Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Eight: Eleven
In the hushed hour before midnight, Harry laid wide awake in bed, too excited to sleep. A shaft of moonlight through his open window illuminated the photos around his bedroom, countless moments captured in time over the past two and a half years.
One depicted a beautiful summer day on holiday with the Greengrass family at their coastal property, sun kissed face grinning. He was wedged in between Daphne and Astoria, posing for the photo, before a wave washed up against their feet making Astoria soundlessly shriek and leap away and causing Harry and Daphne to topple backwards into the water.
Beside it was a photo with Harry and the entire Greengrass family plus Ezra, Gareth’s arm around his shoulder, taken in the backyard of the Greengrass estate at a family event.
Harry and Draco on their brooms on the pitch at Malfoy Manor, the photo capturing the exact moment Harry teasingly ruffled Draco’s perfectly coiffed hair and Draco’s resulting soundless protest as he whacked a laughing Harry’s arm. Neville and Harry covered head to toe in mud in Black Castle on a grey winter’s day, teeth flashing white against the mess covering them from a mishap in the garden.
Aunt Cass holding Harry tight to her on the balcony at her villa in Greece, the wind blowing both of their dark hair back as they smiled to the camera.
A shaky shot taken by Dora showing her grinning face taking up most of the photo and her tilting the camera down to reveal an embarrassed Harry stuck mid-transformation with fire-red hair, cheeks equally red.
A shot of Harry cheering in front of a game of Wizard Chess, Sirius staring in shock down at the board, and Remus appearing in the corner of the photo, giving Harry a proud thumbs up, having coached him to victory against Sirius.
And a photo of Harry between Arcturus and Sirius at a family gathering, all three smiling at the camera, Sirius and Arcturus both resting a hand on each of Harry’s shoulders.
In less than an hour it would be the thirty-first of July, and it would be Harry’s eleventh birthday.
Harry was still wide-awake staring at the ceiling when he heard the sound of the door to his suite of rooms creak open. He sat up straight in bed, heart thrumming with excitement. Instinctively he reached out with his magic, brushing up against what he recognised as his godfather’s magical core.
It was a habit he had slipped into over the past two and a half years since he had started working on developing his wandless magic. Part of that had been an exponential increase in his awareness of not only his own magical core, but also the magical cores of other people.
Once he had been around another person enough, he found he could recognise their unique magical core without needing to even see the person.
It was not just magical cores he could sense though. He could sense magic in general with his increased awareness; wards, magical items, and the ritual magic that surged on sacred days throughout the year.
The people he brushed against with his own magic never seemed to notice what he was doing, although he had experimented with Ezra to see if it was possible to detect when Harry was doing it. So far no one had been able to tell when Harry was reaching out with his magic, and given it was harmless, he exercised the habit frequently.
Sometimes he did not even realise his magic was wandering until he felt another person’s magical core, and then he would realise he had subconsciously been stretching out tendrils of his magic in whatever space he was in.
Harry could not stretch his awareness out very far – only a few meters at most. Ezra theorised the extent Harry could sense magic could develop, as he grew older, and his own magical core grew stronger and more powerful.
Other than Sirius, Arcturus, Aunt Cass and Ezra, only the Greengrass family knew about Harry’s wandless magic, and his incredible sensitivity to the magic in the world around him. Daphne and Astoria had been entrusted with the knowledge, understanding the importance of keeping quiet about it. Harry planned on telling Neville at some point, knowing the boy could be trusted to keep it secret. Whilst he did want to tell Draco, he suspected Lucius and Narcissa would find out all too soon – Draco was terrible at keeping good gossip to himself.
Sirius’ footsteps paused outside of Harry’s closed bedroom door, trying to be quiet, and so Harry called out clearly, “I’m awake, Sirius.”
His bedroom door swung open, revealing the familiar handsome face of his godfather, who was smiling wryly at him.
“I’ll never be able to sneak up on you again, will I?” he asked.
Harry grinned, replying, “Probably not.”
Sirius, grey eyes were soft as he said, “Nearly midnight. I figured you hadn’t been able to sleep.”
“You figured right,” Harry confessed, pushing his bed sheets off and getting out of bed. “Knowing we were leaving at midnight, there was no way I could get myself to sleep.”
“Right, well you’ll be pleased to know grandfather Firecalled Ollivander and he’s ready for us to come through shortly,” Sirius declared.
Harry’s eyes gleamed, and he rushed to his walk in wardrobe to start getting dressed.
He was getting his wand soon.
Children became eligible to obtain a wand on the day of their eleventh birthday. Whilst the original plan had been for Harry to attend Ollivanders on the morning of his birthday like any other wizarding child, it had quickly become clear that it would be problematic.
The attention from the press had been fierce over the past nearly three years since Harry entered the wizarding world. Pictures had been snapped of him here and there at various public events, and despite his godfather and grandfather’s vicious protectiveness of his privacy, Harry nonetheless found himself a reluctant public figure.
They had received a tip off that the press intended on setting up camp in front of Ollivanders from early in the morning on the thirty-first of July in order to snap a shot of Harry Potter getting his wand. It was not just the gossip rags either – apparently even the Daily Prophet planned on running a piece to acknowledge the Boy Who Lived was turning eleven.
Arcturus had reached out to Garrick Ollivander himself to see if something could be done to ensure Harry’s privacy while he experienced such a momentous event.
Ollivander had generously offered to open his shop at midnight on Harry’s birthday, and facilitate his wand selection and purchase in the dead of night, well before any members of the press would even think of setting up camp. He also offered a direct Floo connection to allow the trio to enter discreetly into the shop.
Harry exited his wardrobe, now fully dressed, clasping a cloak around his shoulders. Torley the head house elf was now waiting by his godfather’s side, large round eyes gleaming in the dark. He was not the only house elf there though – Kreacher was present too, shoulders straightening as he saw Harry.
Sirius seemed slightly bemused why Kreacher had come along when he had only requested Torley to take he and Harry to the Grand Reception Room to Floo to Ollivanders.
Kreacher bowed deeply stating, “This is a momentous occasion for young Master Harry. Kreacher wished to pay his respects.”
Despite being the caretaker of Grimmauld Place, Kreacher was free to travel between any of the Black properties, and was encouraged to do so to avoid becoming too shut in at the London townhouse.
He had latched himself onto Harry with fervour, reminding Sirius strongly of how the house elf had once acted around Regulus. It did not bother Sirius in the same way it did when he was a child – he could see how fond Kreacher was of Harry, and his preparedness to do anything to make Harry happy and keep him safe.
It was something the two could actually agree on.
Harry kneeled down in front of Kreacher and Torley, saying quietly, “Thank you, Kreacher.” He nodded politely to Torley too.
The head house elf proclaimed, “We house elves be preparing all of the young master’s favourites for his birthday celebrations today.”
Sirius watched his godson kneel in front of the two house elves, conversing quietly for a few more moments with the creatures. It still baffled him to witness the closeness between Harry and their house elves.
Black family house elves were treated well, but Harry truly acknowledged house elves as independent beings with their own rich lives. He knew about their likes, dislikes, their social circles and their culture.
Eventually Harry got back on his feet, accepting Torley’s offered hand. The head house elf offered Sirius his remaining hand, despite Sirius being perfectly capable of Apparating within the wards of Black Castle.
“I’ll see you soon, Kreacher,” Harry promised, and the ancient house elf bowed his head in acknowledgement as the trio disappeared with a quiet pop.
They re-appeared in the Grand Reception Room, where Arcturus waited on a wingback chair, elderly face lit by the glow of a lamp.
Harry quickly approached his grandfather after thanking Torley quietly for bringing them. Arcturus stretched out a weathered hand, and Harry took it, holding it close to his heart. The patriarch of the Black family still had a strong grip despite his advanced age.
“Are you ready?” he asked Harry, dark eyes surveying his future heir closely.
“Yes,” Harry confirmed, squeezing his grandfather’s hand. He felt Sirius’ presence at his shoulder, and turned around slightly to meet his godfather’s eyes.
Sirius smiled down at him, pot of Floo powder in hand. “Let’s do this.”
Arcturus rose from the chair, every inch of him dignified despite his old bones. He would not miss his future heir receiving his wand for anything.
Sirius went ahead first to confirm Ollivander was indeed ready to go, shortly followed by Arcturus with Harry by his side. Whilst Harry was certainly old enough to Floo on his own, he found himself being escorted more often than not by overprotective relatives.
As he stepped out of the swirling green flames he looked around eagerly, taking in the tiny parlour room around him. An old man was standing beside Sirius, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the space.
“Mr Ollivander,” Arcturus greeted with a polite nod of his head.
“Lord Black,” Ollivander replied, inclining his head in return. Those eerie eyes turned on Harry, who offered a quiet hello, feeling a little awkward under the intense stare of the man.
He resisted the urge to rub his arms, the hairs rising on every inch of his skin. Every instinct in Harry was screaming that this place was intensely magical. It was causing his own magic to spool out like unravelling thread. It was like every wand in the shop had its own magical core – which was true in a sense, given each had a powerful magical substance inside it. But these wands felt nearly sentient, in a way he had never noticed in Sirius or Arcturus’ wands before. He had always been distracted by a person’s magical core, and never paid much notice to their wand. Now though surrounded by so many unattached wands, he struggled to keep his magic under control, and was nearly distracted completely from his task by Ollivander stating softly, “Harry Potter. You have your mother’s eyes.”
Sirius’ eyes widened from behind Ollivander’s shoulder and Harry stared in shock at Ollivander.
The old man continued, “It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”
Mr Ollivander stopped not too far from Harry, the imposing figure of Arcturus keeping him at bay from coming any closer.
“Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”
Harry was fascinated hearing about his parents wands of course – and at the implication Ollivander seemed to have an eidetic memory when it came to the wands he sold. However, he was very keen to finally start trying wands himself.
Sirius opened his mouth, no doubt to get things moving, but it snapped shut with Ollivander’s next words.
“And that’s where…” he raised his hand, as though to reach out and touch Harry, his silvery eyes focused on the lightning bolt shaped scar.
Harry narrowed his eyes, and Arcturus shifted subtly in front of Harry, the movement seemingly jolting some sense into Ollivander, who quickly retracted his hand and took a step backwards.
“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did that,” he said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”
He shook his head, eyes distant.
Turning away and focusing on Sirius, he said, “Your new wand, Mr Black, spruce, twelve inches, flexible. A rather difficult wand to craft but destined for a bold spell caster with good humour, and fiercely loyal once it met its match. Has it served you well?”
“It has,” Sirius confirmed, hand brushing almost subconsciously against where the wand in question was holstered to the underside of his wrist.
Ollivander nodded in satisfaction, before his face grew dark and he muttered, “Your first wand, hawthorn, twelve inches, suited to one with a conflicted nature. It is a travesty that they snap the wand before sending a person to Azkaban.”
Sirius nodded, face tight at the reminder of the moment he lost his original wand. In all honesty though, his new spruce wand worked increasingly well for him over the past couple of years. In hindsight, he almost felt like since he had embraced his dark heritage with Lily’s encouragement that his hawthorn wand had not worked as well as it once had. Hawthorn wood was best suited to those facing a conflict in their nature – it had been the right wand for Sirius when he was a child, but he had outgrown it.
Arcturus prompted Ollivander to get him back on track, “Thank you for agreeing to open your shop at such an unusual time for us, Mr Ollivander.”
Blinking those silvery eyes at Arcturus, Ollivander nodded, replying, “Of course, of course, Lord Black – well now, Mr Potter, let me see.” He pulled a long measuring tape with silver markings on it out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”
“My right arm,” Harry answered, holding it out for Ollivander, who quickly began taking measurements, the tape enchanted to move on its own. The tape covered Harry’s shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and even around his head. As Ollivander supervised the measuring he commented, “Now, you will know that every wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. Ollivander wands use phoenix tail feathers, dragon heartstring, or unicorn hairs.”
Harry nodded, having studied wandlore extensively in the lead up to getting his wand. He knew whilst those were the three standard magical cores for wands, there were more experimental cores used in mainland Europe and further abroad.
“That will do,” Ollivander declared, and the tape rolled itself up, returning to his hand. After tucking it back in his pocket, the old man declared, “Let us try some wands.”
He turned on his heel, leading the way out of the tiny parlour room into a cramped corridor, which twisted tightly to the left and out into the main shop, which was packed with tall shelves lined with what must be thousands of wands.
Harry’s eyes greedily took in the sight of all those wands hidden in dusty boxes, excited to begin trying.
Arcturus gently guided Harry into a small open space in front of the counter, watchful eyes glancing out of the shopfront window into the dark, silent street of Diagon Alley beyond. There was no movement outside, being just past midnight.
Sirius took up position to Harry’s other side, watching Ollivander mutter to himself as he perused the shelves. Every so often he pulled a box from a shelf, stacking them up in his arms.
Once he was seemingly satisfied with his selections, Ollivander brought the stack over to the counter, laying the uniform long black boxes out in a neat line in front of Harry.
“Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one,” he pulled open the first box containing a lighter coloured wand. “Beech wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”
Harry reached forward slowly for the wand nestled in the black velvet casing, instinctively reaching out with his magic as he did so to brush against the wand. Before his hand had even touched the wand he paused, eyes focused on the light wood as his hand hovered over it.
He knew that was not the right wand for him.
Sirius and Arcturus exchanged glances, uncertain if Harry was simply nervous to try his first wand. But Ollivander scrutinised Harry carefully and whispered, “It does not speak to you, does it, Mr Potter?”
Harry shook his head silently, and Ollivander covered the beech wand up, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Fascinating,” he whispered, considering the other boxes on the counter, still untouched. “Do any of the wands I picked out speak to you?”
Harry reached out with his magic again, brushing against the wands hidden in their boxes. A couple he felt a mild connection to, a brief tingle of acknowledgement, but nothing that really felt right.
“None of these are meant for me,” he informed Ollivander quietly.
“Tricky customer, eh?” Ollivander replied, but he did not look annoyed, only keen and intrigued.
“Do you think you can find the wand meant for you if you take a walk around?” Sirius asked, grey eyes scanning the shop. He was careful not to mention Harry's magical sensitivity explicitly in front of Ollivander, though the elderly man no doubt suspected now that Harry had some quirk that made him more in tune with wands.
Harry was intrigued at the prospect, but Ollivander looked rather put out at the fun being taken out of working out for himself what wand was best suited for Harry.
Harry looked to the man for permission to walk through the shelves, and Ollivander finally decided his interest in watching Harry was more important than getting to work out the correct wand himself.
Relieved at finally being able to unleash his magic, which he had been keeping on a tight leash since arriving, Harry was momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden input of information when he finally let go. It was like being surrounded by thousands of tiny suns, all of them vying for his attention.
Shutting his eyes to concentrate, Harry breathed in and out deeply, focusing on which of those suns burned brightest in his mind’s eye.
And then he found it.
It didn’t so much speak to him as it sung, on a frequency that seem to make his magic vibrate in his skin.
Eyes flying open, Harry looked directly towards a box towards the back of the shop on the left side. Ollivander’s sharp eyes narrowed in on the direction Harry was looking, unerringly approaching the correct box.
He lifted it slowly, almost gingerly, off the shelf. With slow footsteps he approached the counter, moving aside the other boxes so that it was the only one in front of Harry.
“Unusual combination,” he murmured. He pulled the lid off, revealing the wand within. “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”
Then he waited, eyes on Harry.
The wand continued to sing to Harry, a wordless song that was echoed by his own magical core. He felt breathless as he reached forward, and took the wand.
Instantaneously he felt nothing but warmth, flooding every inch of his body down to his toes. Everyone present in the room felt a sudden rush of wind, like a warm breath of air sighing past them, causing hair to be ruffled and clothes to flutter.
Then the special moment had passed, leaving Harry standing there, holly wand in hand, a huge grin on his face.
“Congratulations!” Sirius exclaimed, wrapping a proud arm around Harry.
“A perfect match,” Arcturus nodded approvingly, eyeing the wand, clasping a hand to Harry’s free shoulder.
“How curious…how very curious,” Ollivander whispered, catching everyone’s attention.
“What is curious?” Harry asked, feeling a fission of worry in his belly. He didn’t like the look in Ollivander’s pale stare.
“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar.”
Harry swallowed hard. Sirius and Arcturus seemed to freeze like statues on either side of him.
“Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you Mr Potter…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great.”
Harry felt a shiver run up his spine, some nameless emotion welling up in him.
“We’ll pay now,” Sirius said sharply, keeping a concerned eye on his godson.
Harry stared down at the wand in his hand, the wand that was perfect for him, and wondered what this meant.
Harry’s excitement and wonder at finally getting a wand had been considerably dampened by the revelation that Voldemort’s wand was connected to his own. Fate seemed determined that their paths would intersect time and time again.
Whilst it was very late, and Harry did need to sleep, he found himself debriefing with his godfather and great-grandfather Arcturus’ private study. It had become a place they often spoke of sensitive matters, given the protections within the room but also the added benefit of the portraits of Arcturus’ mother and father, and his grandfather Phineas Nigellus Black on the walls of the study.
The painted faces of Hesper Black née Gamp, Sirius Black II and Phineas Black varied between awe, curiosity and concern at the news Harry’s wand and the Dark Lord’s were brothers. Arcturus had turned to the elders to question what they knew of sibling wands, given the phenomenon was so rare and undocumented.
His father and grandfather had been at a loss, but it was Arcturus’ sharp-eyed mother, Hesper, who had informed the room quietly that she knew of a case of sibling wands.
“It was one of my dearest friends,” the woman began. “She had a cherry wood wand that contained dragon heartstring. Her wand had a sibling, oak wood, and it contained heartstring from the exact same dragon.”
“Who possessed the other wand?” Arcturus asked his mother quietly.
She observed her son silently for a moment, soft brown eyes sliding to Harry and then back to Arcturus. It was then with great care that Hesper informed the room, “The person who possessed the sibling wand would go on to become her husband.”
Sirius blanched, his namesake and grandfather Sirius Black II frowned, but Phineas and Arcturus both had thoughtful looks on their faces.
It was Harry who spoke up, asking his adoptive great-great grandmother, “How did the two realise their wands were siblings? Did having sibling wands mean anything in practice?”
Hesper eyed Harry approvingly for the astute question, answering, “Neither had any idea until they duelled for the first time. I happened to have the fortune of being present to witness it. Something remarkable happened when they crossed wands.”
There was a distant look in Hesper’s eyes, no doubt recalling what she had witnessed.
“Gold,” she whispered. “All I remember is golden light, emerging from the point their first spells met. Their wands became connected by a golden thread that then split into multiple threads, which wove around them in a dome, hiding them entirely from view. I could not make out what happened within the light after that. After a few minutes the light suddenly vanished and the two of them were standing there, looking at one another in shock.”
The room listened in silence to Hesper’s story, none having witnessed such a spectacle before.
“I do not know what happened between them in that moment. However, every time they attempted to duel one another, the same phenomenon happened.” Hesper’s painted eyes found Harry’s unerringly and she whispered, “They could not harm each other. Each wand refused to fight against its sibling.”
It was Phineas who spoke up, asking his daughter-in-law shrewdly, “Did they ever try to use different wands to duel?”
Hesper’s eyes widened and she replied, “Not to my knowledge, though I believe they did visit a wandmaker for more information. Perhaps they experimented with it, but if they did, they kept it private.”
“But I do know this,” Hesper added. “Wands can shift allegiance through conquest or inheritance. But the allegiance of a wand is to only one person at any one time. Except for wands that have a sibling. A wand will always recognise the master of its sibling.”
“Are you saying that Voldemort’s wand would obey Harry?” Sirius asked in a choked voice.
“And Harry’s wand would obey Voldemort,” Hesper confirmed grimly.
Harry swallowed, throat dry. “Where is his wand now?” he asked, looking between a pale Sirius and a concerned Arcturus. “They never found his body at Godric’s Hollow. What happened to his wand?”
“Nobody knows,” Arcturus answered quietly. “It was never discovered.”
“Perhaps it was destroyed,” the elder Sirius Black mused in his portrait frame. More quietly he muttered, “Good riddance.”
Feeling like he now had a million more questions than any concrete answers, Harry grit his teeth, staring down at the holly wand lying innocently in his hands. If what Hesper said was true, then the wand in his hands would gladly obey the man who had murdered his parents.
What in Morgana’s name did that say about Harry, the one the wand had chosen?
And what’s more, if Voldemort did come after him due to the prophecy, Harry could not defend himself against the man. His wand would refuse to cause any harm to its brother’s master.
The only comfort was that the same was true for Voldemort – not only did his mother’s protection guard him, but also Voldemort’s wand would refuse to harm Harry. That is, if Voldemort even still did have the wand, and it had not been destroyed or lost.
Phineas’ shrewd question came to mind again – what would happen if one or both of them used different wands? Would the wand still recognise its brother’s master even without its brother present?
A warm hand on his shoulder grounded Harry from his spiralling thoughts. He looked up to the gentle eyes of his grandfather.
“Let us not dwell on matters we do not yet understand. What is important is that today you are eleven. You have received your wand, and with this milestone you are truly entering wizarding society,” Arcturus said quietly but proudly.
Harry straightened, hand tightening around the handle of his holly wand. Whilst he had been practicing with wandless magic for the past two and a half years, it was still very weak and difficult to control. With this wand he could finally begin properly learning spellcraft.
Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair, causing him to pout up at his godfather. His annoyance rapidly melted away as Sirius declared, “You’ve been taught basic spellcraft in theory for over a year, but now that you have a wand, we can begin teaching you properly in practice before you start at Hogwarts.”
Harry could not imagine how difficult it was for the Muggleborn students and others who could not practice magic before coming to school. He had been trained on the Standard Book of Spells, Grade One from a theoretical position since he was ten years old. He and Daphne and other children in their social circle were prepared by memorising the spells, so that when they got their wands they could start casting right away.
Harry and Daphne were already starting on the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two, which was the prescribed textbook for second year students. There was an undeniable gap of privilege between Muggleborn students and everyone else.
Sirius met Arcturus’ eyes and then leaned down to catch Harry’s eye. He added quietly, “We can start you on the basics of the Dark Arts too.”
Harry’s smile was positively radiant.
The last day of July in 1991 was one of those perfect summer days that unfold infrequently enough that when the day actually comes, it feels almost nostalgic. The sun shining down out of the cloudless blue sky had warmed the waters of Black Castle’s lake to the perfect temperature.
With the watchful eyes of a few adults on them, who were seated nearby at a table under the shade of an oak tree, a group of youths enjoyed the warm lake waters.
Harry leaned on Daphne, laughing in waist deep water as he watched Nymphadora playfully shove a shrieking Draco into deeper water. His laughter cut off abruptly when Dora’s eyes locked on her next target, the birthday boy laughing at his friend’s expense.
Daphne, the traitor, shoved herself away from Harry, ruthlessly abandoning him to his fate. She quickly waded over to her younger sister’s side, Astoria giggling as she watched Dora advancing on Harry.
Harry waded away as quickly as possible, feeling the drag of the water on his legs. His eyes were fixed on Neville, who was standing not too far away, silently begging his friend to help.
Loyal Neville reached out his hand to help pull Harry further away from Dora, only for Harry to suddenly trip as he felt something yank his leg. He went crashing into the water, soaking Neville in the process, who yelled in surprise.
Harry popped back to the surface, scrubbing his eyes of water as he blearily looked around, wondering if Dora had cheated and used magic to trip him.
She was bent over laughing, looking at something beside Harry.
He glanced over to see a bedraggled Draco smirking at him, and Harry realised Draco had tripped him.
If he was going to go in completely, then so would Harry.
“Harry!” Neville called out, wading over, a worried look in his eyes. “You okay?”
As he said that he narrowed his eyes at the still smirking Draco, whose smirk faded at Neville’s words. Draco matched Neville’s gaze, a tension running between the two boys.
“He’s fine,” Draco said sharply. “Right, Harry?”
Harry felt like sighing at the tension between the two boys. Ever since he had introduced the two he felt like they were in a constant battle of wills. Draco was jealous of Neville’s closeness with Harry, and Neville thought Draco was immature. Each thought the other was not worth Harry’s time, and it drove Harry up the wall, because he just wanted his friends to get along with each other.
At least Neville got along well with Daphne and Astoria – Neville had clicked nearly instantly with Daphne in particular, and the two were certainly friends with each other in their own right.
“I’m fine, guys,” Harry assured them both, flicking his now dripping wet hair out of his face.
Fortunately Dora interrupted them, pulling up beside Harry to tug playfully on his hair, which had been growing out a bit past his ears.
“Hey, birthday boy, I think we’re wanted back with the adults,” she stated, tilting her head over towards where the table had been set up under the oak tree.
Sure enough Aunt Cass was waving her hand, indicating for the children to come back in.
“You’re an adult yourself, Dora,” Draco pointed out. He added in a drawl, “Though you hardly act it.”
A wave of water in his face was his response. That made Neville laugh, while Draco spluttered furiously.
“Dora!” Draco yelled.
“Don’t be rude to your elders,” she said primly.
Dora had just finished her studies at Hogwarts last month, and was soon to turn eighteen. She had enrolled in the Auror training program, determined to one day use her position as an Auror to advocate for people in the dark community, of which she was wholeheartedly a part of.
The group waded back in, Dora using her wand quickly to dry them all off instantly. All of them, bar Astoria who was yet to receive her wand being nine, wore their wands strapped to the underside of their arms in protected holsters that were charmed to repel water.
Aunt Cass ushered the group into their chairs, joining the rest of the adults at the table, now groaning under the weight of all manner of delicious food and drink. As the house elves had promised, all of Harry’s favourites had been prepared for his birthday.
Daphne took Harry’s right, and as Neville and Draco eyed each other, silently challenging the other over who would take the free spot next to Harry, Astoria rolled her eyes and pushed between them, sitting down beside Harry.
Flustered, Draco sat down next to Astoria, Dora sliding into the seat on his other side, not bothering to hide her amusement. Neville quickly sat down to Daphne’s other side, smiling a little shyly at Cassiopeia who sat beside him.
The elderly woman smiled indulgently at the Longbottom heir, having met him well over a year ago now. She had provided for him an example of a person his grandmother’s age that used a soft touch with the children in her care – Harry knew Neville was extremely fond of Aunt Cass in particular.
For Neville’s birthday yesterday he had come by Black Castle to see Harry and Aunt Cass had been there too. She had given the boy a rare book on herbology, which she had carefully selected. Neville had hugged her tightly with tears in his eyes.
As Harry looked around the table he knew it might be considered lame by many of his age to have far more adults than children his own age at his birthday party, but Harry would have it no other way.
Many families had attempted over the past nearly three years to ingratiate themselves with either the Black or Greengrass families in order to set up meetings between their children and Harry. He had been approached at multiple events by kids who would bombard him with questions about his scar, the night in Godric’s Hollow, his life with his Muggle relatives, his godfather’s time in prison, and all other manner of invasive lines of conversation.
Harry knew who his real friends were – although Draco had tried to pull Harry into his social circle, Harry had made it clear whilst Draco was his friend, he was not that fond of Draco’s other friends.
It was something that disappointed Draco greatly, but after witnessing the way his social circle acted around Harry, he begrudgingly backed down about trying to push Harry to hang out with his own friends.
Theo disliked Harry on principle; jealous of how close Harry and Draco were, feeling like his position as Draco’s best friend was constantly threatened. There was also the manner of their first meeting, and his childish grudge that Harry had embarrassed his older brother, Evander.
Pansy sneered constantly at Harry, levelling barely veiled insults at him whenever he saw her. Everything was fair game to the shallow girl, who poked at every aspect of his life from his blood status, to the clothes he wore.
Daphne had cut ties with the girl, who had once been her friend, and the two no longer spoke outside of formal events where they were coldly civil to each other. The Greengrass heir would not tolerate keeping someone in her life that unashamedly insulted Harry, who was essentially her brother in all but name.
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were difficult people to be friendly with, both boys possessing a mean streak and also a distinct lack of personality, choosing to blindly follow whatever Draco did.
Harry did not have much of an opinion on Millicent Bulstrode, who was very quiet and mostly followed Pansy’s lead, although she had never been actively rude to Harry. He did like Millie’s older cousin though, Charlotte Bulstrode, who was the heir to the Bulstrode family.
Charlotte – or Lottie as she insisted Harry call her, was twenty years old now, and a professional Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies, Sirius’ favourite team.
She always greeted Harry warmly at parties if she saw him, and much to Sirius’ delight had arranged for VIP access for them both at Harpies matches after she had discovered what a big fan Sirius was.
Lottie had been in Hufflepuff with Dora, albeit a couple of years older, and the two girls remained in close contact with one another.
Whilst Harry knew Sirius worried a bit that most the people in Harry’s life he was close to were adults, Harry was not bothered. Neville too did not have many friends his own age, Harry and Daphne being his closest friends.
At Harry’s eleventh birthday party, other than his godfather, grandfather and Aunt Cass, there was a very frail Pollux, who sat quietly beside his cousin Arcturus. The man had warmed up to Harry over the past couple of years, but remained very withdrawn since the death of his last child, Cygnus.
On Pollux’s other side was his granddaughter Narcissa, her husband Lucius, and beside Lucius were Andromeda and Ted Tonks. Rounding out the adults was Remus beside Sirius, Ezra on Remus’ other side, and Rosie and Gareth Greengrass.
Ezra was back to teaching Transfiguration at Durmstrang, his two year research sabbatical having ended. The results of his study had been received with deep intrigue by the academic board, and various research institutions across Europe and even abroad in the United States.
Harry had been the start, but not the end of the study – after establishing it was possible for a child to harness their accidental magic, Ezra had expanded his study to include other children, notably Daphne and Astoria who he had quick and easy access to. Other boys and girls had been involved too, all of their names anonymised, including Harry’s as the key participant.
The results had been clear – whilst it was possible, what Harry had done was the exception, not the norm. Not a single other child had been able to do what Harry had done, even under the same curriculum and conditions.
The academic board had been burning with curiosity to uncover the identity of the mystery child who had learned how to harness wandless magic, but Ezra was nothing if not fiercely protective of Harry’s privacy, and rebuffed every attempt of individuals to gather more information on “Subject A”.
Neville was the only child present without a guardian in attendance - but Lady Longbottom would not have come even if she had been invited, still holding a grudge against Sirius after his involvement in getting Rabastan Lestrange out of Azkaban, now Lord Lestrange. She did not stand in the way of Harry and Neville’s friendship, but she drew the line at getting too friendly with Sirius and the rest of the Black clan.
Once all of his loved ones were seated around the table, Harry realised he should maybe say something before they all began eating, seeing more than a few eyes on him.
“Thank you for all being here to celebrate with me,” he said, feeling a little shy under all the warm gazes of the people he loved most in the world.
Arcturus raised his glass high, toasting Harry, dark eyes filled with love and pride and he said, “Happy birthday, Harry.”
Wishes of happy birthday were echoed around the table, everyone raising their own glasses to Harry.
As the warm summer breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the sweet scent of apple blossoms from the nearby orchard, Harry grinned, utterly carefree in that moment.