fault.

“She’s positively Gryffindor – I love it.” Neville grinned, following the girl into the room slowly.

Then, against all his previous assumptions, it was Hermione that went next. If Hermione was stepping into a room with a potentially dangerous creature, then he was positive the end-days were upon them. Merlin, why couldn’t they have just stayed at the end of the corridor – the girls could have continued reading their books and he and Neville would have kept chatting about the Summer.

“I’m going to bloody kill them.” He muttered, stepping past Daphne. He would drag them back to the door kicking and screaming if he had to. He wasn’t about to become Occamy food with only a week of the term left.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Tracey whispered, easily stepping over or around the coiled length of the serpent.

“Tracey, you bloody-“

“Language!” Hermione whispered furiously back.

“Seriously? You’re picking now to correct me for swearing? Don’t you think it’s a bit redundant?” Harry whispered in response, gesturing to the creature in the room.

Hermione looked ready to say something, but Neville’s excited whoop, followed by a quiet click echoed in the room. The Occamy twitched but didn’t wake – thank Merlin.

Harry’s head snapped to Neville, who was holding the trap door open proudly and looking in. Daphne quietly stormed up to him and cuffed him over the back of the head. “I told you not to think about doing that!”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

They were all gathered around the trap door now, crouching low to peer into the darkness when he heard the dull crunch of broken eggshell under one of their boots. His head shot up to look at the Occamy, who’s eye had snapped open – the large, glossy hazel eye looking directly at him.

“Bollocks, everyone down the trap door – now!” He yelled, pushing Hermione, who disappeared with a shocked squeak. Tracey was second, then Neville, and then himself – Daphne having taken the trap door out of Neville’s hand as she had stormed over to him.

There was a burst of movement behind him from the large creature, and a pained scream. His heart leapt into his throat the same moment he landed on a bed of tangled vines, bouncing twice as he did.

Daphne was a moment later, grasping at her shoulder and groaning incoherently. Harry didn’t need to look any closer to know that the Occamy had caught Daphne with the tip of its beak. He just hoped it wasn’t too bad.

Harry looked around in the darkness – there was a little light, but not much. He moved his hand, only to find one of the vines wrap itself tightly around his wrist. Even through the long sleeve of his doublet, it felt slimy and disgusting. He tried not to think about the fact he was sitting on a whole bed of them.

“Something just grabbed my leg!” Tracey yelled in the dark.

“Harry Potter, you pushed me!” Hermione snapped, blowing her long hair from her face before slapping him on the arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry – would you have preferred to have been eaten by an Occamy?”

“That’s beside the point!” Hermione snapped. “You had no idea what was down here!”

“Better than being up there.” Harry muttered to himself, his eyes darting back to Daphne, who was still groaning and clutching her shoulder.

“Oh, I know what this is!” Neville yelled excitedly. “It’s Devil’s Snare!”

“It’s what?” Tracey asked, confused. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“Oh, like a fifteen-foot Occamy sounds perfectly safe?”

“Right, listen here Longbottom-“

“Shut up!” Harry yelled, squirming against the vines that continued to wrap themselves around him. If he was going to die, strangled by a bloody plant, he would do it without hearing his friend’s bicker. “Daphne’s hurt and I refuse to die while you two are arguing.”

“Oh, we won’t die.” Neville shrugged. “You just have to relax.”

“Oh, real comforting Neville.” Tracey muttered, continuing to jostle against the slimy vines.

“Seriously – watch.”

Harry watched as Neville stilled his body before sinking through the tangled mass. At first glance, Harry had thought the plant had finally decided to swallow him whole before his voice called up from beneath him.

“Tracey – go still and I’ll catch you. It’s a bit of a hard landing otherwise.”

Harry, who gone completely still, regretted it the moment the vines let him pass through. He landed in a heap next to Neville and felt the air leave his lungs in a deep wheeze. Not a moment later, he had the air knocked from him a second time when Hermione landed on top of him. The two lay there for a moment, groaning, and trying to suck in what air they had been robbed of.

A pair of feet appeared in his peripheral vision – Tracey’s, no doubt.

“Told you the landing was less than desirable.” Neville muttered from somewhere behind her.

“You’re an arse.” Harry groaned, moaning a little as Hermione pulled herself off of him. She could have been a little gentler.

“I think you’re right – I definitely preferred you catching me to this. Merlin, Harry – you look pathetic.”

“Eat sh*t.” He muttered, pushing himself up. “You didn’t have someone land on you.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Hermione demanded, rounding on him just as Neville caught Daphne.

“That it’s not fun having someone land on you.” He groused, propping himself up against the stone wall. He briefly glanced up and noted the drop must have been at least six feet – frankly it was a wonder they hadn’t cracked their heads or hurt their backs.

Hermione sniffed before turning to where Neville was gently lowering Daphne to the floor. The small corridor they seemed to be in was slightly better lit than it had been above them, though, not by much; the orange light coming from fluorescent orange lichen that lined the walls.

Daphne was sweating but otherwise seemed coherent. The leather of the coat on her left shoulder was torn, and the tear looked like it continued down her back some ways. “Harry, help me get this off.” Neville grunted, using a quick cutting charm to avoid moving her.

Harry kneeled next to Daphne and with a few quick flicks of his wand, sections of the coat began falling away. There was a pained hiss when they finally had to sit Daphne up to remove the last little bit, but at the very least they could see the extent of the damage.

Harry could also see that her doublet looked wet and sticky.

“Does anyone have any Dittany?” Harry asked, looking at his friends. Hermione and Tracey shook their head, but Neville pulled a small glass vial from his coat.

“I keep some on hand – some plants have a habit of biting.” He shrugged. “The doublet needs to come off – Daphne, are you wearing a tunic underneath?”

The girl nodded quickly as her eyes fluttered and her heavy panting continued. Her legs, which were stretched out in front of her, writhed a little as the boys jostled the wound.

“Okay… Tracey, Hermione – can the two of you get her doublet off and drip this into the wound? It needs to go the full length of it.” Neville said, looking at the two girls. They both nodded and found themselves switching places. Harry and Neville turned their backs on the three girls, wands out and, at least, looked ready; it was only proper and all.

“Throw us the doublet once it’s off and we’ll make a sling for her.” Harry called over his shoulder, scanning the dimly lit corridor, and trying not to fiddle with his wand. Luckily for Daphne, she had been caught in the left shoulder, which meant she could still use her wand if she had to.

Daphne let out a pained yell just before Harry found the doublet hitting him in the back of the head. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but think it had been Hermione who had thrown it, and her aim hadn’t been off.

He grumbled as he pulled the doublet over his shoulder. With a few slices, he had a strip of cloth that was long enough to be fashioned into a sling – he wouldn’t be able to tie it until Daphne’s wound had been seen to.

There was a muffled scream, and the scraping of boots on the stone floor before it became eerily quiet. Harry’s heart was in his throat – never in his life had he expected to hear those sounds from Daphne of all people.

Daphne, the toughest of all three of them, had never so much as sniffled from some bump or scraped knee. Even when she’d fallen from her broom last Summer, she had simply sat back up, made a passing comment of how stupid they had been, and that was that.

To know that she was in agony behind him – it was almost too much to handle.

“Okay, I think it’s done.” Tracey muttered; her voice strained.

The two of them turned around and stepped up to the three girls. Daphne was in her usual ice-blue tunic, and slumped forward against Tracey. Harry winced as he glanced at Daphne’s back. It was a long and thin cut, from her shoulder to the small of her back, no doubt agonizingly painful. The Dittany didn’t help with the pain either, it was a restorative unguent, not a pain reliever.

Despite that, the cut now looked several days old and was, thankfully, no longer bleeding. Even in the light of the lichen, Daphne looked pale and exhausted. He wasn’t even sure if she would have a scar. No doubt the Occamy’s beak was sharp, but it seemed Daphne had been caught with the very tip – barely wider than his own, almost faded lightning scar.

“Will she be alright?”

“She will be – I just need a moment.” Daphne groaned, hissing as Harry rushed to place her arm in a sling. The less her shoulder moved, the better. The surface wound might have been healed by the Dittany, but there was no guarantee that it had repaired the soft tissue.

“This was stupid.” He muttered to himself, frowning as he tied the knot around Daphne’s good shoulder.

“Stop frowning, Potter – makes you look less pretty.” Daphne sighed, tugging on a strand of hair that had come loose at the side of his head.

“She’s got a point.” Neville muttered, running a hand down his face.

“Don’t you bloody start.” Harry groused, frowning at his best friend. When the two had met, Neville had been timid and cautious – when had that boy been replaced with the fool before him, who ran into dangerous, heedless of the consequences?

“I can hear your frown, Harry.” Neville sighed, glancing back at him. Harry felt his expression soften immediately when he saw the pained look on his best friend’s face. “I was bored, but I never wanted this.”

“It makes everything startlingly real, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked quietly, looking at Harry oddly. He nodded slowly – no doubt she was reminded of the last time any of them were hurt. His escapade with the Troll.

He looked at the girl before him, in her sweat drenched tunic and her pale skin. Had he looked somewhat similar to this on Halloween? No doubt he’d looked worse – he could still hear the wet crack of his head against the wall. He grimaced a little. “Can you stand?” He asked.

Daphne nodded slowly, and Harry helped her to her feet, allowing her to lean on him as much as she needed. They had to get out of here.

“Where to now?” Neville asked, looking around.

“We have to get Daphne to Madame Pomfrey – Harry, can you call Clara?” Hermione asked, her voice hopeful.

“Not unless you want to catch on fire – the area isn’t big enough. If we can find a large chamber, I could try then.”

The group nodded and looked around the small tunnel they were in. It was rough, wet stone that looked more at home inside a cave than inside the school. There was a door a little ways down from where they had landed – an ancient, rotten gathering of planks that barely resembled a door at that.

“I guess we go through that then.” Tracey muttered. “Is it too late to remind everyone to be careful?”

Harry snorted and threw Daphne’s good arm over his shoulder, letting her lean against him. They moved slowly, setting the pace to Daphne’s liking more than their own. Even now, after the Dittany, she felt cold and clammy to his touch. If there was ever a sight from this year he never wanted to see again – it was this.

He could manage his own injuries well enough – but seeing his friends hurt had always cut through him. He sighed as the door opened with nary a push from Tracey. It revealed a similar tunnel to the one that they were in, continuing off into the gloom until it rounded a bend. There was more of the odd, glowing lichen, seeming to be guiding them ever onward.

“We must be below the dungeons.” Neville muttered into the silence. Not even the dripping of water echoed along the corridor.

“That’s impossible – we were on the third floor.” Tracey grumbled from the front, one hand carefully braced against the wall and her eyes trained on where she placed her feet. Harry didn’t blame her, the floor looked slick – a slip could be quite painful.

“What if we fell further than we thought?” Hermione suggested, carefully stepping over a large protrusion on the floor.

“It’s not unreasonable, I suppose.” Harry grunted, helping Daphne around that same protrusion. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. There was a definite sense of walking down rather than up, which wasn’t filling him with any particular sense of confidence.

“I was going to say because of the Lichen. It’s Mo’zarde Lichen – it only grows underground. I thought it looked familiar.”

“Of course you’d know about a plant that glows in the dark.” Harry snorted, causing the rest of them to chuckle.

“Are you complaining about the light as well Potter?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then stop complaining. I bet you just assumed that all moss glowed. Honestly, you’ve no appreciation for the more subtle parts of life.”

“You think this lichen is subtle?”

“Of course – why wouldn’t it be?”

“Never change, Neville.”

They continued in silence after that – occasionally stopping for a few minutes to let Daphne rest before carrying on. Eventually, the floor began to level out and they came to a door with a pair of stone statues on either side of it, the corridor having opened into something that seemed like an antechamber.

The stone walls, floor, and ceiling were smooth and unblemished, an odd sight considering that the corridor they had just left been so roughly cut and covered in lichen. The two statues stood at attention on either side of the large door, hewn from similar stone as everything else in the chamber, which was draped in chains. His eyes couldn’t help but linger on the massive swords in the statues’ hands, pointed down and pressed into the stone floor in front of their feet.

“Something isn’t right.” Harry muttered, eyeing the statues carefully.

“They look too clean.” Hermione agreed in a whisper, though, in the silence of the chamber, that whisper may as well have been a scream. If he weren’t with his friends and worried about Daphne’s injury, he might have gone mad. The quiet had creeped up on him, slowly edging his anxiety to new heights. He hadn’t consciously noticed, but everything had been muffled as they approached this chamber. His heart was a drum beat to which he marched and his blood roared in his ears.

“Who comes before us?”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, shattering the maddening silence, and Harry found his head turning to search the corridor. When his head turned to look at the door once more, he caught sight of the two cobalt orbs in the visors of the helmets of the guards. He couldn’t help but shrink under their stare.

“We fell down through the Devil’s Snare and we’re looking for a way out.” Tracey answered – even from the corner of his eye, he could see her nervously backing away from the two statues.

“Is there a way out through that door?” Neville asked, glancing over at Daphne. “One of our friends was hurt and she needs help.”

There was silence for a moment.

“One question you may ask, then you must perform the task.”

“Why didn’t they answer the question?” Asked Tracey, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Why are they talking so strange? Seems a bit excessive for a couple of lumps of rock.” Neville said, slightly louder than Tracey, still eyeing the pair of statues.

Hermione sighed next to him. “We get to ask one question, and then we have to do whatever task they demand of us. Honestly, were none of you listening?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the shrugs from Neville and Tracey, and thought he heard the faintest snort from Daphne. “Okay, so going from the fact it ignored the question about an exit, I assume it can’t or won’t tell us.”

“It’s unlikely.” Hermione agreed with a single nod as she began to worry at her bottom lip.

“What happens if we fail your task?” Tracey asked, turning to the statues. Harry saw that her gaze was focused entirely on the sharp blades they held.

“Death.”

“Oh, excellent – no pressure then.” Neville grunted. “Really lifts the mood, that does.”

They all stumbled back a pace, with Daphne hissing her displeasure, as the statues took a step forward and brought their blades up in a ready position. Harry heard Tracey’s terrified moan. If they failed, there was no escape for them – the chamber led to a dead end beneath the Devil’s Snare, and none of them knew any combat spells.

Oh, they could cast a cutting charm or a burst of flame – but what good would that do against stone? Besides, Harry had no doubt in his mind that they would be dead before finishing the incantation let alone the wand movement.

When the statues didn’t move further, he felt himself releasing a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“It’s best if you use me, but do keep me cool and especially don’t lose me, because without me you’re useless. What am I?”

“It’s a riddle!” Hermione gasped, her brow furrowing as she concentrated on the words.

“Well I’m useless then.” Neville muttered.

Tracey patted him on the arm. “Self-awareness is the first indicator of intelligence.”

Neville muttered darkly to himself, but Harry kept his focus on Hermione. If there was one of them he thought would answer it correctly – it was her.

“Your head?” She asked quietly after a minute of pacing back and forth. Harry’s heart found its way into his throat as the statues moved once more.

When they didn’t bring their swords down on Neville and Tracey, who were the closest to them, Harry felt his shoulders sag in relief. Instead, the statues took a step back and returned to their original flanking positions by the door. The chains that criss-crossed the door retreated into the stone on either side, as if they had never been there in the first place.

Neville went first, taking each step slowly until he was between the two guardians. When his hand touched the wood, the door swung open easily to reveal a wide room. Harry followed Tracey and Hermione, though just as he was helping Daphne through, the voice returned.

“Beware the one who came before, searching for a treasure and more.”

Harry was just about to ask what they meant when the door closed abruptly, locking them inside.

Unlike the corridor, this room was large and cavernous, with huge pillars of stone that stretched as high as he could see. All around the room, scones of balls of light illuminated their surroundings, casting large shadows across the floor and walls.

Before them, was a large set of square tiles, each with a different rune in the centre. Harry recognised another trap when he saw it.

“Clara!” He called into the chamber. He waited a number of minutes before calling again. There was no response. He groaned – this wasn’t what he’d expected when he’d woken up this morning.

“Well, that’s a first.” Neville muttered, looking around the room for the tell-tale burst of flame.

“We’ll just have to carry on and try again when we can.” Tracey sighed. “Anyone any good with Runes?”

They shook their heads, but Daphne stood a little under her own weight. “I’ve been reading them since last Summer.” She murmured. Even now, as she pulled her arm from around Harry’s neck, she was visibly trembling and swaying from side to side.

The chamber wasn’t a long one, perhaps only twenty metres or so, with each tile being around a meter on each side. If death was the result of failure of getting a riddle correct, he didn’t want to imagine what failing this would be.

“Lift me up so I can see to the other side.” Daphne grunted. With a swish and a flick of Harry wand, he slowly levitated her into the air. He held her there for some time, allowing her to see the entirety of the floor before them. She eventually gave a small wave and he brought her back down.

“What did you see?” Neville asked, helping her back to her own feet, and caught her as her knees buckled under her weight.

“This rune here,” She sighed tiredly, pointing to a tile that was to their right. Harry noted it was a three-pronged stick with a triangle stuck to its side half-way up. “It’s a rune of protection. It’s the only one I saw that went all the way across.”

“Neville – can you carry her?” Harry asked, before his best friend nodded. “Right then, Neville you go first, and we’ll follow you.”

Neville scooped up Daphne, who muttered in protest before she curled in on herself little. Harry felt his jaw clench at the sight of her – there were no protestations, and no threats of violence for doing such a thing. She must have been in more pain than they’d realised.

Harry watched as Neville stepped onto the first tile, and the next. Tracey went second with Hermione right behind her. Hermione paused before the second tile and glanced back at him; her brown eyes filled with worry. “Don’t worry – I’m right behind you.” Harry smiled, but he didn’t think it was as reassuring as he’d hoped it would be.

She nodded and took the step onto the next tile. The path wasn’t linear, and by the time Harry stepped onto the stone platform on the far side of the room, he’d travelled the length and width of the chamber.

“Can you keep carrying her?” He asked, looking at Neville. Despite his chubby cheeks, Neville was one of the strongest boys he knew – he regularly picked Harry up as if he weighed nothing, but with everything going on, he didn’t want to risk Neville dropping Daphne.

“Aye, she’s lighter than she looks. I’ll let you know if she’s getting too heavy.” Neville nodded, shifting his hands just a little.

Harry nodded and took the lead, making his way up the stone stairs that led to another door – this one, thankfully, wasn’t wrapped in chains. It opened with a single push and bounced off of the wall with a dull thud.

The chamber they stepped into was similar to the one they had just left, but for the gaping ten metre pit in the middle of it that stretched from wall to wall.

“Who designed this place? It’s a death trap!” Tracey muttered, kicking a stone over the edge once they approached it. They listened to it bounce off of the walls, but never so much as heard it hit the bottom. They all grimaced as they looked at one another.

“How are we supposed to get over there?” Hermione asked, looking around. “There’s no way across.”

Harry cast his eyes around the chamber. While there were more balls of the silver-white lights, there wasn’t anything helpful laying around, like there often were in the stories he’d read as a child. Just a room bisected with a gaping chasm.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, despite how grimy they felt. Hermione seemed no better, with her skirt and tights covered in whatever had coated the floor when she had landed on him.

Gods, how long had they even been down here?

He watched as Hermione snorted and got a determined look in her eye. Her gaze swept the small piles of sand, dust, and dirt dotted about on the floor. She scooped a small pile into her hand and threw it into the chasm before them – she looked oddly satisfied.

Harry’s eyes tracked the scattered particles as they gently fell through the air, swirling on the current as they went. Tension built across his shoulders the further they dropped into the chasm – he winced, full expecting the floor to drop from beneath his feet or the ceiling to come crashing down.

Nothing happened.

“Sorry.” She said sheepishly at their incredulous stares. “Saw it in a movie once and I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“A what?” Asked Neville, still looking as confused as Harry felt.

“A movie Neville,” groused Hermione, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “A Muggle thing.”

“We could levitate one another across, I suppose?” Tracey suggested after a long silence, looking between her wand and the chasm. Harry co*cked a brow at that – would that work?

“How far is the gap, do you think?” He asked, trying to judge it for himself. “Hermione had to have gotten some of her idea over there with her throw.”

“About fifteen metres or so.” Neville muttered, looking between the chasm and Daphne. “Would it be one at a time, or would you be able to manage Daphne and I at the same time?”

“It’ll be tough, doing you both.” Hermione sighed, shifting from foot to foot. It seemed none of them were terribly excited about being levitated across what amounted to a bottomless pit.

“Hermione and I will go first, then we’ll bring Neville and Daphne, and then you Tracey.” Harry nodded.

They all nodded, and Harry stood next to the edge of the gorge and felt his heart race wildly in his chest. Merlin, they’d better not get the spell wrong. It was a long way down.

He gave a startled yelp as the feeling of weightlessness took over, and he looked over his shoulder. Both Neville and Tracey were pointing their wands at him and Hermione, who was in the air next to him. As they began to move over the chasm, Hermione’s hand snatched out and grabbed his left – he winced as she crushed it, and her nails dug into his skin. He squeezed back and tried not to look down.

Their feet touched the stone platform on the far side, and both of them dropped to their knees and fell forward. There were no words as they knelt there, panting, and simply basking in the feel of the stone beneath them. It had been a strange feeling, to have the world disappear beneath his feet, and not one that he had any desire to replicate any time soon.

“I’m never doing that again.” Hermione panted. Harry looked at her, noting the slight sheen of sweat on her brow and the way her limbs trembled uncontrollably. Of course, he’d completely forgotten – Hermione’s fear of heights! He grimaced and reached over to squeeze her hand.

“We got through it – you’re fine now.”

Hermione nodded weakly before she collapsed back on her arse. Her hair had been hiding her face for the most part, and Harry saw the shininess in her eyes as she fought back her tears. Immediately, Harry scrambled over to her, ignoring how the stone cut into his knees and palms, and pulled her into a hug.

He rocked her back and forth for a minute, whispering soothing words into her hair as she clung to him. He wouldn’t hold her tears against her – she had been forced to experience her greatest fear. If there had been any doubt as to how she had ended up in the House of the Brave, the last few minutes had washed them away.

After all, he still remembered his biggest fear – that overwhelming sense of helplessness as he had crouched behind that boulder at the side of the road, watching as Sirius and Remus fought against those men in their patchwork armour. That moment when he had felt that arm circle around his neck and the wand-tip digging into his skin, that was what had truly terrified him – that feeling of helplessness, of those men and women having died for nothing. The idea of letting Sirius and Remus down.

He shook himself and drew in a shuddering breath. He looked down at Hermione, who was sniffing quietly into his doublet. “Come on, we should get the others.”

Hermione nodded and pushed herself to her feet, jutting her jaw a little as she focused on the task ahead. If there was one person Harry was glad to have helping him bring the others over, it was Hermione. Sure, Neville and Daphne were powerful, and Tracey had her own impressive well of power to draw from, but none of them had the single-minded focus and determination of Hermione.

As the two of them turned to face their friends across from them, he reached out and grasped her hand with his own.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” She replied, squeezing his hand and wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

With perfectly synchronised incantations, the two of them slowly levitated their friends over the abyss. Harry had a firm hold of Daphne, his magic buoying her as gently as it could. Even from here, he could feel how exhausted she was and how she was using her magic to lessen the agony she was in.

Hermione had Neville, who was squirming a little and staring at the two of them with wide eyes. When Hermione settled Neville down, he immediately scrambled away from the edge. He held Daphne above the floor and looked at her as she blinked slowly. “Do you want to stand?” Daphne nodded, and so he set her down carefully.

At the very least, she seemed to be standing by herself for now. If it got any worse again, he’d get Neville to pick her up again.

He turned to look at Tracey and cast the spell for a final time, moving her quicker than he had moved Daphne. Tracey’s legs kicked the air and she squeaked before covering her eyes. She too, scrambled from the edge as soon as she touched the floor.

He looked around at everyone and breathed a sigh of relief. “Everyone okay?”

Shaky nods and queasy smiles answered his question. He glanced up the stairs at the large double doors. Like the others, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about them, except that these seemed exceptionally large.

In the end, it took both he and Neville pushing on one door to get it to open, and even then, it barely moved enough to allow them through.

The room was somewhat similar to the previous two, in that it was a square chamber with a dozen or more stone pillars wiling the walls. In the centre was a recessed area, thankfully no chasm or maze of runes, with a trio of steps leading down into it. In the middle of the recess was a huge mound of rubble, looking about the room, he couldn’t see where the rubble had come from.

“Clara!” He called again after walking some ways into the room, and like the last time, there was no answer.

Harry stepped into the centre of the room, his wand in-hand as he looked around. There was a low rumble as the rock started shifting. Neville was at his side immediately, his own wand drawn. What he thought they were going to do was utterly beyond him. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Daphne leaning against a pillar as the two girls joined them.

“Who disturbs my slumber?”

The boulder began to rise as tendrils of magic began weaving themselves along the surface in intricate patterns – even outright holding pieces of rock in place at some parts. The deep crimson glow of its eyes cast long shadows around the room.

“Morgana’s tit* – that’s a bloody Golem!” Neville swore. All their faces were turned upwards as it stood on thick legs, towering above them. It must have been ten feet tall!

“Who are these I see before me?”

“We’re Hogwarts students and we fell in here – we’re looking for a way out! Our friend is hurt!” Neville replied, pointing at Daphne at the back of the room.

“Intruders? The Stone must remain protected!”

“Intruders? I just said-“ Neville began, only to be caught in the chest with a large piece of rock. Harry watched as his friend went careening through the air, bounced off of a pillar and landed in a crumpled heap.

“Run!” Harry yelled, leaping to the side as the Golem smashed a fist into the floor, cracking the tiles beneath it.

Harry leapt up the steps and cast a quick Incendio over his shoulder. The small bust of flame did little to the rock, other than to blacken the grey stone, but it succeeded in pulling its attention away from Tracey, who was the last up the stairs.

He ducked and leapt behind the nearest column as a physical lance of crimson magic speared the stone. He scrambled behind the stone and pulled his knees up to his chest. He looked to his right and caught Daphne by the door pulling Neville behind another pillar.

“Is he alright?” He yelled, ducking, and covering his head as another lance of magic struck the pillar.

“I’m a little busy right now, Potter!” Tracey yelled – she had ducked behind the pillar closest to Daphne in their mad scramble, with Hermione hiding behind the pillar between the two of them. Hermione gave a terrified scream as another lance of magic struck nearby.

Harry ducked around the pillar and threw a Diffindo at the Golem. Perhaps, in a century, he’d have reduced the stone guardian to a pile of pebbles. Harry ducked back, just as another lance impacted his column, destroying it and sending shrapnel in all directions.

He cried out and stumbled backward as he covered his eyes – there was a sharp pain on the side of his face where a large chunk had bounced off. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his doublet and blinked away the blood that he could feel trickling into his eye.

“He’s fine! Daphne says – bloody Merlin – that he has a few broken ribs!” Tracey yelled, covering herself when her pillar was struck again.

Harry nodded and peaked around his cover. “Incendio!” He yelled again, throwing the jet of flames across the chamber. Harry noticed that the Golem hadn’t moved – perhaps it couldn’t? He heard Hermione throw a Diffindo of her own before the two of them ducked again.

“Tracey! Are you going to bloody help?” Harry yelled, shrugging his coat off. There was little point in wearing it at this point – while it might protect him a little, there wasn’t a chance it would do anything against the lances of magic that were in the process of shattering the new pillar he was behind.

“I’m working on it!” Tracey yelled, throwing her own spells into the fray.

Harry looked over to Hermione, who looked positively terrified behind her own pillar, with silent tears streaming down her cheeks. He understood – he felt like crying too. They had come so close to dying so many times already and this time their adversary was taking a far more active role.

They knew no spells for combat. They were first year students – they were supposed to be nose-deep in the library, not duelling a Golem that was shooting literal lances of magic at them. That in of itself was interesting – there weren’t many magical applications where magic visibly manifested into a weapon.

Spells were visible, and came with their own signature, none of them appeared solid – at least, not in the way the Golem’s strikes were. Was it using raw magic, or was it something else?

“Potter – what are you doing over there?” Tracey snapped, pulling him from his musing as he yanked the last sleeve off his arm. He paused for a moment as an idea struck him.

“Distract it!” He yelled, using a quick cutting charm to slice the ties that held his doublet together up his front. That too, was quickly removed, leaving him only in a sweat-stained baggy tunic, his breeches, and his boots.

“Harry, now isn’t a time to be getting undressed!” Hermione scolded, swinging around, and firing off a trio of Diffindo spells while it focused on Tracey.

“I have an idea – I’m going to bring the ceiling down on it!”

“And you’re going to manage that how?”

“With my coat and Doublet!” He grinned, casting a quick Wingardium Leviosa on his doublet and sent it hurtling at the Golem’s face, before sending it up in the air directly above it. As he hoped, the Golem took the bait and shot a burst of magic at the article of clothing. The magic annihilated the doublet and brought a number of large chunks of stone down, some striking the Golem and tearing large parts off of it.

He quickly glanced at the coat in his left hand and repeated the charm. Once again, he launched it first at the Golem’s face, and then into the air, though this time he waved it back and forth a little – if he were lucky, it would miss its first shot. He nearly yelled in joy as the Golem merely nicked part of it and took another shot to destroy the article of clothing.

It began slowly, but it quickly built into a crescendo of noise. Before he knew it, he was launching himself to the side to avoid the rubble that hammered down upon the stone around them. Large clouds of dust billowed into the air and he could hear the screams of Hermione and Tracey, but they seemed muted – distant, almost.

Eventually the avalanche of stone stopped, and he managed to pull himself to his knees. He looked about and hissed as the dust stung at the cut on his face. He regretted the action almost instantly as he doubled over and coughed. The taste of the dirt and stone was thick on his tongue, and he found himself spitting a mouthful of the foul stuff onto the floor.

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice called out, panicked.

“Hermione!” He yelled back, looking around the chamber. He looked up at the huge pile of rubble he had created – it stretched the width of the room and reached all the way up to the ceiling. A piece of rubble moved, and Hermione’s hand stuck through, waving.

“Harry! We’re all fine, but we’re trapped – can you see any gaps on your side?”

Harry looked around as he clambered up the debris and grasped her hand. He grimaced. “I don’t see anything. How’s Neville and Daphne?” Hermione clung to his hand like a lifeline.

“They’re okay – they were the furthest away. Tracey had some rubble land on her ankle – I’ve only got a scrape or two.”

“How bad are they?”

“Honestly, Harry – there are more important things to worry about now than some silly scrapes and bruises.” Hermione sighed, and he could picture her rolling her eyes beyond the rubble.

“How’s Tracey’s ankle?” He asked, smiling as Hermione squeezed his hand a little.

“Daphne think’s it’s broken, but she’s not looking good, Harry. She’s really quite pale.”

Harry blew out a breath and looked around the room – there was nothing he could think of that could help. He dared not move any of the rubble for fear of causing more to come tumbling down. “Clara?” It was a vain hope, but it was the only thing he could really do.

Harry winced and shielded his eyes as the burst of flame erupted just in front of him. Flapping there, her dark eyes darting about, was his faithful Phoenix. Why had she been able to come now, and not sooner? His eyes looked up at the ceiling – perhaps it had something to do with the chambers they had been in? He shook his head of these thoughts – his friends needed his help, not his theories.

His feathered friend landed on a piece of large masonry to his right and nuzzled his cheek. She trilled sadly at Hermione’s hand and nipped it softly.

“Ow! Harry!”

“That wasn’t me!” He grinned, the stress of the last few minutes melting from his shoulders. He suddenly felt all the bruises and cuts he’d endured over their short adventure. “It’s Clara!” He grinned, watching as the Phoenix nuzzled Hermione’s hand.

“Clara? You managed to call her? Harry, that’s brilliant!”

“Can you get my friends to Madame Pomfrey, girl? They’re on the other side of the rubble – Daphne and Neville are hurt pretty bad.” Harry released Hermione’s hand with a final squeeze and let her have her hand back. He watched as Clara peered through the hold before disappearing and reappearing on the far side.

“Clara!” He heard Tracey moan.

“Hermione,” He called, smiling to himself as the brown-eyed girl came back into view. “When Clara takes you to Madame Pomfrey, send her to get Headmaster Dumbledore. I’ll wait in the next chamber – there’s too much dust this side.”

“Harry, you don’t know what’s through there!”

“Clean air, I would hope.” He grunted, coughing hard into the sleeve of his tunic. “I don’t know what the dust is like on your side, but it’s thick enough to cut on mine.”

“Just… Be careful, Harry!” Hermione cried, clutching his hand once more, desperately squeezing it.

“I will be – after all, I think I’ve had my fill of excitement for this year.” He grinned. He hoped he looked more confident than he felt. If this year had taught him anything, it was that trouble had a habit of finding him – or, he’d just stumble on a twelve-foot Mountain Troll and a few months later find a mirror that took a month of his life away.

“You’ll be okay Harry. You’re a great wizard – you really are.”

Harry snorted. “Not as good as you – I seem to recall a certain witch who is top of all our classes.”

Hermione snorted and even through the little gap, he could see her little smirk. “Books and cleverness. There are more important things, like friendship and bravery and – oh, do be careful.” She sniffed, squeezing his hand tightly. He imagined that she would have tackled him if she weren’t held back by the rubble.

“I promise.” He smiled, giving her hand another squeeze before he released her hand and slid down the pile as carefully as he could, wincing as jagged pieces of stone sliced his legs and back – he regretted using his coat against the Golem now.

He landed with a bit of a stumble but remained on his feet. There was the tell-tale whoosh of Clara on the other side of the rubble and he knew he was alone. He made his way to the door, thankful that it was only a dozen steps away, and pushed it open.

The rush of clean air caused the dust in the air to swirl in intricate patterns, but Harry paid them little attention. He was through the door and slamming it shut before any of the dust could rush through. His lungs, which felt raw from all the dust, eagerly drank in as much clean as he could take in.

Before him lay a staircase of smooth stone steps, while the walls were rough stone. It seemed odd, in comparison with the previous chambers – there, the walls had been smooth granite, with intricate patterns. Here, the staircase was dark and devoid of patterning, it descended into the depths of wherever he was and out of his immediate sight.

He stumbled down the steps, keeping a hand against the wall all the while. Eventually, the further down he went, the more he could hear a voice – a familiar one at that. Of course, he’d completely forgotten about the warning of the stone guardians. Now he regretted coming through here – if he was trapped in here with He Who Came Before, he would have preferred to have suffocated in the last chamber.

He felt the familiar tug at the back of his mind as the whispers trickled their way in. He had hoped not to feel the like of it ever again – had Dumbledore simply moved it down here? Is that what all of this was guarding? A mirror that would send you mad?

He stepped into the dark room, the cold light of the small balls of magic glinting off of the surface of the mirror and the metal that held it in place. Stood before it was none other than Professor Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“Professor Quirrell?” He asked, confused. He Who Came Before was a Hogwarts professor? The stuttering man, who had jumped at his own shadow more than once.

“Ah, so the brat finally arrives.” Quirrell said, turning to look at him with a stony expression. It looked so strange, that for a moment, he could have sworn he was looking at a completely different man in a purple turban.

“But you – the stone guards…” He began, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Quirrell scoffed from his spot before the mirror. “Nothing gets past you, does it boy. I’m curious – did you come to try and stop p-p-poor, s-stuttering P-Professor Q-Q-Quirrell? Or did you simply happen to stumble in here?” The professor mocked; his eyes cold.

Harry fingered his wand in his hand. He suddenly felt a lot more terrified than he had when facing the Golem. Evidently, the professor had put on a charade for the entire year, acting as a bumbling fool – had he even fooled Dumbledore? He had certainly fooled Arcturus and Sirius when they had mentioned meeting him at his first Quidditch match.

“Or perhaps you simply got lucky – such as Halloween.” Quirrell sneered.

“You? You let the Troll in?”

“Very good Potter, yes. That Troll was supposed to buy me enough time to make my way down here, and keep the fools pre-occupied, but you saw to the end of that, didn’t you?” The professor snarled, spinning around, and looking at the mirror. “Now, come here boy.”

Harry felt a force pull him forward and into the professor’s outstretched hand. He found his feet dangling as he kicked weakly, while the professor tightened his grip around his throat. Harry tried to blink the dark spot out of his vision – he didn’t even have his wand; it had clattered to the floor as he had been yanked forward.

Harry tried to kick the professor, but he seemed neither bothered by his struggling, nor tired from holding him aloft – indeed, his arm hadn’t so much as shaken once.

“I understand you spent some time with this mirror. Tell me how it works – I can see what I desire, but I cannot grasp it!”

Harry tried to gasp, but only succeeded in breathing in the tiniest amount of air.

“I see myself holding the stone, but how do I get it?”

“Use the boy.” Another voice whispered, though to Harry it sounded as if it came from everywhere at once. Harry felt a deep, primal fear run through him and he began to struggle even more. Quirrell threw him to the floor, and he cried in pain as his knees cracked against the stone. Before he could do anything, he felt a hand grasp his hair and tilt his head back. He grimaced and glared at the man.

“Tell me, what do you see?”

Harry had no desire to look into the mirror ever again. He had no desire to become a mindless drone, going through the days with a cold detachment. He had heard how he had been in the month he had been under its thrall. He had appeared perfectly normal, though with the deep bags under his eyes that had remained for weeks afterwards. Tracey had claimed it had been as if the lights had been on, but nobody was home.

He felt the tug in his mind again. “I see… My family. My parents – a brother and a sister.”

“Useless!” Quirrell screamed, smashing his head against the cold glass. “Look again!”

This time, when he was pulled back, he could see the spiderwebbing in the glass where his head had impacted – even the small smears of blood.

“I told you, you twat, I just see my family!”

“He lies!” The voice called once more.

“Tell me the truth – what do you see?” Quirrell screamed, kneeling before Harry. Harry took that moment to spit in Quirrell’s face – the saliva striking him in the eye. He grunted as he was backhanded for his defiance. Harry landed in a head on the floor, his head ringing and stars flittering across his vision.

“Let me speak to him!”

“Master, you are not strong enough!” Quirrell called into the dark room. Harry groaned and rolled over, scrambling towards his wand, which had rolled a few feet away. By the time Harry turned to point the wand back at Quirrell, the professor was facing the mirror, still as a statue and he had torn his turban from his head.

The bald scalp of Quirrell morphed and writhed, as if there were something under the skin trying to burst forth. Harry felt his stomach churn as a face took form.

“Harry Potter – we meet again.”

That primal fear burned in his gut once more, and Harry’s limbs began to tremble. There was only one wizard that he would have met that could have been lain so low as to possess another being

Only one.

“Voldemort.” Harry breathed – before him stood what remained of the wizard who had waged a war against the Ministry and had been winning. It seemed not even death could stop him – and here he was, a boy of eleven, stuck in a chamber with him.

“Yes… Can you see what I have become? What I must do to survive?”

Harry did the only thing he could think to do – he turned and ran.

“Stop him!” Voldemort spat. Harry glanced over his shoulder and watched as Quirrell’s wand shot into his hand, and in a sweeping motion, flame erupted around the room, cutting off his escape. He cursed.

“Bollocks.” He swore, flicking his wand around at Quirrell – if he was stuck in a room with Voldemort, he wasn’t going to sit and wait to be butchered. “Diffindo!”

Quirrell batted the spell aside with a quick flick of his wrist, while Harry leapt behind a pillar. Voldemort cackled venomously.

“Incendio! Diffindo! Incendio!” Harry yelled, sending the trio of spells across the room, swinging out from behind the pillar just long enough to throw them before ducking behind it again. These pillars weren’t as thick and sturdy as the ones with the Golem, and he cursed his luck.

The pillar directly above his head exploded, the force of it knocking him forward. A second later, he felt something rip through his side and he screamed.

The mocking laughter of Voldemort was all he heard as he felt his blood trickle between his fingers. Harry groaned as he stumbled to his feet. He would die on his feet, looking him in the eye – he wouldn’t look away. He would meet his parents proudly – his only regret was that he had broken his promise to Hermione.

Quirrell raised his wand once more, the words on the tip of his tongue as Harry snapped off one last Diffindo.

He wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment, Harry had been looking at Quirrell, and the next there had been an incredible explosion. He had been knocked onto his back by the force of it, sliding between a pillar that had toppled over and a small raised platform. The next thing he knew, the ceiling came down all around him as the world went black.

Chapter 19: Harry XII

Chapter Text

“-the first witch of her generation to hold a position of power in the Wizengamot, which up until then, had been restricted to-“

Harry groaned as his eyes opened slowly. He ached all over, and his head throbbed painfully. The harsh light of Madame Pomfrey’s dominion burned at his retina’s and he quickly found himself covering his eyes with his hands.

He hissed and drew his hand away from his right eye when a spike of pain startled him – the soft words he had awoken to stopped suddenly.

“Harry?”

He opened his eyes slowly this time, merely wincing as he looked upon Hermione sat at the side of his bed, her copy of Hogwarts: A History perched against his leg. He blinked slowly. “Hermione?”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried, flinging herself at him – he grimaced as her arm caught his side. “I’m so glad you’re alright!” Harry smiled and returned the hug. He found his mood lifted, despite waking up in a hospital bed again.

“What happened?” He asked slowly, frowning. Hermione pulled back after a moment and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as her eyes darted about his face – he noticed her eyes lingering on his right eye for a moment. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He touched at his face for a moment, and that familiar stinging sensation returned in full force. He hissed and looked around the room for a moment. “Do you have a mirror?” He asked quietly. She nodded slowly and pulled a small mirror from her bag on the floor.

Harry took the mirror silently and brought it up before his face. He grimaced at what he saw. It wasn’t ugly, but a fresh, inch-long scar ran down the side of his face. It began just above his right eyebrow and cut vertically through the hair. It stopped at the recess of his eye and continued for a bit on his cheekbone – it seemed he was lucky that it was on the outside of his eye, at least. Sirius would no doubt claim it would look rather roguish as he got older. All Harry saw was another scar people could stare at.

He sighed tiredly as he looked at it – luckily, it was quite thin, and seemed to have been a clean cut. He tried to remember what could have made it – so many things had happened, and toward the end was when things got a little fuzzy in his mind. He distinctly remembered being in pain with the Golem – had it been then?

“How are the others? Are you alright?” He asked, his eyes flicking to Hermione, who had perched herself on the side of his bed and who was kicking her legs idly.

She nodded quickly and took the mirror back when he offered it to her. “Everyone’s fine, Harry. Neville will be a little sore for a few days – most of his ribs were broken by the Golem, but he’s up and about. Tracey had her ankle fixed quickly – she didn’t even need to stay overnight. Daphne had a few potions and was good as new – Madame Pomfrey doesn’t even think it will scar.” She answered, holding his hand in hers idly as she recounted their friend’s injuries. “I just needed a single potion and I was as good as new.” She shrugged awkwardly.

“So, why am I in here?” He asked, looking around the room.

“Honestly, Harry – you had a room dropped on you. Frankly, I’m amazed you only slept through a single night. I don’t even think they’ve alerted Sirius, Arcturus or Remus yet.”

“I remember now…” He whispered quietly, remembering the way that he had been looking directly at Quirrell – Voldemort – whoever he had been. He had felt different to how he had expected. He’d felt sad, but more disappointed than anything. It was odd, to be disappointed in how you were going to die.

It had felt so different from the ambush and the Troll – both times he had been utterly terrified, but he had been more terrified of who he was with, rather than what was happening. He had wanted to face his murderer, to look him in the eye and stand proud – like his parents would have. He wanted to meet them proudly, not as a weeping child.

While he was glad to have survived, happy, even – the memory of the experience felt hollow. Disconnected, almost.

He sighed and squeezed Hermione’s hand. “I suppose it was Headmaster Dumbledore who saved me?”

Hermione nodded and her thumb began tracing slow circles on the back of his hand. “He brought you in just after he left to find you. Merlin, Harry – there was so much blood.”

“Blood?” He asked, frowning. Then he remembered it – the curse he had caught in his side. He remembered the searing, white-hot pain that had torn through him. Just thinking about it, he could hear his own scream of pain, echoing through the chamber above the roar of the flames surrounding him.

He threw the cover of his bed off on his left side and lifted his pyjama shirt. There, running diagonally up his side was an angry red scar – thin, but angry. The skin was tight and fresh – no doubt Madame Pomfrey had performed her best work on him. He looked up and saw Hermione gawking at it.

“What happened, Harry? Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t say anything.” She whispered, reaching out with a hand, while her other kept a firm hold of his own right hand, and traced the wound, barely touching the skin. He grimaced and hissed lightly as he felt the muscles stiffen beneath her touch. She glanced up and blushed a little. “Sorry.”

He tugged the shirt down and pulled the cover back over his torso. “It was Professor Quirrell.” He sighed. “But, it wasn’t really.”

“What do you mean?”

“Professor Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort.”

Hermione gasped, and jumped a little, as if she had been struck. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was slightly open. “You-Know-Who was possessing a professor?” She asked, after a moment.

“All year, I would guess. It’s why he wore the turban – you could see Voldemort on the back of Quirrell’s head.”

“We were taught by You-Voldemort for a year?” Hermione gasped, her eyes staring into the distance.

“I think that was more Quirrell than Voldemort, frankly. I think it took a great deal of effort to show himself to me – even then, it was more to gloat than anything. He wanted me to see that he was alive.”

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you, Harry.” Hermione muttered, staring into her lap. “I’d have helped if I could.”

“You’d have only gotten yourself killed – or worse, expelled.” He grinned, chuckling as he saw her fight a little smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. “Honestly, Hermione – I’m glad none of you were there.”

“I told you that you were a great wizard though – you obviously beat him.”

He grimaced and shifted in the bed a little. “I didn’t.” He grunted, wincing as he felt her eyes dart to him. She turned to look at him fully, tucking one of her legs underneath her. “I don’t know what happened, Hermione. One moment I’m standing there, waiting for the next curse – and the next, there’s a flash of light, an explosion, and the room is coming down.”

Hermione frowned at that and the two were silent for a time – neither quite knowing what to say, it seemed. “Anyway, what was that you were reading? You did that before, after the Troll.” Harry asked, deciding to change the subject.

What he hadn’t expected was for Hermione’s face to turn scarlet as she chewed on her lip nervously. “Well, it’s my copy of Hogwarts: A History – I read it to you every time you’re in here. I started after the Troll, because I thought you might like it – it’s silly, I know, but I thought-“

Harry hadn’t meant to chuckle, but he found the noise trickling past his lips regardless. Hermione’s rambling ceased as she frowned at him a little. He held his free hand up and grinned. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just – it’s the most Hermione thing you could have done.” He chuckled, coughing a little as his side stung. “I really do appreciate it, however. Thank you.”

He squeezed her hand and offered her a tired smile. Hermione smiled in return and shifted a little on the bed. “So, where are the others?” He asked, looking around at all of the empty beds.

“They’re asleep, probably.” Hermione shrugged, glancing around the room. “Clara brought us in here in the middle of the night – we were down there for hours. We were all fairly exhausted.”

“How much sleep did you get?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the witch. She avoided looking at him.

“I wanted to make sure I was awake when you woke up.” She muttered, looking at an interesting spot on the covers. “I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

Harry sighed as he took in the bushy-haired witch. Over the course of the year, their friendship had blossomed, and he found himself enjoying these moments alone with her. She was always there, making sure he ate enough, and making schedules for them all to study – it was nice. Hermione had quickly become one of his dearest friends, though she drove him to madness with how she would put himself before her own needs.

“Hermione, you need to get some sleep.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and nudging her hip with his thigh.

“If you think this is the first time I’ve stayed up reading, you obviously don’t know me very well.” She sniffed, raising her nose in the air just a little. Harry chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second – but I don’t want you tired and miserable. We went through a lot. You need your rest.”

“I will – when you’re let out of here.” She smiled, squeezing his hand a little.

They were both quiet for a few moments – both content to just enjoy the company of the other, rather than fill the silence with conversation. Harry took in Hermione’s appearance – noting the fresh robes, and the way her hair was tied back into a ponytail. He also noticed that his robes were nowhere to be seen – no doubt they had been wrecked beyond repair. At least neither of them was covered in that awful Devil’s Snare slime.

“Are we getting in trouble for the whole mess? Will we have detention until fifth year?” He asked after a time, co*cking a brow as he smirked a little.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him – he had the distinct impression that she would have preferred to hit him for a brief moment. “No,” She sighed, “Headmaster Dumbledore has said it was beyond our control that we ended up there. No detentions – we haven’t even had points taken.”

“Thank the Gods it wasn’t Snape who dug me out then.”

“Professor.”

“Right, Professor Snape.” Harry chuckled, rolling his own eyes.

“What is it between the two of you – you’ve been at odds ever since our first class. I’ve always wondered.” Hermione asked, frowning a little as she looked at him.

Harry grimaced and shrugged a little. “My father and he didn’t get along. Everyone tells me I look just like him, except for my eyes – they were my mothers.”

“So, he sees someone he never got along with, and as a result, you both come to blows in class?”

“That’s about the extent of it, honestly.” He replied, shrugging.

“It doesn’t seem right.” Hermione replied after a moment. He couldn’t help but agree.

Harry had known about Professor Snape for years – or Snivellous, as Sirius had referred to him. He had known all about the Marauders and their rivalry with the Potion Prodigy from Slytherin, which had stretched back as far as their first train-ride to Hogwarts, when his father had bumped into Snape and knocked him over by accident.

As the years had trickled by, the rivalry had escalated from harmless pranks, to down-right bullying between them. The Marauders would often target Snape, who in turn, would cast some hex or jinx at them in a corridor later on. It had rubbed Harry the wrong way – he despised bullying, in any form – and now, to be held accountable for a man that had been dead for over a decade…

“Nothing much I can do about it, honestly.” Harry sighed, shrugging a little. He would be polite and respectful, as was expected with any professor – Merlin, he was likely one of the only students that treated Filch with respect – but he didn’t have to like the greasy bat.

“The school year has been difficult enough for you as it is – Merlin knows you don’t need the added stress.” Hermione sighed, though she smirked at him a moment later. “It’s no wonder you’re so far down in the class rankings.”

“Hey now-“ He began as he sat up a little against his pillow. “I’ll have you know I’m only second in the theory, but first in the practical.” He smirked, earning an eye-roll from Hermione.

“Carry on, Potter, and you’ll find yourself alone in here.” She replied, playfully.

“You’d abandon me to Madame Pomfrey just like that?”

“And don’t you forget it.” She nodded, nudging him a little with a giggle. It was nice to see Hermione relax and just be herself. Too often, she was too focused on her studies – burying her nose in a book to read ahead for the next class or revising for one reason or another. He didn’t begrudge her any of that, of course, but it was nice to see the girl behind the books and cleverness every now and then.

The door opened at the end of the room, and both of them turned their heads to look at the new arrival. There, standing in lilac robes with a squat cap upon his head, was the Headmaster. He smiled his grandfatherly smile and approached with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Ah Miss Granger, I thought I might find you here.” Dumbledore smiled as he came to a stop at the foot of Harry’s bed. Harry noticed the slight blush on Hermione’s cheeks and chuckled a little – she lightly pinched his arm. “May I have a moment of Mister Potter’s time? I promise to return him to you just as he is now.”

Hermione glanced at him, and he gave a slight nod and a smile – it seemed to reassure her, before she hopped off of the bed and gathered up her book. “I’ll go fetch you some clothes, Harry.”

“Excellent idea, Miss Granger – I imagine young Mister Potter here is most eager to go about his day.”

Hermione nodded, and the two of them watched as Hermione left the room, her school shoes clicking against the marble stone and bouncing around the cavernous room.

Harry turned his gaze to the Headmaster after watching his friend leave – his eyes appeared tired, and his cheeks sallow. Had the Headmaster also been awake the entire time? From where Harry sat, he looked more his age than any other time he could remember.

“Headmaster?” Harry asked after a moment, placing his hands in his lap. His body still ached somewhat, but it was a manageable pain – after all, the fact he was in pain meant that he was alive. Not something he would have thought not so long ago.

“I have come to discuss what happened down in the dungeons between yourself, and Professor Quirrell. It’s all a complete secret, of course – so, naturally, the whole school knows.”

“They know, do they?” Snorted Harry as he ran a hand through his loose hair. “They know that Voldemort is still alive?”

“Ah, no – they do not. The school believes that you and your friends, thwarted Professor Quirrell when he attempted to steal something of value from the school.”

“Then that isn’t the truth.” Harry frowned. “Shouldn’t they know Voldemort was in the school, teaching them?”

“I believe they should, yes. Too many are unaware of the many, many ways in which he could return. For good reason, if they did, panic and hysteria would run rampant.”

“But the Aurors-“ Harry began, only to have Dumbledore hold up his hand.

“Will be told in due-time, Harry. For now, I believe it best if as few people as possible are aware.”

Harry blew out a sigh and leaned back into the pillow behind him. What good was it knowing that Voldemort wasn’t really gone, when you could do nothing to help finish him off? He knew of possession, or at least, the concept of it – there would never be a more perfect time to catch The Dark Lord than in the state he was in!

His thoughts went back to the meeting with The Council, those few years ago. He had thought Voldemort gone – never to return. It seemed it had been wishful thinking on his part. If he were a megalomaniac, who had been lain low by a baby – he’d be wanting revenge.

“He’s going to keep coming for me, isn’t he?”

Dumbledore wouldn’t meet his eyes and was quiet for a while. “It is difficult to say, Harry. On the one hand, you are the boy who laid him so low – on the other, I believe you to be the one person he truly fears.”

“He’s scared of… me?” Harry asked, blinking quickly as the confusion threatened to overwhelm him.

“Of course – for the last time he faced you, he was almost killed. Who does not fear death, hm?” Dumbledore nodded sagely; his hands clasped loosely in his lap as he peered over his half-moon spectacles.

“But, he had me – I couldn’t do anything against him.”

“Ah – that, I believe, I cannot answer. To try to understand the mind of the mad, is to invite madness into yourself.” Dumbledore sighed, before reaching into his robe and pulling out a short bit of wood, holding it between his finger and thumb. “This is all that remains of Professor Quirrell’s wand.”

Harry took the small bit of wand and turned it in his fingers, eyeing it carefully. He looked back up at Dumbledore and felt his forehead throb a little. “This is all that’s left of it?”

The Headmaster nodded slowly. “Indeed, Harry. Now, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

“Of course, Headmaster.” Harry answered, rolling the wood between his fingers slowly as he stared at the remnant of the wand that had nearly killed him.

“Now, I have spoken with your friends and gotten their versions of events, and now I need yours. In your own words, then, how did you find yourself on the third floor?”

Harry shrugged with one shoulder. “We were walking up the stairs, to the seventh floor and we got stranded by the staircases. We met the Occamy a little while later after we were wondering what was banging on the door.”

“I see – as for the riddle, I take it that was Miss Granger? And Mr Longbottom solved the Devil’s Snare?”

“Aye – Daphne was caught in the shoulder by the Occamy.” Harry nodded, remembering the pained sounds his friend had made as the girls applied the Dittany. Those sounds would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“And how did you get over the chasm?” Dumbledore asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

“We levitated each other over it.”

“Indeed? Quite an ingenious plan – Miss Davis, was it? I find that the simplest solutions to a problem are often the ones we overlook. I believe you brought the roof down on the Golem?”

“Yes, sir. I used my coat and doublet to get it to bring the ceiling down.”

“You continue to amaze me, Harry – there are many who would be too terrified to act in the situation you found yourselves in.” Dumbledore smiled, patting his forearm gently. Harry found himself smiling a little at the praise.

Before he could stop himself, a question that he had been turning over in his head trickled past his lips. “Why could I not call Clara until the ceiling came down?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore smiled, leaning back a little. “That, I believe, was my fault. You see, I put the mirror there as another task – one I noticed was annihilated beyond repair by your encounter with Professor Quirrell.”

Harry winced.

Dumbledore noticed, but continued on. “Those chambers were chosen specifically for one reason, Harry. The rune-work woven into the stone down there is older than this castle – it allows for no Portkey, Apparition, Floo, or even Phoenix travel to breach its walls.” The Headmaster leaned forward with a toothy grin, and a wink. “I have a theory the chambers were constructed by Myrddin Emris himself.”

Harry found his jaw dropping slightly at the possibility – and then he shrank in on himself. He had completely destroyed the final room. Whatever possibility of finding out the truth of those chambers was likely significantly less now, thanks to him.

Dumbledore chuckled a little and patted his arm again. “Don’t worry my boy – I would rather have five healthy students than one old chamber.”

“I am sorry, though.” Harry grimaced, running his fingers through his hair slowly as he blew out a breath. “That chamber must have been really something before it collapsed.”

“Oh yes, it was quite the sight.” Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “But, it does well to focus on the here and now – not on what could have been, or what could be.”

The two were silent for a few moments as Harry felt the words settle on him. He knew, better than anyone, about his penchant for wondering what life would have been like – Sirius often joked that he’d leave his head in the clouds when he went flying.

“Was all of what we went through to guard the mirror? Professor Quirrell mentioned something about a stone?”

“Ah, that would be Nicholas Flemmel’s Philosopher’s Stone – it was being kept safe in the castle after a number of attempted robberies in Normandy, before it was moved here.” Dumbledore nodded, slowly standing.

Nicholas Flemmel was a legend among Alchemists, and even Harry’s textbooks for the class often cited and referenced the man more than once – he was a genius!

“Alas, events spiralled out of control and the stone and mirror were both destroyed.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Headmaster – but good riddance, as far as that mirror is concerned.” He muttered, feeling his shoulders shudder at the thought of it.

“Indeed – while fascinating, it was quite the dangerous artifact. Now,” Dumbledore agreed, pausing to gently clap his hands together. “I do believe Madame Pomfrey will return shortly with your potions – I understand you have a week free to spend however you wish before the feast and your journey home.”

“Thank you, Headmaster – for rescuing me, I mean.” Harry said, watching as Dumbledore paused on his way to the door.

“It was my pleasure, my boy.” Dumbledore smiled, turning back to look at him briefly before continuing his short walk to the door.

Harry sighed as he heard the door close after the Headmaster as he sunk down into his pillow. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if Hermione got some rest before she brought him his clothes – he was rather comfortable, after all.

The last week of term had passed by quickly. Harry and his friends had spent the time relaxing all throughout the castle and the grounds. It hadn’t been uncommon to find the five of them laying on one of the grassy banks that sloped lazily towards the Black Lake, where they would watch the Giant Squid playfully wave a tentacle at them every now and then.

When they couldn’t be found there, they often found themselves wandering the halls of Hogwarts, or spending time in either the Library or Great Hall for hours at a time.

Harry took the time to lavish attention on both Clara and Hedwig – both of the female birds lapped up his attention greedily. So much so, that at one point, he’d had to separate the two of them for an hour when they began to shove one another – he’d been positive that Clara had been ready to set Hedwig on fire.

It had been during this separation that he’d once again noticed that Hedwig had opted to spend time with Hermione – perhaps she had noticed that Hermione was the only one of their group without a Familiar? Neville had his toad, Daphne her Hawk, he had Clara and Hedwig, and Tracey had her Chinchilla, Kiki.

Harry always got a little nervous whenever Tracey brought Kiki out – all the birds would stare unblinkingly at the clumsy rodent, who more often than not, would stumble and fall backwards as it nibbled on a leaf of some kind.

While he knew Familiars didn’t prey on one another, it was still enough to set off his anxiety at times. Tracey, it seemed, gave no thought to it – often holding the little Chinchilla up to Clara for his Phoenix to get a better look at it, as if her black eyes had moved from it. He often imagined that if Clara had lips, she’d be licking them.

So, while they had lavished attention onto their Familiars, they took the time to enjoy the Scottish summer. While it wasn’t particularly hot, the son had shone brightly for the whole week and there had been a pleasant breeze – one the birds took full advantage of as they glided lazily on the currents.

In the days following his release from Madame Pomfrey’s care, they had all heard the whispers of ‘The Wolf Pack’ when they meandered their way through the halls or sat together at the trestle tables of the Great Hall. At first, Harry had been confused – and then Daphne had pointed out they were referring to them.

He had been struck speechless – their little group had earned themselves a nickname? He could only imagine the bemoaning of Sirius when he discovered they hadn’t become the second coming of the Marauders.

Neville had snorted at their little nickname, before coming up with his own – Vargarnir. Harry hadn’t pretended to know what Neville was on about, and his friend had noticed. That had led to a lengthy discussion on Neville’s Norse roots, and how they were like a pack of wolves – Vargarnir.

While Harry appreciated the little nod to his own house with the wolf imagery, he couldn’t help but chafe at the thought that both Neville and Daphne’s houses were ignored – not to mention how Tracey and Hermione felt. He’d asked them that very question just a few days before, and they’d shrugged him off, claiming they were perfectly fine with it.

But it wasn’t fine, was it? Neville had his own prestigious house, history and sigil he was proud of, and so did Daphne. Where were the nicknames based on the Bear of House Longbottom, or the Stallion of House Greengrass. It felt wrong that they were seemingly ignored.

Daphne had told him to get his head out of his arse, and that they were perfectly fine with it – it was him, after all, who had brought them all together, with the exception of Tracey. While was flattered, of course, it hadn’t exactly made him feel any better. Instead, he’d just taken to silently pouting over it, which he found, earned him less punches in the arm from the strong-willed Slytherin.

Neville had been Neville about it, simply shrugging his shoulders and throwing his arm around his Little Wolf’s shoulders with a grin. He had rolled his eyes, looked pointedly at the three girls, and awaited their jokes. Now, thanks to the arse that was his best friend, the three girls couldn’t go a day without making a joke about it. Hermione and Daphne even giggled – giggled!

Harry sighed as they entered the Great Hall – the candles floated in the air, and the whole room felt warm and inviting. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were already sat at their respective tables, murmuring amongst one-another, while Slytherin filtered in with his fellow Gryffindor’s. Neville was at his side, and Hermione was a step ahead of them.

The Head Table was already full of teachers, and Harry gave a little grin to Professor Cantrill – he had been a regular visitor to her office ever since the escapade with the mirror in January. He had revelled in the stories of his mother – of how she had devoured any and all photography magazines that she could lay her hands on and kept a stack of them in her trunk each year.

There were other stories of course. He especially liked the one where she had thwarted the Marauder’s pranks, and even turned one or two around on them – at least he now had a few answers for Sirius, who to this day, remained clueless. The swell of pride he felt for his mother, for one-upping the Marauders, of all people, had buoyed him throughout the year.

The Professor gave him a smile of her own, and a little wink. The two of them had formed as much of a friendship as one could between a member of staff and a student. He found Professor Cantrill, or Hope, as she insisted, to be a witty and delightful conversationalist.

He shuffled onto the bench between Neville and Hermione – Neville to his left, and Hermione on his right. All along the table, his fellow students whispered and joked with one another – there was a small pop as something from the Weasley twins exploded in a puff of smoke to raucous laughter.

He noticed Daphne and Tracey on the Slytherin table, sitting among their fellow first years. They seemed to be in some discussion with Blaise Zabini and Tomas Lyre – a Vassal of House Bulstrode, if he remembered his Noble Families. Both were quiet boys, though in the few conversations he’d had with them, both were pleasant and polite.

It took little time for the plates and dishes before them to fill, with large piles of corn-on-the-cob, sausages, slices of beef, mutton, venison, and chicken breast filled with cream cheese and wrapped in streaky bacon.

There were jugs of gravy – both meat and vegetable, thick and thin. Bowls of vegetables, and sizzling skewed kebabs of meat, peppers, and onions. Harry wasted no time in helping himself to a pair of the bacon wrapped chicken breasts, a corn-on-the-cob, a spoon of broccoli, carrots and peas, parsnip, and some fresh chips. He lathered it all in a nice thick gravy, and he could feel his mouth salivating at the sight of it all.

Neville filled his plate with a pair of juicy looking steaks, with each appearing to be both halves of the cow they came from, a pile of potato, and a generous helping of green beans, carrot, and parsnip. Rather than the gravy, however, Neville opted for a strong peppercorn sauce, and for a moment Harry was glad the cow was already dead, for fear it would have drowned.

Hermione, by contrast, had put little on her plate. She had helped herself to a pair of chicken and pepper kebabs, which were still sizzling on their sticks, and a handful of vegetables. There were carrots, cauliflower, sweetcorn, and runner beans. Perhaps she was just pacing herself – she was the brains of the three of them, after all.

The meal passed quickly, with only the groans of pleasure and the clicking of cutlery on plates to fill the Hall. There had been a few times where he himself had taken a bite from his chicken and almost had his eyes roll into the back of his head – the soft cream cheese made the chicken nice and moist, while the bacon was neither too crispy, nor too soft, and complimented it all perfectly. His favourite part had been the corn-on-the-cob, however. He had spread a little butter and speared it on either side with a pair of little sticks and devoured them both.

As it was, Hermione had finished first and opted not to have another plate, while Neville barely cleaned his plate before heaping more food on. He himself was fully sated, even knowing that dessert was likely – maybe he’d treat himself to something, as a going-away gift to himself.

While he ate well throughout the year, none of their meals were like the Welcoming or Leaving Feasts, with perhaps the exceptions of Halloween, Christmas and Easter. Each meal was well balanced and nutritional, and with the exercises he performed in his room each evening, he remained fairly fit – though no doubt he would have to increase his exercise as he got older. Perhaps he could take up running, with Clara and Hedwig flying above him in the early morning. The thought of it made him smile for a moment.

“You look like Kiki, with that smile you have right now.” Hermione grinned, elbowing him playfully.

“I do not look like Kiki.” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know – that far away look on your face, and the way your cheeks look a little chubby when you smile…” Hermione sighed dramatically. “You’d have made an excellent rodent.”

He felt his eyes narrow at his companion. “My cheeks aren’t chubby when I smile.”

“He’s right – those bloody dimples.” Neville groused, wiping his mouth on a nearby napkin. “He’s not even a teen and he has the girls sighing as he walks past.”

“I do?” Harry asked, stunned. He found his face heating.

“And he doesn’t notice it either!” His friend sighed dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. Hermione chuckled into her goblet on his other side.

“Why are you both picking on me all of a sudden?” He groaned, rolling his eyes and elbowing both of his friends playfully.

“It’s our solemn duty as your friends.” Neville nodded resolutely as he puffed up his chest. “Otherwise, you might start to take yourself too seriously.”

“I grew up with Sirius – I doubt there’s much chance of that happening.” Harry sighed dramatically as Hermione chuckled to his right – he grinned at her.

“You mean you grew up a victim of his pranks.” Neville laughed, slapping Harry on the back.

Harry almost found himself thrown across the table from the force of it – as it was, his spine felt bruised. He’d almost forgotten how strong the Longbottom Heir was. “I happen to remember you being a victim just as often.”

“Honestly, from everything I’ve heard – it sounds like you grew up in a madhouse.” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Oh aye, you were kept on your toes – but it wasn’t too bad. We got him back a fair few times.” Harry laughed, remembering in particular the time they had swapped Sirius’s shampoo for Slytherin green hair-dye. That had been one of Daphne’s more brilliant ideas.

A gentle tapping of a glass at the head of the room drew their attention and the entire student body became silent. Above them hung the four banners representing each house, hanging lazily above their respective tables – by the end of this feast, one of those banners would by hanging proudly behind the Headmaster.

Harry watched as Dumbledore rose from his golden throne. “Another year gone! Now, as I understand it – the House Cup needs awarding, and the points stand thus…”

Harry shifted a little in his seat a little. He’d been awarded a number of points over the year, both for answering questions in class, and for scoring high in his homework – not to mention the Troll. Hopefully, his contributions would have made some sort of impact.

“In fourth place, Ravenclaw, with five-hundred-and-six points.”

All the tables clapped politely while the Ravenclaws grumbled quietly amongst one another. Harry pursed his lips as he clapped – it was never a good feeling to come last in any endeavour.

“In third place, Hufflepuff, with five-hundred-and-ninety points.”

Again, everyone in the Hall clapped, and Harry found himself glancing at Daphne and Tracey on the Slytherin table – it came down to Gryffindor and Slytherin. He narrowed his eyes at his friends as he caught their eyes – they in turn, smirked.

“In second place, Gryffindor, with six-hundred-and-three points.”

Harry cursed under his breath, and stuck his tongue out at Daphne and Tracey, both girls covering their mouths with their hands in an attempt to stifle their laughter. Now he’d have to deal with their impossible gloating for the entire train ride home in the morning – that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t have gloated if he were in their position.

“And in first place, with six-hundred-and-fifty points – Slytherin!”

The Slytherin table erupted, the students cheering and celebrating their victory, many of them banging on the table before them in glee.

“Yes, yes, well done Slytherin!” Dumbledore called out, speaking over the cheers as they died down. “However, recent events must be taken into account, and I have a few last-minute points to award.”

Harry looked around the Hall, as did almost every other student in the room. Who had earned points so late into the year that they were awarded at the ceremony?

“Firstly, to Mister Neville Longbottom, for an outstanding knowledge of Herbology that greatly surpasses the current first year curriculum, I award twenty-five points.”

Neville choked on his mouthful of drink, and Harry found himself slapping his friend on the back as the rest of their table cheered.

“Secondly, to Miss Daphne Greengrass, for an excellent demonstration of Runes, not seen in a first year for quite some time – I award, twenty-five points.”

The Slytherin table cheered as their lead remained strong, and Harry found himself clapping and laughing as Daphne blushed crimson at the sudden attention and tried to hide behind her hands.

“Next, to Miss Hermione Granger, for a cool use of intellect when others were in peril – twenty-five points.”

He cheered with the rest of Gryffindor as he threw an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and gave her a little squeeze while she gaped like a fish.

“Miss Tracey Davis, of Slytherin, I award twenty-five points for an excellent application of her Charms education to conquer the most daunting of challenges.”

Tracey, it seemed, attempted to hide behind Daphne as she too blushed a deep crimson.

“And finally – to Mister Harry Potter, for the courage to face impossible odds, twenty-five points.”

Harry grinned as he was pulled into a one-armed hug by Neville and Hermione tackled him from the side – all three laughing loudly. They may not have won Gryffindor the House Cup, but the gap between themselves and Hufflepuff was larger, while the gap between themselves and Slytherin had been shortened – the loss seemed a little easier to swallow.

Harry watched as the Slytherin banner moved to hang behind Dumbledore clapped his hands. “Assuming my calculations are correct, that leaves Slytherin with seven-hundred points, and Gryffindor with six-hundred-and-seventy-eight points. Slytherin, wins the House Cup!”

Slytherin stood as one and cheered – one or two of the more exuberant students jumping onto the benches and laughing as they stomped their feet. Harry stood with them, clapping for his friends – oh, he would gripe and bemoan their gloating come the morning, but in that moment, he couldn’t have been happier for them both.

The feast ended shortly after, with everyone filtering back to their Common Rooms, under the watchful eyes of the Prefects.

Neville had his arms around both himself, and Hermione, as they walked the stairs up to the portrait of The Fat Lady. He was grinning widely and joking the entire time, how if they’d only had one more Gryffindor in their little group.

“We’ll get the cup next year, Neville.” Harry chuckled, ducking out from his friend’s grip as they made it to the portrait. Already, the noise from the Common Room was almost deafening as the Twins started one of their signature parties.

For the first time that he could remember in the year, nobody was shying away from him. When they had first arrived, he was Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived and whispered about in the corridors as he walked past. After Hogwarts, he had heard the whispers about killing the Troll, how it was only a matter of time until he went ‘Dark’, as it were. With the added strangeness that had happened with the mirror, it was no surprise that students had avoided him, and to some extent, his friends.

Even Ron Weasley had kept some distance after he’d apparently blown the windows out of Gryffindor Tower on Christmas. Oh, he had remained polite and attempted to draw Harry into a conversation about Quidditch and Chess any chance he got, but there was a wariness that hadn’t been there before.

He didn’t exactly mind it, if he were honest with himself. The less people he had coming to him for autographs – he’d suffered through no less than a dozen in September before the school got the hint – the better. However, he was mindful of more than just his own wishes – he had the reputation of both House Potter and House Black to maintain. Not to mention, many of the students currently attending Hogwarts would be his colleagues in the Wizengamot someday – it paid to make friends, not enemies.

Hopefully, next year would be better, and as it was, he had the entire Summer to relax and unwind from the stresses of the year. Oh, he had duties to attend to, but nothing like what the school demanded of him – not mention Woopy’s cooking!

“Here come the heroes of the day! Three fifths of The Wolf Pack!” One of the twins called, standing atop a table with a Butterbeer in hand – how had they gotten hold of that?

“It’s Vargarnir.” Neville muttered as Percy Weasley, the pompous Prefect who – in Harry’s opinion – thought a little too much of himself, brushed past them. The fifth year paid them no mind at all as he moved to pull the twins from the table.

“The what?” Dean asked, stepping up to their side and clapping Harry on the shoulder. Seamus was right behind him, grinning at the three of them – Harry noticed Hermione had finally extricated herself from Neville and co*cked his brow at her, earning himself a gentle jab in his ribs and a roll of her eyes.

Neville sighed as he turned to face Dean. “Var-gar-neer, it means ‘The Wolves’.”

“So, ye’s ‘The Wolves’?” Seamus asked, frowning a little.

“That’s about the extent of it.” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Remus will be over the moon.” He snickered, earning a jab in his arm from Neville. He winced and rubbed it a little, but the chuckles didn’t stop.

“Who’s Remus? You’ve mentioned him a few times this year.” Dean asked, looking at Harry as his cat, Bishop, ran up his leg and curled herself around his shoulders. Harry reached out and scratched the playful feline between the ears gently – he had sent both Hedwig and Clara back to Blackwall just before the feast.

“He’s the Steward for House Black. He, Sirius and my father were best friends while they were at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, and he likes wolves?” Seamus asked, perching himself on a nearby table. Harry noticed that, for the first time in a long time, the boy had eyebrows.

“Yeah, he likes wolves.” Neville smirked. “Bit obsessed, actually.”

“Sirius is going to be impossible; you know.”

“Oh aye – he was hoping for ‘The Mini-Marauders’.” Neville chuckled, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the back of a nearby sofa.

“I’m going to get us drinks – who wants one? Harry? Neville?” Hermione asked after a moment.

“I’ll help you.” Harry smiled, noting Neville’s raised hand, as well as Dean and Seamus’s.

The two of them set off into the crowd of Gryffindors, and weaved their way to the table that had been filled with countless bottles of Butterbeer, mead, juice and water – the glass was lightly frosted as the cooling charm that had been applied to them did its work.

Harry scooped up three bottles of juice, while Hermione pilfered two of her own, and they set off back to the small group of boys.

“I’m telling you – it glowed!” Neville sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before Harry passed him a bottle. He also handed Dean and Seamus one each and smiled as Hermione passed him his own. They all grinned and clinked their bottles together before taking a long pull.

As they all let out content sighs, with Seamus smacking his lips as he eyed the bottle, Harry didn’t think it could get much better than this. Surrounded by friends, laughing and having a good time. It was a shame it would all end in the morning.

Harry groaned as he dropped into the carriage seat and closed the sliding door behind him. It was his own damn fault – Hermione, Daphne and Tracey had made sure to point that one out enough in the trip down to Hogsmeade.

He had stayed up far too late, laughing and joking with his fellow Gryffindors – Neville had entertained them all with stories of how he would have fought the giant Golem that had tossed him through the air, Seamus helping him re-enact the battle.

Hermione had slipped off to bed at ten and had even warned them about the time they had to be ready to leave for. While Harry was normally an early riser, the fact he had gone to sleep at two had meant he had fought tooth and nail to remain in bed before Neville had threatened to call on Hermione.

Harry had panicked in his sleep deprived state and fallen out of the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Neville had been Neville about it and had retreated from his room, laughing the whole way. Harry swore at his friend and threw one of his pillows after him.

He had showered and dressed reluctantly, and had attempted to curl in on himself on the carriage-ride down to the train – something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his three other friends as they pointed out the irresponsibility of having stayed up half the night. As if he hadn’t been regretting it since Neville burst into his room.

He groaned and shifted a little – there wasn’t nearly as much room on the return trip to London as there had been on the trip to Hogwarts, with the inclusion of both Hermione and Tracey. A small mercy, at least, had been the three girls sat on the far bench, Tracey and Daphne on either side of Hermione. Harry and Neville stretched out on the bench opposite the three girls.

“So,” Tracey began, her voice far too cheerful for Harry’s liking. “What’s everyone’s plans for the Summer?”

“Wizengamot.” Daphne and Neville said together, with Harry’s mumbled addition trailing a moment later.

Hermione and Tracey looked between one-another and blinked. “But, what are you going to do for fun?” Tracey asked after a moment.

“Sleep.” Harry muttered under his breath, shifting himself a little more – when had these benches become so bloody hard?

Daphne snorted, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re adorable when you’re sleep deprived, Potter.” The raven-haired Slytherin chuckled as she crossed her legs. For once, none of them were in their school uniform, or other such formal attire. Each of them had opted to wear simple, comfortable clothing.

Harry had thrown a simple doublet on, with his usual trousers and boots, much like Neville had chosen to wear. Hermione and Tracey both wore Muggle clothing – Tracey in a summer dress with polka dots, and Hermione in denim jeans and a t-shirt. Daphne, ever the Highborn Heiress, looked nothing less than the dark-haired beauty he was sure she would grow into, with her thick hair curled and tied back in an intricate up-do with ringlets framing her face, and a black ankle-length dress that seemed to flow as she walked.

He’d cuffed Dean, Seamus and Ron over the back of their heads for staring.

“Eat sh*t, Greengrass.” He grunted, pulling his cloak a little more over him as he tried to burrow his way into the corner between the window and the bench. Neville chuckled on the other side, and Harry found himself kicking Neville’s boot before he could stop himself.

“Is he always this moody when he’s tired?” Tracey asked, smirking at him from her side of the cabin.

“Yes.” Neville and Daphne agreed instantly, grinning at one another.

“Could’ve hesitated for a bloody moment, at least.” He griped sulkily.

“Would you watch your language, Harry – it’s terribly uncouth.” Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she flipped through a book. The train jolted for a moment before the station began rolling by slowly.

“This is it. Our first year is over.” Neville muttered, watching the trees pass by as they sped up.

“It’s gone by ever so quickly.” Hermione sighed. “At least we’ll write to one another over the Summer.”

“Some more than others.” Daphne agreed, giving a pointed look to Neville.

“Hey, I write!” Neville grouched, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. Harry fought the urge to smirk – it was good not being the target of Daphne’s barbs.

“Oh aye, but it’s always about plants. How is a girl supposed to feel special?” Daphne moaned dramatically, leaning into Hermione for support, causing the girls to giggle. Neville just blinked, confused.

“She’s playing with your head, Neville.” Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes as he watched Neville’s mouth open and close a few times.

“Girls.” Neville sighed, causing the girls to break into their laughter once more.

“So, Neville – any plans?” Tracey asked once the laughter had died down.

“Oh aye – I’ll be looking after-“

“-the greenhouses.” Harry and Daphne finished for him as one.

“Well, there was no need for that, frankly.” Neville huffed. “Honestly, you’d think you’d have all developed a new appreciation for plants after that last adventure.”

“Yeah, we know not to go near them.” Tracey muttered, causing the room to echo with their chuckles – even Harry found himself joining them.

“Aside from that, I suppose, there’s the Wizengamot – the three of us are old enough to attend the sessions now. Maybe visit Blackwall?” Neville said – more of a question than a statement, honestly. Harry nodded and chuckled at Neville’s grin.

“Don’t forget the wedding.” Daphne added.

“Wedding?” Hermione asked, co*cking her head a little as she looked up from her book.

“Sirius Black’s wedding to Amelia Bones – wedding of the decade, apparently.” Daphne snorted. “A little early to call it that, if you ask me.”

“Why do they say that?” Tracey asked, frowning.

“Well, Amelia Bones is the head of the D.M.L.E – the department that attempted to send Sirius to Azkaban a few years back. Though, that was a different head at the time.” Harry answered with a sigh as he rubbed at his eyes. He’d forgotten about the bloody wedding – not that he wasn’t excited, of course. He’d just forgotten how political it was going to get.

“I sent Hedwig off with a message last week asking Sirius to invite you both.” He added, looking at both Hermione and Tracey. “These two will be coming because they’re political allies – the parasites.”

Daphne rolled her eyes and reached over to slap him on the arm, while Neville kicked his boot. “We both know you’d miss us, Potter. Besides, I expect a dance.” Daphne sniffed, settling back into her seat.

“There’s dancing?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

“Only if you want to.” Neville smiled. “It’s expected of us – Harry and I are the last of our Houses, so we have to make nice with the heirs and the like. You could dance, or you could sit and read – it’s entirely up to you.”

“At least you won’t have to deal with the wastrels twice your age waiting for you to come of age.” Daphne sneered, looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” Tracey asked as she leaned across Hermione a little.

“Daphne is the heir to House Greengrass – it’s a powerful family with allies on both sides of most political debates. No doubt they think they could control our resident Morgana.” Harry replied, sitting up a little as his back began to ache.

“Why Harry, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever called me.” Daphne sighed, batting her eyelashes at him, causing him to snort and roll his eyes a little.

“I wouldn’t get used to it – you’re still a pain in my arse.”

“I knew he couldn’t keep it going.” Neville chuckled, wincing as Harry kicked his boot again. “Alright, I’ll shut my mouth.”

“Gods, that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” Tracey grinned. Neville, ever the mature one of the group – stuck his tongue out at her. “What about you, Harry?”

“What about me?”

“Any plans in the Summer that aren’t Wizengamot and wedding related?” Tracey asked, smiling a little.

“I’m going away for a few weeks – looking over my lands and that sort of thing. I’ll try to write, but I can’t promise it’ll be regular. You’re all invited to Blackwall at some point, in case the two of you were wondering?” Harry added, looking between Hermione and Tracey. “By personal invitation of Lord Arcturus Black himself.” Harry grinned.

“I’d accept it for that alone – he doesn’t invite many to Blackwall. You must have impressed him.” Daphne nodded, looking at the two girls.

Hermione flushed red and Tracey gaped like a fish. “I take it, that’s difficult to do?” Hermione asked nervously. “He seemed rather easy-going when we met him.”

“Arcturus has a certain reputation – one that’s well earned, I’d add. He likes to act the intimidating Lord, but he’s just as bad as Sirius at times.” Neville chuckled.

“Drives Remus up the wall, I bet.” Daphne nodded.

“You make it sound like I’m from a mad-house.” Harry muttered. “He’s always been stern, but fair – though he does enjoy turning Sirius’s pranks around on him. I know he expects a lot from me, but he makes sure I’m happy and well looked after – I’d have him no other way.”

The rest of the train ride passed quickly, and Harry even managed to catch an hour-long nap before he was shaken awake by his friends as they pulled into their destination. Harry yawned and pulled his cloak from his body and got to his feet, stretching a little. Daphne and Tracey were already out the door and standing in the corridor with their trunks.

Hermione was on her toes, trying to shimmy her luggage over the rail that kept it in place, and had her brow furrowed and tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth as a result. Harry gave a quiet chuckle before stepping around her and lifting it down. A quickly murmured thank you, and she was waiting with Daphne and Tracey.

Neville was next, lifting his trunk down easily, and even going so far as to hand Harry his own as he threw his cloak over a shoulder rather than put it on. There’d be no need for it – they’d be Floo’ing back to Blackwall.

The train came to a stop, and they waited by the doors. A moment later, there was a sharp whistle and the doors swung open. The air of the platform assaulted his nose first – it smelt of steam and bodies. The platform was packed with parents and guardians, all awaiting their children – he even spotted the occasional Muggle interspersed with the crowd.

He eyed the familiar black curls on the right-hand side with a grin – spotting a number of other adults that he recognised nearby. There was Augusta Longbottom, in her signature hat, Remus and Arcturus, both grinning at the sight of him – even Castor Greengrass and his wife, Thalia.

Harry waved as Tracey peeled off for a moment to catch up with her own parents, and Hermione had practically taken off at a sprint to her own parents – a friendly-looking couple not far from his own small group.

He dropped his trunk at his feet and threw his arms around Sirius, grinning all the while – moments later, he could feel Arcturus and Remus both wrapping their own arms around him as they all laughed.

“It’s good to have you back, pup.” Sirius whispered into his hair.

“It’s good to be back – I missed you all.”

“Oh, just you wait until we get back and you see what Lispy’s been up to.” Remus chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“Oh, what’s she gone and done?” He chuckled, pulling back for a moment, and eyeing the adults around him.

“Oh, just a bit of this, and a bit of that.” Arcturus shrugged with a wink. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice called, causing him to turn his head. He smiled as he saw her rushing over to him, her hair bouncing with each step. “I want you to meet my parents!” She grinned, almost bouncing on the spot. A moment later she was joined by two pleasant looking adults, clearly her parents from the family resemblance.

He held his hand out to her father first – the older man smiling at him kindly as they shook hands. “Mister Granger, a pleasure – I’ve heard a lot about you from Hermione.”

“All good, I hope? And please – call me John.”

“Only the best, I’m afraid.” Harry grinned, and he saw Hermione roll her eyes with a smile. He turned his attention to Hermione’s mother next – her brown eyes almost identical to Hermione’s own.

“Missus Granger, a pleasure.” He smiled, bowing, and politely brushing his lips against her knuckles as he was taught.

“My, a real charmer.” Hermione’s mother chuckled, elbowing John in the side playfully. “And please, Harry – call me Jean.”

“Did someone mention a charmer?” Sirius asked, grinning, and winking at Harry. Harry looked nervously at Hermione – he knew the beginnings of a Sirius Prank when he saw one. Hermione returned his look as she worried at her bottom lip, she looked just as nervous as he felt. “Sirius Black, how do you do?”

Chapter 20: Sirius II

Chapter Text

The gavel of Albus Dumbledore echoed around the chamber with a trio of loud bangs, silencing the cacophony of voices that had been filling the chambers.

It seemed that The Wizengamot would be total chaos for the entire session – with one wizard or witch clamouring to be heard over another even more than usual. Already, he could feel the beginning of a headache forming just behind his eyes – damn Arcturus for saddling him with today’s session.

It was July the second, and Harry had been home from Hogwarts for two days, and already things were in turmoil. He, Arcturus, and Remus had noticed the new scar on Harry’s face immediately and it hadn’t taken the pup long to reveal the scar on his side either.

While Sirius felt rather proud that he’d managed to keep his questions about his facial scar until they made it back to Blackwall, he was rather less proud of his reaction to Harry’s scar on his side. Gone was the smooth skin of the innocent child he had raised for a decade – in its place sat a scar that travelled diagonally from Harry’s back, all the way up to his ribs on his left side.

The questions had begun in earnest after that – it was far too clean of a cut for it to have been anything but a spell. What Harry had told them of the end of his year had left them all stunned, and not a little furious.

Remus had quietly stewed in his rage, his eyes taking on flecks of gold, even though the full moon had passed some time ago, as the wolf inside his best friend railed against its cage, demanding to be set loose.

Sirius had immediately set off towards the Floo, a handful of powder already in his fist when Harry had stepped between himself and his destination with a hand to his chest. He had been furious, baying for blood and wanting to know why Dumbledore saw fit not to alert him to his son’s injuries – Merlin, the boy had a ceiling dropped on him!

Eventually, he had calmed and had been left to stew in his anger in the meantime – as it was, he had sat silently the entire Wizengamot session and glared at the Chief Warlock, who appeared to be far too busy for him to have noticed.

Although, if Sirius claimed he had been furious, Arcturus had been apocalyptic in his rage. The patriarch of the Black Family had exploded in a way he had only witnessed once – at his trial all those years ago. The Wards of Blackwall had sprung up around the man as his magic flared wildly and lashed out.

It had been quite the sight, to see the man suddenly surrounded by a shimmering white barrier as lances of red magic – pure, physical manifestations of his power, arced through the air as he stood there, trembling silently. It had taken some time for Arcturus to calm, and when he did, he had Apparated from the room with such a resounding boom that the windows shattered instantly.

While Sirius had no true idea of just where Arcturus had gone, he could take an educated guess. It hadn’t taken a man of great intellect to deduce that Hogwarts was about to be besieged by one of the most powerful, and angriest wizards in Britain.

He couldn’t help the small smile that onto his face as he imagined the way Arcturus would have torn into the old man – how he would have brutally criticised the Headmaster, powerful as he was in his own right, for placing items of such power and importance, in a school full of children. The very thought of it made his blood boil all over again.

He took a moment to sweep his gaze up to the viewing gallery opposite him, where he knew Harry was sat with the other heirs – no doubt he was attempting to remember as much as he could, Arcturus would no doubt quiz the boy after they returned to Blackwall.

Harry was everything Sirius had ever hoped he would be. He was such a good boy – more Lily than James, though his resemblance to his father almost hurt sometimes. He was kind, and intelligent and so, so brave. To have heard of the trials he had faced only a week ago – knowing full well that there were many adult wizards and witches that would have crumbled. He was so proud.

As it was, the morning had been tense, the family – minus Harry, were still on edge from the stories he had come home with. That didn’t mean that Harry didn’t also have questions of his own – particularly about the summons from Trevelyan at the beginning of the year.

He had a certain amount of respect for Harry, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to ask what he wanted via Hedwig or any other owl – even using Clara would have been out of the question. The day the proud Phoenix agreed to carry a letter, would be the day Sirius ate his boots.

In the silences between their raging, Harry had rapid-fired his questions at the two Blacks, asking what it was Trevelyan had wanted. He knew Arcturus had given him some information when they had returned, but nothing would have been enough for his boy.

The latest explosion of tempers had been caused when Harry mentioned his cloak – the cloak. He had even shown it to he and Remus when they had scoffed at such a relic of their history having survived the catastrophe of Godric’s Hollow all those years ago. For surely, James would have had it with him – he never went anywhere without it.

Arcturus had been confused by the whole thing, not quite understanding the significance of the cloak from Sirius and Remus’s childhoods, but there it had been, laid out before their eyes – the silky material shimmering before their eyes in the early morning light.

Sirius had felt the cold fury grip his heart, and his hands had trembled with their want to smash something – anything. As it was, he had remained calm, or as close to such a state as he could manage and had simply asked where he had found it. After all, perhaps James had stashed it away at Hogwarts – as unlikely as that was.

That name had re-appeared, and Sirius found himself loathing its very existence with increasing severity every time he heard it.

Dumbledore.

The old goat had held on to the Cloak for over a decade?

And that was what had inevitably saddled him with the sole responsibility of the Wizengamot this month. Usually, Arcturus would sit in the Black chair, while Sirius, as Regent, would assume the Potter chair on behalf of Harry. Today, however, he was sitting for both houses, and the old goat was sitting in the same chamber and he could do nothing.

He had learned his lesson all those years ago when he had gone chasing after Peter. He tried not to be as rash, and to rein his temper under control when it threatened to get out of control. He was not that same, hot headed young man he had been at the close of the war. No, now he was as much a student of Arcturus Black as he was a student of Hogwarts.

The things he had learned under his grandfather’s guiding hand were incalculable. He had studied the Black Grimoire for years, as it was his duty to look after the Family Magic once Arcturus passed on, and it would be his duty to pass it down to his own children. Harry, while Sirius would always consider him his first son, would never be able to take on the Black name, or learn the spells they safeguarded. Harry’s magic, and their own, would never allow it – Harry was a Potter, the last Potter, and he was now their Liege Lord.

That had been quite the head-scratcher for the three adults in their little family in the months since the summons. They had made no secret of having sworn fealty, and frankly, Sirius was still surprised that Arcturus had gone along with it when he had suggested it as a wonderful prank.

He’d had no idea of the potential consequences of the whole thing – though more importantly, why had it only caused an issue now and not then? Something wasn’t adding up, but for the life of him, he just couldn’t place his finger on it.

They had been kept under guard, as had all of the other Lords and Ladies, when they were at the Citadel – oh, they were free to enter the city and go where they pleased, but they were always accompanied by Trevelyan’s men. There had been one man that Sirius had noticed above all others in their time, and he had shadowed Trevelyan like a loyal hound.

He was a behemoth, but he moved with such fluidity and grace that Sirius had been half convinced his size had been a simple trick of the light. His armour had been dark, but the Griffon of House Trevelyan had been emblazoned on the front of it proudly, and the usual pieces of armour – the shoulder guards, the arm, hand, leg and foot armour all had vicious looking spikes that, unlike the standard armour he had seen across their own guards, Harry’s and the Capitol’s, looked used.

He’d never gotten the chance to speak to the man, whose eyes had been trained on himself and Arcturus more than any other, and for the first time in his life, Sirius was glad.

Their time had been taken by assessing the opinions of the other lords and ladies called to the council. Unfortunately. They had managed to sway a number of families to their defence over the course of the month, and if it hadn’t been for the Lord Minks and the Lady Serrett, no doubt they would both be a head shorter. He shuddered a little – the less Harry knew about just how close it had been, the better.

He had been angry upon their return, of course, and had spent all of his free time with his betrothed and far away from politics. His relationship with Amelia had been rekindled from their time at Hogwarts. Of all the women that had appeared in his life over the years, it had been Amelia that had stolen his heart.

For a time, shortly following the war, he had refused any knowledge of her – after all, she was a part of the team of Aurors that had apprehended him – who wouldn’t have felt betrayed? Being older, and somewhat wiser, he understood the position she had been in, and Amelia was nothing if not dedicated to her job.

It had been what had first attracted him to the girl in fifth year at Hogwarts. At first, she had been a conquest – corrupt the Hufflepuff with such dedication and sense of fairness, the rest of her House paled in comparison. He just couldn’t stay away.

What had begun as simple, harmless flirting, had turned into him thinking about the blonde girl at all hours. They were in potions? How could Amelia use a potion to apprehend someone? Care of Magical Creatures? Amelia would love a Hippogriff – their judge of character was phenomenal. Transfiguration? Would Amelia appreciate flowers?

The Marauders had teased him mercilessly, of course – and he expected nothing less – but he didn’t care. He’d trip over himself to say hello as she passed him in the halls, or stumble over his words when he’d ask her to Hogsmeade. He’d given James sh*t for years about how he fawned over Lily, but in those moments, he understood completely.

All these years later, and even a betrothal contract between the two of them, he hadn’t been able to avoid making a fool of himself when they had met once again. He’d caught the briefest of glimpses of her in his years of attending the Wizengamot, but never long enough to appreciate what a beautiful woman she had grown into.

It had been awkward in the beginning once Harry had left for Hogwarts. Where did one begin to pick-up the pieces of a broken relationship after over a decade of silence? He had tried the charm, though that had failed him as spectacularly as it had in Hogwarts – Amelia had been the one woman he had ever met that was immune. So, he had done the only sensible thing he could think of.

He had waited outside her office with a bouquet of flowers – just like he had when they were in Hogwarts. She had stepped from her office, dressed in her grey pencil-skirt suit, with her blonde hair tied back into a neat bun at the back of her head, taken one glance at Sirius and burst into gales of laughter.

It had been the best thing he had heard in years – besides Harry, of course. Amelia laughing was such a rare experience, he savoured every opportunity to hear it. The dimples in her cheeks, and the way she would bite her tongue a little – even the way her eyes would crinkle in the corners a little as her shoulders shook. He’d been just as lost as he had been all those years ago.

While it hadn’t repaired their relationship to what it had been, it was enough to know he had made progress. They had dined together in restaurants in both England and France’s countless magical districts, walked along the Riviera and the Thames, and fallen asleep on one another before roaring fires. Slowly but surely, Amelia Bones began to feel like home – he’d prayed to all the Gods in The Pantheon that Harry and Amelia would like one another. There was nothing more important to him.

He’d had it all planned out – Christmas and the New Year, with both families at Blackwall. Amelia would bring Susan, who, in turn, would meet Neville and Daphne when they visited, and they could get to know one another as family.

Then, the Viscount had summoned them to the Capital.

Upon their return, he had gone straight to and fallen into bed with Amelia, relishing in her gentle kisses, and the feel of the smooth skin of her thighs as his calloused fingers drifted over them lightly. He spent more time at the Bones Estate in the month following their return, than he did at Blackwall. There had been something about being so close to catastrophe that had snapped his world into focus.

He knew what he wanted, for himself and for Harry, and he would let nothing stand in its way. He cared for Amelia deeply – loved her, even – and had done for years. She was his balance, kept him grounded. He wanted to wake up each morning to the sight of Amelia’s bare shoulders, and the leg that draped itself over the quilt. He wanted to make her laugh and be the cause of that laughter for years to come. Merlin, he wanted to build a family with her.

He’d kept it to himself, because he’d be damned if he ever let Remus get that on him – Steward and best friend he may be, but they were still Marauders at heart – but he liked to think Amelia knew him well enough that she knew.

It wouldn’t be long – only a little over a month until she would become a permanent fixture in his life. Just over a month until he could wake up next to her each morning, and sit with Harry, Remus, and Arcturus at the table before they started their days.

He had thought he would be nervous or apprehensive about the wedding, but he found himself excited at the thought of it. While he had been prepared to leave the planning to Amelia, for they could have as small or as large a ceremony as she wished as far he were concerned, he had found himself in equal discussion with her. They would lay in bed together at night, thinking who they wished to invite, or discussing the colour themes.

There were those they had no choice but to invite – they didn’t have the benefit of social anonymity, she was the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while he was the Heir Black. No doubt many Lords and Ladies of Noble Houses would be in attendance, some friends and political allies, while others would be their political rivals and adversaries. He hated the idea of having to play nice with the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his cousin Narcissa.

It had been no bother to him in the slightest when he’d received the letter from Harry, asking if his friends and their families could attend. He had met John and Jean Granger at the Platform when their children had returned from school, and they seemed like delightful people – he had expected nothing less, of course. Hermione had thoroughly impressed him when they had first met on Halloween – she had been just as adamant about remaining with Harry as Sirius had been.

That kind of loyalty and friendship was hard to find – indeed, Sirius could only count two people, besides Harry, that he would have been as stubborn about; Remus and James – though, chances were, he’d have been in the next bed along from them.

John and Jean Granger had been a lovely couple, and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to make both Harry and Hermione visibly nervous. He had seen how close the two of them had grown over the year, and only hoped that friendship continued to grow – it was a rare thing to find a friend for life. Oh, Harry had Neville and Daphne, but through Hermione, Harry had a connection to the world of his mother – something that Sirius just couldn’t give him.

Remus had some experience navigating it, but he didn’t understand it in the same way a Muggle or Muggle-born would. Harry had been raised among Purebloods and the old families – he had grown up with magic. How could he relate to his fellow witch or wizard at Hogwarts who was still new to the idea? Lily had shown them all that there was more to life than magic and Hogwarts – there was an entire world out there, waiting for them to explore it.

Sirius rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger as he fought off the throbbing in his skull, the pressure behind his eyes pulsing with each beat of his heart. If he could make it through this session, then he could return to Blackwall with Harry and relax for a week before they left for Rosestone, and then Arpton Keep.

“Order, I will have order!” Dumbledore called, looking around the room of witches and wizards. After a moment he turned his head to the far side of the chamber and gestured to an elderly man who was hunched over at the waist. “Lord Dondarrion, please continue.”

The man nodded shakily, though it appeared more from age than nerves. Sirius knew Lord Dondarrion – he was an extraordinarily conservative man in his thirteenth decade. While he had no Lord to answer to, none of the Peverell Vassals did for that matter, his political agenda was his own.

That had always confused Sirius. The Peverell family was one that was as powerful as his own, slightly older too, but the line was extinct with the death of Lord Stefanos Peverell three hundred years ago. Oddly, the Ministry had never attempted to divide up the lands and Vassals among the other families, as was the custom.

Instead, they had remained under their own power and had become a small political alliance and powerhouse in their own right – for it was their votes that many bills came down to.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock.” Dondarrion replied with a wheeze before turning to the rest of the assembled Wizengamot. “My Lords, Ladies – it has come to my humble attention that there is a matter in the ratifications we discussed last month on the qualification of Wand Cores that I feel, and my honourable colleagues do as well, merits more discussion.”

“And what would that be, Lord Dondarrion?” Lord Elks called from his chair by the bottom level of the chamber.

“What exactly constitutes a magical core element, my Lord.” Lord Dondarrion replied without hesitation. “Should we expect our future cores to be made from anything that can conduct magic, or, as is my opinion, should we regulate the materials. Why, I shudder to think of an upstanding member of this body being forced to use a Werewolf hair for their core!”

The chamber erupted again, and Sirius found himself pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed. His eyes flickered up to the balcony that Harry sat at, and saw the pup standing and leaning against the railing with a thunderous look on his face.

He understood that feeling quite well – however, he was loathed to admit, he had become desensitised to the racial bigotry of the Wizengamot. He knew the Purebloods considered those not wholly human as second, or even third-class citizens – Moony’s challenges over the years had been a constant reminder.

“Are you suggesting, Lord Dondarrion, that we limit the range of Wand Cores available to our society?” asked Dumbledore as he leaned forward in his chair.

“I am, Chief Warlock – why, in my years at Hogwarts, it was only proper for boys and girls to have a wand made of Dragon Heartstring or Unicorn Hair.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Lord Dondarrion, but your years at Hogwarts have well and truly passed.” Lady Wolpers scoffed, a Vassal for House Prince.

The room broke out into a smattering of laughter and calls for the woman to keep her mouth shut. Sirius was of a similar opinion to Lady Wolpers – in their history, it was true that there were fewer foci materials used in wand creation, but that had been a result of redundant attitudes and business strategies.

In the century since Lord Dondarrion was born, there had been huge advances in the harvesting processes of wand materials – and even what could be used as a material. It had been commonly believed that only a handful of materials would be capable – now, the possibilities were limited only in the number of magical species left in the world.

Too many species had been harvested for their usefulness – entire species wiped from the Earth, never to return. Some had been saved through sheer luck in the timing of the advancements in knowledge – such as the Dragon. How many had been slaughtered over the years for their heartstrings? How many Unicorn had been robbed of their horns? How many Thestral were plucked bare of their hair?

“Order!” Dumbledore called as he banged his gavel again.

“I won’t have my children, or my children’s children forced to have a Lycan hair for their wands!” Someone called from the many rows.

“And you shouldn’t have to!” Dondarrion called back, looking around at the assembled Lords and Ladies and the several Ministry Officials that made up the room. “We are powerful if we remain true to the ideals our society was founded upon!”

“I’m not sure if you know this or not, Lord Dondarrion,” Thomas Weasley called as he stood. “But Muggles are no longer the simpletons they used to be! They have explored the world, invented machines and are far more numerous than ever before! The ideals our society was founded upon are antique and not applicable for the world we live in!”

There was a smattering of applause and agreement from those around the Weasley Patriarch – most vocally from his Vassal Lords, Grouse, Squabs and Mistle.

Lord Tarner stood, a Vassal of House Graves – his dark robes contrasting with his pale skin to make him appear almost ghoul-like. “Would the honourable Lord Weasley please explain as to how the advancement of Muggles is related to the regulation of Wand Cores? I move to have his comments stricken from the record, Chief Warlock.”

A chorus of ayes accompanied Tarner’s words as he resumed his seat, but not before Sirius saw him lean over to a fellow Vassal of House Graves and whisper something into their ear – Lady Daxer if his memory served.

“Chief Warlock,” Weasley replied as he stood once again. “I would remind Lord Tarner that my words were in response to Lord Dondarrion’s claim that the principles our society was founded on would still be relevant in this day and age – my comments about Muggle advancement were merely an example as to how they are no longer applicable.”

“Blood Traitor!” Someone called into the following silence, causing another minute or two of incessant shouting among the Lords and Ladies of the room. He sighed and rubbed at his temples.

“Order! Order!” Dumbledore called over the din. Once the room was silent once more, the old man looked over at Weasley. “I’m afraid that, due to the contentious nature of your statements and the resulting pandemonium, I am forced to strike your comments from the record, as well as the insult that followed. I do this in accordance with article seven-hundred-and-sixty-three.”

“As the Chief Warlock has declared, so it shall be – Scribe, strike the appropriate recording from the page!” Minister Fudge called, the pomposity in his tone matched only by the hideous green bowler hat he insisted on wearing.

Cornelius Fudge was no Millicent Bagnold – something which Sirius was eternally grateful for – the man was as corrupt as one could find. Oh, he may have once been an impressive Prosecutor for the Courts in the late Seventies and early Eighties, but that man had been swallowed whole by the man who now sat at the head of the British Ministry. It was a poorly kept secret among the Lords and Ladies that Minister Fudge’s loyalty was available to the highest bidder.

Sirius disliked the man, though he couldn’t say how much of that dislike stemmed from his Animagus form – canines were, after all, excellent judges of character. Fudge was an overweight, little man with a weak chin and a weaker disposition.

How he had been elected to Minister was beyond his comprehension.

If his position was not entirely solidified, the man floundered and blustered until he got his way. It was a poorly kept secret among the Ministry, that those who were unfortunate enough to deliver unwelcome news, often found themselves in need of a new job – it had become the most common way to fire an employee.

He was a weak man, led around by his subordinates and his sycophants. Sirius narrowed his eyes as the Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge – a disgusting toad of a woman – sat in the chair just below the Minister. He knew of Umbridge, of course – she was a Pureblood bigot, whose opinions on those of ‘lesser purity’ were disgustingly medieval.

On no less than a dozen counts, had the woman in the pink cardigan attempted to introduce control measures for those not human. She would incite another Goblin Rebellion, pen the Centaurs into paddocks and euthanise Werewolves and Veela – it was no coincidence that many Lycanthropes and Veela moved to the continent, where the views and opinions on both were far more tolerable.

Sirius let out a sigh as he watched the Scribe swipe their quill through part of the heavy tome.

“Now, I believe it time to return to the point the honourable Lord Dondarrion made. If any Lords or Ladies have anything to add to the conversation, I request that you do so politely and remain on topic.” Dumbledore called into the room – above them, Sirius caught the flash of a journalist’s camera going off in the Public Gallery above that of the heirs.

Lady Oakwood was the first to stand, her grey hair tied into a tight bun at the back of her head – if she weren’t a Vassal to House McGonagall, he would think she and Minerva sisters. “I find myself, once again, in a state of utter shock as I sit in this esteemed chamber, my Lords and Ladies. I may be almost as old as the Lord Dondarrion, but I can easily see that many of our children and children’s children are more powerful than ever, thanks in no small part to the sheer amount of Wand Cores available to us.”

There was a smattering of agreement throughout the chamber.

“And is it not, as the honourable Lord Ollivander’s brother always claims, ‘The wand chooses the wizard’?”

Sirius watched as Lord Bertrand Ollivander stood, his burgundy robes hanging from his thin frame. “I must find myself in agreement with the honourable Lady Oakwood. Many of you came to my father, and now come to my brother for your wands, or those for your children.” Ollivander said – his appearance may have been thin and willowy, but his voice was powerful. “I know for a fact that many in this room have cores in their wands that would be outlawed by Lord Dondarrion’s proposal. What you propose, my Lord, would threaten to undo hundreds of years of research and advancement in spells and wand crafting – nay, it would see the extinction of entire species!”

Many in the room clapped and cheered as the eldest of the Ollivander brothers sat down. There were many in the room, however, that muttered their disagreement. Lord Dondarrion was the foremost among them.

“Lord Ollivander, I defend my advocacy for the regulation of these cores! It seems once a decade we are hearing of another possible core! How long would it be until good, British witches and wizards are forced to use Veela hair? It’s just not right!”

“If a Veela offers a hair willingly, it is just as potent a core as any other. There are many documented wizards and witches throughout the world that use such cores – to think otherwise is to be willfully ignorant.” Malcolm Hawke shot back as he stood from his chair – he was a tall, broad shouldered man with a thick head of hair and an impressive beard. He was also the head of a Vassal family to House Potter.

“And so now the Potters speak up! We were wondering when you would provide your infallible wisdom with the rest of us.” Lord Marchbanks chortled from his chair.

“I am merely stating truth and facts, my Lord – I understand if the words confused you, as you use them so rarely, it is no surprise you forgot their meaning.” Lord Hawke scoffed as he crossed his legs and reclined in his chair. Chuckles rumbled through the chamber.

Sirius watched as Marchbanks leapt to his feet and gripped the railing before him – even from the far side of the room, the reds and purples of his face were easy to spot. “You dare question my honour?”

“Your honour isn’t what the topic of conversation is about, my Lord. I would remind the chamber once again, to keep the discussion on topic.” Dumbledore called out once again.

“If I may, Chief Warlock?” Umbridge called in her simpering voice – Sirius had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide the sneer that tugged on his lips. Dumbledore nodded. “I commend the honourable Lord Dondarrion for his excellent point. If I may, I propose including a bridge in this legislation to the upcoming legislation for the Control and Distribution of Magical Creatures scheduled to be brought before this body in three months.”

There was a small commotion as several voices rose at the same time and were silenced as he heard Amelia’s voice rang out across the chamber. “Undersecretary Umbridge, I assume you are not suggesting a bridge to the amendment which was brought before my office and denied because of the extremes it would allow Aurors to go to apprehend Werewolves and Veela – not to mention Goblins, who, may I remind you, Delores, are a separate nation.”

Sirius wanted to stand and applaud the woman, if only for having visibly angered the pink toad. “Ah, thank you, Amelia, for bringing that to my attention – I hadn’t received the memo.”

“We’re getting off track again!” Lady Juniper called, slamming her cane into the floor – the prominent Vassal of House Dumbledore. How long would it be until the likes of Lady Juniper were divided up between the Wizengamot? It was well known that both of the Dumbledore brothers were the last of their house, and Aberforth had no intention of ever taking a wife and fathering a child. It would be a shame to witness the end of such an old house, despite his personal feelings about the current Head of House.

Sirius stood slowly and clasped the rail before him as he looked around the chamber.

“You should be ashamed.” He began, looking directly at Lord Dondarrion. “I stand here in the place of Arcturus Black, and as the regent to House Potter – and I look around this room in disgust.”

He paused and allowed the men and women under his gaze to shift in their seats a little. “To suggest we regulate the cores of our wands is ignorant and bigoted – would you go on to suggest only Half-Bloods or Purebloods would be afforded a wand in the years to come? Where do the disgusting ideals of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stop? Or the views of Grindelwald? What you espouse, my Lord, is no different than those men who came before you. Should we begin viewing you as the next Dark Lord?” Sirius growled, staring at Lord Dondarrion.

“You dare-“ Dondarrion began, stumbling to his feet.

“I am not finished!” Sirius bellowed, feeling his magic begin to prickle the skin along his arms. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a moment. “Veela have the right to use a wand, as do Werewolves. I will not sit here, and watch bigoted old men and women condemn their fellow wizards and witches for simply being what they are or are afflicted by.”

Sirius looked around the room once more. “I am sure that a great many men and women sat in this chamber once – the conversations they had, all those hundreds of years ago, still having an effect on our lives today. They would be ashamed of those who would support something like this.”

“I believe, Heir Black, that you have made your point.” Lord Malfoy replied from his chair across the chamber. Lucius Malfoy was a tall, blonde haired man with his nose constantly pointed in the air.

“Indeed – House Longbottom stands behind House Potter and House Black.” Augusta called into the chamber as she rose from her chair a little further down the row. Sirius nodded to her.

“As does House Greengrass.” Castor announced, clasping his hands before him.

“House Bones supports House Black and Potter.” Amelia announced, and Sirius couldn’t help but turn to look at his betrothed and wink playfully at her. He saw her roll her eyes playfully as she fought back a smile – she had a reputation and an image to uphold to the Ministry.

“House McGonagall is of a like mind.” Minerva announced, her Scottish brogue thick from her annoyance. It was nice to see Minerva in the chamber, instead of her Regent during the school year – he could never bring himself to like the boisterous man, but he did seem like he had Minerva’s best interests at heart.

There were a number of Lords and Ladies that followed the declarations, from all sides of the Wizengamot. It seemed that Lord Dondarrion’s proposition wouldn’t make it past the governing body of Britain this time – though, there was no doubt in Sirius’s mind that the old man would find some way to wrangle it before them once again in the future.

Sometimes, he felt like weeping at the state of British politics – when had the society of wizards and witches devolved into such a state of petty differences and bigotry? Had it always been this way, and he’d just been oblivious to it? Perhaps. He tried not to think what James would have thought about it all.

Sirius glanced up at Harry, who he noted was still leaning against the railing of the balcony and was pleased to see the triumphant grin on the boy’s face. The grin bolstered his resolve – he would continue to work tirelessly to make the world a better place for Harry, and when it came time for Harry to take his seat in the Wizengamot, Sirius would be proud to help his boy change the world.

The bangs of Dumbledore’s gavel echoed once more throughout the cavernous room, and Sirius sat with the other Lords and Ladies – as comfortable as the chair was, it was made less-so by his gambeson and gorget.

“The motion to review the regulation of Wand Cores is denied.” Minister Fudge called, peering through the spectacles on the tip of his nose at the parchment in his hand. “Next call to order, Department of Accidental Magic budget review.”

Sirius grinned as Harry came into view. The Wizengamot had lasted most of the day, and he had honestly expected Harry to have been bored to tears – he knew he would have been at Harry’s age. He swept the boy up in his arms and span him around as they both laughed – Sirius’s previous sour mood was completely forgotten.

He placed Harry back onto the floor and gently tugged on one of the loose strands of Harry’s hair. His boy was dressed in his armour, just as he was, though with a cloak that had a smoky wolf pelt stitched across his shoulders and the sigil of his house embossed on the straps that crossed over his chest.

Harry’s face scrunched up adorably as he swatted his hand away – two muffled snickers behind him drew his attention to Daphne and Neville. Neville, like Harry, was wearing his usual armour – though he noticed a few changes. There was a lot more fur, for one, and the gambeson was shorter, ending at the mid-thigh and was cinched at his waist by a large belt with the Longbottom Bear on it.

Daphne, on the other hand, had opted for a long black dress with a black-lace bodice. Her hair was held in an intricate up-do, and tight ringlets framed her porcelain face. While Neville was grinning toothily, she simply quirked a brow and smirked.

“I see you survived the session without me – you’re growing up too quickly, pup.” Sirius grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Neville, Daphne – it’s good to see you both.”

“Sirius.” Daphne replied with a polite nod, while Neville’s grin got a little cheekier.

“Old dog.” The boy said.

“Little Bear.” Sirius quipped back, quickly stepping around Harry and tucking Neville’s head into the crook of his arm as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Not too old to still teach you a lesson, am I?”

The laughter of Neville and Harry was interrupted by the approaching click-clack of heels on the marble stone. Sirius looked up momentarily to take in Amelia and Susan Bones.

Amelia was dressed in black heeled shoes, and a grey suit-skirt with a matching jacket. Her blouse was white, and the cloak of House Bones was draped across her shoulders delicately. He took in the creamy expanse of her neck and noted the soft smile she saved only for him – it had been a smile he had first received when she pulled him into a broom cupboard on the seventh floor.

Susan, by contrast seemed rather nervous and on-edge as her eyes darted from himself to Harry and back again. Her red hair was tied back into a simple bun, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously. Like Daphne, Susan was attired in a simple dress, though Susan’s was a shimmering bronze that caught the light and complimented her hair nicely.

“Heir Longbottom, should you wish to make a statement about your treatment at the hands of Heir Black, my office would be happy to make an appointment.” Amelia said formally, stopping just a few feet away from the small group.

Sirius heard Harry clear his throat, and he realised he’d been staring at his betrothed – which also meant that he still had the struggling and laughing Neville in a headlock. He released the boy, who stumbled back a little with a grin.

“No charges will be necessary, my Lady – give it another year, and I assure you it’ll be the other way around.” Neville replied, his cheeks rosy.

“You think?” Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows as he turned to look at the boy.

“I know so – we Longbottoms are made of powerful stuff. I’ll be a bear before you know it!”

“Indeed – well, in that case, I think we can agree that any injuries Heir Black may sustain would have been entirely justified, no?” Amelia smirked, co*cking a brow as she looked at Sirius.

“Injuries? From the cub?” Sirius gasped, reaching over, and grabbing the boy again. “From this little tyke? I’m terrified.”

Susan giggled as he grabbed Neville in another headlock and ruffled his hair again. Harry, it seemed, had forgone attempting to stifle his laughter, and was now leaning against the wall and wiping the tears from his eyes as he watched his best friend. After a moment longer, if only to bask in his boy’s laughter for a little longer, he released Neville with a chuckle of his own.

“You asked for that.” Daphne chuckled as Neville ran his fingers through his hair, which had grown quite a bit in his time at Hogwarts, it seemed. Gone was the messy mop atop his head, replaced by a thick head of shoulder-length hair that was tucked behind his ears.

“I’ll get him.” Neville grumbled.

“You say that every time.” Harry chuckled. “I’ve yet to see you get him once.”

“A man can dream.” The little bear muttered, shoving Harry playfully.

“Boys, boys, we have guests. There’s a certain level of decorum to be observed.” Sirius winked, placing his hands behind his back as he turned to look at the two Bones.

A very Daphne-snort stopped him mid-turn.

“Daphne? Something to share with the class?” He asked with a raised brow.

“No, Sirius – just the thought of you behaving, is all.” She grinned cheekily. Sirius grasped at his breast as if he had been mortally wounded and stumbled his way to Amelia – it was a good job that they were the only ones left in the corridor. “I’ve been wounded by the evil witch, Milady – you must save me!”

“Indeed? Wounded by a girl not even in her teens – my, either you’re not the wizard I thought you to be, or she’s far more powerful than even Dumbledore himself.” Amelia quipped, patting him on the cheek gently. Susan giggled again.

“I like to think it’s a combination of both.” Daphne smirked – Sirius stuck his tongue out at her, earning him a roll of her eyes.

“If your theatrics are quite over, I thought to formally introduce my niece – Susan, meet Heir Potter, Heir Longbottom, Heir Greengrass, and Heir Black.” She paused before leaning over to her niece and whispered loud enough for them all to hear, “Even though he looks like an adult, don’t let him fool you – he’s still little more than a child.”

Sirius frowned. “That would make you-“

“Quite unfortunate, I would say.” Amelia said, cutting him off with a pointed look. Sirius felt his jaw snap shut.

“You have my condolences, Lady Bones.” Daphne sighed dramatically, offering a small curtsey to the Director.

“I thank you, Heir Greengrass – your words are much appreciated.” Amelia replied with a grin.

“It’s good to see you again, Susan.” Harry smiled, stepping up to the Bones Heir and brushing his lips against her knuckles, as was proper.

“The pleasure is mine, Harry.” Susan replied in a low voice, dipping into a quick curtsey of her own. “And Neville – it’s nice to see you too. Hello to you too, Daphne.”

“Hello.” Daphne replied with a tight smile, while Neville simply offered a small wave.

Sirius clapped his hands together and gave them a quick rub as he looked around the group. “Now, I believe the plan was for everyone to return to Blackwall for a day or two, correct?”

Indeed, that was the plan – Amelia and Susan were to join them for a long weekend at Blackwall Manor. The idea was to attempt to recreate the missed opportunity of the Christmas break – Amelia had even booked the time off from the Ministry! Apparently, it had been the talk of the office for days.

Sirius and Amelia had already made the arrangements for the House Elves to collect their things, and although Neville and Daphne couldn’t stay for the entire weekend, he had no doubt they would appear sporadically.

They began to make their way through the Ministry towards the Floos – Amelia’s hand wrapped around his left arm, and his own right hand was draped around Harry’s shoulders. As they moved, with the children, minus Harry, walking directly in front of them, he could hear the occasional whisper from those they passed.

He cared little for the opinions of those who worked at the Ministry – well, all except one – and so paid little attention to them most of the time. This time, however, he had his future wife on his arm and was accompanied by his son and so paid a little closer attention, even as he laughed and joked with those in his company.

There were the usual whispers of The Stone Lady, referring to Amelia’s usual expressionless face. She had built a façade around herself over the years, it seemed, of a woman who was utterly unfazed by anything – it had been a survival tactic, in a way.

The Ministry was still largely male-dominated – particularly in the Auror department. For Amelia to have climbed the ranks to the top spot over little more than a decade was impressive. Of course, there would always be rumours over such things, but Sirius knew that her position of power was well-earned. The low crime rate was an excellent example.

There were other whispers as well – those whispering of The-Boy-Who-Lived and other such drivel. It was an unfortunate aspect of Harry’s life. It was terrible that he’d lost his parents – a witch and wizard that Sirius himself loved fiercely – but to be reminded of it every time someone muttered that stupid title made his wand-hand itch.

He felt Amelia’s grip on his arm tighten and he released a shaky breath as they passed a particularly loud pair of wizards as they stared openly. He could only imagine how awful it must have been in those first weeks at Hogwarts for Prongslet.

He glanced at the woman on his arm and offered her a quick smile before they approached the Floo Elf. Quickly, Sirius paid the powder fees for them all, and they found themselves engulfed in flames one at a time.

Upon his arrival at Blackwall, Sirius was greeted by the familiar sight of Arcturus’s study. Normally guests arrived in the main foyer, but each of them were considered family – including Susan, who even Sirius hadn’t met until her quick introduction at the Ministry.

Ideally, Harry and Susan would have met by now – Sirius would admit that he had been rather looking forward to meeting the young girl, having briefly known her parents. By all accounts of Amelia, she was a smart girl with a love of magical creatures.

Sirius had seen the Bones castle in Dorset and had been impressed at the sheer number of creatures they had. The Ossuary was a castle atop a hill near the south-coast – it had an interesting design, as you had to enter the almost vertical hill at the base to gain entry. As a result, the single entrance was heavily defensible, though it was still scarred from the assault that had left Susan an orphan.

Within the grounds, however, was plenty of space for the herd of Thestrals he had seen – beautiful specimens they were too. He’d expect nothing less from the family who’s sigil had the creatures on them. It was said that, in the past, the Lords of House Bones would ride their Thestrals into battle – what a sight that must have been.

There were other creatures, of course, housed in a number of habitats and attended to by the Bones Elves. He’d seen Unicorns, Diricrawls, a pair of Leucrottas and an Augurey – that one had apparently been added by Susan herself.

By the time Sirius had shrugged his cloak from his shoulders, it was just himself and Amelia left in the room – Harry had dragged the other children from the room as he babbled excitedly about his own creatures. He swept his gaze to Amelia, who had quickly rid herself of her own cloak and her jacket.

Closing the distance between them, he slid his hands around her waist and quickly captured her lips with his own, feeling her own hands thread themselves around his neck. He pulled away with a small groan and gently placed his forehead against her own.

“Heir Black, are you taking liberties?” Amelia murmured – even now, her pupils were dilated and her words were slightly breathless.

“Perhaps – would you complain if I did?” He muttered back, a small smirk on his lips.

“That would depend.”

“Oh?” He asked, quirking a brow.

Amelia nodded sagely and patted his cheek. “On how quickly we can get upstairs and get you out of that armour.”

“Say no more, my Lady!” Sirius chuckled, sweeping Amelia up and over his shoulder, causing a small shriek to escape her lips, only to dissolve into a fit of giggles – in all his years, he had never imagined Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, giggling like a school girl.

With a firm pat to her posterior, he was out of the room and almost taking the stairs two-at-a-time towards his room. The children were outside, no doubt under the watchful eyes of Lispy, Remus and Arcturus were not likely to return any time soon, and he had his betrothed over his shoulder.

Despite the poor start to the day, Sirius was in a marvellous mood – he had mischief to get up to, after all.

Chapter 21: Harry XIII

Chapter Text

He stepped into Arpton Keep with a small smile on his lips. The chamber was spartan, with only the mirror itself set into the wall and the small flickering blue flames of Magefyre in the scones set around the room. He grinned as Brandon rose from his kneeling position by the door – a pair of guards, each with their own unique staves quickly following him.

“Arpton Keep is yours, my Lord.” Brandon smiled, bowing his head a little as he did so.

“Thank you, Brandon – no doubt it continued to thrive under your care.”

“You’re too kind, Lord Potter.”

Harry’s eyes took a quick glance at the guards flanking Brandon for a moment, and he grinned as he noticed one of them was Felix. The years since the ambush had been kind to the man, and upon their last visit, Harry had congratulated the man on his first child.

Felix had dealt with the ambush far better than he had, he’d even taken the time in the week between their arrival and when he had sworn fealty to speak to Harry and offer some words of advice and comfort. Over the years, Harry had heard how he was sweet on a woman in his Household Guard and how they had planned to marry.

Of course, Harry had given his blessing and had even attended the ceremony – it was a short, intimate affair, and it was not long until Harry was congratulating the man once again. The babe must have been a year old by now – had so much time passed so quickly?

“Felix!”

“My Lord – always a pleasure to welcome you home.” The man smiled, his eyes twinkling in the light of the blue flames.

Despite Felix having been a relative stranger when the ambush had happened, there had been a bond forged between the four of them. Sirius, Remus, Felix, and he would often talk late into the night, and Felix was often assigned as his personal guard in their stays, along with a number of others if they left the castle.

The sound of Sirius and Remus stepping through the mirror behind him caused him to briefly turn his head. There, walking between them, and loaded with their belongings, was Arlan. The slate coloured stallion nervously looked around the room at the assembled humans before letting out a puff of air into Remus’s face, causing Sirius to chuckle.

“Ah, I see you brought a new visitor – are you collecting creatures, my Lord?” Brandon chuckled, winking at Harry. He found himself chuckling as he stepped up to the horse and rubbed between its eyes gently.

“Not yet, Brandon – maybe one day. Will you be able to get him to the stable? Truth be told, I can’t quite remember how wide the stairs are.”

“Aye, we’ll get him there. Smyth, get to it.” Brandon said to the other guard. The man nodded and stepped up to Arlan and took him by the reins while Sirius and Remus unloaded the few bags from his back.

They had brought a few personal items with them, such as their own saddles, books, and other such things. The first items Harry had stowed away had been his sword and his armour – not to mention his schoolbooks. Sirius had teased him a little, though Remus had commended him for his dedication to his studies. Truthfully, he simply hoped to one-up Hermione when term started again, but they didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll summon some of the staff to have these taken to your chambers, Lord Potter.” Brandon smiled before stepping out of the room for a moment. In his brief absence, Arlan was unburdened of the rest of their property, and was quickly led through the large doorway, his hooves clip-clopping against the stone floor.

Not a moment after Arlan was gone, Brandon entered the room once again with a handful of the castle staff in his wake – no doubt the man had them waiting nearby to assist them. They offered short bows and curtsies to the three of them, which he returned with a small smile, and quickly gathered their belongings and left.

With the room now empty, Brandon stepped to the side and gestured to the still open doorway. “The castle desires to welcome you home, my Lord.”

Harry let out a small sigh, Sirius and Remus joined Brandon in chuckling quietly. He led the way through the door and out into the corridor. The halls were empty as they wound their way through the castle, climbing a number of staircases as they went.

While the castle ran deep into the cliff it was perched upon, the Ro’rim chamber wasn’t anywhere close to the lowest level, and for that, Harry was eternally thankful. Not only did it mean that Arlan would have an easier time of getting to the stables, but it also meant he wasn’t climbing hundreds of steps.

They came to the main entrance to the castle in short order, and the two guards pulled the doors open at his short nod. He squinted a little as the sun momentarily blinded him, but he would not shield his eyes. He stepped onto the top step and looked out at the courtyard as the breeze ghosted its way across his skin and caused the hem of his doublet to ripple a little.

The courtyard was silent as everyone knelt and bowed their heads in his direction. He heard Sirius and Remus step to the side quietly, Brandon took his position at his right, and Felix hovered a little behind.

“Rise, my friends!” Harry called into the yard, smiling as everyone stood. He barely waited a moment before moving down the steps to the closest congregation of people – he heard Remus chuckle quietly and say something to Sirius but couldn’t make out the words.

The first group he approached were all servants by the look of them – though it seemed they were all wearing their best clothes, not that he would ever allow anyone employed by House Potter to want for anything. They looked after his home – they made his food, washed his clothes and guarded him with their lives – the very least he could do was pay them well and make sure their own needs were taken care of.

“Tarner – I trust you’re well? How are your sons?” He asked, grinning at the oldest among them. He was a grey-haired man with a wild beard that was a few inches long and still spotted with the occasional patch of red. Harry clasped his hand and shook it.

“Hale and hearty, Mi’lord. Jasper continues to manage the farm, and Ulric hopes to move his family to the Capitol by the next harvest.” Tarner replied with a proud grin as his chest puffed out ever so slightly.

Harry had taken the time over the years to get to know each of the residents of his castle. He had decided early on to treat them as if they were family, and they had loved him for it – many, it had turned out, had been sceptical of a Potter raised by Blacks. He did it, not out of a desire to prove he was who he was, or to gain their love and loyalty, but because he cared.

He had heard Arcturus once describe being a Lord as to being a father, and each man and woman sworn to him were a child. Harry had decided to live by those words.

“And you, Martha, you’re positively glowing!” Harry grinned at the young pregnant girl with blonde hair and a beaming smile. She gave him a deep curtsy and bowed her head.

“Thank you, Mi’lord – it’s sure to be a strong child, we’ve no doubt of that.”

“Where is the lucky man? I don’t see Osgood in the crowd.” Harry frowned, sweeping his eyes around the courtyard.

“He left last week to patrol the southern border – there’ve been rumours of raiders in the area.” Martha replied as she began to worry at her grey dress between her fingers with her free hand, while her other held the large swell of her stomach.

Harry looked over to Brandon, who nodded with a grim face. “The reports came in two days before I dispatched them. I sent a score to deal with them – more can be dispatched immediately if you think it prudent, however.”

Harry was silent for a moment and rubbed at his jaw before he sighed. “We’ll await word – you were wise to send them.” He turned back to Martha and took her hand in his own. “I’m sure he’ll return to you, my Lady – Osgood is one of the finest warriors we have.”

“Thank you, Mi’lord.”

Harry continued down the line and made sure to spend some time conversing with as many as he possibly could. By the time he reached his Household Guard, who were all standing in their armour proudly, the sun sat high in the sky.

“Captain!” Harry grinned, clasping the man’s gauntleted hand firmly. “Your leadership has kept the Guard looking as strong as ever.”

“It’s my honour to serve, my Lord.” Ewan Fulmer, Captain of his Household Guard smiled, inclining his head a little.

“And Marshal Sulyard – your continued training of the men, as always, continues to impress me.” Harry grinned at the tall woman with auburn hair. She returned his grin and inclined her head slightly at the praise.

“I do my best, my Lord.” Sulyard replied humbly.

“I was hoping to make use of your skills, Marshal. I wish to continue my martial training and learn to duel.” Harry glanced back at Sirius and Remus, who were standing patiently on the stairs leading up to the main keep. “There was an… unfortunate situation this year, and I found myself not knowing a way to adequately defend either myself nor my friends.”

“You wish for me to train you?” She questioned, shifting from foot to foot slightly, causing her armour to shift and clank a little.

“Aye, if it doesn’t interrupt your other duties. Anything to give me an advantage in the future, though I understand three weeks isn’t a long time-“ He began, finding himself rambling a little as the woman eyed him carefully.

“My Lord, training you isn’t a problem – if you were raised here, you would have been under my instruction from the day you could walk.” Sulyard smiled, and for a moment, Harry was sure he could hear a number of the men and women behind her snickering. “The problem is, I have no idea of the current level of skill and knowledge you possess.”

Harry frowned and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he mulled the thought over in his mind for a moment. It was an issue, yes, but there was often a solution for everything. He pursed his lips for a brief moment before he began speaking again. “What if, for the first day, you may test my abilities and knowledge however you deem fit?”

“That is acceptable to me, Lord Potter.”

“Excellent – I look forward to learning from you, Marshal Sulyard.” Harry grinned, feeling the urge to bounce on the spot. Suddenly, he had far too much energy – he had been hoping for this opportunity since Neville had gifted him the book on combat spells for Christmas.

He continued down the line and greeted the rest of his household warmly. By the time he had finished, he had walked the entire perimeter of the courtyard and returned to the steps of the castle where Sirius and Remus smiled at him proudly.

There was a brief burst of flame above him, and he looked up to see Clara’s arrival. Her wings beat strongly, and he could feel her joy at returning home when he closed his eyes. He basked in the feeling, revelling in Clara’s emotions as the heat from her feathers ghosted over his skin.

He opened his eyes and beamed at the bird as she landed before him, her song happy and free as it echoed around the quiet castle. He knelt down before her and scratched her chin with his index finger while his left hand smoothed the feathers on her neck down to her back.

“Didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?” He whispered, just quiet enough for only his familiar to hear.

He had left Hedwig in the care of Arcturus – she was faster than any of the other birds House Black owned, and while he loved the Snowy Owl, he knew she enjoyed her independence – something he wouldn’t be able to offer her at Arpton.

There was something to be said about the safety she experienced at Blackwall and at Hogwarts. He knew she didn’t hunt in the Forbidden Forest and preferred the open grounds near the mountain on the far side of the lake – he knew she was safe there. Even the grounds around Blackwall were fairly open and a good hunting ground for her, however, the grounds around Arpton had much larger creatures than the occasional fox.

“Why don’t you go and get yourself some food, hm?” He whispered as Clara nipped at his thumb playfully. She blinked slowly and tilted her head before leaping into the air and flying towards the Owlery to take full advantage of the entire floor she presided over.

“She took longer to get here than I thought she would.” Sirius said after a moment, placing his hand gently on Harry’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze once he’d gotten back to his feet.

“Maybe just a lazy morning – you know how she can get.” Harry shrugged, turning to look up at the man.

Sirius nodded slowly. “Aye, we know.” He chuckled before turning toward the entrance doors. Harry turned to check the courtyard once more, smiling as everyone began to return to their duties. Already, he could hear the regular clanging of the Blacksmith, and the calling of various men and women as they went about their duties.

He turned to join Sirius and Remus as they re-entered the castle, Brandon already patiently waiting for them – no doubt to give a full breakdown of the events of the castle and his lands in his absence.

It was good to be home.

Harry stepped into his chambers with a contented sigh. It had been a long day – arriving early and having made sure to greet all that he could. Then, once the greetings were done, he had been in meeting after meeting with the various heads of his household. Sometimes, Sirius and Remus would join him, while others had been solely himself and Brandon.

The meetings had been as they usually were, truth be told. Extraordinarily little in the castle needed his direct intervention, and when it did, he made sure to consult those who had more experience in such matters than he.

Roaming bandits on his lands were one such matter for which he had sought advice. His initial reaction had been to send out more of his men, he was also highly aware of just how much longer it would take a larger force to scour the countryside. More men meant more resources, and more resources made the men slower – it was better to travel fast and light. With the council of his advisors, it had been decided to send out another score of men in a week’s time if they hadn’t heard anything – that, at least, helped put his mind to rest a little.

It was not just for Martha that he was worried, but of the countless number of innocents who lived and worked on his lands. He had a large population to look after, and while his Bannermen helped to alleviate that burden somewhat, he still felt responsible.

In the quiet of his personal study – a room he only used currently for the meetings he held when he visited – his Steward had given him more details on the reports. The bandits, or raiders, or whatever people wanted to call them, were moving from hamlet to hamlet in a small group of a little over a dozen men. They would strike fast and strike hard, and he’d even heard of some women having been taken.

It was the taken women that worried him the most. He knew that they could defend and look after themselves. So far, they hadn’t been able to save a single one that had been taken. The criminals had strung them up in the trees after they were through with them and hung them by their necks. By all accounts, they had all died quick deaths – there were some small mercies, at least.

The sooner the savages were captured or killed, the better. He would bring all of his and his House’s strength to bear against anyone who would think to harm those he was responsible for, and for the first time in his life, he found himself contemplating just what that would entail.

The concept of taking a life, even as a punishment for a crime, did not sit well with him, but he knew it to be one of the responsibilities he held as a Lord. The law of the land was remarkably simple, if medieval – while most crimes were punished with jail or a hefty fine, there were others that the punishment was the loss of a hand, or the loss of life.

He’d had to judge some of those cases over the years since his first arrival – a thief here, a drunken brawl there – nothing too drastic. He’d learned from Arcturus, Sirius, and the vast collection of records of previous Lord Potters in the Arpton Library that House Potter kept to The Old Way, from a time before the King, and before the formation of their society as a whole.

Apparently, it wasn’t just his family either – House Gryffindor, House Black, House Avery, House Serrett, House Ruccall and House Goodridge to only name a few. All were old, powerful families and held to the belief that ‘He who judges, executes’.

He understood the meaning behind it – if you judge a man and sentence him to death, you should be able to look him in the eye as you do it. It was pragmatic, simple and terrifying. It placed the sole responsibility of the accused’s life squarely on his shoulders – if he couldn’t look the criminal in the eye and hear their final words, did they deserve to die?

Harry looked around the room that was by rights, his. It was well furnished, just as he remembered, and he noticed the changes he had requested had been made. His bed was placed against the inner wall, raised a little off of the floor on a small wooden platform, barely a step high and covered in fur rugs. This allowed the large glass windows, which led to the balcony to shine directly onto the bed as the sun rose. It was a magnificent view to wake up to.

Between both of the windows, however, was a section of the outer wall that had previously been adorned with a large tapestry. Despite the spell-work that was woven into the very threads and fibres of the tapestry, it was faded and old – and Harry hoped to one day use the section of the room as his own little writing nook. Nothing extravagant, but something his.

As such, he had requested his House Words to be engraved into the stone with white marble. He reached up and traced the calligraphy: Under The Moon, We Howl, and just below it, We Watch The Way.

He had found the two mottos in his grandfather’s journal in the Rosestone Library in Wales not long before he had departed for Hogwarts – it was a link to his family, one that he hadn’t told anyone about, for there was no real way of bringing it up in casual conversation, he had tried to live by and understand those words.

It had been a challenge. How did one interpret Under The Moon, We Howl? The wolf imagery, he understood – it was the Potter sigil. The words must have meant something to his ancestors at some point, surely. His first assumption was Lycanthropy, but no Potter had ever been so afflicted, not even a rumour of such, whenever he had tried to research the topic.

Perhaps the founder of his house, Rickard Potter, had a wolf familiar – after all, wolves didn’t go extinct in Britain until the sixteenth century, so it was entirely possible it was an homage. As for the second motto? We Watch The Way? What did that even mean?

The only thing he could even vaguely link to that was the locations of Arpton Keep and Rosestone – perhaps, House Potter had once guarded the coast of Wales against invaders? And now they watched over those they cared for? If that were the case, they were strong words to live by.

Harry turned as the door to his chamber opened slowly, and saw Sirius standing there with a small smile on his face. Harry gestured for him to come in as he sat on the end of his bed, looking up at the words in the stone.

“Ah, got them done, did they?” Sirius grinned as he sat down next to him and stretched his legs out.

“I just saw them before you came in.” Harry grinned in return.

“Still trying to work out what they mean?”

“How do you know I haven’t already?” He replied with a smirk.

Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I know you better than you know you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though he had to give the man credit – he had been correct each time he made a guess as to how he was feeling and what he was thinking over the years. There was nothing he could get past Sirius – well, maybe the occasional thing.

“It’s a connection.” He sighed after a moment. “The meaning might have been lost, but I can interpret them as I understand them, at least.”

“And how do you interpret them?” Sirius asked, leaning back on his elbows slightly.

“Under The Moon, We Howl – I have no idea, besides our sigil, if I’m honest. I still have hundreds of journals to read through.” Harry sighed and rubbed a hand down his face tiredly. He still had the Welcome Feast to get through. “We Watch The Way – I’ll look after all of those under my charge as best I can. I’m responsible for them, and it’s my duty to make sure they’re happy and safe.”

“Admirable.” Sirius said with a slow nod, before he reached out and pulled Harry into his side, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. “When did you grow up, hm?”

Harry smiled as he wrapped his arms around the father he chose. He did feel rather grown up, if he were honest with himself, but he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be able to play with other children, to only have to worry about his exams and Quidditch – maybe becoming the top of the class.

He had always been mature – Arcturus had made sure of that, though Sirius had given him a playful side that he kept under firm control most of the time. Though, if Sirius pranked him, all bets were off – he was a Marauder’s son, after all.

There was one defining moment that stood out to him, of course – it always stood out to him… The Ambush on the road. That feeling of helplessness, seeing people die to protect him – sometimes, he could hear Clara yelling at him to hide behind the rock, other times, it was a muffled, muted command he could barely hear. When the nightmares came, and they always came, it would always end with her vacant eye staring up at him in surprise.

He’d vowed never to be so helpless again – and, to a degree, he wasn’t. He’d learned how to properly use the dagger he always kept on his belt, or in his boot at school, and had learned how to fight with a sword. He hadn’t felt that helplessness until he’d gone to Hogwarts and had stood toe to toe with Voldemort.

Even now, safe in the confines of Arpton Keep, where he knew he was safe, he still felt a little on edge. His only hope was that the feeling would dissipate as the years trickled on.

“The Ambush… And Quirrell.” Harry murmured as he tightened his arms around Sirius. He felt Sirius squeeze him back.

“I’m so sorry, Harry – I should have noticed something was off about him.” Sirius sighed.

“No, you’ve nothing to apologise for – he fooled everyone.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Harry simply closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of the man who had raised him. The window was slightly open, and the sounds of Arpton’s courtyard filtered through, even as the sun began to fall beyond the horizon – the soft, melodic song of Clara as she roosted in the Owlery, the perfect accompaniment.

“I’m so proud of who you’re becoming, Harry. So proud.” Sirius whispered eventually, squeezing him a little. Harry sat up after a moment, smiling as he looked down at his Dogfather.

“Did I ever tell you about after the Ambush?” He asked after a moment, fiddling with the hem of his doublet nervously.

Sirius sat up and shook his head slowly and gently rubbed Harry’s back.

He drew in a shaky breath and glanced at his lap. “I’m Harry James Potter – son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Rose Evans, future Lord to House Potter and the last of my line.” Harry began, watching as Sirius nodded slowly. “I don’t remember either of them – they’re my parents, of course and I love them, but despite all the books and stories, I don’t know them.”

“We can find more-“ Sirius began, but Harry held up his hand.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say – I’m thankful for anything related to them, really. I’ve been raised by four wonderful people, Arcturus, Remus, Lispy, and you. You are my family, Sirius – the family I chose.” Harry sniffed as his throat constricted. He took a shaky breath and blinked away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. “After the Ambush, there was a moment when I was watching you in front of the pyre – I wanted to make you proud. James Potter is my father by blood, but you are the father I chose.”

Sirius engulfed him in a bone-crushing embrace instantly, and Harry threw his own arms around his chest, trying to squeeze just as much. The two of them shook with silent tears for a moment as they rocked side to side. He heard Sirius murmur incoherent things into his hair as he pressed light kisses to his scalp.

Eventually, Sirius pulled back and moved to kneel before Harry at the foot of the bed. “I could not be prouder of you, Harry. You’re a fine young man, and you’ll be an exceptional wizard one day. From the day I first held you in Hogwarts, to the day we both pass from this world, you will always be my son.”

Harry leapt forward and threw his arms around Sirius’s shoulders and buried his face in the mans neck, thankful that Sirius wasn’t wearing his armour today – they had stayed a night at Rosestone before arriving here, so there had been no threat of danger. “I love you, Sirius.”

“I love you too, Harry.” Sirius murmured back, gently stroking his back.

They remained together for a moment before Harry finally decided to pull back and the two of them cleared their throats. Harry finally stood and rubbed his face with his hands before moving to the large balcony glass doors, Sirius close behind as they stepped onto the balcony.

“I can’t imagine you came to my room for a heart-to-heart.” Harry chuckled as he leaned against the stone railing, picking absently at one of the leaves from the ivy that grew along it.

“No, no I didn’t.” Sirius chuckled as he leaned on the railing next to him. “I came to talk to you about the bandits.”

“What about them?” Harry asked.

“It’s a hard life here, despite all of our magic and spells. In some ways, a lot of ways, it’s better than Britain – here, we don’t have to hide and can simply be ourselves.” Sirius began, nodding at the bustling activity below them. “But in other ways, it’s far more dangerous. I know it seems rather backwards to us – medieval, even – but it’s been this way for centuries.”

Sirius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose slightly. “Morgana, I’m saying this all wrong.” He muttered. “Look, what I’m trying to say, is that there are aspects of life here, that no child should have to deal with – like it or not, son, you’re a child.”

Harry, who already had his mouth open to protest, snapped it shut with a roll of his eyes. “These people are raiding, pillaging, and killing those I’m sworn to protect.” Harry began, feeling his magic momentarily flare along his fingers as he thought on them. “If I can’t protect them, how will they trust me when I do take my place?”

“They will trust you – but you need to trust them as well. You try to do too much yourself – you have Bannermen. Use them.”

“But these are on my lands – not my Bannermen’s lands. Is it not my responsibility?”

“It is, but you need to learn to share burdens. Make the Bannermen feel useful – it’ll play dividends in the future. Not to mention, they may have raided their land before your own. It’s common knowledge you’re attending Hogwarts most of the year and thought themselves free of retribution.” Sirius answered, placing a hand on Harry’s left shoulder, and giving it a light squeeze.

Harry continued staring down into the courtyard. “If any of them are captured, it’ll be on me to put them on trial and to swing the sword.” He said, flatly.

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Sirius said after a moment.

“It’s our way, Sirius – He who judges, executes. You taught me that.”

“Aye, I did, and I stand by that – but you can assign someone to judge them in your place. You wouldn’t even need to be there. If I had my way, I’d have you never need to execute someone – stay a boy a little longer, hm?”

Harry looked at him for a moment before he slowly nodded his head. “If any of them are brought back, I’ll leave it to you.”

“Good – I’ll not have you suffer this burden just yet. We all just want what’s best for you.” Sirius smiled a little as he clapped him on the shoulder.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m well aware.” He huffed out a breath as the wind ghosted across his cheeks and a bird – perhaps a Swallow, it was too high to tell, flittered above the castle. “What’s it like?” He asked after a moment, glancing at Sirius as the bird disappeared.

Sirius pushed from the railing and leaned his back against it and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s easy – too easy, sometimes – and it’s terrifying.”

Harry blinked, not having expected the answer. Sirius shrugged and tucked a stray strand of his loose hair behind his ear. “It sounds cheesy, but you realise we’re all just sacks of meat with some bone holding it all up. Sword or spell, when you kill, it’s like cutting the strings of a puppet. Does that make sense?”

Harry nodded and swallowed as he watched a cart be unloaded below him.

“Do you remember your first?” He asked, after a moment.

“Aye – it was in the war. James and I had been ambushed somewhere off of Diagon Alley, just before you were born. Used my dagger on a Death Eater. After that, it all blurs together – I still wake up at night, thinking I’m in that street with James.”

“How do you deal with it?” Harry questioned, feeling his brow furrow as he picked at a fresh leaf. “I keep seeing the Troll coming at me, or I’m standing in front of Quirrell just before the explosion brought the ceiling down.” He felt a shiver run across his shoulders that had nothing to do with the cool breeze.

He saw Sirius shrug out of the corner of his eye. “You go on. Focus on the present and the future and try not to look back. If you look back, you’re lost.”

Harry snorted. “That sounds healthy.”

The deep chuckle of Sirius answered him before he heard him lean in a little closer. “I think we both know I’m not the best when it comes to coping mechanisms – but I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He snickered and flicked the remnants of the leaf into the breeze, watching as the small chunks flittered back and forth as they spiralled to the ground below. “How’s Amelia? Will you survive without her for three weeks?”

“It’ll be hard, but I’ll cope – what do you think of her?”

Harry was quiet for a moment before he pushed off of the railing and leaned his back against the stone, mirroring Sirius, and crossing his ankles casually. “She seems nice – I like her. Less enthusiastic about Susan, however.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked, confused.

He blew out a deep sigh and tapped a finger as he pursed his lips, thinking how he could word it correctly. “To Susan, I’m The-Boy-Who-Lived first, and Harry second. She’s like a lot of the students at Hogwarts, honestly.”

“Give it time.” Sirius replied with a small nod. “You’re both young – she’ll come to know Harry in the future.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. There was silence between the two of them for a few heartbeats, the sounds below them gradually dwindling. Harry admired the way the sunset made the stone almost glow – no doubt it looked breath-taking from the rolling plains below.

“You should get cleaned up – the Feast will be starting soon, and you’re the guest of honour.” Sirius grinned, pushing away from the railing casually. “Make sure you look pretty for all those eligible ladies down there.”

“Arse.” Harry grumbled under his breath, giving Sirius a little shove. He watched as the Marauder laughed to himself as he ducked into Harry’s room. He took one last glance at the setting sun before following Sirius into the room. By the time he was fully inside, Sirius had already left, and the door was shut.

He sighed as he looked about his chambers and stepped up to the desk below his House Words. There, sitting among the few sheets of parchment littered across the desk was a neatly folded envelope.

It had taken some bribery on his part, but he had finally managed to get Clara to deliver a letter for him – he would have asked Hedwig, but he wouldn’t have been able to get a reply. Clara, he’d found, had the unique ability to travel to wherever she wished – be that in Britain, or anywhere else.

As he hadn’t brought Hedwig to Arpton with him, it made sense that Clara would be the next logical step – though, if Sirius or Remus heard about it, he didn’t think he’d ever live it down. Years ago, when he’d first returned with Clara to Blackwall, he’d been adamant that he would never use Clara for sending letters – the fact she left a trail of flames in her wake as she flew only reinforcing his idea that it was stupid.

Now, she’d delivered not one, but two letters in less than a day. He hadn’t expected a reply, if he were honest with himself, though he should have known better. She was going to be insufferable after this trip, and for not the first time, Harry was beyond thankful that Phoenixes couldn’t speak, unlike some creatures he’d heard muttering to themselves in Diagon Alley’s Magical Menagerie last Summer.

It would cost him a new perch and a half-a-dozen slaughtered Aurochs, the large cattle having gone extinct in Britain centuries ago but had thrived through the Ro’rim. Clara was a cutthroat negotiator. She’d be gorging herself in the weeks they were here.

Harry opened the envelope with a swipe of his thumb and smiled as he pulled out the parchment – even in a simple letter like this, she kept using a quill and parchment. The envelope was standard paper, he knew – but there was something about seeing her tiny scrawl on the page that made him chuckle.

He had heard from all of his friends in the two weeks since they had returned from school, and he’d explained to both Tracey and Hermione that he would be unreachable by Owl in that time – Daphne and Neville knew where he was, of course, but it was something he just couldn’t share with the other two yet.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but more he physically couldn’t – the Potter Family Magic simply wouldn’t allow it. He’d found himself stumbling on his words more than once during the year at Hogwarts, when he’d refer to something, or mention something in passing. He’d asked Sirius about it, of course, and wondered why Neville and Daphne knew, but he couldn’t tell others. The answer had been remarkably simple, in hindsight.

Both House Greengrass and House Longbottom were tied to House Potter through vows. As Tracey didn’t come from a house with lands and titles, she couldn’t swear the same oaths – and neither could Hermione as a Muggle-born. It was a cruel twist of fate, he thought, that two of his four friends wouldn’t be able to experience the other side of their world.

He smiled as his eyes took in Hermione’s scrawl – she wrote as she talked, and he found it refreshing. Too many wrote formally for his liking, and he found it closer to having his friend there with him as a result. He had already received her excited letter the day after the Wizengamot, telling him how her parents had surprised her with a trip to Spain for a fortnight.

Incidentally, that was the driving force behind getting Clara to agree to taking a letter for him – there wasn’t a chance Hedwig would make that journey. His letter had been short, simply informing her that he was leaving and that he hoped she enjoyed her holiday, which she was already enjoying in Barcelona.

Her reply, on the other hand, told him about all the fantastic things she had seen so far – the Sagrada Familia, which from what she described, was, apparently, a giant church. In her letter, she gushed over the history of the building, and how it was still under construction over a century later and wasn’t planned to be finished for decades.

That absolutely baffled Harry – how could anything other than Castles and a handful of other buildings take more than a decade to complete? He knew for a fact that even Arpton had been habitable after only a year – the Potters had resided at Rosestone, or in Crochenwaith – the town that had sprung up a few miles down the cliff from Arpton.

The letter went on to describe other attractions, like a fountain that claimed to be magic – which they both agreed was less than likely, the beach, and a number of museums she’d visited. He smiled as she described each one and the weather sounded gorgeous. Perhaps one day he’d visit Barcelona for himself – ideally without his armour and his doublet.

His eyes read the last sentence before tracking back to the envelope on the table. He frowned and picked it up before peering inside. His fingers reached for the small, shiny square of paper and brought it into the light.

Was that… Hermione?

It was.

He blinked and shook his head – how had he not recognised her immediately?

He looked closer and he could see why; she was smiling so freely, so openly. Her eyes sparkled with mirth and humour as her father pulled a funny face – he’d never understand why she hid that side of her at school. Her bushy, chestnut hair was hidden somewhat by a large, floppy hat that looked perfect with the celeste summer dress that seemed to billow in the breeze.

For a moment, he expected the picture to move, but then remembered Hermione came from the Muggle world – it would make sense that she’d use a Muggle camera. He smiled as he placed it down on the desk with the letter.

He’d thought on his first year at Hogwarts a fair amount since the holidays had begun – though Neville insisted that he had been brooding. There were a number of things that he missed, of course. The interesting portraits on the walls, the smell of the Forbidden Forest in a morning if the wind was just right, the Giant Squid and the Black Lake. Merlin, he even missed the noisy Gryffindor Common Room. Of course, no matter what he thought of, the presence of his bushy-haired friend was the most pronounced among them all. Perhaps it was simply because he had seen Neville and Daphne at the Wizengamot and the following weekend.

He shrugged his doublet off after unfastening the straps and quickly lifted his tunic up and over his head. A quick glance down at his stomach revealed the long, thin scar on his side – it was still a harsh red, clashing violently against his normally pale complexion. Sirius and Remus had tried to make him feel better about it, claiming that as he got older, witches would love his scars. That he now had a small collection of three didn’t make him feel much better. He grimaced as he traced the line with a finger – sometimes he could still feel the spell cutting him.

He moved to his wardrobe – a large, varnished mahogany piece with a mirror inset into one of the two doors. He had brought his own clothes from Blackwall, he kept a wardrobe at Arpton and Rosestone at all times. He quickly pulled a dark grey tunic and a doublet with his house colours and sigil on it.

He shrugged them on quickly and tied the doublet with a practiced ease. Ideally, he would have bathed and made himself feel more refreshed – however, he hadn’t done anything particularly strenuous and had sat in various meetings all afternoon. It would do for tonight, and in the morning, he could go about having a bath after his first training session.

He found himself almost giddy with excitement, something that he had never quite been when training with Kina Parren. She had been ruthless in her training, and he loved her for it – but there was something about being taught by his own Marshal-At-Arms.

He had watched Sulyard train men in his previous visits and knew what to expect from the woman. She was without equal in the castle and had the unique gift of being able to pass that knowledge on. The possibilities of what he could learn in just three weeks gave him an energy that he hadn’t felt all day. How he was supposed to sleep after the Feast was utterly beyond him – he wished Neville could have joined him to learn alongside him.

He pulled the door open and grinned at the two guards that were standing outside his door – one of them was Felix, of course. The man was almost as dedicated as Sirius and Remus were. “Felix – I thought I told you to have the night off.”

Felix smiled down at him and ruffled his loose hair. “Aye, that you did, my Lord – but you’re here, and so I’ll watch over you.”

“Your wife? Your child?” Harry asked, scrunching his face as he tucked his hair behind his ears.

“Will manage without me for tonight.”

The other guard remained silent, his face stoic as he held his staff – like Felix’s own, it was angular and had a geometric focus at the top, though this one had a scythe-like blade on the bottom.

“If you insist, I suppose. You’ll both eat, however.” Harry sighed, pointing a finger between the two of them, causing both guards to bow their heads slightly. “Excellent. Come, I’m sure everyone is anxious to begin.”

They travelled through the castle quickly, with the heels of their boots echoing off of the stone floors and steps as they wound their way down. In no time at all, Harry entered the Great Hall to bellowing cheers, claps, and whistles.

Already Sirius and Remus were standing behind their chairs at the Head Table, and the aromas wafting from the many plates and dishes full of food on the trestle tables reminded him once more of Hogwarts.

Unlike a regular Feast, neither Sirius nor Remus would sit at his side. As it was a Welcoming Feast for the Lord of the castle, he would have Brandon at his right, and the Captain of his Guard, Ewan Fulmer on his left.

He climbed the few steps that elevated his own table above the rest and quickly stepped up to his chair – a wooden version of the Potter Throne that sat a little further behind him. As he looked down among the hundreds of eyes below him, all denizens of the castle and members of his Household, he grinned and clapped his hands loudly. “Let this feast begin!”

Harry groaned as he rolled onto his back, feeling the sheets tangle themselves among his feet. Despite the softness of the mattress and the sheets themselves, his entire body was sore, and he longed for nothing more than to remain in bed.

The sun still had not risen, and yet he could clearly hear Clara’s song from the Owlery through the open window, accompanied by the many hoots, howls and barks of the birds that resided there full-time.

He rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his palms and let out a sigh as he blinked groggily up at the canopy of his bed. It was the fourth day of the visit, and each morning so far, he had woken early and met Marshal Sulyard in the courtyard for his lessons.

They were everything he had hoped they would be. He wasn’t a complete novice when it came to bladework – he’d been instructed for two years by Kina, and had developed his instincts well, despite his age, but the year away from her instruction had left him rusty and feeling tired quicker than he was used to.

It was to be expected – where would he train with a sword at Hogwarts of all places? He was barely allowed to keep his dagger in his boot as it was – that had been an uncomfortable conversation with Professor McGonagall after Halloween. Apparently such things needed to be announced to the staff, for safety concerns. Begrudgingly, he had to concede that point.

He sat up slowly and felt the sheet pool around his hips as he propped himself up on his hands.

He may not still have the same level of endurance he’d had, but his muscles still remembered what they’d been taught, as did his feet. Sulyard had immediately pointed out his weaknesses – his strength, his reach, and his timing. In time, his strength and reach would fix themselves. He was, after all, still only eleven years old and had a lot of growing left to do. The timing was simply practice.

Harry swung his legs out of the bed reluctantly, knowing that lingering among the sheets would only earn him a harsher lesson once he made it down there. He stripped quickly before tugging on a comfortable pair of breeches and a loose tunic before going about and donning his armour. It had been deemed safer to wear this for now – all of the padded armour for the Lords and Heirs hadn’t been used in such a long time, it had become unusable and new ones had to be made and that would take time.

As he stood and reached for a leather tie for his hair, the first sounds of the castle filtered in through his window. Trystan, the castle blacksmith was already hammering away at his anvil while his apprentices got to work on the bellows and other such tasks.

He pulled the door open quickly and gave the two guards a polite nod before he made his way through the castle and down the staircases. Harry had all but ordered Felix to take time off, and to rotate a shift other guards he trusted – such as the two that currently followed in his wake; Alan Maddocks, a gifted Battlemage, and Seren Moss, a witch with an affinity for water magic.

Alan was tall and broad. He had a square jaw, and his nose was crooked, but he was pleasant enough. He always had a sword strapped to his hip and a wand holstered on his right forearm. Seren, on the other hand, was a petite woman with auburn hair, pale skin, and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She, like many of the Household Guard, carried a staff – it was made of a pale wood and had a large sapphire ball as a focus.

He stepped into the courtyard and immediately, his breath began to fog before his face, and the early morning chill made his nose twitch. Across from him, standing next to a rack of weapons in an enclosed area by the Barracks, was Sulyard.

He picked up the pace as he crossed the open space and quickly hopped the fence, landing on the soft soil, the two guards leaned against the wooden barrier and began murmuring between themselves – no doubt wagering how long it would take for him to end up on his arse.

“Lord Potter – are you ready to begin for the day?”

Marjorie Sulyard was dressed in similar attire to his own – a loose tunic and comfortable breeches tucked into leather boots. In her hands, with the tip pressed into the dirt, was a sparring sword.

“Aye.” Harry nodded, moving over to the weapons rack for his own blade. His fingers skimmed the various pommels as he searched for the one he was most comfortable with. He found it slightly off-centre and grinned as he pulled it out. It was heavier than the actual blade would be, and not quite as comfortable in the grip as he would like, but it still whistled through the air as he gave a few practice swings from left to right.

His breath fogged in front of his face and he found himself grinning. His enjoyment of sword fighting had stemmed from his discovery of the Mithril armour and the beautiful sword, deep within the bowels of the keep, he had quickly fallen in love with it.

He considered himself a fairly athletic person – he loved to fly, be it for simple enjoyment or sport, and he loved to spend time on Arlan’s back as the two of them raced around Blackwall. This had translated well to his sparring lessons. The familiar burn of his muscles as he worked off the pent-up energy, and the satisfaction of physical activity were two feelings he was intimately familiar with.

He rolled his wrist once, feeling the joint loosen up as he stepped in front of Marjorie. He bent his knees slightly and held the sword in a high guard to the right of his body with both hands, ready to slash down and defend himself at a moment’s notice. Sulyard preferred to hold her blade horizontally at shoulder height, with the tip of the blade always pointed at him.

His sessions had begun this way in the short time since his arrival – they would warm up by facing one another, and afterwards, Sulyard would point out his mistakes and give him advice on fixing them. He was rather proud that he never made the same mistake twice – though Harry had yet to land a single hit on his Marshal.

This spoke wonders of her own martial prowess, and it chaffed the competitive side of him. He knew he didn’t have the experience of his instructors, but he had good instincts and quick reflexes.

Sulyard moved first, stabbing at his left shoulder.

He brought his sword down quickly, redirecting the blade away from him, his arms shook from the impact slightly. With the sword knocked back, Harry went on the offence, bringing his sword back up and down in a hard swing, keeping his movements as fluid as he could. He could still remember Kina telling him to let the blade do the work, to direct its weight and to never fight against it – preserve his strength for when he needed it.

Immediately, Sulyard’s blade was there, slapping his own away from her, as she twisted her body around his own. A moment later, he felt a kick on his arse, and he stumbled forward. He turned instantly and held his blade at the ready.

This time, he moved first, taking two measured steps toward the Marshal, hacking with his blade carefully as he probed her defences. Already, he could feel his muscles tiring, and he cursed not being able to practice at Hogwarts – not that he’d even be able to spar against anyone even if he could.

Sulyard backed up slowly before launching herself forward, forcing Harry to quickly move his blade to defend his body. He managed to fend off three swings before he had his feet swept from under him and the tip of her blade pointed at the hollow of his neck.

He groaned as he announced his yield, aware that he’d no doubt be feeling the ache from the fall for at least an hour more. He could help his grin as the Marshal offered him a hand and helped pull him to his feet.

“Better – your timing is improving, but you still take the offense far too much.” The tall woman said, watching him as he swiped the dirt from his clothes.

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Aye, my instructor was a firm believer in offensive fighting.”

“That will work in a duel, my Lord, but not in the real world. I take it she taught you in Britain?”

He nodded and moved to the side, where Alan offered him a mug of water he’d conjured with a flick of his wand. Harry smiled his thanks before taking half of it in his mouth and pouring the rest over his head.

“Aye. One of the Vassals of House Black. Lady Kina of House Parren – you’d like her, I think.” Harry chuckled, swiping a hand over his face as the water cooled him somewhat. He passed the mug back with a nod and received a lazy salute from Alan for his trouble, causing him to roll his eyes.

“I take it that swords and other such martial weapons are not common there?” Marjorie asked after a moment.

“No – they’re historical artefacts to most Muggles, and most wizards and witches there use wands over staves. Much easier to blend in with a wand.”

“I see. Very well – again.”

Harry adopted the same stance as he always began with, only this time he went on the offensive and already his muscles felt looser. He stepped up to her, his blade moving in quick, rhythmic hacks and slashes, bouncing off of her blade. He stepped forward with each attack, driving her back as he went – he knew she was allowing it, for even with his two years of practice, he was but a child and she was an experienced adult.

“Good, mind your footwork – press the attack!” Sulyard called, slapping his blade so wide, he was forced to turn with the momentum. With a grunt, he found himself kicked away once again, stumbling into the wooden railing.

His magic flared, and on instinct he ducked to the left, and not a moment later, Sulyard’s sword embedded itself in the log. Harry spun away and held his sword at the ready as he watched Marjorie pull it out with a sharp yank.

He danced around her as she swung at him, her quiet grunts as she swung her sword the only tell-tale sign she was about to attack. He waited for his moment, feeling the blood pumping in his ears. He watched her every twitch and pursed his lips. He batted aside a swing of her blade and ducked under her guard, a grin on his face.

He was about to bring his blade against her thigh when all of a sudden he was staring up at the sky and blinking the stars out of his vision with a groan.

He rubbed at his jaw, wondering what had hit him – and then he saw Sulyard standing above him, her blade once again levelled at his throat. He spat the globule of blood and saliva off to the side before muttering. “Yield.”

He stood and doubled over, resting his hands on his knees for a moment, spitting out a little more blood as he ran his tongue along his teeth, praying that nothing was broken or missing. He could hear the quiet chuckles of his guards at the edge of the enclosure. He narrowed his eyes at them for a moment, but it held no real heat.

“You take too many risks, Lord Potter.” Sulyard said, placing her weapon back amongst the rack.

Harry could only nod – he knew he was more than a little reckless. It gave him a thrill when he was on his broom, and it translated poorly to swordplay. Reckless got you killed. He groaned a little as he stood – he could already feel the bruise forming on his back.

“Did you have to punch me in the face?” He asked with a grunt as he rubbed his jaw. The snickers from his guards a little louder now, but he ignored them. No doubt they had experienced something similar at the hands of the Marshal-At-Arms during their training.

Marjorie smirked and shrugged her shoulders casually. “It is the best way for the lesson to stick, I find. If you wish to avoid repeated injuries, you will lose your penchant for recklessness – it will see you without your head and the end of your House. Is this something you desire?” She asked, her face frowning.

Harry swallowed and shook his head quickly, feeling suitably chastised. He rubbed at his neck absently.

“Good – there may be some hope for you yet. Now, today we work on your defence and will continue to do so until I say otherwise, if that clear?”

He nodded and moved over to the enchanted dummies with his shoulders a little more squared – he’d make sure that he was the best swordsman he possibly could be. He owed it to Marshal Sulyard, the people sworn to him, to his family and most importantly – to Sirius.

Chapter 22: Harry XIV

Chapter Text

Harry’s laughter echoed away on the wind as it whipped through his hair. He crouched low and leaned forward as he moved his body with the motions of the creature below him. Arlan’s panting breath was almost drowned out by the thundering of his hooves in the green grass.

He had never ridden Arlan as he was now – his destination clear as the treeline approached rapidly. Harry sat back and lightly pulled on the reins as he directed the Stallion to slow and turn. He laughed once more as Arlan broke into another sprint and the two of them tore past both Sirius and Remus.

It was moments like this that reminded Harry why he preferred riding Arlan to riding his broom. There was no give-and-take with a broom in the way there was with riding a creature. He could feel Arlan’s muscles flexing between his legs, the huffing pants as he breathed out – Arlan was a powerful horse, but that meant nothing if Harry couldn’t work with him.

He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw Sirius and Remus not far behind him, both sporting large grins of their own and urging their horses onward.

He turned back to watch where Arlan was racing to and couldn’t help another giddy laugh when he sped past Felix, Brandon and the half-dozen guards that had accompanied them on the ride. The weather had been poor for a few days – the overcast sky making the days dull and grey. Today, the sun had broken through and after his training, he had declared he was to go riding and experience some of his lands.

They had only ridden a few miles of course, and Arpton Keep was still firmly visible atop the cliff with the twin waterfalls on either side of it. It was certainly was an impressive sight from below – its tall, square towers reaching high into the sky almost like the fingers on a hand.

Arlan slowed to a gentle stop and shook his head with a small prance, causing Harry to focus back on his mount. On either side of him, Sirius and Remus came to a stop, both laughing merrily.

“Did you sneak off and pray to Koris while we weren’t looking, pup?” Sirius asked, panting slightly as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“It was all Arlan – I simply told him when to turn around.” Harry grinned, patting the Stallion on his neck, and giving him a little rub. Arlan tossed his head back playfully as he stepped past the two Mares Sirius and Remus were mounted on.

“I think he’s showing off.” Remus chuckled, patting his own mount’s neck.

“Makes sense why Sirius picked him then, doesn’t it?” Harry grinned cheekily as their companions cantered over to them.

Sirius huffed his disagreement and rolled his eyes.

“Excellent riding, my Lord!” Brandon said as they came to a stop just before him. Harry bowed his head slightly before grinning wolfishly.

“I think I could get used to beating Sirius – next time I think I may just add a wager.” He chuckled, swinging his leg over the saddle and dismounted. Their little race had finished close to one of the rivers that cut through the area – courtesy of the waterfalls some three miles behind them – and set about watering his steed.

Behind him, he could hear the others move to do the same – the guards’ armour clanking slightly as they hopped onto the soft grass. Harry, meanwhile, took the opportunity to sit on the bank and watch as a flock of Hippogriffs flew through the air.

On the far side of the river, a herd of wild Aurochs grazed among the grass without a care in the world – their large horns glinting in the sun. He found himself smiling a little as he lazily picked at the grass as Sirius and Remus joined him on either side, while Brandon murmured to the guards behind him.

“If I didn’t know you were happy you just beat us in a race, I’d say you look like you’re brooding.” Sirius began with a wink.

“I was watching the Auroch.” Harry replied with a roll of his eyes, splitting a blade of grass in half absently.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Remus asked after a moment, his eyes also seemingly trained on the wild cows opposite them. “Hunted to extinction in Britain, but here they thrive. Magic will never be denied, I suppose.”

“Remind me to have another one slaughtered for Clara.” Harry sighed, thinking briefly on the bird that had barely left the Owlery in the past week and a half. Had it already been half of the trip? There was still so much to do, and it had passed by so quickly.

Clara had remained in the Owlery for the most part, only leaving when the slabs of Auroch meat were delivered to the tower. Harry knew she enjoyed feeding herself, shredding the meat with her talons and beak – and the meat was far too large to carry up the narrow steps up the tower. Not to mention all of the Owls that would no doubt attempt to steal a bite or two.

As a result, it was placed on the floor at the back of the tower, and Harry would call her when it was time to feed. She would appear in a brilliant burst of flame and attack the meat as if it had personally offended her. Afterwards, when she was sufficiently sated – and the meat completely devoured – only then would she hop over to him for an affectionate pat or scratch.

She had been remarkably recluse in the time they had spent at Arpton, and he wondered if a part of it had been caused by delivering a letter to Hermione. He closed his eyes momentarily and reached out to his bond with Clara – he felt joy, contentment and little else. She was at least happy – so probably wasn’t too angry with him.

“Why are you feeding her Auroch meat?” Sirius asked with a frown. “Surely that much of it can’t be good for her – you stuffing her for the next feast?”

Harry snorted and leaned back against the bank, resting on his elbows as he crossed his ankles. “It’s a thanks for something she did for me, that’s all.”

“And what would that be?” Remus asked as he mimicked Harry’s pose on the grass. Harry glanced at him and saw the amused look on his face.

“I never thanked her for getting everyone out – it seemed the best opportunity to do so.” He answered after a moment, ignoring the twinkling in Remus’s eyes as he looked away. Sirius was easy to fool, why was it that Remus would always see right through him?

They were quiet for a time, simply content to look out on the open fields and to enjoy the fresh air. The wind was blowing from the direction of the treeline they had raced to, and the smell of pine tickled his nose. The sound of an approaching rider broke the peace, however.

Harry stood slowly and watched the cloud of dust carefully. It was too far away to make out the colours of the rider, or if there were more than one. He found himself quickly surrounded by his men, though he did flick his wand into his hand and pull his sword from the scabbard on Arlan’s saddle.

All around him, the men and women with them readied their various weapons, magical power pooling into staves and grips tightening on sword hilts, while Harry switched his wand to his left hand and his sword to his right. He’d been practicing duelling with Felix and a number of other guards in duelling – something he had found Marshal Sulyard wasn’t as adept at teaching. She had handled his physical instruction, while Felix managed his magical.

He had learned a number of spells in the short time he had been here – the most important, in his mind, was a spell called Oblecto. It was unique in all the spells he had learned since purchasing his wand, in that it wasn’t an incantation – rather, directed intent. It had the ability to deflect physical and magical attacks – it was perfect for when he was using his sword.

It hadn’t taken him long to begin using it in his spars, snapping it into existence as needed, though it was still rather weak. The more he practiced, the stronger it would become – already he had felt it improve by leaps and bounds.

His fingers flexed against the hilt of the sword in his hand, and he shifted his grip on his wand nervously. He felt Sirius and Remus step up on either side of him – Brandon and Felix just behind them. There were four guards in front of them, though they left enough of a gap between them all for him to watch.

Minutes ticked by, and still none of them were any closer to seeing who it was that was riding toward them so quickly. Were they friend or foe? Judging by the nervous shifting from foot to foot, or the slightly adjusted grips on various weapons – most of his guard had staves – it wasn’t just him who felt ill at ease.

“It’s a rider from Arpton!” One of the guards – Morcan Wren, announced with a sigh. They all relaxed a little, though the formation didn’t change. They were all prepared to act on a moment’s notice.

Harry watched as the dust cloud grew closer, and a rider he recognised from Arpton became visible – a woman named Cati Evan. The horse came to a halt a few feet from the group as she looked at them.

“Lord Potter, Osgood and the men have returned – they have a number of the raiders in their custody for you to pass judgement over.”

Harry glanced over at Sirius and nodded his head at the look he was giving him. Immediately, Sirius went about mounting his horse while Harry pointed at two guards and Brandon. “Sirius Black will preside over them – Steward Aves and two of my guard will return with you to see justice carried out.”

Cati nodded and watched as the men mounted their horses in short order. Harry remained where he was, with his sword and wand in hand as he watched Sirius ride back to the keep. As much as Harry wished to fulfil his role as Lord of the Keep, as was proper and right, he knew that Sirius only wanted the best for him.

He blinked a little as Remus placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come Harry – Sirius has this well in hand.”

Harry nodded absently as he returned to the bank and sat back down – his wand returned to its holster on his wrist, while the sword lay in the grass, glinting in the sunlight.

“Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re really feeding Clara Auroch meat, hm?” Remus murmured, loosening his doublet at the collar at little.

He couldn’t have stopped the sigh that whispered past his lips if he’d tried. “I bribed Clara to deliver a letter for me.”

“You bribed a Phoenix?” Remus chuckled, co*cking a brow at him. “And what did it cost you?”

“A new perch – no doubt taller than Hedwig’s, and half a dozen Auroch.” He replied, rolling his eyes, and tugging on a patch of grass absently. “She’s ruthless when it comes to negotiating – Arcturus could probably learn a thing or two from her.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt. I assume then, this letter is why she was so late in arriving at Arpton?”

“Aye – she brought a reply and left it in my room before coming to the courtyard.” He shrugged, tossing the few blades of grass in his hand in the air absently.

“Remarkable creatures, Phoenixes. I assume, from the private nature of the letter, it was from the young Miss Granger?” Remus smiled, leaning back on his elbows, and crossing his ankles as they enjoyed the warm sun.

Harry nodded. “Of all my friends – she’s the one I’ve heard the least from. She’s brilliant, Remus – best in the year, in fact – but you know how Sirius and Arcturus can be; they think Muggles are quaint.”

Harry saw Remus wince out of the corner of his eye. “I’m certain that she is what you say she is. Sirius was raised a Pureblood heir to an old family, Harry. Your mother wasn’t just good for your father, but for Sirius also – he just doesn’t know enough. Arcturus is, well, he’s set in his ways.”

“I know, it’s just…” Harry paused and picked at the grass a little more. “I want to bring them here – I want to share this with my friends. I could bring Neville and Daphne, but it wouldn’t be the same without Hermione. And Tracey.”

Remus nodded slowly as Harry spotted an Auroch Calf run playfully around a few of the adults. “One day, you just might be able to. You’re at a difficult point in your life, Harry.”

Harry turned to look at the Marauder next to him, a frown on his face.

“You’re still a child – but you have the responsibilities of an adult. Perhaps there are things we could have done differently over the years, or maybe there aren’t. At the end of the day, you are who you are, and none of us could be prouder – that you’ve surrounded yourself with clever witches just proves you are your father’s son.” Remus grinned with a wink. Harry felt his cheeks burn.

“It’s not like that, and you know it.”

“No – you’re right, of course.” Remus chuckled, and Harry swatted him in the shoulder lightly. The older man glanced over his shoulder and co*cked a brow at Felix when he heard the quiet chuckles. “Did you know, Lily never knew she was Lady Potter?”

Harry’s head snapped to Remus. “What did you say?”

“She never knew – James, your father, refused to tell her.”

“Why? Is that why they hid in Godric’s Hollow?” Harry frowned, pursing his lips in thought.

“I have no idea, Harry. I suspect it had something to do with the deaths of your grandparents – your father was never quite the same after. Perhaps, if they had lived, you could have asked them yourself. Sadly, life is never quite that fair.”

“No – it isn’t.” Harry sighed, picking at the grass with a little more fervour.

“I like to think he did it to protect you – and your mother, of course. He was a great man. Flawed, of course, but great.” Remus said after a moment, his eyes staring off into the distance beyond the Auroch.

“Me too.” He whispered, smiling sadly.

“It’s why Sirius was so adamant about you not passing judgement, you know.” Remus added, turning to look at him. “James and Lily’s shoes are quite large – we want you to remain innocent of the world a little longer.”

“But-“

“Is it so terrible to remain a child? To laugh and play?”

“Well, no-“

“You live too much in the shadow of your family legacy, Harry – you’re missing out on living.” Remus said, placing a hand on Harry’s back. “You’re only a child once, pup. Be a child.”

They were silent for a time, simply enjoying the peace and quiet. Harry watched as the Auroch grazed quietly. Overhead, a flock of birds danced through the air – their high-pitched song a pleasant change from the comfortable silence.

After a while, Harry pushed himself to his feet and picked his sword up from the grass. “I suppose we had better get back.” He sighed, sliding the weapon into the scabbard on his saddle.

Harry watched as Remus nodded and got to his feet – within moments, all were mounted and looking at him expectantly. He turned back to Arlan, placed his foot in the stirrup and climbed into the saddle.

They walked the horses at a comfortable pace, but as they passed a treeline two miles from the riverbank they had been on, the horses became spooked and nervous. Harry frowned and gripped the reins and held on tight.

“Woah, woah – it’s alright.” Harry murmured, gently stroking Arlan’s neck as he looked into the treeline through a break in the trees. Immediately, his men closed ranks around him, their eyes scanning for danger.

“Gods be good…” One of his men murmured, gaping at something within the trees.

“Merlin – me Ma’ told me about them, but I never thought…” Another said.

Harry peered around them curiously before he spotted the group of creatures lazing about in the shade around a grouping of large boulders. They were huge – easily the same size as Arlan was, and their coats were magnificent.

Some were white, some were a smoky grey while a few of the smaller ones were the colour of the night, which only made their yellow eyes even more vibrant.

“I don’t believe it,” Remus muttered, grinning wolfishly. “They’ve been extinct for centuries.”

Harry found his eyes struggling to move from the largest of the creatures, who was currently sprawled on its side and yawning widely as two pups wrestled around it. “What are they?”

“Dyre Wolves, Harry – Dyre Wolves.” Remus grinned, and not for the first time, Harry saw the wolf inside Remus bubble to the surface in the yellow flecks in his eyes.

Harry glanced back at the largest, and for the briefest of moments, it felt as if it were staring back at him. “They’re beautiful.” He whispered, grinning. “Absolutely breath-taking.”

“You’re mad – you’ve completely lost it.” Harry muttered, looking down at the floor below him. How he’d been roped into something as stupid as this was utterly beyond him, but here he was.

It was two days until they were due to leave Arpton, and coincidentally, the day before his twelfth birthday. Though, as he continued to look down at the courtyard below him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d make it that far.

He glanced over his shoulder at the grinning Felix behind him. It was to be his last magical lesson while they were here. He’d learned so much – a number of combat spells, tricks to throw your opponents off, and not to mention all the martial skills Sulyard had been able to pass on to him.

Despite the year he hadn’t been able to train regularly, he was quicker, stronger and so much better than he had been – he’d even managed to strike Sulyard once!

She’d punched him into the dirt right after, but it counted, damn it.

And now, he was standing atop the roof of the Barracks staring down at the cobblestone of the courtyard and the small crowd that had gathered to watch his imminent demise. He had learned a number of things over the last few days – such as how to use his magic to increase his strength, and how to jump higher and further than otherwise possible. He could move quicker and feel everything around him just that little bit easier.

But this was just stupid – he was going to die!

“You have to trust your magic, my Lord. Use it the same way I’ve taught you and you’ll be fine.” Felix said from behind him.

“That’s all well and good, Felix – but I never managed it on the first attempt for any of the other things!” Harry said through clenched teeth as he swayed from side-to-side in the breeze.

“There’s a first time for everything – besides, you’ll just break your legs at this height.”

Harry shut his eyes and clenched his fists at his side. He could hear the bloody grin. “I f*cking hate you.”

“You’ll get over it.” The man chuckled before stepping off the side of the building. Harry watched in horror as he tracked Felix to the floor, expecting to hear the tell-tale snap of the man’s legs and the screams of the on-lookers.

Instead, Felix landed in a low crouch and stood before squinting up at him. Harry began to pace back and forward, muttering to himself.

He took one last glance at the ground before stepping off of the roof. Immediately, he began to plummet to the ground, though it took longer than he thought it would – the wind whistled around him, and time seemed to slow.

He focused inward and reached for his magic, feeling it respond eagerly to his call. He willed it around his feet and legs, wrapping them in layer upon layer of it – he’d let his magic take the impact and protect him.

His feet slammed into the floor, and the world snapped back into motion just before he landed on his arse. He groaned as he rubbed at his tailbone, glaring at Felix as those around him clapped eagerly. “Well done, my Lord.” Felix grinned as he helped him stand slowly.

Harry took the opportunity to dust his arse of the dirt. “You’re still an arse.” He muttered half-heartedly.

Felix laughed loudly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Speaking of, I believe you landed on yours.”

Harry scowled at that, still rubbing his tailbone as the crowd dispersed. “Did you really have to get me to jump off of a building to learn that though?”

“It’s how I learned to do it.” Felix chuckled with a shrug. “Did better than me too – took me a week to learn to do it.”

“So, you kept breaking your legs for a week?” He gasped incredulously, his eyes immediately falling to his guard’s legs and seeing them in-tact.

“Oh aye – this isn’t taught to just everyone, you know. You’ve got to be a Battlemage or a guard to learn it – supposed to give us an edge in combat.”

“How is jumping from a building useful in combat?” Harry asked as Felix began moving to the same training area he used with Sulyard.

“Well, all sorts of things can happen in a fight. Plenty of spells will throw you through the air – best you know how to land properly.” Felix shrugged, glancing over his shoulder as he did.

“That makes sense, I suppose. So, what, you taught me how to do it because you think I’m a Battlemage?” He asked after a moment. He knew the term, of course – but he didn’t think he was one. Although, the idea did fill him with a certain amount of excitement. After all, he knew both Sirius and Arcturus were Battlemages.

Felix was quiet for a moment as he glanced at Harry, his eyes sweeping from top to bottom. “No – I think you’re something else, though it isn’t my place to make that assessment. I’d rather you have the skills to look after yourself when I’m not around.”

“Well, I think with everything you’ve taught me in the last three weeks, you’ve more than handled that.” Harry grinned, hopping over the fence – a moment later, Felix joined him.

“I taught you a few spells – some drastically different from what you would learn at that school of yours. That doesn’t mean you’re invulnerable.”

Harry nodded slowly and flicked his wand into his hand, though before he could say anything else, Felix was upon him and clasped Harry on the side of the head and knelt before him. He liked Felix, he truly did – their relationship was different from the others of his Household – they were closer, friendlier from their shared experience when they met. Felix had seen something in Harry, he had said, and he had wanted only to protect it as best he could for the rest of his life.

What that was, Harry would never know. Each time he had brought it up, Felix would refuse to speak on it and change the topic.

“You have the makings of a great Lord, Harry – truly. If I could, I would guard your back and offer my counsel while you studied at Hogwarts. As it is, I can’t. Sirius and Remus told me what happened this year – you came closer to death than I’m comfortable with.” Felix sighed, briefly glancing at the floor.

Harry had expected Sirius and Remus to mention it to Felix – besides the two of them, it was Felix with whom he had spent the most time with while at Arpton. It made sense. It also meant they both trusted him enough to share the details – though he didn’t know what details they were.

“So, while you’re there, you’ll keep your guard up and remember everything I’ve taught you, hm? Or when you next visit your castle, I’ll ring your head like a bell.”

Harry grinned and couldn’t help but throw his arms around the man. There were few he would permit such familiarity with, but in the nights after the ambush, he had spent many an evening on the balcony with Felix – just the two of them – talking about anything and everything at all. Anything to keep the dreams away.

A friendship had been forged between the two, and while Sirius and Remus were initially wary of the man, Harry had the utmost faith in him. Sometimes it was nice to have an adult to confide in that wasn’t a Black or a member of the Hogwarts staff. Someone that just saw him as Harry – just Harry.

He felt Felix pat his back after a moment’s hesitation and they remained that way for a moment. He was glad that the training area was out of the way of the daily goings on in the castle – it afforded him privacy, and, in that moment, he couldn’t be gladder for it.

“Come – we’d best get some practice in. Perhaps you’ll still be on your feet before we’re done.” Felix chuckled, standing after a moment.

Harry rolled his eyes and got into a ready position as Felix erected a silver-white barrier around the area. The first time, he’d been confused as to what it was, though the following explanation had made sense. Nobody wanted to be hit by a stray spell, and the barrier would ensure that.

“Remember – you need to reach me and strike me in the chest for this to be over.” Felix called from the far side. Harry nodded and bounced on his toes a little, feeling the adrenaline flood his system.

Felix’s staff levelled at him, and Harry was off before the first spell shot from the end of it. The entire training area was a large circular space that was eighty feet in diameter. His training with Sulyard used only a small area for their training, Felix had made sure to make use of all of it.

Harry pumped magic into his legs, feeling the world streak by him as he conjured the Oblecto shield with his wand, quickly batting aside a spell before changing direction. He’d learned early on to keep Felix guessing – the direct route always ended with Harry’s arse in the dirt.

Another spell he had been taught by Felix, was the Reium spell. It wasn’t lethal, but it did hurt like nothing else. Like Oblecto, it was all about intent, and therefore silent. He pointed his wand at the man across from him and willed the spell into existence, grinning as the violet sparks the size of his fist erupted from the tip of his wand in a wide cone.

It forced Felix to pause and erect a shield around himself with a quick spin of his staff. The sparks continued on their outward journey for a second before suddenly darting toward the Battlemage with an incredible speed, tracking him all the while. When the last spark struck the shield, Harry was half-way to the man.

When Felix next levelled his staff at him, Harry felt a moment of panic well up inside him at the sight of the smirk on his face. A bolt of yellow magic streaked toward the floor just in front of his feet, and Harry barely had the chance to push more magic into his legs and leap over it as he conjured the shield once again as he slapped another spell away mid-air.

Harry landed with a roll, firing a low-powered Diffindo at him as he did – that had been something he wished he knew before facing Quirrell. He’d had no idea it was possible to over-power a spell. Felix had shown just how useful such a spell was, and the poor training dummy had been left in pieces in a matter of moments. Unlike the other two spells however, Harry still had to say the incantation out loud.

“Diffindo! Diffindo! Immobulus!” Harry called, darting from side to side as more spells struck the dirt around him. He grimaced as he watched Felix bat each of them away as if they were nothing. He was just about to try a Reducto at his feet when a cerulean bolt struck his chest and launched him through the air.

He landed in a heap, gasping for breath in wheezes. The clouds above him spun chaotically and were out of focus. After a moment, he saw Felix step into his vision, grinning down at him.

“What in the Gods was that?” Harry moaned, clutching his chest.

“Just a little stunning spell. If you’d been more focused on what came after your spells, you might not have ended up in the dirt.” The man laughed, reaching down and lifting Harry to his feet.

“You enjoy this far too much.” Harry moaned, doubling over and spitting the dirt out of his mouth.

“I do – I haven’t had this much fun in years.” Felix chuckled, slapping him on the back lightly. “Now, again?”

“Again.”

There were two entrances to the crypts. There was the entrance by the garden, and there was another just off from the courtyard on the western side, flanked by two wolf gargoyles standing in their silent vigil.

It was through this second entrance that he stepped through, gently sliding his hand between the ears of the gargoyle on the right as he opened the door. The door, as with all others in the castle, was well-maintained and opened on silent hinges.

Just inside the stone entryway were a number of sconces, though only one had the pale blue flickering flame of Magefyre. He pulled one of the empty ones from its socket on the wall, shifting his grip on the large metal handle before dipping it toward the flickering flame.

The original didn’t dim any, but it did share itself with the now empty sconce, giving Harry a source of light as he looked at the staircase before him with a heavy heart. It never got any easier.

It was early morning, and the air was still cold and damp, and so he was dressed in in his usual doublet with his cloak draped over his shoulders, the wolf pelt ticking his cheeks as he pulled it tighter around him.

The flickering blue flame illuminated the small passaged way as the staircase wound further down into the bowels of the cliff, the dark rock slick with the early morning damp.

His boots scuffed the flagstone steps as he travelled down, his breath fogging before his face and tickling his nose. Above him, he thought he could hear the first sounds of the day coming from the courtyard – the ringing of the anvil, the calls of those going about their business.

Today was going to be a hectic day for all in the castle – today marked the end of the three week visit to Arpton Keep, and later on, Harry would return to Blackwall Manor with Sirius and Remus. Where had the time gone? It had felt like he’d blinked and he’d missed it.

He was thankful, though. He had learned more in the last three weeks than he had over an entire year at Hogwarts – though that was likely due to the gruelling regime he’d been put through. If he wasn’t practising with his sword, he was practising with his wand and magic – Sirius and Brandon had seen to his duties, both more than happy to allow him his freedom for now.

He knew, as he got older, he wouldn’t be able to train and practice like he had done, and a part of him felt guilty over it. Was it not his duty to run the castle while he was here? Was it not his privilege to care for those under his protection? To a degree, he felt he was cheating them.

Here he was, spending three weeks doing nothing but playing with a sword and magic, while Sirius and Brandon were swamped in petitions, running the castle and managing the lands. He was glad though, that Sirius had dealt with the raiders on his behalf. He knew, by their laws, any survivors of that band of criminals would be sentenced to death, and Harry, despite his bravado to Sirius and Brandon, had no desire to take a life. He still felt sick to his stomach over the incident with the Troll.

Harry came to the first chamber – the uppermost floor that was available to all denizens of the castle. It was the hall of the honoured dead, the wands of each Lord and Lady Potter atop small marble pillars with plush, velvet cushions. They were all arranged the same, with the wands crossed over one another – symbolising the everlasting bond between their owners.

He stepped over the threshold and smiled a little as the sconces of Magefyre lit up as one, almost as if the room itself recognised the visitor. He closed his eyes as the Potter Family Magic swept over him, leaving his skin covered in goosebumps and his breath shaky.

He opened his eyes slowly and swept his gaze along the rows of alcoves the pillars were in. He was here for one in particular. It had become a ritual, of sorts, to look at the wands before delving further into the crypt.

The pair of wands were where he had placed them himself. His father’s, the eleven-inch, mahogany with a Thunderbird feather core. His mother’s, willow, ten-and-a-quarter inch with a Griffin feather core. Both were sat just as he remembered them – though it had only been three weeks since his last visit.

Both looked immaculate and pristine – not a mark to betray the violent deaths their two owners had suffered. He sighed as he glanced up at the wall behind the pillar, smiling a little at the photograph of his parents in a park, dancing and laughing in their endless loop.

He felt his mouth split into a grin – the same grin he knew he’d inherited from James Potter. They both looked so young. His mother, in her dark coat and hat, with her red hair dancing in the wind as his father spun her about while she grinned. His father, with his wild hair and his Gryffindor scarf around his neck.

It was a sobering thought, that in only a decade, he would be older than either of his parents had been.

He took in another deep breath and turned from the plinth and began his journey further into the crypt. To go lower, one had to open a mahogany door, and then traverse the spiral staircase into the bowels of the cliff.

He had walked this route many times before – sometimes alone, other times with Sirius or Remus, though both had said they felt unwelcome in the bowels of the Potter Crypts. Yet, to Harry, it brought a sense of calm and a peace he couldn’t find anywhere else.

He stepped off the stairs at the familiar landing and shouldered open the heavy door, and once again, the room burst into light. The familiar blue lights of the Magefyre lit the stone effigies up in their dim light, just enough to make out the features.

From having entered the crypts from this side, Harry had entered on the far side to his parents, as their tomb was the closest to the garden entrance, between the tomb of his grandparents and where his own would one day rest.

It was a rather morbid job, he thought – having to prepare your own tomb. He knew that his likeness wouldn’t be taken for many more years yet – no doubt until he was of a similar age, or even older, than his parents, but to see the place where he would be entombed forever? It made everything feel remarkably final.

He walked among the many statues in their alcoves, some holding weapons in their stone hands, or with their familiars by their feet. Others just standing or sitting staring blankly ahead – it was these that he always tried to hurry past if he could.

He made it to the effigies of his parents, both frozen in time from the dancing picture from the hall above. He placed the torch, with its flickering blue flame into the sconce on the wall beside the recess. At his parents’ feet, running along the base of the statue were a number of yellow candles – he’d brought them down when he’d visited at the start of their stay.

It was a strange sort of habit he’d developed, lighting the candles before he’d leave. He supposed a small part of him imagined that as long as the flame remained, he was still there with them, that there was some small link between the living and the dead. It was stupid, he knew that, but it still made the nights easier when they returned to Blackwall each time.

Harry pulled the cloak around him a little tighter as he stood looking up at the statues. They were twice the size of him, and he couldn’t help but smile a little as he gazed upon their stone faces.

What would they say to him, if they were with him? It seemed, the longer time went on, the less his assumptions about his parents were true – was that not the case with his mother? He had assumed she had always known, but Remus had told him otherwise. He had thought his father was the proud Lord Potter, but he’d stopped coming to Arpton years before his death.

He frowned a little and shifted from foot to foot. What did that matter to him? They were his parents, and for the year and a half they had been with him, they had loved him unconditionally. He had lived, while they had not. They had given their lives to protect him – him.

Would it be nice to feel his mother’s fingers run through his hair, to feel her kisses on his brow and her soft, encouraging words? Of course. Did he wish each night that he could hear her tell him how much she loved him? That went without saying. Most of all though, he wished for the comfort he saw the other children got when he’d disembarked from the Hogwarts Express.

He’d seen children, from his fellow first years, to the graduating seventh years, rush to their parents, their mothers sweeping them into their arms, placing gentle kisses over their faces and whispering soft words to them as they checked them over. There were few who knew the absence of a mother, and those that did – they didn’t want to talk about it.

Neville was the only one he could confide in – the two of them sharing a bond that went beyond friendship. They were brothers, and as such, their bond was stronger for it. Never would the other suffer in silence, though there were some things that not even brothers could compare to.

A huff of air shot from his nose as he felt his jaw flex involuntarily. He’d been off balance for a long time now – the year at Hogwarts having done more to shake him than he’d readily admit. The Troll had been the first, but the Mirror of Erised…

He’d recognised the magic as something similar to Arpton, so at least he knew of the origins – but to have shown him everything he could have had, only for it to have been taken away so suddenly. In the months leading to the confrontation with Quirrell, he’d found himself yearning for it, desperate for the relief of slipping back into that dream-like state. He’d fought it with everything he’d had – but who could blame him for what he’d seen?

He’d wanted to hate Hermione that first night when she’d pulled him out of it. He’d lain in bed, his entire body trembling with the need to visit the mirror. If it hadn’t been for Clara, and her tears, he’d have been unable to get any sleep, so violent was the raw need. Despite the soothing balm the tears had provided, he’d felt guilty beyond compare at how exhausted it had made his Phoenix.

He had learned that night, that Phoenix tears utterly exhausted the creatures – particularly if used for healing. There was a reason they were so rare, of course – he’d just never considered it. Seeing her laying on his chest, curled into herself as best she could, with her small chest barely rising and falling had terrified him.

And so, his anger at his bushy-haired friend had evaporated in a single instant, replaced with immediate concern for his companion. He gathered her into his arms, propped himself up as best he could, and held her the whole night. When he’d awoken the following morning to her nudging his cheek, and she had looked like she was back to normal. Taking her down to breakfast in the Great Hall was the least he could have done.

He’d felt his anger rise back up at seeing Hermione, though that had vanished the second she had looked at him. There was something about seeing the smile on his friend’s face, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes and the way her nose would scrunch up a little that utterly disarmed him. It was similar to how he couldn’t ever stay angry with Neville, or with Daphne – but with Hermione…

He sighed, glancing at his father’s face. It looked so similar to what he had seen in the mirror, and yet, so different. There weren’t the lines of age, or the stress of fatherhood on his face – instead, it was youthful and carefree. He was always told how he looked just like his father, but for his mother’s eyes – would he one day look the same way?

He hoped so.

His wand jumped into his hand with a flick of his wrist, the thin piece of Blackthorn wood almost seemingly drinking in the light of the Magefyre, while the Vinewood handle looked like bone against it. Like his father’s, it was eleven-inches – something he could share with the man. “Inflamari.” Harry whispered; his voice far hoarser than he’d expected.

He moved the wand steadily over the candles, the small flames springing to life on each wick. There were twenty-one in total – one for each year they were alive. He breathed in a little deeper then, the action of having lit the candles lifting his melancholy a little.

He stowed his wand away, feeling the slight up-turn of his lips as he wondered what his parents would say to everything that had happened over the course of the year. First, the Troll – then the mirror, and finally Voldemort and Quirrell.

Would they have demanded he learn magic elsewhere? After all, even he knew that the security of Hogwarts had been… underwhelming. He loved it there, he truly did – but who chose a school to hide a priceless gemstone? It baffled him, but then, there were far more experienced and knowledgeable wizards and witches than he.

He liked to think they would have been far prouder of him than worried. After all, he was the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a Century, and he’d even caught the Snitch! Even now, as he closed his eyes, he could hear the roaring of the stands all around him.

Or, would they be prouder of the friends he had made? Harry was not a social person, he thought. He liked his friends few but oh so dear. He was polite, and would hold a conversation with anyone willing, but many didn’t see him as Harry. They saw him as a footnote in history, and a way of pushing headlines.

He’d gone to Hogwarts with only two friends – Neville and Daphne, but had left with two more in Hermione and Tracey. Hermione, he thought, would have been adored by his mother – and her having set Snape on fire would have immediately had his father singing her praises. Tracey, it was harder to say. He liked to think his mother would appreciate her natural curiosity, and of all of his friends, Tracey was the most mischievous – something his Marauder father would enjoy immensely.

His eyes traced the soft smiles on his parent’s stone faces. One day, he’d find a way of introducing his friends to his parents – as morbid as it likely was. He wanted to share them with one another.

Soft footfalls echoed through the chamber – Harry knew who it was, but he made no effort to move.

The soft blue glow greeted him first, and he found his head turning to greet the man before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to leave yet – he needed to stay with them a bit longer. The soft smile on Sirius’s face made him huff out a petulant breath.

“Thought I’d find you here, Prongslet.” Sirius smiled, coming to a stop at his left shoulder as he held the torch up in his left hand – his right wrapped around Harry’s shoulders.

“I’m where I’m supposed to be.” Harry murmured, leaning into the embrace – his whispered reply sounding impossibly loud to his ears in the quiet of the crypt.

“Not for another century, at least. I’ll make sure you have to suffer through old age, even if I have to drag you there kicking and screaming.”

“Want someone to share it with, do you?”

“You’re lucky you know I wouldn’t make you eat those words in front of your parents.” Sirius huffed – squeezing Harry despite his pout.

“Whatever helps keep your pride intact. Wouldn’t want you going before the altar having had your arse kicked by a child – what would Amelia say?” Harry snickered, his shoulders trembling as he tried to hold in his amusem*nt.

“Gods preserve me, you’re definitely James’s son.” Sirius sighed, removing his hand to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose. Harry elbowed him in the side gently, rolling his eyes.

“Is it already time to leave?” He asked after a moment, glancing up at the statues once again. “I don’t want to.”

“I know, but we have to. We’ll return soon, I promise.” Sirius replied, squeezing his shoulder again. Harry glanced over at him and noticed how his eyes were locked on James’s face.

“I think he’d be proud of you, you know?” Harry said after a moment, causing Sirius to blink as he snapped back to reality. “My father – I like to think he’d be proud of the men you and Moony became. Mother would still set you on fire, I think.”

There was a beat of silence as Harry watched Sirius process the words before barking out a laugh. “Moony told you that one, did he?”

“When I was six.” Harry grinned before bending and picking up the sconce he’d brought with him.

“Remind me to kick his arse.” Sirius muttered. Harry rolled his eyes as he moved to follow Sirius out of the room.

“We both know he’d win.” Harry sighed happily, “I remember you specifically telling me it was only Prongs that could get the better of him.”

“And here I thought you were asleep when I told you that.”

Harry paused at the doorway, turning back to look at the statues of his parents and the faint orange glow in the room as the Magefyre died down. From the door, it was impossible to see any but the closest of the statues, but the haze was enough for the general direction.

It felt odd, leaving them down here in the dark. Who would keep them company – tell them of the things he’d done? Absently, he noted that Sirius’s steps had stopped.

“I’m going to miss them.” Harry whispered, his bottom lip trembling. Leaving never got any easier.

“They’ll miss you too, pup.” Sirius answered him, just as softly as a comforting hand squeezed Harry’s shoulder and drew him in close. “But it does no good to linger amongst the dead – lest you forget to live. They’d want you to live, Harry.”

He nodded slowly, and pulled the heavy door shut, giving it a final yank to squeeze it into the stone doorframe. The noise echoed up and down the stone stairwell for a few seconds before the two of them turned to begin their ascent to the surface.

The walk was silent, though they both paused briefly to return the Magefyre torches to their brackets, and when Sirius stepped out into the daylight, Harry’s breath caught in his throat. There, crowding every available space between the doorway and the main doors to the keep, was his entire household – all looking on at him with varying expressions of sadness. Some were silent, while others wept openly.

“What’s this?” He found himself asking as he looked around. He found his attention pulled to Felix and Brandon as they stepped forward from the crowd.

“We wished to say our goodbye’s, my Lord. Many of us have become fond of having you here, and it pains us to see you leave – even if it is only temporary.” Brandon answered, his own face sad, though he did offer a weak smile.

Harry was at a loss for words as he looked around at the sea of faces as they peered at him. “I-“, he began, only for his voice to crack and force him to clear his throat. “I appreciate it – truly, I do. It means more than I can rightly put into words.”

“We know, Lord Potter.” Felix smiled, bowing a little. “Just know we look forward to your return.”

As if by some silent command, the crowd parted before the two of them, and they both walked towards the keep – a solemn silence draped over the castle. The household left them at the doors to the keep, and after traversing their way down to the Ro’rim, they came across Remus and Arlan – who was saddled and had their saddle bags draped over his back.

“Are you ready, Harry?” Remus asked with a sad smile – the regret on his face clear to see.

“Not really, but we should probably get going, I suppose.” Harry sighed, stepping around the horse and man as he reached for his Family Magic, feeling a familiar tingle run through his body – though he was thankful he hadn’t experienced the mist from his eyes again.

He placed his hand on the frame of the mirror and barely flinched as it sprang to life. Like always, the sooner he left, the easier it would become – it was like taking a vile potion to overcome an illness. It was better to pinch your nose and tip your head back than sip at it. He sighed and nodded to the two adults with him as he stepped through the shimmering surface.

They arrived back at Blackwall with little hassle, though the resounding dual cracks of Sirius and Remus’s Apparition startled a number of birds. Remus immediately moved towards the stables with Arlan following just behind him, the clip-clop of his steps gradually fading away as the two disappeared around the corner of the building.

Sirius turned to look at Harry, a small smile on his face. “You did well today, Harry – I know I say this every time we come home, but I really am very proud of you.”

“I know.” He replied softly. He looked up momentarily to see Clara soaring through the air above the estate – he’d gotten her to return the day before. Why force her to return among all the chaos and pandemonium when she could return in peace and just make herself scarce for an hour or two while they got settled?

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder gently before opening the front door. “The Elves will probably be helping-“ Sirius began, only to come to a dead stop as the words died on the tip of his tongue.

Harry, likewise, came to a stunned halt. He knew Arcturus was in Europe for a few days currently, overseeing a number of business matters for House Black, but he’d never expected the house to fall into such disrepair in so short a time.

All over the walls, there were various scorch marks – entire chunks of the wooden floor were missing, and there was even a hole in the ceiling. Immediately, the two of them had their wands in their hands as they looked about the entrance foyer – even the portraits were empty.

“What the-“ Harry muttered under his breath.

The soft thuds of running feet and muffled sounds behind one of the doors had them both pointing their wands at the door. Harry fidgeted a little and narrowed his eyes as the sounds got closer.

The door swung open with a crash, and both he and Sirius drew in sharp breaths to begin their casting, but the sight that greeted them stunned them both more than any spell could have.

A small House Elf in a tatty pillowcase sprinted through the door in pure fear, quickly followed by the House Black Elves, each one with some form of homemade weapon in hand. Lispy was the closest to the intruder and threw herself at the helpless Elf, who’s large green eyes were wide in fear.

Harry watched as Lispy landed on top of the intruder and clambered atop his shoulders – for it was definitely a male Elf – and began whacking him on the head with an iron saucepan from the kitchen. The other elves soon caught up and likewise threw themselves at him.

To his right, Sirius visibly shook himself. “What is going on here?” He demanded, his voice brimming with power.

The Elves all stopped and turned to look at the two of them in genuine surprise as they all collectively blinked – though Lispy, after a moment of silence, decided to get one last hit in on the Elf.

“Master Black, Master Potter – wes be catching a sneaksy Elf!” Woopy cried, looking between the two of them and the Elf in the pillowcase.

“Care to explain why you’ve intruded into our home?” Sirius growled, levelling his wand at the Elf. The Elf’s eyes had remained glued to Harry, and slowly, he lowered himself to his knees – ignoring the protests of Lispy atop his shoulders.

“Harry Potter!” The Elf murmured in a high-pitched voice. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you… Such an honour it is.”

“Thank you – now, why did you break into Blackwall?” Harry repeated, narrowing his gaze at the Elf.

“Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter – to warn him! Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwartsies!”

Chapter 23: Harry XV

Chapter Text

It had been a week since that odd House Elf – Dobby – had warned him against returning to Hogwarts. He still remembered standing there in the entrance to Blackwall in shock as Dobby warned of terrible things, while not really saying much of anything.

Dobby had looked pained throughout it all – though how much of that was from Lispy’s occasional whacks with her saucepan, and how much was the bond he shared with his family was anyone’s guess.

Despite his warning, Dobby had essentially told them nothing. When asked what the threat to his person was, he would clam up and try to hit himself with any nearby object – it had startled him at first, though he’d quickly seen to the end of that, ordering the Black Elves to restrain the Elf.

It had taken time, but the little Elf had eventually been calmed, but yet no further information came forward. They had been forced to make a note of the warning, but without more to go on, they had decided to allow events to play out – what else could they do, after all?

The Elf had left, though not without delivering his warning once more, with a quiet pop, and the Black Elves had thrown themselves at fixing the house. In no time at all, Blackwall was back to its previous appearance, just in time for Arcturus’s return.

That evening had been a tense affair, the warning still fresh in everyone’s mind – Remus had arrived half-way through the fuss with Dobby, and they’d told Arcturus the second he’d returned to Blackwall. To say that the adults in Harry’s life were vexed would have been a gross understatement – in fact, it had reminded him of when he’d regaled them the tale of Quirrell at the end of the year.

Sirius had wanted to pull him from Hogwarts immediately, and it had been one of the few times he had argued with his Godfather. Immediately, all he could think about was the time he would lose with his friends and the lost connection to his parents. Their argument had been loud, and more than a few ancient looking pieces of pottery had exploded when his magic had slipped from his control – such was his panic and his anger at the very thought of leaving the school.

While he enjoyed the professors and the content of the lessons, it was his friends that he most cared for there. He couldn’t imagine not sitting in the Great Hall each morning and not eating breakfast with Neville and Hermione – or pulling faces at Daphne and Tracey when he caught their eye. The thought of not sitting in his little corner in the Common Room, with a thick book on the table before him while Neville and Hermione read their own in companionable silence – or even not seeing Hagrid’s face light up when Clara arrived at Care of Familiars.

For saying that he’d only attended Hogwarts for a year, it had very quickly become a place very dear to his heart, and he couldn’t wait to spend the next six years of his life there and learn all he could. Where else would he get the same education? America? Only four schools jumped out at him – Ilvermorny, Salem, Sunset Rock, and Fort Griffin – all were so far away, he’d lose touch with all of his friends. Europe? There were so many notable schools on the continent, each of them with such varied names and reputations – he couldn’t imagine himself attending Instytut Iloxiths in Poland, or Instituto Fortaleza in Spain.

No – he would be dragged kicking and screaming from Hogwarts.

Sirius had pouted and scowled all through that evening, glaring at the meal before him as if it had personally offended his ancestors. Arcturus had been far more understanding, though his rage had been just as fierce.

As far as Harry was concerned, he was a child of House Black – and he knew Arcturus considered him a grandchild in his own right. None threatened a member of Arcturus’s family. Instead of making inane demands, however, the head of the family had simply sat in his usual seat and quietly stewed over the warning, no doubt going over every variable he could think of.

Remus had played the Devil’s Advocate, pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of both sides of the argument – though for the most part, he had simply tried to calm Sirius down. They had all discussed the warning well into the night, and over the following days, they all calmed somewhat.

Arcturus announcing that Harry would remain at the school had given him such joy, that he had been up and launching himself at Arcturus before he could stop himself. The usually stoic and aloof Patriarch had, in a moment of amusem*nt, allowed his mask to temporarily be set aside as he knelt and returned Harry’s hug just as fiercely.

He had, of course, made Harry promise to be careful and to take his armour with him – just in case. It was, after all, Arcturus who had insisted that they all wore armour in public since the closing of the War – it made sense he would ask Harry to take it with him come September.

In total, it had been a week since their return to Blackwall, and Harry had spent the time triple-checking his summer assignments, celebrating his exam results, riding Arlan and practicing what he’d learned at Arpton – he’d even showed off for Arcturus once or twice, and nothing could stop the swell of his chest at the proud smile on the man’s face.

His assignments had gone well, and Harry found himself changing the occasional paragraph based on little bits of information he’d learned while at Arpton. The biggest example for this had been the Charms essay Professor Flitwick had assigned them – Charms and an exploration of everyday uses. He had learned so much from just watching the people of Arpton going about their business – like how the Blacksmith, Aron Cattell, used charmed hammers on some of his pieces, depending on if he needed an extra pair of hands – or even how the carts would unload themselves. He’d also made sure to word it in such a way that it couldn’t be linked to Arpton, of course.

He’d had Remus check his changes over, of course, and after a further few alterations – mostly drawing examples to a modern home and even making a passing reference to Elf magic, he’d deemed it acceptable.

After that, he’d had his exam results delivered. He’d been proud to see so many O’s on the parchment – though he hadn’t been able to hide his annoyance at seeing the three A’s in Potions, Astronomy and History of Magic. Sirius, ever the proud parent, had forgotten his annoyance for the time being, and had loudly celebrated Harry’s achievement – often remarking his intelligence was definitely down to Lily, rather than James.

Arlan was more than happy to race about the estate in exchange for a bag of oats – Harry realised that the animals in his life, more often than not, required bribes to do thing that other animals just did. Clara, in exchange for delivering a letter, required Auroch meat and a new perch. Hedwig had a weakness for bacon – the crispier the better, and Arlan was a sucker for hulled oats. Though, if Harry were honest with himself, he couldn’t help but think the Stallion had been spoiled rotten by Arpton’s Stablemaster.

During all of this, of course, he’d spent time with Hedwig and Clara – the two birds, for once, sharing his attention calmly. Though, as he’d eyed Clara on her perch, he couldn’t help but think it was the thought of her new perch that was keeping her well behaved.

He’d flown with the two of them, using his Nimbus to join them in their playful flight – something he couldn’t help but wonder if Clara had missed during their tenure at the castle. He’d resolved to make a point of spending time at the Quidditch Pitch with the Phoenix during the next year. When Harry had approached the Snowy Owl with a stack of letters, the bird had hopped up and down excitedly and held her foot out. With a laugh, he had told her who to deliver the letters to, and she had been off not a moment later.

It had taken a little over a day for her to return with replies, and Harry had revelled in each and every one.

Tracey’s letter had been the first he had opened – she’d spent the last three weeks visiting Muggle and Magical Zoos around Britain, marvelling at all of the animals. She’d then gone on to say how it hurt to see them all locked up, even if it was for the visitors’ safety, as well as the animals. Her favourite creature, by far, had been the Dragon housed in the Welsh National Zoo a few miles outside of Cardiff. Apparently, it was two-hundred-and-sixty-three years old and was huge – it only being manageable for the zoo because of a shredded wing-membrane. Harry felt terrible for the Dragon at that. How must it feel, to be born to fly, only to know you’d never be able to soar again?

Daphne’s letter had followed Tracey’s. Apparently, she had been driven beyond madness by her younger sister, Astoria, and her excitement for the Black wedding on the thirteenth. The thought of Astoria bouncing off the walls in excitement was more than enough to get him chuckling. He simply couldn’t wait for the girl to join them at Hogwarts next year. According to Daphne’s letter, Astoria had caused even more mayhem by imprinting on a young fox but the letter neglected to explain any further.

Neville, as always, had spent the time in his Greenhouses, managing his collection. He had even added a number of new specimens to his collection, including a Venomous Tentacular which attempted to kill anything around it. There were days when he seriously questioned Neville’s mental faculties – who’d want a plant that could kill you because you like the fact it smells like lemon? Neville had also written to tell him how excited he was that he’d found some of the original foundations of Long Valley Keep, but he didn’t say what he’d found.

Hermione’s letter had been the last one, telling him of the last week of her trip to Barcelona and how she’d visited the Magical District there and been utterly enthralled at the products available. She had gone on to mention once again how thankful she was at being able to attend Sirius’s wedding, and had made sure to check he had done all of his homework. She’d gloated briefly that she’d scored straight O’s except for Potions – he’d rolled his eyes at that.

The week after their return to Blackwall had passed quickly and led Harry to his current quandary – trying to weasel his way out of meeting with House Weasley. As it was, both Sirius and he were walking up a lane toward a large Estate House near Farway – it was hidden the trees in a small woodland, invisible to the naked eye unless one knew where to look.

On either side of the lane, tall English Oaks lined the path, their thick, arching canopies providing the blissful shade he yearned for in his leather gambeson. The metal gorget around his neck felt hot to the touch, even though they’d only been in the sun for a matter of minutes – even the sword on his hip was hot.

“Relax – you’re making me nervous.” Sirius chuckled, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled as his foot caught a large stone and kicked it a few metres ahead by accident making him wince.

“You remind me of myself when Arcturus brought my father and I along to a business meeting when I was young.” Sirius smiled, breathing deeply. “I think I’d have just met your father by then.”

“Did he ever do anything like this?” Harry asked, resting his left hand on the pommel of the blade as they walked. As they stepped into a small section of the path that lacked any shade, he was suddenly thankful he hadn’t been stupid enough to wear his cloak in the middle of August.

Harry felt the familiar tingle across his skin as they passed the Wards and he couldn’t suppress the light shiver that ran up his spine. Wards always felt different, no matter where one went. At Blackwall, the Wards were fierce and imposing. Long Valley Keep, they were cold enough to make your teeth chatter, and the Greengrass family had Wards that felt like the build-up to a storm. Merlin, even Hogwarts had its own particular feel – ancient and reliable – they instantly made one feel safe, which was the complete opposite of Rosestone, which felt dangerous. Always there, prowling in the back of your mind, waiting and watching.

The Weasley Wards, in comparison, to all others he’d experienced over the years, felt like it was some odd sort of patchwork barrier. He closed his eyes briefly and allowed his magic to skim the Wards – a gentle caress, really – and marvelled at just how shoddy it felt. The Wards of The Den, the name of the ancestral seat of House Weasley, seemed completely at odds with itself and felt unbelievably weak.

“Once or twice, I’m sure – not so much in his later years.” Sirius shrugged when Harry turned to look at him. “The war was escalating – less opportunities to sit down and lay out business plans.”

“I’ll bet.” Harry snorted, eying Sirius’s smirk.

The two continued up the path, and the house became more and more noticeable. Upon closer inspection, many of the threadbare curtains on the large, dirty windows were drawn shut and looked positively ancient. The outer walls were covered in thick ivy, and the once white paint was stained with greens and browns.

This was the Weasley home? He knew they were barely holding onto their title, but to actually see it was something else entirely. How long had they been in such a poor way?

The gravel beneath their boots crunched and shifted as they made their way to the front door, which opened to reveal Thomas Weasley – his thinning red hair wild and the slight swell of his belly pushing the robes at his stomach out just slightly. Harry had seen the man at the July session of the Wizengamot and had thought him a little disappointing, and, upon experiencing the man up close, nearly had him wrinkling his nose.

He was older than he’d thought – perhaps of an age similar to Arcturus. His features showed some of the handsome man he had

“Heir Black, Lord Potter – welcome to The Den!” Thomas greeted them, bowing a little at the waist with a jovial smile. Harry and Sirius bowed in response, as was custom. “Come inside and we’ll see to Guest Right and get down to business, shall we?”

Harry glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye and relaxed slightly as he saw the reassuring nod. The two of them followed Thomas Weasley through the door, though Harry lagged a step behind Sirius as his eyes scanned the entrance foyer.

The foyer was dark, and many pieces of furniture were covered with white sheets. Portraits of dozens of red-haired Weasley ancestors looked down upon him as they whispered amongst themselves curiously. The small clatter of a tray drew his gaze to Lord Weasley, who was busy placing a few chunks of bread and a pot of honey on it. The man turned with a small smile and offered them both a small smile.

Sirius took the first chunk, dipping it generously in the golden honey before tossing it into his mouth. Harry followed, an absent part of his mind noting that they’d been offered a seeded bread. He dipped the chunk into the honey and found his mouth already watering at the sight of the sweet nectar.

The bread was fresh, still fresh from the oven, and the honey gave him that joy that could only be found in sweet foods. He chewed slowly, savouring the flavour as he watched Thomas partake. Guest Right was a sacred rite, of course, and had to be done properly – it was the next part he wasn’t particularly looking forward to.

Still chewing, Thomas spun on his heel and hurried back to the small table where he deposited the tray gently while sweeping up a large goblet. With a grimace, Harry watched as Thomas took a quick pull and swallowed quickly before offering it to Sirius. Who, like the Weasley Lord, swallowed a mouthful of the liquid before passing it on to Harry.

Harry tried to keep his face impassive as the wine touched his tongue, but he couldn’t help his facial muscles scrunching up on reflex – how anyone enjoyed wine, even the sweet, obviously homemade, applejack he’d just swallowed, was utterly beyond him.

Both Lord Weasley and Sirius chuckled at his reaction as he handed the goblet back to their host. Harry had been through the exchanging of Guest Right a number of times over the years – most notably the first times he’d visited Neville and Daphne in their own homes.

With the goblet placed back on the small table, Harry and Sirius followed the Lord through his unusually quiet house and into one of the rooms off to the side of the foyer, to a small family room with a trio of comfortable looking chairs around a small table.

Thomas sat first, letting out a small sigh as he gestured for the two of them to take their own seats with a polite smile. “Now, My Lords, I confess I was rather surprised when I received a request for a meeting with not just House Black, but House Potter also.” Thomas began, looking between the two of them.

“We understand that House Weasley generates most of its income from farming and foodstuffs, correct?” Sirius began, reaching into a pouch on his belt and pulling out a folded piece of parchment.

“That is correct, aye.” Thomas answered slowly. “Though the harvests for the last few generations have been abysmal.”

“We’re aware, Lord Weasley. I assume you’re aware of the large debts owed to both of our Houses?”

Harry watched as Thomas blinked before sitting up a little straighter in his chair, his throat bobbing ever so slightly as he attempted to formulate words. “I was, though I’d hoped-“

“You hoped what, exactly? Surely you didn’t think we would ignore the sums of money owed our Houses?” Sirius interrupted as he crossed his legs casually. Harry, despite his silence, found himself fidgeting in his seat slightly as his fingers lightly drew light patterns on the arm of his chair.

“No, of course not My Lord – I would never!” Lord Weasley said quickly as he leaned forward, his face flushing. “But I am in an unfortunate position, my Lords – I cannot give you what I do not have. House Weasley is falling each year, and I don’t know if I can stop it.”

“Have you gone to the Goblins?” Sirius asked, while Harry darted his eyes back and forth between the two men at the table.

“Many times, but if I were to begin liquidising assets, House Weasley would have nothing – lands, titles, standing, finances – it would all be gone.” Thomas sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily.

The three were quiet for a time, Harry and Sirius watching Thomas worry at his forehead as he muttered under his breath. Harry took the time to glance around the room, noting the faded materials and the threadbare carpet beneath his boots. Even the chair he was sat in squeaked with every movement he made.

“My Lord,” Harry began after a moment, his eyes continuing to dart around the room. “Where is your family? I’d have expected your Heir to be with us.”

Thomas snorted and leaned back in his chair as he slowly rubbed a finger in the corner of his eye. “I have no wife and children, Lord Potter. My younger brother, Arthur, is my heir. My family were killed along with my other brother, Jack, in the last war.”

“I’m sorry, I-“ Harry began as his eyes widened, realising his blunder.

Thomas waved him off with a quiet chuckle. “No harm done, Lord Potter – you couldn’t have known, we didn’t, and don’t, make a ceremony of it, and it was a long time ago.”

“Still, I must apologise, Lord Weasley.” Harry replied placing his hand over his heart.

Thomas inclined his head with a slight smile.

“As much as I dislike having to move the conversation back to our original point of discussion, but House Black and House Potter must leave this meeting with some form of repayment for the debts owed.” Sirius sighed, placing the parchment on the table, and unfolding it.

Harry knew what the parchment said – he’d read it over three times just that morning at breakfast. It was an old contract drawn up between the three families dated over a century ago. House Weasley had taken out a loan from the two families for half a million Galleons each, and each time the debt had been due, an arrangement had been agreed upon to extend the date – that final date had come, and it couldn’t be extended any further. The Goblins had seen to that.

Thomas sighed once again as his eyes darted back and forth across the page. Sirius had told Harry earlier that very day just how poor House Weasley was, and a small part of him felt genuine pity for the House – after all, he went to school with four of the Weasleys and shared a Common Room with them.

Ron had been, well, Ron – and despite the decent conversation’s he’d had with the boy during the Christmas break, he’d had less and less opportunity to speak to him since the whole incident with the mirror at the start of the year.

The twins were always a delight – they reminded him of Sirius and Remus, though increased ten-fold. The Marauders had often been subtle in their pranks and school adventures – the twins had no such tendencies and revelled in the chaos wherever they went. It was little wonder that the two of them were both Beaters for the House Team.

Percy was the one of the four he’d had the least interaction with. Despite being a newly minted Prefect during Harry’s first year, the boy had been aloof and distant from the rest of Gryffindor – perhaps it was the seriousness with which he held himself. He was sure the boy was friendly upon getting to know him, but Harry wouldn’t hold his breath.

“This will ruin my House, you realise?” Thomas muttered, looking up at the two of them.

“What if it didn’t?” Harry asked after a moment, frowning a little as an idea formed in his mind.

“Excuse me?”

“House Potter won’t feel the loss of the money owed – at least not unless something disastrous were to happen.” Harry began, shifting slightly at the sight of both adults staring at him. “Lord Black, as my Godfather, can arrange on House Potter’s behalf for a new contract to be drafted with Gringotts, in which you pay the debt owed back in small amounts over a set period of time – a debt that can be lessened by the acquisition of some land.”

Lord Weasley frowned, glancing between the two of them. “And which piece of land would you want in this proposal?”

“What about the land that has the Lovegoods on it?” Sirius interjected with pursed lips. “House Lovegood is a Potter Vassal and their lands are in Wales – it would make sense to acquire their land.”

Harry nodded and turned to look at the Lord before them. Thomas’s face was scrunched up in thought as he rubbed at the stubble on his jaw – the light scratching sound the only noise in the room. “Depending on the amount you would wish for, this could work. This still leaves me with the debt to House Black, however.”

“What if House Potter and House Black took Wards from your own House? They could work for our Houses to pay off a chunk of this debt while you continue paying off your share?” Harry suggested, looking between the two adults. “Fred and George Weasley would be my suggestion.”

He watched as Sirius rubbed at his jaw and nodded slowly. Thomas, however, was shaking his head slowly. “While I appreciate your offer, Lord Potter – I cannot have a member of my family serving beneath a child in the way you propose, no offence meant Lord Potter.”

“None taken, Lord Weasley.” Harry replied before Sirius could.

“House Black would take them both. For the coming years, they would remain at home – House Black would see to their schooling and any costs of living, of course. When they graduate, they would work for House Black until their portion of the debt has been paid. Would you find this acceptable?” Sirius suggested after a long moment, shifting in his seat.

The Lord Weasley was quiet for a time as he looked between the two of them, and Harry felt his gaze keenly. For saying that he had held a disappointing first impression outside of the Wizengamot, he began to realise the full weight of the man before him.

No longer was Thomas Weasley the slightly overweight, balding man in old, threadbare robes – instead, he was the Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House, even if it was falling into ruin. Harry shifted a little uncomfortably.

“This is acceptable. I assume I should expect your lawyers within the next few days?” Thomas asked, raising a single brow as his eyes darted back and forth. Both Sirius and he nodded.

As Thomas began to rise, Harry held out his hand as he leaned forward. “My Lord, if you don’t mind me asking – is there anything House Potter can do to help?” He asked, glancing briefly at Sirius. He’d expected to see some sort of confusion on his Godfather’s face, but the blatant amusem*nt almost made him grin.

“To what end?” Lord Weasley warily asked after a pause.

“Nothing underhanded – nothing that would even cause your House to owe mine. I know the Weasley’s at Hogwarts, my Lord, and they are all fine young wizards you would be proud of.” Thomas smiled at that. “I simply wish to improve their lives, if I can.”

“It’s a commendable wish, Lord Potter.”

“What about the rumours of your lands being cursed?” Sirius asked with a shrug. “We could hire a team of Curse Breakers to sweep your lands and remove whatever they find. I also hear Arthur’s home is in need of some work.”

“Aye, Arthur’s home is… unique in its design.” Thomas chuckled before he sighed, looking at the two of them. “I’m not so proud as my ancestors, my Lords – if you offer your help, I won’t turn it down.”

“Excellent – you should no doubt expect the first team within the week, in that case.” Sirius grinned, holding his hand out to the Lord Weasley, who shook it heartily. After a second, they released one another, and Harry offered his own hand. This close to the man across the table from him, and Harry could see the unshed tears in the man’s eyes, and Harry felt something swell in his chest as he stood a little taller.

“Thank you, Lord Potter.” Thomas murmured happily, his smiling face looking down at him.

Sometimes, Harry thought, the world would be such a better place if only people took the time out of their lives to help those they could. What a world that would be.

Harry stood in the entrance foyer of Blackwall alongside Sirius and Arcturus – Remus was outside at the back of the manor, ready to direct the guests to their seats, and Amelia was upstairs with Susan, the two of them wouldn’t be venturing outside of their room until Sirius was chained to the altar – he’d assumed that one had been a joke, but, as he looked at the man next to him, trembling with nervous energy, he began debating his initial assumption.

The last few days at Blackwall had been hectic and had passed in a bit of a blur. As a child, he was forbidden from helping with the decorations – Lispy had threatened him with her pan if he even thought about helping the Elves, and Harry simply didn’t know the spells to assist any of the adults.

Instead, he’d watched from afar with Hedwig and Clara, as the dozens of artisans that Arcturus had hired swept through the grounds. Six florists alone had turned up, each one casting spell after spell on red roses, tulips, carnations, orchids, and peonies to create large, beautiful archways for the guests and the newlywed couple to walk through.

Many of them were in the gardens, along with the large, open tent that Arcturus had erected all on his own – Harry had thought at least three or four wizards would have been needed at least.

He’d watched as the Elves prepared dish after dish, popping around the kitchen and the tent as they arranged the feast and set the places at each of the hundred tables that had been arranged. As a wedding between Noble Houses, there was a certain level of extravagance that was expected, as well as a certain length of the guest list.

Harry, whether it was his own lack of understanding or his relative immaturity among his elders, couldn’t help but think that a large wedding, with guests you barely knew, was utterly pointless. Why should he care if some high-ranking member of the Ministry he’d never met congratulated him? As far as he was concerned, a wedding was simply between those involved and those they cared about.

Perhaps that had been why his father had kept his family from his mother? Maybe his father had just wished to live in obscurity. It was a strange thought – he couldn’t imagine his life without knowing all those at Arpton he had come to care for, or for the lands of his that families lived on. It seemed that, with every answerable question about his family and its history, there were a dozen more that simply couldn’t be answered.

He glanced to his left and co*cked a brow at Sirius with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Nervous?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sirius replied, not bothering to look at him. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes as he pursed his lips a little.

“Oh, I’m sure.” He chuckled, hearing the tell-tale crack of the first guests arriving just beyond the front door. Just as the door began to creak open, he felt the back-handed gentle slap to his shoulder and barely managed to contain the snicker.

He caught sight of the first guests and knew them simply from the sigils on their doublets and dresses – it was House Newt, House Black’s principal Bannermen in England, so it was expected that they would be the first to arrive.

Lord Jacob Newt was a tall, broad shouldered man with sandy hair that was cropped close to his scalp. His robes were of fine quality with the deep maroon associated with House Newt. His wife, Lady Melissa Newt was clad in a fine dress with a square neckline and her auburn hair in an elaborate up-do.

The two of them greeted Arcturus first, as was custom, then Sirius, and finally himself. He’d had some passing interaction with them both over the years, but nothing substantial. After all, they were Vassals to House Black, not to House Potter – though technically, because Arcturus and Sirius had sworn to him, they were Vassals to him also. Not that he ever made a point of mentioning it – he was barely comfortable having Vassals of his own.

As time went on, more and more guests began to arrive – House Malfoy were invited due to the marriage of Narcissa and Lucius, and despite both of their stations being lower than his own, politically, martially, and financially, they both still found a way to somehow peer down their noses at him. Draco was a little better, openly curling his top lip as he went about introductions.

He’d had little to do with Draco Malfoy over their first year at school, though from what he’d observed of the boy, Harry found him to be dull, arrogant and rude – though he did show signs of having a keen mind when he wanted to apply himself. Daphne had told them all that Malfoy paraded around the Slytherin Common Room as if he owned the place.

House Longbottom was the first to arrive out of his friends, and Harry could see Neville physically forcing himself to contain his excitement as he trembled almost as much as Sirius did – the similarities making him grin openly. When his best friend came to stand before him, however, he was surprised at the difference in him after only a month of not seeing him.

Neville was taller and a little broader now, and his cheeks looked less chubby. He was beginning to look like the man Harry remembered from the mirror – even his clothes were beginning to resemble it. Instead of the usual doublet, Neville wore a long-sleeved brown tunic that was cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt that had an intricate carving of the bear of House Longbottom with little tufts of fur sticking up along the bottom and top of it.

“Do you like it?” Neville grinned, glancing down at his stomach. “Found it in one of the vaults under the old tower – you know, the one that leans a little?”

Harry nodded and allowed his eyes to glance at the twin sapphires that acted as the eyes for the roaring beast. “I know the one – it suits you, Longbottom.”

“Aye, I think so too – Gran said I looked a fool playing dress-up, but I like it. Might take it with me back to Hogwarts.”

Harry snorted, picturing Neville walking around the school with the belt as part of his uniform. “You’d strike fear into the hearts of the first years – no doubt about that.”

It was at that moment that Augusta Longbottom appeared at Neville’s shoulder and directed her stern gaze upon him – Neville, for what it was worth, simply grinned at the woman and shrugged his shoulders as she began to lead him away, throwing a subtle, rude gesture towards him when Harry’s chuckles reached his ears.

Harry had barely been able to suppress his revulsion when he watched the ancient Lord Dondarrion enter the building, and his shoulders had immediately tensed, and his fists clenched. The man had shuffled along the line, offering a short thanks for the invitation and exchanging the expected pleasantries.

He’d felt sick to his stomach when he’d clasped hands with the liver-spotted man, whose politics and views on the world were almost as old as he was – once the man had shuffled off, he’d wiped his hand furiously against the leg of his trousers.

The Weasley’s arrival had been a surprise, to be sure. Thomas had strode through the door looking a decade younger – his eyes bright and his smile wide as he eagerly shook hands with them all, lingering with Sirius and Harry particularly before he introduced his two companions. His brother and heir, Arthur Weasley, and his wife Molly Weasley neé Prewitt.

Arthur Weasley looked similar to his older brother, other than the full head of hair. He appeared jovial and seemed to always have a small smile on his face – he greeted Sirius as an old friend, which he was shocked to see Sirius respond in kind. He was dressed similar to Thomas, in that they both wore an odd combination of traditional wizard robes and Muggle suits – he was sure they would have looked quite good, if not for the odd colour combinations. Navy robes and emerald waistcoats had no business being worn together.

If Arthur was a soft-spoken man, his wife Molly was boisterous in comparison. Her voice was somewhere between motherly and shrill in her excitement, and she beamed at all three of them – him in particular when it was his turn to exchange pleasantries.

For a moment he was absolutely stunned when, instead of simply offering her hand like the other ladies had, she swept him into a tight hug before pulling back and fussing with the few strands of hair that had come loose from the knot at the back of his head.

“Oh Harry, dear – look how you’ve grown up!” Molly began, patting his cheeks affectionately.

He blinked and looked to Sirius, who looked positively thrilled – the bastard.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” He managed after a moment as his brain attempted to catch up to the rest of the world.

“Oh, you wouldn’t remember me, I’m sure! Why, you were such a small thing – you and Ron got on like a Pixies in a China Shop when Lily introduced you to us all.”

Harry blinked again as he lightly shook his head. “You knew my mother?”

“Of course, dear! We were all in the-“

“Molly, we’d best go get our seats.” Arthur said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry frowned a little, feeling a bit annoyed at having been so close to a little more information on the woman that had been Lily Potter.

Molly glanced up at Arthur, a wide smile on her face as she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before turning to look at Harry. “You simply must visit The Burrow, Harry – it would do Ron some good to see a friend.”

Instead of simply correcting her, as he was not friends with Ronald Weasley – they were acquaintances at best, really – he simply smiled and bowed his head a little. It was a trick Sirius had taught him a few years ago: Agree without agreeing.

The next dozen families passed without any incident – though he had been introduced to a number of daughters. Some had been older than him by a decade, while others looked to have only just learned how to walk. He understood that many houses would leap at the opportunity to tie their house to his own, but he had no interest in marrying for political reasons.

When he married, it would be like Sirius – marrying for love above all else. He knew Sirius had been thrown in at the deep end by Arcturus arranging the betrothal, but Sirius had genuinely cared for the woman before the whole thing. That he had tried to distance himself from her over the years after the disaster of his parent’s death was an unfortunate result of Sirius’s own stubbornness.

For they loved one another – it was clear as day to any that truly knew them. Merlin, he was old enough – and having been raised by the two remaining Marauders – to understand the glances that the two gave one another in the Atrium of the Ministry of all places in the July Wizengamot.

So, as per the first rule of being a Marauder – Never co*ck-block a fellow Marauder – he had found a good excuse to leave the two adults to it. The fact the adults hadn’t reappeared until the evening meal, both sporting distant grins and tousled hair spoke wonders for their relationship. He truly wished them all the happiness in the world.

The arrival of House Greengrass, was, of course, the arrival of chaos. Castor was the first through the door – tall, proud and dressed impeccably in a fine, dark doublet with the Stallion of House Greengrass emblazoned across his chest. Next to him was the beautiful Thalia, looking utterly bewitching in her dark emerald dress.

Following quickly behind the pair was Daphne, with all the poise and elegance of a Lady, and his personal favourite – little Astoria. He grinned as she spotted him, and subtly attempted to brace himself as he watched Astoria grin cheekily before she sprinted at him.

She collided with his chest with all the force of a dragon, briefly knocking the wind from his lungs as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her hair was piled atop her head with small emeralds woven through her dark tresses, and he leaned back to look down upon her.

Her cheek was squashed adorably against his chest and after a moment she leaned back and grinned cheekily up at him – not that any grin of Astoria’s wasn’t cheeky in the first place.

“Harry!” She squeaked, before crushing him in another hug. He chuckled and winced a little at the force she was putting on his ribs but placed a gentle kiss to the top of her head all the same.

“’Storia,” He grinned. “Excited to see me?”

She rolled her eyes as she pulled back and straightened her dress – something told him that she’d had to be forced into it. “Of course – you’re my favourite! Why’d you have to go to school – it’s been boring without you.”

“I’m sorry – we’ll go on an adventure as soon as I can, alright?”

“Promise?” She asked quietly, her blue eyes wide as they blinked up at him. Damn her – she knew exactly how to get him – not that he had any intention of not spending time with his favourite Greengrass.

“I solemnly swear.” He winked, hearing the quiet snort from Sirius at his side. “Now, have you been behaving?”

“Yep!” She replied quickly – a little too quickly if he were honest with himself.

“Don’t let her fool you, she’d been driving us all insane.” Daphne muttered, just loud enough to be heard as the rest of the family approached.

“Castor – good to see you.” Arcturus smiled, shaking the man’s hand firmly. The two were old friends and business associates – House Black and House Greengrass had a number of trade agreements between the two of them, and all seemed to be ticking along wonderfully.

“Arcturus – always a pleasure.” Castor replied, his short beard not quite long enough to hide the lopsided smile, and for a moment, Harry realised exactly where Daphne got hers from. “I believe congratulations are in order, Sirius – I hear there’s a wedding.”

“There is? First I’ve heard of it.” Sirius replied before offering his hand to the man as the two of them chuckled.

When it came to Harry, Castor’s eyes briefly hardened. “Ah, Harry – the corruptor of my daughter.”

“I assure you, my Lord – Daphne was more than corrupted by the time I met her.” Harry grinned nervously, and the snicker he heard from Sirius almost tempted him to swing a boot in his direction.

“The other one.” Castor huffed, eyeing little Astoria, who was still wrapped around Harry’s arm and looked rather sheepish in that moment. Harry barely repressed a groan as he glanced down at her.

“Merlin, what did she do? If she broke something, I’ll be more than happy to replace it, my Lord.”

“She found herself a Familiar.” Castor sighed, co*cking a brow at his daughter, who giggled a little as her dress shifted around her feet. Harry frowned and looked closer – something was moving under her dress. “I see she even managed to hide it when we Apparated.” He paused and looked at Arcturus, who appeared more bemused than anything. “You have my apologies, Lord Black.”

“No apologies needed, Castor – we all know of Astoria’s adventurous side, after all.”

Daphne snorted.

“What did you bond to, Astoria?” Harry asked with a small amount of dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach.

“His name is Piper, and he’s really well behaved – I trained him myself!” Astoria began, her eyes wide and darting among all of the adults.

“Well, isn’t that a ringing endorsem*nt.” Daphne muttered, and Gods, he tried not to snicker – but he just couldn’t help himself.

“He can fetch things, and he can sit – playing dead is his favourite! I feed him, and I’m going to teach him to do tricks too!” Astoria continued in her ramble, as if she hadn’t heard her sister, as she began to fiddle with her fingers. “Piper, come out.” She said after a moment, looking down at her dress.

There was a quiet rustle of fabric before a small head wormed its way under the hem of her skirt as a small black nose timidly appeared, followed by the most gorgeous molten orange eyes Harry had ever seen. It was a little baby fox. Its colouration was breath-taking. Its fur was pure black, but for the streaks of orange fur that ran down its body.

Astoria bent down to pluck the kit up from the floor, its mouth drooping open as its tongue hung lazily out the side of its mouth as it gazed up at its witch. “This is Piper – I found him on the grounds at home.”

“And your father told you to leave it well enough alone.” Thalia added, though her voice was full of amusem*nt, while Castor simply rubbed at his temples. “So, naturally, you bonded with it.” She added, winking down at her youngest daughter.

“Please don’t send him home, Lord Black – he’ll behave, I promise!” Astoria pleaded as Piper reached up with a paw to swat at a strand of hair that framed Astoria’s face. Harry noticed for the first time that his tail was completely black, with a white tip.

“It’s fine with me, Astoria – but you need to make sure he behaves, you hear? No biting the other guests – either of you.” Arcturus chuckled, co*cking a brow at the small girl, who blushed for a brief moment. Harry found himself chuckling a little, remembering Astoria when she was younger – he had no idea that toddlers went through a biting phase.

Astoria gave a small cheer before placing Piper back on his feet as she skipped further into the house, the rest of her family scrambling to catch up – though Daphne lingered a moment and levelled her gaze at him. “This is your fault, Potter.” She muttered, narrowing her eyes at him.

Harry, because he considered himself of the sensible sort, simply swallowed and took a minute step backwards. The last time Daphne had pinned him with that look, he’d found himself limping for a week. With a huff, Daphne swept past him as Arcturus and Sirius simply looked on amused.

“Not a word.” Harry muttered, glaring at the two men, who were admittedly making a valiant effort to stifle their amusem*nt.

The next family to arrive were the Davis’s – Tracey’s family. They arrived with a small crack, and the ordinary looking family was clearly in awe as they stepped into the foyer. He knew, of course, that Tracey’s family weren’t related to any of the old families.

Tracey’s parents were exactly as he remembered them – both dark of hair and brown-eyed with fair complexions. Her father, a Muggle-Born, was dressed in a fine-fitting suit that appeared well tailored, while her mother, a Half-Blood herself, was dressed in an elegant dark dress that left her shoulders bare and hugged her figure well. On reflex, he elbowed Sirius in the side, making sure he was paying attention.

“Remember who’s getting married, Padfoot.” He muttered out of the corner of his mouth, not needing to look to know the man would be rolling his eyes.

When it came to his own formal introductions, he grinned at Tracey and let her know the others, except Hermione, had already arrived and that she’d be sat with them. Tracey had let out the briefest of squeals and wrapped him in a quick hug, momentarily stunning him.

Awkwardly, he patted her back, before her parents led her further into the house. He found himself once more going through the motions of greeting the guests that arrived – mostly Lords, Ladies and their heirs, and before long, the faces began to blur into one another.

When the ball of flame appeared in the foyer, Harry couldn’t help but grin at the stunned expressions on the elder Granger’s faces – Hermione, who he knew had experienced the method of travel before, looked less stunned.

Clara, as he had expected, preened under the attention Hermione briefly gave her as thanks before disappearing in another ball of flame, which thankfully did nothing to damage the wooden floor.

“That was-“ John began, breathless as he looked around wide-eyed.

“It was.” Jean murmured, though it was still loud enough for Harry to hear.

Jean, Harry noticed, was clad in a long, flowing black dress with a square neck and was held up by two thin straps over her shoulders. Her hair was loose, though the sides were braided at the back of her head while the rest fell in elegant ringlets between her shoulder blades.

Her husband, John, had his wild, dark hair tamed – somehow – and was dressed in a nice, light grey suit with a white shirt and black tie. The slight stubble on his face gave him a rugged appearance that worked well for him, and his hazel eyes were wide as they swept the foyer before landing on the three of them. He cleared his throat and approached Arcturus first, his hand outstretched and a friendly smile on his face.

Hermione had told Harry plenty about her parents over their time at Hogwarts, and he feared what John and Sirius would get up to if left unattended for an extended period of time. Her father was a jokester, and though he could be stern and professional, he preferred to have a smile on his face and a joke on his tongue. It was what had apparently endeared him to her mother so much – Harry found it remarkably sweet, and to a degree, could relate with his own parents.

“Lord Black, we’re so thankful you extended an invitation towards my family – we don’t get much opportunity to share Hermione’s world.” John said, clasping Arcturus’s hand and giving it a firm shake.

Arcturus simply bowed his head a little. “The House of Black welcomes you to our home, and we’re pleased that you could make it.”

When Jean approached Arcturus, Harry watched as she dipped in a little curtsey, and had to stifle a quiet chuckle at how nervous the two adult Granger’s appeared to be. He couldn’t blame them – they were in a foreign environment and were trying to adapt as best they could.

Not a moment later, John was standing before him with a wide grin on his face. Harry was suddenly nervous as to what he’d spoken to Sirius about – he knew mischief when he saw it – he’d been raised a Marauder, after all, even if he rarely let that side of him out to play.

“Harry – a real pleasure to see you again!” John beamed, holding his hand out. Harry took it, and for a brief moment was surprised at the grip of the man before him. After a moment, John lowered his head and whispered in Harry’s ear. “I’m so thankful you became friends with my little girl, Harry – it’s all we ever wanted for her.”

“The honour is all mine, John – it’s truly a pleasure to know her.” He replied honestly. It was true – Hermione challenged him academically and pushed him to be better than he was. She was a loyal friend, and in the short time he’d known her, he had come to regard her in the same way as Neville and Daphne.

John stood back to his full height and clapped Harry on the shoulder just before Jean came to stand before him. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Harry – I know we didn’t get long to say hello at Kings Cross.”

“Jean – a pleasure to see you again. All the Ladies here tonight will surely be jealous of you.” Harry replied, channelling his inner Sirius as he bowed and kissed the back of her hand as was expected of him.

He found himself grinning as he stood once again, as he watched Jean nudge John in the side with her free elbow. “He never disappoints, John – you should take some lessons.”

“Should I be worried you’d steal my wife out from under my nose, Harry?” John winked down at him.

“Oh, I would never dream of it, John – I’m not nearly brave enough.” Harry replied cheekily as the adults laughed.

“Hello Harry.” Hermione greeted him as she came to stand before him – he briefly registered Arcturus and Sirius bowing and saying a few quiet words before they disappeared.

Harry blinked for a moment, almost not recognising the girl before him. Her hair was braided into a crown around the back of her head, while her hair fell in waves down her back. Her shoulders were bare, except for the two thin straps of silk that held up the body of the Gryffindor Red dress – it even had small golden lions woven into it.

“Hermione – you look wonderful.” He replied, smiling widely as he bent and kissed the back of her hand. “The sun in Spain obviously agrees with you.” He added, noting the bronze tan.

As he looked back up at Hermione, her cheeks were a little pink as she fiddled with her fingers absently. “Thank you.” She murmured quietly, her chocolate eyes taking his outfit in. “You look quite nice yourself.”

“Thank you.” He replied, briefly glancing down at the dark doublet he wore, and the wolf emblazoned on his chest. It reached to his mid-thigh and split up the side, allowing him ease of movement while a long leather belt cinched it at the waist, the wolf of his house dotted evenly along its length.

Harry turned and looked at his friend’s parents with a smile. “As you were the last to arrive, shall I escort you to the ceremony?” He asked, offering his arm to Hermione, smiling as she took it after only a moment’s hesitation.

He led them through the Manor, pointing out the occasional portrait that they passed. The doors to the rest of the house were mostly closed, more so that none got distracted and lingered in one place or another and were late for the ceremony than for privacy’s sake.

They stepped out of the house through a large pair of glass doors, which split and folded in on themselves to make the doorway larger than it otherwise would be, and after a moment, they were stepping through the gardens.

They rounded a corner at the far side, and the large tent quickly came into view. It was situated on the edge of the large fields that made up the rest of the estate – fields that he regularly ran Arlan through, and if he squinted and looked off to the left, he would see the small, subtle entrance to Moony’s bunker, hidden away among a small copse of birch trees.

The canvas tent hung lazily in the air. There were no sides to it – simply a large piece of white canvas with many fine curtains hanging lazily to ward off the gentle breeze as the celebrations continued into the night. Already, music played lazily as the guests mingled amongst one another in their seats.

At the front of the tent was the officiant – a priest of Tora, the Goddess of Life – who was a rotund man, with jowls that shook with each movement he made, and large white mutton-chop facial hair that stuck out at odd angles. His thin hair was swept over the top of his head in some semblance of hiding his baldness, and his stomach hid his feet from his own gaze – not even the loose robe of his order being able to hide the swell.

Harry had met him briefly upon his arrival and found the man to be pompous and full of self-importance – what that importance was, he had no idea – he was a wedding priest, nothing more, as far as Harry knew. He stood there, with a serene, distant expression on his face as he clutched a copy of The Testaments Of The Divine in his large hands.

Sirius stood a step lower, and was conversing quietly with Remus, who was dressed in a fine doublet with the sigil of House Black on his chest – Arcturus was no doubt somewhere in the crowd, hosting the guests as best he could until it was time to begin.

“There’s so many people.” He heard Jean murmur just behind him. He turned and smiled at Hermione’s parents.

“House Black is one of the most powerful Houses in our society – the wedding of its heir is an important event.” Harry said before stopping at a table toward the front of the assembly – the closer one sat to the exchanging of vows, the higher one was regarded and the more luck it was thought to bring.

Already sat at the table were the families of Longbottom, Davis and Greengrass. Harry, unfortunately, wouldn’t be sitting with them until after the feast, as he was expected to sit at the High Table, along with the other members of House Black and House Bones – though he’d be sure to make his way over as soon as he could.

He pulled out Hermione’s chair for her and gently pushed it forward as John did the same for Jean. As he looked up, he spotted Astoria whispering to Piper, who was sitting calmly by the base of her chair, while Daphne whispered to Tracey. Neville was excitedly talking to Castor and Thalia, both of the elder Greengrass’s grinning as they listened to him. It took the rest of the table very little time to notice the arrival of the Grangers, and within seconds, all were exchanging pleasantries, and as Harry turned to head toward Sirius and Remus, he just caught the start of Tracey gushing over Hermione’s dress.

“Still nervous?” He asked as he stepped up beside Remus as he grinned at Sirius.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Sirius grunted, absently pulling on his doublet to straighten out the non-existent creases. Harry shared a look with Remus as they both chuckled.

They stood chatting idly for a time, waiting for the sun to fall beyond the horizon, as was tradition – the new couple would greet the following dawn as one. As the last of the light in the room Harry flicked his wrist and felt the wand leap into his hand from beneath his sleeve.

He’d practiced the spell a number of times, but never with so many people watching him. It had been his honour to have Sirius ask him to be the one to light the torches and begin the ceremony. Harry had also revelled in the feeling of Sirius teaching him a spell – even if it didn’t have that many practical applications.

He stepped forward and levelled his wand at the first torch and concentrated – as the first sprang to life, he took another step forward and began to spin slowly, a beautiful orange flame bursting into existence as he completed his full turn.

As the last torch lit, the sounds at the tables suddenly silenced, and all looked upon him as he stowed his wand away and got into position between Sirius and Remus, his hands clasped comfortably before him.

The music changed into a soft, melodic melody, and for a moment, Harry thought he could hear words through the instruments. He felt lighter, more at peace – he closed his eyes and breathed out softly as a small smile spread across his lips.

The soft gasp of Sirius next to him had him opening his eyes as he gazed upon the far side of the tent. There, standing with her arm entwined with Arcturus, was Amelia Bones. Her blonde hair was in an elaborate up-do, with ringlets framing her face.

Her dress was as white as bone and had truly little detailing on it – something he knew was Amelia’s choice. In the time he had gotten to know her, he had found her to be a rather straightforward woman, and to that end, he couldn’t imagine her in any other dress. It was sleeveless, and had a low neckline, but a section of embroidered lace kept it modest and conservative. He imagined the low neckline was for Sirius’s benefit more than anyone.

Ahead of them, in a lovely dress of shimmering silver, was Susan. All along the pathway, Susan scattered petals of peonies evenly – her smile was wide, and she almost seemed giddy with excitement.

Eventually, Arcturus and Amelia came to a stop just before the steps they were standing on with the priest. Susan had taken up position opposite him, acting as a witness on behalf of her Aunt. He smiled slightly at her and offered her a small nod.

“Who comes before the Gods on this night?” The priest began, his voice loud enough to be heard all the way to Derbyshire in the silence.

“Amelia Bones, of House Bones.” Amelia answered, drawing her shoulders back a little, and Harry grinned a little.

“And who brings her into the view of the Gods?”

“I, Arcturus, of House Black, in the place of Nathaniel Bones – her brother, who’s life was ended far too soon.”

At this, Sirius stepped forward and offered Amelia his hand as he led her up the stairs to stand before one another. They both stood with their hands gently holding onto one another as the priest began tying silk ribbons around their wrists.

“In the name of Koris, Goddess of Luck, I bless thee with good fortune in your years together.” The priest began, and Harry could see the slight tears welling up in Amelia’s eyes as she pursed her lips and tried to remain composed. “In the name of Enera, Goddess of the Spirit, I bind you both to one another. Your hardships will be each other’s – your boons, one another’s joys.”

“In the name of Tora, Goddess of life, I bless you with many years together – may they bring you both the joy you seek. In the name of Beddoss, God of Nature, I bless you both with fertility so your children may bring you joy.”

Sirius must have wiggled his eyebrows, or something, because at that moment Amelia giggled – something he’d never have expected to hear from the woman.

“In the name of Tidall, God of Chaos, I curse those who would wish to break this union of souls. In the name of Temra, Goddess of Balance, I declare you both as two parts of one whole – forever joined and destined to find one another.”

Harry smiled and felt his own eyes growing moist. Beside him, he heard Remus quietly clear his throat.

“And finally, in the name of Emis, God of death, may you both find one another in the next life.”

As he finished, the priest drew a number of runes in the air with his wand, their fiery shapes lingering in the air. “If you would say the words, my Lord, my Lady.”

As one, both Amelia and Sirius began to say the words, “You. Me. We. Us. Friend. Guide. Lover. I am yours and you are mine – from this day, until the end of our days.”

As their vows came to a close, the two of them gently leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to their lips as cheers and applause echoed throughout the tent, wolf-whistles followed soon after when Amelia threw her arms around Sirius’s neck and deepened their kiss.

Both broke apart and were clearly grinning at one another as they walked down the short steps as the music began to play once more. Harry slowly followed the pair, his hands now clasped behind his back and a grin on his face as he listened to Sirius and Remus joking back and forth as they walked to the left of the tent where the head table and dancing area was located.

On his way, he passed the table with all his friends on it and grinned at the number of wet eyes. Besides Neville and Astoria, there wasn’t a single dry pair among them – he was tempted to say something to Daphne as he passed, but the look she gave him made him think otherwise. Best not to have a funeral on the day of a wedding – bad luck and all that.

Harry grinned as he saw Andromeda and Ted already placed at the table, with Nymphadora sat beside them – for once, actually resembling her parents. All of House Black were to be seated at the table – with the exception of Narcissa, who was seated with her husband Lucius and their son Draco towards the back.

Andromeda looked stunning, with her thick brunette hair tied back loosely with the majority falling down her back while the rest flowed down her front. Her dress was a deep ebony colour of crushed velvet that hugged her figure with a sweetheart neckline and had a number of white buttons running up the front of it.

Ted, to her left, was dressed in a fine Muggle suit that was equally as dark – only, he also wore a black shirt and a silver tie. Even from where Harry was, he could see the suit fit him well and complemented his athletic physique. As usual, he was clean-shaven and had a toothy smile on his face as he watched their party arrive. His brown hair was cropped short, with just enough on top to style fashionably in a small quiff.

Nymphadora sat on the right hand-side of Andromeda, in a lovely slate, sleeveless dress that was held up by two intricate, wide straps that reached up from her back and over her shoulders to the top of her dress at the front. He knew the split up the side of her dress had been a point of contention with her mother.

She had graduated the summer just before he had started, and so he’d missed an opportunity to hound his favourite cousin at school – he still owed her for turning all of his clothes polka dot for a week just before he’d left for Hogwarts.

He followed Sirius and Amelia behind the table, grinning at Nymphadora as he passed – he even went so far to mouth her full name, fighting the urge to cackle as she glared at him with narrowed eyes.

“Friends, family – honoured guests!” Sirius called out as he raised his goblet to those assembled before them at their tables. “We thank you for sharing our moment of joy – House Black and House Bones appreciate your kind words, and so to this, we toast to you all!”

Harry raised his goblet as Sirius took a sip from his own, before passing it on to Amelia, as was the custom – the first thing shared as man and wife. For the rest of the night, they would share everything either consumed, and so they would continue to do so for the rest of the week.

In a rare display of wealth, Arcturus had hired a number of human servants through a high-end catering business from Pipet Square, just off of Diagon Alley, to bring out the plates of food – all were exceptionally well paid and would no doubt be leaving with a generous bonus from the House of Black.

Harry took his seat and quickly tucked himself in as the food began to make its way onto the tables, courtesy of the men and women working the night away. The first dish that arrived before him was a simple dish of salmon steak and potatoes with a delightful, creamy dill sauce. Harry simply had a single bite of it before directing it be sent to the table with his friends.

It was an old custom that had survived the centuries. During a celebration of feast, the host, or their family, would take a single mouthful of the food before passing it on to another table – depending on what you sent them, you could show either your favour, or disfavour throughout the meal. More than one wizard and witch throughout history had used it as an opportunity to snub a rival.

Harry knew that, sitting at the High Table with the bride and groom, recognised as a member of the Black family as well as the future Lord Potter, he couldn’t afford to show disfavour to anyone – and he certainly wouldn’t wish to spoil Sirius and Amelia’s night. He smiled as he saw the other plates from the head table make their way out into the crowd, each one earning a nod of thanks, or a raised goblet.

It seemed, as he glanced at the table full of his friends, that each of the members of the table were sharing the dish between themselves, adding a small helping to their already existing dishes piled high with food.

Neville had a plate stacked so high with food, he genuinely wondered if he’d need to be rolled off of the grounds. Daphne had little on her plate, content to nibble small forkfuls and remain dignified – no doubt conscious of the upcoming dancing. Tracey was somewhere in the middle. Her plate was no larger than Daphne’s, but she was at least eating the way he’d come to expect from their time at Hogwarts. Hermione had yet to touch her food – her wide eyes darting around and trying to take in all they could.

The next dish arrived before him – a stack of kebabs of skewered chicken and sweet-smelling peppers, whose juices ran down the length of the stick tantalisingly. They’d become a guilty pleasure at Hogwarts when they were served, and so he didn’t hesitate in carefully lifting one onto his plate before directing it be sent to House Lovegood, one of his own Bannermen from Wales.

The feast continued happily enough, with the occasional toast and cheers, and it wasn’t long until everyone began to become merry on the food and drink. To his left, Sirius and Amelia continued to lean into one another, whispering sweet nothings and sharing their food and drink. Before long, people were up and meandering about, catching up with friends and allies – what better place for politicking, than at a wedding?

The music, which had been playing quietly in the background of the feast, began the introduction to a new song, though this was slightly louder. Sirius stood suddenly and offered a hand to his new wife, and Harry couldn’t help but grin. The two quickly moved around the table to stand in the centre of the area that had been sectioned off as the dance floor as cheers and claps rang out.

Quietly, with his eyes trained on Sirius and Amelia, Harry watched with a small smile as the two began the slow steps of their first dance. Amelia had her arms draped around Sirius’s neck, while his own hands were placed on her waist as they held one another close and swayed to the music. There would be much more formal dances afterwards, as the first dance was reserved solely for the bride and groom.

Harry, along with the majority of the occupants of the tent, clapped excitedly as the song wound down. He stood, along with many of the others dotted throughout the tables, and lightly tugged on his doublet to straighten out the creases – he’d eaten lightly, and the small amount of wine he’d drank, as was tradition at a wedding, had relaxed him considerably.

He made his way around the table before coming to a stop before his friends – already Neville was asking Tracey if she’d like to dance, while an older boy – perhaps having just finished Hogwarts, or one of the many other schools in Britain, asked Daphne to dance. Harry came to a stop behind Hermione, who was still sitting, looking sadly at her friends being asked for a dance – evidently, she hadn’t seen him approach.

“Hermione,” He began, trying not to smirk as he watched her visibly jump in her seat. “Would you do me the honour of this dance?” He asked, bowing a little and offering his hand, palm up to her.

“Go on, dear.” He heard Jean whisper to her daughter with a little giggle. Not a moment later, he felt Hermione’s soft hand in his own and he stood back to his full height – for the first time, he realised he was half a head taller than her.

He offered the crook of his elbow to her and led her to the dancefloor where various couples were already beginning to get into position. He saw Andromeda and Ted, Sirius and Amelia, Neville and Tracey, Daphne and the older boy – a member of House Clubwood, Remus and –

Nymphadora?

Harry came to a stop in a small, open area among the bodies of the awaiting dancers as he turned to face Hermione. Her cheeks were tinged pink and she was worrying at her bottom lip nervously.

“Have you danced before?” Harry asked with a smile, watching as her eyes briefly darted up to his own before briefly flickering somewhere over his shoulder.

“No – not much cause for formal dancing in the Muggle world, I suppose.” She replied quietly, glancing around as the partners stepped up to one another.

“Don’t worry about it – just follow me, okay? Now, take my hand, and put your other one on my shoulder.” Harry said gently, raising his right hand to shoulder height and just off to the side a little – just like Andromeda taught him. He placed his left hand on Hermione’s waist and chuckled a little as she flinched and gasped. “Relax – it’s just the two of us.”

“But-“ She began hesitantly, her eyes darting around at the throng of people either watching or preparing to dance.

“Ignore them – just focus on me.”

The music began softly, the slow, melodic tones of the Cellos and Violins opening the song. Harry stepped backward, gently leading Hermione. He smiled at her and made a point of keeping hold of her gaze – the less she focused on her own feet, the more she would relax and all him to guide her.

After a minute, he felt her posture relax a little and so they began to move a little quicker – Hermione laughing merrily as they spun about the dancefloor in time with the music. As a child, he had hated having to learn to dance with Andromeda – he had wanted to spend his time with Neville, or reading in the library, or even flying a broom. Now though, he was glad he was able to spend the time with his bushy-haired friend, who’s hair, he noted, wasn’t all that bushy anymore.

It was thick, and still wild – but it was beginning to tame itself a little into wavy ringlets, though he still noted that it reached the middle of her back. For a brief moment, he tried to imagine himself with hair much like Sirius’s – black, but curly. He barely suppressed the shudder that ran through his body. Hermione looked lovely with it and doubted very much that he would manage the look.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked with a grin as they spun once more.

“Just thinking.” He replied with a chuckle.

“What about?”

“What I would look like with curly hair.”

Hermione’s face scrunched up a little – no doubt picturing the image in her head. She shook her head as Harry grinned. “Never change your hair Harry – I can’t imagine you’d look half as pretty.”

Harry snorted at the familiar teasing. “You’ve been spending too much time with Daphne.”

“We’re of a like-mind.” Hermione replied with a sniff, though he did notice the subtle twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“I’m sure. And what, pray tell, would you be of a like-mind about?”

“It’s worth putting up with you, and your pretty hair, to spend time with Clara.” Hermione grinned at him cheekily.

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. “I knew it – you’re all just using me to spend time with the goose.”

Hermione gently swatted at his shoulder. “You be nice to her – she’s a majestic creature that’s been saddled with a troublesome wizard.”

“Troublesome? Coming from the witch that set a professor on fire?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow as a smirk spread across his lips. “Hermione Granger, allow me to introduce you to the pot and kettle.”

She stuck her tongue out at him for a moment, in a rare display of childishness – who was this, and what had they done to Hermione? He laughed merrily as she gently tugged at a loose strand of his hair. “I did that to save you from falling.”

“And I thank you for it every day, my Lady.” Harry grinned, inclining his head ever so slightly. For the first time, the pair of them came to a slow halt at the side of the dance floor, and Harry noticed just how few people were left dancing – had they danced multiple songs away?

He cleared his throat as he blinked, bringing both himself and Hermione back to the world around them, it seemed. He grinned as he offered her the crook of his arm as he led her back to the table. Hermione, it seemed, was worn out if the heavy breathing were any indication and the red flush on her cheeks.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Hermione – perhaps we can dance again later?” He asked as they arrived at the table. Neville and Tracey were already sitting there, though the adults – the Greengrass’s and the Granger’s, were on the dance floor.

“I’d like that, Harry.” Hermione replied, her lips pursed a little, though the rosy tint was still on her cheeks. He grasped her hand light, bowed a little at the waist and brushed his lips against her knuckles.

“I look forward to it then.” Harry grinned as he stood back up. “Now, I believe someone has been waiting for me to ask them since they got here.” He chuckled, looking at Astoria who was bouncing in her seat excitedly.

He held out a hand to her, and before he could blink, she was out of her chair and dragging him to the dance floor once again. Harry laughed merrily as her Piper chased after them, though he remained at the edge and seemed content to watch.

The two began spinning and laughing. Harry asked how she had been since he had left for Hogwarts, though he knew most of it already – Astoria always made sure to include a letter for Harry in any letters she exchanged with Daphne. He kept them all in a small wooden box inside his trunk.

She told him of all the adventures she had gotten up to over the summer – of how she’d found Piper alone and hungry on the edge of the estate, hidden under a bush. Apparently, she’d been chasing down no less than three Griffin’s, each the size of Blackwall before she’d found him.

“Huge, they were!” She grinned up at him.

“I’m glad you were there to prevent them coming after me – how ever will I thank you, hm?” Harry smiled as he spun them once more.

“It was the least I could do after you sent me the Hippogriffs! I feed and water all of them – Stavros is the greediest, but Artemis is the boss of him. She makes sure to keep him in line.”

“Are you going to try and sneak them all into Hogwarts when you come next year?” He chuckled, imagining her dorm room covered in the many, many plush toys he’d gifted her over the years.

“Do you think I could?” She gasped, her eyes widening in excitement. “Oh, I might even be able to get Daphne to sneak some in too!”

“Merlin, what have I done?”

“The Gods’ work, that’s what.” Astoria nodded resolutely, as that familiar glint appeared in her eye. Harry tried not to cringe – nothing good ever came from that glint.

The song ended, and Harry had to lead a protesting Astoria from the dance floor, her loyal familiar yipping at their feet – though, once they arrived back at the table, it wasn’t to Astoria that the kit ran to. Instead, it hopped into Hermione’s lap and rolled onto its back, its paws swiping at the loose strands of hair as she leaned over, fussing it, and scratching its belly.

“Is that… a bowtie?” Harry asked after a moment, noticing the accessory for the first time. He glanced at Astoria who had quickly made her way to Hermione’s side as they both cooed over the creature.

“Of course – it’s a wedding. I wasn’t going to let him come looking like a barbarian.” Astoria scoffed as she looked at him for a moment.

“Oh, he’s simply precious.” Hermione cooed, giggling as the fox tilted its head just enough to have its tongue hang out the side of its mouth.

“Potter – you owe me a dance.” Daphne commanded as she stood, gripping his arm, and pulling him away from the table in one smooth motion. He stumbled back a few steps before he managed to twist and right himself.

“Easy now Daphne – there’re witnesses about.” Harry muttered, his eyes sweeping the many guests around them.

Daphne scoffed as she placed her hand on his left shoulder and gripped his right. “If I have to suffer another heir or second son who thinks they can sweet talk me, I’m going to go on a rampage.”

“So, now I’m being used as a shield? Hardly seems fair.”

“You catch on quickly, Harry.” She replied slowly, patting his cheek gently as he frowned. “All that Gryffindor intellect is out in full-force tonight.”

“Don’t forget whose grades are higher. Morgana come again you may wish to be, but you’ll have to beat that Gryffindor intellect first.” He snickered, watching as she rolled her blue eyes. “Any in particular you’re using me to shield yourself from?”

She was quiet for a moment as her eyes glanced over his shoulder. “Malfoy’s attempted to charm me twice this evening already.”

“Malfoy? I thought he mostly kept to himself and his shadows?”

Daphne shrugged her shoulders slightly as she pursed her lips. “Something has obviously changed – he waltzed around the Slytherin Common Room as if he owned it at the end of the year. Made a comment or two towards Tracey on the last day.”

“He what?” Harry growled. He was about to turn around when Daphne gripped his shoulder forcefully.

“Tracey is a big girl, and everyone in Slytherin knows she’s under my protection – and by extension, yours.” Daphne replied with a pointed look. “We can handle ourselves.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” He muttered, briefly scowling at the blonde heir to House Malfoy.

“Aye, we shouldn’t – but this is the life we have. We’ll deal with it in our own way – the Slytherin way.”

“You can be scary sometimes, you know.”

“Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.” She smirked, her eyes sparkling with humour. A light tap on his shoulder caused them both to stop moving.

“Lord Potter, may I steal a dance with the lovely Heir Greengrass?” Neville grinned cheekily, bowing low with a flourish.

“Merlin preserve me.” He heard Daphne groan, though there was no bite to it. He chuckled and stepped back and gave a wink to his two friends before he left them to enjoy their dance.

He was halfway to the table when Andromeda appeared before him, gently steering him back to the dance floor. “If you think you’re not having a dance with your favourite aunt, you’re a sorely mistaken young man.”

“You’re my only aunt.” Harry scoffed.

“And by definition, your favourite.” She replied evenly. They danced easily with one another, Harry earning a pair of wiggled eyebrows from Remus as they passed – the old Marauder dancing with Lady Fern, a Vassal house of House Black.

As they moved, Harry noted the eyes that were trailing after him and his aunt. For as long as he could remember, the looks had followed her – though, apparently, it bothered him more than it bothered her. He could understand it, objectively. Andromeda was one third of the infamous Black Trio – Bellatrix and Narcissa being the others.

All three were said to have been beauties at school. Bellatrix had been the oldest and had died in Azkaban when he was but a child, and Narcissa, the youngest, seemed older than her years – though still a beauty. Andromeda, the middle-child, by comparison was other-worldly. Her heart-shaped face retained its youthfulness, and her figure drew many a wizard – and witches – eye.

“How’s Narcissa?” Harry asked. He’d had few interactions with the woman over the years, but each one had left a sour taste in his mouth. There was a reason that Harry only considered Andromeda family out of the two of them.

“Same old, same old, I’m afraid.” Andromeda sighed as she stepped in time with the music. “Still bitter over Lucius, I think.”

It had been a shocking bit of news at the time, according to Arcturus – positively scandalous. It was well known that House Malfoy was Noble, and not Ancient and Most Noble – for a daughter of House Black, even one not from the main line, to be betrothed and married into a lesser house had been a shock, to be sure. Cygnus had leapt to the side of the Dark Lord during the war and bartered Narcissa off to Lucius in a bid to strengthen his own position.

When Andromeda had run off with Ted, a Muggle-born wizard she had met in her final two years of Hogwarts, the media couldn’t have cared less. Cygnus, however, had been apoplectic, and had cast Andromeda from the family – despite the fact that he lacked the ability to do so, both magically and legally, as both Arcturus and Sirius lived.

Andromeda had always been kind to him, and in a lot of ways, she had been something like a mother figure when he had been small – though she hadn’t quite managed to fill that void, nor would she ever try. Sirius had often teased him, with how Andromeda doted on him – Ted had always claimed he was like a second child to them, a younger brother for Nymphadora.

He loved his cousin immensely – she was clumsy, more than a little brash, loyal, and dedicated. He had been terribly sorry to see her graduate the summer before his first year, but now, she was well on her way to becoming an Auror – Amelia had even taken her under her wing.

He caught sight of the Metamorphmagus out of the corner of his eye, dancing with some Lord or another. It seemed Andromeda had also seen as she made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat as they spun.

“She’ll be fine.” Harry murmured, squeezing his aunt’s hand a little.

“I know – but she’s still my little girl, even if she doesn’t look like it most of the time.”

Harry scoffed, remembering the last time he’d seen Dora – her hair had been bright pink, and she’d resembled neither of her parents all that much. He knew she had a hard time – everyone always wanted her to look like someone else, or to change a part of her physically. As a result, she often shifted her body to reflect her mood, or what she fancied looking like on any given day.

Personally, Harry preferred her actual appearance – the one that was almost a spitting image of his aunt, though he wouldn’t deny seeing Dora with a pig snout wasn’t hilarious.

“Even you,” Andromeda added after a moment, lightly pinching his cheek. “You’re growing up far too quickly – you need to stay my little boy for a while longer.”

“You’re just upset I can’t sit on Ted’s shoulders anymore.” Harry scoffed. “I lost count of how many photos you took of us doing that.”

“Not nearly enough.” Andromeda huffed as she tugged at a strand of his hair. “I do miss your short hair – sticking up in every direction. It was adorable.”

“And that is why I don’t have short hair anymore. I’m to be a Lord of a House – can’t be looking adorable. My Bannermen will laugh me out of my castle.” Harry snickered as Andromeda chuckled.

“Harry Potter – the Adorable Lord of Rosestone Castle.” His aunt teased with a wink.

He grimaced after a moment. “That’s going to stick for a while, isn’t it?”

“Possibly.” She replied with a shrug.

“You’ve been giving Daphne lessons, haven’t you? There’s no way that’s all her.”

Andromeda laughed quietly as they passed the Abbott’s. “Dear boy, that girl needs no lessons from the likes of me – she’s a force all unto herself.” She paused before leaning forward a little. “I hear she graced you with a hug this year.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you even start – I see how you get with Dora.”

She had the audacity to pout – no wonder she and Sirius got on so well. “Would you deny your favourite aunt the opportunity to play matchmaker for her only nephew?”

“Yes.” He replied immediately, smiling lopsidedly.

“You’ve spent far too much time with Sirius.”

“I think we can both agree on that.” Harry chuckled as she lightly swatted his shoulder. Slowly, the song died down, and Harry bowed and offered her his arm, only for another wizard – one much older than himself, to ask Andromeda for a dance.

Andromeda agreed, and found herself swept further onto the dance floor before she could blink, while Harry simply remained where he was, chuckling. He watched for a moment or two as the dance began, before heading to the table with his friends – all of them talking animatedly with one another, though Astoria seemed to have curled up and drifted off to sleep against her mother’s side, Piper cuddled to her chest.

He sat down next to Hermione and quickly poured himself a small goblet of sweet mead from one of the jugs in the middle of the table. At Hermione’s questioning look, he shrugged.

“It’s mine anyway – straight from the cellars of Rosestone.” He grinned. “And we’re celebrating! Not every day Sirius will get married – despite his deepest wishes, perhaps.” He added, chancing a look over his shoulder at the high table, where Sirius and Amelia were sat whispering things to one another.

“But you’re so young!” Jean protested.

“Oh, it’s watered down for the children – you could drink it by the jug and likely not get drunk before the sun comes up.”

“By the jug, you say?” John asked, reaching a hand towards the closest. Jean slapped his hand and gave him a very Hermione-like look as he retracted it with a huff. He noticed Hermione looking a little proud of her mother and chuckled to himself.

“Tell you what, I’ll make sure a cask is delivered to you over the next few days, John.” Harry grinned, raising his goblet a little.

“A cask?” John blinked; his eyes wide.

“Aye – there are hundreds beneath Rosestone. Wine’s, ales, mead’s, cider’s, and beers. I’ve been giving them to various places on my lands over the years – the wine, mostly. Can’t begin to imagine how my ancestors could stand the stuff.”

“Wines?” Jean asked slowly, and the huff from Hermione almost set him into a fit of giggles.

“Aye – there are some casks a few hundred years old. I can send one of those to you as well, if you’d like?” Harry offered, sipping at his drink a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astoria kick her leg slightly in her sleep.

“Trying to buy our affection with alcohol? I’m almost proud.” John grinned, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders and placing a loving kiss upon her temple.

“So, what did you think of your first wizarding wedding?” Harry asked, looking between the three Granger’s. They paused for a moment as a young boy, only a year or so younger than himself asked Tracey for a dance, and they watched them leave.

“It was absolutely fascinating – I had no idea wizards and witches had their own religion!” Hermione gushed. “And their vows – they were lovely!”

He chuckled, placing his goblet on the table before him. “Aye – we’ve our own pantheon of Gods, though their origin has been lost over time.”

“Do you follow them? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention their names.”

“No – though there are those that do. I know the stories and such, they make up a lot of our children’s stories, you see. But no, I’m not a follower.” Harry replied, watching as the three digested the information.

“I take it that it’s not that prevalent anymore then?” Jean asked, leaning into her husband – he didn’t blame their tiredness. The hour was late, and the sun would be rising shortly, no doubt.

“It’s more widespread than you would think, I suppose – we just don’t make a big deal about it the way your cultures do. Meaning no disrespect, of course!” Harry added, his eyes wide – though the chuckling of John and Jean alleviated a lot of his worries.

“None taken, Harry.” John grinned. “So, do many – what do they call Hermione’s kind again?”

“Muggle-born.”

“Right – do many Muggle-born convert to this religion then?”

“No, honestly. Muggle-born make up a fairly small amount of our population as a whole – many don’t make much effort, beyond the superficial, to integrate with us. Most live in the Muggle world, but work in the magical.” Harry sighed with a sad shrug. “It’s a shame, but I can understand it.”

“What do you mean?” Jean asked, tilting her head a little. He noticed Hermione sitting a little closer to him – no doubt she was also just as curious.

“Muggle-born are raised in your world for the first decade of their lives, and so have that foundation. Then, at age eleven, they’re introduced to a foreign culture they’re told they’re now a part of. I imagine it’s quite scary for most.” He replied with a sad smile. “It’s no surprise they’d like to surround themselves with something they know.”

“That makes sense.” Hermione murmured with a slow nod. “So that means someone like me – it’s rare for us to be at an event like this?”

Harry nodded, “Especially for an Ancient and Most Noble House.”

“That’s… sad.” Hermione replied, quietly as she looked around. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is.” He replied, sweeping his gaze around the tent. “I’m glad you could all make it, though – I hope Clara wasn’t too put out?”

“Oh, she was a dear! Hermione mentioned you had a Phoenix, but to actually see one.” John grinned, his eyes briefly losing their focus as he remembered the bird.

Harry chuckled and picked up his goblet for another mouthful of the drink. There was a quiet chime that echoed around the tent – the signal for the last dances before the sunrise.

He stood and held his hand out to Hermione. “I believe we have another dance?”

“I believe we do, Lord Potter.” Hermione grinned at him – though there was definitely an excitement in her that hadn’t been there before. He rolled his eyes at his title, though.

They meandered their way through the tables, though this time it seemed Hermione insisted on holding his hand rather than his arm. He would admit it was easier to navigate the tables.

They took up their positions once again, and soon they were off, laughing and joking with one another as they stepped and spun among the other couples. Though, as this was a more formal dance, there was a brief shriek from Hermione when it was time for him to briefly lift her from the floor.

He laughed as she swatted at his shoulder as she glared at him, but there was no heat to it. “You could have warned me!”

“I did – I distinctly remember saying, ‘I’m going to lift you now’.” He replied cheekily, ignoring her flick between his eyes. “It’s your own fault for saying, ‘What?’”

“It is not!”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Are we really doing this?” Harry chuckled, spinning the two of them clockwise as they passed both Amelia and Sirius, who were lost in their own little world.

“It is a perfectly reasonable way for an argument to be won.” Hermione sniffed, tilting her chin in the air a little.

Harry scoffed and decided not to answer – he’d had too many arguments with Sirius that had devolved into that familiar back and forth.

The music died down and they came to a stop, watching as the crowd parted for the newly wed couple as they made their way to the outside of the tent, just as the first rays of the sunrise crested the horizon.

The entire party, merry off of food, drink and celebration clapped uproariously as the new couple welcomed the first day of their union.

Somewhere amongst the noise, he felt Hermione lean into his ear as she said, “I’m really glad you invited me, Harry – it’s been wonderful.”

He glanced at her, his grin wide as he replied, “Me too, Hermione. Me too!”

Chapter 24: Harry XVI

Chapter Text

Harry stepped into the Leaky Cauldron in a burst of green flame and ash, his nostrils flared and his magic itching to be released in the back of his mind. His fingers twitched, the wild currents of his innate power tickling his fingertips.

His entire body shook with unreleased, wild power, and the occupants of the dark, dingey pub had no idea. How many times had he risked losing control of his magic for one reason or another? When he was a small child, of course – but the need for control was so innate and ingrained, it terrified him to even think about letting it slip for a moment.

He stood there, feeling strangely detached from his body as he glanced around at his surroundings. There were the usual off-duty Aurors, and the occasional elderly wizard and witch, slumped at some dark table in a corner, either passed out from the copious amounts of alcohol or hunched over their copy of The Daily Prophet.

At the bar, Tom briefly looked up from where he was wiping the counter-top with a dirty cloth. He’d sat at that bar with Sirius and Remus once or twice, and for a brief moment, he could feel the sticky table-top beneath his fingers.

“Ah, Mister Potter, sir!” Tom grinned, nervously stepping away from the bar. He was thankful that the noise of the pub drowned out the barkeep, though the occasional pair of eyes began to slowly turn in his direction.

“Tom.” He replied with a single nod as he stepped away from the Floo, his fists clenched at his side. Behind him, the familiar rush of flame reached his ears and the few loose strands of hair billowed forward as the room was momentarily illuminated by the green flames.

“Tom!” Sirius’s voice called from immediately behind him – Harry grimaced at Sirius’s hand clamping down on his shoulder.

“Yes, Mi’lord?”

“Is there a private room available?”

The ancient looking man nodded as the Floo released Remus, who quickly flicked the small gatherings of soot from his gambeson before stepping to the other side of Harry, his hand clamping down on his free shoulder like a vice.

Tom stepped out from behind the bar, deftly avoiding his pet Kneazle that was lounging on the floor – in fact, Harry would have thought it a statue if not for the lazy rise and fall of its chest and the single yellow eye that opened at his owners bustling.

As they walked through the pub, weaving around tables and chairs – some empty and others with curious occupants – Harry couldn’t help but feel the mounting dread form in the bottom of his stomach. He’d glanced at Sirius and Remus once as they had meandered around a table of three Aurors, and both men had been sternly looking at Tom.

The barkeep stopped by a door that Harry had never noticed before, the brass handle seemingly appearing out of nowhere in the wall beneath the stairs. He nodded to the aged man and opened the door quickly and stepped through, not bothering to wait for Sirius and Remus.

He glanced around the small space, taking in the dusty oak panelled walls, the dark candlestick holders and the grimy looking tables and chairs – the room didn’t look like it had received use in a decade, but he knew that to likely be incorrect. Despite the popularity of the pub, and its regular, frequent use, it was always shockingly dirty.

The sound of the door clicking behind him caused his head to turn, watching as Sirius gave a quick flick of his wand before rounding on him, his dark eyes furious – Remus too, looked just as angry as he stood by the door with his arms across his chest.

“I raised you better than that, Harry!” Sirius bellowed, striding across the room as Harry slumped into a chair and stared at the table with narrowed eyes. He couldn’t help but note the occasional knots in the long, dull planks.

He said nothing, instead, he simply continued to glare at the wood, idly tracing a knot with a finger on his right hand.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Harry James Potter!” Sirius growled, slamming his hands on the table in front of him. The entire table shook with the force of it, and a small cloud of dust shot into the air in a white cloud. Harry jumped a little, his eyes finally darting up to look at Sirius.

“What do you want me to say?” Harry growled, quickly getting over his shock, that cold fury still coiled tightly in his stomach – his magic whispering to be unleashed in the back of his mind. Once more, he found his skin tingling with barely controlled magic, and the entire room felt suddenly charged with power.

Sirius, either not noticing Harry’s struggle, or unafraid that he would come to harm, stood his ground, and continued to glare at him.

“I want you to understand that you just acted like a spoilt, petulant child, and not the boy I raised.” Sirius growled. Even through his anger, Harry could sense the unrestrained fury in Sirius – his own magic was roiling just beneath the surface.

“I won’t apologise! He said nothing, Sirius – nothing!” Harry snapped, launching himself to his feet as his fists trembled at his side. The desire to break something, to scream and yell burned within him, almost painfully.

“So that’s what this was all about?” Remus asked from the door. His face was still contorted in a scowl, and his arms were still folded across his chest, but there seemed to be something different in his voice.

“Of course it is! He…” Harry paused, his voice catching in his throat. “He is supposed to support me – how is he doing that by remaining silent! He knows I won’t stand for it.”

“That isn’t the bloody point, and you know it!” Sirius bellowed as he threw his arms in the air and turned away with a scoff. “I should take you back to Blackwall and confine you to your room until you leave for Hogwarts!”

“Sirius…” Remus began with a sigh as he rubbed his forehead.

“No, don’t you Sirius me!” Harry’s godfather snapped, pointing a finger at Remus. “Today was supposed to be a treat – I see no reason why he should still receive it.”

“I will not stand by when my mother is referred to as fouling my bloodline!” Harry screamed, and for a brief moment, his magic flared, upending every piece of furniture in the room as he stood there breathing heavily. Even as he stood there, looking at the shocked faces at Sirius and Remus, he felt the corners of his eyes take on that familiar blue hue – he clamped his eyes shut.

“He should have said something, but he didn’t. She was my mother – I’ll not hear a word against her.” He said quietly after a moment, his entire body trembling. “She gave her life for me. I owe her everything.”

When he opened his eyes, he saw what remained of the room. The table was in pieces, as were the simple chairs and small tables lining the walls. A cloud of dust hung lazily just above the floor, and the candlesticks were so warped, they were barely recognisable.

He found himself stumbling backwards until his back bumped into the wall behind him, and his legs gave out beneath him. He refused to allow any tears to fall – he was stronger than that. He sniffed and leaned his head back against the oak panelling behind him, the knot of his hair at the back of his head offering some small padding.

“Would you have had me say nothing?” Harry asked after a moment. “Say nothing to the man that I thought would always protect me and mine?”

“Harry,” Remus began, walking forward slowly. “There was nothing Arcturus could have said in that moment, you have to understand that.”

“Of course there was – he could have had him thrown from the estate. Merlin knows I nearly did.”

“He could have, yes, but acting in the way you did was unnecessary and little more than a child throwing a temper tantrum.” Remus continued, kneeling down before him on the floor. “You know neither of us would stand for Lily being called that either.”

Harry glanced up at Sirius, who nodded slowly, though his lips were still pursed, and his arms folded across his chest.

“Did it occur to you that Arcturus is just as adept at politics as he was on the battlefield during the Grindelwald war?” Remus asked, causing Harry to scoff and turn his head to the side as he pulled his left knee to his chest, his right remained stretched out in the dust.

“I won’t have you making excuses for him – he should have said something.”

“Aye, and if it were either of us, we would have. Arcturus held Lily in high regard, Harry – he wouldn’t have let the comment go unanswered, but you didn’t allow him the opportunity.” Sirius answered, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“You think I wanted to do that?” Harry snapped, frowning. “I… I just acted – I just get so angry, and I can’t let it go!”

Harry watching as Sirius and Remus shared a pointed, private look between themselves. After a moment, Sirius turned away, rubbing at his jaw with a wince while Remus chuckled quietly under his breath.

“That would be your parents’ temper, Harry.” Remus said softly, shifting his weight to his other knee. Harry noticed the cloud of dust was even closer to the floor now, most of it having settled on the dirty wooden floorboards.

“Lily was quick to anger, and James’ cold fury – the man could hold a grudge for years.” Sirius snickered in spite of his still hot temper. “Lily usually just settled for setting people on fire.”

“I don’t want to be angry – I mean, I do want to be angry with Arcturus, but I don’t at the same time.” Harry sighed after a moment, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. His limbs felt like lead, even his eyelids felt heavy.

“We understand that, but you can’t act the way you just did – you need to be more mindful of your actions, intended or not.” Remus said gently, placing a hand on his knee and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“You realise that it’ll be you who has to set Arcturus’s study back to right when we return?” Sirius said, finally placing his hands on his hips as he huffed out a breath.

“Aye – I’ll see it done, but I’ll not apologise for doing it. It was bad enough he was entertaining a betrothal contract – I’ll not apologise for reacting in that way when it comes to my mother.”

“I detested mine, so I’m useless in this – this is all you.” Sirius grunted, nodding at Remus.

Remus rolled his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, Harry felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Harry, you must apologise – upending Arcturus’s study because you overheard something you dislike is unbecoming of you as the next Lord Potter. We’ve all raised you better than that, and you know it. Being stubborn like this serves no one.”

In a moment of childish stubbornness, Harry folded his arms across his chest and looked away from the two adults. “I don’t want to.” He murmured.

“It’s often the things we don’t want to do, that we find ourselves doing.” Remus chuckled. “It’s easy to forget you’re so young sometimes. You’ll understand it more when you’re older.”

There was a heavy silence, the soft ticking of a clock somewhere in the room the only sound to be heard. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, slumped against the wall, but at some point he felt the anger leave him in a great rush, his shoulders, which had been tight with tension, finally drooped and he nodded his head slowly.

“You’re right – I’ll apologise.”

“Good lad.” Remus smiled, his moustache twitching as he smiled. He then clapped Harry on the knee before pushing himself to his feet and patted Sirius on the arm as the two of them switched places. He hated it when they teamed up like this.

“You know you’re going to have some sort of punishment, don’t you?” Sirius said, leaning against the wall next to him.

“Aye.” Harry sighed, picking at the edge of his gambeson.

“What do you think is a suitable punishment?”

Harry shrugged, not really able to offer anything. In a few days he’d be leaving for Hogwarts – what could he say? No flying for two or three days? “I’ll accept whatever you think is suitable.” He said at last, switching his attention from his gambeson to the hilt of his sword the was now angled awkwardly across his chest.

“What do you think, Remus?” Sirius asked, co*cking a brow at the other man.

“No books for the next few days would be a good start.”

“Excellent – no books until you leave, and no flying either.” Sirius said, clapping his hands.

“What about all this?” Harry asked, gesturing to the room around them. A candle fell from the candelabra that hung from the ceiling, it was still swaying back and forth slowly and only a single rope remained intact to keep it attached to the ceiling.

“I think it looks better this way, honestly.” Sirius shrugged, a small smirk on his lips.

“I lost control.” Harry muttered, staring at the floor.

“You did – but nobody is in control all the time, Harry. You’re human, and still a child at that.”

He glanced up, looking at the destruction in the room. He knew that many of the pieces of furniture were beyond repair – there was one small table on the right-hand side of the room that had been reduced to splinters under his magic. While he had gained some measure of control over the last year at Hogwarts, it still wasn’t enough.

“What if I hurt someone next time?” He asked, blinking up at Sirius and then to Remus. “I don’t want to risk hurting anyone.”

“You won’t.” Sirius replied.

“But-“ He began, his throat tight.

“You won’t.”

Harry could only nod as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, swiping at the dust that had gathered on his armour and the trousers he wore beneath the gambeson. He winced as his pats created new clouds of dust and a small cough escaped his lips.

“We’ll clean ourselves in the courtyard – no use doing it here.” Remus chuckled, waving a hand in front of his face. Harry nodded and straightened his armour and clothes before nodding at the two adults.

Both patted him on the shoulder before leading the way from the room. Once back in the corridor, he noticed the sounds of the pub had returned, and vaguely remembered Sirius quickly waving his wand as they had first entered – no doubt ensuring their privacy.

Eyes followed the three of them, no doubt curious as to why they were covered in so much dust and the change in their demeanours, but Harry couldn’t care less. After all, he had thoroughly ruined the day he’d had planned. He was to meet his friends in Diagon Alley, he thought it would be fun to tag along with them in shopping for school supplies – he’d already sorted his own out the previous week.

He stood and waited patiently as Sirius approached Tom, talking quietly over the bar while the other staff went about handing out drinks to the various patrons. One woman, in her mid-twenties, if Harry had to guess, smiled coquettishly at Remus – though he didn’t seem to notice.

Tom’s face turned red and for a moment he glared at Harry, and he found himself shifting awkwardly from foot to foot under the intense gaze. Harry watched as Sirius snapped his fingers in front of Tom’s face, pulling his attention back to him before passing a small pouch over the counter – no doubt to pay for the damages. Harry also suspected it was a great many times more than it would likely cost for those repairs.

Tom nodded eagerly, snatching up the pouch and quickly flicking it open to check its contents. Once satisfied with the amount, he gestured for them to move towards the back of the pub and toward the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Harry frowned, looking between the two adults – he understood cleaning themselves in the courtyard, but neither of them had purchased any Floo Powder. Surely it would have made sense to purchase it now, rather than approach the bar once again?

They stepped into the warm courtyard, the sun high in the sky with not a cloud to be seen, and Harry found himself breathing in the clean air gratefully. While the smells of the Alley and of London as a whole were not overly pleasant, they were far better than the musty smell of the dingey pub.

The quick tingle of magic on his skin caused him to turn and glance at Sirius, who had his wand out and pointed at him. He glanced down and saw the dust removing itself from his armour and clothes – no doubt from his hair also. It was an odd feeling, being cleaned by magic.

Not a moment later, Remus had removed the dust from himself, and Sirius was likewise returned to a presentable state. “Excellent – shall we go shopping then?” Sirius asked, stowing his wand away in the holster on his right arm.

“What? Shopping? I thought we were going back to Blackwall?” Harry asked, confused. He glanced between both Sirius and Remus.

“Well, I suppose the holy trinity of punishments wouldn’t be complete without forcing you to suffer through Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey’s shopping. Congratulations, you’re their bag-boy for the day.” Sirius grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as Remus chuckled and tapped at the bricks.

Harry watched as the bricks slowly rolled over one another, and small puffs of brick and mortar dust whispered away in the gentle breeze that drifted through the alley. Already, Harry could smell the various herbs and spices that were for sale on the stalls outside stores, the familiar smell of leather and parchment that wafted up from Flourish and Blotts, and of course, the pungent, waxy smell of broomstick polish.

“I think I’d rather go back to Blackwall.” Harry groaned, already imagining all of the bags he would be saddled with throughout the day. “Married life has made you cruel.”

Remus guffawed as he led the way into the Alley, the metal of his gorget glinting in the sunlight. Like Remus and Sirius, Harry had forgone his usual cloak, and had settled for simply wearing his gambeson and gorget. He desperately wished that he didn’t have to wear his armour every time they left the Manor.

Harry walked between Sirius and Remus as they meandered through the large crowds of people bustling from one side of the street to another in a chaotic throng of bodies, and yet, despite it all, there seemed to be some sort of irrational order to it all.

On his left, the crowd surged constantly forward, weaving around stalls and various witches and wizards that were perusing wears outside the stores. On the right, people walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron with large bags laden with purchases. He spotted cauldrons, robes, herbs, food, and all sorts of other wonderous things.

The first store they passed was Flora and Fauna, the apothecary on the right-hand side. The store always drew his attention first – though that was more due to the large hand pouring ingredients into a large, bubbling cauldron above the door that would occasionally spark and let out a puff of green smoke, rather than what the store sold. As they passed it, he caught sight of all sorts of jars of supplies through the window – there were pickled rats’ brains, toad’s feet, powdered asphodel and even a large box of shredded pigeon tongues.

He grimaced and kept walking.

On the left, was Eeylops Owl Emporium, where he had found Hedwig. He stopped for a moment, both Sirius and Remus chuckling between themselves as he paused to fuss the birds. They were magnificent creatures, and a small part of his heart would break every time he saw the birds locked in their cages.

He offered his fingers slowly to a beautiful Tawny Owl that sat upon a wooden perch with a small collar around its leg – no doubt to make sure it didn’t fly off. It gave a soft hoot and nipped at his fingers gently, at first, then, after a moment, it pushed the side of its head against his extended palm. He grinned, stroking the brown feathers gently.

“I don’t think Hedwig would take kindly to you bringing another Owl home, Harry.” Sirius chuckled, stepping out the way of a couple that were animatedly chatting amongst themselves.

“She’s not mine.” Harry chuckled in reply, smiling softly as the bird closed its eyes contentedly. “She’s just a pretty bird.”

The Owl opened its eyes before nipping his wrist.

“Ow! Alright, a beautiful bird, damn it!” He grimaced, watching as the Owl closed its eyes and was content to be pet.

“What is it with you and animals?” Remus sighed, shaking his head a little as Harry turned to look at him. “There’s Clara, who by all rights, fashions herself as Queen of All Birds, and there’s Hedwig – Merlin, don’t get me started on Hedwig. How does a bird so small have so much attitude?”

“Hedwig isn’t a fan of Remus, from what he’s told me.” Sirius mock-whispered, making no attempt to be subtle.

“It isn’t because she doesn’t like me – she just assumes my fingers are food.” Remus grumbled, causing Harry to laugh. He had never heard any of this and had figured that Hedwig was pleasant with everyone he knew – to imagine her trying to bite Moony’s fingers while he attached a letter to her leg was hilarious.

They moved on soon after, content to simply wander for now. Harry had arranged to meet his friends in Diagon Alley, though, in hindsight, they hadn’t said where they would meet. There was Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Carkitt Market, Pipet Square, Blacksmith Track, Stokemark Walk, and Canlams Plaza.

They were just passing a shop that sold magical instruments – the various instruments playing a soft tune that carried through the thin glass windows at the front of the store, and out into the street that he could just make out above the buzz of the crowd – when Harry spotted a familiar head of brown hair.

It wasn’t frizzy anymore, and indeed, seemed rather tame in comparison to the previous year. Still thick and full of volume, but, instead of sticking out in almost every direction, it fell in loose curls down her back.

He grinned as he spotted her and was about to call her name when she turned to look directly at him – there was no questioning gaze, no confusion. Her eyes locked with his instantly, as if she knew exactly where he was, and for the briefest of moments, he faltered in his step as his magic flared along his skin – beneath his sleeves, he knew his hair was standing on-end. He shook himself and began making his way to his friend.

Hermione, it seemed, had no desire to wait for him to arrive. She took off from the stone steps she had been standing on and ran towards the three of them – distantly, he thought he could hear Sirius snickering behind him.

Hermione was dressed a little differently than she had the entire last school year. In the last year, she had worn thick cardigans, jumpers, jeans, and long skirts – seeing her at the wedding in that long red dress had been a genuine surprise. Now, the thick jumpers and cardigan were gone, instead she raced toward him with a red tartan skirt, knee-high black socks and a light, airy Ravenclaw blue jumper with a white pattern around her neck - over it all, she wore her red lapelled Hogwarts cloak, her large sleeves billowing after her.

“Harry!” She grinned, launching herself at him. He let out a whoosh of air from his lungs and stumbled back a step – in fact, if it weren’t for the steadying hands of Remus and Sirius behind him, he was positive he would have ended up on the ground.

He laughed, his earlier wishes to venture out without his armour forgotten as Hermione’s arms did their best to crush his ribs. She stepped back from him and grinned up at Sirius and Remus, dipping in a brief curtsey to the both of them.

“Sirius, Remus – it’s really good to see you both! How’s Amelia? Is she settling into married life? What about you? Is it everything you thought it would be?” She asked, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as the questions spilled from her mouth.

Sirius chuckled and pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you too, Hermione, and yes, married life is wonderful – you should try it one day.” Harry chuckled as Hermione’s cheeks tinged a slightly deeper shade of red.

Hermione’s head turned back to him, and before he knew it, she’d grasped his hand and was pulling him towards the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. “Come one, everyone’s inside – it’s going to start soon!”

“Hermione – wait – damn it, what’s about to start?” Harry managed, ignoring the amused sounds of the two adults behind him as Hermione wove him in and around the throng of bodies by the door. All around them, men, women, and children pushed and shoved at each other, jostling for a better position, or straining to look over the shoulders of those in front of them.

He idly noted that the store was full of mostly women and girls, and the men seemed more than a little reluctant to be there, all with bored expressions on their faces, while the women were almost bouncing in excitement. Harry frowned – what was going on?

“Harry!” He heard his name called from further in the store, toward the front. He turned his head toward the noise and grinned as he spotted Neville waving at him – both Tracey and Daphne on either side of him eagerly looking at a nearby desk that was piled high with books. For the first time in his life, he noticed Daphne giggling with Tracey – he vaguely remembered Daphne giggling in the mirror in January, but it was completely different to see it now, in person.

Harry smiled as they reached his friends, and before he knew it, Neville had swept him up in a hug that lifted Harry clear from the floor. “Neville – can’t breathe!” He grunted, gasping for breath as he was finally released. “What are you all doing in here?”

Neville pulled a face and glanced at the three girls, all who were now clutching various books to their chests and looking excitedly at the door behind the nearby table. Now that he looked closer, he recognised some of the books from his own school supply trip – the entire booklist for Defence Against the Dark Arts was by someone called Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Lockhart’s doing a book-signing in here for a few hours. It’s all they’ve spoken about for the last hour.”

“You’ve been in here for an hour?”

“Hey, we wanted a good spot in the queue!” Tracey piped up. “Oh, hi Harry!” She added, almost as an afterthought.

“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed excitedly, her book held in a white-knuckled grip – where she’d picked it up from, he had no idea.

Harry glanced around the store once again, remembering the few chapters of Gadding with Ghouls he’d read in an attempt to read ahead before returning to school – it was awful. At no point during any of the book did it list the spells used, or the wand movements. How were they supposed to learn from them, other than Lockhart’s love for hair-care products?

The store was a favourite of his – over the years, he’d spent many an hour perusing the shelves for all manner of things. In fact, he had an entire wall of bookshelves in his bedroom dedicated to all the tomes he’d purchased from the store. It had always felt warm and inviting, the musty smell of parchment and ink a favourite of his, and nothing would please him more than running his fingers along the spines of the thousands of spines on the shelves, their gold-embossed titles glittering in the light.

While the store was generally quite dark, in an effort to preserve the volumes from the sunlight, it was still well lit enough to see the hundreds of books stacked on every available surface. There were towers of books that were twice as tall as Sirius, and some even reached as high as the upper floor. Others were stacked on tables or arranged in the large windows.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Molly and Arthur Weasley and their brood, shuffling in through the door in a large mass of red hair. Harry nudged Neville in the side and pointed toward the new arrivals and snickered. “Don’t look now, but the twins just arrived. How long do you think until they get bored and pull something?”

“Fifteen minutes and five Galleons.” Neville chuckled, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.

“I’ll take that bet – I’m calling twenty.”

“Put me down for ten.” Daphne said over her shoulder. When she saw Harry’s surprised expression, she shrugged her shoulders. “What? You’re not as quiet as you think.”

Sirius chuckled behind him, and Harry turned his narrowed eyes upon his godfather. “Don’t make me get Amelia to put you outside in a kennel tonight, Padfoot.”

Sirius’s laughter stopped instantly as his own narrowed gaze met Harry’s. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him at this point.” Remus chuckled, leaning casually against a pillar that was holding up the upper floor. “He can be downright Slytherin at times.”

“You take that back.” Harry pouted, turning his head to look at Remus. “I’m so Gryffindor, I may as well be a Lion Animagus.”

“More like a hospital bed.” He heard Daphne mutter. He turned to say something, but at that moment Gilderoy Lockhart appeared through the door with a short, irritable-looking man following him with a large black camera.

Lockhart was wizard of average height with blonde, coiffed hair that, to Harry’s eye, looked a little too perfect. He wore a suit of forget-me-not blue with a silver waistcoat that tastefully complimented it. He smiled an odd sort of smile at the crowd, and a chorus of breathy sighs answered him – even the girls were sighing and fluttering their eyelashes at him. Harry, a horrified expression on his face, turned and looked at Neville.

“They’ve all gone mad.” Neville shrugged.

“Never underestimate the effect of a charming smile, boys – it’ll pay dividends in your futures.” Sirius whispered, winking at the two of them as they turned to look at him.

“What in Merlin’s name is a charming smile?” Neville asked, completely bewildered.

“See how every pair of eyes is on Lockhart? That’s down to that smile he’s using.” Sirius chuckled, lazily pointing at the author, who was waving slowly to his adoring crowd.

“He looks constipated.” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. Just behind him, Sirius seemed to choke on something – Harry glanced over his shoulder at the noise, but Sirius simply waved him off. Remus, it seemed, was trying to stifle his laughter by covering his mouth with a hand.

The man with the camera roughly pushed his way around the table, almost knocking one poor woman over in his haste. “Move, out of the way – this is for the Daily Prophet.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the small man – he had a healthy dislike for that particular newspaper. In the first few years of his life, they had bounced off of the Wards of Blackwall on an almost weekly basis until Arcturus had hit the Prophet with a cease and desist. No less than three reporters had tried sneaking thorough the Wards of Blackwall in the days following – all three having enjoyed and extended stay in Saint Mungo’s for their efforts. He had little sympathy for them. They’d all been trying to get a photo of The-Boy-Who-Lived – suddenly, hit with the feeling that it had been a poor idea to enter the store.

Lockhart continued posing for a number of flashes of the camera before his eyes seemed to catch something. Harry followed his gaze and looked to see Sirius shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot behind him.

“sh*t.” Harry muttered. He hadn’t been recognised very often following his scar fading, but if Sirius was recognised, and he was in his company, it usually ended in a headache for the both of them.

“Here we go.” Neville muttered with an amused snort.

“Sirius Black?” Lockhart gasped, his eyes immediately darting to Harry. “And Harry Potter?”

Before he could do anything, the reporter had gripped Harry by the shoulder of his gambeson and roughly pulled him forward through the crowd. With his wits returning quickly, Harry flicked his wand into his hand and quickly jabbed it into the throat of the reporter.

“Remove your hand before I remove it for you.” Harry growled, watching as the man’s eyes widened and the entire store gasped collectively. The reporter’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he quickly released Harry. “I would suggest treating those around you with more care also – I believe you owe a number of ladies here an apology.”

“Yes, Mi’lord. Sorry Mi’lord.”

“Don’t apologise to me – apologise to them.” He replied, nodding to the women at the front of the crowd.

“S-sorry, ladies – won’t happen again.”

The women, who were all stood with their mouths agape, nodded numbly, though he noticed one little girl, who was clinging to her mother’s leg, sticking her tongue out at the reporter. Harry nodded and flicked his wand back into its holster and turned to look at Lockhart – the man blinking owlishly at him.

“Lockhart, if you don’t mind-“

“Nonsense, Harry – may I call you Harry?” Lockhart said, snapping back to himself after a moment as he quickly walked around the table, his smile back on his face. He continued before Harry could say anything and wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders as he turned to address the crowd. Harry was so tightly clamped to Lockhart’s side, he couldn’t have reached for his wand again if he’d tried.

Harry looked imploringly to Sirius, Remus, and Neville, all who appeared thoroughly amused and weren’t leaping to help him in the slightest. The girls, on the other hand, looked positively jealous – why would they be jealous of him being paraded next to this peaco*ck of a wizard?

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Lockhart called loudly. “What an absolutely extraordinary moment this is – we’ve been blessed to witness the reactions of the vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”

Harry rolled his eyes and grimaced as there was a flash of light from the reporter. He glared at the weasel of a man.

“This is the perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time! When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present to him now, free of charge.”

The crowd applauded loudly, and he could just hear Sirius’s uproarious laughter among the noise. He glared at his godfather, who was leaning against Moony, clutching his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes. Bastard.

“He had no idea, of course, that he would also be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his fellow school fellows will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts!”

The crowd cheered once again, and before he knew it, an entire stack of books were thrust into his stomach – if not for the armour, he’d have likely had the wind knocked out of him from the force of it all, and he blinked as a number of flashes went off throughout the room.

Lockhart released him after a moment, and he stumbled, blinking the lights from his vision, back to his group of friends, apparently carrying the entire collection of Lockhart’s work in his arms. He shook his head in an attempt to shake the white spots in his vision away, and he blinked at his friends, who suddenly crowded around him – mostly Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey.

“Harry, you’re so lucky!” Tracey gushed, looking at all of the books in his arms.

“You have to let me borrow one of these at some point, Harry.” Daphne sighed, her fingers lightly tracing the leather of the top volume.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” Hermione sighed dreamily, looking over Harry’s shoulder at the man who had now returned to his place behind the table, a quill in hand as he sat down with a flourish. All throughout the store, witches rushed to form a queue, knocking and shoving one another in their haste.

“What just happened?” He asked, confused, looking around the room for a moment.

“Lockhart just gave you his entire collection, of course!” Daphne sighed with a roll of her eyes. “Honestly, Potter, weren’t you paying attention at all?”

“It’s all sort of a blur after the reporter grabbed me, if I’m honest.”

“That was brilliant, by the way – when did you get so quick on the draw?” Neville asked finally, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Oh, uh, Felix taught me.” Harry replied, giving Neville a pointed look for a moment.

“Who’s Felix?” Hermione asked, her head tilted to the left a little as she looked at him. Tracey, likewise, looked just as curious, while Daphne simply nodded knowingly.

“He works for my family – I visited him over the summer. He’s a little protective of me, so I managed to get him to teach me a few things.”

“Oh – that’s ni-“ Hermione began before she paused and frowned. “Wait a minute – were you performing magic over the summer? Harry, you know we can’t do that – we could get our wands snapped! Oh Merlin, you did magic at the wedding!” She gasped, her hand leaping to her mouth.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever remained of his daze, and he chuckled a little. “I won’t get in trouble for doing magic.”

“What do you mean? Of course you will!”