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The evening of the 29th of May 1993. 

He could feel the searing venom of the Basilisk coursing through his veins. His blood felt like it was on fire, and his insides spasmed painfully. He had failed. He might have slain the Basilisk, but Tom Riddle was still sucking the life out of Ginny. Ginny…how will he tell her that her brother is dead? But he was a goner, and so was she, and there won’t be any speaking at all anytime soon. He tried to let out a raspy chuckle, but his insides twisted, and he grimaced in agony.

Damn that fraud! Curse Lockhart for causing that rock slide that killed them both. Damn all the professors and the ministry for being useless, and damn Lucius Malfoy for removing the headmaster from the school. Dumbledore would have easily dealt with everything…

‘But would he? He never did anything but watch the previous year, and it was much of the same this one,’ a voice darkly whispered in his mind.

Harry could feel his consciousness slipping as he lay down on the damp floor. The pain was becoming unbearable, and even thinking became painful. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. His mind clouded for a moment before the fog turned into a painful fire. Unbidden memories rushed through his mind, and he remembered . 

He remembered another time he was lying on the cold ground, life seeping away. Memories of a gigantic Wall of ice and the cold sting of blades upon his chest by those he called his brothers. Even the steel did not feel as painful as the cruel, senseless betrayal.

Distantly, in Harry’s mind, a white wolf growled and pounced, and a puny twisted snake-like abomination tried to flee. But it was too sluggish and slow, and the wolf was too mighty and quick. Harry closed his eyes in another stab of excruciating pain, this time in the forehead, only to open them abruptly. Everything slowly became numb from the pain, and he gritted his teeth, sat up, and looked around.

He remembered more than before now. He was Harry Potter but also Jon Snow, the betrayed 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Harry could feel Ghost in his mind, tearing down and devouring something that was making his head feel like it was stabbed repeatedly by a rusty knife. A sensation that only added to the molten poison running through his veins. Vaguely, he felt a blurry memory surface in his mind. Something about…thirteen? He shook his head only to regret it as another pang of agony coursed through him.

“Still struggling, Potter? A vain effort; in a minute, you will be history, a mere footnote in my glorious return!” The almost fully corporeal teenager started cackling madly, and it only made Harry’s pain feel worse from the jarring noise. 

He forced himself to look around, and he spotted the diary lying innocently a few yards away. His hand found itself wrenching out the Basilisk Fang that poisoned him in the first place. 

Mustering the last vestiges of his waning strength, Harry plunged the fang into the diary, hoping it would shut up that insane cackling grating in his ears. The gloating was replaced with a shrill cry of pain, and Tom Riddle’s body began to crack, darkness and light leaking out of the fissures in equal measure. A few painful seconds later, he exploded into nothingness as the diary bled a black sludge that looked like ink.

“Finally, some quiet,” Harry groaned, his head wasn’t hurting as much, but the venom still made his veins feel like they were on fire. His body began growing number and number, and everything started becoming even blurrier and darker. Next to him, he could barely see Ginny breathing more easily, and his heart skipped a beat. She looked like the spitting image of his sister, Sansa.

‘At least, she will live…’ Harry thought as the last vestiges of strength left him, and he fell down on the damp floor, no longer able to control his own limbs. Numbness and pain battled inside him, and everything went dark. Even his mind grew sluggish. 

So this was it… 

Harry wondered which family he would see in the afterlife. Would he see the Potters, the Starks, or maybe both? Perhaps Jon could finally see his mother. It sucked, though, that just as he gained a second chance at life, it was snuffed out like this.

Somewhere far, far away in the distance, a small trill was heard. Numbness and pain slowly gave way to a cosy warmth. 

The sound of melodic trilling increased as the warmth quickly flowed in his stabbed arm and spread out through his body until it reached the eyes. The numbness disappeared, replaced by searing pain in his face that made him cry out. It felt like hot daggers were being stabbed into his eyes repeatedly while someone was pouring salt into them at the same time. His body spasmed in agony for an endless moment before the pain began to subside. A few heartbeats later, his body felt…better, and all the pain was gone. Harry became acutely aware of a small, warm weight that was pressing down on his arm. His eyelids felt as if made of stone, and it took some time to force them to open, only to be greeted by a blurry surrounding.

Great, now he lost his glasses. He cursed his luck and blindly began to feel the ground with his arms. An indignant squawk was heard, and he stilled, and the weight disappeared from his right arm only to reappear on his shoulder. Gods, was that Fawkes? A soft, soothing trill next to his ear was all the answer he needed. Harry couldn’t help but burst out in a fit of raspy laughter.

He was alive!

Today, he thought he was dead and had his foot in the grave on more than one occasion. Heck, he even died today at the Wall. The bitter feeling of betrayal still stung like a phantom knife in his chest. And here he was, a young boy of two and ten, sitting at a place of legend, having slain a mythical beast by sheer luck and daring. His laughter abruptly stopped. He was lucky, but his best friend… was not. He felt foolish now, rushing into danger completely unprepared, thinking that the Fraud would be of any assistance. Ron, his most loyal friend, looked so much like Robb that tears began to streak down his cheeks. Another soft trill sounded near him, and something soft nuzzled to his cheek.

Right, it was not the time to mourn now, he had to get Ron’s body back to his family. And Ginny too. He tried to wipe his blurry eyes with his sleeve, only for his glasses to painfully sink into his nose as he clumsily smacked his hand into them. He winced, cursed quietly, took off the glasses, and wiped his eyes with the inner lining of the robes that was probably the only thing clean on him right now. Harry mechanically picked up his glasses again as he looked around and froze just before they reached his face. Everything was crystal clear, and for the first time, he could see . 

Harry could see each detail of the stone serpents. Each and every crevice and line flowed clearly, and even the grey stone looked more vivid than before. The perfect outline of the tiles on the damp floor. Every single crack, splatter, or speck of dirt and sludge. The poisonously green skin of the Basilisk looked deadly yet mesmerizing, along with all the small, bony horns crowning its head. A feeling of joy and satisfaction filled him. Despite being incredibly tired and conflicted, he had never felt more alive than now. Not even on a broom. He had memories of Jon’s good eyesight, but he had not truly appreciated what he had. Now, being able to see with his own eyes was simply…amazing. 

The round glasses cluttered on the ground, forgotten, and the phoenix gave a soft, happy trill right next to him.

“Thanks, Fawkes. You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” He could see pride flash through the bird’s onyx eyes, and he gave a weak chuckle. Harry gently ran his finger through his beautiful plumage, making the magical bird close its eyes in contentment and trill happily. “I’d be dead twice over without you.”

Harry did feel better, although his whole body barely had any strength left. But it was more than enough for now. The phoenix flew up, perched on one of the stone snake heads, and looked on curiously as he struggled to force his heavy limbs to listen to him. After a few moments, he pocketed the stabbed diary and finally managed to stand up and make his way toward the Sorting Hat and the Sword of Gryffindor.

He stuffed the hat in one pocket and the basilisk fang in the other before walking to the maw of the Basilisk, where the sword was still sticking out. After some struggle, he managed to pull it out, only to gasp in amazement.

The silvery blade was unmarred by any blood or venom and looked impeccably clean. It was a hand-and-a-half sword just like Longclaw, but it was a tad shorter and even heavier than ordinary steel. The egg-sized rubies on the handle looked a bit too flashy, but at least the balance was perfect. Jon would have been able to wield the blade with ease since he had trained since his early childhood, but Harry would probably get tired after a few swings. In fact, even ignoring his sore body, he felt laughably weak compared to Jon. Something to definitely work on later.

He lightly tapped the blade with his finger, and it gave an unusually sharp ringing sound. He wondered if the blade truly was made from silver. That would certainly explain the heavier weight. But silver was a very soft, malleable metal that would bend at the first strike, yet the blade stood perfectly straight, and the edges looked razor sharp. He gently ran the edge of the blade across his thumb, and it easily pierced his skin, just like Valyrian Steel. 

He snorted at his foolishness. Right, he was a wizard in a school of magic; the blade was most probably enchanted.

'Magic is a blade without a hilt, it is said.' Harry thought, or was it Jon? 'Regardless, this doesn't seem to be true here anymore.' He turned the blade to check the base. 

Right under the hilt, he could see a name etched in what he assumed was Old English. After a moment of thinking, he recognized the name.

“Godric Gryffindor!” Harry was surprised and felt his chest swell with pride and honour to hold such a legendary sword, for even he had heard of the sword of the founder of his House. 

All in all, it was a remarkable sword. 

‘Too remarkable,’ Harry thought warily. A twelve-year-old student with no training at arms would most certainly not be allowed to keep such a prized blade. While he could lay a claim on it, it’s not like he could truly stop a grown adult from taking it away from him. Harry could imagine what they’d say already.

‘Wizards don’t use swords!’

‘He’s too young!’

‘This belongs to the school!’ 

And probably a thousand reasons more.

“No! This sword chose me; it came to me in my darkest hour. There is no way I will relinquish it to anyone!” Harry told himself aloud. He decided it would be much safer to keep it here, in a place which only he had access to, and after a short struggle, stabbed it back into the Basilisk’s open maw and nodded with satisfaction. This could be his hidden ace if needs be. Nobody would expect a young wizard to have an enchanted sword, let alone know how to use it. 

Harry looked around for his wand, finding it on the ground near where Riddle last stood and picked it up. He jerked in surprise at the surprising warmth and eagerness he could feel from the wand, almost as warm as the first time he picked it from Ollivander. It was as if the wand chose him all over again and Harry felt a much closer connection to it than an hour ago.

He turned around sharply as he heard a faint shuffle and a pained groan from the end of the Chamber. 

Ginny woke up with a start and quickly sat up; she looked around confused, eyes darting from the massive form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the mangled diary peeking out of his pocket. She drew a great, shuddering gasp, and tears began to pour down her face. She remembered what she had done. 

Her bright blue eyes found Harry staring at her.

“Harry, oh, Harry, I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy! It was me, Harry, but I-I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to. R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over, and…how did you kill that…that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary—” Ginny started rambling and was soon talking incoherently.

Harry, dread, sadness, and anger warring within him, stood there stunned for a few seconds before walking over and helping her stand up. Dread filled him, and his tongue felt as heavy as stone at the thought of telling her of Ron’s demise. 

“It’s all right,” Harry managed to eke out, holding up the pierced diary, trying to smile widely, but his face twisted into a grimace instead as he stepped towards her. “Riddle’s finished. Look! Him and the Basilisk. Come, Ginny. We need to get out of here,” he turned to walk towards the entrance but stumbled as his legs scarcely listened to him. “Give me a hand, will you? I can barely move my limbs.” 

The confusion and panic on Ginny’s face slowly receded as she looked at the stumbling Harry. She helped him, and he leaned on her shoulder for support.

As they made their way through the Chamber to the exit, they found Fawkes was waiting for them, perched right on top of the Chamber entrance. He followed them through the echoing gloom and back into the tunnel. Harry heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.

Harry, still feeling disoriented and exhausted from the whole affair, decided to come clean. It would not do for her to see Ron’s body without warning. 

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

Words simply did not come out. Harry had no idea what to say, and his visions began to swim as tears silently began to pool in his eyes.

Dread filled him as they neared the collapsed ceiling.

A few moments later, they approached the rockslide. Ginny froze, and Harry felt like a hammer had stuck him at the sight. Right in front of them was the rockslide, with Ron’s upper body clearly visible from under the rocks, with his head cracked open. There was so much blood and even pale pieces of bone, and, on the side, Harry could see the rock that had taken the life of his best friend.

“No…NO!” Ginny cried out and fell on her knees, and without her support, Harry’s legs gave out, and he painfully crumbled on the rocky floor littered with bones. She slowly approached the body and carefully shook it. Harry felt his chest tighten, and breathing became painful.

“Ron?! Please no! Wake up, Ron…”

A sad, lamenting trill filled the air…

Poppy Pomfrey was in her office when she felt the fiery brand of teleportation. Hurrying to the infirmary proper, expecting Dumbledore to be injured, she was shocked and horrified by what she found instead.

“Mr Potter! Miss Weasley and…is that Mr Weasley?!” She looked horrified at the obviously deceased boy. She could see Harry on all fours and vomiting on the ground before collapsing on the floor.

.

.

.

.

When Harry next awoke, it was to a commotion in the infirmary. He felt like something had chewed him out a few times and decided that he was not worth the effort and spat him out instead of devouring him completely. A woman was wailing in grief, accompanied by the quiet sobs and crying of others. For a few short moments, he wondered if he had died, but the aches across his body told him otherwise. That meant that the sad sounds of mourning could only be the Weasleys. Harry grimaced, gritted his teeth, and forced himself to sit up. His hand mechanically started wandering next to the bed, looking for his glasses, when he stopped. They had been left in the Chamber, but he did not need them anymore, as he could clearly see the surroundings without them. 

He was about to get up and remove the privacy screens before loud footsteps approached from the door.

“Arthur! Oh dear Merlin, Arthur, when I heard the news,” a sad voice echoed across the Hospital Wing. It took a few moments for Harry to realize that the voice belonged to the Minister. “The Ministry would spare no effort to find and punish the perpetrator!”

Harry finally removed his privacy screen, forced his tired body to stand up, and looked around the Hospital Wing.

The Weasleys were gathered around a bed covered with a white sheet, where Ron’s body probably lay. The minister was flanked by two serious-looking men in red robes, and the tall form of Albus Dumbledore towered over all of them.

It seemed that Harry’s movement grabbed their attention, as all of them looked his way, and the Headmaster approached while the Minister continued quietly conversing with the Weasleys.

“Harry, I am so glad you are alright,” Dumbledore’s voice was very relieved, his face rich with emotions that Harry had difficulty reading. “I know this is a terrible time for this, but I need to know exactly what happened, and so does Minister Fudge,” The headmaster’s tone became as cold and hard as steel, and his sad eyes hardened. “Someone killed one of my students” 

Harry’s hairs all stood up. At that moment, the amiable old man was gone, and in his place stood the mighty wizard that even Voldemort was afraid to face. But he could see a small glimpse of something familiar in the wizened old face in front of him. The rigid, icy exterior did not fully hide the deep sadness mixed with regret, especially when he turned in the direction of the Weasleys. 

‘He must blame himself for Ron’s death.’  

He opened his mouth to start speaking, but his throat was dry and parched, and only a raspy groan came out. At that moment, Madame Pomfrey quickly came by his bed holding several vials of potions.

“Here, Mr Potter, you must drink these to regain your strength,” the school nurse sharply turned around. “And Headmaster, I must insist! Mr Potter needs his rest.”

Harry wasted no time and started pouring Pomfrey’s concoctions down his throat. The taste was so foul he almost gagged and lost focus for a few moments. When he finally came about again, Pomfrey looked somewhat pacified, and Dumbledore now looked like a tired old man but still had his sad yet firm expression on his face. 

“I will leave no stone unturned,” he heard Fudge loudly promise to Mr Weasley before coming towards Harry, still followed by his two guards. With a casual wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a second chair for the Minister. 

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Fudge nodded, sat, and nodded towards Harry with a sad smile. “Mr Potter, I hoped we would meet in better circumstances, but alas…”

A sad realization struck Harry. Nobody knew the full story of what happened but himself. Under their expectant gazes, he steeled himself and opened his mouth.

Across the room, from the corner of his eye, he could see the Weasley twins and Percy listening intently.

His story started flowing out of his mouth. From learning of the Chamber’s location and going to Lockhart for help to discovering he was a fraud and forcing him to join them in the Chamber, to Lockhart’s spell backfiring from Ron’s broken wand and how he found his friend dead amidst the fallen rubble. Harry choked at this point, and his eyes began stinging with tears again. He angrily wiped them and was about to continue but was interrupted by a heart-clenching wail from Molly. 

‘Oh yeah…she was the one who refused to get Ron a new wand…’

He felt bile rise in his throat again, but thankfully, his stomach seemed to be empty. Harry gritted his teeth and soldiered on with the rest of his story.

“But this is preposterous! With a sword?” Fudge asked in shock, “And where is that sword?”

“In the Chamber, Still stuck in the Basilisk’s maw,” Harry explained with a watery chuckle. “I was more concerned with Ginny, to be honest.” 

While Harry might have had trouble giving such a half-truth a few hours ago, Jon had no such issue at all.

“This beggars belief, Mr. Potter! I can hardly believe any of this without evidence!” Fudge exclaimed as he looked at an impassive Dumbledore in incredulity, then back to Harry.

“It’s up to you to believe me or not, Minister,” Harry shrugged sadly. He should have foreseen such a reaction. Truthfully, he himself would not believe what happened had he not lived it. ”You asked me to tell you what happened, and I did so…” He grimaced at the thought of bringing other people into the Chamber to prove his story. That place… was dark, terrible, but something that only he had access to. But then he remembered something and rolled off his sleeve, showing off a deep, jagged, ugly scar where the fang had sunk into his flesh. Harry carefully brought out the Basilisk fang from his robe’s pocket and brought it forward. 

Fudge gasped and backed away warily.

“Is this…?” Dumbledore’s voice was rich with apprehension.

“Yes. This is the fang, and the scar is where it stabbed me,” Harry confirmed and placed the fang right next to the marred flesh. It looked like a perfect fit, and there could be little doubt about what had caused the scarring.  “If it was not for Fawkes, I would have been finished.” 

At the mention of his name, the Phoenix trilled happily from the railing of the nearest window.

“Merlin’s beard!”

“If you want to make sure the fang is real, you’re welcome to take it, Mr Fudge. A gift from me,” Harry extended his hand, and the Minister warily eyed the enormous tooth that was covered by a dark-green venomously-looking substance.

The Minister wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and turned towards the man on his left.

“Dawlish,” Fudge barked, “take the fang to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I want it analysed, and the report sent back here within the hour, and I don’t care if it’s nine in the bloody evening! And for Merlin’s sake, be careful handling it!” 

A tough-looking burly wizard with short, wiry hair came forward and cautiously eyed the fang. The man donned a pair of dragon hide gloves, gingerly picked the fang, and carefully deposited it into a leather pouch, before quickly heading for the hallway.

Dumbledore shifted in his seat and slowly ran his hand through his long, white beard.

“And you say the sword is in the Basilisk, Harry?”

“Yes, sir. Fawkes came to me when I asked for aid with the Sorting Hat in his claws, and I put it on. The sword dropped on my head hilt-first then.” Harry absent-mindedly rubbed the bump on his head, remembering how he almost got knocked out by the hilt. Harry hastily remembered the stuffed hat in his pocket and quickly handed it over to Dumbledore, who took it with a grateful nod.

Fudge returned to his seat then, after speaking to the other Auror in hushed tones, and Harry could see a look of nervousness in his eyes.

“Do you have any clue as to who the sword belonged to, my boy?” Fudge asked in curiosity, only for Dumbledore to interrupt.

“I believe that is enough questions, Cornelius. It doesn’t matter who the sword belonged to, it might just be one of the dozens of nameless magical swords lying around. More importantly, I believe the Hospital Wing is not a good place for this conversation.” The Headmaster slightly tilted his head in the direction of the Weasleys before turning to Harry. “Harry, do you still have the dark artefact that caused the possession?” 

He nodded, and Dumbledore stood up, Sorting Hat in hand.

“Your office it is then,” Fudge agreed quietly with a nod., “I will personally take a look at the entrance of the Chamber first, Dumbledore. I will meet you afterwards; let's go, Robards.” 

“Meet you there, Cornelius,” the Headmaster confirmed and motioned for Harry to stand up. 

Harry forced his heavy limbs to move and slowly got up. Meanwhile, the few people dressed similarly to Madam Pomphrey were carrying out Ron’s body, accompanied by the grieving Weasleys.

‘Probably to be cleaned and given last rites,’ he realised and shook his head. He was still dizzy and tired. The grumbling stomach was not helping him either.

Dumbledore frowned for a second but quickly held out his arm to him. Seeing Fawkes on his shoulders, Harry guessed what would happen and quickly made sure to grab his wand from the bedside before grasping Dumbledore’s extended arm. A flash of fire later, and they were gone.

Once they arrived, the Headmaster made his way behind his desk while Harry sat on one of the tapered chairs in front.

“Professor, is there a chance that I could get some food and drink? I feel like I haven’t eaten in days, and I’m sure I missed dinner by now, considering the hour,” Harry asked once they settled and checked his cracked watch, which showed 09:08 in the evening. It felt like an eternity had passed since he and Ron accosted Lockhart in his office.

Dumbledore was surprised and quickly called out, “Leeney?” Instantly, a house elf in a clean white sack appeared to the side.

“You called? Headmaster Dumblesdores?” The elf spoke concisely at first before butchering the headmaster's name, Harry, in his tired and emotional state, couldn’t hold the choking snort of laughter, which earned him a rebuking glance from the elf, but he didn’t care too much. He was emotionally spent, and he couldn’t even muster the energy to ask about the existence of House-Elfs in Hogwarts. He was too hungry.

Dumbledore good-naturedly chuckled along. 

“Yes, Leeney, Might I ask you to procure some food and drink for young Harry here? He has had a very long day and an exhausting battle. He is in dire need of sustenance.”

The elf did a 180 as it looked straight at Harry. 

“Oh, this won’t does,” the elf snapped her fingers, and suddenly, Harry felt cleaner. Most of the mud, blood, and grime on him evaporated, but he still felt like he needed to burn all the clothes he was wearing and to take at least an hour in the hot shower to scrub himself clean.

“Thank you, Leeney,” Harry tried to smile in response but probably grimaced instead.

“Oh no, no, oh no, no need for thanks, Leeney is happy to help! I will have the food here shortedly,” the elf bounced before vanishing. 

“Our caretaker could hardly keep the whole school in order, even if he was not a squib. No, Hogwarts employs over a hundred house elves to feed and maintain the upkeep of such a large castle,” Dumbledore answered the unasked question. ”If you ever feel peckish and have missed a meal, you can always make your way to the kitchens in the basement for a snack. Just look for a portrait with fruits on it. I’m sure the pear would love a little laugh. The elves will never refuse you.”

Harry smiled at Dumbledore’s advice. 

“I will keep it in mind, sir.”

Some silence took over the room then.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Dumbledore asked quietly, “It is not easy losing a friend.”

Harry could feel tears coming back, but he held them in. Or at least he thought he did until his vision began to swim, and he had to wipe his face with his relatively clean sleeve. 

“I won’t lie and say I’m fine, professor,” he started slowly, and his voice couldn’t help but crack. “Ron-” he choked on his friend’s name and grimaced, “-Ron was like a brother to me. We knew what we were getting ourselves into, we had to save Ginny, and there was no time to get to the teachers after Lockhart turned out to be a disappointment. What’s done is done; he’s with the Gods now.”

The headmaster noticed the odd expression but quickly dismissed it due to a child’s grief.  At that moment, Leeney returned with a veritable feast on a large tray, along with a jug of pumpkin juice. Harry could see a whole roasted duck, two large steaks, garlic bread, and much more. She placed it on a side table by the window, and Harry quickly moved to it.

He wasted no time and feasted like a ravaging wolf, forgetting about the events of today in favour of satisfying his growling stomach. He still made sure not to make a mess, but it was a close thing.

Dumbledore watched fondly with a small smile as his young student was wolfing down an enormous amount of food while trying to uphold basic table manners.

Harry managed to finish the entire course set in front of him, to Dumbledore’s bemusement. The boy had just eaten enough food for half a dozen people, yet still looked like he could take more.

‘Almost like a wolf on a feast’

Harry was enjoying his treacle tart when a knock and the door opening grabbed his attention, Fudge had returned, and it appeared that the Auror Dawlish had also made it back. 

“Cornelius,” the headmaster nodded in greeting.

“Albus,” Fudge replied, before looking around the office, his eyes finding Harry.

“Ah, Harry! There you are, my boy.” Cornelius called as he fiddled with his bowler hat. 

He motioned to Dawlish, who approached Harry with the same pouch that had the fang in it and wordlessly offered the fang back.

“Oh, Minister. Did you already test the fang?” Harry asked politely as he retrieved his fang and held it in his hand for now. After eating so much, Harry was already feeling better, the sluggish feeling and tiredness from before almost completely gone.

Fudge fiddled with his hat faster than ever and looked uncomfortable. 

“Ah, yes, well, the results came back quickly once I put the order, the head of the department himself did it for me as a favour, you see, and it was unbelievable, I should say. At least an eight-hundred-year-old Basilisk, they say…” 

“Impressive, Cornelius. Mr Dawlish must have caught Amos on his way out if you managed to have him check the fang so quickly at this time of night,” Dumbledore intoned lightly while Fudge and Dawlish both puffed up like peacocks after the slight praise.

“And I am also glad that I have proven my word,” Harry said pleasantly as he shoved a spoonful of tart in his mouth with his free hand. 

Fudge blanched at the unsaid accusation to Harry's integrity. 

“Ah, Mr Potter, it was not my intent. But surely, you can see how something so serious requires some verification?” Harry now understood how the Minister had got elected. The man sounded so affable, so reasonable, and jovial that it was hard to dislike him. “I owe you an apology, and in return, I will always free my time for you if you have any requests towards me. You are welcome to come by my office in the ministry, and I will always be available.” 

The Minister smiled amiably and looked expectantly at Harry.

Harry was stunned, he did want some benefits out of today, but he didn't expect the Minister, who is basically the equivalent to a King, or at least the Hand of the King, to offer him his ear so easily. 

“I am honoured, Minister. Truly I am. I graciously accept your offer, and I may just call on you sometime soon.” Cornelius beamed, “Are you sure you don't want the fang, Minister? I did say it can be a gift.” Harry added as he waved the fang around, making the Aurors and the Minister take a step back.

“No need, my boy. It's yours by right. Especially in light of what Robards and I discovered.” At this, Fudge turned to the headmaster, “The entrance truly is in the girl's bathroom on the second floor. Robards and I went down on borrowed brooms, and we discovered the rocks blocking the way. We cleared it up and recovered Lockhart's corpse. We decided against exploring any more of the Chamber, as it might be too dangerous and will be redundant to what I have decided I will tell the public anyway.”

At that, both Dumbledore and Harry perked up and listened closely, Harry pocketing the fang and pouring some pumpkin juice. 

“Why not tell the truth?” He couldn't help but voice out.

Fudge looked taken aback, as if the very idea of telling the truth was antithetical to him.

“Because we do not want a panic to spread, my boy. It's bad enough that a relic of You-Know-Who managed to make its way to Hogwarts, but to tell the public that there was a 20-meter-long Basilisk freely crawling in the school where their children are spending most of their year in? I will have riots and people calling for my head for allowing such a thing, let alone what Albus will have to endure! The school might possibly close because of this. Many parents might just send their children abroad to Durmstrang,  Beuxbatons, or heavens forbid Ilvermorny, which is unacceptable!”

Silence met the Minister's statement, and Harry could reluctantly see the logic behind it. He could easily imagine parents sending their children to other wizarding schools if any of this got out. And, could Hogwarts close if it did not have enough students? The thought of that made a cold chill crawl down his spine. He grimaced inwardly. Truth be told, Harry was not sure if he would have taken a different decision if he was in the Minister’s shoes. Jon Snow had been forced to decide between bad and worse far too many times.

“And what, pray tell, have you decided to tell the public at large, Cornelius? I sincerely hope you do not try to cover up this mess.” Dumbledore asked impassively.

“Oh, heavens no. I can't hide that even if I wanted to. Unlike that bloody ghost haunting the bathroom, a pureblood son of an old family like the Weasleys dying on school property can never be hidden,” Harry visibly scowled at the flippant way the Minister talked about the worth of a pureblood and a muggle-born.

Looking at Dumbledore, he could tell that the Headmaster was not amused either, but he had better control over his expression.

'It's the sad but harsh truth, though, ' Harry thought. Even in Westeros, a noble's worth a thousand smallfolk. Sometimes even more. He thought of Jon’s experience dealing with nobles and smallfolk. Nobles tended to be better learned and trained, while most smallfolk he had to deal with, while not dumb, were often too superstitious and resistant to change.

To wizards and witches, muggles were no better than smallfolk, while muggle-borns were a bit higher on the hierarchy ladder, but Harry could see how their ignorance of the ways of magical culture could greatly irate other magicals; Purebloods or not. Even Ron and the Weasleys had been largely dismissive of the muggles, despite their amicable attitude.

Harry shook his head, only to realise that he had been too absorbed in his thoughts.

“Gilderoy Lockhart is clearly a fraud, I will release the truth about how he stole the accomplishments of other witches and wizards before obliviating them. He accepted the Defence against the Dark Arts position to force students to buy his books. How much did you pay for his books again, Harry, my boy?” Fudge suddenly turned to him.

“Nineteen Galleons for seven books,” he replied after thinking for a moment. 

“And with the number of students in Hogwarts who were forced to buy those books, the man must have made a fortune. I will be taking your word on how he is a fraud, Harry, though I will have a team of scribes looking over his books and have his entire legacy torn apart. Perhaps after all is said and done, you shall be rewarded with an Order of Merlin for helping expose a dangerous Dark Wizard like Lockhart to the public. Such a dangerous man does not deserve the recognition and wealth they accumulated,” Cornelius finished earnestly as he put his hat back on his head with a smile. 

Harry scowled inwardly, he could see how the minister would probably benefit from such an arrangement. But it was apparent using your position to leverage some benefits for yourself was just a matter of course, as long as it did not go too far. 

Dumbledore, however, frowned heavily. 

“I hope, Minister, that when you seize the unlamented Gilderoy's assets, you will make sure that a fair sum is distributed to the victims of his attacks?”

“But of course, Dumbledore. I wouldn’t have it any other way. The public must know that the ministry is open-handed and fair after all. All the petrified victims, and certainly the poor Weasleys, will all get the lion's share of Lockhart's fortune. It helps that he has no family to contest any will he left behind. While gold is definitely not a good substitute for Arthur’s lost son, it would definitely soften the blow, I’m certain. “

“And perhaps an Order of Merlin for young Ronald as well? Posthumously, of course,” Dumbledore added thoughtfully, and Harry could swear that a sliver of guilt flashed in his blue eyes.

Harry couldn’t help but feel that the minister was right. No amount of gold or accolades would substitute for a dead loved one.

'Still, it's the thought that counts.'

Harry had a concerning thought then. 

“But wouldn't Professor Dumbledore get the blame for hiring Lockhart in the first place?” 

“Ah, but you see, Harry, I didn't hire Gilderoy.” Harry was confused, “My preferred choice for the position was sadly unavailable, but he promised he would accept next year if the position was still open. Which it incidentally is,” Dumbledore elaborated. “It was the board of governors who took matters into their own hands and decided to hire Gilderoy, perhaps some of them, or more likely their wives and daughters, were fans of his.” 

Dumbledore shook his head sardonically at the end. 

“I would also like to point out, Cornelius, that much of the blame lies at the feet of Lucius Malfoy,” At Albus' accusation of his friend, Fudge grimaced and looked uncertain.

“While I can see how Lucius is indeed at fault for trying to play politics in the Board of the Governors, he has not really committed any crime, Dumbledore, and you know this,” Fudge replied while fiddling with his hat. “His position on the Board would definitely be void after this, however. Really, I expected better of him…”

Harry, however, remembered something. He quickly stood up, retrieved the diary from his pocket, and placed it on the Headmaster's desk. 

“I think this is what was used to open the Chamber, Minister. I do not know what it is, but just holding it now, even after destroying it, gives me chills. I think I saw Mr Malfoy placing it in Ginny’s cauldron in Flourish and Blots the last summer,” he hesitantly finished.

“I get you, Harry, I really do,” Fudge spoke slowly while wiping a small bead of sweat from his brow. “But it would not do to throw such accusations without proof against a respected member of society. Unless you have something more, there’s nothing I can do. A vague memory is no basis for an investigation to start, my boy.”

‘So much for his promise to leave no stone unturned,’ Harry scowled inwardly .

The worst part was… that the minister was right. He had nothing that he could stick to Lucius, despite knowing he was the guilty one.

“Did you not promise to leave no stone unturned, Cornelius?” Dumbledore gently reminded him, and Harry almost leapt in his seat in hope.

Fudge looked very uncertain for a moment but eventually sighed with resignation.

“Yes, I did, Dumbledore. Very well. I will do what I can, but I can’t promise much. Lucius has plenty of connections, and a vague testimony about something from nearly a year ago is flimsy at best… Can you absolutely say, without a shadow of a doubt, that the book you saw was exactly the same,” Fudge pointed to the ruined diary, “as this one?” 

For once, Harry was also uncertain.

“No, I can not,” he eventually admitted, and Fudge nodded in understanding. 

“I thought so. Still, I did promise Arthur to find the perpetrator. If Lucius truly had a hand in this, his life will become difficult, I give you my word,”

Despite his outward amiable tone, Harry felt that the Minister was not going to try too hard, and his assurances were given in vain. He had been getting superb at sensing people’s emotions and intentions since the Chamber for some reason. He had the feeling that Fudge would most likely pressure Draco’s dad until he coughed out enough money to get him off his hide.

Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Cornelius did not seem to be an exceptionally powerful wizard, but he was a skilled politician and knew how to leverage his position, if nothing else. His own position as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch came with few perks, but nothing like this. Harry glanced at the Headmaster, who seemed impassive, but a small glint of disappointment could be seen in his eyes.

“Oh, and Cornelius,” Dumbledore spoke quietly, but suddenly the air in the room became heavy, and the Headmaster looked particularly imposing., “I will be expecting my gamekeeper back by morning.” 

Fudge quickly nodded a jumbled agreement, excused himself, and left along with his escorts.

.

.

.

Harry sat in front of Dumbledore, and a steaming hot pot of tea with two cups appeared on the desk. 

“So, Harry, I’m sure you have a few questions for me,” Dumbledore began before taking a sip from his tea.

“I do, actually, professor,” Harry confirmed and took a small gulp of tea. It was hot but not enough to feel scalding, and it also felt oddly relaxing. “Mainly, what was that diary? And how could a mere memory attempt to possess someone?”

Dumbledore seemed tired and old for a moment, but he quickly rallied himself.

“I am not certain, Harry,” the Headmaster sighed heavily with some self-deprecation. Seeing Harry’s disbelief, he slowly continued. “Even I am not arrogant to claim to know everything. I don’t have anything beyond a few conjectures that would take me quite some time and effort to verify. After all, this is the first time I am seeing this diary, and while it indeed feels evil, that is all I can glean in such a short time.”

Harry slowly drank the soothing tea while his mind tried to process what he had just heard. He grimaced inwardly. In hindsight, Dumbledore looked like a larger-than-life wizard but was only human.

“That was a very Slytherin move from you. Wrangling a favour from the minister without him even noticing, Harry,” Dumbledore noted with amusement after finishing his tea.

“Perhaps it was, The hat did want to put me in Slytherin after all.” At that, they both glanced at the hat, which remained silent but nodded its top, “I felt bad for pushing for a favour, but it’s maybe something I will need down the line. And any guilt disappeared when I realised Fudge was only giving lip service to the Weasleys.” 

“Politics is a double-edged sword, my boy. Power corrupts greatly, and even the greatest of men are not immune to its allure,” Dumbledore sighed heavily, eyes looking somewhere far in the distance. “It is why I refused the position of minister many times, and the titles I hold as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW are just that, titles. I may serve as an impartial judge at times, but I prefer to stay here in Hogwarts and do what I love best, guiding the new generations.” Dumbledore sighed again, “It is a great regret that young Ronald has died today. While none would lay the blame at my feet, I cannot help but feel responsible anyway. I could have probably resisted Lucius’ dismissal with far more vigour, yet I let things take their course. Long ago, I vowed not to let any more of my students perish under my watch, but alas.” 

Harry looked at the aged man, and part of him wanted to scoff at the dereliction of duty he has time and again portrayed, along with the majority of the Hogwarts faculty. Last year, alone, truly tested his patience with the staff. The deputy headmistress did send him and three other first years to the forbidden forest to investigate what was responsible for killing a mighty beast like a unicorn at night! 

Madness! 

Still, it would not be the smart thing to alienate such a powerful figure, and while he did not speak it out loud, Harry could see he was asking for forgiveness. He simply nodded to the headmaster, who smiled in relief.

“Professor, I still have a question. How did I come upon my ability to speak to snakes?” Harry asked after a moment of silence, “The Basilisk could understand me but refused to heed my words.”

Dumbledore took a moment to gather his thoughts, “It is my belief that the night Voldemort attacked you, Harry, he inadvertently transferred some of his powers to you through your scar,” At that, the headmaster looked closely at Harry’s scar, which has been hidden by his unruly hair, only for his eyes to widen in shock. 

The scar had become so faint it was barely visible.

Dumbledore stood suddenly with his wand drawn, the sudden move causing Harry to unconsciously edge his own wand out, only for Albus to notice his apprehension and chuckle in approval. 

“Constant Vigilance, as my dear friend Alastor Moody would say, my boy. But have no fear, I only want to examine your scar, with your permission, of course?”

Harry nodded warily, he still remembered Ghost attacking and consuming a serpentine entity that originated in his scar, and he was curious what it was about.

Dumbledore waved his wand at the scar and mumbled a long string of strange words that Harry couldn’t recognize as he felt his skin tingle. A few minutes later, he lowered his wand and seemed to sag in relief as he sat on the chair opposite Harry. Dumbledore looked like the entire weight of the world was removed from his shoulders.

“So, what’s going on, Professor?” Harry asked after a while.

“Nothing is wrong at all, Harry,” the Headmaster replied jovially. “Everything is great, in fact. You might not know this, but cursed scars always leave a sliver of the magic that makes them. That is the reason you can't heal cursed wounds, they always leave a mark, no matter what. Yours, in particular, was a unique scar and had a grain of deep darkness. But, I had no idea what it was, truth be told, but it worried me greatly. After all, nobody else survived the Killing Curse. But now it’s gone!” 

“That’s great, Professor. But do you think I have lost my ability to speak with snakes?”

“It should be gone if my theory is correct,” Dumbledore hummed.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a black adder appeared in front of them.

Harry looked right at it and spoke,

“Hello there, little ssnake.” The adder turned its pointy head to him immediately.

“Greetingsss, ssspeaker. Why wasss I sssummoned?”

Before Harry could answer, Dumbledore vanished the snake and looked at Harry deeply as if he were a riddle to unravel.

“I can still speak Parseltongue,” Harry uttered. “Why?”

The headmaster stroked his long white beard thoughtfully for half a minute.

“I’m not certain,” he concluded with a chuckle at Harry’s look of shock. “Don’t be so surprised Harry, even I am not all knowing and infallible.”

“But you do have an idea, sir?”

“A few conjectures at most,” Dumbledore hummed. “That grain of magic stayed with you for eleven years, and it is possible that the ability slowly imprinted on you. Or, maybe… you have always had the ability to speak to snakes.”

“I thought only those with Slytherin blood could speak Parseltongue?” Harry fidgeted uneasily. Being related to Voldemort did not seem like an appealing prospect.

“In Britain, yes,” the headmaster confirmed thoughtfully. “The oldest known speaker was Herpo the Foul, a Greek Wizard who lived some three thousand years ago. It would stand to reason that the ability is not as rare around the world as it is here. Some claim Salazar Slytherin was not even from the British Isles. Regardless, over hundreds of years, albeit rarely, Slytherin’s descendants married into more than one family, although their ability to speak with snakes didn’t last beyond one or two generations. The Gaunts, which were the direct line of Slytherin, eventually began marrying only their own…”

That sounded suspiciously like the Valyrian sisterfuckers.

“How could I be related to one of them?” The question heavily tumbled out of his lips.

“It is… possible. Your father was the only child of Fleamont and Euphemia. Your paternal grandmother, Euphemia, was originally a Carrow, one of the Houses that Gaunts married into a long time ago. Lily could have also been from a long-lost squib line from Slytherin, Gaunt, Sayre, or one of the others.”

Harry, meanwhile, was in utter shock! This was the first time he had heard about his grandfather and grandmother. Why did nobody ever tell him? He could tell that Dumbledore didn’t mean to hide them, as he was willingly speaking of them right now in such a nonchalant manner. Then again, Harry never really asked anyone about them, did he? 

‘No, I was so enamoured with Hogwarts and quidditch and magic that I never actually got around to exploring my heritage. I even have a photo album from my parent’s friends, yet I never bothered to write to any of them!’ Harry was distraught over the lost chance, every photo in the album had the names of the donor on the back of the photos with an invitation to write them. Would they still accept his mail after so long?

A disturbing line emerged unbidden from earlier today. 

“Professor Dumbledore. Riddle said I’m like him. Strange likenesses, he said. He even looked similar to me a little. Do you think we might actually be distantly related somehow?”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a few moments. 

“It could be, all magical families are interrelated somehow, Harry. It could be possible that your mother descends from a Gaunt squib. I believe that Tom’s mother was a Gaunt. Alas, we have no way of knowing.”

Before Harry could reply, the door to the office was slammed open, and Lucius Malfoy barged in like he owned the place, only to stop at a wand pointed at him by an alert Harry, who was reasonably suspicious of the man, and Dumbledore who had placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Easy now, my boy. I’m sure Lucius here simply forgot his manners in his haste.” Dumbledore spoke in a sardonic manner that Harry had never heard from the genial old man before. 

Harry lowered his wand and looked at the Headmaster. His twinkly blue eyes had turned into two chips of ice, his face was no longer jovial but had turned into an icy mask, and he looked…dangerous. He had never seen Dumbledore so angry. No, not even angry, he was absolutely livid. Harry could feel the power roiling in waves from him, and it seemed to be completely aimed at Malfoy.

He also belatedly noticed Dobby, of all people, following Malfoy in. Suddenly, all things made sense. Dobby’s warnings and Malfoy’s insistent attempts to get the Headmaster ousted. Rage boiled in Harry, pure unadulterated rage at the sack of filth standing in front of him, who for once looked at Dumbledore with wariness. This fool was the reason his best friend is dead! He could vaguely hear a distant howl from afar.

Malfoy didn’t look very presentable, his robes were crumpled, and his hair dishevelled, and Dobby was trying to finish polishing his half-polished shoes. 

With Dumbledore giving him his full attention, both magical and physical, Lucius had started to wonder if perhaps he bit off more than he could chew. He had gotten used to the genial old wizard that rarely pushed, not to the magical powerhouse that defeated Grindelwald and forced another Dark Lord to fear him.

Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and gathered his bearings.

“Dumbledore,” he rudely greeted. “If my memory serves me well, the governors suspended you.”

The aged Headmaster was not in the mood for empty platitudes, perhaps if Ronald was still alive, then he might have entertained Lucius, but now… He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then exhaled. All the while, Harry could feel the heavy feeling of magic permeating the room, and Lucius was visibly sweating now. His pale face was growing even paler, he even started edging towards the door for a quick escape if necessary.

Dumbledore abruptly opened his eyes.

“A student died today, Lucius,” the headmaster’s voice was frigid.

“What?!” Malfoy’s haughty expression morphed into confusion. 

“A student died in my school today, and it was you who forced the Board of Governors to dismiss me from my post.” Dumbledore’s sharp words made Malfoy pale rapidly. The Headmaster’s eyes bore into the man, and his hand carefully tapped on the diary. “Do you recognise this, Lucius?”

“An old…book? I don’t remember seeing it,” Draco’s father managed to eke out with a grimace, but his tone was unconvincing, and he looked afraid. It took him a few moments, but he managed to regain his composure, and his face turned impassive. “And…who has died?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, all I will say is that the student hailed from a well-respected and old family,” Dumbledore deflected coldly. “But what matters is that the Board of Governors were under the impression that you would curse their children should they not comply with your demands. This time, you won’t slip away unscathed, I will make sure of it. Even the minister has agreed with me. Nor would the Board, for that matter. They have proven to…not have the students’ best intentions in mind.” 

Lucius Malfoy knew when he was in deep shite. He would never have believed that the bumbling buffoon of a minister, who greedily took his money for every tiny thing Lucius wanted, would throw him under the carriage so fast. If a pureblood died, it would not be covered up so easily. Normally, the Headmaster would take the fallout, but since Lucius was the one that had forced Dumbledore’s dismissal…

He licked his dry lips and gulped heavily. Lucius tried to calm down and not stare at the accursed diary. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

There was no way it could be traced back to him, but…the headmaster knew. The old fool somehow knew it was him, and while Lucius considered Dumbledore to simply be an annoyance that he could move out of the way, the aged headmaster still had a lot of power and influence, despite his reluctance to wield it. With this misstep, If he truly chose to, the defeater of Grindelwald could politically bury the Malfoys for decades to come. Lucius knew when he was in a bad position. It was pointless to stay here any further, it was time to rush back home and run damage control. 

He had to catch up to Fudge and try to placate the man. Maybe get in contact with Cuffe, and try to deflect the blame elsewhere.

“Come, Dobby! We are leaving.” Malfoy abruptly turned around and left, kicking his elf in frustration along the way. Dobby’s squeals of pain struck hard at Harry’s heart. Dobby may have nearly killed him trying to save him, but he did not deserve to be treated like this.

It seemed that the apple indeed did not fall away from the tree. Harry unclenched his balled fist and turned to the Headmaster.

“Professor, may I borrow the diary for a moment? I promise to bring it back.”

At Dumbledore’s nod, he grabbed the diary and hurried after them.

Harry could hear Dobby’s cries of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor. He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

“Mr. Malfoy!” He shouted, bringing both Lucius and Dobby to a halt and making them both turn his way. 

“I’ve got something for you.”

Harry approached them and shoved the sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hands.

“What the—?”

Lucius Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, and then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry. 

“You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Potter,” he spat. “They were meddlesome fools, too.”

Harry bristled in anger at the threat, his hand moving to his wand. 

“Is that a threat, Malfoy?” he asked icily. 

The man in front of him might have been older and more experienced, but that did not mean he could insult his parents like this. 

“Merely a warning,” the blond ponce answered with a scowl and turned to leave. “Come, Dobby. I said, come!”

But the House Elf didn’t move. He was holding up Harry’s dirty sock and looking at it with shining eyes as if it were a priceless treasure.

“Master has given Dobby a sock,” cried out the elf in wonder. “Master gave it to Dobby.” 

“What’s that? What did you say?” 

“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby…Dobby is free!”

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf, before turning to Potter. Finally, all vestiges of his self-control evaporated.

“YOU’VE LOST ME MY SERVANT, BOY!!”

Dobby was about to intervene, but Harry was quicker. Before Lucius could even draw his own wand, Harry had his phoenix wand poking at Malfoy’s jugular, causing the Death Eater to freeze.

At this distance, he could probably kill Malfoy with a simple diffindo, which was a first-year spell. He had the man at his mercy, but he couldn’t exactly kill him, could he? He grimaced inwardly. No, Harry did not fancy staying in Azkaban for the remainder of his life.

Malfoy was subtly trying to remove his wand from his cane, only for Dobby to disarm him with a snap of his fingers, Harry looked impressed at the elf, who handed him the wand, before turning back to Lucius, who had now started to sweat.

“Others take you, Malfoy,” Harry spat angrily and tossed Lucius’ wand to the side, not seeing that the tip of his wand glowed softly. “You’re not even worth the effort; I now see where your son takes it from.”

He then turned to the amazed House Elf.

“Come on, Dobby. Let’s get you sorted out.”

They both made their way back to the headmaster’s office, leaving a confused and livid Lucius Malfoy. 

“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” The elf’s shrill voice was filled with happiness as he looked at Harry. Moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!”

“Least I could do, Dobby,” grinned Harry, “You deserve to finally serve someone worthy of your talents, not a fool like Malfoy.”

By what little he had seen so far, House Elves could definitely be an invaluable asset to any household.

“Harry Potter looking for an elf! Dobby would gladly serve the Great Harry Potter!” It seemed that the elf was quite smart, despite his impaired speech. He stopped in the middle of the corridor and looked expectantly at Harry.

“I would be honoured to have you in my service, Dobby,” he confirmed with a smile. “How do we do this?” 

“Oh, you just place your hand on Dobby’s head, then recite an oath for me to accept, and that’s it! Magic handles the rest!” Dobby excitedly grabbed Harry’s hand and placed it on his head.

Harry thought for a moment, thinking of a proper oath of service, before settling for an oath of fealty he witnessed in person. 

“Dobby the elf. I, Harry of House Potter, do offer you a position of service in my household. I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. Do you accept?” Harry could feel a warm feeling from his hand on the elf’s head, and a slight glow seemed to surround them as well.

The House Elf jumped in amazement, and tears started forming in his eyes.

“Dobby accepts Harry Potter as his master and promises to be always of service and to offer help if Harry Potter ever asks it. Dobby swears this to you, Harry Potter!” 

Harry smiled at the enthusiasm of the first member of his household. 

“Then welcome to my service, Dobby. We will discuss the details later. For now, is there any way you can change out of this horrendous sack you call clothes and dress in something more befitting of a trusted retainer?” 

“Of course, Harry Potter, sir.” With a snap of his fingers, the sack was clean but remained the same. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Dobby elaborated timidly, “Dobby has to accept actual clothes to dress in.” 

“Wouldn’t you be freed then?”

“Not if Dobby doesn’t want to. And there is no way that Harry Potter will be freed from Dobby!” The house elf grinned, at which point Harry laughed for the first time since Ron’s death.

“We’ll find you a butler uniform later,” Harry promised, and Dobby’s already large eyes looked like they would pop out from excitement.

The rest of the way to the Headmaster’s office was rather quiet. Harry had several questions for the headmaster regarding his family as well as his living arrangements. After that, he could guess there would be a wake and later a funeral for Ron; Thanks to the rumour mill, news of his death would have circulated through the whole school by the morning. Considering the school year ended in two weeks, He knew the Mandrake would be ready the following days, meaning he would get to see Hermione soon, at least.

Another rumble sounded from his stomach. 

‘Something has got to be wrong with me,’ Harry groaned inwardly as his mind wandered again towards food, specifically different types of meat.

For now, though, Harry needed answers first. They finally arrived back at the office.

Chapter Text

Harry looked around calmly at his surroundings. It not only looked like the Godswood of Winterfell, but it smelled like it as well. The refreshing scent of pine and moss was well imprinted in his memory. Harry could see Ghost waiting for him under the Heart Tree. A serene feeling of peace and calmness enveloped his very being. He did not know how, but he was sure that no harm could ever come to him here.

He quickly walked to the direwolf and hugged him tightly. Ghost was as large as always, easily the size of a horse, and Harry had to reach up to fully envelop his neck. A fluffy white tail started wagging happily, and he received a few licks on the face for his affection. After giving the massive wolf some much-deserved scratches behind the ears, he let go and looked around carefully.

There was, of course, the Heart Tree with its bone-white bark and blood-red leaves with a carven face that looked as if it was about to weep. Chestnut, ash, hawthorn, elm, ironwood, oak, sentinel, soldier pine, and younger weirwoods filled the surrounding grove as usual. In front of the heart tree sat the familiar black pool of cold water.

He slowly walked over to the pool with some trepidation and looked into the still water. From the cold pool, a boy, no, a young man of about seventeen, was gaping at him like a fish. Steely grey eyes stared back at him beneath curly dark hair. 

He subconsciously ran his hand through his face, and the young man in the reflection did the same, making Harry grimace at the implications. He moved around and blew a raspberry, and the reflection of Jon Snow in the water did the same. He found himself grimacing, which was instantly mirrored in the pool. 

“ Fuck,” a curse tore out from his mouth as he stared into the still water. Why did he look like Jon? What had happened? Was this a dream?

No answers came as he stared down at Jon Snow’s reflection.

Looking at his steely eyes, his mind slowly wandered to his younger sister. They were Jon’s family, but Harry remembered everything that made them one. In fact, he subconsciously considered the Starks to be his own family. It was an odd, foreign thing to have a family for Harry, but he did not… dislike it. 

A startling realisation began to sink in; he was not Jon Snow nor Harry Potter, but both at the same time.

Oh, how he missed Arya; he missed all of them.

Tears began to pool in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away and once again gaped at the still water in surprise.

In the pool, the reflection had changed. A young Arya was practising with a bow. He remembered this to be one of the times when they sneaked into the Godswood together, where he would set up targets for her to use.

If only he could see the rest of the Starks…

The image in the pool rippled and changed into one family dinner, where they dined together in a small hall. Gods, he missed even Catelyn, who did her very best not to look at him at all and pretend he was not there. She was a far better mother and aunt than Petunia could ever dream of being.

Wait… could the pool show memories?!

He gaped for a moment and tried to remember the scene where he fought against Rattleshirt.

The water rippled again, and he saw himself facing the person who looked like the Lord of Bones but was not due to Melisandre’s sorcery.

This… this could be very useful! He would never forget about his family now!

He concentrated and tried to remember James and Lily Potter… but all the pool showed was a younger Harry Potter staring forlornly at the Mirror of the Erised. Then it shuffled towards Harry staring at the few pictures gifted by Hagrid.

‘So it can only show things I can remember,’ he summarised with a heavy sigh.

But it was more than enough. Harry switched back to Jon’s duel with Rattleshirt and watched on. A few mistakes he made slowly became apparent. But none of them were truly fatal as much as the fact that Mance Rayder was taller and stronger than the Lord of Bones, and the unexpected difference added to the longer reach was what had ultimately pushed the duel in Mance’s favour.

‘Bloody hell, won’t this be mighty useful?!’

Harry walked towards the Heart Tree next and laid his hand on it. He noticed that his memories cleared up completely, and he could recall memories with greater ease than before. The ability to review his memories in his sleep would make studying and practising so much easier and free some of his time while awake! He grinned widely at the thought. 

Harry slowly took his time to alternate between the tree and the pool to bring out the events of the previous day. One thing he noticed was how slippery Fudge was, but still wanted to get Harry in his good graces while trying not to put too much pressure on Malfoy.

All in all, it looked like the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ was far more important than he thought.

Harry had never cared for that title before, but now he would reluctantly acknowledge that it could possibly bring certain benefits. The only question was, how far could he use it before it would backfire on him? While the thought of the fame from the murder of his parents brought a bitter taste in his mouth, he would not shy away from using it if it was necessary. 

He continued rewatching and spotted some things he had missed in the heat of the moment… Harry had foolishly dropped his wand when he entered the Chamber. Yet, it probably was for the best anyway since if he tried to fight the Basilisk with a wand, he would be dead twice over. He then had the pleasure of watching in great detail the demise of Riddle once again. In fact, the look of surprise and panic on his face when he stabbed the fang into the diary warmed his heart.

Lockheart had already knocked himself out when the ceiling began to collapse on him, and Harry watched with a heavy heart how Ron simply did not go in the right direction, almost as if retreat were anathema to him, and followed him instead. His friend would have gotten away rather unscathed if not for that fateful rock that had struck him.

Oh, how he wished he could change things. But he could only watch the consequences of their own actions…

His vision started swimming again, and he angrily wiped the tears from his face. Deep down, he knew that if Ron had survived, there was no guarantee that either of them would have walked away from Riddle and his monstrous pet snake. But, if he… if he had been faster, if he had done more. If he had pushed Ron out of the way or maybe been more cautious of Lockheart…

He gritted his teeth and shook his head furiously, and willed the scene to switch.

He dispassionately reviewed the rest of the evening again. However, no matter how he tried, he could not view the scenes where he was unconscious.

This time, he focused on the Weasleys. Arthur looked solemnly at his son’s body, yet Harry could feel a wrathful determination emanating from the man. Percy looked just as determined, despite his feelings of grief and self-blame. Ginny was given a sleeping drought and slept in another bed while Molly was beside herself with anguish and guilt. Fred and George were staring blankly at the body of their younger brother, but he could tell that they were filled with grief and regret.

While he had often been rough with Robb in the yard or even outside of it, the twin’s pranks had sometimes skirted the border of cruelty and were generally quite annoying . He knew that the twins never really took Ron seriously, and the regret was clear on their faces. Mayhaps they should have spent more time with their brother instead of using him as a guinea pig for their experiments…

Harry abruptly stiffened.

‘I can tell their emotions in the memories? Even when I didn’t pay them much attention during the memory itself?!’

This would be extremely useful. 

After he was somewhat satisfied, Harry finally walked away from the pool… His mind went to his last conversation with Dumbledore.

Last night,

It was nearing midnight, and Harry resolutely stared at the Headmaster from his seat. 

“The Dursleys might be my kin, but they are not my family, professor,” Harry concluded tiredly. 

Dobby was standing behind Harry’s chair, looking like he wished he were anywhere else.

Dumbledore suddenly looked twice his old age and sighed heavily.

“Harry, do you know why I left you to live with your aunt?”

“No, sir.”

“It was not a decision I took lightly, but there were no better alternatives.” The headmaster forlornly admitted and rubbed his brow. 

“Didn’t you say I had other family? What about the Carrows?” Harry desperately asked.

“During the war, there was complete chaos. Nobody truly knew if their closest relatives and friends were not secretly followers of Voldemort or Imperiused-”

“Imperiused?”

“The Imperius is a terrible, terrible, unforgivable curse that takes a person’s free will away and puts them under the control of the caster. One can kill their parents without batting an eye if ordered,” Harry shivered at Dumbledore’s explanation. “Of course, there are ways one can resist it. A strong will is nearly impossible to be bent even by magic, and a stubborn mind can put up a good resistance.”

He couldn’t help but baulk. His mind being under the thrall of someone else…

“How… how can there be magic so vile?!”

“You would do well to remember, Harry, that nobody has truly explored the limits of witchcraft and wizardry. Here, in Hogwarts, you study the rules and limits of magic, but if you look back into the past, there are accounts of what was considered impossible being achieved. And while magic can be terrible, it can also be great,” Dumbledore finished wistfully, twinkling eyes full of unknown emotion.

Suddenly, the gnarly wand appeared in his hand, and he jabbed it forward. A familiar bird, made from pure, silvery light, emerged from the tip, and Harry was filled with amazement, hope, joy, and warmth.

From the nearby perch, Fawkes trilled happily, amplifying all those feelings, and he realised why the silvery bird felt so familiar. It looked exactly like the phoenix! 

It probably took him half a minute to find his wits to speak out, “What is this, professor?”

“This is pure emotions made manifest as a guardian, Harry,” the headmaster’s eyes twinkled. “A powerful spell that helps ward away some of the foulest of creatures.”

He felt a raw desire and hope gnaw at his chest.

“Could you show me how to cast it, sir?”

“With pleasure,” Dumbledore chuckled merrily. “The incantation is ‘Expecto Patronum’, and the wand movement is a counterclockwise motion.” He slowly and clearly demonstrated as he spun the wand in his hand. “However, the most important part is a strong positive emotion. The spell takes quite a lot of effort to master, as you’ll find out should you decide to attempt it.”

This, this was the type of amazing magic that he had imagined when Hagrid told him about Hogwarts. He silently resolved himself to master the spell, no matter what. But wait-

“You did not use an incantation or a wand motion, though, professor?”

“Ah, well spotted!” The twinkle in his eyes grew brighter. “There are many components to casting a spell, but with sufficient practice and self-discipline, it is possible to do away with the incantation and the wand motions. To do so, the cost or burden on other aspects of your casting will be higher, so they must be impeccable, and then some more for it to work.”

Dumbledore’s words changed everything. If he could do magic like that, wouldn’t it mean that he would be able to cast magic far faster? If Harry faced a foe with abilities like Dumbledore, did that not mean he would be completely outclassed and easily defeated?

“Does that mean that I can learn how to do the same, sir?” He queried carefully.

“Indeed, Harry. You will find that there’s very little a wizard cannot accomplish if they’re willing to put the work into it,” the headmaster confirmed with a soft smile.

This conversation has been so enlightening, but first…

“Err, professor,” he coughed. “You said something about the Carrows…”

“Ah yes, apologies, Harry. My mind tends to wander in my old age,” he coughed apologetically, and his face turned pensive, “As I was saying, the Carrows were one of Voldemort’s most ardent followers. An old, pureblood family with a heavy inclination towards the more violent and darker aspects of magic. When two of Voldemort’s lieutenants evaded Azkaban, I couldn’t exactly hand you over to them now, could I? According to wizarding law, should a child be orphaned, he is to go to the guardian, usually a godparent, selected by his parents, or if there is none, to his closest relatives.”

“Don’t I have a godparent, sir?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“You indeed have one,” Dumbledore confirmed with a heavy frown. “Sirius Black was your godfather, but he is the other reason for you to be placed with the Dursleys.”

“What?! Why?” A portrait on the wall mumbled something about disrespect and corporal punishment at that moment, and Harry realized that he was standing and had shouted at Dumbledore. “Sorry, headmaster.”

He coughed to try to cover his embarrassment, but Harry was sure that the tip of his ears had reddened.

“I remember what it was like when I was bold and young, Harry, there is no need for an apology,” the old wizard stroked his beard and sighed. “I should perhaps have phrased this better, so allow me to explain further. Sirius Black comes from an old, wealthy, and powerful family with a fierce adherence to traditions and even fiercer hate towards muggles, squibs, blood traitors, and muggle-borns. The Blacks were all considered dangerous to cross and a bit mad to boot. Sirius Black was, well…I suppose you could say he was the white sheep of the Black Family.”

“We’re a respectable wizarding family, Albus!” The portrait from earlier indignantly protested.

The gnarly wand appeared in the headmaster’s hand once again, and with a wave, all the portraits that were watching and listening fell asleep.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted, the members of House Black were staunchly traditional, and it was expected of them to end up in Slytherin, and maybe rarely, in Ravenclaw. Sirius Black broke those expectations and was sorted into Gryffindor, much to his family’s chagrin,” a tired sigh tore out of the headmaster. “He was the same year as your father, and they were best of friends, along with two other students, you see.”

The headmaster paused and sadly stroked his beard in contemplation.

“What happened to him?” Harry urged.

“Your parents went into hiding when Voldemort started looking for them-”

“Why would he look for them, sir?” Harry couldn’t help but interrupt. “And what does this have to do with Sirius Black?”

“Ah, the impatience of youth,” Dumbledore fondly chuckled. “Patience, I’m getting there. You’ll find that as you grow up, things are rarely simple and straightforward. So, your parents were some of the most talented students to walk out of Hogwarts, and both had a strong sense of justice, so they directly opposed Voldemort. But the Dark Lord tried to recruit them, despite the fact that your mother was a muggle-born. Yet, his wroth was fierce when they declined, and when Voldemort realised James and Lily Potter had something he desired, he began hunting them down.”

“But what would Voldemort want with my parents?”

The headmaster sagged and looked like a tired old man.

“Something they would never give, Harry,” was the grave response. Harry was just about to ask, but- “You’re not ready for that knowledge just yet, my boy.”

“And when would I be ready?” He challenged. “Don’t I deserve to know why my parents were killed?”

“Oh, you do, but the world is hardly fair, and things are rarely simple,” Dumbledore chuckled sadly. “It’s dangerous knowledge to have, and what kind of educator would I be if I risk your life over it? I promise that I shall tell you once you impress me enough and prove yourself capable.”

Harry felt fury bubble up within him but swallowed it down. Dumbledore was right, the world was not fair, and both Jon Snow and Harry Potter had plenty of experience of not getting the things they wanted. No, the main reason for his anger was that the headmaster’s words reminded him of Eddard Stark’s promise to tell Jon of his mother. Yet the Lord of Winterfell had gone and got himself killed instead… Dumbledore was old and powerful, and Harry could see how the old man wanted to motivate him before revealing anything.

It hurt to admit, but Harry Potter was… weak. A fierce desire churned inside of him, and Harry inwardly vowed that this would quickly change if he had anything to say about it.

But they had sidetracked from the matter at hand once again… and he realised that the headmaster was watching him like a hawk.

“I understand, sir,” Harry acknowledged. “I apologize for my interruption.”

Dumbledore nodded, cleared his throat, and continued.

“Your mother, as you know, was a brilliant witch and found old magic, capable of flawlessly hiding them at the cost of trust. I won’t bore you with the details, but feel free to check the library for the Fidelius Charm. I personally added a book about it after your mother brought her findings to me. In essence, the magic could not be broken, but the protection hinged solely on a trusted person on the outside. Sirius Black was that person. Not only did he betray your family, but he killed twelve muggles and another one of your father’s friends. He was caught and now resides in the dreadful halls of Azkaban prison, where he would be tormented for the rest of his life.”

The burning anger that was brewing inside Harry quickly fizzled out. While he wished the traitor was dead, being caught and tortured in prison was… an acceptable outcome.

“But wasn’t there anyone else you could have left me with? Why the Dursleys?!”

“Sirius Black also staunchly opposed Voldemort, and I thought he could be trusted, and so did your parents, Harry,” Dumbledore reminded. “Nobody is infallible, let alone me. To err is human, and some mistakes are far more costly than others. While some of Voldemort’s followers were caught, plenty managed to get away by the virtue of their political clout and claims of being under the Imperius curse. It was a hectic time, and I couldn’t bring myself to trust anyone in the magical world. They might look trustworthy, but if your location was known, what was to stop a follower of Voldemort from putting some of them under Imperius? Any mistake could see you killed! Your muggle relatives, no matter how distasteful, would never work with Lord Voldemort or his ilk.”

“They hate me, though,” he muttered.

“Yet the fact remains that they still took you in, Harry. It’s not only that, though. As I explained to you last year when your mother died to save you, her love for you and her sacrifice created protection for you against Voldemort. A protection that required the blood of the caster to work, and that’s where your aunt Petunia comes in. Your mere touch was enough to turn Voldemort to ash. It does not truly protect you from other forms of harm, I believe, otherwise, your fight with the Basilisk would have gone much differently.” Dumbledore sighed tiredly and slumped in his chair once more, looking like a tired old man. “You might hate me for it, but I’d rather you be alive and unhappy than risk your death.”

It had been too much for Harry, and he had left the headmaster’s office with conflicting emotions. While he could understand Dumbledore to a degree, the old man was right, Harry couldn’t help but feel slight resentment.

It must have been midnight by the end of their talk, and his stomach was once again grumbling with hunger, despite all the food that Harry had eaten.

He realised that in his indignation, he had forgotten to ask questions about his grandparents, Fleamont Potter and his wife, amongst other things. 

“Scratch that, I forgot to ask the simplest question of where my parents were buried and if their house was still around.” Harry sighed in exasperation as Ghost licked his face for attention. He turned to his direwolf to see him looking towards the exit path.

‘I should wake up, I have no idea how much time has passed.’

Harry looked around and only now noticed that Winterfell was nowhere to be seen. Behind the iron gate, there was no training yard or the Great Keep but a very dense fog, which could not be seen through, no matter his efforts. The pathway to the entrance was lit by torches, though.

For a few short moments, Harry contemplated his options before deciding to take the exit, hoping that it would lead him outside. He walked to the edge while Ghost was quietly peddling right next to him as if the direwolf was glued to his side. He continued to pat Ghost as they walked. He would dearly miss having the Direwolf’s presence in the real world, but at least he will always be with him now.

As soon as he reached the gate to the fog-ridden area, Ghost nudged him with his nose, then turned around to return to the Heart Tree. Harry smiled before pushing the iron gate open and stepped into the fog.

He opened his eyes and was greeted with the familiar ceiling of the Gryffindor’s dorms.

Sunday, 30th of May 1993

Harry opened his eyes, and a groan escaped his lips. His body felt incredibly sore and stiff, and it took him a few moments to manage to sit up. He slowly stretched his arms and back till he heard several loud and satisfying pops. His stomach grumbled with hunger again, but Harry ignored it for now. Food could wait for a bit, and it was not like he was not used to staying hungry. He stood from his bed and looked out the window to see the sun crowning the clear blue sky.

‘Did I oversleep?’

A look at his watch confirmed his suspicions. It was eleven and a quarter, and he had missed breakfast. Harry ran his hand through his curly hair before placing his watch back on the bedside. 

Harry looked at the bed opposite his own. Empty. Completely empty of all of Ron’s belongings. Even his trunk was gone. It was like he never existed. Harry couldn’t even find Scabbers in his usual spot on the bed. He couldn’t bear it and quickly headed into the dorm’s bathroom, noticing none of the boys from his year were around, and washed his face as if to hide the tears that were threatening to spill before he gaped into the mirror in mild shock.

He looked…different. Scratch that; he looked like Jon! Harry started to freak out and wished heavily to turn back to normal…only for exactly that to happen as his eyes returned from steely grey to brilliant green, and his curly hair became short and messy again. The rest of his features remained relatively the same, though.

‘Wow! I wish to turn to Jon.’

He watched in amazement as his eyes again turned grey and his hair became curly. His facial features remained a mix of both Harry and Jon. Harry concentrated heavily on the image of Jon he remembered from the pool and watched as his facial structure slowly morphed to become longer and had a graceful look to it. Harry concentrated again, and he returned completely to how he looked.

‘This is absolutely wicked. I can have my own secret identity!’

He tried to turn into other faces…but it seemed that he could only look like Harry, Jon, or an odd mixture of the two. Harry inspected the rest of his body to see if there were any other changes. He might have been imagining things, but he looked slightly taller than before.

He really couldn’t tell, everything felt so different without glasses. He made a mental note to ask Madam Pomfrey later today.

Harry continued checking his body and noticed a few other differences. For one, the scar on his forehead had become faint and thin, but it looked like it was here to stay.

“Curses always leave a mark, no matter what,” he repeated Dumbledore’s words aloud.

All of his other scars, however, were completely gone, with the exception of the one the Basilisk had gifted him. Even that burn mark he got on his upper arm when he burned himself cooking bacon. He tried to change his body to match sixteen-year-old Jon’s, but regardless of what he tried, there was no change at all. It seemed Harry could only change his face, but not his body. 

He was still too scrawny for his liking, though. Before, he never knew, but now that he had memories of being strong and brimming with power, he not only looked weak but felt weak. Something to be worked on.

***

Harry sat by his desk next to his bed, deep in thought. He had his school trunk open with all his belongings spread neatly on the floor and the bed. His school bag was the same, with all its books and writing utensils emptied. He had a neat pile of clothes that included the two sweaters that Mrs Weasley knitted for him in the last two Christmases, his two remaining school robes — as he had burned yesterday’s after a long and thorough shower — along with the rest of his school uniform, as well as the most pleasant looking clothes of the hand-me-downs he got from Dudley. He left his school supplies, like his telescope and cauldron, in the trunk for now. Another pile was on the ground that included the rest of his muggle clothing he got from his relatives and all of Lockheart’s works that he had to buy the last summer. Those were to be fed to the fire at the first opportunity. Finally, his most prized possessions were his invisibility cloak, folded into a small packet that he could easily stow in his pocket and the photo album that Hagrid gifted him. Both of them were placed on the desk. He never noticed how easy it was to fold and hide the invisibility cloak on his person, though; he would keep it on himself at all times from now on.

He emptied his money pouch on the desk and counted all the money. Harry had exactly ninety-nine Galleons, five Sickles, and twenty-two Knuts. In the nearly two years since he had entered the wizarding world, his only expenses had been school supplies, which rounded up was about fifty Galleons, most of it on books, and the only thing he bought for himself were the candies he bought on the train ride in his first year. Harry wasn’t sure whether to be impressed at his past self’s self-control or be sad about his frugal nature. But it was good to save money and have it when you need it, instead of needing it and not having it.

‘Before, I would never have understood the value of money. I was never allowed any as Harry. But Jon was raised as a noble; even as a bastard, he had an allowance and had some knowledge of sums and balancing ledgers. Not to mention the finances of the Watch he had to manage, as well as striking a deal with the Iron Bank of Braavos.’

Speaking of banks, Harry turned to his bed and grabbed an empty parchment along with a quill, an inkwell, and a pot. He carefully penned a letter to Gringotts.

“It’s Potter!”

The call immediately silenced the room as everyone looked at him with pity and awe in equal measure. Harry calmly descended the final steps and walked past them as they parted to make way for him.

“Potter!” A few voices called out, but he paid no heed.

“Condolences for your loss, Potter!”

“Did you truly slay the monster of Slytherin with a sword?”

“Thank you for saving us from the dark wizard!” 

Harry couldn’t help but feel like he was a clown in the circus. He schooled his face into an icy, emotionless mask and ignored all of them. While most of them did not whisper, glare, or point fingers at him, they would simply avoid and not speak to him instead. It had hurt that his own House believed him the Heir of Slytherin with no proof based on mere rumours, and he did not think he could forgive just yet.

Just as he walked out of the portrait, he almost smashed into another body. Seeing the bushy hair, he quickly dragged the confused Hermione back into the hallway before she could utter a word of protest.

“Sorry about that, I just…can’t stand the common room right now,” he explained darkly. She looked confused for a moment before her eyes shone in realization.

“Oh, Harry! You’re alive. You are really alive. You found the entrance to the Chamber and killed the Basilisk, right? Right?! Madam Pomfrey woke us up earlier, and she explained what happened. The whole school is talking about it! Oh, Harry, Ron! R-Ron is…” By now, Hermione was in tears and crashed into him, pulling him into a tight hug, Harry could feel some tears of his own pooling in his eyes as well. He embraced her in turn but couldn’t help but feel awkward. He didn’t truly care much, but Hermione was a bit taller than him.

They finally separated, and he grimly nodded in confirmation, fearing that his voice would betray him. His eyes did not stop tearing up, and soon his cheeks were wet and his vision blurry. He fiercely gritted his teeth and wiped his face with his sleeve. Crying… there was no point.

“Ron is gone now,” Harry eked out quietly to Hermione as tears began to fall freely from her brown eyes.

.

.

.

They walked in silence as Harry led the way to the Owlery. The tears were gone, replaced by solemn silence. Thankfully, it was a short enough walk that they didn’t meet any students. They crossed the bridge leading to the Clock Tower and then descended the stairs to the field. Finally, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.

“Was it true about Professor Lockhart, Harry?”

Harry froze, one foot still in the air as he slowly turned towards his remaining best friend, placed his foot down, and gazed at Hermione with a raised eyebrow, not deigning to ask what she meant.

Hermione shuffled uncomfortably and looked at the ground.

“Is it true what they say? That he is a fraud and that he caused Ron’s death?! But that can’t be true, right? He is a professor and —”

“Hermione!”

She froze at his cold tone. A few moments later, Hermione hesitantly raised her head and looked at her friend, who looked almost as tall as her now and had the most bitter expression she had seen on his face. 

“Even now, Hermione? We suspected Lockheart was a fraud from the very start; bloody hell, the man did not teach us anything apart from the fact that he’s a useless ponce with a love of lilac. Being a professor does not make someone magically good or bad. The teachers are people like the rest of us; some are good but strict, some are petty and cruel, and some are lying, incompetent, greedy pieces of dragon dung. Lockheart struggled with the simplest of spells and could not do magic to save his own hide if he had to. Did you know that he confessed to Ron and me that his only magical talent lay in deceit and obliviation? That all the feats described in his books were real enough but stolen by wiping the memory of those who did them?!" 

Harry was heaving now and could feel anger slowly creep back within him. He shook his head to chase it away and looked at his stunned friend. Hermione looked as if her entire worldview had shattered. 

He started walking again, and a few seconds later, she rushed after him.

“But Harry, that doesn’t mean that all the teachers are bad. Professor McGonagall—”

“Decided that four eleven-year-olds were excellent candidates to venture into the Forbidden Forest at midnight to investigate whatever dark creature would kill something as sacred as a Unicorn,” Harry interrupted without stopping, “Don’t forget how she completely disregarded our concerns about the Philosopher’s Stone. Hells, don’t get me started on Snape.” 

They were halfway across the grounds to the Owlery now. Harry could see the Quidditch Pitch in the distance. A shame the cup was cancelled. Ron would have loved to watch him finally win it for Gryffindor.

‘Next year,’ he silently promised himself.

Hermione was stumped and frowned. Usually, she was the one speaking reason, yet Harry was not… wrong. She conceded that McGonagall perhaps hadn’t been the most impressive Deputy in the past two years, but…

“What about Dumbledore?”

Harry grinned slightly as he noticed her slip. “What about him?”

“He has always seen to our best interest and always put the students first above all else.”

They had arrived at the base of the Owlery, and only the stairs remained.

“Might I remind you of that obstacle course we had to go through last year? Have you never wondered how three first years managed to clear it when it was supposed to hold back an evil dark wizard strong enough to break into a Gringotts vault and escape unscathed? Better yet,” Harry stopped at the door to the Owlery and turned to Hermione, “Why did Dumbledore take a bloody broom to London when he could have taken the Floo or some other form of magical transportation? I’m sure there are plenty of ways to travel around, yet he decided to use perhaps the slowest one of them all.”

Harry opened the door and immediately pinpointed Hedwig’s beautiful white plume among the multitudes of brown and grey. She perked up as well and glided over to Harry’s outstretched arm as he cooed and stroked his loyal owl.

Meanwhile, Hermione fell into deep thought. 

Now that she looked back on the previous year, some of the headmaster’s decisions didn’t make sense. But then again, most wizards and witches didn’t make sense sometimes. She finally grimaced, unsure what to think anymore, and looked at Harry, who had finished admiring his owl and feeding her an owl treat. 

Harry couldn’t help but feel a faint connection to Hedwig, and the snowy owl acted even more amiable than usual.

“So girl,” Hermione perked up at his words, but he was looking at his snowy owl, “Ready for a long flight to London?”

Hedwig hooted enthusiastically while Hermione blushed in embarrassment. 

Harry tied the envelope to the owl’s offered claw with some string he prepared, “For Gringotts, girl. Safe travels.” 

He led her outside, where she promptly took off southward.

Harry and Hermione watched Hedwig fly into the distance before they headed down to the fields.

“Dumbledore does care about the school and its students,” Harry said suddenly, “But he is still only one man, a great man yet still a man. He is not exactly young and spry either… The Headmaster himself confessed to me that he is prone to making mistakes. And when great men make mistakes, they tend to be great as well.”

“But, if we cannot count on the Headmaster or the Deputy, whom do we rely on?”

“We can only rely on ourselves,” he said with a sad sigh. “You were petrified, but Ron and me… we saw Hagrid taken away to prison by the Minister of Magic himself!” 

“Why?”

He threw a sad smile at Hermione’s indignant face.

“Because ‘We must be seen doing something’!” Harry quoted, trying to imitate Fudge’s self-important voice, and his friend’s eyes became as wide as saucers.

“But what about a trial?! Surely, they cannot send someone to Azkaban-”

“Apparently, they can,” he sourly interrupted. “They can send someone to prison with no proof just to be seen doing something. Dumbledore was there, and his protests were easily ignored, and he was dismissed from his post of Headmaster by the board of governors.”

“But, but…”

For the first time, Harry saw Hermione speechless, and he sighed.

“Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the Minister all have their own worries and problems to wrangle with to pay attention to a few students. If I learned anything in the past two years at Hogwarts, it’s that if I want something done, I must do it myself. And maybe with your aid. You have been a far greater help than any of the teachers…”

Hermione’s cheeks reddened at his admission.

.

.

.

“So, what exactly are we doing here, Harry?”

Harry remained silent in thought as they exited the stairs to the dungeons. To the right is the way to the Slytherin Dorms, and if his guess was correct, then his destination should be under the Great Hall. In other words, to the left.

“I’m starving, and I missed breakfast. It’s Sunday, so breakfast ends at ten, and there is no lunch. I’m not waiting till five for dinner. Professor Dumbledore told me about the kitchens last night, where I can go there and grab food.”

At the mention of food, Hermione’s stomach growled, and she grimaced at Harry’s chuckle, “Oh shut it, you! I haven’t eaten in three weeks. What’s your excuse?”

“Fought and killed a giant snake and got bitten by it,” he nonchalantly answered with a shrug.

Hermione stopped dead, mouth agape.

“It's a miracle that you are alive. I only briefly saw its eyes in the mirror,” for a short moment, she resumed walking, but then she froze again. “Wait, you got bitten?!” 

“Yep,” he rolled his sleeve, showing his scar, and her eyes turned as wide as saucers again.

“How are you alive?” Hermione asked in horror. “Not that I’m complaining! It’s great that you survived, I couldn’t have lost you too…”

Harry gave her a wan smile as he released his sleeve.

“Fawkes, the Headmaster’s Phoenix, helped. Truth be told, you are right. It is a miracle I am alive, and it was far more Fawkes and luck than anything else. He pecked out the Basilisk’s deadly eyes, he brought me the Sorting Hat, and he healed the venom. Without him, I wouldn’t be here now,” he admitted with a frown. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. “Next time, I won’t rely on luck.”

“Wait, next time?”

“I appreciate your optimism, Hermione,” he chuckled sadly. “But Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place in the Wizarding World, yet, I’ve had more than half a dozen brushes with death in only two years. Knowing my luck, there will definitely be a next time, but I will no longer be unprepared.”

Hermione opened her mouth to object but realised that Harry was not wrong… again. Hogwarts was a pretty dangerous school, all things considered. And her friend was indeed a trouble magnet. She just shook her head and continued trailing after Harry speechlessly. 

Neither of them had been on this side of the dungeons before. An older Slytherin student passed by and gave them a distracted nod as he held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and looked at an open book in the other.

It took Harry some time, but he found the massive portrait with a fruit bowl. He stood there, completely stumped. How the bloody hell was he supposed to make the pear laugh? Tell a joke?

“Well, Harry? What are we waiting for?”

Harry did not want to appear incompetent, so before he went with his initial reaction of telling a lame joke, he carefully poked around the painting, but to no avail. Hermione looked ready to explode in indignation as he was vandalizing the school property. Just as he was about to give up, his hand brushed over the pear… which vibrated a little. Wait! He brushed his finger across the surface as if he were tickling a person, and the pear actually giggled . The portrait opened like a door to reveal a gigantic kitchen the size of the great hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls and a great brick fireplace at the other end. There were also four long wooden tables that stood there with a fifth perpendicular to them, all of them positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above and the Staff table in the Great Hall.

All of this, Harry noticed in seconds before he was assaulted by dozens of house elves who greeted them enthusiastically and ushered him and Hermione in before they seated them on one of the tables and asked what they would like to eat just as they poured them some juice and a plate of sandwiches was placed on the table in front of them.

Harry was about to reply with what undoubtedly would be a very long order-, 

“Harry! What is this?!”

He groaned.

“I am hungry, Hermione, I doubt I know much more than you do, why don’t you ask them yourself?”

As her eyes glinted, and she began to speak with one of the House Elves, Harry’s stomach reminded him why he was here in the first place, and he began listing his order.

Chapter Text

“Yes, Missy Grungy, Leeney, and the others work here of their own freewill, no one is forcing us. With no wizard or magic place, we go mad and die. No, Missy Grungy, we would rather not be paid, and Leeney doesn’t know what you mean with benefits.” The elf replied in the most deadpan voice it could muster after answering the same question so many times now.

Harry groaned as Hermione continued asking the same sets of questions with only a slight difference for the fourth time in the past hour. Although his groan could have been because of the second serving of delicious mash that he had just finished. On the side was a plate with an entire skeleton of what must have been an enormous trout, cleanly eaten. 

“Oh, lay off already, Hermione. The poor elves have better things to do than repeat themselves to you. What exactly is the issue here?” 

Harry finished his mash and gulped down an entire glass of lemon juice before looking for his favourite treacle tart, finding it next to a pot of tea and an empty cup.

“But-but, this is almost like slavery!”

Harry was already stuffing his face, though, and was seriously wondering why he was so damn hungry!

“Slavery? They get a roof under their heads, and they get paid in magic. As far as I know, they are not being bought or sold like cattle and can leave any time, Isn’t that right Leeney?”

“Yes, Harry Potterer, sir,” the elf bobbed its little head happily, and Hermione scowled.

Before Harry could swallow his bite, a commotion was heard. He and Hermione looked over to see an elf wrenching a plate of biscuits from another elf while elbowing him to the side and rushing over to their table. Harry smiled at the familiar face.

“Harry Potter! How could you not tell Dobby you be hungry?” The elf sounded almost indignant as he placed the plate of biscuits next to his untouched tea. “Dobby be your personal elf, sir. If you be in need of anything, anything at all! Harry Potter must call Dobby!” 

The elf had his hands on his waist as he glared indignantly at his master, much to Harry’s amusement.

Hermione had a blank face, but Harry could see her lips and eye twitching.

.

.

.

“So, since when did you have such a voracious appetite?” 

“Since yesterday, it seems. I’m on my way to Madame Pomfrey to see if she can find out why,” Harry replied as they made their way up the marble staircase to the second floor.

“You do that, then. Please make sure that you are alright, Harry?” 

He could feel the concern and vulnerability in her voice and gave her a one-handed side hug, “Don’t worry about me, Hermione. I’m actually feeling better than ever. Why, have you not noticed my lack of glasses?”

“I did notice, but I had other things on my mind,” she muttered absentmindedly. “What happened?”

Harry let go as they stopped as they reached the second floor. “That is what I am about to find out. If someone can tell me what is happening to me, it would be Madame Pomfrey. Afterwards, I’ll head on to where we discussed. Are you certain you don’t want to come?”

“Positive. I spent a few weeks too much there, and I have no desire to go to that place. If you are late, have Dobby leave me a note, will you?”

“Alright, but please don’t forget to look into what I asked you.”

“I will, don’t worry. See you then, Harry.” Hermione turned towards the library while Harry made his way to the Hospital Wing.

***

He finished explaining again to Pomfrey as he pulled back his shirt after she finished examining him.

Poppy Pomfrey was an old woman Harry knew. How old was up to debate. Just that she looked at least thirty-five. Yet, with wizards, you never knew. Dumbledore looked to be in his sixties but was 111 years old if he remembered correctly. 

The school nurse waved her wand around, casting silently like Dumbledore did, and frowned.

“Did you feel completely calm during your talk with the Headmaster last night?”

“Not really, I was a bit emotional, I reckon.”

“Did you feel tired and fatigued?”

“I did, yeah. It was only after I ate I felt full of energy.”

“And the hunger pangs?”

“Since yesterday, I ate a lot of food in the Headmaster’s office and even more earlier, in the kitchens.”

“How many servings have you eaten since then?” Looking at his confused face, Pomfrey added, “One serving is a standard filled bowl or plate.”

“Errrrr, at least seventeen normal-sized servings with mostly meat, I think,” Harry replied, and he felt his cheeks redden.

The school nurse only squinted her eyes for a moment.

“I do not believe there’s anything wrong with you, Mr Potter,” she nodded to herself. 

“But eating so much is not normal, I don’t think I can keep it up all the time,” he protested.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Mr Potter. It is unclear to me why or how, but you’ve entered a state of rapid growth, and your body is in dire need of sustenance. You’ve pulled up at least an inch since last night. But the changes all seem to be benign so far, so it’d be wise to let it run its course,” she concluded thoughtfully. “Of course, if there is any change for the worse, you should immediately come to me!”

He let out a relieved sigh and nodded. It might be problematic to keep eating like that forever, but in Hogwarts, he had a practically endless supply of food.

“What about my eyes?” Harry asked.

“I have a good idea about that,” she hummed. “Not much is known about basilisk venom, but if I had to wager, it started destroying your eyes, possibly with whatever was ailing them. The phoenix tears neutralized the venom and restored them, thus granting you good eyesight.”

“That simple?”

“It only sounds simple, Mr Potter, but it is not. Even with Phoenix tears, Basilisk venom should not be so easily cured, especially after running in your body for so long. I already told you my only theory. But this is all just a conjecture, basilisk venom is not exactly a substance studied in the medical field. Not to mention that if the Basilisk was truly a thousand years old, it’s possible that it somehow mutated during its lifespan. I can do some more testing if you wish.”

“Alright,” he agreed, curious to know what was happening in his own body.

Pomfrey rummaged through a supplies bag Harry had not noticed before and finally held an empty vial in her hand

“I’ll take seven drops of blood. Hold out your hand like this.”

As he followed the instructions, she ran her wand over his forearm, cutting the skin open. A few crimson drops fell into the vial, and with another wave of her wand, his wound was healed. She brought another vial and shoved it to his face. 

“Now fill this one with spit. Thank you. I will ask you to wait here as it will take me some time, Mr Potter,” Pomfrey informed him before she headed towards her office.

Harry stood on the bed, alone, uncertain of how long he must wait. He looked at his watch, yawned, and decided that a nap would not hurt. Ghost could use some company.

***

Hermione tried to ignore the gossip of the older Ravenclaw girls at the nearby table, in vain. They were too loud. Several books were scattered books in front of her, one of them, House-Elves & Self-Hatred Volume 1 , already closed and set to the side while she perused Transformation Through the Ages in an effort to find an answer to Harry’s question on self-transfiguration. Hermione was curious about why he needed to know that but refrained from asking, as it was only one of the various inquiries Harry asked her help for. Hermione would rather not annoy him, especially after their conversation. 

He was no longer as meek or shy as before, not that he wasn’t stubborn when he wanted to. Then there was this small but persistent feeling that he had become dangerous and was not to be crossed lightly. Harry had grown bold, confident, and hardy but was still her friend. While it was certainly jarring, Hermione did not dislike the change.

She threw a glance at the girls and saw one of them holding the morning edition of the Prophet, with the main page headline large and clear for all. She could even read the first paragraph of the article if she squinted.

Murder in Hogwarts! Dark Lord, Gilderoy Lockheart! Governors ousted, and Dumbledore’s return

By: Randall Amorim

Dreadful tidings come from our beloved school. As our readers know, there have been attacks targeting muggle-born students in Hogwarts since All Hallows Eve of last year. Sources say that the attacker always left a message written in blood about the legendary Chamber of Secrets opening. 

I would like to remind our dear readers that the Chamber of Secrets was supposedly built by Salazar Slytherin to hide a monster that, according to legend, would cleanse the castle of those of tainted blood. There have been four attacks on students thus far, three of them muggle-borns and one half-blood. 

These attacks were enough incentive for Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, led by Lucius Malfoy, to oust Albus Dumbledore from his position as Headmaster. Exactly three weeks later, the truth was finally revealed about the perpetrator behind the attacks, yet the cost was dire. It is with great regret that we announce the murder of a pureblood student by Gilderoy Lockhart. That is right, readers, the newly assigned Defence Against the Dark Arts professor personally chosen by the board of governors, was the perpetrator behind the attacks all along.

It was revealed that Gilderoy Lockhart was, in fact, secretly a dangerous Dark Wizard. Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had this to say;

“Gilderoy Lockhart did not accomplish any of his acclaimed achievements. They were all stolen by him through the illegal use of the obliviation charm. Lockheart would convince the witch or wizard who did the deed to tell their story before wiping their mind. Then he would publish them in his books as if they were his own. After having the DMLE comb through-

The page was listed before Hermione could finish, but she threw another glance.

We are not aware of the exact specifics of how Dark Wizard Lockhart planned to fabricate his next adventure, but considering his rapport with the School Board as well as Mr Malfoy’s suspicious ousting of Albus Dumbledore that resulted in a student’s death, it is easy to—

She sighed inwardly and looked away. It seemed that Harry was right, and the minister did, in fact, cover the whole thing up.

Was her trust in the teachers and authority figures misplaced? Dumbledore also knew about this cover-up and kept silent. And how could Hagrid be carted off to prison without a trial just like that? But then she remembered how her father often complained about corrupt, lying politicians at home. It seemed that the wizards were not so different from the muggles in some ways, after all.

Hermione sighed again and returned to her research, but her distracted thoughts haunted her. 

Objectively, she knew that deferring to adults who were supposed to know better was the wise thing to do. But did they truly know better? Was it even a question of knowing better than children?

She realised that it wasn’t! It was a question of… interests and priorities! That cold, cruel line of thought made her grimace. Despite wanting to believe the contrary, there were ample examples and proof of it. Her recently departed friend was the worst of them. Hermione wasn’t half as close to Ron as she was to Harry, but he was still one of her preciously few friends. 

While it was true that Ron and Harry broke the rules, could they have truly abandoned Ginny to die? If they didn’t care to help others, wouldn’t Hermione be killed by the troll in the lavatory on the first Hallow’s Eve? And could she even blame them? Especially since they did get a teacher to come along…

She felt sick with herself for cheering for Lockheart and believing his vain image. All those hours spent studying his many books in detail, wasted in vain!

Hermione sighed sadly before returning to the passage about Metamorphmagi. It was just a paragraph about people naturally gifted in self-transfiguration to the extreme. It was not exactly what Harry was looking for, but it was similar enough. Believing that would suffice for now, she closed the book and moved to the next book, Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans, while also keeping A Legal Compendium 198 nearby, searching for answers on House Elves.

Harry woke up in the Godswood again. He wondered if there was a way to tell the time here, and immediately a large stopwatch appeared suspended in the air. Timer already running in the first minute.

He immediately went to Ghost, who had his tongue wagging and tail thrashing so much that the ground would have been indented if it were real, and just collapsed on top of him in joy. He lost track of time on how long he spent playing around with Ghost before he decided to check the stopwatch. It’s already been 45 minutes since he arrived.

Harry turned towards the pool and looked into it, and frowned; a thin amber line trying to reach the water's surface. It was a familiar colour, yet he could not recall where he had seen it. When he moved his hand near it, it struggled even harder to break out of the water to reach him.

Curious and feeling confident in the safety of his mind, Harry plunged his hand and grabbed it… only for his entire perspective to change drastically as he saw himself flying underneath the clouds and the sun as he sped towards an unknown destination.

He was soaring over the roiling green hills, flying freely. Yet the flight was not without a purpose, the destination was the marble building with the grumbly two-legged long ears, who never gave treats or rewards. Not only that, but he was filled with near boundless energy as he streaked through the sky, and his sight was superb, as he could see the smallest details on the marked bark of a tree below. At that moment, a feeling of danger rapidly approached, and he spun, dodging a loathsome hawk, then- 

.

.

.

“Mr Potter! Wake up, young man!” 

Harry jerked awake and nearly fell out of bed. He hurriedly stood and noticed Madame Pomfrey looking at him in exasperation.

“What time is it?” How long was he asleep? It felt like he only spent a quarter of an hour since he touched the pool. And what was that amber thread he held? He felt like he was flying in the skies. It was…exhilarating! Even more than flying on a broom.

His train of thought was interrupted by Pomfrey, “It's almost three-thirty, young man. I’ve been trying to wake you for some time now. Come, sit down, so I can explain what I discovered.”

‘So for every hour I spend in the dreamscape, two would pass here?’

Harry sat again on the bed, “You’ve been working on my blood for so long?”

“Of course not, I was done in ten minutes, but I thought you could catch some sleep. You did have quite the ordeal, Mr Potter.” Madame Pomfrey sat in front of him and placed a few papers on the side table.

Harry felt warm inside at the consideration of the matronly woman, “You always have been my favourite member of this school’s staff, Madame.” 

He gave her a cheeky grin, to which she merely smiled, “And I truly do hope I do not have to see you here again. Otherwise, I might just have a bed exclusively for you.”

“I shall make no promises,” he chuckled.

“Now,” she grabbed the papers, “I’ll spare you the technicalities and get straight to the point. Your body has become immune to all manners of poisons and venoms.” 

Harry was shocked.

“Well, isn’t that good?” He scratched behind his ear in confusion. Why didn’t she sound too pleased?

“Oh, it is certainly good news. The problem is, I believe your blood has also made you resistant to potions.”

“How so?”

“Last night, I gave you a Pepper Up, a Calming Draught, and a Blood Replenishing potion,” Harry nodded as his stomach began to twist from anxiety. Or maybe hunger? “From what you told me, I can safely assume that none of these potions fully worked as intended. You were still emotional and fatigued. Although the Blood-Replenishing Potion could have worked, you haven’t really lost enough blood to tell, and I only gave it to you as a precautionary measure. It could have worked, or it could have had a different reaction altogether, such as making you hungry.”

‘Just my luck,’ Harry thought glumly. “Does this mean that healing potions won’t work for me? If I ever break my arm or suffer from blood loss, will potions do nothing then?”

“Things are not so dire, my dear,” Pomfrey patiently reassured him, “you will merely need much bigger dosages than normal to get the same result or much stronger potions. For your time in school, nothing will change for you, as I will be preparing your potions regardless. For when you are out of school, however, I recommend working diligently on your potion skills if you want to brew your own potions, as well as investing in better brewing tools.”

“Tough chance with Snape working here.” Harry sighed, to Pomfrey’s amusement.

“I shall not comment on Severus’ teaching skills, yet he is still one of the finest potion makers in the country. If you do not see hope in potions, then you may want to hire the services of a potioneer to brew you whatever potions you will need. Here,” she handed him an official-looking parchment, “show this to whoever will be your personal potioneer, they will understand how to adjust their brewing process and what ingredients to use. I must warn you, though, it will cost you a pretty knut.” 

Harry nodded under her serious gaze, folded the parchment, and placed it in his robe’s inner pocket. Maybe get it laminated to keep it safe, or find some spell to preserve it?

“One last thing, Mr Potter. I tested your blood against some disease samples, and it appeared to be immune to it. I suspect that with enough blood, it could have even cured it. I doubt that your blood has become a Panacea, but at least I am sure that you will be very resistant to diseases. The same tests were done on your spit sample, with similar results. Not sure how that will translate to when you are snogging a girl, though I am sure it won’t be anything harmful.”

Pomfrey said that line in as deadpan a voice as she could while Harry blushed furiously. Eventually, she broke out in laughter, much to his chagrin.

“I will be sure to come to you, Madame Pomfrey, should I encounter any problems of such nature,” Harry replied with a cheeky lilt, making the nurse laugh harder.

It took her a whole minute to calm down, and Pomfrey wiped her eyes, stood up, and collected the parchments. “Now, will there be anything else, Mr Potter?”

Harry wanted to ask if his blood could be a potion ingredient but decided against it. No need to seem like he is offering himself as a test subject. The image of Snape chasing him down with a knife to be chopped up and thrown in the cauldron sent shivers down his spine. Harry shook his head and stood up. 

“Thank you for allowing me to sleep here, Madame. And thank you for all your help.”

“It was my pleasure, dear. Make sure you eat enough until the hunger goes away. And you have my condolences on the loss of your friend, Mr Weasley.” She added sadly.

Harry nodded and left the infirmary. He felt restless and full of energy, he also had a sword to recover.

***

After a quick trip back to the dorms to change into something expendable, packing the largest of his cousin’s trousers in his backpack along with his dragon hide gloves, then picking up his broom; Harry finally ventured back to Myrtle’s bathroom, unseen. The cloak did an exceptional job concealing him from unwanted attention. 

Thankfully, Myrtle was nowhere to be seen, and the entrance to the Chamber was still closed after he swung by last night following his conversation with the Headmaster.

‘Open’

The sink expanded into a tunnel, and Harry wondered who would hide the entrance to the Chamber in a girl’s bathroom. As he mounted his broom and descended carefully, Harry could feel a slight hum in his ears as he descended. As soon as he did so, a strange urge swelled inside of him. He needed to be in the Chamber as if something fateful was waiting for him there. He was also getting hungry again.

He quickly arrived at the location of the rockslide, past the shed skin of the snake. The Minister and his Auror seemed to have done an excellent job clearing it up, but they must have been stumped by the door. He couldn’t even find a speck of blood. Why didn’t the minister mention the shed skin? More for him, as the skin seemed like one of these rare things that could be very useful for potions or the such.

Harry was too distracted by the humming in his ears to contemplate more, though, as he continued on.

Finally, he arrived at the door to the Chamber. Another hissed command, and a short walk later, Harry was standing in front of the Basilisk’s enormous carcass, with the sword sticking out of its maw.

As he stared at the giant snake, his hunger pangs reached a crescendo. There was magic at work here. Ever since Harry awoke after slaying the Basilisk, he had felt a small connection to this place, but it had been too dull, too muted, and he had been too distracted to acknowledge it. Every fibre of his being screamed at him that this was the right choice. That this was his right . Magic itself was demanding that he consume his slain foe.

He could barely hold himself from rushing at the snake and slicing a piece to eat raw. He would not deny his very being from the feast in front of him, but he would do it on his own rules.

Then his stomach grumbled again, whittling away his already wavering resolve. Harry tensed for a moment before striding towards the sword and pulling it out with a single motion. He warily circled towards the side where even the smaller, softer scales of the belly resisted the blows of the silvery blade, but with the hunger urging him on, he managed to cut a large line and gorged out a bloody piece of meat atop his sword.

“Incendio,” Harry held the stream of fire, and beads began to pool on his brow from the exertion. It took a handful of painfully long minutes until the smell of roasted meat finally hit him. Ignoring the slightly burnt outside, he greedily bit into the roasted flesh.

It was bliss. The taste was heavenly, and he immediately started feeling rejuvenated. He quickly swallowed down his morsel, yet his hunger was far from satiated. A second piece followed, and before Harry knew it, he had eaten at least half a dozen.

Finally, Harry managed to stop himself from cutting a seventh piece long enough to recollect himself. He had eaten enough for now, why not have the rest properly cooked?

After a moment of hesitation, he placed the silvery blade on the ground, noticing that it was pristinely clean, holding no traces of soot, oil, or blood.

A large kill, and it would be a waste to leave it like this. A pity he didn’t have the tools to skin or preserve all of it…

But wait, weren’t House Elves basically the wizarding equivalent of stewards?

“Dobby!”

The elf popped in and flinched at the massive snake corpse with the rough cut on its side. He recollected himself quickly enough and turned to his master, “The Great Harry Potter has called for Dobby?”

“Yes, Dobby, I will need your help in butchering and dismantling this carcass. I know how to butcher it, but I will need tools. Moreover, I would like to know if there are special potions to help in tanning the hide. For a snake this size, I will need an entire pool of specific materials to do it, I would also rather not hang it in the sun for all to see. Some sort of preservation potions and crystal jars as well to secure the organs. Do you know where to procure such items?”

Dobby had produced a muggle notebook from somewhere and hastily scribbled down, “Dobby knows, oh great snakekiller Harry Potter, sir. But Dobby will need gold, sir.”

Well, wasn’t that neat? Harry had expected the elf to point him towards some stores or places where such tools could be procured, not to acquire everything for him instead.

“How much do you think it will cost, Dobby?”

At this, Dobby fidgeted and appeared distraught.

“Dobby not sure, sir. Snake is bigger than anything Dobby worked on before. But Dobby can ask for the necessary measures for dismantling a dragon to get an idea.”

Harry smiled genially at his elf, “You do that, Dobby. Make it quick, though, and any gold you require, you can take from my trunk. The cost is irrelevant as much as getting started on this snake.”

Dobby nodded his head, his ears flapping around, “Dobby will do his best, Great Snakekiller Sir can count on him.” With that, the house-elf popped away.

A smile formed on Harry’s lips; his new retainer was already proving far more useful than he expected. He looked around the massive Chamber and mounted his broom again. Flying had always been a wondrous feeling for him, and now even more. His trusty broom seemed to hum in agreement.

It was time to do some exploration.

***

Harry was exploring a few small rooms hewn directly into the stone, possibly Salazar Slytherin’s private quarters or workshop. Although he wagered that Riddle had found these as well, especially since they weren’t particularly well hidden. He was staring at a particularly intricate snake carving when a loud pop signified Dobby’s return.

It took him a few seconds to rush back into the main Chamber and find Dobby unwrapping a large leather roll twice his size on the floor over a large tarp. 

“The Great Harry Potter, sir! Dobby has managed to acquire all that sir asked of him.”

“Good job, Dobby. You have done well. How much did it all cost then?”

“Only sixty-three Galleons, sir. Dobby had to strike a hard bargain and even use his old bad master’s tricks. The shop owner wanted over a hundred Galleons, but Dobby would not be fooled.”

Harry gawked, sixty-three Galleons? He had never spent so much in his life. He couldn’t recall how many pounds a galleon was worth, but considering these were gold coins, it would still be a significant expense for mere tools.

Nevertheless, he would have still endured it even if it was twice that cost.

“You have done wonderfully, Dobby. I really do not know what I would have done without you.”

There was no need to spare any praise, especially since the elf seemed to be eager to do his best. Dobby’s big eyes shining brightly were a sight to behold. 

Harry checked the tools and picked a skinning knife. It was well-balanced, razor-sharp, and made of exceptional steel but was nothing compared to the sword that lay on the ground. He definitely needed to figure out a sheathe and a belt to strap it on. Yet looking at the titanic carcass, the skinning knives would not be enough.

After rolling up his sleeves, Harry picked up the sword again and laid it on the tarp. He then had Dobby prepare the jars with the preservation potions to place the ruined eyes in. Even mangled, Harry had a feeling he could make a stew out of them. His stomach grumbled as if in agreement with the idea.

After dislodging and preserving the eyes, complete with their optical nerves, Harry’s gaze moved to the dagger-like fangs but decided against removing them. It would ruin the whole aesthetic of the skull, which would make for a fine trophy.

An hour of hard work later, Harry was finally done with the entire head of the snake. The venom was safely stored, and even the tongue and the punctured brain were preserved; he would waste nothing. Jon could have skinned, butchered, and quartered an entire deer in half the time, but Harry was only now done with the head after decapitating it with the sword —which took multiple swings with his weak, childish body— while Dobby offered to help him with the rest of the body. 

Bless that elf for his prodigious use of the animation charm. Harry could, at most, animate a single knife, and delicate tasks like skinning were beyond his meagre control for now. He’d be forced to do it on his own, which would take tens of hours of tiring work. However, Dobby had half a dozen of them working alongside him and was progressing well so far.

The Basilisk's hide was incredibly tough and magically resistant, but its innards were not. Starting from the decapitated neck, Dobby was slowly but efficiently skinning the snake, the charmed knives pushed up the skin while the elf would cut around it. It was simply impossible to make an entire clean cut of the hide, as the snake was too massive, and they would need to somehow lift it from the ground. Hence, Harry decided to cut the hide into smaller pieces. Normal knives did poorly, so he used the silvery blade, which managed to slice through the snakeskin, albeit with great difficulty. However, the cut pieces were still much larger than any moose pelt or anything else Jon hunted. He should easily have more than enough hide to fashion himself enough coats, trousers, gloves, hats, and boots for a lifetime. Maybe even the sheath for the sword?

“Well done, Dobby,” Harry praised, gasping for breath. Cutting the hardy hide had tired him greatly, and his stomach was groaning with hunger again. 

“It is my honour to help, sir. Dobby lives to serve,” it seemed that the work had started to take a toll on the elf as well, his movements had slowed down, and beads of sweat rolled from his brow. 

“It’s time for a break, Dobby. Grab the meat and meet me in the stone quarters”

***

Apparently, his new retainer was a superb chef. Too bad Dobby said he couldn’t eat the Basilisk meat and settled for some odd shroom stew. Too poisonous for him or something. Harry disagreed, he had never in his life eaten something so delicious!

The house elf had cleaned a part of the kitchens quickly enough. After a small scuffle with a Doxie nest and borrowing some spices and utensils from the Hogwarts kitchens, Harry quickly started receiving serving after serving of meat. Braising, stewing, pot roasting, pan searing, grilling/broiling, pan frying, roasting, and stir-frying…Dobby did them all, with some sides of veggies and garlic bread courtesy of the kitchen elves. Harry’s hunger did not seem so easily appeased this time; the brain and eyes were not spared and disappeared into his belly in the form of delicious stew and soup, respectively. 

Harry might have been finally satiated after eating enough to feed two dozen men, but there were tons of meat to spare still, and they were far from done with the Basilisk. Thankfully, he now had a steward for the job.-

“Dobby, do you know a way to preserve the rest of the meat?”

“Yes, the Greatest Harry Potter, sir! Dobby saw a storage room here! Or Dobby can use the meat room to smoke it instead?”

“A storage room?” He wondered out loud.

“Yes, the one with runses, sir! Magic makes things go bad slower. What shall Dobby do?”

That sounded fascinating! Harry was glad he had yet to choose his electives for next year, now, he would definitely pick Ancient Runes. And Jon had some basic knowledge of First Men runes that he learned as a child. Perhaps they would work here? 

“Put a quarter in the storage room and smoke the rest,” he decided.

Dobby busied himself, and Harry returned to exploring the rest of the complex.

The next room he entered greeted him with the rancid smell of rot and decay. It looked like it had been a small library; a few half-rotten shelves barely hung to the wall, while decaying wood was littered on the floor, along with worn, mouldy pieces of parchments whose ink had long faded. The only peculiar thing was the rather new oaken table in the middle, along with a single chair. A leather-bound booklet lay alone on its surface. Harry cautiously opened it and scowled. The familiar handwriting was now seared into his brain, the journal was written by Tom Riddle.  

Should he simply destroy it? Voldemort’s old diary had proven very dangerous, did Harry want to take a risk with his journal?

After a moment of hesitation, he cautiously opened a random page. Nothing malicious happened, and he realised that this might just be a simple journal and curiously inspected the inked words. It was a messy, disordered read, it seemed that Riddle had only jolted stray, seemingly irrelevant thoughts from time to time. But one particular line caught Harry’s eye.

‘Alas, I discovered the Huntsman’s rebirth too late. After a multitude of calculations, the optimal moment that would provide the biggest benefits is the 13th birthday.’  

A snort escaped his lips, but he couldn’t feel that this sounded familiar. Harry had a vague impression of what Voldemort was speaking about, but it was little more than a faint feeling at the back of his mind. He had a feeling that Ghost devoured more than whatever was in his scar. Something to explore for later.

The remaining two rooms had nothing of note, and Harry returned to the butcher’s work. Brimming with energy, he lost track of time until Dobby popped away and returned with a message from Hermione. It did not feel like it, but apparently, hours had already passed.

Dobby stubbornly continued on the dismantling while Harry threw one last look at their work. Most of the organs were already harvested and preserved, including the heart, the most precious part of most beasts. The heartstring was a surprise but a welcome one. 

“Don’t forget to take a break,” he reminded Dobby.

“The Great Harry Potter sir is too generous!” The elf happily bobbed his head. “Dobby will prepare snake organs for the next meal!”

It was time to see what his friend was up to. After a shower to wash off all the grime and blood, of course.

Chapter Text

Monday, 31st of May 1993

The mangy two-legged creature bared its teeth in displeasure while looking at the letter, and he gave him an unimpressed glare and a warning hoot. No treat ever came, and five minutes later, the ungrateful short sharp-ears attached a roll of parchment to his foot.

The string was tied too tightly, so the offender received a smack with the wing for it, and he leapt in the air before two legs could retaliate. A few flaps later, he had left the stone dwelling and was now cutting through the pleasant night air above the stone forest. 

A*L*S*M

Harry woke up at four in the morning, as part of his new training regimen, to the alarm charm Hermione taught him last night. The charm was simple enough: cast it once on your pillow, and it would vibrate in an hour; cast it multiple times, and it would vibrate after the number of hours you cast it. He didn’t feel hungry for once, owing to the veritable feast of Basilisk meat he had last night. Not only that, but he felt rested and full of energy.

Dawn in Scotland was quite early, reminding him of the North. After reviewing the Huntsman's ritual that Ghost had consumed from what he was now sure to have been a piece of Riddle's magic, his short dreamscape session was mostly spent flying with Hedwig. It was an odd feeling at first, but not unwelcome. Skinchanging was definitely a type of magic originating from Westeros, not Britain. He dearly regretted never exploring that bond with Ghost when he was Jon, but what could he do? He was flopping in the dark and busy with far greater problems. His experience with magic in general on the Wall and Beyond wasn’t the best, so he had been reluctant to even delve into things like that.

Harry shook his head; there was no use crying over a spilt potion. He rose from the bed, dressed in his trainers and slacks, grabbed his cloak and wand from his trunk, and made his way down to the Chamber.

It was a pleasant surprise for him to discover the secret exits and entrances of the Chamber. Aside from one leading into the Forbidden Forest and another to the loch, which he guessed were used for the Basilisk to hunt when it was much smaller, he found two more secret entrances in addition to Myrtle’s bathroom. One to the nearby clock tower courtyard. Another opened to the dungeons near the abandoned classrooms across from the stairs. Thankfully, no one visited that part of the dungeons often.

Both secrets required command in Parseltongue to open, and Harry reckoned that anything related to Slytherin also required speaking the language of the serpents. How convenient.

It was through the Clock Tower courtyard that Harry made his way to the Chamber, hidden under his cloak. He had not explored more than half of the maze of tunnels and chambers below, it was quite possible that there were more passages to be uncovered, but that would wait for later.

Upon arriving at the Chamber, he found Dobby still busy with the Basilisk. Harry stared in wonder at the intrepid elf; it was like he never tired. 

“Don’t you need some rest, Dobby?”

“Oh no, sir. Dobby had a whole half-an-hour of sleep! Dobby has never felt so rested! The Great Master Harry Potter is strong, and now so is Dobby!”

An odd reply, but almost everything about House Elves was odd, so Harry took it in stride. He was sure Hermione would be trying to grill the poor elf for information if she was in his shoes, but Harry was content to let the topic lie as long as Dobby had no problems.

“Do make sure you’re well rested,” Harry said with a chuckle. “And if you need anything or encounter trouble, come to me.” 

If anything, Harry definitely did not want Dobby to get any ideas about dealing with ‘problems’ on his own. He shuddered just at the memory of the poor creature’s deadly attempts at ‘saving him’.

The elf nodded in excitement while Harry began warming up. Running in the Chamber was possible, but he would rather exercise here instead. Once it was six in the morning and curfew ended, he could run along the grounds unless it rained. The training methods of this world were somewhat different from what he had used in Winterfell, but then again, they did not train to wield arms here. A pity he had no dummies to practice his swings. He would also have to learn how to transfigure something suitable to whack with his sword.

Harry had discovered yesterday that he had excellent stamina. After hours of working on the carcass, he barely felt fatigued. Although that could have been due to the amount of meat he had eaten, the mention of a ritual in that journal led him to believe he might have unknowingly activated one. Madam Pomfrey had no idea what caused these changes but was assured they were benign.

For now, though, he hoped to finally tire himself today with an extreme training session to discover his limits.

A*L*S*M

Hermione yawned as she made her way out of her dorm room. She had stayed late at night doing some light reading in her bed. Her dorm mates left her alone, not wanting to bother her in her grief, or so she assumed. She never did meet again with Harry yesterday, but he had a message delivered to meet her in the Great Hall for breakfast early in the morning. 

It was not even eight in the morning, so it wasn’t a surprise to find the common room nearly deserted, especially with the lack of classes. She could only see a few older students quietly studying together for either OWLs or NEWTs.

The entrance to the common room opened before Hermione could make her way across to it, and a thoroughly soaked Harry Potter stumbled his way through, grabbing her attention. 

“Harry! There you are. What were you doing outside the tower? Why are you so wet? Are you okay? You are breathing harder than normal.”

Harry chuckled at the barrage of questions. “Well, in order, I had a run, then I decided to go for a swim in the lake; I am fine, but a bit tired because I got into a wrestling match with the giant squid. Lost badly, but I will definitely get back at it again.”

Hermione stared at the cheeky smile of her friend, speechless. Before she could gather her thoughts to reply, Harry laughed and continued to his dorm, “Give me a few minutes to change and shower, then we can go for breakfast.”

A*L*S*M

They made their way to the Great Hall, enduring plenty of stares and gawkers. Many of the student body had tried to talk to them, but Harry was not in the mood to entertain fickle people who had proven themselves fair-weather friends.

It had finally dawned on Harry his actual worth as the Boy-Who-Lived. That meeting with the Minister for Magic had truly been enlightening. 

They could hear the chatter and noise as they approached the Great Hall, and upon entering, the noise level considerably dropped while Harry took them all in. 

He gazed at the seated students starting from his right at the Slytherins, where he could see Malfoy glaring daggers at him with barely restrained hatred. He could feel no regret or pity from the git, even if Harry didn’t want any. He would not forget how callous the boy was last Christmas when he hoped for Hermione’s death. Ignoring him, his gaze fell on the rest of the Slytherins, feeling a strange mixture of pity, fear, awe, and annoyance from them.

His eyes moved to the Ravenclaw table. The house of the book lovers, as some of his housemates called them, did not appear too bothered by the near disaster that faced Hogwarts. From the still ongoing whispers, they were mostly bothered about the cancellation of the exams. Undoubtedly, they looked forward to acing them for the bragging rights and rubbing it to the other houses. Such… childish motivations should have been beneath them.

The Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, were strangely subdued. A quick whiff of the air told him they all felt fear and regret when they met his eyes. His gaze found a certain blonde boy in his year, who was the main instigator of the rumours surrounding him. Macmillan wouldn’t even meet his gaze, making Harry snort. The boy might have apologised after Hermione was petrified; Yet now he could easily spot how it was a simple platitude made in public, barely a token attempt to make amends with no sincerity behind it.

All of this didn’t take Harry more than two or three heartbeats before he led Hermione to the Gryffindor table. Many students offered him and Hermione condolences, while others even offered him a seat. The House of the Brave didn’t exactly ostracise him for being a Parselmouth as much as the rest of the school, but they did not help either. Most of them opted to ignore his plight, but he still had friends in his house.

Harry returned greetings to a select few and made his way to his year mates. Dean and Seamus sat together with Neville across from them, his back to the wall. Harry moved to join the empty seat next to Neville.

“Morning, Harry.” “Morning.”

“Good morning. Alright, there, Neville? Dean?” Harry then turned to Seamus, who nodded a greeting.

“We’re alright. Didn’t want to wake you yesterday, you looked knackered. Oh, and good morning Hermione. Glad to have you back!”

Hermione sat on his right before returning the greetings.

Harry didn’t really feel like talking with an empty stomach, so he busied himself with breakfast, letting the conversations fly past him. A few minutes later, Lavender, Fay, and Parvati joined them at the table, thus completing their entire yearmates. Harry noted sadly that the ratio between boys and girls in Gryffindor had become equal with Ron's passing. He engaged in some small talk with his friends as he kept an eye on the windows. Hermione, who was conversing with Lavender, seemed to take notice.

“Are you expecting an owl, Harry?”

“Hedwig should be coming by in a moment now.” Harry turned his eye back to his empty plate and refilled it. He felt a gaze on him from the table across and noticed a blonde Hufflepuff his age staring at him. He recognised Hannah Abbot, and she immediately averted her gaze when she noticed him, striking up a conversation with the red-haired girl next to her. She had an intriguing shade of red hair that Jon had only seen once. Flowing blood just like–

“Hi, Harry!” A squeaky voice called from behind, and Harry stifled a groan.

“Hello, Colin. I’m glad to see you back on your feet.”

“Thanks, Harry. I’m sorry to hear about Ron and wanted to give you these.” Creevey handed Harry a bundle of pictures, and to his pleasant surprise, they were pictures mostly of him and Ron with Hermione in some of them. He held them reverently, not at all expecting such a thing. Filled with joy, he didn’t even bother questioning how Colin had the chance to take them.

“Thank you, Colin. I appreciate it, truly, I do.” Harry browsed the pictures melancholically. Seeing Ron waving to him from the pictures nearly made his eyes misty. Hermione leaned close to get a closer look. Absent-mindedly, Harry felt her breath on his cheek as she practically hugged him to get a look.

He couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. While she was his friend, she was also a girl and a tad too close. With Jon’s memories, he well-knew how that bread was buttered.

Harry inwardly shook his head; damned puberty! He realised why his gaze had been wandering to some of the surrounding girls. With a sigh, his attention returned to the pictures and gave them to Hermione for safekeeping in her bag.

“Mr Potter.”

Another voice sounded from behind before he could resume eating, and Harry turned to see the stoic deputy-headmistress approach. Her normally black hair was flecked with a few grey strands, while her face seemed to have gained a couple of rare wrinkles overnight. It appeared that Ron’s death had affected more people than he realised. 

“Yes, professor?”

“I would like a word with you and Miss Granger, please. Mr Creevey, you have twenty minutes to finish breakfast and meet me in my office for your remedial lessons. You have missed nearly the entirety of the school year, and we need to get you up to snuff now. Follow me, Mr Potter, Miss Granger. It won’t take a few minutes.”

Harry looked at his unfinished meal before sighing and getting up, Hermione following his lead.

“Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll keep your seat empty,” Finnigan promised solemnly.

“Cheers, Seamus,” Harry threw his dormmate a grateful nod before turning to McGonagall. “Lead the way, Professor.”

They made their way to the trophy room before McGonnogal turned to them.

“I have received word from the Weasleys.” She said simply, and Harry could hear Hermione inhale sharply, “The funeral for young Ronald will be at midday tomorrow. Naturally, you are both invited. If you agree, I will escort you to the cemetery in Ottery St Catchpole for the burial and then later to the Burrow for the wake.”

It suddenly dawned on Harry that he had never attended a funeral. Sure, the Watchmen had died aplenty, but he did not feel close to them, not after the betrayal. All the Starks died while he was away. Ron was gone, and now this was his chance to send him farewell. His eyes misted, and he had to gulp his sore throat. Hermione wasn’t any better.

“Of course I will attend, Professor,” he managed to find his voice, “I am not familiar with wizarding funerals, so I will appreciate some instruction if there’s anything I need to do.”

McGonnogal nodded and turned to Hermione, “I will attend too. Ron was my friend, and I would like to be there for the rest of the Weasleys.”

“Then please be ready tomorrow by two in the afternoon. You can dress in your school robes, and if you need any help or have any questions, my door is always open.”

Harry had to stifle a snort at this as Hermione asked McGonagall further questions. 

‘Door always open? Then why is it that whenever you are needed most, you prove useless.’  

What truly frustrated him was that he could feel genuine regret and sympathy from McGonagall. It is as if she didn’t realise that she was partly to blame for Ron’s death as well. She was the one who goaded Lockhart to challenge the Chamber.

‘Forget it. It’s not worth blowing a gasket now.’ With an enormous effort, he managed to calm down and gather the gist of the conversation. Dumbledore would attend the burial but not the wake. He and Hermione were the only students, aside from a friend of Ginny’s, that would attend. All the Weasleys would be there, even Ron’s eldest brothers, as well as other relatives. At that, Harry felt some anxiety being around so many strangers, but he gathered himself. Ron deserved a good final farewell.

Once Hermione finished her talk with the deputy-headmistress, they returned to the Great Hall and resumed breakfast. Harry conversed with his dormmates and couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t really know a lot about them beyond the simplest things. Seamus was an Irish half-blood with a muggle father, Neville was a pureblood who lived with his grandmother, and almost nothing about Dean apart from being a muggle-born and a Westham football fan.

Suddenly, Harry stared at the windows and noticed Hedwig flying in. He quickly cleared the table in front of him aside from a plate of bacon and other treats he was saving for her.

It didn’t take long for her to fly in, followed by a veritable flock of owls. 

“Hello, girl. Hope you enjoyed your flight.” Hedwig preened as he stroked her silky snow-white feathers before raising her leg for him to take the letter. Once free of her burden, she quickly hopped to her plate to feed.

“Your owl is very well-trained, Harry,” Neville observed in admiration, “Can I pet her?”

Harry was opening the Gringotts letter before he stopped and felt Hedwig's emotions at the idea. “You can try. If Hedwig likes it, she will let you. If not… well, I can personally vouch for Madame Pomfrey's healing prowess.” 

He grinned at the boy, then dived into the letter before scowling in disgust. Hermione hesitantly leaned over Harry’s shoulder to read the letter, and Harry angled the roll of parchment, so she could read it better and frowned at the contents.

Neville, meanwhile, shied away from the owl and instead noticed their expressions and the seal of the discarded envelope. “Trouble with the goblins?”

Harry restrained himself from tearing the letter in frustration and instead folded it, “Bloody bleeding gremlins charged me a whole Galleon for a bank statement! Then another Galleon for ‘delivery expenses’ disregarding that I didn’t use any of their owls, and yet another Galleon for ‘wasting their time’. Why do we even leave our gold with them in the first place?”

Neville smiled awkwardly, “I hear you, Harry. Gran doesn’t like them either. I doubt anyone likes them, to be frank. Still, there is no denying that they provide the best kind of security in Britain to keep our gold and valuables safe. Sure, you can store your gold in your house or other places, but if you are robbed, then it's completely on you.”

Hermione looked flabbergasted, “What? But I thought the Aurors’ job is to prevent crime, and theft is a crime, right?”

Lavender chose this moment to barge into the conversation from Hermione’s right, “Oh sweetie, theft is certainly a crime, but no wizard or witch worth their wand would ever admit that they failed to place necessary protections in their homes to protect their valuables.” She giggled, her honey-coloured eyes full of mirth, “Daddy tells me that Aurors usually busy themselves stopping violent crimes or making sure regulations are followed. Unless you are a ministry-sponsored business or have a seat on the Wizengamot, they will give you lip service if you report a theft. The only time they will act is if the crime is right in front of them… or you have connections in the DMLE, if you know what I mean.”

Harry flexed his fists as he contemplated Neville and Lavender’s words while Hermione grilled their classmates for more information regarding the structure of magical society. Harry himself would have felt the same as Hermione, but Jon felt this was too similar to Westeros. Winterfell and Wintertown had very little crime, so he couldn’t compare it to here. But he heard from other Black Brothers how other cities, particularly Kingslanding, operated. Many were forced to take the Black because they robbed the wrong person. If they robbed a merchant with no connections, then the city guard would not bother with them. If they robbed a noble, however, then going to the Wall would be a mercy.

He was broken from his thoughts when Hermione finished breakfast and her conversation with Lavender before excusing herself for the library. Harry promised to swing by in a few hours before he struck up a conversation with Dean. Normally, Ron would be the one striking conversations with others, but now with him gone, Harry needed to break out of his self-imposed shell. He was no longer that scared little boy locked in the cupboard under the stairs. 

“We’re trying to get enough people to play a game of football. I have the ball and managed to convince an older student to transfigure two goalposts. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry felt excited at the prospect of playing football, he never had a chance to play at school because of Dudley and his merry band of misfits. He had nothing to do and was still feeling energised despite his training. The alternative was to brood, and that wasn’t a practical use of his time.

“Sure, why not?”

A*L*S*M

Harry watched attentively at the Ravenclaw sixth year, whom he recognised as one of the house’s Chasers, as he silently waved his wand, and a straight metal goalpost rose from the ground. Another wave of the wand and the metal extended horizontally until it connected to a similar post a few yards away. The boy turned towards the gathered group of juniors and gave a small smile at their awed expressions.

“Is this good enough, Thomas?”

Dean nodded his head rapidly, “Y-yeah, thanks, Shafiq. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Pass. It wouldn’t be fair to play against a group of thirteen-year-olds. I’ll just sit here and act as ref.” The older boy replied in a lazy drawl that reminded Harry of the rare Black Brother on the Wall from Dorne. He waved his wand again and silently transfigured the ground to create a comfortable metal chair with plush seating.

Harry smiled inwardly; the boy was tall and compared to him, their group looked like midgets. It was he and his dormmates, along with a few other students who were probably muggle-borns or half-bloods. Regardless, the silent use of Transfiguration was certainly impressive. Maybe he could help him create some training dummies? 

‘After the game, mayhaps.’ He quickly joined Dean and the others as they formed teams and explained the rules to the magical-born kids.

.

.

.

“You’re not half-bad, Harry.”

“Half-bad? Ha, the kid ran circles around you, Tommy. Is that why you played goalie for the last bit, Potter? Didn’t want to kill the game too much?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair in embarrassment. It’s been an hour since they started, and he and the other kids were taking a break on the sidelines. Well, it was more for their sake than his. To say that the other kids were lacking in fitness would be an understatement. Aside from him and Dean, the others probably never had to run in their lives. Needless to say, Dean was on the opposing team, and yet Harry’s team still won by a large margin.

“I’ve always been quick on my feet. Not to mention, Quidditch practice with Wood would turn anyone into a fitness nut.”

Shafiq winced at that, “We’ve heard horror stories of how your Quidditch captain trains you. Credit where it’s due, you Lions have been a tough nut to crack on the pitch.” The older boy sipped from a glass of fruit punch that Harry had no idea where he got while he gazed at the collapsed form of Neville, who looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating. “Still, I doubt that alone would be enough. You've run and played more than anyone else today, yet you’ve barely broken a sweat.” Shafiq gave a calculating look at him, his turquoise eyes gleaming. “Impressive.”

Harry returned the look with an impassive gaze of his own, “I’m more impressed with how you created those posts and your chair. Others might mistake it for Conjuration, but you instead transfigured the ground into what you desired. Non-verbally as well, and without even breaking a sweat, not to mention metal? Impressive.”

They both looked at each other, and Harry blithely noted that even while standing, he was barely the same height as the seated Ravenclaw. Shafiq chuckled before he stood from his seat and offered a hand, “You are an intriguing fellow, Potter. I honestly didn’t expect much when Tommy over there asked for help. The name’s Tariq, of the Noble House of Shafiq. An honour to make your acquaintance.”

Harry grasped the offered hand and shook it firmly, “The honour is mine.” 

“Would you like to walk with me, Harry? May I call you Harry?” 

Harry hesitated slightly and turned only to see Neville wave him away, “We’re gonna be fine, Harry. You can go ahead of us if you want.” 

Down on the ground, the pudgy boy was catching his breath yet watching them with rapt attention. The other students were busy joking or talking about the game, yet most had no noble connection or did not care. Harry nodded his thanks to the boy. Neville was much more perceptive than he lets on, especially when it came to noble courtesies. Harry was not expecting to deal with a noble, one who was clearly attempting to build a rapport with him. It was an excellent opportunity for him to build connections, especially with other houses. Time for Jon to bring out those courtesy lessons he never used on the Wall.

“So long as you don’t mind me calling you Tariq. Lead the way.”

Harry followed the Dornish-looking boy towards another group of students in the distance playing a game of Quidditch. Despite being hundreds of yards away, Harry could clearly tell they were a mix of houses. From his house, he could see Angelina and Alicia but not Katie. Diggory and a couple of other Hufflepuffs he didn’t recognise, a few from Ravenclaw and one lone Slytherin in the form of Pucey, if he wasn’t mistaken. His vision had truly improved tremendously.

“An interesting thing, isn’t it? Members of all four houses having a fun game of Quidditch. No silly house rivalry or similar nonsense that we are subjected to on a daily basis in this school.”

“True. It feels like the competition between Houses has gotten… well, out of hand, and we’re just second years now. I don’t even want to imagine how bad it would be in another three or four years. Some of the professors openly encourage this too.”

Shafiq chuckled, “Looks like the rumours of you and Snape not getting along were not exaggerated.”

Harry scrunched up his nose at the mention of his least favourite professor, “Am I wrong?”

“Heh, perhaps not. Still, the point is, once school is over, none of those former students care a lot about which House you were in. You won’t find people refusing to work with their unit in the DMLE because one was a Snake while the other was a Lion. In the end, Hogwarts is the perfect place to build future connections. Especially those between the noble peerage.”

“Like you and me, I presume?”

“Quick on the uptake. That’s good.” 

“Yet, you do not seem to mind being seen associating with non-nobles. How did it come to be that you would not only know a muggle-born like Dean, who is years your junior, but even talk familiarly with him?”

The Ravenclaw sighed at that, and Harry felt hesitance and reluctance. As if it was a topic he would rather not discuss. They stopped by an empty bench and the boy sat on it to collect his thoughts. “Tell me, Harry. Do you know how Muggle-borns came to be?”

Harry was surprised at the sudden question, “Not really. Never thought about it. Isn’t it simply magic awakening randomly in people?”

“Not quite. Magic, at its core, is a bloodline ability. Witches and Wizards are different from muggles at a genetic level. There are only three ways for a magical to be produced from a muggle line, and all three require a magical ancestor. It is rare for a magical to fall in love with a muggle so much they choose to abandon their way of life, but it happens, as our esteemed deputy headmistress’ parents have proven. Sometimes, it could even be from a squib line. As our caretaker has shown, squibs are shunned in our society; thus, many parents encourage their squib children to integrate into the muggle world. They may not be able to use magic, but they still carry magical blood, nonetheless.”

Harry noticed the inflexion put on encourage , but decided not to comment. So, McGonnogal was a half-blood? How did Shafiq even know that?

Tariq continued, his face twisting in slight distaste, “Yet, the true reason why Muggle-borns are not trusted and looked down upon has to do with the third way they are created. Can you guess what it is, Harry?”

The answer would have completely flown over Harry’s head, but for Jon…that stigma had followed him all his life, so it was easy for him to guess what Tariq was alluding to, “Bastardy.” 

“Exactly. I’m surprised you would know of it; You are very mature for your age. Regardless, whether it’s a love affair or something much more… sinister… this leads to rare cases of a muggle-born appearing out of nowhere looking suspiciously like a high-profile wizard. Can you imagine the scandal? How noble houses would rightfully fear that their lines could be stolen? Magic is magic; it does not care about house names, not truly. A completely unknown muggle-born could use his blood to, say… access his magical family’s Gringotts vault if not properly protected. Or trick their house wards to allow him inside their homes. Magic might not always recognise names, as languages evolve over time, but it shall always recognise blood.”

That was a lot for Harry to take in, yet at the same time, it made sense for him. Jon did look the most like his father compared to his siblings, and Lady Stark’s worst fears included something like that happening…without all the magical shenanigans.

“Hang on, what does all that have to do with Dean?”

Shafiq chuckled, “How many Muggle-born students are in your year?

Strange question, but Harry quickly counted. “Three. Hermione, Dean and Justin from Hufflepuff.”

“Your friend Hermione Granger, does she know her parents?”

“Of course, they’re dentists. I think she mentioned visiting her grandparents as well.”

“I see. Something for you and her to look into, perhaps. What do you know about the Hufflepuff?”

“Justin? You saw him playing with us. He was the curly-haired guy that played on Dean’s team. I think he mentioned his family were members of the muggle peerage.” Harry was starting to have an idea of where the other boy was going with this, the smell of mischief and amusement evident from him.

“And Dean?”

Harry shrugged, a bit embarrassed that he knew more about the Puff than his own dormmate.

“Well, a little birdie told me that Dean’s mother is a muggle who remarried after having him. Dean himself never knew his birth father. Do you see why I am interested in him now?”

Oh yes, Harry could see it very clearly. The boy sitting in front of him was certainly a long-term planner. Ambitiously so.

“I’m surprised you aren’t in Slytherin, and I mean that in the best way possible. I take it you have also built an interest in me?”

“Ha, a true Slytherin would never advertise to everyone that he is cunning and ambitious, I should think.” The snake in eagle skin stood and continued walking towards the group playing Quidditch. Harry could see one of the Ravenclaws waving at them, and Shafiq waved back. “Yes, you are certainly an intriguing fellow, Harry. A Parselmouth from the line of Potter? Inconceivable, considering how rare the ability was in Britain. Unless it's from your mother’s line instead. Something else for you to look into, I suppose.”

Harry nodded along. He and Dumbledore already had their conjectures about it, and it would certainly be something for him to investigate later. Still, this guy was sharp.

“Nevertheless, I’m digressing. I’ll be blunt, I’m sure you are used to many people kissing up to you for your role in the defeat of the Dark Lord. Yet, from my understanding, few have attempted to approach you as a Scion of House Potter. At most, I’d wager only young Longbottom, perhaps as the heir of his house and your dormmate. Am I right?”

Harry sobered a bit at that; there was no need to inform the older boy that he had, in fact, never been approached by anyone in his capacity as a noble. Seven hells, he didn’t even know he was a noble until the taller boy confirmed it! Dumbledore may have alluded to it but never truly confirmed it. Now, he will have to manoeuvre his way around this conversation without proving that Snape was right and that he was a complete dunderhead.

“Something like that. I guess somehow beating Voldemort as a one-year-old impressed people a lot more than having an old name. And blood, as you have emphasised.” He really needed to brush up on his family’s history; that was the first thing he would be doing once he met Hermione in the library. The second thing will be to learn as much as possible about the Houses of magical Britain. 

Shafiq smiled at the cheek, and Harry noticed the boy didn’t flinch when he said Voldemort’s name, “Understandable. There are also the tales of you slaying our Defence teacher last year after he turned out to be an aspiring Dark Lord. With Lockhart, that’s three Dark Lords that you have caused their demise, Harry.”

Harry flexed his fist. Was that what people thought of Quirrell? That he wasn’t controlled by Voldemort but just another wannabe Dark Lord?

“What can I say? I’m simply doing my duty.”

“An admirable sentiment. I understand you are not well acquainted with the finer aspects of our society, Harry. As I am now of age, and my cousin has no desire to live in Britain, I find myself my uncle’s heir to the Shafiqs. I will be attending the next session of the Wizengamot with him to formally accept my duties as heir. You might think you are too young to worry about such matters, but take it from someone who had this dropped on him with no prior warning. It's better to learn early than flounder when you are of age.”

Harry smiled along sardonically. He could feel that the older boy was mostly genuine in his advice and offer of friendship. It wasn’t purely from the goodness of his heart, of course, as Harry understood his own worth. A case of helping the young celebrity noble now and maybe benefitting in the future. Still, the guy treated him like a kid. Not his fault, really; he did look like a child. At almost thirteen, he was actually still a child. Children here mature slower than back in Westeros, it seemed. 

It was a good thing Hermione had talked Lavender’s ear off during breakfast about how unfair it was that there was a noble system. As if Muggle Britain didn’t have one of its own, “If I recall, the Shafiqs are members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Yet, forgive me if I cause offence, you do not look British, and your name is clearly foreign. How did that come about to be, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Tariq laughed lightly, “No offence taken. We are all immigrants if you go back far enough. The Shafiqs were part of an old Egyptian clan that you wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name of. Arabic names be like that, as we don’t really use surnames. A member of the family, the actual Shafiq we are named for, helped an English wizard when they fought Napoleon in Egypt nearly two hundred years ago. It might have been a muggle war, but wizards were active in it, just like any conflict that concerned Egypt. He and his family later used that connection to move to England and used their accumulated wealth to invest in several ventures while still maintaining ties with the main branch back home. It culminated with us buying out the Gaunt's seat on the Wizengamot when they fell on hard times and couldn’t afford to renew their seat. Noble houses have to pay the ministry an absurd amount of gold every few decades to keep their seats on the Mot, or else the ministry would put the Seat up for auction. Interestingly enough, House Gaunt were the last known Parselmouths in Britain, but they died off due to inbreeding some sixty or so years ago.”

The Gaunts again… this was the second time he had heard of them. “And you were able to fit in easily? I would think the old nobility would baulk at the idea of a foreign house taking the place of an old and established house.”

“Ah, but you see, that would have been true, except my ancestor had a powerful backer here. The House of Black was the richest and most powerful house in Britain until the seventies, and it was the heir of the House whom we helped back then. It was a rough start, but we managed. Now, enough politics. I don’t want to bore you too much, and we could discuss this another time. You still have enough energy for a game of Quidditch?”

Harry scoffed lightly as they greeted the others, “Sure I do. The question is, are you up for it? Don’t want to dishearten you too much for next year.”

“Cheeky. I’m already resigning to focus on my NEWTs. So, go get your broom and let’s get the game going.”

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 1st of June 1993

Harry stumbled as he made his way out of the Floo but managed to steady himself and avoid rolling on the floor. It was not as bad as when he ended up in Borgins and Burkes - it seemed that Jon’s ability and gracefulness had also rubbed onto him, if only a little. The harsher mediaeval life and training at arms since he was old enough to walk did wonders for his muscle memory; He just needed to work on those muscles now. Harry quickly moved aside to make room for Hermione and McGonnogal and found himself in front of Arthur Weasley.

“Mr Weasley.”

Ron’s father gave him a wan smile. The boy could have sworn the man had aged ten years since that fateful day nearly a year ago; when Arthur had asked about the function of a rubber duck with such excitement after Ron and the twins spirited him from the Dursleys. 

“Thank you for making it, Harry. I'm certain that Ron would have loved having you here today.”

“It's the least I can do, Mr Weasley. Ron was my first friend ever - someone who stood by my me through thick and thin, a brother in all but blood.”

Arthur’s sad eyes gained some warmth and liveliness, but before anything else could be said, Hermione and McGonnogal stepped out of the Floo one after another. More courtesies were exchanged, condolences were said, and Arthur led them out to the boundaries of the property.

“You’re the last to arrive. Everyone is already at the cemetery. It's a bit of a walk, so we will be Apparating there,” The balding wizard said. “Thank you for bringing them, Minerva. I’m glad you both chose to attend.”

“Ron was our friend, Mr Weasley. He saved me from that troll in our first year. I want to give a proper farewell to him.”

Arthur’s face tightened a bit, “He was always quick to help those in need. I am not blind to his faults, but my brave, reckless child would never have knowingly let someone he knows get hurt when he could have done something for them.”

Harry smiled sadly, remembering how Ron sacrificed himself in that chess match so he and Hermione could carry on to the Stone. All three of them had seen what the chess pieces had done to the defeated ones, and Ron took on that challenge, fully aware that he might very well get killed by that vicious queen piece.

They walked for a few minutes in respectful silence. Harry was surprised that the deputy headmistress didn’t comment on the troll when Hermione mentioned it, but a quick glance told him she was in too sombre a mood to care. 

Soon they were outside the Burrow, with Harry noticing a large tent on the ground waiting to be set up. Probably for the Wake, if Harry had to guess, as he acknowledged the hot sun above.

“This should do. Here, grab my arm, Harry. Do you know what apparition is?”

Harry thought Ron had mentioned it when he asked how his parents would return home without the car when they took it during their flight to Hogwarts, but he never knew what the term meant. Hermione easily volunteered the information as she held onto McGonnogal’s arm. “It's a method of magical transportation where the user disappears from one place and appears almost instantly somewhere else. Basically teleportation, Harry. We get to learn it in our sixth year!”

Harry had no idea what teleportation was and almost missed McGonnogal giving Arthur a nod.

“This won’t feel pleasant, Mr Potter, Ms Granger. My only advice is to grab on with a tight grip and endure.”

Before he could ask what she meant, Harry felt Arthur's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip. Everything went black; he was pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, as if iron bands were tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull, and then—

His feet slammed onto the ground, and the spinning momentum almost sent him spiralling into the ground, but he managed to stay upright. Harry felt like he had just been forced through a tight rubber tube. A quick glance at the surroundings told him they were on a seemingly abandoned road leading to a cemetery on a hill. The Burrow was nowhere in sight. While the entire ordeal wasn’t pleasant, Harry could understand the pragmatism of apparition for quick travel. It was only slightly worse than the Floo, and Harry had a strong feeling that he might have done something similar when he was young.

Something to look into when he went to sleep.

He noticed Hermione dry heaving on the side of the road with McGonnogal rubbing her back in soothing motions. 

“Take a slow, deep breath and hold it for three seconds,” the professor’s voice was soothing, “then slowly exhale and repeat.”

“You did well, Harry,” Mr Weasley nodded approvingly. “Most people get nauseated when they apparate for the first time. Side-along apparition is even worse for the passenger.”

Harry shrugged, “It wasn’t pleasant, but I can see myself getting used to it with how useful it is.”

It took a minute for Hermione to recover, and they walked up the road.

As they approached the cemetery, Harry couldn’t help but frown as he felt a slight itch in the back of his neck. He didn’t know how, but he felt as if he was being watched. He looked around warily and sniffed at the air, ignoring the strange look Hermione shot him, only for the feeling to slowly fade away. McGonnogal and Mr Weasley were ahead of them, quietly discussing something in a sad tone , and a brief look around showed nothing out of the ordinary. Just a few trees, a flower garden strategically placed close by so people could pluck some for their deceased loved ones, and an old shed. 

Harry could already see quite a few cut stems that indicated that Ron would have plenty of flowers to keep him company. The thought nearly made him chuckle as he wondered what his friend would think of that. Harry plucked a red rose to match Ron’s fiery hair. He noticed Hermione next to him plucking a white one, and he wagered she knew that different flower colours had different meanings to place on a grave.

He glanced at the garden as they stood up, not seeing anything but the occasional hare and bug. Harry stared at a particularly colourful beetle before Hermione nudged him on, and they entered the cemetery only for them to find a large crowd of mostly flame-haired witches and wizards waiting patiently. Dumbledore was also there, as well as some people with official uniform robes and an air of authority who were probably ministry officials.

Harry felt queasy to be around so many strangers but quickly got over it as a particular flash of red hair grabbed his attention. He slowly walked towards it, barely noticing the surrounding crowd, and stopped before the coffin.

Ron laid peacefully as if he was merely asleep. Harry could see he was dressed in his favourite jumper under his Hogwarts robes. Idly, Harry noted that his hair was neatly combed so as to hide the gaping hole in his skull where the fatal rock had struck. He felt someone place a hand on his shoulder in solidarity, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away from the coffin.

Finally, Harry forced himself to look at Ron’s face, and he nearly choked out a sob. With his face cleaned up from grime and blood, Ron looked even more like Robb… aside from the freckles. 

Harry could barely remember what happened afterwards, so lost in thought about his deceased friend and Jon’s family. Someone had led him away from the coffin, and he thought it might have been Hermione who was quietly letting her tears flow.

Numbly, he had paid his condolences to the rest of the Weasleys, but it was like he was in a dream. Intrusive thoughts occupied his mind as he wondered what had happened to Robb’s body. His father, Eddard? His sweet sisters, Sansa and Arya? Bran and Rickon? Even Catelyn Stark? 

“We are gathered here today to acknowledge a terrible loss…” It appeared that Dumbledore would officiate the ceremony as he started a speech about the tragedy that occurred in his school. Harry noticed that he and Hermione were standing with the Weasleys, compared to the rest of the crowd. He was placed between the twins and Percy, who had Scabbers on his shoulder, whereas Hermione stood next to Ginny and a blonde-haired girl he didn’t recognise. A place of honour for the deceased’s closest friends. 

Suddenly, that itch in his neck returned with a vengeance, and he straightened his spine, burying the feelings of grief as his hand reached for the hilt of his sword, but only found his wand. He forced his grip to release the holly wood, but his fingers continued twitching idly going to where he had the Basilisk fang sheathed in the small of his back before stopping himself . The tumultuous years spent in the Watch had taught Jon to trust his instincts, and Harry could feel Ghost huffing in agreement. Slowly, almost casually, he checked his surroundings without moving his head too much. He noticed Ron’s– no, Percy’s rat now– fidgeted as he looked at him. Harry could feel magic from the rat but paid little heed—having a magical pet was not too out of the ordinary for wizards, just like Hedwig appeared to be a normal owl at first glance, yet was anything but. 

The fidgeting rat put Harry further on edge, though, wondering if it, too, could feel that they were being watched. He looked towards the gathered crowd but sensed nothing but solemnity and subdued grief coming from them. Harry didn’t recognise anyone as most of them were dressed in black, and the women had dark veils covering their faces. He noticed a blonde woman further back than usual standing next to an older dame, but he felt nothing unusual from them apart from slight apprehension from the blonde. Almost as if she was uncertain if she was allowed to be here.

He was brought back to attention as Dumbledore had finished his speech and stepped away from the podium, “Arthur, Molly.” 

He shook hands with Ron’s parents, “I’m sorry for your loss as well as my abrupt departure, but duty calls. I will meet you tomorrow to finish our prior discussion.”

“It’s okay, Albus. We understand. We’ll see you then.”

There was a tinge of sadness, reluctance, and not a small amount of urgency in Dumbledore as his gaze roamed around the gathered crowd for a brief moment before settling on Harry. The headmaster gave him a faint nod, then simply disappeared. It reminded Harry of what Dobby had done before, yet Dumbledore had achieved the same without the loud ‘pop’. Apparition was certainly something he will look into.

There was some murmuring from the crowd at the headmaster’s abrupt departure, and he saw Percy turn towards his father, “Why is Professor Dumbledore leaving so early?”

“ICW’s mugwumps convene in France in ten minutes, and Dumbledore has to be there as the supreme mugwump. Your headmaster has many commitments, and it's a miracle that he even has time to come and pay his respects to Ron.”

Arthur’s voice was quite loud, seemingly for everyone to hear, as well as to show he did not take offence at the Headmaster’s departure. The slight confusion allowed a ministry official to take over. Harry ignored the clearly well-rehearsed speech about the ministry’s stance on the tragedy, their vow to ensure all victims are paid indemnities from Lockhart’s personal funds and other such matters. Instead, he continued his search as with Dumbledore’s departure; the itch had now spread all over his spine, followed by a queer clicking sound that he could have sworn to have heard before. It was as if whatever was observing them had been waiting for the headmaster to leave. Harry knew something unpleasant would happen; he could feel it in his bones.

A shimmer in the air caught his attention as his gaze moved towards a nearby tombstone. It was newer than most of the others, yet was at least a decade old, with the name Septimus Weasley engraved on it. Harry stared at it intently until he heard that quiet clicking noise again. It was so quiet that Harry doubted he would have heard it if not for his sharpened senses, and he finally recognised that sound as he had heard Colin use his camera for months.

Without hesitation, Harry sprang into motion as he sprinted towards the tombstone. His sudden action surprised many, with the ministry official stuttering his speech. Within a few heartbeats, Harry had arrived at where he saw the shimmer and decisively threw a punch at it, his wand forgotten in his robe pocket. He frowned as he made contact with something hard but fleshy for barely an instant before it disappeared. Harry felt something fall over his fist and grabbed hold of it, immediately recognising it as an invisibility cloak. There was nothing underneath aside from a scurrying beetle.

By now, the entire crowd was in uproar, and Harry was the centre of their attention. He noticed Arthur and his two eldest sons approaching. The eldest one, William, saw the shimmering cloak in his hands, and his face contorted with rage as he quickly deduced what happened. 

“WHO DARES CRASH MY BROTHER’S FUNERAL?!” Ron’s eldest brother, William, instantly had his wand out and furiously slung spells with blinding speed all over the cemetery, leaving Harry mesmerised. All of it was chantless; he could feel the older man’s potent magic blanketing him and the crowd as his spells covered the cemetery. Harry barely acknowledged Charlie standing protectively next to him while Mr Weasley calmed the crowd and the nervous ministry officials at the sight of the furious redhead releasing an angry flurry of magic.

Finally, William appeared to have found something and threw a sickly purple spell that made Harry’s skin crawl at a distant tomb. Harry saw the curse disappear right before it hit the tomb; at the same time, a shattering crack resounded in the cemetery. At first, Harry thought the tomb was broken, yet, it looked intact. William’s scowl deepened, but he could feel a sense of vengeful satisfaction bubbling underneath.

Charlie moved towards his brother, “Bill! Did you get him?” 

William, or well, Bill, lowered his wand with a sigh, “Whoever they were got away. Yet, I felt my curse connect. They certainly won’t have a pleasant week… Let’s speak with Dad.”

Harry could see Mr Weasley beckoning them back towards the coffin, where the rest of the Weasley clan were speaking in hushed voices about what happened. Arthur was speaking with the older dame from earlier, as well as two other men who looked very similar to him. Harry assumed they must be his brothers.

“Bill, what happened?”

Bill placed a hand on his shoulder, “We all saw Harry here rushing towards grandfather’s tombstone and punching something. You felt it connect, didn’t you, Harry?”

“Aye, I hit something, alright. They were hiding under an invisibility cloak.” At this, he raised the hand holding the cloak, “There was no one underneath it, though.”

“I tried every detection spell I knew, and only one worked. The Animagus revealing charm. Harry, was there any animal under the cloak? Something small, perhaps?”

Harry was confused by the term but decided to keep his questions for a better time, “just a beetle.”

“A beetle animagus? Merlin’s beard that’s not in the registry!” The older man anxiously tugged onto his crimson curls. “It’s a nightmare catching an unregistered animagus in the first place, but someone that can transform into something so small? And you say you managed to hit them, Bill?”

“Yes, Uncle. They managed to Disapparate, however.” He turned to Harry, “Great job discovering them, Harry. How did you even know they were there?”

“I saw the shimmer in the air when they moved, then heard a camera shutter.”

Arthur’s other brother, Bilius, sucked on his teeth, “Bloody hell! You’ve got some good senses on you, son.”

Harry nodded awkwardly. He had never spoken to these people before and only knew them from Ron’s vague description of them and his readings with Hermione on a certain book they found in the library yesterday. Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, Its latest edition was dated 1990, so it should have been somewhat accurate. Horatio was Arthur’s older brother, married with children and grandchildren, while Bilius was the youngest, who never married.

His eyes found the older woman he had seen with the blonde lady earlier. Despite the few age lines, he could see a solemn yet beautiful face underneath the veil. She had greying black hair and familiar silvery grey eyes. “We should handle this later, Arthur. My grandson needs to be buried, and the ministry officials must finish the ceremony and be on their way.”

They all nodded at the older woman’s words, whom Harry was certain was Arthur's mother, Cedrella Weasley. McGonnogal had already explained yesterday that the ministry had to be present for official purposes to ensure everything went smoothly and no foul play occurred. Harry did not think foul play could happen in a burial, at least before that incident, but he understood the necessity of making sure the dead remained dead. He shuddered at the thought of an Other raising his friend as a wight, and he was absolutely certain that wizards had to have that power at their disposal.

They returned to the rest of the family to find Percy frantically searching for something. All that commotion seemed to have scared Scabbers, who had scurried away into hiding.

A*L*S*M

The burial proceeded without any more hitches. Once the officials finished their part of the ceremony, it was time for the deceased's family and close friends to say a few words in remembrance. Harry and Hermione were granted that honour once Ron’s family had said their piece. 

“A few years ago, I decided to take my son to my office in the Ministry,” Arthur took a deep shuddering breath and wiped his shimmering eyes. “He loved it, and not only that, but Ron managed to make friends with a handful of auror trainees. It was one of the happiest days of his life, and I could swear that my boy would follow in their footsteps. Yet… it was not meant to be… No father should ever have to bury his son. Yet, I… I… thank you.” 

Acceptance, regret, and a sliver of fury warred on Arthur’s face as he clenched his jaw and stepped down.

Next was the eldest son.

Bill brought out some laughs when he recalled how he taught Ron how to fly a broom, and they both crashed into the pond when they got too adventurous chasing a sparrow. It was a strange sight for some of the people in attendance when they compared the sad yet light-hearted man to when he was furiously casting spells earlier.

Charlie followed, recounting the time Ron had smuggled a dragon egg into school and hatched it right under McGonnogal’s nose, much to the older woman’s astonishment, and how he and his friends sneaked into school to smuggle it out. The clear exaggeration and embellishment were meant to lighten the mood further without mentioning Hagrid or Harry. He didn’t mind; this was Ron’s hour, after all, and so what if the ministry learns? They can't arrest the dead. A shame Hagrid couldn’t make it. Harry learned that he suffered some malady from his stay in Azkaban and needed to be treated for it.

Mrs Weasley had maintained a completely blank face throughout the burial; even during the incident with the hidden cameraman, she didn’t react much, opting to simply stare at her son’s corpse. That mask was completely broken when it was finally her turn to speak, and she broke into hysterical sobs. Mr Weasley held her closely as she incessantly blamed herself for not replacing Ron’s wand, no matter how expensive it could get. She blamed herself for things that no one truly blamed her for, such as not being there enough for Ron or being too strict on him. 

Harry wholeheartedly disagreed and felt heavily for the kind matronly woman. She was a wonderful mother, all things considered, and simply had too much on her plate to be always present for every little thing. 

The twins and Percy mumbled out a few words to the open coffin, but it was clear that they were completely lost on what to say. Harry doubted they ever had a serious conversation with their late brother. 

Ginny couldn't form a single coherent word from her sobs and had to be gently led away by Bill when she collapsed on Ron’s chest and wailed in grief. Harry sighed inwardly, as the scene still looked surreal, with Ginny looking so much like Sansa. Her brother died trying to save her life, and while there was no nobler death than dying for a loved one, it was never easy for those that remained to bury you.

After listening to all his family speak, Harry had the feeling that aside from Mr Weasley and his two eldest sons, none of the Weasleys truly knew Ron.

Finally, Arthur asked for Harry and Hermione to say a few words in Ron’s honour. Harry obliged, and after thinking a bit, he stood behind the coffin, facing the crowd.

“Ron is…” he choked, “was my best friend. Brave like a lion, loyal to a fault, there was nobody else who I’d rather stay by my side. Though… I’ll admit that we might have crossed the line of recklessness somewhere on the way once or twice,” a wan chuckle escaped Harry’s lips. “I doubt many people would have the courage to steal their father’s enchanted car and fly it to the other end of the country because they missed the Hogwarts Express.”

Many people in the crowd chortled at that; even Mrs Weasley had a wet smile as she mumbled something about her stupid boy. Mr Weasley looked chagrined as the remainder of his illegal charming of the car was still fresh, but a warm smile had spread upon his face.

“Yet, that pales compared to when Ron faced his greatest fears head-on and prevailed with me against overwhelming odds. I shall not bore you with the details, suffice to say it entailed a night stroll through the Forbidden Forest and escaping hundreds of Acromantulas.” Harry turned towards the coffin itself as the crowd either laughed or gasped at his tale. “You were the greatest friend anyone could ask for, Ronald Weasley. You shall be sorely missed.”

Harry stepped back before nudging Hermione forward. She looked surprisingly shy at the prospect of speaking to so many strangers, but one look at the coffin and she had a determined look on her face. She took a deep breath before she faced the crowd, “Harry has already spoken of Ron’s bravery and courage. A true Gryffindor through and through. I would like to speak of his loyalty and good nature, for I shall never forget the day I was trapped in a bathroom with a troll, only for Ron and Harry to come and save me. Ron used the troll’s own club to knock it out, thus saving my life.”

There was some positive murmuring from the crowd, and Harry was flabbergasted that no one seemed to bat an eye about how a troll even made it inside the school. Magicals must be used to such craziness on a regular basis. 

“I was crudely called a mudblood by a pureblood boy earlier this year, and even with his broken wand, Ron did not hesitate to challenge the boy for insulting my honour.” Harry heard some of the crowd tutting their tongue at the slur but noticed the blonde woman from earlier shift awkwardly at that, and he filed it away. 

Hermione turned to the coffin, “You were a great friend Ron. We might have started out on the wrong foot, but you were always ready and willing to give a hand whenever needed.” She giggled a bit at the thought, “At least so long as I helped you with your homework first.”

Hermione stepped back to her spot, and with all farewells done, Mr Weasley waved his wand, and the coffin closed with finality before it was lowered into the hole. The entire process of the actual burial didn’t take more than a minute, thanks to magic, before a new tombstone joined the hedge of tombs. Everyone in attendance placed a flower on the tomb before giving a personal prayer. 

“Harry, would you do the honours of an epitaph?”

Harry was shocked by Mr Weasley’s offer. He looked at the rest of the Weasleys only to find them all nodding and giving him supporting looks. Harry nodded in return and thought deeply before he decided on a suitable line.

RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY

 BORN 1 MARCH 1980

DIED 29 MAY 1993

Ever Valorous, Ever Loyal

A*L*S*M

They had just left the cemetery and were standing in line to disapparate back to the Burrow for the Wake. Hermione had rejoined Ginny and her friend, while Harry found himself next to Bill Weasley.

“I’d like to thank you again for noticing that creep, Harry. The sheer gall of some people to crash a funeral like this…”

“It’s the least I could do, William. Such audacity should never be tolerated. The dead deserve all the respect due to them, especially during their funeral.”

The older man smiled gently. He was tall, athletic, and handsome. The tallest of his siblings and even taller than his father. Just like all the Weasleys, he had red hair that he wore in a long ponytail, and he had an earring with a fang dangling from it. Unlike the rest of his siblings, he didn’t have any freckles. Instead, his sunkissed skin had a pleasant bronze hue, which would make sense considering he worked in Egypt. To be honest, from all the stories that Harry had heard about the man from Ron, he expected him to be more like Percy. More serious and stuffy than all his siblings considering his academic achievements. Yet, if he could describe him in one word, it would be… cool. Or maybe flamboyant.

“Please call me Bill. Ron always mentioned you and Hermione in his letters to me.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“Mostly on how great of a seeker you are and how awesome he is for beating the great Harry Potter in chess.”

Harry chortled, “It was the only two things we differed from each other. We were pretty similar academically, with Hermione being the overachiever of our group. Ron told me you were quite the prodigy yourself.”

Bill chuckled but waved his hand, “A topic for later, perhaps. Now, Harry.” The older man had a serious expression on his face, “do you still have that invisibility cloak?”

Harry nodded, patting a pocket on the inside of his robe. Opposite to his own invisibility cloak that he vowed never to go anywhere without.

“That’s good. Keep it; it’s yours now.”

Harry cocked his head. He wasn’t going to let anyone take it from him anyway; it was his spoils after all. Still, “You sure you don’t want it?”

“I don’t need a cloak to be invisible. I’m sure you could make more use of it in school. Maybe when you need a spot of privacy for your girl?”

Harry recalled Dumbledore mentioning something similar in his first year, and he wagered there was a spell to go invisible.

“Thanks, Bill. I have a couple of questions, though. You mentioned Animagus earlier and a way to go invisible without a cloak. Could you tell me about it? And what was that curse you used?”

“Seeing as we have to wait for everyone to disapparate to get back home, might as well. Ask me anything else as well while we’re at it. You’re practically family.”

Harry smiled and listened to Bill’s explanations. His mind wandered to Ron, however. He was surprised that Bill didn’t know he already owned an invisibility cloak. Did Ron not tell him? He will miss having such a reliable friend. Now the question was, what to do with that extra cloak?

Chapter Text

Harry made his way around the grounds of the Burrow. He had just separated from Bill, who had gone to greet some of his relatives after a very enlightening talk. After a few moments, Harry passed under the large canopy that was erected in the Burrow's gardens to provide shade from the summer sun. Surprisingly, it didn't completely block the sun but rather dimmed its light enough to lower its unrelenting heat while still providing light.

Looking around him, he could see Bill had sat with a young-looking couple and was laughing genially with them, but his attention was grabbed by the sound of Ginny sobbing quietly at a far-off table. He had never checked on the girl he had saved, and his conscience urged him to do so now.

Decision made, Harry grabbed a pack of what looked like some cola from a nearby bench and walked to the table where Ginny, Hermione and that blonde girl were seated.

"Hello, girls."

"Hello, Harry."

Hermione gave him a wan smile, while Ginny only managed to make a sound between a sob and a hiccup before gazing down at the table. Harry deposited the pack and distributed the bottles to each one.

"Hello, Harry Potter. Thank you for the butterbeer."

'Butterbeer?' He mouthed to Hermione, who shrugged in return, popping the cork off her bottle and chugging the drink. He turned to the blonde girl, whom Harry could see had taken her own cork and was skewering it in some sort of corded necklace made from other similar corks.

"Er, Hello. I do not believe we were introduced."

The girl appeared a few months younger than him, with pale skin and ash-blonde hair that went down to her waist in straggly locks. She had bright grey eyes that reminded him of the purest silver and an air of innocence reminiscent of a young child, yet he could feel a deep sadness in her.

"Luna Lovegood, first-year Ravenclaw. I live in the Rookery just past the hill and have known Ron and Ginny for years."

"It's good to meet you, Luna," he nodded at the girl and turned to Ron's sister. "Ginny, how are you faring?"

The red-haired girl wiped her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her robes before she grabbed a butterbeer and held the cool bottle for comfort.

"…I'm good."

Harry stared at her a bit. She was clearly not good, and Luna's following words confirmed it.

"She hasn't stopped crying. I tried telling her that I doubt Ronald would have blamed her for his death – he did go to save her, after all. A Gryffindor through and through."

The girl's serene and calm voice had an ethereal and dreamy quality to it yet betrayed the solemness of her words. Despite her composure, Harry could sense sorrow underneath. Although it wasn't as deep as the first one he felt, she must have also cared for Ron.

"You don't understand! Ron died because of me, not for me. I was a stupid little girl who should have gone to the first teacher I saw once I knew something was wrong. I've had that diary for a whole year. I knew something was wrong with it by the first month, and I didn't try to tell anyone about it because I am a COWARD! I was afraid I would be expelled or other such shite. And n-now, R-R-Ron is dead because of my stupidity!"

Ginny sunk her head on the table as she wept again, Hermione rubbing soothingly on her back. Luna stared at him with those large, unblinking eyes of hers. For a childish moment, Harry felt like taking that as a challenge and stared straight back until they saw who would blink first. Thankfully, he could sense her emotions, and she was practically begging him to do something.

He popped the cork off his bottle and took a sip from the butterbeer, only to grimace. Too sweet, far too sweet. A sigh rolled off his lips.

"Ginny." His voice cut short her sobs as she blinked at him through puffy red eyes, "Ron was loved by us all, and he will be sorely missed, but this is his Wake. Do you really think he would like it if his sister cried and lamented him instead of celebrating his life? We both knew what we were getting into when we went down that chamber, and it wasn't the first time we faced perilous odds. I'm not saying that you are innocent of any wrongdoing. On the contrary, you were certainly foolish not to at least trust your brothers in telling them of a magical artefact that could communicate with you. Magic, magic can be a sword without a hilt sometimes, and that is why we use wands to not get hurt."

Ginny recoiled at his harsh words, and Hermione threw him a pointed glare, which he promptly ignored. While Luna was seemingly busy staring at the clear sky, Harry could tell she also paid attention.

"…Bill said something similar. He seemed to have an idea of what that diary was. He said to never trust something that you can't tell how it can talk, let alone think."

"Your eldest brother is a very intelligent man, and he had the right idea. Regardless, what's done is done. Ron is dead, and it was entirely Riddle's fault." She jerked up in surprise, "What? Did you think I was blaming you for his death? Don't be foolish, Ginny. This whole mess was orchestrated by a young shade of Voldemort. You are but one of his many, many, victims. He has both deceived and defeated far older and more experienced wizards and witches than you."

Ginny shuddered while Luna's silvery eyes sharply stabbed at him with interest.

"The Dark Lord?"

He nodded to the blonde girl, "The very same. He was the one possessing Ginny through that diary, and no, he was never dead. Only gone for a while. I fought his true shade last year when he possessed the previous Defence professor. Seems like the bastard has a talent for possessing people."

Luna nodded serenely, "I believe you."

Harry looked at her for a moment before nodding in gratitude. He turned back to Ginny. "Anyway, what's important now is not what you should have done to prevent this tragedy but what you shall do next. You have a new lease on life, Ginny. Will you waste it away and have Ron's sacrifice be for nought?"

The redhead glared at him fiercely, "Never!"

Harry weathered her gaze with ease as he sensed her emotions. There was still some regret and sadness, as to be expected, but now there was something much stronger that had encompassed her entire being.

Determination.

"Good." He smiled genially at the girl who reminded him so much of his sweet Sansa that he had to fight the urge not to pat her head like he used to when Sansa was just a little girl. He stood up and, after hesitating a moment, grabbed his beer, "Now, I will leave you girls to enjoy the Wake. Don't get too drunk, Hermione. I wouldn't want to have to carry you up the girls' dorm."

Ginny and Luna giggled at Hermione's scandalised face, and Harry walked away before she could formulate a retort.

.

.

.

Harry was finishing his bottle of butterbeer as he manoeuvred his way across the grounds. Personally, he did not like the overly sweet taste of the drink. While Jon would never claim that the swill that was served at the Wall was a good ale, he still would rather drink bitter beer over sweet wine.

He greeted the occasional guest, dodging an old woman with a chip on her shoulder called Muriel, before his eyes found Charlie Weasley sitting alone by a table as he stared at a familiar broken wand in his hands. Before he knew it, he found himself approaching the dragonkeeper.

"Mind if I join you, Charles?"

The muscular man looked up at him and smiled pleasantly, "Of course, Harry. Take a seat and please – call me Charlie. You're practically family."

Harry smiled as he sat and gazed at the second-eldest Weasley of Arthur's brood. Charlie was short and stocky compared to the rest of his brothers, but it was all muscle, like a bull in his prime. He reminded Jon of the younger Mountain Clansmen with how his body was built for strength and endurance. Charlie's face was weather-beaten from working outdoors and was so freckled that he looked tanned.

They exchanged some inane courtesies and small talk before Harry steered the conversation towards the broken wand, "Ron mentioned that his wand originally belonged to you and even complained that it never worked very well for him because of that."

"Ron had problems with it, huh? I'm not surprised, as he never got the chance to go to Ollivander's and pick one that matched him. Dad says they were in a tight spot financially at the time, and when they tested some of our legacy wands, mine presumably worked well enough for Ron." Charlie sighed sadly. "I guess it was not meant to be."

Harry nodded in thought. "I thought wands remained with you forever?"

"That is often the case, but not always. It is not unheard of for wizards to outgrow their wands. It might have to do with a sudden change in your personality, or maybe you found a goal that did not match your wand's temperament. In my case, ever since I first saw a dragon, I had wanted to be a dragon tamer. My wand disagreed, and when I asked Ollivander why, he simply said that the unicorn that donated the tail hair in this wand did not like dragons."

Harry looked at the wand and noticed that the core itself was intact despite the fissures running along its length. His thoughts went to his own wand. While it had served him well so far, he hadn't had the chance to explore it fully ever since Jon joined him.

And Ghost, of course, Harry inwardly chuckled at the direwolf's huff within his mind.

Charlie brought out his wand and showed it to Harry, "Same as my old wand; twelve inches and made of ash wood. Its core, however, comes from the heartstring of a particularly vicious Hebridean Black that had to be put down when it escaped from captivity and attacked several muggle villages. Legend has it the dragon had offspring somewhere in the Forbidden Forest."

Harry looked incredulously at the red-haired man, only to get a full belly laugh in return. "Should have seen the look on your face."

"I don't know, Charlie. Now, you have certainly piqued my interest. Centaurs, acromantulas…why should I be surprised with a dragon? The Forbidden Forest seems like a haven for the adventurous sort, with all the harmless big critters in it."

The dragonkeeper snorted in amusement.

That totally had nothing to do with Jon's childish dreams of slaying evil Dragons and rescuing princesses. Gods, Sansa would have loved it here. Or would Arya love it more? What with how women here could be as strong or even stronger than men thanks to magic? He sighed morosely as his thoughts went to his lost family.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

The question brought him out of his plummeting mood.

"I'm fine. Just lost in thought."

Charlie smiled sadly, "Understandable. Come, allow me to introduce you to Ron's favourite cousin."

Harry perked up at that as they both left their seats, and Charlie led him to the table he noticed earlier where a couple were speaking with Bill. The man was clean-shaven and had a regal bearing to him with combed brown hair and calculating blue eyes. He sported a polite but fixed smile, yet Harry could feel he was the cunning type.

Quite possibly a Slytherin, one of the capable ones, unlike Malfoy.

The woman, however, nearly gave Harry pause. She was beautiful and looked like a much older version of Ginny with a darker shade of red for hair colour yet grey eyes instead of brown. The same eyes as Cedrella Weasley, in fact. That was the only thing that stopped him from fumbling as she looked like the spitting image of Catelyn Stark bar the eyes, as well as the sheer warmth and friendliness coming from her when she saw them approaching, though her gaze was mostly set on Charlie.

As Harry and the dragonkeeper neared, the couple rose from their seats while Bill took a swig from a beer bottle and gave a lazy wave.

"Charlie! Come here, love." She grabbed Charlie in a tight hug that the muscular young man returned before he shook hands with the other man.

"It's been so long since I've seen you. Did you find that elusive dragon-loving girl you've been looking for? Or was it an actual humanoid dragon?"

"Rosie, please don't bring that up again."

The brown-haired man smiled while the cursebreaker tutted merrily.

"Don't lose hope yet, Charles. The legends speak of the mystical Dragonewt existing somewhere to the east. That's why he went to Romania, right Bill?"

"Et tu, Bill?"

Bill took another swig of his beer, "Don't look at me. Tonks was the one who complained about you asking her for overly exotic transformations when you brought her home that one time."

The red-haired woman guffawed while even the prim-looking man couldn't hold it and let out a few chuckles.

"Where are the Tonkses anyway? I would have expected them to be here."

"Your ex couldn't take the day off from Auror school as they are severely short-handed. Her parents had an emergency in St Mungos, and they sent their condolences ahead of time. Ted was the one who examined Ron's body, so we had already met them while you were still in transit. Now, tell me, are you disappointed that Nymie isn't here?" Bill wiggled his eyebrows knowingly at his brother.

Charlie menacingly loomed forward, a hand the size of a ham landing on Bill's thinner shoulder. For a moment, Harry thought the brothers would come to blows, only for both of them to burst out laughing. It took them a good half a minute to calm down, and for Charlie to remember his existence.

"I would like to introduce you to someone. He was Ron's friend from school."

Harry nodded to Bill first, having already met and talked with him earlier, before turning to the couple, "A pleasure to meet you, sir, my lady. I am Harry Potter."

The woman called Rosie gave him a sly smile, "Oh my, so polite. I like him already. Hello, Mr Potter. I appreciated what you said for Ron earlier."

"He was my best friend, and nothing I said was untrue. If anything, it was the tamest of our adventures. And please, call me Harry."

The woman smiled sweetly, "Ron spoke very highly of you in his letters, Harry. It's great to finally put a face to the heroic figure he put you out to be." Harry blushed in embarrassment; it was surreal to have a Lady Stark lookalike with his father's eyes speaking so warmly to him, especially with her husky voice. "But where are my manners? I'm Rosalia Carrow. You met my father earlier, Horatio. Please – call me Rosie. Ron was the one who started calling me that."

'Carrow?' Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise.

The brown-haired man introduced himself next, "An honour to meet you, Mr Potter. Reginald Carrow, at your service." He had a smooth and cultured voice with a hint of an Irish brogue.

The man stood up and gave him a formal bow, which Harry returned before offering a handshake that he shook with a firm grip, "Harry Potter. The honour is mine."

"Come sit with us. Could we get a butter beer for the lad, Bill?"

Harry grimaced as he sat between Bill and Reginald, "I'm fine, thank you."

Bill sent a teasing smirk his way, "Too strong for you, Harry? It barely has any alcohol in it."

Harry shrugged, "Too sweet, actually. Never enjoyed sweet drinks." He paused as he looked at the bottle in Bill's hands, "I could go for whatever you're drinking if you're offering."

"This? I'm afraid Rosie here would hex me if I let you drink dragon scale. Quite the strong drink, I don't think you could handle it." Bill took another swig as he gave him a wink.

Harry could hear Reginald stifle a chuckle next to him while Charlie wasn't so reserved, letting out a hearty laugh. Rosie had a frown on her face as she glared at Bill, "Smart of you. I still remember when you gave firewhiskey to Ron when he was ten. The poor boy set your kitchen curtains on fire, and Molly spanked his bottom red. Right after she hexed yours, in fact. Does it still itch when you sit for too long, love?"

Bill shifted in his seat as if remembering a painful moment, and it was their turn to laugh at his expense, but they would still not let him try that dragon scale.

Gods, the things he would do for a good mug of ale!

Harry fondly watched as the discussion steered towards gossip about distant cousins and sordid affairs.

"Say Bill, Charlie," he coughed. "Got any advice for the third-year electives?"

"Definitely Care of Magical Creatures. Kettleburn might be running out of limbs, but he knows a ton about the stuff. Especially as he usually has Hagrid acting as his assistant. Ron mentioned you were close with Hagrid, right?"

Harry wasn't surprised with Charlie's answer, considering his profession. "I know Hagrid, alright. Pleasant man whom I'd easily call a friend, but he really needs to understand that what he sees as cute, misunderstood creatures are not the same for us regularly sized humans. I mean, did you know he's friendly with the giant man-eating spiders in the Forbidden Forest?"

They chuckled at that, although Harry felt a spike of avarice coming out of Reginald. He filed it for later as he turned to the elder Weasley brother, "What about you, Bill? What classes would you recommend?"

Bill groaned as Charlie chuckled and slapped him in the back, "Of the five electives you could take in the third year, this overachiever decided to take not one, not two, hell, not even three, but all five of them. If there's anyone who could tell you which classes are worth it, it would certainly be him."

Harry was taken aback, "How in seven hells did you even manage that? I highly doubt there's enough time in the day for that."

Everyone sitting at the table looked weirdly at him at the phrase, and Harry cursed inwardly at his slip. Thankfully, they ignored it, probably assuming it was a muggle thing.

"Can't tell you, I'm afraid."

Harry cocked an eyebrow, a habit he inherited from Jon. "Can't? Or won't?"

Bill shrugged, refusing to elaborate. "Anyway, for your electives, Harry, two classes you must avoid at all costs – Divination and Muggle Studies. There are plenty of useful spells and rituals in the school of Divination, such as Scrying and Augury, but honestly, you don't need to take the class to learn them. Some of them are covered in Charms with Flitwick, and the rest can be learned from reading or other methods. Not to mention, the teacher was completely bonkers, and I'm pretty sure she couldn't predict tomorrow's weather, let alone anyone's future."

Harry frowned, "A teacher worse than Snape? Inconceivable." That earned him a tableful of chuckles and laughter. "But seriously? A Divination teacher who can't make predictions?"

Bill shrugged again, "The thing with true Divination is that it is a gift. It cannot truly be taught. You could learn all you could about reading tea leaves or staring at a crystal ball, but if you don't have the gift, all you will see is what you want to see. Unless you make a pact with a higher power, but that's another story. I'm sure I don't need to tell you why you don't need to take Muggle Studies, right?"

"I can guess why. It's incredibly outdated?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't exactly interact with muggles a lot. You were raised in the muggle world, and I figured you could easily apply to take the OWL for the class and probably still pass it, as it is all about memorising stuff and putting it on paper. Muggle Studies and Divination are considered the easiest OWLs you could get. As for the three other classes, COMC will be a good class if you are into magical creatures and want to work with them as a profession… or hunt them. Arithmancy is a must if you are into spellcraft and spell modification; It's also vital if you want to take Warding or Alchemy masteries after graduation. Ancient Runes are essential for enchanting but also help in warding. Normally, you are only allowed to take two classes, but you could take three if you prove to your head of house that you could handle it. Runes and Arithmancy complement each other very well, so that's my recommendation. Bear in mind, though, if you are not good at memorising and learning new languages, then Ancient Runes will be very difficult. Arithmancy has a lot of maths and calculations as well."

Harry nodded gratefully. That was a lot to take in, and he would certainly explore his options further as there was still over a week until school ended. Meanwhile, Rosie had patiently waited until they finished before leaning forward on the table, making Harry awkwardly look away as it did… things to her ample bust.

"You still haven't told us how you took all five electives at the same time, Bill. You know, I do remember Narcissa Black picking all available electives as well. She never mentioned how she managed to do it either, and I know she had conflicting classes. Yet, she still always appeared on time. Almost as if she was in two places at once. Won't you sate the curiosity of your favourite cousin, love?"

Bill chuckled, taking a swig from his drink as he did, and Harry could see Charlie and even Reginald paying attention as this was clearly some sort of secret.

"Okay, fine. I can technically tell you, as I have long since graduated, and McGonagall can't blame me for it. Though just to be sure," He pulled out his wand and waved it around their table. A translucent bubble seemed to form around them, which shimmered for a second before turning invisible. Suddenly, all the surrounding noise was deafened, and no matter how much Harry strained his senses, he couldn't hear anything outside their table.

The curse breaker smiled at Harry's obvious curiosity, "A simple charm to prevent sound from entering or leaving. Now, the simple answer to how I managed to attend all those classes is…"

He looked amused as everyone on the table unconsciously leaned forward in anticipation, but when he took too long to reply, he got a punch on the shoulder from his brother with a "Just say it already, you git."

Bill rubbed his shoulder as he grinned at his brother, "Time travel."

They all looked incredulously at him. Bill's smile widened as he explained about the existence of time-turners and how the Department of Mysteries loaned them out to students with great potential recommended by Hogwarts in the hopes of enticing them to join them once they graduated.

"Are you sure you could tell us that, William?" Harry could sense the apprehension from Reginald as he seemed quite sceptical that such a secret could so easily be broken.

"Like I said, I was only asked to keep it secret in school. If they really cared, they would have put me under oath. I ended up rejecting their offer after graduating – working in the DOM just seemed too boring for me. I craved a life of adventure and had had enough of the British weather. It's why I work for the goblins in Egypt as a curse breaker. Goblins are not native to Egypt, or anywhere outside the British Isles for that matter. They are also not welcome in Egypt due to several instances of unsanctioned tomb raiding and other unscrupulous behaviour in the past, but Gringotts is still allowed to send curse breakers and other professionals there. They just need to not be goblins."

Harry scowled inwardly at the mention of those blighters. He still didn't like them and felt a tinge of glee at their woes.

"Unsanctioned tomb raiding? Forgive me if I might be wrong, but don't you also explore and raid tombs and the like for their treasure? At least, that's what Ron told me."

There was an awkward silence at the table before Charlie burst out laughing, followed by Mrs Carrow. Mr Carrow was more in control of himself, but Harry could see his lips twitch. Bill was the only one not laughing, and instead, he sighed audibly while muttering about adorable yet idiotic brothers.

"Okay, looks like it's time for an impromptu lesson. Magical Egypt is much more massive than Muggle Egypt as its borders are not constrained by whatever the muggles came up with over the past centuries. It's not all sand and desert either, as there are many hidden magical valleys and other places that muggles would never find even before the Statute was implemented. Just like how the Forbidden Forest could not be found by muggles despite it being hundreds of square kilometres. These places are commonly known as Wildlands. As the name suggests, they are places where magic exists at its most primal form and creatures of magic flourish in those lands."

Harry was confused about the technicalities of how that would work, and it clearly appeared on his face.

"How does that work? I remember seeing the forest from the castle, and it didn't seem that large, what with the mountains at its edge."

"It's part of the magic of the land. From the outside, the forest would appear normal, but once you're in the woods, you could walk straight for days and not reach the end. Think of the Forbidden Forest as another world that only those with magic could perceive. Even if muggles take photos of them, they will see nothing special in the pictures. There were instances where muggles crash-landed into them with one of those flying contraptions of theirs, and they would simply find themselves in an illusory place that would cover the Forest…if they survive more than ten minutes in the first place."

Mr Carrow's words chilled him a bit, yet it sort of made sense. Bill took a gulp of his beer in thought before noticing the silence and continuing.

"Where was I? Ah, yes. Egypt. It's one of the oldest settled civilisations. Countless magical families and creatures from all over the place had called it home and still do to this day. It's one of three regions in the world where phoenixes are native to it. Naturally, discovering tombs, separate dimensions, and lost cities had become an industry to the Egyptian magicals that they could not hoard. Too much work for them alone. Thus, they welcome wizards and witches from all over the world to work as contractors on those tombs and other locations. As I mentioned, I'm not that knowledgeable about muggle stuff, but I'm sure you heard about the curse of the mummies? Particularly, that of King Tut?"

Harry nodded, "Yes?"

"Well, that was a cover-up for a raid gone wrong in the worst ways possible. A perfect example of how an unsanctioned expedition could affect even the muggle world. A group of Goblins, along with some hired hands, discovered the tomb and, instead of following procedures, allowed their greed to consume them. They opened the tomb, thinking it was hiding the treasure of a king, only to unleash horrors not seen since the ten plagues. That was back in 1919."

Harry gawked at him. "But King Tut was discovered in 1922!" This was one of the few things he remembered from the time he would hide in the library from Dudley's gang, as reading was his only companion at the time.

"Exactly. It took three years to clean up that mess. I would rather not go into details on the casualties and destruction that happened, but suffice it to say that it was devastating enough that it was the last time goblins were allowed in Egypt. Also, every Gringotts-sponsored Curse Breaker is now required to attend a six-hour seminar on how we were responsible for that fiasco and how bad we should feel about it. And the dozens of regulations that we are required to follow."

A sombre silence followed Bill's sardonic words as Harry digested his words. Magic, while wondrous, was not to be taken lightly. Yet, there was something that intrigued him more than horror stories from some place thousands of miles away.

So the Forbidden Forest was that big?

Now that he thought about it, he and Ron had driven a long while in the Ford Anglia as they escaped the Acromantulas. Harry entertained the idea of going back to the forest for some payback before he shook his head inwardly.

Things like that could wait for when he was stronger.

"So you're telling me that Narcissa could have become an Unspeakable? Shame how she got stuck with Lucy as a husband instead."

Harry was brought from his thoughts by Rosie's laughter. This was the second time that name was mentioned, and Harry had no idea who Narcissa was, but it appeared she and Rosie were not exactly friends as he could feel slight… what was it called? Harry thought it was German, but it was that feeling of enjoying other's misfortune. Ah, schadenfreude.

"Now, now, dear. I saw Narcissa around earlier with your grandmother. While Lucius is certainly an unpleasant berk, there is no need to disparage your cousin so much, I should think."

Rosie glared at her husband, but there was no heat in it, only playfulness, "What was that, love? Did I just hear you say, 'I don't love you anymore, Rosie, because I prefer blondes to redheads?' Oh, woe is me, whatever should I do? My poor daughters, who would care for them when their father abandons their mother for another woman?"

Reginald's polite smile did not waver once, "I shall take them with me, of course. How could I abandon my flower and hearth? Wizards everywhere would duel to death for their hands in marriage."

Rosie pouted, and Harry laughed with the rest of the table at what was clearly a recurrent joke between the couple. However, he suddenly processed what the man said.

"Hang on. Lucius, you say? As in Lucius Malfoy?!" He growled out the name, and everyone on the table suddenly shivered as the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees, and even the sunlight appeared to dim.

Charlie stared at him strangely, "I take it you had a run-in with the pompous git himself?"

Before anyone else could reply, Harry noticed a minuscule tremor from the ground, and he turned towards the source, causing the rest of the table occupants to do the same. It appeared that the charm Bill placed didn't block sound from moving through the ground as he noticed two women approach their table, their footsteps outing them. He recognised Cedrella Weasley, née Black, leading the blonde woman towards them. She stared inquisitively at Bill with a light smile as she stopped right outside the ward, and he hurriedly opened a gap for them to join them before closing the bubble again.

"Why, this is an interesting group you have here. Would you mind if we joined you?" The older lady didn't wait for them to reply before she waved her wand and silently enlarged the table, smoothly moving their seats a couple of yards. She then conjured two seats for her and her companion, all the while maintaining a pleasant demeanour and courteous smile.

Bill and Rosie chuckled at their grandmother's stunt and moved to kiss her cheeks in greeting. Meanwhile, Charlie adopted a neutral expression as he stared for a moment at the blonde woman before greeting his grandmother similarly. Reginald simply summoned a pot of tea and a platter of biscuits from the buffet and conjured seven cups for them, his polite smile ever present, the pot pouring out a portion for everyone.

Cedrella took a sip of her tea before she gazed at them all. "A gathering of seven. A good omen, especially after what we have suffered so far. Now," she gazed directly at him, and Harry matched her gaze with his own. "A pleasure to officially meet you, Mr Potter. I am Cedrella Weasley."

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs Weasley, and please call me Harry. Ron would tell me about his grandmother – bragging how he learned chess from the best whenever he beat me, which was essentially every time."

The elderly woman, though she hardly looked a day over forty, smiled sadly, "He did, did he? My beautiful Ronald did have a love for games of thought and stratagems." For just an instant, Harry could feel anguish and grief overcome the woman as her polite mask cracked before she instantly regained her pleasant smile. "Well, we all have our time, and the reaper strikes when we least expect it." She turned towards her companion, "Are you alright, Cissa dear? You hadn't even introduced yourself to young Harry here."

Harry turned to the blonde woman, and it took some effort from him to keep his gaze neutral. Objectively, she was the epitome of the classical beauty. Easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, with glossy pale-blonde hair, bright blue eyes flecked with grey, a harmonious face with high-cheek bones, a straight nose and full lips, along a symmetrical yet buxom body. She was more beautiful than Cersei Lannister or the Wildling Princess, Val. Harry glanced at the red-haired beauty seated next to her as if comparing them, and he had to confess that they both contrasted well.

Yet, none of that mattered to him, for she was the wife of the one responsible for Ron's death.

Still, he decided it would not do to burn bridges before they even crossed. Not all women get to choose their husbands, and remembering the prior conversation, he had the feeling the woman in front of him also didn't have a choice in whom she was wed to either.

Narcissa smothered her skirt and stared at him impassively, the simple act done with the utmost elegance and grace, earning his grudging respect for her calm and perfect demeanour, exactly what would be expected from a demure noble lady. He could feel curiosity and sympathy as she looked at him. Still, Harry wished she was like Lucius, cold and arrogant with no regard for anyone, as it'd be easier to hate her this way.

Or at least like her son Draco, with how obnoxious and pampered he sounded every time he spoke.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter. I sincerely wished we could have met under better circumstances, but alas, fate thought otherwise. I am Narcissa Malfoy, and I have a question for you."

Chapter Text

The table was silent, and Harry sat impassively, unwilling to be the first to speak.

The lady had a question?

Well, she was welcome to ask, but he'd not do her a favour and make it easy. And so, the staring contest continued as Harry languidly took small sips of tea.

The silence was broken by Charlie, of all people.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Mrs Malfoy. We are barely related, and I do not believe our families are close enough for you to be invited." Unsaid was the fact both families were not close by any means.

Apprehension practically oozed out of the blonde woman, yet her face betrayed nothing.

"It was my idea to invite her, and I had made sure your father approved, Charlie dear. We Blacks have found ourselves in a rather precarious situation. There are hardly any of us left, and they are all of the gentler sex. Except for our treacherous Head of House, of course."

At Cedrella's words, Charlie gave a reluctant nod and did not pursue the matter further but focused on his drink. Harry could guess that Ron's grandmother was speaking of Sirius Black, though he was confused about him being Head of House. How did that work when he was imprisoned?

Rosie wasn't satisfied, however.

"My, so bold, Cissa! I have a question for you. Is it true that you could have joined the Unspeakables if it weren't for your family springing out a marriage contract with the Malfoys?"

It was minute, but Harry saw Mrs Malfoy's grip on her teacup tighten momentarily before relaxing again. Impressive control over her emotions, Harry thought.

"I wonder where you got such an idea," Narcissa tilted her head questioningly. "The Department of Mysteries is an elusive goal for many witches and wizards. To claim that I could have got in when I was barely into my seventh year in Hogwarts," she shook her head, her words as smooth as silk hiding a sliver of mirth underneath, "Dear Rosalia, you flatter me too much."

Rosie didn't hide the smirk that appeared on her face, "Don't sell yourself short, Narcissa. We were both at the top of our year, with only cousin Regulus coming close to our grades. I just wonder if you had put all those smarts to good use tutoring your son. Why, with such a smart and intelligent mother, he must be top of his year and acing all of his classes!"

This time, Mrs Malfoy didn't try to hide her displeasure. Even then, it was barely a slight dip of her lips and a tightening of her eyes as she stared at her school rival.

Half the table was amused, and the rest felt uncomfortable with the back and forth. Mr Carrow still retained his polite smile but was trying in vain to signal his wife to halt the catfight.

"I wonder how your daughters would fare in school," Narcissa riposted with a squint. "I did not see them with the other children. Did you decide they would not be mature enough to attend a funeral and leave them home? What a pity they missed the school year by one minute. It would be such a shame if they did not inherit their mother's wits."

It was Reginald who came to his wife's aid, "Hestia and Flora were unfortunately bitten by Murtlaps when they were helping us in our shop a couple of days ago. They had a serious reaction to it and are staying with my mother to recover."

Narcissa's eyes softened.

"You have my sympathies, and I wish them a swift recovery." Harry could feel true sincerity from her; at least she didn't convey her feelings for Rosie to her children. "Although perhaps their mother should have taken better care of them when they were surrounded by dangerous creatures. Your shop is quite famous and has a solid reputation, Reginald. It would be a shame if your wife causes it any harm."

And it was back to the bickering again as Mrs Carrow glared at the blonde woman who had a faint smirk upon her lips that she tried to hide behind her teacup. Surprisingly, it didn't devolve into a shouting match like he expected, as Rosalia simply mirrored Mrs Malfoy and picked up her teacup.

This was completely out of Harry's depth; the backhanded compliments, the near antagonistic attitude that was barely controlled thanks to the company. He wondered if this was what it was like to be in the Southern courts of Westeros, or were all women simply like that?

Rosalia decided to break their stand-off and quickly turned to him, "Harry, love. Since dear Cissa here would not tell, how is handsome little Draco doing in school? Surely, the scion of the Malfoy house would be top of his year, right?"

Harry stared at the woman incredulously, forgetting to keep his face impassive. He looked around the table for assistance, but the Weasley brothers would not meet his eyes, although he could see their lips twitching in amusement.

Seven bloody hells, woman. Don't drag me into your catfights!

His eyes caught Cedrella's, and the elderly woman gave him an encouraging nod, though he suspected she was just keen to amuse herself further more than anything else.

To Harry's surprise, it wasn't just Rosie; even Narcissa was looking at him with undisguised interest – who would have thought Draco's school performance would be of such interest, even to his mother?

"As far as I know, Draco is not doing too bad but could be better," he sighed. "Quite good at potions and charms, but not as much at the rest. My friend Hermione is the top of our year – in fact, I think she's so far beyond us that she could probably sit most third-year exams and get a passing grade."

Rosie looked like the cat who had just eaten the canary, while Narcissa just seemed… sad. Meanwhile, the rest of the table had got bored and began talking on the side about quidditch as Cedrella was ardently defending the Chuddley Cannons.

"Hermione is your muggle-born friend?" Rosie prodded, totally ignoring the talk about brooms and quaffles.

"She is," Harry nodded evenly, hoping he would not have to listen to disparaging remarks about Hermione from people he was honestly starting to like.

Mrs Carrow looked at Mrs Malfoy with a triumphant look and didn't bother hiding the wide smile forming on her face, "I wonder what dear Lucius would say to that. Not even capable of beating out a muggle-born. I guess it does run in the family, being lesser than muggle-borns. Didn't Lucius have this famous rivalry with your runaway sister's husband because he could never beat him in either academics or a duel despite being a muggle-born?"

Narcissa's face tightened, though Harry could feel it was the mention of her runaway sister more than anything else.

"Draco has a brilliant mind when he puts his head into it," her response was clipped. "Studying too much does not appeal to him. I would have gladly helped him, but Lucius would insist on hiring tutors or teaching him himself… not that he ever had the time for either of us."

The last line was barely a whisper; Harry was sure he was the only one to hear it. It seemed not all was well in the House of Malfoy.

A result of an arranged marriage, perhaps?

He could feel a tinge of sympathy, but no more – he'd been on the receiving end of Draco's provocations and taunts a few times too many. Such was the life of the highborns – they got to enjoy their rights and privileges, but it came at the cost of duties.

Rosalia had seemingly had enough of the talk, claiming it as her victory, and Harry used this lull to ask something that had been on his mind.

"Mr Carrow."

Reginald turned to him and inclined his head, "Yes?"

"I had recently learned that my grandmother, Euphemia, was a Carrow by birth. I wondered if you had ever met her. If so, would you tell me about her?"

Reginald's smile softened, and Harry was assaulted by a feeling of nostalgia and pity.

"She was my aunt," His voice was forlorn. "Phemie would make sure to visit her cousin, my father, whenever she could. Few were as kind or helpful as her, and my aunt never forgot to bring us some of her famed apple pie, along with plenty of gifts when she visited."

Harry felt ecstatic – it was a small, inane thing, but neither he nor Jon ever had a grandmother. Jon's unfulfilled desire to learn about his mother had bloomed into a need to know more about his kin, so he focused on Reginald Carrow, trying to drink in all his words like a parched man in the desert.

The older man shook his head fondly. "Before I was born, my mother had run afoul of a Thunderbird on a visit to the colonies. As a result, her hair was permanently frazzled, and she feared that it would never return to its former sleeky smoothness due to the magic of the beast. It rankled her for quite a while, but eventually decided to accept it as a badge of honour for surviving an encounter with a furious thunderbird."

Harry saw Cedrella giggling quietly, clearly knowing about the story, while the rest listened in interest.

Reginald turned to Harry with a large grin on his face. "Then comes your grandmother. Auntie Phemie ambushed my mother in Diagon Alley on the busiest of days. Before the disbelieving crowd, your grandmother loudly offered a new potion, which instantly straightened my mother's fizzled curls."

"Sleekeazy?" Charlie asked curiously.

"The very same," Mr Carrow nodded. "It was the first time anyone had seen the potion. Two drops were enough to turn her hair as straight as a line, and hundreds of witches and wizards were there to see it! Your grandfather, Fleamont, was a talented potioneer, and easily concocted such a solution upon my aunt's urgings. Yet, for all her kindness, Aunt Euphemia had an unrelenting streak of mischief and daring, something your father inherited, I believe."

That elicited a chuckle from him; a pity he'd never get to see either of his grandparents, for perhaps his grandfather could have helped him with his abysmal potion skills.

"Thank you, Mr Carrow," Harry smiled gratefully. "You have no idea how important this is to me."

"It was my pleasure, Mr Potter. Do you mind if I ask what brought this on, however?"

Harry stilled for a moment but decided not to beat around the bush.

"I had a talk with the headmaster about why I was placed with my muggle relatives instead of my magical ones after my parents' death. When I brought up your family, he cautioned that some of the Carrows were known supporters of Voldemort who had managed to escape justice."

The older man lost his smile and paled considerably, although Harry wasn't sure if it was from the accusation or just the dark lord's name. His wife placed her hand on his and gave him a reassuring squeeze, and his face regained some of its colour. Harry could feel resignation coming from the man, yet he was distracted by the waves of apprehension coming from Mrs Malfoy. Quite understandable since her own husband had avoided Azkaban in a similar way.

"I hate to say it," Reginald's words were slow and tired. "But Dumbledore had the right of it."

Harry jerked back in surprise, and he was far from the only one – Charlie and Bill also shuffled uneasily, as did the rest of them to a lesser degree.

"Oh, don't be so shocked. You have met my uncle and aunt – can you imagine them raising Harry?"

Narcissa snorted, actually snorted, breaking all pretence of decorum at Reginald's question. "Out of the question. I would not trust them to raise a flobberworm, let alone an actual child. Those cretinous, vindic–"

"Narcissa!"

Cedrella's rebuke took the wind out of her sails, and Mrs Malfoy coughed and quickly adopted a serene expression as if nothing had happened.

"I apologise, Reginald. I am sure you know better than I about your own family."

Mr Carrow let out a mirthless chuckle, "I cannot speak of whether they were truly under the Imperius or not, but I can tell you that you are not wrong about them, Narcissa. My twin uncle and aunt are unpleasant and spiteful people. Unfortunately, they are also older than me by a couple of years. Amycus has a higher chance of inheriting great-grandfather's seat on the Wizengamot and the Head of House position with my father and his father dead from Dragon Pox."

Perhaps Harry had been wrong to disparage the headmaster so? Dumbledore did turn out right in the end. Conflict over lordships and other positions of power was as old as time, and Jon could think of a few times when it nearly got out of hand in Winterfell alone.

"Hang on. Your father would have inherited the Head of House position, right?" Harry couldn't help but flex his fist in apprehension when the man nodded. "Wouldn't that automatically make you the heir then? You are the son of the eldest brother. Shouldn't that make you heir presumptive?"

Reginald shook his head, "It's not that simple. My great-grandfather, Finnian, is old, very old. Yes, even older than Dumbledore. I think he might be even older than Madam Marchbanks, and she tested Dumbledore on his OWLs a hundred years ago." That elicited a round of chuckles from the table. "Let's just say that he has some very…archaic interpretations of how a magical should behave, even by conservative standards. Then there's the fact that he is gradually losing his wits over the years and sleeps through most sessions of the Mot."

Cedrella chose that moment to interject as she noticed his confused expression. "Noble Lords of Magical Britain could disinherit and assign their heirs according to their whims, Harry. While it is highly controversial and would almost always cause problems for the house down the line, an old man like Finnian would hardly care as he knows his mortality. He would be easily manipulated by those he sees eye to eye and agree with his views."

Harry nodded to her in thanks. This was different from Westeros, where the eldest son was guaranteed the position of heir by both gods and men. He could not recall a single instance of a lord disinheriting his heir in favour of another son. Except if they joined the Kingsguard or the Night's Watch.

"Thankfully, we do not need the Carrow fortune or connections to thrive," Rosalia interjected as she hooked her elbow under her husband's. "We wed right out of school, and with some aid from Reggie's mother and Euphemia, we managed to set aside enough savings to purchase the shop that you know as the Magical Menagerie. It was barely a shabby, rundown shack back then, but now, it's wizarding Britain's best shop for magical creatures. We've expanded even further – care kits for pets, creature ingredients, and anything else you could possibly need. Potions, rituals, you name it – we have it. You are welcome to visit us anytime with your friends, Harry – we'll gladly give you a nice family discount."

Harry chuckled at the sudden sales pitch and wondered if that's where Hagrid got Hedwig from.

"I shall take you up on it, then."

A comfortable lull of silence followed, and everyone seemed to focus on their drinks. It did not escape his attention that Mrs Malfoy threw the Carrow couple a glance filled with longing.

She quickly schooled her expression and turned to Harry.

"Mr Potter, I did have an important question for you, if you do not mind."

"Go ahead, Mrs Malfoy. I will answer to the best of my ability."

Draco's mother took a slow sip of tea before carefully placing the cup back on the table.

"I need to know exactly what happened in Hogwarts that caused young Ronald's death."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought the ministry had issued an official statement."

"Let's not insult ourselves, Mr Potter," Mrs Malfoy rolled her eyes.

"And what did your husband say? Was he not part of the school board?"

"…I desire to hear the other side of the story," Narcissa grimaced. "I trust that rag they call paper little, and my husband was shifty about the whole affair. He has also been inflicted by some sort of cold malady, and even the Black family library seems to lack the means to deal with such a curse."

Although judging by her tone, she had not tried very hard to help Lucius. And while Mrs Malfoy did not voice it, there was a heavy sense of concern in her; perhaps she wanted to know if her own son had been endangered?

Harry chuckled in amusement, and he wasn't the only one – it seemed the rest had caught the subtle undertone in her words. Schooling his face, he turned to Ron's brothers.

"Do any of you know what happened? What were you told about the incident?"

Bill grimaced, "I know it involved a diary, a shade, and a giant Basilisk. Frankly, while I trust Dumbledore and my sister, it's still very hard to believe that you killed such a beast with a bloody sword, of all things."

"A Shade? Wait! A sword?! What the – Is this true, love?"

Charlie sucked in a breath, "Merlin's beard! A Basilisk…That's even more insane than slaying a dragon."

Harry gave a mirthless laugh as he remembered the desperate struggle and how many times he had been just a hairbrush away from death. He carefully pulled out the Basilisk fang from its makeshift sheath and placed it on the table.

"I'm afraid it is so, Mrs Carrow. This was a gift the beast left me when I gave it the finishing blow." He pulled his right sleeve to show where the puncture wound was, to the horror of Rosie and Narcissa.

"How did you survive?"

He looked at Mrs Malfoy. "Sheer dumb luck and the help of a phoenix."

Cedrella looked sharply at Bill. "You mentioned a shade?" She turned uneasily to Harry. "What did you mean by that?"

He looked at the rest of the table and realised that this would be a good opportunity to tell the whole tale instead of the hogwash that Fudge concocted. After a cough, he took a few moments to organise his thoughts and began the story – from Lucius slipping the diary in Ginny's cauldron a year ago, to describing what the diary was, to the truth of who Riddle truly was. Needless to say, he had a very rapt audience in the end and one distraught yet furious mother.

"T-that…that sheer bloody moron. I-I can't believe th-that he…I'm sorry. A basilisk in the same school as my son?!" The sheer rage emanating from Narcissa Malfoy drowned the tinge of grief and guilt.

"Breathe, Cissa. You need to breathe." Cedrella placed a soothing hand on her back, "We don't blame you, child. You did not know, and I'm certain if you had, you would have told someone."

Narcissa took a deep, shuddering breath before calming down. Her face became blank, and Harry could barely feel her emotions.

Was this some sort of magical skill? Molly had done something similar earlier.

"Thank you, Aunt Cedrella." She turned to him and bowed. "I owe you a favour, no, a debt for this. Please do not hesitate to contact me in the future should you be in need of assistance."

"You are welcome, Mrs Malfoy," He inclined his head. "I am shocked, however, that none of you care that Voldemort was the bastard son of a muggle and a witch."

Cedrella snorted at that, "It's not like it was a big secret. A lot of his earlier followers were his fellow students at Hogwarts, and he didn't bother to change his appearance until much later in the war. We all knew who he was, yet none cared. Do you know why, Harry? Because he had power."

"Might makes right," Mr Carrow sighed. "It doesn't matter what your background was or who your parents were. At the end of the day, if you have the power to affect the world, people will acknowledge you regardless. It was the same with Grindelwald, and Dumbledore gathered his following because of his prowess more than anything else, though he's thankfully far more amiable than the other two."

Reginald's words brought a sombre mood to the table.

"It's ironic that in the past one hundred years, the three most powerful wizards in Europe happened to be Half-Bloods." Bill rubbed his stubble thoughtfully, "Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and now Voldemort. Really shows how inane the pureblood rhetoric is."

"It is not about the purity of blood as much as it is about magical heritage," Narcissa shook her head. "A powerful descendant of Salazar Slytherin was a suitable rallying figure, especially one willing to champion their cause. But he turned out to be a cruel, merciless man with an unquenchable thirst for power and twisted those who had agreed to follow him in turn."

"Do you also think muggles and muggle-borns inferior?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"I do," Narcissa shrugged unapologetically. "The muggles do the same anyway – they might have discarded their nobility in name but not in spirit. Influence, resources, knowledge, connections – those are things of great import everywhere, and many muggles look down on those they consider their lesser. Magical talent and inclinations run in the blood – Parselmouths, Metamorphs, or affinities for harder branches of magic that were cultivated for many generations, along with unique family magicks. As William noted, the three greatest wizards of the last century are all half-blood – they all built upon their heritage on their way to the top. Though some, like your mother, are talented and hard-working enough, yet talent and hard work can get you only so far – even Lily Evans leaned onto the Potter name and resources in the end."

Harry would have spluttered in indignation before, but now, with Jon's memories and knowledge in tow, he was inclined to agree, even if it was somewhat reluctantly.

Heritage did matter a great deal – Jon himself had benefited greatly just from being the bastard of a royal lineage hailing from the Age of Heroes.

He didn't particularly like muggles, not really. Surprisingly, there was no hate either, despite the malicious pettiness he had to endure at the hands of the Dursleys. No, Harry found out that he simply did not care.

There was a tinge of approval and agreement in the eyes of the Carrows and Cedrella; Charlie, dragonhide gloves donned, seemed to be absorbed in inspecting the basilisk fang, while Bill looked thoughtful.

"Of course, not everyone was led astray by You-Know-Who," Reginald added. "His brutality attracted plenty of bloodthirsty folks, and there were those who simply joined him because the Mot was slowly but surely suppressing the more traditional of lords."

"Indeed." Mrs Malfoy nodded, and turned to the Weasley brothers. "Once again, you have my condolences. Know that I do not support my husband's actions in this."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Bill inclined his head, seemingly lost in thought.

Narcissa Malfoy stood up and curtsied gracefully.

"I hope this does not stop you from enrolling your children, Rosie."

"You have no need to worry about me and mine, Cissa."

The biting remark did not seem to affect Mrs Malfoy outwardly, but Harry could tell she was irked.

"As you wish," she inclined her head to Harry. "Our talk has been quite… enlightening, Mr Potter. It appears that I now have errands to run. I bid you all farewell."

Narcissa Malfoy turned around and marched out like a woman on a mission. A moment later, her figure twisted and disappeared, shredding the grass and leaves on the ground in her wake.

"And the proud bint is finally gone," Rosie proclaimed victoriously, only to earn herself a chiding cough from Cedrella and a tired sigh from her husband.

"Well," Reginald rubbed his brow, "we can hopefully put the unpleasantries behind us. Now, Harry. May I call you, Harry?"

"Sure, Mr Carrow. So long as I get to call you Reginald."

The man nodded with a twitch of his lips, yet Harry could sense the surge of greed and desire roiling underneath his facade.

"I have a business proposition for you."

Harry smiled as the whole table groaned, and Rosie slapped her husband on the shoulder. "Not the best time for this, love."

Harry disagreed and interrupted whatever argument was about to start, "I'm listening."

A*L*S*M

Late evening, Belfast.

An agonising scream rang out for what must have been the hundredth time that night. If it weren't for the sound-dampening runic schemes that were installed in the house, then half of Belfast would have wondered if a banshee was on the loose; the other half would curse the screamer for ruining a good night for drinking even if it was a Tuesday.

Rita Skeeter let out an agonised, ragged breath as she downed yet another vial of pain-relieving potion before throwing it into a growing pile on the floor. She cursed her misfortune. How did her big scoop go so right yet so wrong?

She had planned for this ever since Cuffe gave the Hogwarts fiasco to that dullard Amorim to cover.

Gilderoy Lockhart, a dark lord in the making?

The amount of money she could have made if she added her own touch to the story! The readers needed – nay – demanded to be told the truth! Her truth, of course. But no, Amorim had to write it ad verbatim as the ministry demanded. So what if he was the security editor of the Prophet? That didn't mean he got the first dibs on that article!

Regardless, Cuffe did throw her a bone – the dead pureblood and his funeral. Even better, Dumbledore, of all people, would be officiating, and none other than Harry Potter would be in attendance!

This would be the Boy Wonder's first appearance in public that did not include school shopping in Diagon Alley!

All Cuffe asked was for a few photos, and Rita would receive the green light to write the whole article about the affair. Oh, such a golden chance to put the boy who lived in the papers, with her own spin, of course.

Without the clumsy Bozo, she was the one who had to take the pictures.

She took the perfect shot, even! Harry Potter, standing alongside the Weasleys, looking so vulnerable, right next to the red-haired boy with the rat. With such a picture, the readers would have lapped up whatever sob story she wanted to cook up. Even Dumbledore failed to notice her!

'Vulnerable my arse!'

There was nothing vulnerable about the little savage. Daring to punch a lady like her like some… common muggle! She even dropped her invisibility cloak, and that thing cost her a fortune.

With a groan, Rita adjusted the ice pack on her swollen cheek; at moments like these, she regretted not learning some simple healing charms – but her talents always lay in subterfuge and potions. Saint Mungo was not an option either, lest it outed her as an illegal animagus. Arthur Weasley might have been an amiable man, but his children were no less feral than Potter!

Another angry bout of pain, almost waiting for her to think of William Weasley, caused her to scream herself hoarse.

Bloody fucking hell!

Even through the pain-relief potion, Rita could only squirm in agony on the bed. It felt like all of her nails were being pulled out of her hands and feet, and she could have sworn her sense of pain was significantly magnified.

This time, it was her left foot's little pinky that was giving her so much agony. She'd been puking blood from the sheer pain of that curse; her throat had already ruptured several times from all the screaming. If it wasn't for her potion skills and her emergency stash, Rita would probably have given up and gone to Mungos or risked death. She even tried to stun herself, only for the pain to wake her up seconds later, worse than ever.

Bloody buggering redheads!

A glance at the clock on the wall had her continue cursing, bloody Cuffe was supposed to show up an hour ago!

She rolled around, spasming in agony, until eventually, the fireplace flared green, a familiar voice requesting permission to come through.

"Come in, you git," she barely managed to eke out hoarsely.

The fire burned a brighter green before the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, Barnabas Cuffe, walked in.

"Sorry, I'm late, Rita, dear. Lucius would not take no for an–Merlin's Beard! What happened to you, woman?"

Rita quickly summoned another pain reliever, as she felt another bout of agony from her whole right foot this time, and downed it in one gulp.

"Bloody curse breaker happened, that's what. Got cursed by one of the Weasleys."

Her hoarse voice sounded like sandpaper on a drywall, and her throat felt like mush. They were going to pay for this!

Potter or Weasley, it didn't matter.

Although Rita was leery of provoking the Weasleys.

The memory of the Prewett twins burning Galen Mulciber alive in the middle of Diagon Alley for supposedly raping and murdering their aunt was still fresh in her mind, along with the scent of cooked meat. He was found innocent in what she would admit was a bogus trial the day before, but clearly, the twins disagreed.

Bloody hell, she took pictures of that spectacle and could still hear the anguished cries of Mulciber Sr and the smell of cooked meat. It took Mulciber's son and four other Death Eaters to get their revenge on them a week later, but even then, they lost two of their numbers. Both Prewetts and Weasleys were rabid lunatics when provoked, and that was without intermarrying.

Rita would have to be careful, but she would get her revenge.

"Did you get the shots?"

Ah yes, Barnabas Cuffe lived off controversy and scandals, with a tinge of bum-kissing certain politicians, even more than Rita did.

"Who do you think me for?!" She glared scathingly at her boss. "Here's the damn film," her hand weakly waved at the nearby table, and her flood of indignation was finally released as she tried to hold back her tears rather unsuccessfully. "You have to do something, Barney. I feel like all of my nails are slowly being ripped off. I think I drank more pain relievers in one hour than I did in a lifetime. My guts are already screaming in protest from the potion overdose. They now know my animagus form, but they didn't know it was me. I can't go to Mungos for this – you have to do something."

Cuffe first stored the negatives in a mokeskin pouch before he pulled out his wand and waved it a few times at her. The damned man probably would not have even bothered to check on her if she didn't manage to make the shot.

"Tut tut tut," his face was full of barely contained amusement. "I'm afraid this is beyond even me, my dear. I can recognise that the curse is from the Orient. A torture curse of Turkish or Persian origin, if I had to wager, that simulates the pain of pulling the target's nails at an excruciatingly slow pace. A nasty piece of work – it seems to also magnify your pain, but it should be gone on its own within a week."

Rita was barely hanging onto consciousness as she cursed the man inwardly for his complete lack of concern, no, his outright schadenfreude at her situation.

"Can't you bloody do something? Anything?"

"Hmm, I could try, but don't get your hopes up," he shrugged.

Cuffe waved his wand and muttered something in butchered Latin, and suddenly, she felt the pain subside a little. It was not much, but any relief was welcome.

"There. You will still have to endure for a week until the curse runs its course. Be glad that it doesn't actually rip off your nails, or else you would have been forced to go to Mungos, consequences be damned."

"When will you print it? And I demand triple what the pictures are worth. It's bad enough I won't be writing the article."

"…Fair enough. Consider it hazard pay. It will take about a week for things to calm down before letting the public know. I will release it before Hogwarts ends, lest the students spread their own droll version of the story. Thankfully, there's only so much that can be put in an owl letter, and children were never considered a credible source of news. Naturally, the picture's origin will be recorded as anonymous, but make sure not to blab about it. You aren't that valuable for me to protect you from your own idiocy."

Rita nodded her head, only to regret it as she felt dizzy from the amount of blood she puked and the hours of unending pain. Needless to say, she will never dare to appear before that man again. Just thinking about William Weasley put fear in her that she hadn't felt since seeing the Dark Lord in the flesh.

Cuffe was saying something more, but she was barely conscious as she began to doze off, trying to ignore the pulses of pain and agony.

It was going to be a very long week for Rita Skeeter, plagued with nightmares about redheads and purple lights.

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning, June 2nd.

Chamber of Secrets

It was the morning following the funeral, and Harry had a lot on his mind; chief among them was magic.

He had his wand out as he reviewed the books on the table beside him. Dobby was relentlessly toiling over the final parts of the Basilisk's carcass nearby. Once done with the snake, Harry will have to find some new work for the energetic elf.

The books were The Standard Book Of Spells, grades one and two, and while Harry was confident in his magic casting, he had yet to truly test himself ever since his awakening. He decided to play it safe and start with first-year spells and aimed at the rudimentary target he set across the chamber, one of the snake statues that the Basilisk had turned to rubble in its rampage.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The piece of masonry, easily over a hundred pounds, was lifted from the ground, and Harry raised an eyebrow. He aimed at one of the much smaller pieces of debris near it, yet it was not too hard; the strain was very light. With some effort, he'd definitely manage to lift a whole statue. He moved his wand around the chamber, and the piece of rubble followed his movements. Curious, he directed the piece of debris higher and higher until it was twenty feet in the air and released the spell. The rock fell like a puppet with its strings cut.

Wingardium Leviosa!

The piece of masonry hovered once more, just a few inches above the damp floor.

Harry smiled at his success, only to be distracted by enthusiastic clapping sounds.

"Oh well done, Master Harry Sir. Yous did the spell silently!"

Had he truly?

For a handful of heartbeats, Harry reviewed the events from a few moments earlier - yes, he had not spoken the incantation out loud indeed. It had not even been a deliberate thing. Harry grinned at Dobby before severing the charm and casting it several more times.

It was quite more taxing than usual, especially on the mind, and his control felt flimsier than before.

"I bet you could do the same with nary a thought, eh Dobby?"

He was just joking, but the elf nodded his head rapidly and snapped his fingers. Harry could feel magic so similar to his own yet also inherently different, flooding the chamber as all debris and other statues floated from the ground for a few feet. He could even feel his clothes lift a bit before Dobby released his spell.

"Dobby is more powerful with Master Harry's magic now." His ears flopped downwards, "Still can't move people, though."

"That's alright, Dobby. You did well."

Harry turned back to his magic practice while the elf jumped around happily at the praise before returning to his work. He wanted to move on to more offensive magic, but a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione told him to try out all the other basic spells first.

First was Lumos. The spell was easy to use and didn't even have a power limit, as he discovered when he created a new sun in the chamber by pouring more magic into the spell. Next was Spongify, which, while couldn't be overpowered like Lumos, could still be cast in a way that affected a large area, as he found out when he turned half the ground in the Chamber into a bouncy-like texture. Reparo worked like a charm, pun intended, when it repaired all the broken statues to their pristine condition.

Casting silently was a tad more difficult, but it was also like a muscle in the end - the more he practised it, the easier it got.

An hour later, Harry decided he was ready for the more… complex magics.

This time, He decided to use an abandoned vault they discovered for the next spells. He placed a few straw targets and a large wooden pole. After some thought, he also placed a rusted metal beam by the wall and moved to the centre of the room.

'Diffindo'

A thin, light green line erupted from the tip of his wand and cut one of the straw targets halfway. It was what he expected as the cutting charm was created specifically for cutting soft targets like paper, cloth, and straw. It barely left any mark on the wooden pole behind.

Harry tried it a few more times, alternating between silent and verbal and noticed the spell barely consumed any of his magic. It was time to test whether this would be his go-to spell for offence or if it would be a bust. Harry focused on the spell, remembering exactly how it was taught and following the directions to the letter. He could almost hear Flitwick's voice as he taught them the spell last year.

A v-shaped tick ending with a sharp swish.

Then, just as he felt his wand itching to release the spell, he poured more power through it. The Holly wand drank his power eagerly and channelled it to the tip where the spell was forming.

'Diffindo'

Only for a few sparks to erupt from his wand and dissipate uselessly, all his focused power wasted. He frowned in thought; clearly, brute forcing his way through spells won't work. Harry remembered that the creator of the spell was a seamstress some six hundred years ago and figured that she placed safety measures on it as he recalled its true purpose.

Although according to Hermione, some magic spells were so intricate despite their simplicity that simply adding more power would do little, if not outright, destroy the spell construct. Still, the cutting charm was not completely useless – if Harry managed to land the spell upon an unprotected neck, it might as well be fatal.

It seemed his only choice was to either figure out how to modify spells or learn new and more dangerous magic. Any hesitation about picking up Arithmancy as his elective was now gone.

Harry tried the disarming charm next on the crude straw targets, and predictably, the spell acted unpredictably. Since Expelliarmus was designed to cause anything held in the target's hand to fly high out, if there was no hand to target the spell would cause the target to recoil instead. Harry cast it again with more power and found that it was more useful in blasting anything in his way than disarming opponents. The powerful shockwave that erupted from his wand and sent all his targets, wooden or metallic, crashing into the wall was evidence of that.

He beheld his handiwork, and he had to admit Expelliarmus was a handy spell. Disarming your foes was quite useful, and so was knocking things away.

Incendio, on the other hand, was far more dangerous than one would think despite being a first-year magic. The spell was incredibly basic, and if you followed the instructions to the letter, one would be able to create a gout of flame hot yet small enough to light a fireplace. Naturally, Harry poured as much power as he could into it just for, err…science and the result was him running out of the vault and hurriedly shutting the stone entrance to escape the conflagration he created.

"Is you okay, Master Harry Potter, sir?!"

"I'm alright – cough – really, Dobby, it's fine." Harry waved away the fussing elf while he made sure he wasn't on fire, just soot.

"Master needs to be more careful, or Dobby will be forced to help."

Harry froze at the promise; no, it was most definitely a threat coming from his elf. Yet, he could not deny that caution was due. Magic was not a child's play in Westeros, and it was not here now.

"Fine, Dobby. Let's see the results of my spell, shall we?"

They both waited until they felt no more heat coming from the door before opening it. Dobby banished the roiling cloud of smoke with a snap of his fingers. Harry was not surprised to find all the straw targets gone to ash, as well as the wooden pole. The metal beam, however, was intact, albeit glowing with a dull, orange light, all its rust gone.

"Hot enough to burn straw and wood to ash but not enough to melt steel. Too bad it's completely uncontrollable; what do you think, Dobby?"

"Dobby thinks master Harry has had enough fun and should go meet with his mistress Mione." The elf folded his arms and stared defiantly at him, but Harry could barely hold his laughter, considering the mismatched clothes the elf had asked to be garbed in.

"You're such a worry wart. There's no rush, and I have one more spell to test."

He returned to the Chamber to review his notes on the Patronus charm while ignoring Dobby's exasperated huff.

He focused on a happy memory, the first time he flew on a broom, and channelled his magic into his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A small, translucent puff of pale mist hesitantly formed but quickly dissipated. The spell made him feel a tad tired; it actually required quite a lot of effort to perform. A bark of laughter rolled out of his lips as a wide smile found its way to his face.

Nothing worthwhile was ever easy, and the challenge made his blood boil in excitement!

A*L*S*M

Thursday morning, June 3rd.

Ministry of Magic

Eleanor Fawley was not sure if she liked her job as one of the bookkeepers of the Office of Records in the ministry. On the one hand, it was an extremely easy job that was basically given to her on a platter by virtue of her name and the connections her father made. On the other, it was so easy and simplistic that even a muggle could do it. She was so bored most of the time and lamented the lack of anything exciting happening to tell her younger brothers. Sadly, for one who only graduated from Hogwarts a mere year ago and not with the highest honours, mind you, she could not land a more prestigious job even with her family's connections.

To be honest, that was fine with her. Eleanor was not overly fond of abusing her connections like this. It reminded her of her less fortunate friends from Hogwarts who had to work extra hard just to scrape by.

Eleanor was roused from her thoughts as she heard her name being called by her supervisor.

"Apologies, did you need something, Mr Rowle?"

"I said I need you as a witness for a will amendment. Meeting room four, now."

Thorfin Rowle was the father of her dear friend Concordia. Unlike her bright and merry friend, Mr Rowle was a stern and sometimes cruel man whom she had never seen smile. Internally, she pitied her friend, who had lost her mother young and was forced to live alone with such a man, and she wondered how Conny had become so delightful to everyone. Outwardly, however, Eleanor smiled pleasantly at him as she bobbed her head.

"Of course, Mr Rowle."

It would not do to annoy Mr Rowle or appear incompetent; for all his unpleasantness, he was incredibly well-connected and could either make or break her budding career in the ministry. She followed him to meeting room four, where several people were present, but she was surprised to recognise a face she had seen in the papers a few days ago.

"Apologies for the delay, Mr Malfoy. I have my subordinate here as a witness, and we may proceed with your request."

Lucius Malfoy did not appear to be in a pleasant mood and was glaring at a formal-looking roll of parchment, clearly the will he had decided to amend for some reason. He looked up at Mr Rowle, and Eleanor was shocked to find the man's complexion was extremely pale with chattering teeth and bluing lips.

"I-It w-was no b-bother. J-just hurry, f-for there a-are places I-I n-n-need to be."

It was only now that Eleanor realised the man was not dressed for a warm June day. He was tightly wrapped in a heavy-looking fur-lined cloak, but even underneath, his frame looked bulky, as if he was dressed for a trip to the Arctic.

"Lucius, are you sure about this? I will have to pull many strings to ensure this doesn't leak, especially now that you are in the spotlight." A long-haired man sitting beside Mr Malfoy warned, "Not to mention how little this will affect things, as your son Draco would surely object to it. The only ones who could possibly benefit from this are your distant relatives in France. Is this truly necessary?"

Malfoy glared at the man beside him, "I h-have made my d-decision, Th-thick-nesse. I-I will not l-let that h-harlot get away with h-humiliating me like t-this. Now, get to it!"

She recognised the man as one of Britain's most famous solicitors. Pius Thicknesse was responsible for abusing the Imperius defence that allowed many accused Death Eaters to avoid Azkaban. He sighed in defeat before placing his wand on the paper, followed by Mr Rowle.

"Your seal, Fawley."

Eleanor hurriedly used her wand to place her seal as a witness on the parchment that essentially declared such. In the event of the death of Lucius Malfoy, his marriage to Narcissa Malfoy née Black would be annulled, although his heir, Draco Malfoy, would still inherit all his titles and properties. Considering the House of Black was essentially extinct, it was social execution as the woman would have to completely rely on her son's mercy.

There was no way Lucius Malfoy would have dared to do such a thing if the Blacks were still alive. Sadly, with their death, no one would truly care about this as they weren't well-loved. Either way, it was none of her concern. Eleanor did not know any of them nor cared enough about the matter apart from how much juicy gossip it would be when she went home.

A*L*S*M

At the same time, in Hogwarts.

"Keep it up, Hermione. Only one more lap left."

Harry cheered his friend on as she reached the starting point and ran the opposite way. This was the second day Hermione had joined him for his morning exercise, and she had persevered well so far.

Not the entire routine, mind you, but simply the morning jog he took after his workout in the Chamber. Even then, Hermione only joined in near the end, and it would not do to force her to do more than her capabilities allowed. Despite being known as a bookworm, she was surprisingly athletic and was candid in telling him how her parents had forced her to take swimming classes when she would not budge from her books. That, and her annual visits to her family in France and swimming in the sea, had done well for her stamina.

Unlike poor Neville, who had collapsed on the ground, struggling to breathe. The boy looked like he had run all the way to Hogsmeade and back, though the reality could not be further from that. The boy had asked him to join in his exercise after seeing Hermione also participate yesterday.

Harry took a deep breath and kept massaging the muscles in his legs to stimulate the flow of blood while resting between his laps. "You alive there, Neville?"

He got nothing but wheezes from the boy who had collapsed after the first lap, but Harry had high hopes for him.

The course he used was about one kilometre, starting from the edge of the lake near Hagrid's hut, under the covered bridge, past the Owlery and the Quidditch pitch and ending near the whomping willow before returning the same way.

Usually, Harry would go for ten of the laps, but he settled for five since he had company. Hermione was doing her final round, just three in total, while Neville collapsed on his way back from the first trip, and Harry had to help him the rest of the way.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if he could get some training armour to run with, just like Ser Rodrik made Jon and Robb run around with. Ahh, such good memories. Running with no additional weight was just… too easy.

"… You're insane, Harry." It was a few minutes later when Neville had caught enough of his breath to speak and was slowly getting back enough strength to stand on his feet.

Harry blinked at the rather sudden insult, "How so?"

The pudgy boy wiped his sweat from his forehead as he glared at him, "The fact you don't realise that what you are doing is beyond regular exercise is proof. There's no way muggles train like this every morning."

An unbidden chuckle escaped his mouth.

"Oh, Neville, you sweet summer child. Whoever said I'm following a muggle regiment?"

It was the blonde boy's turn to blink his eyes in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that this is just how our regular Quidditch practice starts. You think I'm insane? You haven't had the pleasure of training under Oliver Wood, then. Now, if you have the energy to speak, you should get up and loosen up your muscles unless you want to get cramps."

Just as Neville was complying, Hermione had returned from her final lap. She was panting, but not heavily, showing she still had enough energy to keep going. The girl had her hands resting on the knees of the comfortable-looking leggings she wore, while her bushy hair, tied in a ponytail, did its best to release itself from its constraints.

"Good job, Hermione. Come on, join us in cooling down, and then we can start magic practice."

Hermione took one last deep breath before straightening up, and Harry smirked when he noticed Neville blushing at her sweat-covered top. It looked like the girl had already gained a fan.

Or was he always a fan?

"What magic will we practice, then?"

Harry carefully began stretching his strained muscles and joints. "I'm glad you asked! It will be twofold. Dodging and aiming. I will dodge while you two will try your best to hit me with a stinging hex. After a while, we will switch turns."

Neville frowned, "That sounds simple enough. Would it really help us?"

Hermione replied for him. "Quite so, I believe. The best way to avoid having spells cast at you is to not be in their path, Neville. Furthermore, this would be a good chance for us to improve our aiming."

Left unsaid was how Neville had the worst aim in their year. Actually, he was by far the worst magic caster in their year, and his only saving grace was how much of a natural he was in herbology. The boy truly had a green thumb or two.

"Alright, you two, chop chop. Let's get this started."

The control on his senses slipped for a moment, and Harry realised his earlier observers were still here, albeit too shy. His heightened senses were great, but the increased influx of new information tended to make him dizzy after a while, so he had tried to suppress them.

It was not too easy, and his control oft slipped, but it was better than being overwhelmed by too many things. Thankfully, Ghost was still there to warn him of any danger he might have missed.

.

.

.

"Alright, good work, you two."

Neville was rubbing his arms at the spots Harry hit him with while staring at his wand in frustration. Hermione bit her lip as she clearly wanted to say something but was worried she might overstep her bounds. It was times like these that Harry both appreciated Jon's ability to observe and to read body language, even when trying to clamp down on his sensory abilities.

"Come on. Let's have a seat."

He led them to a large rock by the lakeshore and motioned for Neville to sit. He and Hermione remained standing, however, as he gave her a knowing look which she returned with a nod. The blonde boy stared at them with confusion.

"Neville, I won't beat around the bush, and I'm pretty sure Hermione had noticed this as well. This isn't actually your wand, right?"

Immediately, the boy withdrew into himself. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. Of course, this is my wand."

"It might be yours now, but I'm willing to bet it's a legacy wand. Was it your mother's? Or maybe your father's?"

Neville fidgeted uncomfortably. "My father's, but why does that matter? It's served my family for generations. My dad, my granddad, and even my great-grandmother used it."

That brought a pause to Harry's thoughts. The same wand was passed down for three generations, and all three matched well for it? Neville would be the fourth generation it would be passed down to, and that was actually impressive in its own way.

Seeing Harry silent in thought, Hermione stepped in. "We get that, Neville. But your magic is unique to you, and a wand that chooses you can make a world of difference. Just look at how much my wand helped me in class."

Neville still looked hesitant. "I've thought about it before, but I just can't bring myself to do it. What if it's not the wand's fault but completely my own? What if I disappoint my family by asking for another wand only to be the same lousy wizard still?"

Harry could see the boy's point. It was not that he wasn't convinced, but rather he was afraid of the consequences, quite possibly due to pressure from his family.

Harry was not sure of the details, but he knew that Neville lived with his grandmother. If the wand was originally his father's and his grandfather's, then it's very likely that his grandmother would have pressured him to use it as it worked for her husband and son.

"Look, Neville. I'm not saying this without proof. Ron also had a legacy wand, and while it worked well enough, he complained that he always had problems with transfiguration. Now, he may have had trouble with the branch of magic itself, or the wand might have matched him for charms but not for other magic branches, we will never know. But the fact remains, he could have used a much more suited wand instead."

"But we can't really know that, Harry," Hermione interjected. "Wandlore is an obscure discipline, and even I have found very little about it in the library…"

"That might be true," Harry nodded and sat down beside Neville, placing a comforting hand on the melancholic boy's shoulder. "Yet, that's precisely why you might want to go to Diagon Alley and perhaps speak with Ollivander. The man's knowledge of wands is unsurpassed, and I'm sure he could offer you wisdom and advice. He does craft wands for a living and matches them to all sorts of wizards and witches, after all."

He could tell that the boy was convinced but still a bit reluctant. "I'll think about it, alright? But I can't promise anything just yet."

Harry squeezed the boy's shoulder, "Nothing is worse than uncertainty, Neville. Why beat yourself over things you have no control over?" He shook his head with a sigh. "Now, onto another matter – have you both decided on what electives you will choose?"

A*L*S*M

"Merlin's floppy hat, does he ever go anywhere without company?"

The girl stared at her target from her hiding spot as he conversed with the other two by the lake. She could not hear anything they said, and she didn't try to eavesdrop as that was just rude. Astoria had been watching them for nearly an hour now, waiting for a chance to catch the Boy-Who-Lived alone for a quick chat.

"Doesn't seem like it."

A lazy drawl came from behind her, and she jumped in fright as she turned quickly to the speaker only to sigh in relief and worry.

"Daphne! How long have you been there? Why are you here? And where's Tracey?"

Her sister yawned exaggeratedly as she looked past the younger girl to the lake.

"A while. We were on our way to the Owlery to send a letter to Father when we saw you. Tracey went ahead and said she would meet us later," her usually placid face now grew uncharacteristically stern. "As for why I'm here, Madame Pomfrey tells me you have missed your weekly checkup for the second time. Are you avoiding her, Astoria?"

The younger girl gulped and smiled shakily, "W-what do you m-mean? I'm not avoiding any nasty potion regi–geh." The girl slapped her mouth with her hands at her slip-up and stared at the unamused Daphne.

"Really? You're skipping your potions because they taste bad?"

Astoria let out a silent growl, but it sounded more like an angry kitten yowling than anything. "Alright. Fine! I'll go to the icky checkups. Happy?"

Her sister gave a lazy smirk, her green eyes half closed as if ready to nap at any moment. "Ecstatic, actually. Especially considering what I caught you doing. Still haven't given up, Tori? You do realise that Potter would probably help you with whatever you need, the goody two shoes that he is. You aren't a Snake, and he likely doesn't even know you're my sister."

The younger girl pouted heavily at her sister, "I told you not to call me that!"

Daphne blinked.

"Call you what? Tori? I've always called you that, and you love it when I do, Astoria." Her sister smiled warmly and squeezed her cheeks, then began to run her hands through her dark curls.

Astoria couldn't help but close her eyes; she really enjoyed it when Daphne did this. But it made her look like a little child, so she had to try to suppress the rising rush of heat rushing to her face at the embarrassment.

With a shake of her head, she stomped on her sister's foot in frustration but held back at the last moment; she was not a baby anymore. "Yeah, well, I don't like it anymore. Not since Luna told me it means birdie in Japanese."

Daphne just smiled lazily and continued her ministrations undeterred.

"Yet it also means victory in Latin. I know you like that quirky girl, but I wouldn't take everything she says as gospel."

Her sister gasped and backed off theatrically, "No way! Do you mean the Crumple-Horned Snorkack doesn't exist? W-what about the Moon Frogs? The Dabberblimps? Does that mean I don't have to worry about Nargles stealing my stuff?"

Both sisters stared at each other for a moment before bursting out into uncontrollable giggles.

It took a minute for Astoria to stop laughing like a loon and wipe the errant tears from her eyes.

"You know I don't believe all that Luna says, just some of it, but I still love her. She's my only friend, and she's so lonely. Ginevra, seemed so distracted all year and would rarely speak with anyone. There are hardly any students at all in our year. I think barely a dozen across all houses, and not many want to associate with me due to err…reasons."

Her arsehole of an uncle, and well...

Daphne gave a sad smile. "Reasons, huh? Well, at least you know what to do if someone bothers you, right?"

Astoria nodded rapidly, "Kick them, run to you, then we both hex them together."

The elder Greengrass sister clapped her hands happily.

"Exactly. Now, let me have a look at your crush. He's been more dashing since he lost his spectacles. "

"Daphne! He's not my crush."

"Oh? Then who's your crush now? Wasn't it Macmillan last week? Or was it Boot? Gasp, It can't be Malfoy!"

Astoria's eyebrow twitched at her sister's exaggerated hand motions. "Hey, what's wrong with Draco?" At her elder sister's blank look, the younger sister fidgeted uncomfortably. "Okay, he might be a big berk, but he's so handsome!"

Daphne gave a pitying look at her sister, "Whatever. Let me have a looksie at Golden Boy over there. Oh, la-la, I can see why you would spend so much time admiring Potter, especially from behind. If you don't make a move, someone else will soon. Do you think he likes doppelgangers? We practically look like him with our black hair and green eyes, and we might even pretend to be his sisters."

Astoria stomped her sister's foot for real this time.

"I said I am not crushing on him," Her flushed face, however, did not seem to convince Daphne of her words. "I just want to know where Luna is. She's been gone since the Weasleys left, and maybe Potter knows when she will be back. Hey, are you listening to me? Also, his sisters? Eww, Daph, that's not cool. Hey, stop pushing and find your own spot."

Neither girl noticed a snowy white owl perched on a nearby tree staring at them unblinkingly.

A*L*S*M

Wednesday, Early Morning of June 9th.

Knockturn Alley

"Incendio!" The belch of fire leaving his elm wand was so weak, and combined with his shaky hands, Lucius took a good half a minute to light up the bloody fireplace.

His shivering was getting worse - it was two in the morning, and he was woken up by the now familiar nightmares of beautiful yet terrible creatures of Ice and their obsession with creating inferi.

At first, Lucius was beyond terrified of those nightmares that had begun after that fateful night he lost his elf and was humiliated by the wretched brat. Now, however, he had gotten used to them… as much as one can get used to night terrors that never allow you to have a full night's sleep.

Yet, the following bout of chill as he awoke with his heart beating like a drum, covered in cold sweat, was worse.

This happened every single time he tried to get some sleep – a telltale sign of some sort of obscure curse.

Worse, no matter how much he warmed himself up, whether with spells, clothes or potions, he would get no reprieve except from fire. Not magical fire, but the most mundane fire.

It irked him so much to be forced to sleep on the ground, barely a yard away from the fireplace like some animal. Yet, he had no choice, for the cold was growing more and more relentless, and the chill could be felt even in his bones. Lucius had asked, nay begged, his treacherous wife to find him a cure in the Black library as only those born to a Black by name and blood were allowed inside. Yet, she had failed to deliver anything.

Thinking of his wretched wife annoyed him to no end.

It had been a week since Narcissa returned from whatever outing she had gone to and metaphorically kicked him out of his own house. He was too busy trying to cajole Cuffe to retract that accursed article he published, so he didn't remember where she said she was going. His wife was a formidable witch despite being seven years his junior and never involved with any of the…outings, he had with his colleagues or her own sister. Narcissa cared little about muggles, and if one asked her, they were not worth her time, even for fun things like torture and murder.

Though, after the Dark Lord fell, there were no benefits to openly sticking to old loyalties like some of his more moronic associates who were probably already gone mad in their not-so-cosy cells in Azkaban.

With the death of the Dark Lord, it was every wizard for himself, and unlike them, Lucius did not care enough about the cause to remain loyal to a dead man. He had managed to gather other like-minded individuals and position himself as their leader to use Thicknesse's prowess in matters of law to avoid Azkaban altogether. With Bellatrix and her ilk languishing in prison and Orion Black dead, Lucius enjoyed the freedom to amass more and more power in the Ministry and subsequently across Wizarding Britain.

The loss of his seat in the Wizengamot was but a simple setback and compromise to ensure the fools on Dumbledore's side believe he felt remorse and wished to offer recompense.

Soft-hearted fools the lot of them.

His thoughts inadvertently returned to his wife as he felt a particular bruise on his backside. They had never duelled before, yet he was confident he would have prevailed if they did. Except his wand had failed him. It was almost as if it did not recognise him at times or would not budge from the cane sheath he put it in.

Narcissa had easily given him the trashing of a lifetime, and he had still not fully recovered from the curses and bludgeons she had blasted him with on his way out of his own bloody manor.

Lucius could barely understand the enraged ramblings of the former Black witch, but he got the gist of it. She had somehow discovered the truth of the diary and that he had caused the Basilisk to kill that Weasley whelp. Granted, he did understand her anger and the fact she most likely didn't care about the boy's death as much as what could have been the alternative. If he had known that Slytherin's monster was a Basilisk, he would definitely have thought twice about releasing it, as he might very well have caused the death of his own son.

His quest to cause trouble for that annoying red-haired lout would have had to wait for a more opportune time.

Truth be told, Arthur Weasley was nothing more than an annoyance with his newly found Muggle Protection Act, which had already backfired terribly. Yet, Lucius did not get where he was by letting cretins like that target him.

Nevertheless, his rise to power had garnered a lot of enemies for the Malfoy Lord, and now that he was being kicked down, they would be coming out of the woodwork to try and get a piece of him.

His soft wife's face twisted into an enraged scowl when he rationally told her they would simply make another child if it was Draco who died. Lucius was glad he trusted his instincts to disappear immediately when he saw the tip of her wand glow red. He had seen his former master's wand glow that eerie red one time too many when he punished his followers when they displeased him, and he did not want to risk her wrath.

Despite her usually demure demeanour, Narcissa had turned into a crazed harpy akin to her eldest sister while enraged.

He should have wed a Selwyn or a Fawley; their women were far more… soft and pliable despite lacking in looks in comparison.

Now, he was forced to rent this dingy room in Knockturn for the past week. Oh, all of his enemies would pay for their foolish daring. His bitch of a wife had already been struck from his will.

Nobody crossed a Malfoy and got away with it.

Nobody!

Not even his crazy hag of a wife!

The Potter whelp, Fudge, Narcissa, they would all pay in due time.

But first, he had to get rid of this bloody chilling curse.

After forking out an obscene amount of galleons, one of his less savoury contracts had managed to dig out a ritual, a simple way to transfer the curse, instead of risking backlash by dispelling it.

The Lover's Sacrifice.

His catty wife grew enraged halfway into his explanation, when he forced another meeting with her a few days ago. She had the gall to refuse to do her duty! But Lucius was not without options, and gold kept opening doors. If a willing wife would not do, a trio of unwilling muggle virgin maidens would make do.

The mere thought brought warmth into his loins before the cold banished it, making him scowl through his chattering teeth. He angrily glowered as his eyes gazed at the rolls of paper he had used as a headrest on the ground – Potter's face greeted him and made every fibre of his being vibrate with fury.

It could have been Dumbledore who cursed him that eve, but no, Lucius had been on guard around the old yet powerful warlock. No, the reason for his woes was definitely Potter.

Such a vile attack would not go unanswered!

Yet for now, on the front page of the Prophet, Ronald Weasley's pitiful funeral and his family's sombre faces capped with their ugly red hair brought a smidgeon of joy to his heart.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, June 9th. Morning.

"Gave up on the runs, eh?" Harry looked at Hermione, who had her heavy dark robes on, while carrying her school bag, filled with tomes and rolls of parchment.

"Honestly, Harry, running isn't too bad, but I want to review this year's material before we leave, and I have to speak with Professor McGonagall about my electives before noon. I'll join you again tomorrow."

With that, his friend ran out through the portrait, undoubtedly going to the library.

Harry moved his gaze towards Neville, who looked like he had been run over by a hippogriff. In fact, the chubby boy had barely managed to get out of bed earlier…

"I can't keep up anymore, Harry, sorry," Neville's head drooped tiredly. "Everything's sore, and I'm just too tired. Not all of us have your insane stamina."

"It's fine to rest every now and then," Harry shrugged carelessly. Truthfully, he'd probably be just as tired on his own without the almost endless surge of energy from his meals. "See you at lunch!"

Harry left Gryffindor Tower and headed to the Chamber. Although Neville appeared exhausted now, Harry was optimistic – the boy was already far better than the first day. Even his chubby face looked less round and more… defined, although it could have been the exhaustion.

To be honest, Harry was unsure why he cared so much about Neville's well-being. It was not like he was trying to replace Ron, nor would anyone be capable of fully replacing his friend. His thoughts strayed towards another fat noble underestimated by everyone and supposedly had a harsh family life. Samwell Tarly, however, was a craven at heart, who hid behind the first soft-hearted fool who showed even the tiniest hint of kindness and then guilt them into protecting him. Not only that, but he was unwilling to put in the hard work to better himself or work on his skill-at-arms, which had nothing to do with bravery.

Sam was just…lazy.

As his father once told him, It is only when you are scared that you can be brave. Yet, Samwell Tarly's greatest fear was being forced to do work.

Neville, on the other hand, while timid, was not a coward. He had a stout heart, and despite the difficulties he faced daily, he rarely asked others for help. He had pride and spine; Harry wanted to see how far a young man like him, one who was written off by his peers and family as a failure, could go with a bit of help and motivation.

Maybe it was just the leader in him, but Jon enjoyed pulling people up from the pits they found themselves in and seeing them rise to new heights. Still, it was a shame he would not have company for magic practice today.

A few minutes later, he finally found his way into the Chamber.

His eyes settled over the bleach-white bones remaining from the Basilisk that floated seamlessly in the air, with nothing to hold it below or above. The hide, gore, and guts were all gone now. Even the sludge, lichen, and moss were cleaned, and the enormous space didn't feel unpleasant for the first time; his loyal retainer's handiwork, no doubt.

"Morning, Dobby," his words echoed in the empty chamber.

The elf popped into existence with his colourful getup that he kept procuring from somewhere. Harry just hoped Dobby wasn't stealing them…

"Master Harry! Dobby was waiting for you to see the finished snake."

And the Basilisk was indeed butchered. The skeleton was suspended mid-air through the clever usage of a few charms, while the hide, organs and other parts were all packed away into one of the storage rooms of the Chamber.

"I can see that, Dobby." He had to bite his tongue not to overpraise him.

Harry found that praising the elf would usually backfire as it would somehow, in that weird brain of his, imply that Harry underestimated Dobby's abilities or did not think he would be capable of finishing the task.

The expectant look on the elf's face this time around had him change his mind.

"You did well, Dobby. As expected from my elf."

The tiny being jumped around in joy and glee. It would always amaze Harry how fanatical Dobby was in his devotion. Yet, he had to suppress a grimace at the memory of how that fanaticism nearly got him killed when Dobby was helping him.

"Alright, Dobby. You can go take a brea–or not." He changed his wording instantly at the elf's look of shock and betrayal. "Instead, how about you make me breakfast?"

Dobby's tennis ball-sized eyes grew wet with tears as the elf nodded his head rapidly, "Breakfast is ready, Master Harry Potter, Sir!"

"Oh, okay. Then err, how about err," Harry stumbled as he thought of something for the elf to do.

"Ah, the Chamber. It's still filthy in some of the vaults we discovered, and there are plenty of unexplored tunnels. Would you go–" The elf didn't let him finish before he popped away with an echoing, "Dobby shall do it, Harry Potter, Sir!"

Harry shook his head in exasperation. He doubted elves were supposed to be such workaholics. It might be best if he asked Leeney why Dobby was always so energetic. With a slow, controlled exhale, Harry began doing his warm-up.

.

.

.

Emotions… were a hard thing to emulate on demand. Intellectually, Harry was aware of this, but now that it was required in the spell, it finally sank in.

It was not a switch that you suddenly turned on like the lights in a house. No, it seemed the easiest way to bring up your emotions was through your memories.

He took a few moments, basking in the memory of his first Quidditch victory, trying to bring in the feeling of triumph, joy, and exhilaration.

"Expecto Patronum," his wand angrily jabbed forward, a turbid mist spilling from the tip.

Beads of sweat ran down his brow from his earlier heavy training and the strain of the magic. This had been the first spell to truly stump Harry ever since the fight with the Basilisk and gods, it was impossibly hard.

What was he doing wrong? He had figured out that it was not the memories that fuel the spell but rather the positive emotions that are associated with them that matter most. Even Dumbledore's words in the office confirmed it. Was the memory he used too weak? Too shallow?

Harry laid down on the ground and closed his eyes. He focused on the memory of his first Quidditch match and tried to examine it in full. His ears twitched, and he frowned in annoyance as his enhanced senses, even suppressed, forced him to hear everything in the Chamber. From a drop of water falling on the ground a hundred yards away to the sound of his beating heart.

He tried to focus again, but the memory just seemed to slip from his grasp. The harder he tried, the more distracted he became. Distraction led to frustration, which in turn led to mounting anger.

Harry was about to call it quits when a huff sounded from his mind, and suddenly, he felt like he was falling.

.

.

.

It was strange. One second, he was in the Chamber; the next, he was laid down in the Godswood of his mind with Ghost licking his face.

"Hey, boy." Harry fondly patted the direwolf's massive head, causing his tail to wag in excitement.

"I didn't know you could pull me from the waking world."

Ghost just nudged him with his nose, urging him to stand. Harry obliged, and the direwolf gently pushed him towards the heart tree.

"Okay, boy. I got you; you want me to use the tree instead of moping around in frustration?"

The white wolf nodded its head before giving him one final nudge and then curled up around the roots, looking at him expectantly.

Harry smiled fondly at his most loyal companion. That was the difference between the fanatical Dobby and the ever-reliable Ghost. The direwolf could never be replaced by anyone. Ghost's tail thumped once in agreement against the tree, and he wasn't surprised he could hear his thoughts.

He placed his hands on the tree, and the entire memory of his first Quidditch match replayed in his mind. Harry could see everything in extreme detail. Some things he already knew, such as Quirrell cursing his broom or how terrified he was when he thought he was going to fall to his death. Other things came to his attention, however, things he never noticed before. How nervous Katie was as it was also her first Quidditch match or how, of all the Slytherins, Pucey was the only one who played decently and fairly without goading or fouls.

However, none of that was relevant to his predicament as he let go of the heart tree and frowned. He moved to the pool, as it offered him more control over the memory, so to speak, and replayed it from different perspectives – which he had no idea how it was possible! He could view the memory as if he were a spectre and watched as his past self held onto his broom for dear life while in the crowds, Hermione set fire to Snape's robes. He laughed at the look of panic on Snape's face and how his knee-jerk reaction caused him to knee Quirrell in the back of the head. Voldemort must have felt that.

He slowed down the scene and rewound it, watching it multiple times, each time bursting out in laughing glee until the whole scene was ingrained in his mind.

Suddenly, it came to him. Harry had tried to cast the Patronus while thinking of the entire memory, yet the memory wasn't entirely happy for him. It was the first time he had truly feared for his life, not even the troll fight scared him as much, and that fear affected his concentration and caused his spell to fail.

He turned away from the pool and found his dearest companion standing right behind him. He didn't flinch; he could never be harmed in his mind, and he would never feel anything other than safety in the company of his direwolf.

Harry hugged his friend closely, "Thank you, Ghost. I don't know what I would have done without you."

The direwolf's eyes seemed to say 'lost or dead', and Harry chuckled as he patted him under the chin, giving him scratches in that place he loved, causing his tail to wag in happiness.

.

.

.

Harry woke up in the Chamber and checked his watch. Thankfully, he'd only been asleep for about forty minutes.

He didn't waste time, not wanting the part of the memory in his mind to vanish. Harry completely immersed himself in the scene of Snape on fire and Voldemort getting a knee to the face. The very idea of it easily filled him with malicious glee and happiness.

"Expecto Patronum," he jabbed his wand, and this time, a thin wisp of silver escaped from it and hovered like mist before him. It seemed to be trying to coalesce into something more corporeal. Something more…primal, but it ultimately failed and stabilised into a shield of energy.

Harry cut off the spell as he collapsed in exhaustion. He should have been happy, ecstatic even, at the spell's success, no matter how minor it was, but could only frown instead.

Why was he feeling so drained and empty inside? Why did he feel so…wrong?

He quickly retrieved his reference book and checked over the warnings of the spell. Harry was confident that he had sufficient power. He read over the warnings until he reached a line that made him halt.

It is imperative not to attempt the Patronus charm while using negative emotions as fuel. New users of the charm may misunderstand some emotions as being positive since it gives them a feeling of satisfaction. Such emotions can include, but not limited to, feeling happiness at another's misfortune.

Causing great bodily harm or misery to an enemy would fill your heart with fuel to dominate your adversaries, which is counterintuitive to what the charm is aimed for. While such emotions would be helpful in a fight, Dementors thrive on strife and suffering, and only the purest of joys could coalesce into a paragon against malignant misery-

With a sigh, Harry closed the book. That could have gone better. No glee or schadenfreude to fuel his Patronus then. That was enough practice for today, however, as he was starting to feel hungry.

He made his way to the smaller rooms where Dobby had left his breakfast in the rune-powered oven, keeping his meal warm. Harry ate the last bit of Basilisk's heart, a couple of pounds of the snake's regular flesh, followed by a slice of liver, a chunk of the kidney, and finished it all with the sweet yet sour grilled snake tongue. He suspected the tongue had traces of venom in it, which was even better as it gave him an extra kick. He washed it all down with brain broth and sighed in satisfaction.

He always felt so full of energy every time he had this morning meal. Unfortunately, Harry's supply of exotic thousand-year-old Basilisk ingredients was dwindling far too quickly for his taste.

When would the effects of the Huntsman Rebirth ritual bear fruit? While the boost in energy and stamina was nice, he expected…more. Yet, while Riddle's scattered memories provided plentiful details about the importance and the process of the ritual, the effects remained unknown to Harry.

Regardless, he still planned to follow through with it, even if it required him to eat the entire heart of the Basilisk and a certain amount of its flesh. Not that he was complaining, as the snake meat was truly the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.

Still, consuming the flesh of the beast was but the first and easiest step of the ritual. Harry still had other things to plan before his thirteenth birthday. There was still time, just under two months, but it would hopefully be enough to accomplish all the requirements on time.

He just worried that he might end up turning the rest of the Basilisk parts into some kind of edible munchies, which would altogether ruin his business deal with Reginald. He gave a light burp as he checked the time.

About time for his morning run.

A*L*S*M

Harry sprinted along the course he had set for himself. He had been keeping the runs until after he was done with the heavier exercises and magic practice to test his endurance and stamina. So far, he had not found a limit, which only meant he needed more training, although he mostly attributed that to the morning meal as he was usually quite knackered in the evenings.

That, or the ritual was messing up his limits, which was good…he thought.

He still wasn't certain.

So far, the past week of non-stop eating and training had done wonders for his physique. He had grown another inch or so, almost nearing the same height as Hermione, who was a year older than him. He could feel his body filling out with muscles; his limbs and bones strengthened beyond what a boy his age should. He wagered he could easily carry twice his weight, which had also increased considerably, yet it was all muscles and bones.

Harry had also taken up sword practice in the Chamber using a sword he errr…borrowed from one of the many suits of armour spread throughout the castle. Hopefully, he would be able to finish his long shopping list once he got the chance to go to Diagon Alley or that other place Shafiq mentioned.

On his last lap back, as he passed the Owlery, he heard loud voices filled with worry. He was about to warg into Hedwig to check what was wrong, only to remember that she was hundreds of miles south on an errand.

Pulling his trusty cloak, Harry sneakily approached the path to the Owlery and stood stock still on the edge of the path, where he found the source of the voices descending. He was surprised to find Luna Lovegood and a vaguely familiar girl. He wasn't aware Luna had returned to Hogwarts, and he wondered why she would bother returning for the last couple of days. They seemed to be arguing over something, and Harry couldn't help but listen in. He was about to turn away, but too late; he could hear them now.

"You can't just let them get away with this, Luna! And don't you dare tell me it was the Nargles who took your parchment rolls," A hint of frustration leaked into the worried voice. "Who was it?"

It was Astoria Greengrass, looking completely outraged. Her tiny body, combined with her mane of black hair styled in two sleek tails, made her look like an angry kitten.

"It's okay, Tori," Luna's reply was serene as if there was nothing wrong. "Maybe someone needed extra parchment for their homework."

Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding despite the blonde girl's uncaring tone.

Astoria had an incredulous look on her face, "What homework? Everything was cancelled last week, Luna!"

The blonde girl appeared lost for words, and Harry could smell the apprehension and helplessness coming from her.

"Okay, fine. Say someone is in need of some extra parchment," Astoria stopped in front of her friend, halting them a few feet from Harry. "Maybe the thieves really were desperate enough to rob quills, ink, and parchment from a first-year girl because maybe they were too poor or pathetic to make sure they had enough for school. BUT! There is no way they would nick your slippers, shoes, jewellery, and your mom's picture for any reason besides them being malicious arseholes!"

"Tori, Language!"

"Nu-uh, don't give me the language card this time, Luna. I need names, and I needed them yesterday! If you don't give me those names, then I'll – I…"

Astoria was clearly agitated, and Harry could see her face was flushed and her breathing was harsh. This wasn't normal, and he worried as the girl moved to lean on the cliff wall for support.

Luna looked distraught, her serene expression forgotten, as she held her friend's arm. "Tori, please! Calm down, it's not worth getting upset over some quill and parchment."

The girl's heaving became more ragged and hoarse and her white skin alternated from flush to pale at an unhealthy rate. Even so, her face had a stubborn twist to it, "Then tell me…"

Her voice was getting weaker, and she collapsed on the ground making Luna visibly panic. "Astoria!"

Before Harry's brain could process what was even going on, his cloak was already stuffed in his pocket and he was by the fallen girl, making Luna leap in surprise.

"Harry Potter! Where did you come from?"

"Doesn't matter, excuse me."

He gently grabbed the sickly girl and dashed towards the Hospital Wing as quickly as his legs could carry him. The girl was tiny and much lighter than he expected – he would be able to easily lift her weight in one arm. Harry could feel her temperature rising and falling haphazardly.

Luna struggled to keep up with him as he breezed down the dirt path back to the clock-tower courtyard, and for a second, Harry entertained the idea of using one of the many secret parsel-passages he discovered. He discarded that impulse as quickly as it came and continued running to the castle proper, up the stairs to the first floor.

As they hurried through the halls, he heard footsteps from a corner near the hospital, and, not wanting to waste time stopping or answering inane questions, he shouted, "Watch out!"

He turned the corner only to crash into a figure in black robes who fell to the ground with a loud crack. Harry barely acknowledged the cursing from the collapsed figure, muttered a quick, "Sorry," while continuing his dash towards the Hospital Wing.

Harry approached another corner, dodging students and even jumping over Mrs Norris at one point, the girl in his arms feeling worryingly faint.

The hospital wing was just ahead.

A*L*S*M

About twenty minutes earlier.

"Ugh, Poppyyyy, please do something. My tummy is killing me."

Madame Pomfrey gave her a scathing look over the cauldron of boiling potion before returning to whatever was wrong with Abbott and Bones.

Daphne Greengrass was not having a good day. To be more precise, she could have been having a great day, but instead of going for breakfast in the Great Hall like any witch with two brain cells to rub together, she was goaded into a challenge; she never says no to a challenge. Especially when sweets were at stake.

As she laid on one of the hospital beds in apparent agony, however, she regretted taking on that dare.

"That's what you get for not knowing when to retreat with dignity, Daph."

"Et Tu, Tracey? Are we not sisters? Did we not swear oaths of eternal friendship over cups of cocoa?"

Tracey Davis flicked a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear as she browsed the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Sitting on a chair next to her bed, all prim and graceful like a proper pureblood witch, her sharp green eyes glanced at her in amusement before returning to the paper.

"To be fair, Greengrass. You were the one who accepted Pansy's challenge on who could devour the most sweets. No one forced you to finish that entire tray of Chocolate Cauldrons even when Pansy collapsed in defeat after eating only four of them."

Daphne turned her head to the next bed over where Millicent Bulstrode was helping her last dorm mate puke her guts out.

A shaky grin appeared on her face.

"Yeah…Not my finest moment, Millie. But, I am victorious!" Daphne arrogantly tilted her chin towards the sky for a moment, before looking down at the other bedridden girl with a measure of concern. "You alive there, Parkinson?"

Pansy glared murderously from the top of the bucket. "Y-you're a c-complete slob, Greengrass. Who would eat chocolate so early in the morning? It's your fault that I'm here," her voice heightened another pitch, "who in their right mind would even accept that challenge?"

Daphne's grin turned wicked, all signs of pain and discomfort forgotten, as if they were never there. "What's wrong, Parkinson? You aren't going Pansy on me, are you? Couldn't live up to the challenge you made in the first place?"

Pansy's green face got a red tinge of anger, "Ugh, so vulgar. How could a pureblood heiress speak like–"

Whatever Pansy was going to say was interrupted by her face turning a green so vivid it would make Salazar Slytherin proud, though he would probably gag as she dived back into the bucket.

Tracey glanced at the scene in contemplation as if she found the act of her classmate vomiting to be more than mildly interesting. She gave a curious look at Daphne before a slight smile grew on her face.

"You know, It doesn't make sense that her vomit would be green. Did you eat anything aside from chocolate, Parkinson?"

Pansy slightly recovered and took deep gulps of air, "You were there, Davis. You saw that we ate nothing but Chocolate Cauldrons, both of us. No, wait." Pansy hesitated as she saw Daphne's grin getting impossibly wide. "You cheater! You did something to the Cauldrons."

"HA! What proof do you have, Parkinson? We both ate from the same platter. In fact, you were the one who got the Cauldrons yourself. Are you sure you didn't mix something in them beforehand? By the way, that tea you made was delicious, Millie. Thank you for that, it certainly helped with my digestion."

Millicent Bulstrode sighed, unknowingly confirming for Daphne the last suspicion she had of the girl's involvement. Between the four of them, Millie was usually the neutral party to whatever spat Daphne and Pansy came up with every few days to establish who was the top bitch in their Slytherin year. Considering there were only four of them and the nature of her and Tracey's relationship, those spats always felt redundant as there was a clear divide regardless, causing Millie to side with Pansy.

Especially as Daphne simply couldn't be bothered to take them seriously, with how lazy she was.

She was a hedonistic slacker and proud of it.

"I guess you found out about the antidote in the tea. How did you even switch the cups?"

Daphne jumped from her bed and stood straight, fit as a fiddle. Tracey did not even blink, having figured out it was a ruse earlier, while Pansy was shaking in so much rage at being bamboozled that she almost forgot she was sick.

Almost.

"Now, that would be telling. You sure you're alright there, Parkinson?" Daphne strolled to Pansy's bed as she enjoyed the pained look of her rival. "You're shaking so much, you might have caught that muggle disease. What was it called?" The mischievous girl placed a finger on her chin as if in deep thought before snapping it with a smile. "Ah yes, Parkinson's."

The silence in the Hospital Wing was deafening. All occupants glared at Daphne in disbelief at the lame pun.

Except for the target of said pun. Pansy groaned in rage before heaving over her bucket once more while Millicent rubbed her back soothingly.

It was Madame Pomfrey, of all people, who interjected with a shake of her head. "I'm sorry, Ms Greengrass, but that was bad even for you."

A look of betrayal struck Daphne's face, "Poppy, how could you? Besides, it worked! Look at her, she is in absolute agony from the pun, and you know she deserves it."

The school nurse sighed as she looked at Pansy, who tried to look pitiful and pleading, only to flinch at the matron's hard look. "And hopefully, she should learn never to spike sweets with a Flatulence Potion as the reaction of the cacao and sugar with the potion causes it to corrupt its effects, as you can all see. Even its normal counter potion is useless, as I'm sure you have discovered, Ms Parkinson."

Pansy looked chastised enough that Poppy took pity on her and bid her drink the special potion she had prepared. Within seconds of drinking it, the girl's face regained its healthy colour, albeit with a dusting of pink from shame.

"Now I know my advice will probably be forgotten by next semester, but take it from a former Slytherin like me. Don't let your petty squabbles and hierarchy shenanigans get in the way of making friends, building connections, especially in the other houses, and doing well on your schoolwork. And for Morgana's sake, read your potions books! I swear, this is a simple First Year potion that you brewed well enough, Ms Parkinson. How could you not know of its side effects? What is Severus teaching you in class?"

"Not enough, it seems." A smooth and husky voice sounded out from across the room, "My brothers complained about how strict and terrible of a teacher he was. They had to get tutors for their NEWTs because he wouldn't accept any grade below Outstanding for his class."

They turned to Susan Bones, who stood next to her friend Hannah Abbott. Daphne wasn't sure what was wrong with the blonde, but she was already there when they arrived an hour ago. She huffed at the reminder of their head of house.

"Yeah, yeah. Professor Snape is the worst teacher in school. Like we don't know that already, considering we have to deal with him on a daily basis. The boys might accept him, heck, even like him for some reason, but us Slytherin girls have always had issues with his greasiness. It's why we come to you with our problems, Poppy. Why don't you become head of house instead?"

"And be responsible for the whole lot of you instead of just the girls? I think not."

"Shame."

Madame Pomfrey approached her and spoke in a quiet tone, "Your sister has missed her checkup for the third consecutive week. Didn't you talk to her about this?"

Daphne frowned, "I did talk to her last week. Don't worry, Poppy. I will drag her here later today if I have to. It seems I've been too lax with her."

Poppy nodded before walking to Pansy's bed and ushered her out. "If you're feeling better, you may leave now. Perhaps some reading on your potions is in order, Ms Parkinson?"

Pansy didn't argue and dragged Millie with her out of the room, but not before throwing Daphne a scathing glance.

"You will get your due one of these days, Greengrass!"

Tracey sighed at the now empty door.

"Could she be more repetitive? How many times has she said that line to you now, Daph?"

Daphne stretched and yawned as she seriously thought about it. "I lost count after twenty. Anyway, anything interesting in the Prophet?"

"Just the one thing," Tracey flicked the paper to the second page where a large image took half the page. Daphne could see the Weasleys, Dumbledore and many others. She also spied Potter, Granger, and even Tori's quirky friend Luna standing despondent in front of an open coffin–

"Oh…Weasley's funeral."

The self-proclaimed hedonist could not claim to have known the youngest Weasley boy, but it was still saddening that a fellow student was killed by their professor. It could have happened to any one of them really, and the fact the boy died trying to save his sister was admirable. If someone had ever dared kidnap her Astoria, then the world would burn before she would let them get away with it.

"Yes, although it is strange that the article came a week after the instance, and still provided no concise information but a lot of baseless speculation. No students or teachers were asked to give statements, instead, there was a ministry official guest hijacking the article over the security of Hogwarts and how the ministry should be more involved in the school." Tracey frowned as she pointed towards the image itself, "Then there's the mystery of the missing photographer. The Daily Prophet always credits who provide them their pictures and pays them handsomely to encourage more providers. Not this time it seems."

"Can't tell what's so strange about the matter," Daphne hummed in thought. "Potter saved the Weasley girl, probably even killed Lockhart for killing his best friend."

"That's not what I was getting to," Tracey sighed. "Do you think the Weasleys would allow someone to take such a photo? Whoever took it must have sneaked in and did not want to bring attention to themselves or else risk retaliation from them."

"I see, good catch, girl." Daphne grinned at her friend. As expected from one of the top students of their year, she's so smart and intuitive.

A pained moan from across the room caught her attention and she twirled in place to stand next to Susan and Hannah, "And what happened to you, Abbott?"

Hannah was struggling to put on her shirt, and Daphne could see some gauze along her arms.

"Potion accident."

She raised an eyebrow and turned to Susan, whom she noticed had a potion kit with her. Daphne was tall for her age, but Susan was even taller. What the heck do they feed them Bonesies? The girl could pass for a fourth or even a fifth year with how…developed her body was.

Calm down, Daphne. Your time to shine shall come, hopefully before the fourth year.

Regardless, disregarding her height and assets, she had always wondered how much like blood her hair looked, especially since the rest of her family were blondes… aside from her scary aunt.

The crimson-haired teen shrugged, "Exams might be cancelled, but classes are still open for those who want to attend. Since potions are one of our weakest subjects, we attended class with Professor Snape earlier, hoping it would help us revise. He simply told us to brew anything from the first or second-year curriculums with the provided ingredients, promising to check the result at the end. So we decided to brew a Babbling Beverage for a…friend."

Daphne smirked knowingly, and the other girl gave a slight smile in return, both of their gazes shining in mischief. Madame Pomfrey, who had just cleaned up after her earlier brewing, sighed and left for her office. It wasn't unusual for them to spend some time with her every once in a while, and Poppy knew she could trust them not to make a mess. The one time they made one, they had all suffered her displeasure and let's just say they had thoroughly learned their lesson.

"Let me guess, Professor Snape happened?"

Susan rolled her blue eyes as she helped dress Hannah. "The ingredients we used turned out to be mislabelled. It caused an accident, and when we told him, he docked ten points from Hufflepuff for not being able to differentiate Valerian root from Valyrian root, even if it was his fault for mislabelling them. Then another ten points for wasting his time and ingredients."

Tracey rolled her paper and joined them around Hannah's bed. "I assume it caused an explosion? Both roots look remarkably similar, but Valyrian root is volatile and fire-aligned compared to the more common and earth-aligned Valerian root."

The Hufflepuff nodded. "Indeed. The cauldron exploded, and the shrapnel, as well as the boiling potion, injured Hannah's arms. I was lucky to have been preparing other ingredients at the time. As expected from one of the best potioneers in our year, you know your stuff, Davis."

Tracey smiled shyly while Daphne elbowed her lightly, her smirk ever present. "Hear that, Trace? Even other houses acknowledge your greatness."

"I'm still not as good as Granger, but thank you for the compliment."

Hannah gave a light snort and giggled, "Don't sell yourself short, Tracey. No one is as good as Granger. That girl is a freak of nature."

Daphne was about to comment about how freaky she must be to put up with Potter's adventures when they all heard hurried footsteps outside the door before it was kicked open, and Harry Potter, of all people, rushed in carrying–

No!

All amusement and humour instantly vanished from Daphne's face to be replaced with horror. Her sister was in Potter's arms, breathing heavily, face alternating between pale and red, while her body shivered as if entering a seizure. Memories of the last time Astoria had suffered a similar episode flooded her mind, and it was as if all her hidden fears and nightmares had suddenly come true as she froze in place at the sight.

She barely noticed Astoria's friend Luna rushing in behind them as she and Potter stared at each other for exactly two seconds before he opened his mouth.

"POPPY!

Tracey was the one to shout for the Matron, who immediately appeared from her office, probably having heard the doors bang open. She took one look at her sister before waving her wand at one of the beds, where two crystal vials of blood flew in from a cabinet and froze mid-air over the bed.

"In here, Potter."

Harry Potter didn't hesitate as he quickly but carefully, deposited her sister on the bed, and it was only then that Daphne found the energy to move.

"Astoria!"

She rushed to the bed only for Poppy to wave her wand and a pearlescent shield to spring up before her for a moment before dissipating.

"Control yourself, Ms Greengrass. I don't want any contamination to enter your sister's system. Potter, stay close, I might need your help. Ms Davis, seal the doors and have any visitor wait outside. I do not want any distractions. Unless someone is dying out there, no one bothers me."

Daphne froze in place as everything around her descended into organised chaos. Tracey went straight to the doors to seal them while Susan and Hannah helped her. Potter sat down on the nearby bed and closed his eyes as his brow scrunched up in concentration. Poppy had removed Astoria's robes, leaving her in her pygmy puff-themed underwear and quickly formed a small incisor in her arm over one of her veins.

Not wanting to watch further, she turned to the girl beside her, "What happened, Luna?"

"I don't know!" The girl looked distraught, her usual dreamy and airheaded mask gone. "We were arguing about something stupid near the owlery, and Tori got upset, then all of a sudden, she was breathing heavily and shaking. Harry appeared out of nowhere and carried her here." The girl started sobbing, "I'm sorry! It's all my fault. If I didn't want to avoid trouble and just told her who was stealing my stuff, then none of this would have happened."

Daphne bit her lips as she listened to the girl, "It's not your fault, Luna. It's mine for being lax with her health."

She turned back to the bed to stare at Poppy, focusing intently as she pointed her wand at one of the blood vials. The blood flowed from the vial's mouth and swirled lazily in the air before going through the incision to Astoria's vein. Daphne could recognise some sort of diagnosis spell but had no idea what it did, yet it held Poppy's whole attention.

"This might not be my place to ask, but what's going on?"

Daphne turned at Susan's voice to find that the rest of the girls had joined her and stared at Poppy's work.

Tracey looked hesitant, but Daphne figured it was too late to hide things now. "I would appreciate it if this doesn't leave this room. My sister would like to have a normal school life."

"Of course, Greengrass."

She sighed as Poppy drained the first blood vial and opened the other.

"Astoria has a…disease. It made her frail and weak growing up and has been causing her to enter episodes where she severely lacks blood. The…disease makes her blood boil and burn, which gives her a high fever, while the lack of blood makes her weak and cold. Blood replenishers have turned out useless." Daphne's words turned into a frustrated hiss as she started tapping her foot. "There is no cure to the disease, only preventive measures. Measures that, sadly, my sister seems to have been neglecting. The only way to fight an episode is through a method a muggle-born healer devised. He calls it a blood transfusion, which Poppy is doing now."

The surrounding girls listened intently, with Hannah lending a handkerchief to Luna to wipe her tears and blow her nose.

"So that's why," Luna had stopped crying and stared at her friend. "Is it normal for her to have episodes like that?"

Daphne shook her head. "No. The last time she had one was about three years ago."

A sombre silence followed her words as they watched Madame Pomfrey drain the last of the blood vial into Astoria's veins. The matron frowned as she waved her wand at the sleeping girl before motioning for Daphne to approach. She hurried over, Tracey joining her silently.

"She's out of danger for the moment, but she is severely anaemic. The stupid girl hated the potion regiment I put her through in order to extract her blood in case of an emergency. Those two vials were the fruits of the whole year."

They noticed Potter had not moved from next to the bed, a stoic look on his face. Frankly, while she was grateful for his help, she didn't want him to hear her family's secrets.

"Thank you for helping my sister, Potter. Might I ask you to give us some room?"

The shorter boy nodded and was about to move when loud cursing from outside, followed by banging on the door, interrupted them.

"Potter! I know you are in there – open this bloody door immediately!"

Here's how I envision Daphne to look like. Note that she would 13 in this image, so naturally should have a gangly look to her as she finishes maturing. Don't forget any possible magical shenanigans that come with growing up

Chapter Text

Harry frowned when he realised the voice belonged to his least favourite teacher. What did he want? He could see all the occupants of the room looked confused, while the girls near the door had flinched away from the relentless banging.

“Pomfrey, open this door at once! ”

The school matron looked stormy. She waved her wand at the door, which burst open, allowing the greasy bat himself in. He had a wild look in his eyes as he searched the room until they fell on him. 

“What is the meaning of this, Severus? This is the hospital wing! I have patients here–”

Snape ignored her and glared balefully at him. Harry gazed back evenly, wondering what in the seven hells crawled up the man’s ass and died. A handful of wooden splinters that suspiciously looked like the remnants of a wand were grasped by a fist so tightly that the knuckles had gone white…

Oh. 

Ever since the debacle in the Chamber, Harry had tried his best to thoroughly ignore the existence of Severus Snape. While Harry hated the git, he was also wary of him. Jon, however, had learned the hard way that people like Snape, who were openly antagonistic and wished him harm, needed to be dealt with swiftly and decisively if he ever wanted a moment of peace. He was unsure if he would be able to endure any of his usual behaviour without stabbing the fool with the basilisk fang that even now was sheathed on his belt.

Nevertheless, Harry reigned in his wariness - it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out. There must have been a reason why he was so apoplectic, and Harry had a bad feeling as his eyes traced the broken wand in the man’s hand.

“How may I help you, professor?”

The question seemed to incense Snape even more, the usual control over his emotions was non-existent. Harry could feel the rage emanating from the man had reached a boiling point, and his question had seemingly been the last straw.

“Help me? You bloody brat crashed into me, running like a lunatic in the halls. Look at what you did to h- my wand!.”

The man was spitting mad as he waved the remains of the wand, the core of what looked like a unicorn’s tail hair.

“I apologise for the harm and inconvenience, Professor Snape.” He inclined his head slightly, much to the shock of the man, there was no reason to cry crow when he was in the wrong. “I had to carry Astoria here for an emergency. I am, of course, more than willing to reimburse you for the broken wand.”

Susan, Hannah, and Luna looked on from the sidelines. Hannah and Luna had worried looks as they stared at the angry professor. Curiously, Susan looked annoyed at the man, and Harry could sense a heavy amount of hostility from her.

Tracey and Daphne approached from Astoria’s bed to stand by his side, feeling uneasy.

“It’s true, Professor Snape. My sister is very ill, and Potter’s timely assistance prevented her from a lengthy stay in Saint Mungos. House Greengrass is willing to pitch in to cover the costs.”

Daphne rationally appealed to the man’s position as professor while subtly leveraging her name. Unfortunately, the potion’s master seemed unmoved by the words.

“I don’t care if he had to save the bloody minister from a boggart! Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention for the rest of the year, Potter. And I mean the rest of the year. ” He growled out, “Do you think my wand is so easily replaced?”

“But, professor,” Tracey protested. “Surely, Potter should be rewarded, not punished, for saving someone’s life?”

“Indeed, if everyone has to worry about reprisal for doing a good deed, then should we pretend not to see those suffering around us?” Susan’s biting tone was full of disdain, “And to be fair, the only way he could have broken your wand was if you had it out while in the hallway. It's against school rules to walk the hallways with our wands out, as you would want to remind us, professor.” The girl's lips curled into a sneer. “Don’t you have a wand holster to keep it protected at all times?”

Slytherin’s head of house was taken aback by the daring cheek coming from the girl and loomed menacingly over her. “I heard an imbecile screaming like a lunatic in the hallways. Of course, I had my wand out to defend myself!” 

Susan stood there, ramrod straight, undaunted by the man looming over her, “Did you not think that someone shouting in the hallways near the hospital wing could, perhaps, have a reason? I guess my aunt was right about you, it was always you first before anyone else, wasn’t it?”

Harry whistled inwardly. That girl had a lot of spine and wit with an acerbic tongue that could ruffle a duck's tail, let alone a bat's. 

Snape’s nose flared as he glared at the daring Hufflepuff, although Harry could detect a hint of wariness at the mention of her aunt. “How dare you? Fifty points from Hufflepuff!” Susan had a retort on her tongue, but the man didn’t let up, “Would you like to join Potter in detention as well, Ms Bones?”

The sheer vindictive spite he could feel from the man caused Harry’s eyebrows to rise, more so when his name was spat out with such venom. It amused him more than anything; although the supporting words of the girls were touching, there was no need for them to take on more heat from a man like Snape. Then again, he could feel that Bones also had nothing but hostility for the man, and he doubted it was from this morning’s potions class.

“I’ve heard enough of this farce.” The school matron stepped in, seemingly fed up. “Mr Potter has already apologised to you and promised to reimburse you for your wand. This matter should be closed here and now without any further retaliations.” Poppy’s tone softened a tad bit, “I understand the bond a wizard would have with his wand, but it was also your fault for waving it around a corner of the hallway.” 

Snape’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing as Madame Pomfrey moved to stand beside Harry. 

“If you insist on being petty about this, Severus, I will be forced to intervene.” The words were cold and annoyed, “I’m sure Minerva will countermand any of your punishments due to the circumstances. I suggest you control your emotions – this is highly unbecoming of a professor.”

The words finally seemed to reach the Potion master’s head, making him squint his eyes angrily. He looked around the room and glowered at the sight of so many students watching on with interest. Susan still looked mutinous, and Hannah tried to calm her down. Luna was trying to melt into the background while Tracey and Daphne looked at their head of house with unreadable expressions, but Harry felt their distaste , so heavy it was tangible.

The potions master took several deep breaths, and Harry could practically see his towering fury and grief evaporate into nothingness behind his usual cold and stoic mask of apathy as Snape schooled his face. He could begrudgingly respect the ability to control one’s emotions to such a degree, even if Snape still oozed hatred and rage when he looked at him. As the man looked at his broken wand one last time, and Harry felt something, a faint sliver he could not identify, break through that perfect mask… wait, was it sadness? It honestly took him aback, but then again, Harry was pretty sure he too would be angry and sad if someone broke his wand.

“Very well,” The words came out like venom through gritted teeth. “200 Galleons to be at my desk before the end of the day.”

The black-clad man turned around, his dark robes billowing behind him, and Harry couldn’t help but gawk at the sheer audacity of the man.

“200? But Professor, it only costs 49 Galleons for a new wand.”

Harry turned to Hannah, confused. Didn’t it only cost him seven Galleons when he bought his wand?

“The first wand you buy from Ollivander’s is sponsored by the ministry. Return purchases are seven times as expensive.” Tracey whispered quickly, and Harry realised he mumbled that last thought aloud. He nodded in thanks even as Snape stopped by the door and smirked at Hannah.

“Didn’t your friend chastise me for the lack of protection for my wand? Well then, I will be in need of a wand holster.” He turned his smirk to Harry, “I’m sure you won’t have a problem with that, Potter.”

Harry stared back at Snape impassively, but he was scowling inwardly. The audacity of the man, to fleece a poor orphan like him. 

“Of course, he won’t have a problem, as I will be covering the entire cost. Harry Potter has done a great service to the House of Greengrass, and we never forget our debts.” 

The cold voice of Daphne Greengrass sounded out from behind him as she held her sister’s hand. 

Snape’s smirk turned into a sneer, “I care not. 200 Galleons, by the end of the day, on my desk.” 

He turned away and left the hospital wing, cradling his wand like a lost lover.

“Well, I never!”

Poppy was not amused, not one bit, as she glared at the doors with her arms on her hips.

Susan approached him hesitantly, followed by Hannah. “I’m sorry I goaded him into punishing you further, Harry.”

“He would have done it regardless. At least it was interesting to watch him lose his composure for once. I take it you have a history with him?”

The tall crimson witch smiled wanly, “Sort of. A story for another day. In the meantime,” She turned to her fidgeting friend, “Hannah? Don’t you have something to say to Harry?”

Harry gazed at the slightly pudgy blonde witch. From his memory, Hannah was one of the many that  usually stared at him with apprehension during breakfast. Remembering how she had agreed with Ernie over the suspicions of him being the Heir of Slytherin, he raised an eyebrow at her with a blank face.

“I apologise for doubting you, Harry.”

“Whatever for?” He had some idea, of course, but he would rather let her say her piece.

“For believing you were the Heir of Slytherin. I know it's a bit late to seek amends, but I was wrong. I wish for your forgiveness and the chance to redeem myself.” 

Harry sighed inwardly as the girl gave a proper curtsey and awaited his response. He could feel the rest of the occupants of the room staring at him in trepidation. This was it; this was their chance to finally gauge Harry Potter. Would he scorn a girl for a childish mistake? One which he honestly never truly took offence to? He remembered how she tried to defend him when Macmillan accused him of being a secret dark lord. It was his fault for childishly clashing with them like that in the library, and that’s probably why Hannah stood by her friends. 

Hufflepuff Loyalty …He could respect that.

Still, that did not mean he would not take advantage of this situation. If he recalled correctly, wizarding genealogy had interesting things to say about the Abbots, specifically about a certain tavern owner named Tom.

“I accept your apology, Hannah. Let this be a lesson for both of us to not judge someone too hastily through rumours alone and to not lash out at people for speaking their opinion.”

He added the last bit to lessen the bite in his words, but the girl didn’t mind as she brightened up and smiled at her crimson-haired friend. They were about to speak further, but the school matron interrupted again.

“If we are done here, I need anyone unrelated to the younger Greengrass to leave.”

Susan and Hannah nodded and gave a quick farewell and well wishes to Daphne and Tracey before leaving. 

Luna looked lost, and Harry took pity on her. 

“Come, Luna. Let’s see what we could do about your stuff.”

“No need, I need you to stay, Harry. This will concern you. Ms Lovegood, you can wait for Mr Potter outside. This won’t take long.”

Luna nodded hesitantly before she went into the hallway.

“Why does Potter need to stay, Poppy?” Daphne asked, not unkindly.

“I’m getting to that.” Pomfrey turned to the boy, “Mr Potter. Do you recall what we discussed regarding your blood?”

He slowly nodded, a thoughtful look coming over his face. “I might have an idea of where this is going.”

Poppy gave a light smile, “You’re a smart boy. Would you be willing to donate some of your blood to help a sweet yet reckless child?”

Daphne looked alarmed, “Wait, what? Poppy, you can’t! Didn’t Healer Tonks explain that Astoria has a rare blood type? Combined with her curse, her blood rejects all other blood except her own.”

Harry looked at her thoughtfully, “I thought you said it was a disease?”

She clammed up at her slip and looked pleadingly at her friend Tracey, who had a pensive look on her face, her green eyes narrowing. “Susan and Hannah are friendly, but we don’t trust them enough to tell them the entire truth.”

“And you trust me?” He raised his eyebrow.

“You saved her life,” Tracey smiled gently. “And you got in trouble with Professor Snape because of that, yet you do not hold ill will to us for it.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t.” Harry grinned at the blonde girl, “Snape’s a piece of work. I’d be glad to stand in his way any day of the week for a pretty girl’s smile.”

Tracey’s smile turned into a giggle, “Flatterer. No one ever said that flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Oh, get a room, you two,” Daphne huffed, yet Harry could see a small grin forming on her lips. “Besides, Poppy clearly believes you will be of help here.”

“Indeed.” Davis coughed and adopted a serious expression, “Long story short, it's a blood curse passed down generations of female Greengrasses. It's quite rare for it to actually surface, but when it does, this is the result.” She gazed sadly at the sleeping girl.

He squinted his eyes, “How do you know all of this? You aren’t a Greengrass, as far as I know, at least. Not that I know much, if at all, about either of you.” A smirk appeared on his face, “Aside from the horror stories of slimy snakes eating babies in the dungeons of Hogwarts.”

Despite her previous alarm, Harry could feel amusement from Daphne as she giggled at him, taking his joke in stride. She hooked her arm through Tracey’s elbow, whose gentle smile returned, and hugged her sideways.

“Tell me, Harry. Has anyone ever said you have lovely green eyes?” Despite speaking to him, Daphne pointed to Tracey’s eyes for emphasis.

The sudden compliment took him aback, and he stared at them confused, “What are you…” 

His eyes darted between the two girls, Harry inspected them closely with a frown as if seeing them for the first time. They had the same large upturned eyes, almost cat-like, with a shade of dark green that reminded him of the colour of grass after rainfall. They were both the same height, which, to Harry’s chagrin, was slightly taller than him. The same general facial structure, with the high cheekbones, full and well-defined lips, straight noses, as well as the same fair-skinned tone. The only difference Harry could see in both girls was the black hair of Daphne’s and the golden blonde of Tracey’s, as well as the cute mole under her left eye. The girls were so similar they could have been twins–

“You’re sisters, aren’t you?”

They both gave him identical cheshire grins, showing off two sets of perfectly straight white teeth that would have made the average British muggle green with envy.

“Correct. Tracey is my half-sister. To keep a long story short, my parents are old and had me late in life due to some… circumstances.” 

Tracey tightened her hands around her sister's waist, “Mom is muggle-born and became an apprentice to Daphne's mom for a time.”

Daphne continued, and Harry was reminded of the Weasley twins' habit of speaking in turns. “One thing led to another, and she became my parents’ lover, and yes, I mean both of them. One of the best decisions my parents ever made as they gave me the bestest ever friend any witch could ask for.”

Tracey turned to her sister, and Harry could feel the pure joy and love that emanated from them both. It made him nostalgic as he remembered his half-siblings. He didn’t care about the three-way relationship their parents had, as it was nothing strange compared to the Dornish or the Wildlings. 

“I’m surprised you’re taking this all in stride, Potter.” Tracey gave him a sly smile, “It’s not like it was a secret or anything, but we don’t advertise it to the rest of the school. Although we probably shouldn’t take your reaction as the regular one we could expect from the rest of the students.”

Harry waved his hand in dismissal, “It’s not my concern who beds who.”

“How touching,” They all jumped slightly at Poppy’s voice, having forgotten about her. The older witch had a talent to seemingly disappear from their senses, even his. “Now, if you are all done, you can continue this conversation later. Potter, will you agree to aid the young missus?”

He raised an eyebrow, “And what makes you so confident I would be able to help her, Poppy?”

The school matron looked pointedly at the newly revealed sisters, “Are you sure you want me to disclose your medical records in front of them?”

“A bit too late for that, eh Poppy?” He snorted, “Besides, they already told me their secrets. Still, I hate leaving things half-done. I already helped the girl, might as well see it through to the end. If it's just a sample for now, then I do not mind.”

“Wow, you really are a helpful soul, aren’t you, Potter?”

“Now, now, Daphne .” Harry grinned, “I’m pretty sure we are well-acquainted enough to skip such courtesies.”

“How presumptive of you, Harry, ” Daphne nudged her sister, “I’m sure Tracey doesn’t mind either, right?”

The blonde girl gave a huff of amusement, “Like Harry said, it is too late for us to pretend to be strangers. Now, Poppy? Would you mind explaining why you believe Harry’s blood could help Astoria?”

It was Poppy’s turn to look questioningly at him, and he nodded with a shrug.

“You can get the full details from him later, but after Mr Potter’s ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets, his blood had gained restorative properties. Nothing crazy,” she added hastily. “I will require further studies to see if it will be of any aid. His blood type is the same as Astoria’s, so there is a chance that transfusion might work, but some tests need to be run first.” 

Astoria’s sisters nodded and looked questioningly at him. 

“Is her situation that desperate?”

Tracey gazed at her sister sadly, “It is. Astoria’s curse won’t allow her to live long. It would be a miracle if she reaches twenty, and that’s without all the extra care we provide for her, at which point she would be lucky to reach thirty. If there’s the slightest glimmer of hope, then we will take it.”

“We will definitely make it worth your while.” Daphne added with a nod, “If this works, and you are somehow capable of helping my sister long-term, then you will have our eternal gratitude and the aid of House Greengrass in perpetuity. As Heiress Greengrass, I have access to plenty of gold and resources. We will provide anything you need, and I’m sure our parents would gladly offer the same.” 

“I’ll help you with school or spell work if you like,” the blonde sister interjected weakly, “I might not be as smart as Granger, but I am still no slouch.”

Daphne squeezed her hands awkwardly, and Harry felt worry coming from the normally confident and vivacious girl. Gaining access to the Greengrass resources would be a windfall for him, considering what he read about them. They were renowned for their enchanters and the rune smiths they kept at their employ, not to mention the lord and lady’s prowess in the arts. It was no wonder Lord Greengrass took a paramour, and no one dared to judge him for it.

Nevertheless, this was his blood they were asking for. If there was ever a more powerful reagent for magic, it would be blood, especially his, as the Red Witch’s words reverberated in his mind. If there was power in King's blood, then what kind of power would be in a wizard’s?

“What guarantees can you offer me that you will not misuse my blood?”

“I can promise you, Mr Potter, that only I will have access to your blood. I will not use your blood for anything you do not know unless I have your explicit approval. If the testing shows results, you can always be present whenever I am transfusing the blood, just to be sure that none of it would be misplaced. Yet your concerns about the matter are understandable. I am willing to swear a vow if need be, and I am certain they will also be willing to do so.”

The sisters nodded empathically at the matron’s confident words. Pomfrey was simply being her professional self, but Daphne and Tracey truly cared about their younger sister. 

A small part of Harry, a tiny one really, from Jon to be more precise, thought it would be better to let nature run its course. Astoria was clearly not fated to live long; why swim against the current? That part was ruthlessly squashed by Harry, however. There was nothing wrong with striving to do your best to save your loved ones. So what if it went against nature? This was a world of magic; they lived and breathed the unnatural .

He presented his left arm to Poppy, “You are already bound by the healer’s vow, Poppy, yet I will appreciate another one if you are offering. As for you two, we will discuss more once we know that my blood works. I’m not altruistic enough to give away my blood for free.”

The sisters grinned happily, while the school nurse extracted enough of his blood to fill a small vial. After a hesitant moment, she asked to extract a similar vial from his right arm, and he easily obliged.

The matronly woman then swore a vow of secrecy to him, and Harry nodded graciously. He was sure there were other ways to formalise such vows, but a verbal one was enough for him. His enhanced senses allowed him to ascertain that Poppy Pomfrey was genuine, and even Ghost agreed in his mind that she was trustworthy.

“This will do.” Poppy summoned a rune-encrusted table and placed the vials on them, “It won’t take long to find out whether you’re compatible. Come back in an hour or two; Astoria shall stay here until she recovers her strength. Meanwhile, perhaps you should check on Ms Lovegood?”

“Cheers, Poppy.” Daphne dragged him and Tracey outside the hospital to find the young Ravenclaw leaning on the wall, seemingly lost in thought.

“Luna, it’s good you waited for us.” Harry called out to the girl, who nodded shyly, “I’m not sure if you know them, but these are Daphne–”

“We’ve met several times.” Luna’s gentle voice interrupted. “I would like to think we are friends?”

Harry felt for the girl at her hesitant tone. If the sisters said anything that–

“Of course we are, Luna. Anyone who can put up with Tori for so long deserves a trophy.” Daphne’s teasing voice was full of mirth. 

“Thank you for being a good friend to Astoria.” Tracey held the girl’s hand comfortingly, yet Harry still saw apprehension in the younger girl’s eyes.

“No one blames you for what happened to Tori, you know.” Tracey also noticed it seemed. “It was her fault for missing out on her sessions with Pomfrey.”

“Yeah, once Astoria is back on her feet, I will give her the spanking of a lifetime. I swear that girl will be the death of me one of these days.” Daphne sighed theatrically.

That finally elicited a giggle from Luna, and they all enjoyed the pleasant mood as they walked towards the Great Hall. Harry glanced at the younger girl as she chatted with the two sisters.

“Luna? Are you ready to tell us what you argued with Astoria about?”

The girl sighed, clearly reluctant but also resigned. She must have resolved herself as she waited for them outside the hospital.

“I guess I should.”

Daphne seemed to sense the mood shifting, “Maybe we could chat in privacy?” She pointed at one of the many abandoned classrooms in Hogwarts.

Tracey opened the door and led them in. Once they were settled, Harry and the sisters waited patiently for Luna to gather her thoughts before she spoke.

***

“So this has been happening all year?”

Luna nodded, causing Daphne to frown.

“Why didn’t you tell any of us?”

The girl shrugged, “I would rather not bother anyone.”

Harry sighed at the girl’s mindset. How easy it was to roll over and blame oneself rather than your tormentors. He should know, as his memories of muggle school flashed in his mind. Clearly, the girl did not want to acknowledge that she was maliciously targeted, for by doing so, she would admit to being weak .

“But they stole your dead mother’s photo! This cannot be allowed to continue, Luna.” The normally cool and collected Tracey agitatedly held the younger girl’s shoulders. “Please, let us help you. Didn’t you say we were your friends?”

Luna’s breath hitched, and her eyes shimmered. She nodded emphatically before a forlorn look came to her face.

“But I er…don’t actually know who has been stealing my stuff.”

An awkward silence followed, and Daphne facepalmed.

“Argh, come on, girl! Help us out here. Can’t you think of anyone who looked at you wrong? Anyone who would call you names or try to trip you as you walked past them?”

Luna hummed in thought, “Well…Almost everyone in my house calls me Looney, but I’m unsure if it's because they don’t know my name or something else.” Harry flexed his fists while Tracey fidgeted. 

“Although, now that I think about it, they never call me that when Tori is with me.”

“Smart of them,” Daphne flicked her dark locks as she smirked. “I taught Astoria always to make a scene if someone bothers her. No one would dare mess with my sister.”

“Probably why she never noticed until so late in the year,” Luna said sadly. “A few girls would laugh at me whenever I was close or sometimes say mean things to me. I think one was called Amanda, but I’m not sure.” 

Daphne looked ready to march up to Ravenclaw Tower and set the place on fire, and Tracey wasn’t too far behind. 

“Okay.” Harry clapped his hands, grabbing the girls’ attention. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Trust me when I say I would like nothing more than to set your housemates straight, Luna.” 

The young girl gave him a shy smile.

“However, I’m already in trouble with one head of house. I highly doubt I would be able to talk my way out of expulsion if I maimed half a dozen students.” Daphne looked like she disagreed as a wicked grin blossomed on her face. Thankfully, Tracey pinched her sister, causing her to yelp in mortification. “I think it’s time for us to pay a visit to your head of house, Luna. I am certain that Professor Flitwick would be truly interested in this matter.”

“Ehhh?” Daphne looked shocked. “Going to the teacher for this? That’s lame. We should be handling this ourselves. I thought you would be all for justice, Harry. It’s a good cause as well!” The girl looked at him pleadingly with puckered lips and large eyes, and he had to remind himself that the possibly insane girl was begging him to set fire to one of the Houses of Hogwarts.

“Justice sounds good, but we still need to find Luna’s belongings.” Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose as the girl blew a raspberry. He looked at Tracey, who shrugged helplessly before he sighed.

He's been sighing a lot ever since he met the sisters. 

“Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can check on Astoria.”

That certainly lit a fire in their eyes, as they all followed him in search of the Charms Professor.

A*L*S*M

Severus Snape rushed down the damp, dimly lit dungeon corridors. His black robes flowed behind him as he cradled the broken remains of the wand. He entered his office, retrieved his wand and its holster from his desk, and sealed the doors. He continued to another door that led to his personal quarters. 

The potion master’s quarters were shrouded in darkness, except for a flickering candle of green flames casting eerie shadows. In the corner of the room, hidden from view, was a secret shrine dedicated to Lily Potter. The shrine was filled with mementoes from their past, including locks of her hair, photos, letters, and even some of her old schoolbooks and effects that he stole from her destroyed house on that fateful night many years ago.

A wave of his wand sealed the door, and then Snape touched the tip on a specific rune that activated a ward that would prevent any form of sounds, scents, or visions from entering or leaving the room. It had cost him a lot to install such a ward scheme, but needs must. 

Severus stood before the shrine and gently, lovingly, placed the broken wand in an old jewellery box with the initials L.E. on it. 

He whispered to the wand as if it held the essence of Lily Potter herself. “Lily, my love,” he murmured, his voice trembling with an unsettling intensity. “I am so sorry for breaking your wand. I only borrowed it for a short while to collect your favourite flowers, but I swear it wasn’t my fault.” 

The man’s face took a disturbing turn as his control over his turbulent emotions shattered. 

“It was that wretched spawn of Potter who broke it! No,” He held his head, “not just Potter’s. He’s also your son! How could you, Lily? To sleep with the enemy like this? But know I forgive you, for I can never truly be angry at you.”

Snape's eyes bulged with feverish intensity as he gazed upon the shrine. He reached out to touch one of the locks of her hair, caressing it as if it were her very skin. “You should have been mine, Lily. You should have been with me. We could have been together forever.”

A deranged smile spread on his face, “The damn brat broke your wand, Lily. He must pay. Even if I swore to protect him, that doesn’t mean I can’t make life difficult for James Potter’s son.”

He shook his head furiously, “No! He is still Lily’s son. I can’t go too far with him. He even apologised and offered recompense, which James would never do! Perhaps you truly live on inside him, Lily?”

Silence was all he received, and his face twisted into a grotesque sneer. “It must be a ploy. Yes, James Potter lives on in his son more than you do, Lily. Strutting around the castle as if he owned the place, and his constant rule-breaking, just like his father. Even the friends he keeps are just like the ones James Potter had. At least the Weasley brat won’t grow up to be a menace like Black!”

The man shuddered at the memory of his worst foe. He reminded himself that Sirius Black was in Azkaban and would never see the light of day. He stared at the picture frame sadly, “I have yet to see an iota of you in him.”

Snape paced anxiously in the room yet did not break eye contact with Lily’s picture. “Even the way he looked at me earlier – it was like he believed he was superior to me. At first, I thought the calm defiance was you shining through, but I was wrong, Lily! You have to believe me; that boy is no good. There is too much of James in him, and Dumbledore refuses to see it. The boy has all the teachers hoodwinked; only I can see his true nature!”

More silence as Snape fell to his knees, and a single tear flowed down his eye as he gazed at the picture of the woman he idolised. He whispered incoherently for a few minutes as if he was in a conversation that only he could hear before he stood up abruptly.

“As you wish, Lily. I will continue to protect the boy. You did not believe me when I warned you about Potter and his ilk, and even now, you refuse to see the reality of the boy.” Snape gritted his teeth as a sob escaped him, “Yet, your wish is my command, my love.”

Snape took a deep breath, letting all emotion melt from his sallow face. His normally stone-faced expression that looked like a derisive sneer more than anything else, gazed one last time at the shrine. “I watch over you always, my sweet Lily. Every move, every thought, I know it all.”

Silence followed as he left the room; Lily’s smiling face in the picture looked unpleasant as the candle flickered, casting uncanny shadows over the shrine.

Chapter Text

Earlier the same day

The Prince of Slytherin,

Life in Slytherin had changed quite drastically for Draco Malfoy over the past ten days. Ever since that article came out about his father's connection with Lockhart, combined with the death of Ronald Weasley, it didn't take long for many students to piece things together and come up with the wildest ideas.

Whispers followed him for the past week, while the usual respect and fear he commanded in Slytherin through his father’s influence was seemingly gone overnight. The older students could barely tolerate him; some like Pucey and Flint plain out told him that he had to actually attend next year’s Quidditch try-outs!

“The gal of them. Have they forgotten who provided those new brooms for the team?”

Goyle grunted in agreement. He and Crabbe shared the same couch they appropriated from a few firsties. It was a nice spot in the common room by the window overseeing the depth of the lake and usually occupied either by the girls or older students.

“Who else would be Seeker for the house team if not me? I’m the best flyer they had, and they owe–”

“Oh, shut up already, Malfoy. It’s too early in the morning to listen to your woes.” An annoyed groan sounded from across the emptying common room.

Draco glared at the speaker, who had just appeared from the tunnel leading to the girls’ dormitory.

“No one asked you to listen, Greengrass.” 

“Not like I had a choice when your crying echoed through the doors.”

The rest of the girls from their year appeared behind her. Draco would deny that he perked up in hope when he caught Pansy’s eye. The girl had been following him around like a lost puppy for the past two years. Even if she seemed to be avoiding him over the past week, surely she would come to his aid when it came to her rival?

Pansy averted her eyes and rushed to talk to an older student who seemed to have a package for her. Draco tried to hide his annoyance, but something must have still shown as Greengrass and Davis stood before them.

“What do you want?”

“Your seats. Move.”

A vein bulged on his temple at the audacity of the girl. It wasn’t the first time she did such a stunt, and they had always butted heads over petty things like that, but It’s been relatively peaceful between them for the past few weeks.

“I don’t want to.”

Greengrass raised an eyebrow, and Draco belatedly noticed that she and her sister were idly fingering their wands. Davis moved forward, gently holding her sister back before she gazed at the three of them.

“Could you and your friends please vacate the only seats that can accommodate all four of us, Draco? We will be having a girls’ talk soon.”

It was not a request, and Draco knew it. At least Davis was polite to word it as such, and Draco cursed what his mother called hormones as he averted his eyes from the pretty and demure girl. Unlike her annoying sister, she knew her place and how to show respect to her betters, even if she was a half-blood.

Draco fumed inwardly as he glared at Daphne and cursed his father for getting himself into trouble. Even if his father wanted him to get closer to the Greengrasses for some reason, it was impossible with his lowered standing in Slytherin. 

It was all his father’s fault!

When he took too long to reply, Greengrass clicked her tongue in annoyance and looked sideways. Draco followed her gaze and noticed Warrington by the entrance raising a pale eyebrow at him.

He gnashed his teeth in anger and knew his day would only worsen if he didn’t comply. Cassius Warrington was not particularly close to Daphne, despite being cousins, but Draco had learned that he took familial relations seriously. Why didn’t he have any older relatives to help him in school like others do? There weren’t even any other Malfoys in Britain and when he asked his father, all he got was a non-answer that he frankly did not want to dwell on.

“Fine. Crabbe, Goyle. Let’s go get breakfast.” 

The three boys quickly left the common room, and Draco scowled at his misfortune. It was all Potter’s fault. And Weasley for dying.

The thought gave him pause as he gulped heavily. He never actually thought about death, and the fact someone he knew was now dead just seemed so surreal to him. Draco might have enjoyed annoying the boy, but to wish him dead? He was still a fellow pureblood. 

They arrived at the Great Hall and quickly took their seats. Goyle grabbed a large plate of boiled eggs and dipped each one in mustard before eating them whole. Crabbe emptied a tray of bacon on his plate, grabbed a few toasts, and fried eggs, and mixed them all before dumping a cup of melted butter on the entire thing. Draco did his best to ignore his companions’ eating habits and idly ate his Shepard’s Pie.

To say that the Malfoy heir has had a good week would be a lie. The first few days after Weasley died were full of confusion as the Hogwarts rumour mill was churning out wilder and wilder stories with each passing hour. Draco didn’t care; all he cared about was what his father told him. How Harry Potter had somehow caused him to lose his position in the board of governors and even convinced the minister of magic himself to slander his father in the papers. Naturally, Draco was utterly furious but heeded his father’s warnings to be patient and lie low for a few days.

And then his mother’s letter arrived…

Draco stabbed a piece of the pie violently as he shivered at the insanity of his father. A Basilisk? Sponsoring that fraud who didn’t teach them a thing all year? If whoever died had been some random mudblood, it would not have affected Draco so much, but a fellow pureblood? That had terrified him of the possibilities.

Still, he wondered why his mother had commanded him to be cordial with Potter and avoid provoking him?

Speaking of Potter, he idly listened in to hushed voices coming from the Ravenclaw table behind him. 

“…What? Blah blah, Potter breaking Snape’s arm?” 

“Kidnapped… firsties to have his wicked way…”

“… more blahs, Greengrass seen laughing with him?”

Draco turned flabbergasted at the trio of older students trying to get Bones and Abbot to tell them something from the table behind them. What the bloody hell? Were they drunk?

“Draco? Will you eat that?”

He flinched as he must have been so distracted not to notice the time flying by and glanced at his unfinished Shepard’s Pie. Crabbe and Goyle had finished their food, though Goyle appeared to be enjoying a toffee pudding.

“No, I’m done.” Crabbe shrugged and grabbed the plate from him. Draco stared morbidly at the speed the pie disappeared down the boy’s gullet. He wondered if the two boys would also stop following his orders if their fathers told them so.

“Let’s go.” He didn’t want to think about it. Crabbe and Goyle were his friends, in the end.

Idly, the Malfoy heir wondered if his father was really as good as he made himself to be when he seemed to screw things up so quickly. He had once told him that Malfoys don’t need friends, only followers. Draco was unsure about that.

So lost in thought, Draco turned around a corner and crashed into a mane of bushy brown hair.

A*L*S*M

Charms office

The Half-blood princess

“I see.” It was jarring to hear the normally jovial and squeaky voice of the Charms professor grow so cold. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr Potter and Miss Davis.” 

Luna shifted uneasily, but Tracey held a comforting hand on her elbow. Daphne did not look satisfied yet remained silent for the moment as she traded glances with Harry.

Professor Flitwick allowed a deep exhale to flow out before he called aloud.

“Dany?”

A pop sounded, and an elf materialised In front of them. It was a female elf, evidenced by her brittle snow-white hair, accompanied by large purple eyes. 

“What can Dany do for Master Wickie?”

Tracey managed to restrain the unbidden giggle; even Luna shook slightly with mirth. She was chagrined, however, when her sister snorted with a chortle, theatrically leaning on Harry’s shoulders, while the boy sighed tiredly.

The Ravenclaw Head of House did not mind, however, and looked directly at the elf. “One of my Ravens, Ms Lovegood here, has misplaced a few of her belongings,” The elf's eyes narrowed knowingly, causing Flitwick to nod. “Make sure they are in her room by the end of the day, and I want a note of who had them and where were the items hidden.”

“Of course, Master Wickie.” The elf focused on Luna for a few seconds before nodding and popping out.

Flitwick leaned back on his elevated chair and tiredly turned to Luna, “I apologise that you had to go through this, Ms Lovegood. You can be assured that all of your belongings shall be returned to your room before the day’s end. I will find out who stole your effects, and they will be thoroughly reprimanded for what they have done.”

“Thank you, professor. My mom’s picture is very precious to me, but…” Luna looked hesitant for a moment, “Is it necessary to punish whoever had them? Why not let bygones be and forget about it?”

Tracey looked surprised at the girl, and so did Harry. While Tracey disapproved, she would still respect Luna’s decision since–

“Oh, bollocks on that!” Daphne shouted, “Luna. You can’t let those blighters get away with it. They stole your stuff, and the least that should happen to them is to get a few curses on them. Isn’t that right, professor?”

“While I would never condone the cursing of a student,” Flitwick gave a meaningful look towards Daphne, who wilted a bit. “I do agree that whoever stole your belongings must be punished.”

The girl still looked hesitant, and Tracey felt for her. From what little she knew of her, she was a kind-hearted girl who simply wanted to make friends rather than enemies.

“Luna.” Harry Potter walked suddenly in front of the girl, causing them both to flinch. The boy was quick on his feet. “It is a disservice you are doing both to yourself and whoever stole your belongings.”

“What do you mean?” Luna’s large eyes widened.

“I know what you are thinking and feeling. You believe that you are not worth all the fuss being made over you, correct? You feel that you don’t deserve to be treated well, that it's entirely your fault that you were targeted in the first place. For being weak and kind.” 

“Hey, what’s the big deal, Harry?” Daphne moved next to the shorter boy and tried to drag him away, but he would not budge. “There’s no need to be so harsh with her.”

“That’s not it,” he shook his head, keeping his brilliant green eyes on Luna. “You should never let anyone walk over you, Luna. You deserve more than that. If not for yourself, then do it for your loved ones, who would be upset to see you treated like that.”

Luna had a downcast expression, “What should I do then?”

“Allow Professor Flitwick to punish them as he sees fit. For if no punishment is delivered unto them, that will show weakness from the faculty, that the professors are unable to protect their students or keep order within the school, thus enabling them to hurt you more. Next year, they might target another first-year If they grow bored with you. The perpetrators must also get their due punishment, lest they think that actions do not have consequences and do something far worse later on in life that could lead to them getting in much worse trouble. Would you let that happen?”

“No! Of course, I won’t.”

“Then,” Harry turned to the diminutive charms master, who had a small smile on his aged face. “How do you think we should punish the culprits, Professor?”

.

.

.

“Thank you for helping me, everyone.”

They were on their way back to the infirmary, and Luna had been regaling them with some of the magical creatures that she and her father planned to search for in the summer.

“Don’t mention it, Luna.” Harry smiled at the young girl, “Just remember that it's okay to be scared, for that is the only time you can be brave. Asking for help is sometimes the bravest thing you could do.”

“Aww, you’re such a sweet talker, Harry.” Daphne patted the shorter boy’s messy hair, quickly dodging his lazy slap.

“Getting a bit comfortable with me, Greengrass?” Harry half-joked at the girl, but the fact her smile dimmed a bit meant that the hidden warning was received.

“Fine, you’re such a spoilsport,” the Greengrass heiress pouted at the wall.

Tracey sighed at her belligerent sister. She loved Daphne, but one of these days, she was going to tickle the wrong dragon, and its bite would leave a mark.

Soon enough, they reached the Hospital Wing, though Tracey couldn’t help but notice that more than a few strange looks were thrown at them. Some of them looked scandalous even.

“I wonder what that was all about?”

“Don’t worry about them, probably some rumour blown out of proportion.” Harry shook his head and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

They entered to find Poppy standing next to an awake and dressed Astoria.

“Tori.”

All three girls rushed to the girl. Daphne gave her a tight hug while Luna stood awkwardly by her feet, Harry following shortly behind.

“Hey, girls. I’m fine now.” Daphne squeezed their sister harder, “Daph, I said I’m fine. Madame Pomfrey worked her magic and–”

“And nothing, Astoria!” The older Greengrass pinched the younger one’s cheeks in anger, “What were you thinking? Skipping your potion regiment? Your blood donations? Don’t you know how important those are?”

“Owowowowowow, mah sheeks! Yor hauting me Daf”

“That’s enough, Ms Greengrass; I’ve already explained to her in detail how much her stupidity would have cost her.”

Daphne looked at Poppy in consternation before letting go of her sister.

“This isn’t over, young lady. Our parents will hear of this.” Once Astoria looked chastised enough, Tracey shoved Daphne aside to hug her sister properly.

“You scared us, Tori. We thought you were going to die. If it wasn’t for Harry bringing you here so fast and offering his blood, things would have gone seriously bad.”

“Wait, what?” Astoria looked confused as she turned to Harry, who stood beside the tired matron.

“I had not gotten around to explaining the situation to young Astoria.” Poppy coughed, “I will say, Mr Potter, that your blood had exceeded my expectations.”

“Really? How is she now? Is it better? Or just slightly so?” Daphne squealed as she grabbed Poppy’s hands, much to the older woman’s consternation.

“Calm yourself, Ms Greengrass.” Poppy shoved the excitable girl away and turned back to Harry, “I do not understand how it came to be, Mr Potter. The combination of Basilisk venom and Phoenix tears in your blood might give you a restorative bonus, but for others, it should be different.”

“At the risk of sounding repetitive, wait, what?” Astoria looked even more confused.

“I have to agree with Tori. Basilisk? I think we are missing a few things here.” Luna moved to stand next to her friend.

Tracey sighed as she wondered what was the point of keeping Luna out of the loop earlier?

Harry gave a quick retelling of his fight with the Basilisk, though he refused to elaborate on any of their questions regarding the Chamber itself or what happened with Lockhart and Weasley. Naturally, Tracey had pinched her sister for her motor mouth, much to her chagrin.

“So, Poppy.” Tracey decided to bring this matter to a close, “What is your verdict on Harry’s blood?”

“As I was saying,” Poppy tiredly stated. “To put it simply, it appears that the venom in the blood would hunt the malicious traces of the curse in Astoria’s blood while the tears would aid in healing the aftermath, if quite slowly.”

“So, it worked?”

“Indeed it did. I tested both vials from both arms, and they gave similar results. I avoided transfusing any of the remaining blood until you were here, according to our agreement, Mr Potter. Only in your presence would I do so.”

“Thank you, Poppy. Why did it matter when you took blood from both my arms?”

“You were not the first to develop a power such as this, Mr Potter.” They all looked surprised, “Come now, children. Don’t you know your history?”

“Ah, Gorgons?” Luna was the one to figure out, though they all had the same thought. No one cared for History with a teacher like Binns in charge.

“Indeed,” Poppy smiled at the curious girl. “There was a witch in Ancient Greece that developed a similar power. Blood from her right side was a cure for many illnesses, while blood from her left was a fatal poison. She passed the ability to her descendants, though in a weaker form. I entertained the idea that perhaps you might have been the same, but thankfully, your blood is much more neutral and benign.”

“I see,” Harry looked thoughtful. “If that witch had descendants with similar powers, then how come no one had heard of that ability? They would have been filthy rich and world-famous with such a power.”

“Probably because they lacked your cautious nature.” Madame Pomfrey grimaced, “The muggle myths had distorted the truth as it was a mother and her daughters rather than three sisters. The mother wasn’t shy about showing off her powers and auctioning her powers to the highest bidder. Can you imagine what the end result was?”

“I can think of all sorts of scenarios where someone like that meets an untimely end due to greed and foolishness.” Harry scratched his chin with a pensive look.

“Quite so.” The school matron adopted a teacher’s attitude, “Suffice to say, the whole family met an untimely end when a warlock coveted their powers. The ability was lost forever ever since, and your blood is the closest thing I’ve seen to the real thing.”

That was a lot to take in for him, but Harry was not a niffing. He had promised to help the girl and he knows how to defend himself. “When do you want to begin the transfusion?”

“Immediately, so long as she is ready?” Poppy turned to the three sisters who had their mouths open in surprise over the impromptu history lesson.

Astoria fidgeted hesitantly, “I’m still not sure about the specifics, but er…”

“Don’t worry, Tori.” Tracey stroked the girl’s hair lovingly, “If this works, you may never have to worry about lack of blood when you most need it.”

“Yeah, Tori.” Daphne sat on the bed beside her and held her hand, “Who knows? This may even cure the curse!”

“I doubt it would,” Poppy interjected. “Don’t look at me like that, young lady.” She added sternly to Daphne’s glower, “I do not wish to give false hope to the young girl. It is simply too early to tell how it will go.”

“Fine,” Daphne wilted while Tracey giggled inwardly. Poppy truly was the only adult in school who could control her sister so well.

“Do we need to contact her parents?”

“I have already done so while you were away, Mr Potter.” Poppy approached Astoria’s bed, shooing them away in the process, and brought out what remained of the two vials of blood. “This won’t sting at all, Ms Greengrass, but I need you to remain still, okay?”

Astoria nodded as Poppy made an incision in her veins with her wand and began the transfusion process.

“Your parents were on their way out when I caught them with the Floo. They dearly wished to be here, but they had important obligations, and once I assured them that you were out of danger, they gave me their blessings to go with the procedure.”

“Oh,” Astoria fidgeted as the blood entered her system and slightly giggled. “That feels… funny! ”

“It should, as you have almost always had a blood deficiency.” Madame Pomfrey smiled at the young girl, and everyone could see how her face looked more colourful.

“Okay, that should do.” The last drop of blood flowed into Astoria’s veins, and Poppy stood back.

“You can get up now. I’m sure you should feel plenty of energy, but it would be best if you–”

Astoria jumped out of the bed and bounced on her feet. “I feel fantastic . I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before!”

“I take it this can be considered a success?” Harry turned to the school matron as Astoria dragged a smiling Luna and a laughing Daphne into some sort of dance routine.

“Seems like it,” Tracey stood beside him. “Thanks again, Harry. On behalf of House Greengrass, we thank you and owe you a lot for this.”

“That’s alright. We will have to talk later about further transfusions and how to handle it, but I believe it would be prudent for your parents to be in attendance first.” She nodded as he turned back to Poppy, “Do you think she might need an emergency blood supply?”

“I am sure she will, but it's highly unlikely for her to get another episode so soon. It's been over two years since the last time she had one, according to her parents, and the one before that was five years previous before that one, when the curse was first discovered in her.”

“I see,” Harry frowned in thought. “I am sorry, Tracey, but I do not feel comfortable allowing my blood to be out of sight for long. But,” He added just as she opened her mouth. “Once we meet your parents, we might discuss further how to get hold of me as needed.”

“That would work, thank you.”

“I would recommend that regular transfusions are done at least whenever she is anaemic to see if there would be a positive change in Ms Greengrass’ health,” Poppy added with a loud cough, so that the other girls would hear. “Clearly, Astoria is feeling much better than normal.”

“Yep, I feel great. Thanks, Harry! Maybe I should just suck the blood from you directly next time.” Tori beamed, her fangs gleaming.

“Oh, gonna be a vampire, Tori? What would our poor father say to you turning into a mongrel?” Daphne chortled.

“Incidentally, what would happen if she did ingest my blood directly?” Harry remained as nonplussed as ever, and Tracey couldn’t help but be impressed with him. She appreciated a mature boy who kept a constant calmness in his demeanour.

“I’m not certain,” Poppy hummed, “it might be worth trying, but there is some risk. If you are all feeling well, then please leave. I have not yet eaten, and breakfast will be over if you don’t hurry.”

At the mention of food, Astoria’s stomach growled loudly, much to her embarrassment, as Daphne cackled at her.

A*L*S*M

“So you already spoke with Flitwick over who was stealing Luna’s stuff?”

“Yes. And no , Astoria.” Tracey added sternly as the girl opened her mouth before pouting.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Tracey gazed impassively at the young girl, causing her to fidget. “Considering Daphne’s first reaction was to take matters into her own hands.” The tall girl whistled innocently as she tried to pretend she had nothing to do with the matter. “I figured she must have told you to do something similar without my knowing.”

“Tori did seem furious, almost as if she planned to curse whoever was stealing my stuff.” Luna giggled beside her friend.

“You have to realise, Astoria,” They turned to the now usual voice of reason in their ragtag group as Harry led the way to the Great Hall. “Not all teachers are useless like Snape. Daphne should have known better, but I will tell you what I told Luna.” He turned backwards to look directly at the younger girl, “It's not a mark of cowardice to seek help. It's crucial to seek allies first before you head into a conflict. Some students would scorn you for seeking the teachers’ aid in resolving a problem they deem should be between you. To those fools, I would laugh at their whinging for being pathetic weaklings.”

“Spoken like a true Slytherin,” Daphne’s tone was impressed, and Tracey was also pleasantly surprised that the most famous troublemaker in their year would be so unapologetically cunning.

“Are you sure the sorting hat didn’t make a mistake by placing you in Gryffindor?”

Harry smirked at her, which caused Tracey to feel her face heat up. Gods, he had a roguish charm to him.

“The Hat did want me in Slytherin, but I did not like the idea of sharing the same dorm room as Draco and his bookends. We sort of… met on the train, and I wasn’t very impressed.”

“Wait, you mean we could have had the heir of bloody Slytherin in our house if not for Malfoy? Argh, that damn nitwit always ruins things.” Daphne sounded incensed, and Tracey agreed. If not for Draco, perhaps Harry would have been part of their group. She could have taken Granger’s place, that’s for sure.

“Hey, Draco isn’t that bad.” Blank faces met Astoria’s remark, causing her to flush deeply. 

Tracey thought it was good to see her with a healthy flush for once, but, “Really, Tori?”

“Not you too!” The blond girl giggled at the petulantly childish stomp.

They approached a corner, and Tracey noticed Harry slow down and raise a hand in silence, causing them to listen closely.

“— better watch yourself, Granger.”

“Whatever, get out of my way, Malfoy.”

“Why, you filthy little–”

There was the sound of shuffled feet, stifled groans, something falling on the ground, a loud Mimblewimble followed by panicked moaning.

They quickly followed Harry around the corner to find a rather curious sight.

Draco Malfoy and his two friends, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe had Hermione Granger cornered in an alcove. Granger’s book bag was on the floor, its contents scattered, and her wand pointed at a panicking Crabbe, whose tongue was tied into a knot. Goyle was hopping on one foot as he nursed his shin, presumably where Granger had kicked him.

“What’s going on here?”

They all turned to them with varying degrees of shock. Granger looked relieved, while Malfoy looked cautious, something completely uncommon for the blonde ponce.

“Harry!’

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy finally noticed the rest of their group, “and what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing with him , Greengrass?”

“That is none of your concern.” Harry interrupted as he moved swiftly towards the other boy, who panically tried to brandish his wand at him – Only for the Gryffindor to simply slap it away from his hands and then grab the other boy by his collar and lift him in the air as if he was some weightless ragdoll.

“Now, mind explaining yourself, Malfoy? Why are you bothering one of mine?”

Draco flailed helplessly in the air as one of his bookends watched dumbly, unsure what to do, and the other still moaned helplessly with a tied tongue.

“I-I wasn’t–”

“Wasn’t what ? Speak up, Malfoy – I have difficulty understanding you.”

“Harry, it’s okay. It was just a mis–”

“Give me a moment, Hermione.” Harry smiled at the girl who just huffed, but Tracey felt a tinge of annoyance. “It appears our schoolmate has some sort of problem here,” He glared so hard at Draco that the boy’s eyes widened in panic. “I’d be very glad to aid him in resolving it.”

“She bumped into me, dammit. Do you think I would go out of my way to actually bother a girl?”

Harry paused as if taking his time to seriously consider the question. “Actually, yeah. I do think you are that kind of guy.” 

He released Draco, who scampered off to his two friends, “Whatever, Potter.” Malfoy glared at the bushy-haired girl, “Granger crashed into me while running in the hallways. I am owed an apology.”

“And I already apologised, you insufferable boy. Then your friend tried to insult me for it.”

“Ah, I see what happened now.” Daphne, who had miraculously remained silent until now, coughed for attention and approached Draco.

“You don’t believe that Granger showed enough sincerity in her apology, right Malfoy?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged as he looked askance at their group, noticing he was heavily outnumbered. His weariness as he looked at Potter was new yet understandable. The golden boy of Gryffindor did have a new air of danger around him, and his casual display of physical strength would give anyone pause before provoking him.

Daphne hummed. “And you, Granger, believe that you have apologised, and seeing as your belongings are scattered, you suffered more from this altercation than him, correct?”

“Er… yes?” Granger dragged out the word as she warily looked at Daphne, then to Harry, who gave her an amused smile.

“I see, I see.” Daphne nodded in understanding, “It’s obvious to me how this should be settled.” 

Tracey had a bad feeling about this; her sister never had what she would call bright ideas , even if she was much smarter than she let on.

Daphne stopped right in front of them and pointed at the two aggrieved parties with a grin, “A Duel!”

Silence… then a giggle from Luna and Astoria and a facepalm from Tracey.

“... Duel ?” Draco mewled out.

“A duel, huh?” Granger, on the other hand, turned to Draco with slight interest.

“That is actually quite clever of you, Daphne.” Surprisingly, Harry agreed as he carelessly waved his wand at the still moaning Crabbe, untangling his tongue, “A simple best of three duel. No jinxes or curses, just the stinging hex. What do you say, Draco? It’s your chance to satisfy your honour, while a chance for me to see Hermione’s training results.”

Tracey looked in awe at the casual and silent display of magic. How could he know silent casting already? And for a complicated spell like Finite Incantatum.

“Yeah, go for it, Draco! Granger is really good, by the way, but I have faith in you.” Astoria giggled loudly behind Tracey, bringing her out of her thoughts, while Malfoy looked chagrined and wanted to be anywhere but here.

“W-why should I have to duel her anyway? And who the blazes are you?” He added to Astoria, who gasped loudly.

“How could you not know me? I’m your biggest fan! Soon going to be your former biggest fan.”

“Watch your tone with my sister, Malfoy,” Daphne warned, and Tracey nodded as she stood by her sisters.

“Your sister? I didn’t know you had another aside from Davis.”

Tracey scowled as Granger gasped, and her eyes widened in shock, “Sisters? B-but how–”

“We are getting sidetracked here people.” Harry interrupted in annoyance, “What’s it going to be? Duel or walk away and accept Hermione’s apology, Malfoy?”

“…Forget it, I get nothing out of this. Come on, you two,” Malfoy kicked Goyle in his other shin, “I didn’t tell you to start the bloody fight in the first place.”

They watched as the three boys walked down the corridor. Harry helped Granger collect her belongings while Daphne looked shocked that her idea was easily ignored.

“That’s it? He’s gonna walk away? Like a coward? Booo, that’s so boring. To think I thought he looked cute. Definitely not a fan of his anymore.” It was Astoria who huffed and folded her arms in disappointment.

“It was smart of him. He was outnumbered and disadvantaged,” Tracey played devil’s advocate. “If he had won the duel, he would be scorned for bragging about beating a girl, a muggle-born at that. If he had lost, it would have been even more shameful.”

“But still–”

“Sometimes, it’s better to know when to retreat to fight another day, Astoria.” Harry rejoined them with Granger, “That does not make you a coward, though that also depends on the context and circumstances.”

They hummed in agreement, though Daphne was still morose over the fact that she couldn’t goad the two students into a duel. Tracey, however, was more interested in the newcomer.

“So, what are you doing here, Granger?”

Hermione Granger gazed at them curiously, even warily. Tracey looked on warily as well; she wasn’t the biggest fan of the girl, but the muggleborn girl was Harry’s friend and under his protection, evident from his earlier aggression.

“That’s true, Hermione.” Harry blinked, “I’m surprised you left the library so soon.”

“Well,” She dragged out the word as her eyes landed on each of their faces, and Tracey noticed Daphne listening in. “There are all sorts of rumours going around in the past few hours. Is it true you kidnapped two first years, broke Professor Snape’s leg, and are currently having a party in the Hospital Wing?”

Silence followed before Daphne burst out laughing with a loud snort. Luna and Astoria giggled while Tracey allowed a small smile to appear on her face. 

“Is that so?” Harry, however, did not appear amused. 

“Oh yes,” Granger had a gleam in her eyes as she stared directly at Tracey. “Some even say you started a harem and have put in some rules for girls to fight for your hand.”

Tracey tried to push down the heat that was rising to her cheeks with a cough and tried to look normal, but probably failed. Meanwhile, Daphne had collapsed to the flagged stone floor laughing hysterically with wet eyes, Luna looked confused, while Astoria had a slight blush as she stared awkwardly at them.

“How…interesting.” The boy’s voice was drier than the desert, yet his eyes held mischief. “Sorry to disappoint, but my harem spots are all taken. Tough luck, Hermione. Keep in touch, though, I might have room next year.”

“Pfft… I-I can’t…st-stop making me l-laugh,” It was worth it to see Daphne brought so low with such a lame topic, yet Tracey thought she was going a bit overboard with the theatrics.

“I think that’s enough joking around, Daphne.” Tracey sighed as she dragged her sister from the ground. “Astoria needs to eat, and we have taken enough of Harry’s time.”

Daphne recollected herself with a grin, “You know what? You’re alright, Granger. I always thought you had a stick up your arse or your parents had unreasonably high expectations of you to be so obtuse in class, but that was a good laugh.”

“Excuse me?” Granger looked scandalised, “Stick up – what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me, and everything is wrong with you!” Daphne was certainly in a good mood, considering a day did not pass without her complaining over Granger making them look bad with how obsessed she was with grades.

“Alright, then.” Harry interrupted whatever retort Granger had, “I’m not particularly hungry myself and I doubt breakfast is still being served, so let’s go to the kitchens instead. Hermione, this would be a good opportunity to meet my new friends. I hope you will all get along together.”

Tracey couldn’t help but notice that Harry wasn’t talking just to Granger as his gaze fell on all of them. Well, it was worth getting to know Granger if it meant staying in the Boy-Who-Lived’s good graces. Who knows, maybe they could even become friends.

“I already had breakfast, but more importantly, I leave you alone for a few hours, and you make friends with three new girls.” Granger squinted at him, “And what did Malfoy mean by them being sisters? They have different surnames, surely it wouldn’t be such–”

“Later, Hermione.” The boy interjected tiredly as he led the way to the kitchens, “If you remember, our own friendship happened even quicker.”

Granger’s lips twitched at Harry’s raised eyebrow, and Tracey couldn’t help but feel that there was some particularly interesting story there.

“We can talk more over breakfast.” Harry continued, “All will be explained–”

Tracey coughed loudly and gave a pointed look at the boy who sighed, “–enough will be explained once we get some food in.”

Was it too naive of her to think she could make friends with Hermione Granger? Looking at the girl subtly glaring at her and Daphne, Tracey was inclined to believe so.

“That’s alright, Harry. I believe we can go to the kitchens ourselves; why don’t you catch up with your friend?” She tried to hide the bite in her tone, but judging by Daphne’s look and Harry’s grimace, she failed miserably.

“And don’t worry about the greasy McBatFace.” Daphne, bless her heart, chimed in, causing Harry to chuckle. “I will handle the wand matter, and it’s the least I can do.”

“Alright then, thanks.” Harry waved goodbye at them, his eyes staying longer on her own. “Let’s go, Hermione. I have something I want to check in the library.”

They watched as the two Gryffindors walked away, Granger giving them a confused glance before she hurried after her friend.

“What was that all about?” Astoria asked Luna, who hummed in thought.

“I don’t think your sister likes Hermione.”

“No kidding,” Tori grinned at her. “Are you jealous that Granger has Harry all to herself?”

Tracey felt her face slightly heat up.

“Oh my!” Her other sister jumped onto the bandwagon, “Is Tracey finally noticing boys? Whatever will we do, Tori? Our cool sister is going to leave us for greener pastures.”

“Oh, woe is me!” Tori fanned her face as she grinned cattily, showing off her sharp fangs. “What would our parents think?”

Morgana’s tits, now they were really milking it. She pinched both of their sides as she dragged them towards the kitchens, ignoring their pained cries and Luna’s giggling.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, June 9th, 1993. 

Dinner.

In the bustling Great Hall of Hogwarts, the sun’s dwindling rays streamed through the towering windows, casting warm patches of light across the long tables. The aroma of hearty food filled the air as students chatted animatedly and helped themselves to a spread fit for royalty. At the Gryffindor table, Harry sat contentedly, the table in front of him having bore witness to a veritable gastronomical massacre as stacks of plates towered in front of him.

Having polished off his impressive meal, Harry leaned back in his seat with a satisfied sigh, his eyes wandering toward the dessert offerings at the end of the table. His attention settled on a delectable plate of treacle tart, its golden surface gleaming under the enchanted lights.

Hermione, seated across from Harry, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his formidable appetite. She had chosen a balanced meal in a plate of roast beef and a salad bowl. She was now enjoying her apple pie, the Daily Prophet she borrowed from Lavender temporarily forgotten as she observed her friend's impressively unending appetite. While he did explain, last week, about how his appetite had grown ridiculously from his ordeal in the Chamber, it was still staggering to see her friend eat so much food and barely gain any weight. 

On the contrary, she could have sworn he had grown taller, almost her height now, though not yet close. When she last hugged him, which brought a blush to her face, she could feel the hard and corded muscles that he hid underneath his clothes. Harry always had a wiry, hardy disposition, but now, he had begun to actually fill up. The frankly insane daily training and exercise regimen that he followed religiously and which she had joined occasionally was clearly showing results, albeit more quickly than she would have thought.

“Harry,” she began, a mixture of amusement and disbelief in her voice, “I've seen you eat quite a lot, but please! Think of the poor elves forced to work so hard to make sure your endless pit of a stomach remains satisfied.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, reaching for a fork and knife as he eyed the treacle tart. “You know as well as I do they love it, Hermione. Dobby had become a near-permanent member of the kitchen staff to make sure he cooks my own food, especially once we were done with our er…” He looked around knowingly, but over the past week, everyone had gotten used to seeing him pigging out like a starving man, so no one was paying him attention, nor did anyone sit close to them while he ate.

Hermione flipped a page in the paper absent-mindedly as she took a bite from her pie. “Yes, yes. I know. Have you thought about your plans for the summer?”

Harry hummed in delight as he devoured his next target. He might not be a fan of sweet drinks, but clearly, he had no problem with desserts and confectioneries.

“I’ve been trying to meet with Professor Dumbledore for the past week regarding that, but he has rarely been in school.”

She could scarcely begin to imagine the amount of work a sorcerer with three important positions had; let alone now when things seemed messy.

Yet, Hermione couldn’t help but worry for her friend, “You did mention that, but won’t you need an adult to help you with what you planned?” 

She was intentionally vague as Harry had drilled into her the importance of watching what was said between them, especially in a public setting. At least until either of them managed to learn some form of privacy spell.

“Yes, I will. It can’t be just any adult – it has to be someone I trust. It’s why I was hoping to meet with Dumbledore, as he would have easily helped me, but alas.” The boy shrugged carelessly before scooping a portion of pie, how did he already finish half his plate? “My second choice would be one of the eldest Weasley brothers, but they had already left abroad for their work. I would rather not bother Mr and Mrs Weasley right now, so I’m waiting for my last resort to reply before I would be sure.”

“Is that whom you sent a letter to earlier? That elusive last resort?”

Harry was finishing the last of the treacle tart, and it still shocked Hermione how quickly he could eat. She was only halfway through her meal!

“One of them. I've been sending a lot of letters recently. It’s a bit of a gamble as I only met her once, but I have nothing to lose while she gets to prove to me her worth after promising her aid.” He shrugged as he washed down the last of his dessert with pumpkin juice.

It was in times like these that Hermione would be reminded that her friend had truly changed, and not just physically. Sure, there were the obvious signs, such as the lack of glasses, his better physique and that sheer magnetism he unconsciously emitted. And there was this sense of purpose, of an ironclad surety that Harry carried himself with now; all the previous signs of hesitation or shyness had fully melted away. He had always been the centre of attention due to his past, but the last week had many girls around them blushing furiously or looking at her friend with undisguised interest, or worse; like he was some cute toy, which rankled her greatly. There were quite a few even from the upper years. Harry’s charisma was almost animalistic in nature; even Hermione wasn’t immune to it. She had always liked her friend, but to her mortification, her mind had begun to stray to new places that made her seem like a lovestruck schoolgirl. 

“Hermione? Are you alright?”

She shook her head and quickly finished the last of her dinner, trying to push down her embarrassment and ignore Harry’s lopsided smile that made her insides twist. 

“I’m fine. Just… thinking of how much Ron would take it as a challenge to outeat you.” Hermione apologised to her deceased friend for using him like this, but she was sure he was laughing his head off at this current situation. Moreover, why was Harry so perceptive?

“Heh, he can try, but I’m sure I could still eat another serving.” Hermione gawked at him as he actually reached out for a special plate of sausages and bacon that he had kept aside.

“Really, Harry? Would you eat poor Hedwig’s food? Isn’t it enough that you expect her to come at night instead of the usual morning post? You should at least eat some fruits for a change.”

He chuckled amusedly, and Merlin, his happy laugh did things to her spine. 

“Nah, protein all the way. But not so much that I would eat your food, would I, sweetie?”

Hermione blushed heavily at the way he teased her, only for a shadow to land next to her and a bark of agreement to cause her to freeze up.

Again?!

She banged her head on the table in absolute shame and embarrassment at the fact she thought he was speaking to her. Goddammit, Hermione felt stupid worrying over Harry falling for other girls when he was clearly claimed by the most important one. And to think she was worried about the owl’s food earlier. She glared balefully at the snow-white owl who had just delivered Harry a letter only to see her raise an eyebrow…the owl didn’t even have eyebrows; how did she do that?

Hermione perked up when Harry finished reading the letter and hummed in thought before elucidating her on the contents of the letter.

“Well, she agreed to help me and is free for the entire day after we return to London.”

“Oh? That’s good, right?”

“Indeed. Are you sure you can’t join me, Hermione?”

She felt ecstatic that he cared and wanted her to be with him, “I wish I could, Harry. But I’m travelling to France that evening with my parents for the holidays. My grandparents live in Caen, and if I wish to discover more about my magical ancestry, then my grandfather is the best clue I have.”

Harry nodded genially, “I wish you good fortune. Just know that regardless of what you discover or fail to discover, you will always be my friend and have a place by my side.”

In vain, she tried suppressing the heat rising to her cheeks and cursed Harry’s newfound silver tongue.

.

.

.

Harry stared amusedly at his friend, whose face had got so red that her pale skin looked like a cooked lobster. Should he tone down on the teasing and flirting? Looking at how the girl had hidden her face behind the newspaper in a poor attempt to hide how his words affected her, it was easy for him to decide.

After the years Jon spent on the Wall with no women in sight? I think not.

It would be a cold day in the seven hells if he ever considered swearing vows of celibacy again. He stroked his owl’s feathers and scratched her on the cheeks. Owls normally would not appreciate that, but Hedwig was different, as evident by how she shook in pleasure and made a squeaking chirp instead of her usual barks.

“You like that, don’t you, Hed?” Another delighted squeak and Harry chuckled as he brought out a letter he had prepared.

“I know you’ve had a long trip, but I need this delivered before Friday. If you need to rest, I can send you tomorrow. Which would you prefer, girl?”

Hedwig, the smart owl she was, considered the matter seriously before barking in a challenging tone and glaring at the letter. She hopped closer and offered her leg imperiously.

Smiling at his reliable owl, Harry tied the letter around her leg, and she nibbled his fingers and flew off, silent except for one last bark that he translated to, ‘see you tomorrow.’ 

Gods, he wished he had Hedwig in Westeros.

“Galloping Gargoyles!”

He flinched at the sudden cursing from Hermione, who slammed her paper down on the table, attracting the attention of half of the Gryffindors still supping. His question died on his tongue as his eyes went over the paper, where a large picture took half the page. 

It’s a place Harry remembered, and the setting was familiar too, with all the wizards and witches garbed in mourning robes – it was Ron’s funeral. And as with all magic photos, it was moving – the loop ending when him in the picture looked directly at the camera lens. There was a smaller picture right next to it of a hideous-looking woman in pink clothing.

“Those foul gargoyles! How could they invade the privacy of a funeral?”

Harry calmly inspected the article as he ignored Hermione’s indignant outrage, and how some of their fellow Lions had moved closer in interest. The picture seemed to be provided by an anonymous source, and he checked with other articles in the paper and found all the pictures in it had a name associated with it. The article itself was nothing to speak of, just speculation and drivel on Hogwarts’ protections and a weak attempt to blame it on Dumbledore.

He chuckled mirthlessly, causing Hermione to stare at him.

“You would laugh over this?”

“Of course, I would laugh. Whoever wrote the article is an utter lackwit and only gives patronising condolences before going on a tangent about an entirely different matter. Who’s the author?” He checked the author to find Antoine Fenetre, which rang no bell. 

“Anyone know this bloke?” Might as well make use of the surrounding crowd. All he got were shrugs or shakes from the head.

Hermione still looked a bit lost, causing Harry to sigh.

“It’s obvious the Prophet wanted to capitalise on Ron’s death, yet they would not dare write an article that might be seen to be attacking the Weasleys. Then there’s the matter of the hidden photographer who is obviously connected to the Daily Prophet somehow.” 

“So they had the picture but didn’t know how to use it because of circumstance?”

“Mostly,” Harry nodded. “I recall there being multiple ministry officials in attendance. They would have known about the creep and reported it to their superiors. Mayhaps the ministry intervened with the Daily Prophet to prevent them from accidentally attacking the Weasleys.”

“I see,” Hermione bit her lip as she stared at the picture of the funeral. “How do you think this would benefit them?”

“Probably nothing material, but it seems they are aiming to make a soft show of force.” Harry pointed at the picture of Pinky, “There was a guest speaker from the ministry, some woman called Dolores Jane Umbridge. Her opening statement basically says as much: The ministry laments the death of a pureblood, murder in Hogwarts, confirmation that the Weasley family had received indemnity, I should check with Colin if he got his share actually, how amazing the ministry is, yada-yada-yada, but here is the crux of the article.”

He moved his finger to a part in the paragraph, “Dolorous believed that even if Dumbledore were in the school, it would not have changed anything. She also pretty much claimed that the ministry should provide the school with protection and handle its security as clearly, the teachers have failed in their duty in protecting the students.”

“But that’s ridiculous! It was them who arrested the wrong man and did nothing when Dumbledore was driven out of school.” Hermione’s indignant shout followed murmurs of agreement from their housemates, Harry noticing his Quidditch teammates listening in interest.

“It's politics,” Harry shrugged. “I have no idea who this Umbridge is, aside from being…” He checked the article again and huffed in amusement, “ Senior Undersecretary to the Minister .”

Hermione frowned, “I think I’ve heard of her, actually, but I can’t recall where.” She gave him a coy grin, “Since when were you so observant and know so much about politics?”

“What do you mean, Hermione?” He grinned back, “I’ve always been a fountain of knowledge.” 

He shrugged as she squinted her eyes. “Then again, knowing that I will have to interact with society sooner or later with my status doesn’t really give me a choice.”

“That’s true, I guess.” Hermione bit her lip and clammed up. Harry thought he had an idea why, but he would rather not start that topic now. 

The muggle world was different from the magical world and Westeros – he knew that well enough, but it was not without its own problems. Hermione had yet to understand the reality of her position and he was not in the mood to start anything with her. Harry figured he was the wrong person to tell her so anyway, since he was muggle-raised himself.

“Anyway,” changing the topic was always an option, he figured, as he pointed at another line in the article. “In response to the danger and unpredictability of the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts, as well as the fact that the previous two teachers turned out to be secret dark lords,” He chuckled at Hermione’s giggle. “Dory here announced that she had drafted legislation allowing the ministry to intervene in Hogwarts when the school is unable to find a teacher.”

He again looked at his eavesdroppers, “Anyone know a broad called Umbridge?”

“Talking about her toadiness?”

Apparently, Umbridge was better known than some nameless paper pusher from the Daily Prophet as Alicia, Angelina, and Katie approached them.

“Hey, girls.” Harry smiled, “Thanks for the Quidditch game earlier.”

“Anytime, you sure do enjoy running us ragged, Harry.” Angelina gave him a wide grin that showed her white teeth, contrasting prettily with her teak skin, as she sat beside Hermione.

“He’s not that bad, you know? At least not as bad as Oliver.” Katie settled on his left while Alicia took his right, leaning over to look at the article, giving Harry a view of her fair neck. A whiff of the air told him that her recently showered blonde hair had a pleasant smell. He did not mind the teasing flirts, they were nothing new really, but now Harry could actually catch the underlying meanings that evaded him before. 

The chaser trio had always been like older sisters to him, and the two older girls made it a game to tease him whenever they had the chance. What boy in his right mind would deny such fun games? It just irked him how much taller they were than him, and he was glad Angelina wasn’t sitting next to him; the girl was an entire head taller than him.

Katie was a bit of a prude, though.

“Anyway, Umbridge was the head of the Improper Use of Magic Office before getting promoted to her current position when Fudge became minister last year. Daddy used to work for her, and he tells me she’s a real piece of work who irrationally detests any manner of magical being that is not human, and scorns anyone with unclean blood, as she calls it. She tried to get my Dad fired multiple times because he’s muggle-born.” Alicia’s black eyes narrowed in disgust. “Thankfully, my mom’s family put pressure on the bitch and she had to back off.”

“I also heard that she was recently responsible for the passing of an Anti-Werewolf legislation that really made life even more difficult for werewolves in Britain.” Katie chimed in as she grabbed a banana from a newly appeared fruit platter.

“And someone like that is essentially the right-hand woman of our Minister?” Hermione frowned, eyeing a tangerine for a second before grabbing it, “That doesn’t really make me hopeful for my future.”

“I can’t say I know much about werewolves, but aren’t they technically a threat to society?” Harry asked cautiously, idly grabbing an apple.

“Not really. My mother works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and has to deal with many werewolves.” Angelina shook her head as she also grabbed a tangerine, “She tells me most of them are the sweetest people who only need a few hours every full moon to themselves.” She sighed sadly, “It’s just a sickness, and many werewolves just want to live their lives normally.”

“It's not all sunshine and rainbows, though. My uncle tells me that You-Know-Who employed plenty of werewolves who were happy to do his dirty work and terrorise both muggles and magicals.” Katie shrugged unapologetically, ignoring the frown thrown at her by Angelina. “You know I’m right, Angie. Even today, Fenrir Greyback, the worst of the werewolves, is somewhere out there, killing and turning folks into werewolves.”

“Hang on, spread the curse?” Hermione interjected. “As in, willingly ?”

“Yes. Willingly.” Katie gave his friend a serious look, “That monster is insane and believes that werewolves are superior to humans. He bites them young, you see, turns them against their parents and then kidnaps them to raise them as he sees fit.”

A foreboding silence fell on the table. “How do you know this, Katie?”

The older girl unpeeled her banana as she hesitated to answer him. “My uncle… knows a werewolf who was bitten by Greyback.”

“I see.” The conversation had clearly gone into a tangent, “So what does that have to do with Umbridge?”

“The problem is that many people thought that laws against werewolves would be eased after You-Know-Who’s defeat, not the opposite.” Alicia grabbed an orange, peeling it as she talked. “It was already difficult for them to find work in Britain, but with that legislation, it's become nearly impossible.” 

“It was already shown in the last war that the more you push a group away from society, the more resentful and easier to subvert they become.” Katie sagely remarked as she finished her banana.

Harry idly bit on his apple as he frowned in thought. So someone like that had decided to use his friend’s death for her own benefit? That would not do, not at all. 

A*L*S*M

Thursday morning, 10th of June. Last day of school.

Harry took a deep breath as he focused intently on this memory, specifically, a memory of Jon’s where he and his family were having a private outing in the godswood. Arya and Bran were throwing mud at Sansa, who for once abandoned her lady-like demeanour and viciously threw more at them. He and Robb were getting scolded by their father for some inane prank they did on one of the sleeping guardsmen. Lady Stark had just taken young Rickon to sleep, and Lord Stark waited until his wife left before he sighed in amused exasperation. 

It was a happy memory that had nothing but pure love and a feeling of home in it. It can be summarised into one word that Harry dearly desired.

Family.

“ Expecto Patronum. ”

A thick white mist blasted out of his wand, and Harry could see a massive head forming in the mist. He continued channelling magic as the spell took form and more mist billowed out, shining brilliantly over the dark and damp Chamber. Harry had been trying this spell for over a week now, with limited success, and this was his last chance to succeed in casting it before he left school.

The drain on his magic was severe from casting the powerful spell. He had read intensively about it in the library, and understood that even adult wizards failed in casting it due to the power requirements. Yet, he persevered; Jon kept that memory in the foreground, thinking about sweet Sansa as she declared him the knight for that day’s ‘come to my castle’. 

He thought of Arya and Bran, the two hellions who combined could keep the entire castle on their toes. He thought of his lordly father and his warm smile and encouraging words. Jon thought of Robb and the many antics and mischief they caused.

And suddenly… the mist solidified, and a massive canine figure trotted into the chamber, looking for danger. Finding none, it returned to Harry. Its eyes, the colour of blood, would strike fear into his enemies, yet he felt nothing but love and warmth at seeing him.

“Ghost,” He croaked out as he caught his breath. The gigantic direwolf, even bigger than he remembered, nodded its head and nuzzled its nose on his forehead. Harry laughed merrily as he patted his companion, only for his hand to pass through its head. The Patronus had the texture of clouds or vapour.

“Right, intangible. I guess you really are a ghost now, eh boy?”

Ghost huffed silently, while his tail wagged furiously behind him. It tried to nudge him with its snout again, only to pass through him before it snorted and stared at his eyes.

“It’s okay, boy. We will find a way to make you tangible. Magic is limitless, after all.”

The direwolf nodded its massive head before it dissipated to nothing. Harry felt a bit of his strength return as he sheathed his Holly wand and noticed Dobby’s large eyes shining with respect and awe.

“You did it, Master Harry!”

Harry chuckled, “Let’s just hope any dementor I meet would be polite enough to wait for me to cast it.”

The elf nodded his head from where he was busy making sure all of the Basilisk parts were neatly packed and piled. Harry had made a tentative deal with Reginald Carrow regarding the parts he wouldn’t need, but the issue of transporting them would always be a problem. Basilisks were highly illegal creatures, after all.

“Are you sure you will be able to transport the parts from here to Diagon when I call you, Dobby?”

The elf bobbed his head furiously, and Harry nearly burst out laughing at his scowl. “Of course Dobby can, Master Harry. You be a powerful wizard, very more powerful than bad old masters. Dobby can do it!”

“Alright, alright. As we agreed, you will stay here and clean up the chamber as much as possible until I call for you. It should be either tomorrow or the day after.”

“Of course, Master Harry.”

A*L*S*M

Afternoon of the same day, Hogwarts grounds.

“Alright, that’s good enough for today.”

Neville sighed in relief as he leaned on his knees, while Hermione had her hands on her sides, taking deep breaths. 

“Good job, Neville. You remained on your feet to the very end, that’s progress.”

“Yeah…” The boy breathed heavily, yet Harry was proud of him. Just a week ago, he was unable to finish a single lap. Now, he managed to complete all three laps. It didn’t matter that he needed to rest midway or that it took him a lot longer than either he or Hermione. What mattered was he persevered and stuck through to the end.

“Keep up the routine I told you over the summer, and I’m sure by next semester you will feel like a new man.” Neville gave a wan smile, and Harry turned to Hermione.

“I’ll be visiting Hagrid later, are you coming?”

“Pass,” Hermione took a deep breath before she stood upright and grabbed her bag. “I want to check something with Professor McGonagall before we leave tomorrow.”

She was about to leave, before seemingly remembering something. “You did pick your electives, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, “Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. It took some work, but I managed to convince McGonagall to allow me three electives. What about you, Neville.”

The blonde boy took another breath, “I’ll be taking CoMC as well, along with Divination.”

“Divination?”

“I know, it doesn’t have a good reputation, but it wasn’t always like that. Gram even approved.” Neville hurriedly explained at Harry’s askance look, “She took it as well in her time and occasionally manages to predict some things.”

At Harry’s increasingly disbelieving look, Neville wilted. “Okay, so maybe she hadn’t managed to predict anything in a long time and Uncle Algie tells me the last time she did manage it, it was a prank from him and my gramps that she never realised it to this day.”

“Don’t worry about it, Neville. Harry is just being obtuse.” Hermione mock-glared at him, causing him to chuckle.

“Hey, I’m not judging. What about you, Hermione? What electives did you take.”

The girl suddenly clammed up and started moving towards the castle, “Sorry! Gotta go. Tell Hagrid I said hi!”

They watched as the girl ran off as if she hadn’t just completed a long training session. Harry chortled at his friend’s awkward attempt to avoid discussing how she would probably take all five electives.

“What was that all about?”

“Don’t worry about it, Neville.” Harry stifled his laughter as he looked at the other boy, “I’ll see you later, aye?”

“Cheers, Harry.”

They went their separate ways. Neville followed Hermione’s steps to the castle, while Harry walked to Hagrid’s hut where he could see smoke billowing out of the chimney.

He stopped by a tree overlooking the lake and held out his arm for Hedwig to swoop in and land on it.

“Hey, girl. How was your trip?”

The owl shivered theatrically, “That bad, huh? I guess they didn’t appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night?” A nod from the owl and Harry stroked her feathers. “Good girl. What’s important is they received and read the letter. Anything afterwards is on them, as we shall never meet again. They didn’t try to harm you, did they?”

Hedwig nodded, and Harry nearly scowled in anger before the owl made a barking sound that suspiciously sounded like laughter.

“Oh? What did you do?”

The owl looked into his eyes and he found himself looking through her own for an event that happened earlier in the day. It was before dawn and the residents of Privet Drive were still asleep. A fat man was trying to throw cutlery at him, leading him to fly away. He then gathered other owls and commenced a dive-bomb on the man’s brand-new Mercedes, drowning it in bird poop.

The spell ended and Harry shook his head before roaring in laughter, Hedwig chirped along, “Was that the new company car he just got? That was brilliant, Hed. I didn’t know you could share memories, though.” 

The owl shuffled and the boy and his owl headed to Hagrid’s hut through the pumpkin patch and knocked on the door.

Chapter Text

Loud barking was the first thing that greeted Harry after knocking, and Hedwig shifted uneasily on his shoulder. He could hear the excited Fang as he scratched on the door, followed by Hagrid's annoyed grunts.

"Calm down, ye ruddy mutt. T's just a visitor." Hagrid's voice was followed by heavy steps, along with the sound of something getting dragged away from the door. A moment later, the door opened slightly, showing Hagrid's titanic frame.

"Hi, Hagrid. Mind if we come in?"

The gamekeeper looked rather haunted with a far off look in his eyes, but as he curiously gazed at them, any sorrow was quickly replaced with joy.

"Harry! So good to see ye, lad. Ye even brought Hedwig! Come in, come in."

The large man opened the door ajar, allowing Harry to enter but also allowing Fang to pounce on him in excitement.

"Heel!"

The boarhound froze at Harry's command. Dog and boy met each other's eyes for a couple of seconds before Fang dropped to the ground and rolled on his back, stomach up, tail wagging, looking imploringly at Harry. He chuckled and proceeded to kneel, rubbing Fang's belly and scratching under the chin, careful not to get any drool on his hands, causing the hound to pant in happiness.

Harry couldn't let such a leal companion be disappointed, and even Ghost approved, albeit grudgingly.

"Well, this is a first. That stinkin' dog doesn't even listen to my commands, and I raised the mutt since it was a sucklin' pup."

Hagrid's amused voice caused him to stand and take stock of the friendly gamekeeper. Harry had always been impressed by how large his first-ever friend was. He was an enormous man, standing over 11 feet tall with wild, tangled hair and an even wilder beard. Underneath all that hair was a kind face that Harry thought looked squarish, though it was nearly impossible to tell. His onyx eyes glinted like black beetles, and the little skin he could see on his face had laugh lines.

The keeper of keys didn't have his massive mokeskin coat on him, but merely leather breeches and a half-sleeved shirt that struggled to cover his beer belly. It was easy to see now that despite how large Hagrid was, he was not built like the giants Jon saw Beyond the Wall. Magic was clearly at hand with how human the man was, as he had normal-looking feet compared to Westerosi giants, and his dustbin-lid-sized hands also looked normal enough with no deformities. Most important of all, he wasn't covered in hair or fur from head to toe, aside from his beard.

It was unclear whether Hagrid was truly a giant, half-giant, or simply an incredibly large human.

Except everything was easily five times as large as a regular human, which, combined with the groundkeeper's active lifestyle, granted Hagrid an impressively muscular physique. Jon idly wondered how much of a force on the battlefield such a man could be when equipped in arms and armour. Harry, however, instinctively knew that the large man was far too kind and gentle to ever go into battle willingly.

He belatedly realised that Hagrid must be over seventy years old, yet he, like all wizards he'd met so far, looked barely half his age.

"It's good to see you back, Hagrid."

"Aye, 's good to be back. Let's get ye seated, I was just makin' some err…"

The sound of something bubbling caught Harry's attention, and he turned towards the stove, where a large covered pot was starting to boil. With speed that belied his size, Hagrid quickly moved to the pot and carried it off the stove, then placed it over a trivet on his dining table, where a few more similar pots waited. Harry took this opportunity to look at Hagrid's rustic and charming hut, which he could've sworn looked larger from the inside than out.

"Harry, brin' Hedwig over here."

He turned to find the hut's owner by the window, and Hedwig didn't wait for his reply as she flew towards a perch where Hagrid placed a bowl of water and some owl treats.

"Isn't she a beau'y? Got her from Eyelops tha' day. Owner complained she had a bad temper and no one wanted her, nor did she want anyone. Proved 'em wrong, eh, girl?"

The owl chirped as if agreeing, though she did bark angrily at Fang when he approached curiously.

"Anyway," Hagrid returned to the table and offered Harry a seat, "I'm sorry about wha' happen' to Ron. He was a good lad."

"He was indeed." A sombre silence fell over them as they grieved over their fallen friend for a few minutes before Hagrid reached out to the pot and removed its cover.

"So what's that you have there, Hagrid?"

"Oh, this? Just summat I've been trying to make since I returned from Mungos a couple of days ago."

"Oh, I heard about that." Harry looked at his large friend in concern, "what happened?"

Hagrid looked recalcitrant for a moment before sighing, "Azkaban is no' a nice place, Harry. The guards there – Dementors – they are evil creatures." The gamekeeper shivered as he recalled his month of imprisonment there.

"So I've heard." Harry unconsciously scowled, "the ministry must be bonkers to trust those creatures. Didn't they join Voldemort last time?"

"Aye, they did." Hagrid gave him a slight glare for using Voldemort's name, but he simply raised an eyebrow in defiance. After a minute of not backing down, Hagrid sighed exasperatedly.

"So feisty, just like your mother, Harry."

"Was she also a troublemaker?" Harry grinned, glad to learn more about his parents.

"Lily Potter? Troublemaker? Hah!" The gentle giant laughed uproariously for a good minute, "Never. Lily was like yer friend Hermione with being a stickler to the rules."

"But, Hagrid." Harry couldn't hide his widening grin, "Hermione has broken more rules in the past two years than any normal student would in their tenure here. Do you mean to say my mother was even more adventurous?"

They both guffawed for another minute before Hagrid checked the pots on the table.

"It was your dad who was up ter mischief in school. Drove yer mom half-mad as she tried to reign him in. He and his friends were such trouble tha' people started calling them Marauders. The buggers took the title with a badge of honour."

"So, who was my Dad's closest friend?"

"That would be Sirius Black. You've heard of him?" Hagrid soberly asked.

"Aye, I did. Heard he's locked where he belongs in Azkaban."

"That he is. I didn't see him, but I heard mention that he's still there. Alive and lucid." For a moment, Hagrid looked furious before he calmed down. "Azkaban is a horrid place, Harry. I've only stayed there fer a month, yet some of the occupants have been there fer years, decades even. I sometimes wonder if it would be merciful to just kill them instead of the eternal torture they suffer."

Harry could see where his kind friend was coming from. It wasn't in his nature to prolong someone's death; better to behead them and be done with it. By his own hands if it was personal.

"But you survived Azkaban."

"Aye, I did. Caught a chill from one of those buggers breathing down my neck for too long. Nothing serious," he added quickly at Harry's concerned look. "Just felt cold all the time. The healers told me it was a rare reaction from those monsters. Which brings me to this."

He smiled widely as he uncovered the pot to show some sort of syrupy broth that smelled heavenly. Harry was sure he smelled it before, but he couldn't for the life of him recall where.

"What is it?"

"This…is mead. Healer's orders are teh get some sunshine and drink something warm teh lose the last of the effects."

Now he remembered! It was a staple in the North to drink mead and ale, yet it had never smelled so good.

"What's it made of?" Harry tried to tone the interest down from his voice.

"Oh, a bi' of this and a bi' of that. Mostly, stuff I grow meself or gather from the forest with some spices I buy from someone in Hogsmeade."

Without a word, Hagrid brought out a mug larger than Harry's head and poured himself a generous portion.

"Can I have some?"

Hagrid froze as he brought the mug to his mouth and frowned, "Yer too young, Harry."

"That's not a no. Come on, Hagrid. If I can kill giant snakes and spiders, then I should at least be able to get something good to drink."

Hagrid had taken a sip from his mug and nearly spluttered. "Wha' do yeh mean you killed spiders?"

Harry flexed his fist as he remembered his nightmarish encounter with the Acromantulas. "You told us to follow the spiders. Ron and I did so, and they led us to Aragog deep into the forest."

"Oh dear," The gentle giant looked terribly uncomfortable. "They didn' give yeh any trouble, did they?"

Harry stared silently at the man for a few seconds, "Your friend answered our questions well enough, but only because we told him you sent us."

"Oh, well, tha's good then." Hagrid beamed as he took another sip of the spiced mead.

"Once we were done, he told his brood that we were essentially free food." Hagrid coughed as his drink went down the wrong pipe. "We had to fight our way out there, and if it wasn't for Mr Weasley's car, we would have died, Hagrid. Even Fang was terrified of those bastards."

The dog seemingly understood Harry's point and moaned pitifully at his still-coughing master. Or he probably just wanted a treat after getting the cold shoulder from Hedwig.

It took a minute for Hagrid to recollect himself, "I'm sorry this happened, Harry. I really thought Aragog would treat yeh better. I got him in me third year, yeh know?"

"I know – Tom Riddle told me so."

"How the ruddy hell did tha' happen?!" Hagrid was beyond shocked, even scared. Harry spent the next hour recounting what he knew of Tom Riddle and what happened in the Chamber. By the end of it, he had managed to finagle a mug of mead for himself from a distraught and distracted Hagrid.

"This tastes brilliant!" The mead was hot and had a kick due to the spices used, yet Jon thought he had never drank a finer beverage.

Too bad Hagrid was too busy crying his eyes out, big ugly tears and snot were pouring down in guilt and grief. "It's all me fault! Ron wouldn'ta died if I didn't tell yeh to follow the spiders."

"Hagrid, what happened in the Forest was unavoidable." He patted the giant man on his elbows, the highest he could reach. "We survived, and that's what matters. As for the chamber, it's our fault for trusting Lockhart. And it was ultimately Voldemort's fault as well. So please, don't blame yourself."

Hagrid wiped his tears in one of his massive handkerchiefs and blew his nose. Harry gave him a couple of minutes to calm down and used that time to sip more from the mead.

"Aye… Forget this depressing stuff. Have a look at this." Hagrid brought out a polished oak stick.

No, not a stick.

"Is that your wand?" He looked in amazement at probably the largest wand he had ever seen.

"Yep. Dumbledore managed to clear me name with the ministry." Hagrid smiled brightly, all prior guilt and sadness forgotten. "Took me straight to Ollivander's to see if he could fix me old wand. Sadly, he couldn't." His face fell slightly before brightening up, "the core was reusable, but it had to be fitted into another wand. This is even longer than me old one at twenty inches, made of Oak and the heartstring of a Norwegian Ridgeback. Merlin's beard, I miss Norbert."

"That's great news, Hagrid. I'm thrilled for you. I say this calls for a celebration." He raised his mug of mead, causing the older man to hesitantly do the same, and bumped them both.

"Cheers!" Harry took a generous gulp of the drink, Hagrid doing the same. Another comfortable silence followed, and Harry noticed his drinking companion was getting tipsy. Despite his massive size, Hagrid didn't hold his liquor well.

This gave Harry an idea.

"So tell me, Hagrid. You've been into the Forbidden Forest plenty of times, aye?"

Hagrid grunted, "been in there at least once a week since Dumbledore convinced Dippet to give me the job. Great man, Dumbledore. Great man."

"Yes, yes, the headmaster is indeed a great man, but listen," Harry tried not to sound too enthused, but he wanted his friend's attention. "You reckon you know all about the forest?"

"Know all?" Hagrid barked out a laugh, "I know more about the forest than any living witch or wizard, and I'll tell you this." The man leaned forward on the table, his face flushed. "I know tha' what I know about the place barely scratches the surface. Yeh heard of Wildlands?" Harry nodded, "Good. Some of the Wildlands I heard of or visited are large expanses of land or water. You go in there, and you are basically in a different world. Some of them even have different day and night cycles or even different weather than outside. It would be the height of summer outside, yet it could be freezing cold inside."

Harry had to stop his jaw from dropping at the sheer…magic of what Hagrid was speaking of. He drank the last of his mead and slammed the mug on the table.

"How – how different is the Forbidden Forest? Ron and I travelled quite deep in there, but it didn't seem different from other forests."

Hagrid poured himself another mug of mead and offered him a refill that he gladly took, "How long did yeh walk in there?"

Harry tried to remember through the panic and fear he had felt that night nearly a month ago, "More than thirty minutes but less than an hour."

"Heh, try travelling in there for days, and yeh would still not reach the end. I never did manage to cross the entire distance. Too much danger, and the Centaurs aren't the friendliest bunch, yet they are the most civilised creatures you will find there."

"I thought you said the forest itself isn't that large?"

"I did, but the place will do its best to disorient you and get you lost. Beau'iful beasts and flora in there, though."

"Oh?" This was what Harry had been waiting for, "tell me more."

A*L*S*M

Evening,

The almost boy-who-lived

"Neville, have you seen Harry?"

He turned towards the voice of Hermione as he descended the stairs from the boys' dormitory, "No, I haven't seen him since he went to Hagrid's. Do you think he's still there?"

"I sure hope not. The feast will start in a few minutes, and we are all required to attend." Hermione frowned, "you don't think something happened to him?"

"To Harry?" The very idea shocked Neville, "Can't be. He's too strong for anyone to bother, especially with what happened."

"OK, Gryffindors! Line up, please; we will be heading to the Great Hall."

The sound of one of the prefects caught their attention, and he moved to walk with Hermione as they followed the rest of the Gryffindors out of the tower.

"That's not what I'm worried about," the bushy-haired girl whispered urgently to him as they trailed behind the line of students. "He's been asking a lot of questions about the Forbidden Forest and its residents recently. I just worry he lost track of time speaking with Hagrid or, worse, convinced him to take him in there."

"The Forbidden Forest!"

Neville blushed when a couple of students turned at his loud exclamation, and Hermione dragged him away to a nearby alcove. Once they had their privacy, the boy had to fight down a blush at the girl's proximity.

He shook his head inwardly, "mind explaining why Harry wants to go into the Forest? I've only been there once, and it was horrible!"

"I'm not sure myself." Hermione shook her head in frustration, "Harry keeps a lot of things close to his chest. What I do know is that he is overly interested in specific magical creatures."

"Such as?"

"Well," the girl looked hesitant. "I'm not sure."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm not, Neville." She huffed in exasperation, "I don't know everything, you know. I only know what I can know, and what I know is limited by what I am capable of knowing."

Neville's mind whirred at that for a moment, "that makes no sense."

At Hermione's giggles, Neville realised she was teasing him, causing him to groan and facepalm in an attempt to cover the heat rising to his cheeks. Merlin, the girl was so… nice. She wasn't the prettiest, but she wasn't ugly, and Neville didn't care about that. He cared more about how smart and driven she was. Neville wished he could be like her.

They jumped in fright when they heard hissing sounds, and the wall next to them opened up to reveal–

"Harry!"

Hermione rushed to her friend, and Neville followed as he forced down the jealousy that sprang up at the sight of the girl he liked fussing over a boy whom he was sure was not interested in her. He shook his head violently, Harry had been nothing but kind and supportive of him. It would be a disgrace if he treated him differently over something like that.

"Heeeyyy, 'Mione. N'ville. How's it hanging?"

They both stopped at the slurred speech of the boy. Upon further inspection, they found that his face was flushed, his eyes were dilated, and his movement was unsteady.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione fussed over the boy, who giggled uncontrollably.

"Nuthins wrong 'mione. Every ting's GREAT! I'm gonna hunt some beasties for my…my…" Harry looked lost in thought, "what was I hunting again?"

Neville sniffed the air and recoiled.

"Harry… Are you drunk?"

"Whaaat? Naw, I'm Harry." Harry stumbled out of their grasp, nearly tripping on nothing.

"Harry, what did you drink at Hagrid's?" Hermione's tone was reproachful, and honestly, Neville could understand her.

"Hmmmmm," Harry frowned as he leaned on the wall. "It was some good stuff. I drank Hagrid under the table, left him collapsed in his hut, learned a ton of stuff…" He yawned deeply as they hesitantly followed him to the tower.

"Neville," Hermione turned to him pleadingly. "I don't think Harry is fit to attend the feast, and I shudder to think what the teachers would do to him. Can you please take him back to the dorms and have him sleep off whatever he drank?"

"Sure, Hermione. But what about McGonnogal?"

"Don't worry about the deputy headmistress, I'll tell her that Harry isn't feeling well or something."

For a moment, she looked torn at the idea of lying to a teacher, but she quickly had a determined look on her face. Neville was surprised that the girl whom everyone secretly called a teacher's pet could so decisively decide to cover for a student and lie to the teachers.

"Alright then. Come on, Harry." He grabbed Harry's elbow and marched him to the tower. "Let's get you to bed."

"But I don't wanna go to bed." The Boy-Who-Lived whined as he dragged his feet, but despite his strength, he was both short and light enough for Neville to drag him. "I'm so hungry, I can eat a horse."

"Come on now. We can't have any of the teachers see you like this." They reached the portrait entrance, and Neville said the password, ignoring the Fat Lady's nosiness.

The common room was deserted as everyone was already on the way to the feast. Neville dreaded the idea of carrying Harry upstairs to the dorms; he was already feeling winded from that day's training session.

He led Harry to a couch by the fireplace, and Harry collapsed on it with a groan.

"Ugh, my head is spinning so much. So damn worth it, though."

"Just what did you drink at Hagrid's?" Neville sat on an armchair to catch his breath.

"Something fun, but you're too young to try it."

Neville's eyebrow twitched at his friend's mirthful tone and giggles, "I'm a day older than you, you prat. I'll also have you know I tried my fair share of alcoholic beverages."

"I'm sure you did, you fancy wine-drinking upper-class posh. Unlike us poor peasants who have to make do with ale and beer." The boy's lazy smile and joking manner caused Neville to crack a smile.

"Oh? Is that what you drank then? Ale?"

"Ale? Now that's a good idea." Harry hummed in thought before a cough brought him back, "but no. I had mead, Neville. Honest to the gods mead straight from the most succulent of honeys and ripest of fruits."

Neville had no idea what's so special about mead. "Hermione and I worried about you. Didn't you know the farewell feast was tonight?"

"Ah yes, you and Hermione." Harry's suddenly sharp tone brought Neville short. "You better treat her right, Neville. She's like a sister to me."

"W-what are you talking about?" Neville's blush had gone tomato red, "Hermione likes you, not me."

"Of course she likes me, she can't be more obvious if she tried to hide it. I also like me, and me likes her too, but not the way she likes me." Neville looked confused, and he wondered if Harry was still too drunk to make coherent sentences.

But was it that obvious that he liked Hermione? Embarrassingly enough, Neville had felt that way towards her since that day a year ago when he tried to stop the three of them from sneaking out of the tower, and the girl hexed him. With her confident and determined expression as she apologised before doing the deed, he wished he had someone like that by his side. He had always known that Hermione was a hard-working witch, and unlike nearly everyone who claimed the girl was a genius, Neville knew that she was not. She was even better, a normal girl who refused to take mediocrity as an option and gave her best and beyond to be better than everyone else.

Yet, it would not matter. If he ever tried to broach the subject of courting a muggle-born to his grandmother, disapproval would be the least of his concern. While his family had never been too traditional, nor did they have a history of attacking muggles for sport, that he knew of, they never really cared for them either. Neville understood the importance of his position as heir of house Longbottom, a noble and ancient house that traces its lineage to the time when the Saxons ruled the lands. While he had no plans to marry young, just appearing to date a muggle-born would cause tongues to flap, and he was sure his grandmother would froth at the thought of combining unknown blood into their lineage.

Then, there was also the matter of Hermione herself understanding all of this.

"Anyway, this isn't the time for this Harry. Do you think you can clean up and head to the feast?"

For a moment, a serious frown appeared on the black-haired boy. "No. I think I'll go to sleep." A sardonic smile appeared on his face as he stood from the couch, feet slightly shaking. "I still outdrank Hagrid, so that's a win to me."

Neville stood and offered a hand, which Harry took gratefully. "You're a good friend, Neville." The blonde-haired boy smiled shyly as they climbed the stairs. He couldn't help but notice that Harry looked and acted far more sober than five minutes ago. "I have high hopes for you and wish you the best in pursuing Hermione. She might be bossy and frankly annoying at times," he nearly stumbled at the boy's words. "But she has a stout heart and a good head on her shoulders."

They reached their rooms, and Harry promptly crashed on his bed.

"Good night, Harry."

"Mhmm, n'ite." was the muffled response followed by gentle snoring.

.

.

.

Neville ignored the curious looks directed at him when he entered the Great Hall, opting to search for Hermione instead. He found her waving at him with an empty seat next to her.

"How was Harry?"

"Well enough," He answered warily as half of the Gryffindor table was trying to listen in. It didn't miss anyone that one of their own was not present, especially the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Honestly, that boy drives me crazy sometimes." Hermione stabbed at her chicken, though Neville could see a slight upturn of her lips.

"He seemed very proud of his achievement." Neville filled his plate with food before briefly inspecting the staff table, "Hagrid isn't here."

"No, he isn't. Was Harry telling the truth then?"

"Seems like it."

Both of them had amused looks in their eyes as their fellow Lions' curiosity peaked to a fervour, yet they focused entirely on their plates.

Eventually, once dessert was served, the Headmaster stood up and gave a single clap, causing the tables to clear of all food.

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes twinkled with wisdom and sorrow as he surveyed the sea of eager faces before him. His vision froze once he realised Harry was not present, though Neville could see McGonnogal whisper quietly to him. The headmaster nodded, then cleared his throat and began, his voice resonating through the hall.

"My dear students, as we gather here tonight, we bid adieu to a remarkable yet sorrowful school year at Hogwarts. First, allow me to start with good news. Our favourite Keeper of Keys and Grounds has finally returned to us from his unjust incarceration."

Loud cheering sounded out, mostly from the Gryffindor table, yet some students looked confusedly at Hagrid's empty seat.

"Yes, yes. I'm sure you are all asking, 'where is Hagrid?' Never fear, for our Gamekeeper appears to have not yet fully recovered from his ordeal and had opted for a night of rest instead."

Most students seemed satisfied with the explanation, though Neville noticed many having knowing looks or smirks.

"It saddens me to acknowledge the loss of one of our brightest stars, Ronald Weasley." The sudden proclamation silenced the Great Hall, "his family is still grieving, and I wish you would not disturb them from their grief. Give them time, and they shall bounce back stronger than ever, yet do not leave your friends for too long, or else they might drown in the pit that is despair."

Several students nodded their heads in affirmation. The Gryffindor Quidditch team, a prefect from Ravenclaw and other students from the other houses. Neville was even surprised to see a couple of Slytherins having looks of sympathy on their faces.

"Young Ronald might not be among us," the Headmaster gazed at his students, "but let us remember that his absence does not diminish his profound impact on this institution."

A sombre silence fell upon the hall as Dumbledore continued, "it is in times of challenge and adversity that we discover our true selves, and Ron exemplifies this truth. He has shown courage, loyalty, and an unwavering commitment to do what is right. We must carry forward the lessons he has taught us, even as he embarks on his next great adventure."

Dumbledore's voice grew stronger, infused with hope, "in life, we often face darkness and uncertainty. But it is during these moments that the light of friendship, the strength of unity, and the power of love shine brightest. Remember the lessons you've learned within these walls, and know that the bonds forged here will sustain you in the years to come."

As the headmaster concluded his speech, the students erupted into applause, their hearts filled with gratitude and inspiration. Dumbledore's wisdom had touched them all, and they left the Great Hall that evening with renewed determination to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Neville, however, couldn't help but wonder, "why didn't the Headmaster mention Lockhart or the Basilisk?"

"Everyone already knows, and it's better not to give that bastard the satisfaction of being remembered."

Hermione's cold and acerbic tone came as a surprise, and Neville felt his cheeks heat up. Merlin, since when did she start insulting adults, let alone professors?

He can't deny that it was…intriguing.

Chapter Text

Harry groaned as he felt a wet tongue licking his face.

“I’m awake, get off, Ghost. I’m awake already.”

The direwolf huffed, and Harry opened his eyes to find himself in the Godswood of his mind.

“Ugh, I have a bad feeling that my head will be killing me once I’m back outside.”

He ignored his canine friend’s amused gaze as he stood and walked to the pool. Even though he was fully awake in his mind, some cool water on his face would always feel nice.

After dunking his head into the pool for a minute, Harry felt more than ready to face the coming day.

“Okay, my memories are all over the place. Anything you want to add, Ghost?”

The white wolf simply looked at the Weirwood, and Harry sighed, “might as well.”

Touching the bone-white bark of the tree, Harry shifted through his memories of the previous day. He chuckled slightly as he recalled his conversation with Neville and was glad he didn’t blurt out anything that would have caused some raised eyebrows. 

Rewinding his memories to his time in Hagrid’s hut, Harry froze the images and moved to the pool.

“Time to see the fruits of your labour,” he patted his liver and watched closely the events of last night.

.

.

.

“That’s a lot of nasties. Acromantulas, centaurs, ogres, trolls, feral beasts… not to mention the few he raised like the Hippogriffs and Thestrals, whatever they are, that I should steer away from. Don’t want to upset the big man if I accidentally hurt them. Unfortunately, that was all Hagrid mumbled before he fell asleep, for such a big man, he really couldn’t hold his drink well.” Harry shook his head as it turned out he didn’t learn as much as he hoped to. “What do you think, boy?”

Ghost shook his head sideways as he watched the rolling memories on the pool. He raised his paw, causing it to stop on a scene of Hagrid warning him about Fae.

“Yeah… Technically, pixies and doxies are also Fae, but I don’t think that’s what Hagrid was warning about.” Harry rubbed his chin as he viewed his large friend’s worried face as he talked about the elusive creatures of legend. “They sound like the Children of the Forests, only a lot more malicious than the tales say. At least I won’t have to worry about their winter relatives… I hope.”

The idea of potentially fighting the counterparts of the Others of his world did not appeal to him, at least not so early in his magical education. Nevertheless, Hagrid mentioned that while the Fae were dangerous, they could still be reasoned with, though he highly advised against speaking to them in the first place. Harry wondered if the big guy got duped into one of their deals or something. 

Nevertheless, encountering Faes is even rarer than Unicorns, which were already incredibly rare. His main concern was the myriad of aggressive beasts that called the forest home, for some of them would serve their purpose as ingredients for his ritual. Yet, he could not deny his desire to get something from a Unicorn, such powerful magical creatures would surely… but no, Firenze’s warning echoed in his mind about harming the pure creatures. There was no way the centaurs would appreciate anyone attacking the Unicorns after Voldemort’s stunt last year.

At least he would be content with the many valuable flora that Hagrid showed him, all things potion masters and apothecaries would pay top galleon for. While they would be useless for his ritual, and Harry wasn’t short on gold, it would always be better to have more than less.

There were a few more things that the gentle giant mentioned, such as his own secret hideaways in the forest, but Harry felt that was enough for now; He could always review the memories later. Moving away from the pool, he hugged Ghost, getting a wet lick in return, before leaving the ancient grove. As always, he could not see Winterfell beyond the gates. Just a dark, misty void.

A*L*S*M

Friday morning, 11th of June 1993.

Harry groggily woke up, and the first thing he saw were two large, familiar orbs of green staring at him from far too close a proximity.

“Dobby, what have I said about waking me up this way?” He scowled inwardly as he fought the urge to flinch or accidentally hurt his servant.

“Not to, Harry Potter, sir.” The elf threw a glance at the nearby lamp with twitching hands, “unless it's an emergency.”

Harry groaned as he sat up in his bed, noticing the empty dorm room, the packed trunks meant his dorm mates had already left for breakfast.

“Is this an emergency, Dobby?”

The elf fidgeted hesitantly, “Dobby has prepared Master Harry’s luggage, but if the Great Harry Potter sir takes too long, he will miss breakfast. Was Dobby mistaken?”

A yawn escaped his mouth, and he idly scratched his head, “It’s okay this time. You can go now, take the trunk and my broom to the leaky cauldron. I'll call you if I need you.”

The elf nodded before popping away, taking his stuff and Hedwig’s empty cage along. Harry stood and stretched, and a satisfied sigh escaped from him as his joints popped. He looked at the window and idly wondered where Hedwig was. Closing his eyes and focusing for a second, he found her flying south. Clearly, she had decided to hurry ahead to London, rather than get stuck on the train for eight hours. A quick sniff had the boy with enhanced senses gagging. Grabbing the change of clothes that Dobby prepared, tattered dark trousers and a grey T-shirt, he hurried to the bathroom for a much-needed shower.

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“Hey, Harry. Fancy meeting you down here.”

He had just exited the kitchens after having an enlightening conversation with Leeney about handling Dobby when he found Shafiq in the corridors. His prefect badge was on, which was usually his way of announcing I’m on duty, so don’t give me a reason to ruin your day.

“Rick, what are you doing down here?” Harry chewed on his sandwich as he joined the older boy.

“Last-minute patrols. The Hogwarts Express leaves in an hour, and all the students are already gathered by the carriages. You were notably missing last night, so the teachers asked us prefects to ensure no students were late.” The Ravenclaw prefect led the way out of the dungeons or basements if you asked a Puff. Harry had learned from observation that the teachers had prefects from other houses patrol the Dungeons, while Slytherin and Hufflepuff prefects patrolled the towers. Probably in an effort to prevent bias from prefects to members of their houses.

“I see, well, you’ve found me. Caught me red-handed at the kitchens’ exit, where I’m not supposed to be.” Harry shrugged carelessly and grinned at the Egyptian.

“Did I now? I could have sworn I only saw you in the corridor, where you must have been admiring the elegant decor of our illustrious forebearers.” The older boy’s turquoise eyes squinted in mirth.

“Indeed I was, my good man. I mean, have you looked at this place?” He pointed at a dark corner where mould and fungi had formed around a leaking pipe. “Free food for the pixies.”

“Nature’s work at its best.” They both chuckled good-naturedly as they bantered along the way to the Paved Courtyard, or as the students preferred to call it, the Quad. 

“So, what are your plans for the summer, Rick?”

“Oh, a bit of this and that. Might visit my cousins in Egypt later on, though I’m really not a fan of going there in summer.” Ironic for an Egyptian not to be a fan of the heat, although Harry would admit he wasn’t the biggest fan of the rain either. “More importantly, I am excited about the first Wizengamot meeting of the summer.” 

That caught his interest. “When was it again?”

“It’s set a couple of days before the summer solstice.” Tariq looked around the courtyard as they finally arrived, noticing the heavy crowds. All of Hogwarts was gathered here, and Harry could see some of the teachers patrolling and talking with the students. Even Filch was pretending to be busy as he could hear him threatening some first-year, even as Colin Creevey sneaked a dung bomb into his back pocket. 

A chortle came unbidden when the bomb exploded once Filch walked away, grabbing a few people’s attention. Harry turned to find Shafiq with a slight smile, “sorry, you were saying it was before the solstice?”

Tariq, or Rick as he preferred to go by, nodded. “The gathering will be in the morning, and later, there will be a ball for the rest of the day. The ministry had at first tried to make the meeting and the ball on the solstice itself, but attendance was non-existent due to many families having their own plans on that day.”

“I take it the solstice is significant, then?” The two of them walked around the edge of the crowd as they each searched for their respective groups.

“Yeah, it’s a good time for many ceremonies connected to the summer, the sun, heat, and many other things that you would learn in Astronomy later on.”

“Astronomy? So far, it's been a bit of a let-down, to be honest.” Harry scrunched his brows.

“Baby steps, Harry. You can’t learn how to run before you walk. The first few years will have you learning about the cosmos and other celestial bodies and then memorising their orbits and affinities. In your fourth year, you would put those lessons to practice in benign rituals and ceremonies.”

“What exactly do you mean by ceremonies? Are they different from Rituals?” They stopped by a wall to finish their talk, unwilling to join their friends just yet.

“Put simply, all rituals are ceremonies, but not all ceremonies are rituals.” At Harry’s confused look, the older boy chuckled. “Ceremonies are religious in nature. British magicals kept to their pagan beliefs from the olden times, even with the advent of Christianity, which introduced its own ceremonies as well. Perhaps because of it, they hold closer to it these days so as to not forget their traditions.” 

“And those ceremonies actually have effects?” It was always a contentious issue for Jon, as the gods of his homeland were never active, or at least not in an obvious way.

“Of course, they do… for the most part.” Shafiq shrugged. “A popular ceremony in spring, for example, is a fertility blessing. Each family prays to a fertility deity in hopes of healthy offspring. It was most notable after you vanquished the Dark Lord as a babe, many wizards and witches intentionally held off from having kids and waited for Beltane to commence that ceremony and then procreated like rabbits. It is said the sheer number of believers and attendees at that year’s Beltane must have made the gods notice them, considering the results.”

Harry snorted at that. Perhaps that explained why there were so few students in the years before him, culminating with barely a dozen in Astoria’s year. Then again, that also meant that next year, Hogwarts will have more students than ever before. He wondered if the teachers would be able to handle that strain.

Regardless, something much more important had been on his mind during this conversation.

“Why the hell is none of this mentioned in the books I’ve read? I knew there was a Wizengamot meeting soon, but not the exact date. The rituals and ceremonies, though? None of the books in the library mentioned anything about it!” The vertically challenged boy raised his arms in the air from frustration. He and Hermione had spent countless hours in the library over the past ten days researching and reading over a lot of genres, yet for some reason, anything theological or ritual related was conspicuously absent. 

Harry would have preferred to read on how rituals behaved considering he was in the middle of one, and sadly, neither he nor Dobby had found anything in the chamber that would help. Riddle probably cleared everything of value off, or mayhaps one of his ancestors did.

“…You make a good point, Harry. I’m not certain on the specifics, but about a hundred years ago or so, some witch successfully advocated for the ministry to ban all books about rituals and ceremonies. I think she had some bad experience with them? Or maybe she didn’t understand them and illogically feared them?” Tariq rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Harry scowled inwardly. So the reason so many muggle-borns are blind to the most basic information on wizarding society was due to some woman’s tantrum?

“So there’s no way for me to learn about the matter except to ask around?” He would rather not do so, as that would just raise eyebrows and bring attention to himself. Harry still wasn’t sure if the ritual he was doing was legal or not, and considering the stance of the ministry, he was leaning towards not.

“I don’t think there were any book burnings or such, just the banning of selling or publishing books. You might find a book about the subject in the forbidden section of the library, or maybe even for sale if you know where to look.” The prefect wiggled his eyebrows at him, and Harry smirked at his not so subtle hints. “Anyway, I have to join the other prefects. See you around, Harry.” 

“Thanks, mate.” He waved at the older boy as he approached a group of older students wearing perfect badges waving him over. Close by were Dean and Seamus, along with a few other boys from other houses, who walked over to greet him.

“Hey, Harry.” Seamus greeted as he fiddled with what looked like marbles. “Trouble with the prefects?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Harry shrugged with a grin. “What’s with the crowd?” He nodded to some of the boys he knew in passing, such as Boot and Goldstein, though he pretended to ignore Macmillan’s existence. The pompous boy looked like he wanted to announce his presence somehow, so Harry sought an opportunity to excuse himself.

“We’re organising a gobstones tournament. Once you’re on the train, look for us in one of the front compartments if you’re interested. ”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll bring Neville as well, now if you excuse me, I have to catch up with someone.” Harry waved at them as he walked to where Hermione and Neville were waving while a few feet away, Luna was talking to Astoria, who looked so excited she would almost vibrate. The girl looked a lot healthier since the blood transfusion, and he remembered that he needed to talk to her parents once they arrived at King’s Cross.

“Harry, we thought you would sleep the whole day and miss the train.” Neville grinned from his seat on his school trunk as he approached.

“Harry James Potter! Do you have any idea how we found you last night?” And, of course, Hermione would look at him with disapproval.

“On the corridor on your way to the feast?” He chuckled at the duo’s look of surprise. “I might have been tipsy, but I remember everything from last night.” Harry looked at Neville with a mischievous glint in his eyes that the blonde boy saw and gulped.

“Hey, guys.” Astoria and Luna approached, the former with her typical wide grin, while the latter had her serene smile. “Wanna share a compartment on the train?”

“Sure, I don’t mind,” Harry answered quickly before Hermione could devise an excuse. The girl needed to meet more people, particularly those whom she would never associate with. Especially purebloods to help her grow a thicker skin and get that chip off her shoulder, and the Greengrass girls were more patient than most.

“Awesome! Hear that, Daph?” She turned to her sisters, who were speaking to Susan and Hannah. “We’re gonna look for one of those extra large lounge compartments and have a party! Quickly, before they are all taken.”

“Splendid, want to join us, girls?” Daphne turned to the two Puffs, who exchanged a glance with him. Harry nodded genially, causing them to smile in return.

“Of course, let me tell my brother first.” Susan hurried off to the same group of older students that Shafiq joined.

“I didn't know Susan's brother was Headboy.” Harry rubbed his chin as the crimson-haired girl hugged an older boy with ash-blonde hair in Hufflepuff colours before speaking to him.

“Yes, Edmund is in his final year. I heard they are giving a farewell party for him on the train. I think it's tradition every year for the head boy and head girl to receive one.” Hannah explained as they saw the older boy pat his sister’s shoulder. Surprisingly, he wasn't much taller than her, barely a couple of inches, and Harry's curiosity was piqued regarding Susan Bones.

“By the way, where's your trunk, Harry?” 

“I had my house-elf take it ahead of me.” Harry shrugged to Hannah, “I take it our agreement is still intact, right Hannah?”

“Of course, Harry. I have already sent an owl to Great Uncle Tom, and he replied yesterday. He is honoured that the Great Harry Potter will be staying in his establishment.” Hannah’s teasing smirk had him groan, causing her to giggle giddily with laughing brown eyes. “He has a room ready for you and promised to have treacle tart for dinner and breakfast. I might have told him about that.” Harry smiled at the amiable girl, he will have to get her a gift.

“Attention, students!” All chatter ceased at once as McGonagall's voice resounded in the courtyard with what must have been a charm of some kind. “Prepare to board the carriages once they arrive. No more than six to a carriage, please.”

As the deputy headmistress finished her announcement, Susan quickly joined them as they grouped up to board, chatting as they waited. They split into two groups as they approached the horseless carriages… only they weren't horseless anymore.

“Well, this is interesting.” Harry approached the strange steeds pulling their carriage. It was a winged horse with a thin body that was all skin and bones. Its face had reptilian features and wide, leathery wings that resembled a bat's… or a dragon’s. It was the first time he had seen such grotesque creatures, yet he could feel no malice from the one he approached. Only curiosity and subdued excitement.

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione called from inside the carriage. “What are you doing over there?”

“You can't see it?”

“See what?” Daphne got curious and skipped over to him from her carriage. “I don't see anything, Harry. You realise the carriages are just charmed to move by themselves, right ?” The gangly girl had a teasing grin as she leaned on his shoulders. Harry frowned, The girl was getting a bit too cheeky by not so subtly reminding him of how short he was. 

They’ll see who would laugh last – Harry was not yet thirteen and had plenty of time to grow.

“Er, Daphne? Who told you that?” He turned to Susan and was surprised to find her holding a shocked-looking Luna. Upon further inspection, he discovered Neville looking at the creature as well, though he didn’t seem surprised by it.

“I mean, it just makes sense, innit? I'm quite the savant at deductive reasoning, after all.” The dark-haired girl exaggeratedly raised her nose at the taller girl, who shook her head. 

“No, Daphne. I regret to say that in this matter, you are sorely mistaken.” The crimson-haired witch approached the creature slowly, Luna in tow, and eyed them with orbs of ethereal glowing blue that shared the same colour as the sky above them. “The carriages were always drawn by Thestrals.”

Daphne, who so far had a joking attitude and carefree smile, paled considerably and jumped several feet away. “ Thestrals! Here in school? What the fudge?”

Harry, on the other hand, smiled gently at the creature as he patted its chin, causing it to close its milky white eyes in contentment. “Ah, so you're the ones Hagrid mentioned. He never explained what you were or how you looked, but he did say the school had always had an entire herd of the creatures for centuries. Cool.”

“ Cool? Is that all you have to say?” Daphne looked close to having a seizure, and the other girls didn't look comfortable either. Tracey and Astoria looked warily at where the Thestral supposedly was, but they missed it by a few feet, while Hannah and Hermione looked curious, if nothing else. 

Only Neville and Susan looked at Daphne with exasperation. “Harry, don't you know that they are omens of death? To see one of them means you will die within a day!”

“If that were true, Greengrass, I would have died a year ago when I first saw them.” Neville interrupted as he got closer to the one Harry was petting. “Thestrals are magical creatures that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death; I mean true death of the same species, not your old pygmy puff.” He hesitantly held out his hand and patted the beast's flank, much to its pleasure, as it released a content chirp. It was a strangely gentle sound to come from such a fearsome-looking creature. 

“Did you hear that?” Daphne still looked weary as Tracey whispered. Harry noticed a few students were looking curiously at them. Thankfully, they were in a secluded enough corner of the courtyard that no one noticed the girl's outburst.

“You can see them too, right, Luna?” Susan nudged the blonde Ravenclaw, who nodded hesitantly. 

“My mother, when I was nine.” The words were spoken with a careless, even tone.

Well, that made the mood sombre. “Obviously, in my case, I've seen two people die recently. Neville?” Harry turned to the blonde boy who finished patting the Thestral and moved to the carriage. 

“My grandpa died the summer before I started school. He survived the Dragon Pox of the late seventies but had become weaker and prone to sickness. It was a peaceful death, surrounded by family.” Neville had a forlorn look before he shrugged and waved them on. “Come on, everyone, let's go. We're going to miss the train at this rate.”

Daphne still didn't look convinced, “But –”

“Bloody hell, Greengrass. It's not Thestrals that are omens of death, but Grim. You know – huge shaggy black hounds? Would probably bite your head before scaring you to death? Ring a bell?” The Gryffindor was fed up with the discussion and waved his hands around him. “Do you want to grab that compartment or not? We're the last ones in the courtyard, so unless you want McGonagall to come over, let's move on.”

Daphne did not seem amused by Neville's tone. She opened her mouth for a rebuke, but, as if to emphasise his point, a cough sounded out behind them, and Harry turned to the annoyed visage of Minerva McGonagall looking sternly at them from the empty courtyard.

“Well? What are you waiting for, an invitation? Red carpeting to the train? Get on already!”

They quickly hopped on their carriages, whatever order they had decided, forgotten. Harry ended up sitting between the buxom Susan and the waif-like Luna, and bloody hell if the crimson witch was tall. Even sitting, his eyes were barely level with her chin! It didn’t help that he could smell a tinge of cardamom and cinnamon, as her hair brushed his nose, that caused his heart to palpitate.

Fucking puberty. 

“So, Susan.” Might as well break the awkwardness, “you didn’t say how you were able to see the Thestrals. Who did you see die?”

“… I don’t know.” The girl’s voice was subdued as she looked outside the window to stare at the creatures. “I’ve always been capable of seeing them, even though I don’t recall ever seeing someone die. Just one of the many aberrations about me.” The crimson-haired girl’s words gave him a slight shiver in his spine that only piqued his interest in her more. Especially when she turned to stare him in the eyes…or at least she tried, as she had to turn sideways for him to see her from her breasts. 

The girl’s sombre mood was gone as she had a knowing grin when she saw his gaze. Harry huffed and turned to the much shorter Luna, who had an upside-down magazine out, and engaged her in conversation.

He was definitely counting on that ritual to at least give him an inch or two.

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.

.

“I told you this would happen,” Neville grumbled as he dragged his trunk behind them. The train was already moving, and they still did not have a compartment. Harry looked around at the front part of the train. It was where most of the older years chose compartments, and he could now tell why. There was an entire carriage, twice as large as a regular carriage, that doubled as a common room for everyone to mingle in; he was certain it looked the same from the outside, but figured magic was at hand. Sofas and armchairs were available aplenty, as well as two dining tables, what should have been a pool table but had been repurposed to play card games, a gobstones pit, and even a fireplace. There was also a bar, though there didn’t appear to be anyone manning it – scratch that, he saw an older student call his drink, and it appeared on the counter. 

Magic was so darned convenient.

The carriages on each side of it were known as the lounge compartments, which supposedly were much more comfortable and spacious than the others they normally took. Those lounges were all sadly taken.

“Ugh, this blows.” Daphne puffed out a breath to blow away a strand of hair that came close to her mouth. “Come on, gang. I still have one last trick up my sleeve.”

Hermione looked ready to call it quits and grab a regular compartment, while the Hufflepuff girls simply smiled and distracted her with small talk, though the bushy-haired girl seemed to be more interested in her book. Harry sighed inwardly at his best friend’s antics, and glanced at Astoria and Luna giggling quietly on the side as they perused the Quibbler. Harry had read a bit of it on the carriage with the younger girl, and it was interesting enough. Much better than the rubbish in The Daily Prophet or the corniness of Witch Weekly. 

Tracey dropped her trunk beside him and used it as a seat, her face bored. Daphne dropped hers next to her sister and hurried to one of the tables, where a group of older students were laughing over something. Harry recognised one of them as Cassius Warrington, as he had played against him multiple times in Quidditch. The older boy sported what Jon would consider to be the classical Valyrian look, with pale blonde hair, handsome looks, and purple eyes. His good looks didn’t hide the wicked streak he had on him, as he showcased on the pitch.

He could not tell what houses the others were from, as everyone had removed their school robes once they boarded the train, revealing their casual clothes. Or what magicals considered casual. It looked like the boys came out of a 17th-century French party but decided to give a more modern touch to their frills and cuffs and added 19th-century style clothing to their already old-fashioned attire. Harry could see a boy wearing a top hat that wouldn't look out of place on a gentleman a hundred years ago but with puffed shirts and two fancy cravats that made him look like a flamboyant peacock. Another boy tried to dress sharply in an old-fashioned tuxedo, only to be ruined when he chose Bolton pink instead of black and had jester shoes instead of polished leather.

The girls were slightly better, yet still looked ridiculous. One older girl, in particular, had a stuffed parrot placed on a weird headdress while wearing a close-fitted bodice and corsage that should have emphasised a modest and demure style. Should, being the keyword, as the girl had a massive cleavage cut that showed too much flesh to be proper and another cut that bared her shoulders. Harry could also see her navel as if she were wearing a shirt too small that couldn’t fit inside her skirt. Speaking of the clearly over-puffed skirts, those could act as cages for naughty children; he chuckled inwardly.

Or short boys. He shivered at the mere thought and vowed to do everything he could to grow at least a couple more inches over the summer. Harry's sudden growth spurt from two weeks ago came to nothing in the end; he was still an inch shy of five feet. 

“At least you’re dressed prettily enough, Tracey. Planning on an outing tonight?” Harry glanced at his green-eyed friend, observing her classy muggle clothing, which still gave her a magical air. The blonde girl had her hair loose yet neat, and Harry could smell a hint of citrus and lavender. She was dressed in a denim skirt and a yellow halter top under a turquoise jacket made from some kind of soft leather. She finished her ensemble with emerald earrings and a malachite necklace.

“Harry…” The blonde-haired girl blushed deeply at his sudden compliment, and Harry realised it had come out of the blue. He would never take back a compliment, however, and doubled down.

“I mean, have you seen everyone else in this room.” He waved at the many witches and wizards garbed in some of the strangest attires he’d seen. Only his group were dressed normally enough, though Neville dressed like he was going to a wedding. Susan, on the other hand, had a strange gothic black dress over her white frilly shirt that was held with suspenders and had a small yet cute black bow-tie. “You look like a classy princess compared to those court fools.” 

Even Jon, who had been to Whiteharbor and witnessed plenty of foreigners from around the world in their weird garbs, felt like magicals had an extremely acquired taste.

“F-flattery will get you nowhere, wonder boy.” Tracey, having recovered, tried to counterattack, yet her reddened cheeks and happy smile said otherwise. 

“Are you sure? I can keep going, you know?” Harry whispered, adding a growling husk to his voice that caused the girl to visibly shiver. He grinned as he sat beside her and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. “I can compare your luscious hair to spun gold, your grassy eyes to the endless prairie of the highlands, your cute mole that emphasised the texture of your soft skin, your pouty lips as you lick them from nervousness, your shapely bod –”

“A-alright, already. You m-made your point!” The girl was reduced to a stuttering mess with a blush so hot that he wagered she would steam if he splashed water on her forehead, yet her unbidden smile told him all he needed. He allowed her to push him away with a satisfied smile and glanced around to find Susan staring at them curiously. Their gazes met, and the girl's otherworldly blue eyes narrowed at Tracey's blushing face before giving him a knowing look as she licked her lips. Harry could have sworn he saw her eyes glowing bright, but he was distracted by the return of Daphne.

“Okay, gang. I found us a solution.” Daphne interrupted any more chatter as she approached while dragging an annoyed-looking older boy. “This is Cassius Warrington, my first cousin who has just finished his OWL year with a nice and solid five OWLs. The pride and joy of his family.” The girl ribbed her cousin with her elbow, much to the boy's growing annoyance. “He's also an all-around reliable guy, so long as I mention my mom's name. She used to babysit him, you see.” The possibly mad girl mock-whispered to their group, which earned her a lazy slap to the head from the now very annoyed-looking boy.

“So this is your group?” The Slytherin chaser sauntered over to where he was standing with Tracey, giving a passing glance to the girl before standing in front of him.

“Potter.” 

“Warrington.”

They faced off for a moment, with the difference in height especially apparent. The boy was easily over six feet tall, and the top of Harry's head barely reached his collarbone. He stood his ground, however, at the older boy's attempt at intimidation and adopted a bored look.

“Quidditch might have been cancelled this year, but next year, the cup will be ours.” Harry didn't bother replying as Warrington walked off to Astoria, giving her a surprisingly gentle hug and a pat on the head, which she eagerly reciprocated before nodding to Luna. 

“Well, it's certainly a strange bunch you've picked up, girl. Didn't I tell you to stop picking up strays from the street?” The older boy gazed at them, and Harry narrowed his eyes at the way the boy said stray as he was looking at Hermione at the time, who noticed it if her glare was any indication. 

“Now, now, Cassie. These are all my friends here.” Daphne pinched the older boy's sides, her smile turning a little wooden. “At least I'm trying to make friends with some of them. And you are not helping.” Daphne accentuated every word with a pinch, causing the boy to grimace. 

“Whatever, you owe me for this, Daphne. Take lounge four. I already paid for it for me and my friends, but they stood me up for their girls. Although,” The boy's amethyst eyes stared in undisguised lust at Susan's body, which caused her to narrow her eyes and scowl. “I wouldn’t mind getting a regular compartment for some private company. Never had a redhead yet.” Warrington wiggled his eyebrows as he leered at Susan. Harry subtly drew his wand at the sheer gal of the older boy, causing Daphne's eyes to widen. 

“Alright, guys, let's go.” She pushed the older boy away and quickly dragged him, the rest of the group following while Warrington cackled unpleasantly. Susan glared at the retreating boy while Hannah dragged her out of the common room. Once they entered lounge four, Harry quickly forgot about Warrington and finally understood what all the hype was about. 

Magic was definitely at play here, for the lounge was much larger than it had any right to be in the small train carriage. The room itself was circular, with rounded windows taking up most of the wooden wall. Harry could see the rushing landscape of the Scottish Highlands as they travelled south to London. There was one large round table in the middle with a menu to peruse, surrounded by a cushioned and circular bench that had reclining backs, and clear armrests to designate seats. The room could easily fit twelve adults, more than enough for the nine young teens.

“Oh, wow. This is simply remarkable!” Surprisingly, Hermione was the first to comment and inspected the room. “The design reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of the Orient Express, but this is mad. This is essentially a conference room on a train! How did they do it?”

“Magic, Granger. Welcome to the world of magic. You can put your trunks over here.” Tracey dragged her trunk to an accompanying closet, but Harry took this chance to call dibs on the head seat. After grumbling when he noticed he was too short to barely look over the table, he grabbed a few cushions to boost him, just in time for everyone to finally enter the lounge and choose a seat. Susan and Tracy sat on each side of him, but thankfully, the cushions he put underneath allowed him to be level with them. He vehemently ignored their smirks, though Susan’s was subdued by her foul mood.

An awkward silence descended on the room. Naturally, Hermione took this opportunity to pull out a book and start reading. Luna also pulled her copy of the Quibbler, which grabbed Neville's attention. 

“Well, that was unpleasant.” Hannah tried to break the ice as she glanced at Susan’s dark look. “What did your cousin mean by paying for the lounge, Daphne? I thought it was a first come, first served basis.”  

“It is, but it's not free. Each of these lounges costs twelve galleons to reserve.” Daphne grabbed the menu on the table, showing a coin slot underneath it. “It comes with food and drinks if you're willing to pay, and considering it was almost always designed with rich nobles in mind, that was never an issue. Here, let me show you how it works.”

Daphne deposited a Galleon in the slot before clearly intoning, “Turkish Delight and Tea,” to the table. Immediately, a box of candy and a pot of tea with several cups appeared on the table.

“Go on, everyone. It's my treat; just don't go overboard, I'm nearly out of my allowance, but one Galleon should be enough for us all.” Harry didn't waste time and grabbed a handful of confectionaries as well as a cup of tea. The rest joined in as well, with some checking the menu first before ordering their preferred treat. Once everyone was settled, Susan’s simmering anger finally reached a boiling point.

“Now then, Daphne.” Susan glared slightly at the dark-haired girl sitting next to Tracey. “What the bloody hell was wrong with your cousin? If It wasn't for you, I would have cursed his eyes out of his skull and stuffed them down his throat.” The graphic threat was jarring to hear from the normally polite and genial girl. The whole room could feel the awkward embarrassment coming out of Daphne.

“Come now, Susie. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, he was just joking, right?” The Greengrass heiress turned to her sister for support.

“Don't look at me, Daphne. He's not my cousin, as he reminds me on every occasion.” The blonde-haired girl crossed her arms and glanced away.

“I am sure he also did not cheat on his girlfriend a few months ago, either, that it was all a misunderstanding.” Harry sipped on his tea as he gazed at the fidgeting girl with amusement. “It was quite the scandal, I remember Wood and the twins were laughing so hard about finding Warrington cursed six ways to Sunday in the hospital wing and missing their game against Ravenclaw . The handsome Slytherin quidditch star, caught in bed with a girl by his two girlfriends… none of the three knowing about the other two. I don't think it takes a genius to understand his nature.”

“W-well, that was just –”

“He didn't even know me, yet called me a stray to my face.” Hermione flipped a page in her book. Her words sounded hurt, yet her face was stony. 

“Hey, Cassie is pretty nice.” Astoria rebuked with her mouth full of candy. “He's just an awful joker… and a womaniser.”

“He will obviously be nice to you, Astoria. He is your cousin, after all.” Tracy sighed with a hint of longing. “Despite how annoyed he acts, he has never denied you a request either, right Daphne? “

“I suppose not –”

“I don't care about any of that, the three-timing bugger can shag a Thestral for all I care.” Susan still looked peeved as she angrily chewed on her treat, Mini Scones, which she washed down with tea. To be honest, while he thought she had a right to be annoyed, Harry thought she was acting a bit too over the top. The beautiful witch had no qualms when she caught him checking her out, though he had a bad feeling that had to do with how short he was, and that she didn’t take him seriously.

It all came back to his fucking height; he scowled angrily as he munched on a cinnamon roll.

“Susie, there are children here.” Hannah reproached softly, causing the crimson witch to sigh apologetically.

“Er, what does shag mean?” Everyone turned in surprise at Luna's question. Harry had a bad feeling as he felt out the girl and only got innocent curiosity. 

“Oh, come on, Luna. You know exactly what it means, right?” Astoria laughed, causing her best friend to frown.

“I'm afraid I don't, Tori. It's why I asked.” The girl was completely serious, and Harry felt a severe headache coming.

“Er, Luna?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “Do you, by any chance, know about the birds and the bees?” 

“The what?”

“How babies are made?” Tracey piped up at the girl's confusion. 

“Ah, of course I do.” Luna smiled serenely, causing them to sigh in relief. “Daddy told me it's a mother's job to explain it, but he still explained the crucial job that Dabberblimps have in delivering our offspring through the mail, as owls could not be trusted for the job. They work for the department of mysteries, you see, where they charm them with surveillance runes.” The girl whispered seriously, as if worried she would be heard.

Harry wanted to laugh, he truly did, but the silence that took the room was deafening. The surrounding girls had flabbergasted looks on their faces, yet it slowly morphed into understanding. The girl's mother died young, and Harry wondered what her father was thinking, telling her such weird tales.

Either way, it was none of his concern. He was way out of his depth here and decided to retreat. “Hey, Neville. Want to join the other boys for a game of gobstones?” 

Harry meaningfully looked at Luna and then at the door. Thankfully, Neville understood and hurriedly agreed.

“I'll leave Luna to you then,” Harry whispered to Tracey and agilely slipped under the table to join Neville outside the lounge, leaving the girls to handle telling a girl their age how babies were made.

Chapter Text

The Crimson-Haired Witch of *******

After adding three sugar cubes to her Darjeeling tea, Susan Bones idly stirred her cup with a spoon. Once she judged the sugar was properly dissolved, she sipped from her cup, enjoying the sweet and energising drink that helped soothe her ire over that scoundrel, Warrington. The mere thought of him caused her eyes to twitch.

Susan could easily pass for a third year and was well aware she was one of the best-looking girls in her year and the next. The list of hot witches a few older years had compiled had her in a far higher place than any of her yearmates bar Tracey Davis, who was only two places below. Her father and mother had not only warned her of such a possibility, and the dangers it could potentially carry, but also prepared Susan to fend off any daring offenders.

Even dating had yet to be considered at her age, let alone taking things a dozen steps further. A lusty moron with an ego and no loyalty whatsoever was just repulsive, despite his gorgeous looks. Relationships were one of the most important things to a pureblood witch, and pissing away your purity to some faithless cad who could not even be bothered with common courtesy was against everything her mother taught her.

The sound of a cup gently being placed on its plate came from her left, where her cute seatmate had unfortunately escaped.

The crimson-haired witch turned to find the blonde-haired Tracey Davis serving herself a cup of Jasmine tea. The girl added one cube of sugar before noticing her gaze. Tracey’s eyes narrowed in a challenge and added two more, equalling the contents of Susan’s cup. Lips quirking and green eyes shining in challenge as she looked at her, the Slytherin added one more cube, before taking a generous gulp. 

“… And that's all you need to know about the matter.” Hermione Granger finished explaining the biological process of copulation to an attentive Luna, who nodded rapidly and jotted down notes on a frilly roll of parchment. 

“I see, but there are some terms that I've come upon that have me wondering about their purpose, such as missionary –” 

Susan pushed down her rising amusement and tuned out the girl, as she had already figured out she was just messing with them at this point. While she doubted Luna lied to them about her ignorance of the baby-making process, she quickly understood after the first round of explanations. Sadly, Granger was the only one who hadn't caught on yet, with Hannah next to her having to bite her lips to avoid giggling.

Ignoring the rest of the room, Susan narrowed her blue eyes at the obvious challenge from the blonde girl. The red-haired witch placed two more cubes into her cup before stirring and activating her Mage Sight – a rare inborn ability to see and taste magic, albeit with the side effect of making your eyes glow.

Davis’ magical signature was quite unique both in looks and taste – a far warmer and more vibrant than any of her housemates. Yet, her eyes did not seem to affect Tracey as the Slytherin kept a neutral expression. Susan lifted her cup and took a generous sip of her own, only to grimace. 

The sweetness was too much.

Any hopes that Davis hadn’t seen were quickly discarded at Tracey’s annoying smirk.

This little game of theirs had started with the meeting in the infirmary. Susan got well enough with Daphne, the eccentric girl was an easy friend to make. Her half-sister, however, seemed to be the more stiff and inflexible despite being the half-blood of the siblings.

Truth be told, she couldn’t compete with Tracey’s academic performance – the Slytherin did not lack for wits, ambition, and hard work – a hard combination to beat. On the other hand, Susan had little patience for doing the drudgery that was the endless reading and school work demanded from them. Oh, she could do it well enough, but mastering every scrap of unimportant knowledge was too boring. Decent grades were enough – especially when her wand work was stellar along with any practical magic.

Except for potions, of course – that was all on Snape. Susan had no problems with Herbology or cooking, the two things most connected to the discipline in question. Cooking came easy, especially after her mother had taught her how so she could take care of her younger brother. 

Regardless, their so-called games and challenges had escalated since they had met Harry Potter and gotten to know the boy behind the name. The crimson-haired witch could tell that Davis was interested in the boy, and Susan would confess to finding him incredibly adorable as well. 

Potter was so short and cuddly like a teddy bear to be hugged to sleep, just like her cute brother, little Edward. Yet, unlike his looks, Susan could see the enormous amount of magic power raging within Harry. He wasn’t even thirteen yet for his magic to start maturing. But mundane things like that did not seem to hamper the Boy Who Lived – he was unconsciously exuding so much magic, dense, powerful, and roiling, an impossible swirl of the coldest ice and the hottest of fires mixed with something far more primal… 

An unbidden leer appeared on her face as she wondered how his magic would taste in a few months compared to now. A shiver went through her spine, and she couldn’t help but salivate at the thought. Her ability to taste magic was even more pronounced when there was skin contact, and Susan had gotten so used to her family indulging her that she had become a bit too clingy to be proper. Something her aunt had to beat out of her during their spars. Just the mere thought of Aunt Amelia made her shudder.

“I give up. You'll get it when you’re older.” A tired groan brought Susan's attention back to the table. Hermione vehemently ignored Luna and picked up a book. The younger girl's giggling showed no offence was taken, especially when Astoria whispered something that caused them both to giggle even harder. 

Susan smiled at the discourteous behaviour and glanced at the bushy-haired muggle-born as she took a small sip of tea. The sticky sweetness struck her taste buds like a hammer, making her regret going so far in a silly game. Still, she swallowed it all and plastered a smile on her face.

This… seemed like the perfect opportunity – Granger was here, surrounded, with no choice but to listen and no Potter to hover over protectively. Susan caught Daphne's eye and looked meaningfully towards the muggle-born girl. This was their chance to talk to the prideful Gryffindor witch whom Harry Potter cared so much about, without letting her hide behind her books. Her dark-haired friend subtly nodded and coughed for attention.

“So, Hermione. You don't mind if I call you Hermione, right?” Daphne flashed one of her lazy grins at the girl. The bushy-haired girl squinted her eyes with suspicion, but she hesitantly shook her head.

“Brilliant, you haven't spoken much, if at all, to any of us. Seeing as we are all comfy and just us girls here, this is the perfect opportunity for us to get to know each other better.” The dark-haired girl's grin softened into an easy smile, though Susan could see her fiddling with her thumbs under the table in nervousness. Heh, even the vivacious Daphne was wary of speaking to the snappy Granger. 

“Indeed, we never did get the chance to speak outside of class, and even then, it was only classwork, which isn't that personal of a discussion.” Susan decided to throw in her support as well, “as the top student of our year, and arguably the most talented, what do you think about our classes? I would love to hear a muggle-born student's take on the matter.”

Granger had a light blush on her face from the praise, as well as a small yet happy smile, even if Susan knew she was laying it on a little thick. However, the moment she brought up her muggle-born status, the Gryffindor instantly became guarded.

“I am sure there are many other muggle-born students who could give you a better idea than I ever could.” 

Susan was not the only one to frown at the scathing reply. Granger had a serious chip on her shoulder, but more importantly, it had proven something important – she had no friends aside from Harry.

“I’m not sure what makes you think so, Hermione, but there's only one other muggle-born student in our whole year.” Hannah, who sat next to the girl, blinked in confusion. “Sadly, Justin cares very little about putting much effort into schoolwork. His family are rich nobles in the Muggle world, so he never has to worry about money or mundane things like a job. Not so different from Daphne over there.”

“You know it! It must be why he gets along so well with Macmillan, eh?” Greengrass had a wide grin as she folded her arms, causing her younger sister to titter and her blonde sister to sigh in exasperation.

“The point is, you are the top of our school year, and a muggle-born to boot.” Susan insisted as she levelled an even gaze at Granger. “And, yet, you are rarely seen with anyone aside from Harry, or Ronald when he was alive, not even your dorm mates. You never bother to speak to any of us, or our attempts to befriend you.” Susan fought back a scowl at the memory of the previous hour. 

When she and Hannah had tried speaking to the muggleborn, as Daphne secured their lounge, the Gryffindor pulled out a book and pretended they were not there. Worse, Susan wasn’t even sure if the action had been deliberate – Granger could be very obtuse. “You didn’t even bother interacting with the only other muggle-born student of our year!”

“I don’t need any more friends.” The bushy-haired girl snapped, yet Susan was not deterred.

“Do you think you are so much better than us that we aren’t worth your time, then?” It was a bit of a low blow, but Susan needed to get a good measure of the girl.

“What? No, of course not!” Thankfully, Hermione did not think of them that way. Which only created more questions than answers for Susan.

“Then what is it? Are we that boring?”

“No. I-It’s just…” The girl stuttered out, and Susan wondered if she simply had issues making friends in the first place.

“I feel you do not truly understand what it means to be a muggle-born.”

“I get called mudblood enough times to have an idea, Susan.” The girl said blithely, although the crimson-haired witch could easily hear the sadness and loneliness in her words.

“No, I don't think you truly understand your position, Hermione.” She leaned close, and the magical table automatically extended to allow her to place her elbows on it. “You were only introduced to the magical world when you turned eleven and barely had time to acclimate to this new world compared to the average witch. Now, the issue is that you have the same problem as nearly every muggle-born or muggle-raised person I’ve met.”

“Oh? And pray tell, what is it?” 

“You believe that just because it's called Magical Britain it’s essentially the same as Muggle Britain yet with more wand waving and magic casting. You believe that we follow the same values as the average muggle, that we just change Christmas to Yule because we want to be special.” Her voice had turned biting, and Hannah tugged on her sleeve in warning, but Susan didn’t care. “That we worship your useless queen and the powerless nobility of your people. Or maybe you believe that we are backwards and retrogrades that need to be shown the enlightenment of muggle society. Am I right?” 

Susan held nothing back, as the very idea of her being forced to accept muggle society in her world… to be forced to pander to people so much weaker and lesser than her. 

It irked her – Was it not enough that she tolerated them as it were?

The silence in the room was a testament to how everyone was paying attention to them. Hermione had at first opened her mouth to retort but abruptly closed it at the end. After a painfully long moment of staring at the table, the Gryffindor finally turned to the crimson-haired witch. “You are right, I did believe all of that and probably worse things.”

“Did?” Now, that was a surprise, maybe this wouldn’t be as difficult as Susan had feared.

“…. It had come up in one of my discussions with Harry. He has no desire to return to the muggle world and plans to assume his positions and titles in the magical world. Anything you mentioned, my friend already explained in detail and more,” Granger leaned back into her seat and closed her eyes as she exhaled slowly as if to calm herself.

That was certainly unexpected but excellent news nonetheless. Harry Potter saves the day once again, and Susan couldn’t even bring herself to be surprised. “That’s great to hear, Hermione. When is your birthday, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“19th of September.” 

Susan simply smiled at her confusion. “Ah, a fellow early bloomer. Mine is the 3rd of September, I’m probably the oldest student in our year.” 

The girl’s eyes widened slightly, but nodded with a slight frown. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve had your first maturity, correct?” The girl nodded, still confused. “Then you understand that it does not feel any different than you were beforehand. You are still the same Hermione Granger, albeit with small differences.” Another nod, Hermione looked impatient, causing Susan to send a teasing grin. “So you’ve been in the magical world for two years now, yet you probably did not know anything about certain rituals and ceremonies that you could have done on your birthday that, while not life-changing, could have helped you.”

“What?! Aren’t rituals forbidden by the ministry?” The bushy-haired girl’s face twisted in shock, and Susan licked her lips as she tasted the girl’s roiling magic. Granger was not the most powerful in the room, yet had a distinct taste to her magic that Susan felt compatible with. It was more reason for her to befriend the girl, for it was how such a strong camaraderie had formed with Hannah.

“I will not deny that some rituals can be malicious, but no, rituals are not forbidden, no matter how much the ministry tried,” Tracey interjected with a snort. “They simply managed to remove all mentions of them from books and other forms of knowledge. Do not fret, however, the Hogwarts library still has plenty of books on the matter, although they are all in the restricted section.”

Susan suppressed the tinge of annoyance and willed herself to ignore Davis – the Slytherin girl was challenging her again .

Face relieved, Granger nodded, and Susan could see her mind racing about the possibilities behind those brown eyes. Was the muggle-born girl simply a massive bookworm rather than a rude swot all along?

Eventually, the bushy-haired witch levelled Davis with an even gaze. “Why mention all of this, then?”

“Because the reason rituals have a bad reputation was due to a muggle-born witch a hundred years ago who did not understand the concept and feared it.” Tracey’s eyes grew hard and frigid, like two chips of jade. “A certain muggle-born witch in the late 1800s called Beatrice Wimborne advocated for the complete abolishment of rituals and ceremonies. The woman was an extreme atheist who disdained the muggle rituals and ceremonies of the Anglican Church and transferred that hatred to our culture. It is one of the reasons muggle-borns are not trusted, for they fear what they do not understand and lash out instead of attempting to integrate.”

Nods and hums of agreement followed Tracey’s words, and Susan grudgingly admitted even she could not have said it better. Hermione got over her surprise quickly and settled into a thoughtful frown as her mind doubtlessly churned over the newly learned information. 

“Allow me to speak bluntly – for all intends and purposes, you’re a stranger in a foreign nation. You have no support whatsoever in the broader magical world, let alone Wizarding Britain.” Susan flicked an errant strand of crimson away from her eyes and paused to consider her words. “No starting funds to begin your own business either, as the exchange from muggle to magical currency is heavily regulated and reserved for school supplies for the most part. Once you graduate, the rate would skyrocket to become unfeasible, and limits would be placed on your account. Even if you get Outstanding in every OWL and NEWT available, you would find it nearly impossible to get any masteries, for those are expensive and are the most prestigious accolades you could get. Even then, they would be fancy badges for you if you do not have the connections to put them to use.”

“What are you trying to say, Bones? That all my hard work is meaningless?” Hermione's frown deepened into a scowl, and Susan regretted the return to surnames. “Do you think I don’t know this? That this magical world has a dark and filthy side, that beats any nail that dares sticks out?” The girl’s voice rose with every word as her glare grew so sharp it could probably cut.

“That is not what I said, Hermione, and you know it.” Susan calmly took a sip from her tea, only to grimace at the sweetness once more. “You cannot deny that even in the muggle world, connections are crucial.” 

“What a Slytherin thing to say.” Face neutral, Granger tilted her chin at a bemused Daphne, who grinned toothily at the girl.

“Never understate the amount of connections you could build in the House of Loyalty.” Those words finally seemed to have the gears in Granger’s mind turning again, and Susan did not let up. 

“Imagine for a minute that you were a no-name orphan who relied purely on the mercy of others and a stipend from the government. You do everything by the book, yet you have neglected to make friends that would help you as much as you would help them. You apply for a decent job and discover that the position was given to someone with much fewer qualifications than you simply because their father knew someone from the inside. The worst thing about the whole mess? You also know someone on the inside, yet you have never bothered establishing rapport, too busy with your studies and reading.”

“But that's not fair.” The Gryffindor looked thin and small and… defeated. “What is the point of this anyway?”

“Life isn’t fair, sweetie.” Susan said sadly. “Magic is wondrous, yet the heavens are fickle to what blessings or curses it gives their children. For instance, I can gauge pure magical power, and compared to everyone in this room, none of you could hold a candle to the sheer amount of it I can call upon.”

Her words were arrogant, but it was the truth. Tracey sat up straight at her proclamation, and even Daphne’s eyes turned flinty. “Bold claim, Bones. Care to bet on it?” 

The blonde-haired girl eyed her with a hint of contempt, causing her to sigh.

“I won’t back down from a challenge, but that was not the point I was trying to make.” That gave them pause, and Hermione, who had looked at her strangely, motioned for her to continue. “Even with all this power, it’s not like I’m at the top of our year in academics. That would be you, Hermione, followed by Tracey.”

Truth be told, Susan wasn’t the top of the year in pure magical power either – that spot now belonged to Harry Potter, not that she’d ever admit it out loud. They had been about equal before Ron’s death…

“You still haven’t got to the point, Susan.” She couldn’t help but give a wry smile to Hermione, at least they were back to first name basis.

“It’s not how much power you wield but what you make of it. You have shown time and again in class that you have an extreme work ethic and a drive to succeed that would make even the most stubborn of your detractors agree that it’s a talent in and of itself.”

“It’s true, Hermione.” Hannah added. “No one could deny your achievements, yet you also seem to be missing the point Susie is trying to make. I blame her for going on unnecessary tangents – she isn’t the best speaker.” She gave her best friend a mock glare, only to make Hannah stick out her tongue childishly.

“Okay, then, at the risk of sounding repetitive, what is your point?” Hermione smiled lightly. Apparently, their acknowledgement of her talents helped smooth any ruffled feathers.

“First of all, I believe we need to clear something up between us.” Susan's gaze met the even look of the bushy-haired girl. “I am trying to help you, not antagonise or taunt you.”

“Same here.” Daphne piped up. “I won’t deny that the only reason I’m bothering to try to get to know you better is thanks to Harry. You’re his best friend, and he’s our friend now. It would make sense for us to be friends as well.”

They gave Hermione some time to think on that, as they either sipped on their tea, with Susan switching cups, or munched on a snack.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind getting to know all of you better, too.” 

Susan did a victory jig in her mind at the unexpected success. While it was true that Harry’s friendship was a major reason to befriend her as well, it was really a bonus. Hermione Granger was interesting with an intriguing taste to her magic, and Susan could see them becoming close friends in the future.  The other Gryffindor girls in their year were all… both boring and unimportant.

“Second of all,” Daphne took over after she nodded to Hermione with an affable smile. “Tracey’s mother is muggle-born, you know? She’s as much my mother as my own flesh and blood mom.”

“Yep, mama Mary is super cool. She sometimes takes us on muggle outings to keep in touch with the muggle side’s fashion and cuisine.” Astoria’s exuberant smile was simply contagious as Susan felt her lips curve up. “It's how we got our fashion sense, if you hadn’t noticed.”

And it was true that the Greengrass sisters, as well as Tracey, were dressed quite smartly. Susan compared her dress with their own, and while she felt confident that her attire was fashionable and with enough of a muggle touch courtesy of Hannah’s mom, the three sisters were on a different level. Despite her personal views on muggles, she would not deny that they came up with interesting things every so often.

“The same is true for me, Hermione. My mother is muggle-born, and she told me of the difficulties she faced when she was growing up in school. An alien world where the most common things about magical life are not even written. According to her words she had it quite bad while bumbling through one social faux pas into another, and it was only when she met my father that things got better.” Hannah hesitantly placed her hand on Hermione’s and squeezed it in assurance. Hermione’s face softened, and gazed at the three sisters in curiosity.

“Harry never did explain how you three are sisters, only that he was helping you with something personal.” The girl shifted awkwardly as if she dreaded the next question, but the determination in her brown eyes was as clear as a mountain stream. “Daphne… Did your father cheat on your mother?”

The Greengrass heiress blinked in surprise before bursting out into laughter. She laughed so hard and so dramatically that she collapsed onto Tracey’s lap. Hermione did not look amused, probably thinking the girl was laughing at her.

“Nothing of the sort, Granger.” Tracey ignored the guffaws of her sister, and looked at the bookworm. “Long story short, Daph’s parents knew my mom, and they fell in love, Dad took her as a second wife, even if legally she was a mistress. They did a wedding ceremony and formalised the bond with many witnesses, and my birth deemed the marriage fruitful and acknowledged in the eyes of magic. Being born days apart from Daphne was just a bonus.”

“Ah, Tracey is actually the older one.” Astoria snickered. “Daphne is still the heiress, though, and Tracey took her mother’s name to avoid any inheritance issues.”

Susan had to fight the urge not to smile at Hermione’s flabbergasted face. “I told you, it's a foreign world with its separate values and traditions.”

“Y-you mean, adultery is common here?” The girl looked close to panicking. “Wait! That Warrington boy, when he propositioned you, he was being serious?” 

“Don’t mention that blackguard to me!” Susan scowled at the memory, and she had almost forgotten about him. “The only reason I didn’t call my brother on his arse was because he was your cousin, Daphne.”

“Oh, come on, Susie. Take it as a compliment – you do have a juicy body.” Daphne sat up from her sister’s lap and leered at her unashamedly. “Just what the heck did they feed you to get a body like that at thirteen? Asking for a friend.”

“Of course you would want some of this.” Susan flicked her crimson locks, her pride and joy and after a thoughtful pause, grabbed her left breast teasingly, causing the dark-haired girl to wolf whistle, even as the rest of the girls giggled. Susan, however, was sweating inwardly as she tried to push down her rising embarrassment at the unusually daring move. Bloody hell, Daphne Greengrass just had the ability to make you do dumb things and cause you to go with the flow. She would never grope herself in public like this!

“So, I think I’m getting your point.” Hermione coughed, but her eyes were glued on Susan’s chest. “Though, I feel that there’s something more… unpleasant that you are trying to tell me about being a muggle-born girl, aside from the whole not understanding the culture and transferring muggle misconceptions to the magical side.” 

The bushy-haired girl looked at Hannah in particular, and Susan figured it had to do with what she said about her mother.

She exchanged glances with the rest of the girls, hoping to get an idea of how to break the news gently to the girl. 

“You want me to be blunt, Granger?” Tracey interrupted her musing with a huff, and Hermione nodded hesitantly. “Muggle-borns are treated like shite. That’s a fact, and it has more to do with how they are created rather than any strange ideas they bring, though that doesn’t help their case. You already know about that, right?”

“Yeah, Harry explained that.”

“Well, I hope you are working on finding out who your magical ancestor is, no one likes associating with people with unknown blood. That’s how curses and other maladies are passed down.” Susan raised an eyebrow at the girl. That was… oddly specific, and she noticed Daphne’s face twisting into a grimace. “Your only other alternative is to attach yourself to someone powerful in order for people to view you as an equal. You have already done that with Harry, so good on you.”

“B-but, I didn’t befriend Harry for his fame!” The words came out in a hasty blubber as Hermione raised her hands defensively.

“I’m not saying you didn’t,” Tracey continued relentlessly, “but the fact remains. Many people treat you differently from simply being associated with the Boy-Who-Lived, add to that, he has shown that he does care about you. The way he instantly protected you a couple of days ago when you were cornered by Malfoy and his goons was proof enough.” 

Susan’s eyebrow rose, she hadn’t heard about that but judging by the snickers and giggles coming from the rest of the girls, it had been an amusing encounter.

“It was quite the scene to witness, for the kind and gentle Harry to grab Draco’s collar and lift him off the ground with one hand,” Daphne chimed in between her giddy tittering.

“That kind of strength is insane, now that I think about it. I wonder if he was possessed by a Heliopath? His eyes did look like they were on fire at the time.” Luna’s face turned pensive, and Susan wondered what the heck was a Heliopath. She turned to Tracey to ask her, but the question died on her tongue as the blonde Slytherin seemed to be lost in her own world, daydreaming.

“Yeah, that wasn’t Draco’s best moment. He even refused to duel Hermione, the coward. And to think I thought him cool, hmph.” Astoria turned up her nose imperiously before folding her arms behind her head and leaning back on her seat.

“Indeed, which brings me to my next point. You have two more advantages that many other muggle-borns do not.” Tracey coughed before anyone else could interrupt. “One – you are an accomplished witch and driven to perfection. That’s good, as that immediately makes you better than 95% of all witches and wizards. If you haven’t noticed, most of us are lazy layabouts.” The blonde-haired girl’s eyes trailed to her sister, who grinned unashamedly.

“Guilty as charged.” They all looked in surprise at Susan, who shrugged unapologetically. “It’s so easy to be lazy when you have the power to shape the world in the palms of your hands. Hailing from a rich and powerful family, with loving siblings and attentive parents helps greatly!”

The girls giggled in agreement, although Hermione had her nose scrunched in disapproval. 

“See, that’s precisely what we’re talking about, Granger.” Tracey had noticed it as well, “you do not accept mediocrity, and many wizards will respect that.”

“… Thank you. Is that why you take your studies so seriously?” 

“Yes, while I enjoy having a loving family, I do not plan to become a spinster aunt.” Daphne guffawed at her sister’s proclamation. 

“What’s my other advantage, then?” Hermione ignored the laughing girl in favour of the more mature of the sisters.

“That you are a girl who is good-looking enough to be able to attract most wizards.” Shrugging carelessly, Tracey eyed the bushy-haired girl for a moment before turning her gaze to Hannah.

“I…don’t think I follow.” Hermione coughed in embarrassment. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Men have it much worse than women, muggle-born ones even more so. They need to prove themselves to society, whether through skills or fortunes.” The blonde Slytherin elaborated. “All a woman needs to do is to look pretty and be willing to rear kids, and she is essentially guaranteed a good marriage. Add to that your talent…”

The bushy-haired girl blushed and seemed to understand, but just in case, Susan gave her best friend a knowing look, getting a nod in return. 

“Hermione, you asked us to be blunt, so here goes.” Hannah took a deep breath before looking the bookworm square in the eyes. “Your best chance for a comfortable life, or even to fulfil any ambition you have, is to get married to a wizard of high standing. Through their resources and connections, you would be capable of furthering your studies or gaining a good job. It’s… what my mom did. This isn’t even unique for muggle-borns, every witch’s dream is to find a good wizard for herself.” Hannah smiled teasingly, “It would also help if you start taking care of yourself better. You are a pretty witch, Hermione. Don’t neglect yourself, and your looks.”

“But I’m not,” the bushy-haired girl pursed her lips and fingered her hair. “I’m not pretty. My teeth are too big, and my hair is too wild.”

“Which are things that are easy to fix,” the blonde Hufflepuff continued patiently. “You need only to seek the solutions, for magic is wondrous. Just remember, your choices are limited, for you do not have a family to fall back on unless you don’t mind retreating to the muggle world.”

“True, I have three brothers and while I know they will always love me, I don’t really stand to inherit much.” Susan drained the last of her tea and gazed at the bushy-haired girl. “A strong wizard would always be a solid catch for any witch, for this is a world where personal strength could make or break your wealth. The least the witch could do is to look as good as she could be for her wizard.” She finished with a wink at Hermione.

Interestingly, the girl’s eyes widened in understanding and she even nodded.

“I think I get your point. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I had already said that I’ve thought deeply on the matter.” Daphne and Tracey had their eyes wide at how the Gryffindor surprisingly took things in stride. “Harry had mentioned how his mother was a once-in-a-generation talent, and he even credits her for vanquishing You-Know-Who.” That came as a shock to everyone, no one truly knew how the Dark Lord was defeated, but if the Boy-Who-Lived believed so… “Yet, she would never have grown to her full potential if not for the Potter resources. She did get a mastery in Charms after marrying James Potter, after all.”

“Well, that was much easier than expected.” Daphne stood up and stretched, causing them to eye her curiously. “So, now that you know all of that, Hermione.” The girl’s lips widened into a wicked grin, “let’s talk about boys. Harry or Neville, whom would you choose? Gasp! Don’t tell me you would go for Draco?”

From there, the room descended into hushed giggles as the bushy-haired girl stuttered incoherently. Susan smiled genially, this was fun. When Daphne started pouring generous amounts of drink into their cups, one that was certainly not tea or suitable for their age, the red-haired witch couldn’t help but take a swig.

Chapter Text

“This was fun, boys. Thank you for your generous donations, and I shall see you next term.”

Harry sauntered away from the Gobstones pit, all the while ignoring the dozen or so boys vowing to never play with him again and cursing Seamus for inviting him over. Bets were eagerly placed once he had revealed he had never played the game before. It was true, but if they thought they could beat him in a game of skills, then they were sorely mistaken. He chuckled as he bounced the cool sack of coins worth about twenty Galleons in his hand.

Neville hurried to join him as they made their way back to Lounge Four. “Bloody hell, Harry. That was brilliant!”

“Thanks, Nev. It was too bad no one dared to bet against me after I bankrupted Goldstein. Heh, guess he wasn’t a happy camper this time.”

They chuckled as they opened the door to their lounge, only to freeze in shock at the sight in front of them and the noise that came out of what Harry realised were sound-dampening wards. Daphne was dancing on the table dressed only in green lingerie?! A bottle of Dragon Scale was loosely gripped in one hand while she waved her shirt with the other.

There was a radio playing a band of some kind, while Susan and Hannah were singing along to Daphne’s erratic moves, both of them holding on to each other with tipsy faces, and their shirts half unbuttoned. Harry gazed blankly at Susan’s assets before shaking his head and finding Tracey and Hermione collapsed next to each other, their cheeks red and their breaths stinking of booze. Astoria and Luna were nowhere to be found.

Quickly closing the door and retreating a few steps with Neville, Harry turned to the hyperventilating boy, who was blushing like mad. Before either of them could formulate a word, a voice came from behind them.

“Oh, hello, Harry and Neville. I see you have returned.” They turned at Luna’s serene voice to find her supporting a tipsy-looking Astoria.

“What the hell happened here? How could they have a drinking party without me?” Harry was beyond incensed; Do they have any idea how difficult it was for him to sneak back into Hagrid’s before breakfast and convince the hungover giant to trade away some of his mead? He had to recall Dobby to smuggle it out, damn it.

“Well, the lounges do provide alcoholic drinks, but only for third years and above. Since the room was originally reserved by Daphne’s older cousin, drinks were served to whoever could afford it.” Luna’s calm and serene voice betrayed how her eyes were slightly dilated, yet she was sober and fit enough to stand on her feet. Apparently, even the fairy-like girl imbibed some booze, and considering how her smile looked a bit more real, she definitely enjoyed it.

Harry groaned at the weirdness of the situation, before noticing the girl was struggling a little with her friend’s weight. “Here, let me take her from you.” A sense of déjà vu struck him once Astoria was in his arms, “Let’s go sit in the common room. I like getting drunk, but I don’t like dealing with drunk people.”

Neville chuckled awkwardly, while Luna just smiled and pulled out her Quibbler. Together, they found an empty couch by the window, and Harry set the girl on one side to sleep off whatever she had drunk while Luna spoke to him about her Dad’s magazine. Apparently, her father was planning to have her help with the editing and tentatively asked him if he wouldn’t mind giving an interview in the future. 

Naturally, Harry readily agreed, much to the girl’s happiness. It would be useful to have an outlet if he ever needed to spread a narrative or just counter anything negative the Daily Prophet may say about him. The newspaper was clearly on his side for now, but having more connections and avenues never hurt.

Sooner than he desired, the view from the window changed from farmlands to towns until they found themselves inside London. Astoria had chosen this time to wake up.

“Are we home yet?

.

.

.

“Thank you for helping my daughter, Mr Potter.” The cool and melodic voice of the beautiful and mature woman before him woke him from his stupor. Bloody hell, the woman looked nothing like her daughters! With her pale blonde hair, bright purple eyes, and overall ethereal beauty, Estelle Greengrass was a classical Valyrian beauty who certainly did not at all look her age of sixty-seven. 

They were on platform nine-and-three-quarters, and Harry had just got off the train with Astoria, Neville, and Luna. Neville was quickly collected by an old, and formidable-looking woman who introduced herself as Augusta Longbottom but didn’t stay long for courtesies before taking her grandson away. The boy did warn them about this, as they had a portkey to catch for Malta to attend some sort of outing with his great uncle Algie, but promised to be back by the end of the week.

As for the rest of their friends, after checking on them and finding them all asleep in various states of undress, they decided not to even bother and sought an adult’s help on the matter. Astoria had quickly waved down her parents, a tall handsome black-haired man with laughing green eyes that looked just like the younger girl, who immediately swept her in his arms the moment they saw him. Beside him was a beautiful blonde but short woman with calculating brown eyes who introduced herself as Tracey’s mother, Mary Davis. 

Finally, was the woman he was speaking to. Harry had found himself alone with her while Mr Greengrass and his second wife hurried onboard once they explained the situation. To say that they were unamused, would be an understatement. The Greengrass patriarch, Apollo Greengrass, had greeted him briefly before heading inside the train once they mentioned the incapacitated state of his daughters.

“You are very welcome, Mrs Greengrass. Astoria has become a good friend of mine, and naturally, I will help her, if I can.” The girl in question was on the side saying final farewells to Luna, who was clinging to an eccentric-looking wizard with shoulder-length white hair that could only be her father. Harry also waved at Luna when he caught her eyes before she and her father left the platform. 

“I would love to invite you over for dinner, so we may discuss further what you could do to help my dear Astoria.” He turned to Mrs Greengrass and nodded genially.

“An excellent idea, I will send Hedwig over with a letter once I’m settled.” At the mention of her name, the snowy owl landed on his shoulder and nibbled his ear. She had arrived safely in the city hours ago and had been patiently waiting for him, perched on one of the nearby rooftops.

“My, such a beautiful owl.” He had to hold a chuckle at Hedwig’s preening. “I will certainly look forward to you visiting then. I hope Apollo would hurry with my two daughters, though.” Harry was not sure if she purposely called Tracey her daughter for his sake, or if she truly did love her so much she considered her one of her own. He was leaning towards the latter, as Tracey herself had nothing but praise when speaking of her second mother. 

Edmund Bones suddenly hopped out of the train and called for a blonde man in his late teens, whom Harry learned was Susan’s oldest brother Edwin. Harry had sought the headboy out once the train stopped and explained the situation, the boy having an exasperated look before thanking him. Both brothers, who were of middling height, entered the train with a woman with light-brown hair who was probably Hannah’s mom. She had greeted him shortly and asked him to wait a few minutes while she collected her daughter, and Harry obliged, as he needed her to get to the Leaky Cauldron.

They continued to engage in small talk, while they waited. Cassius Warrington had briefly come by to greet his aunt before he was swept away by his parents. Harry had learned that the Greengrass matriarch was an accomplished enchantress, which brought up something he had wondered about.

“Enchanting Goblin-Wrought Silver?” The older woman blinked. “I will admit, I have not expected such a request, but certainly. I have experience working the metal, even reforging it, though I do not know how it was made.” 

Harry smiled at the older woman, “The goblins keep the secrets to it very closely, I hear.”

“You have heard correctly, although I do detect a hint of hostility for the creatures from your tone.” Mrs Greengrass smiled warmly at him, causing him to slightly blush. 

“Let’s just say… we’ve had our disagreements.” Harry scratched his head awkwardly, “I have a sword in my possession that needs to be worked on. I wondered if you could help me with that when I visit to help Astoria?” It was hardly subtle, but he was pretty sure the woman had no reason, nor could she afford, to deny him.

“For certain, but perhaps that would be something to discuss after our promised dinner.” The woman gave him an indulgent smile before turning to the train, where Mrs Davis had her wand out and levitated Hermione while holding a groggy Tracey by the elbow.

Harry looked around, noticing that the platform was thinning and there were only a few more people waiting for their children. One of them was a familiar blonde woman who had just collected her son and turned to him, trying to catch his eye. Narcissa Malfoy beckoned for him to speak, much to Draco’s horrified confusion.

Noticing that Estelle had her eyes on Tracey’s mother, Harry excused himself and walked to the Malfoy duo. Astoria followed him out of curiosity, but he ignored her for now, although Hedwig had got bored and flew off to perch on the post clock. “Mrs Malfoy, a pleasure to see you again, and I hope you have been well since we last met.”

“I’ve had better days, but through no fault of your own, Mr Potter.” The woman looked as elegant as he remembered, yet there was a heavy air of sombreness on her. As if she had a massive weight on her shoulders, but clearly she was not one to show weakness, as her head was held high, and a hint of defiance was evident on her brow. 

She presented her hand and Harry gently grabbed it before placing a kiss on her knuckles. 

It was a heroic effort to stifle his laugh at Draco’s flabbergasted look, but he did manage to remain properly courteous. Astoria had no such qualms as she giggled from the sidelines and stuck out her tongue when the boy glared at her.

“I do not wish to take more of your valuable time.” He began as he let go of her soft hands while forcing his eyes not to greedily roam over her womanly figure. His mind was soon filled by a slew of curses at his raging hormones as he tried his very best not to appear like a fool before the elegant woman. “Obviously, you must have plans with Draco tonight, but I hope we are still meeting in the morning?”

“What the bloo–”

“Silence, Draco. Go say your farewells to your friend, she clearly has something to say to you.” 

“Yeah, come here, Draco.” Astoria's lips widened into her usual mischievous grin with arms open invitingly. “Come give your friend a hug. I promise not to bite, and you won’t even have to duel me.” 

“Why you-”

“ Draco .” It was funny seeing the blonde ponce getting verbally spanked for once, and Narcissa Malfoy clearly knew how to handle her son. Just one word, while not even breaking eye contact with him, and he was quiet as a ghost. On the other hand, Astoria had lost interest when the boy didn’t budge, and wandered to the train, trying to grab Hedwig’s attention. “Naturally, I am a woman of my word. I will meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at eight in the morning. We will have a long day ahead of us, and I hope you dress in your best, Mr Potter.” 

The woman did not look impressed as she checked his attire, and Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting out that this was his best. He would need to figure something out before tomorrow or just make do with his school robes. Seven bloody buggering hells, he still had to wear something under the robes, though. “Understood, I wish you a good evening, then, Mrs Malfoy.”

The woman nodded imperiously before grabbing her son and popping away with nary a sound.

“Harry Potter?” He turned to the voice, finding Hannah’s mother supporting her daughter and holding an old wrench. “A pleasure to meet you, dear. I’m Charlotte Abbott.” The woman looked like a bigger, more mature version of her daughter, aside from the brown hair. Still, she was quite short – no taller than Susan’s brothers. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” he returned with a polite nod.

“This portkey will take you to your room in the Leaky Cauldron. Just call out Leaky Eleven, and it will take you there. You know how it works?” Harry nodded, having read about methods of transportation as he researched apparation. He took the wrench, though he wondered why it didn’t activate when she said the activation word, only for her to tap it with her wand, causing it to glow blue. “It’s ready now, but just in case, remember to keep walking, and you won’t trip once you land. I would have loved to talk more with you, my boy, but…” She emphasised her daughter’s limp form.

“Oh, that’s okay, Mrs Abbott. Thank you so much for the help.” He waved farewell as the kindly woman dragged her daughter through the platform’s exit. Harry headed back to his friends just in time to catch Hermione’s parents fussing over why she was so drowsy. A quick whiff of the air told him that any smell of liquor was gone from her, and a discreet glance at Mrs Davis, harshly chastising her daughter while waving her wand, told him enough.

“Mr Granger, Mrs Granger. A pleasure to meet you again.” He walked over to the muggle couple and expanded his senses to attempt to notice any difference in magic. While he could not sense magic, like the vaunted ability of Mage Sight he had read about while researching his transformation powers, he could still smell magic if he focused hard enough. Magic had a distinct smell to it from every magical he had met; Hermione, funnily enough, smelled like book parchment, and close by, he could smell Astoria’s magic that smelled like freshly mown grass, yet with a hint of something foul, possibly her curse.

The couple were as muggle as they could get, however, smelling of nothing other than human. “Harry Potter, good to see you lad. Any idea what’s wrong with Hermione?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about at all, Mr Granger. I had convinced her to befriend some of the other girls in our year, and she was simply exhausted from the riveting conversations they had about the norms and nuances of magical society.” He waved the man’s worries away while smiling confidently at them. “Hermione was under the impression that books were the one all, be all for any knowledge of magic. Her new friends disassociated her from that misconception.” Or so he had gathered from Luna’s disjointed description and Astoria’s giggling.

The couple looked relaxed at his words, and they exchanged a few more pleasantries. 

Harry noticed something strange, however – they seemed too relaxed and listened intently to whatever he said. The last time they met, they had treated him as a child. Now, however, they seemed to be almost submissive to anything he said. What the hell? Glancing at Hermione, she looked too out of it to notice anything, barely standing on her feet and leaning heavily on her father. Before long, he had managed to excuse himself to check on the rest of his friends. Harry watched the family of three leave the train station, shaking his head at the weird encounter. He turned in surprise at Hedwig’s chirping, finding her in Astoria’s outstretched arms, who giggled giddily as the owl nibbled her ear. Now, that was a first.

Sounds of grunting had him turn back to the train carriage, where he found Edwin and his brother Edmund dragging Susan in tow. It was a bit of a strange sight as the two adult males had one of her arms over their shoulders due to how tall the girl was while levitating her trunk behind them. She dragged her feet and was still mumbling to some beat only she could hear, and Harry chuckled slightly. 

That chuckle was choked in his throat when the girl unexpectedly opened her completely lucid eyes and discreetly turned to him. She held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, but was probably a moment before she grinned. Susan licked her lips and gave him a smouldering leer that had his spine shiver before winking and playing drunk for her brothers to carry her. 

The two men were seemingly none the wiser, nodding to him as they passed him and disappeared through the barrier.

Bloody hell, that girl was something else, Harry found himself gulping but couldn’t tell whether it was from wariness or… interest. He could feel Ghost pacing uneasily in his mind, agreeing with him that there was something queer with that girl, yet even the Direwolf’s vaunted senses were unsure if it was benign or malicious.

He shook his head and rejoined Tracey once her mother was done rebuking her. “Did you get in too much trouble?”

“Not really, mom was more upset that I drank to a stupor rather than staying lucid to glean anything of note.” The blonde-haired girl shrugged, “Not like there’s anything to learn other than Daphne has a surprisingly beautiful singing voice. She usually avoids singing, as she finds it embarrassing when we honestly enjoy it.”

“What? Daphne? Embarrassed? I don’t believe it.”

They chuckled while waiting for the eldest Greengrass daughter and her father to exit the carriage. Soon enough, they saw a trunk levitating out, which Mrs Davis caught with her wand, followed by Mr Greengrass holding an unconscious Daphne dressed haphazardly in her clothes. Harry focused on the girl and nodded; there was no doubt that she was completely out of it, unlike the red-haired Hufflepuff.

“Mr Potter, sorry you had to witness such an unbecoming scene.” Mr Greengrass had handed his daughter over to her mother before approaching him with an extended hand that Harry shook firmly. “Apollo Greengrass and I believe I have a lot to thank you for what you have done for my daughters.”

The Greengrass Lord was a tall man with the same black hair he had passed down to his two daughters styled into a ponytail, yet he shared the exact shade of green eyes that all three of his daughters inherited. Like his namesake, Harry would admit that he was an incredibly handsome man who, despite pushing seventy, looked in his late twenties or early thirties. Even younger than regular wizards, and when he considered his wife Estelle was the same, he wondered if it was due to a healthy lifestyle. 

Or maybe they were just rich enough to buy the best potions and rituals gold could offer.

Harry was about to wave away any thanks when he paused. “Daughters? I am certain that I have only helped Astoria, though?” He glanced at the younger girl who had joined him with Hedwig on her shoulders, yet for once, Astoria looked perfectly polite and docile in the presence of her father. 

“Indeed, my daughters. My Daphne had written to me immediately following Astoria’s episode and had nothing but praise for you. Do not mistake her devil-may-care attitude for foolishness; she is still a Slytherin and wrote most intriguing things about you, Mr Potter.” While his words were impassive, his eyes almost glowed with undisguised interest.

“I’m sure she had embellished a few things here and there. All I did was what was necessary to protect my friends, and even then, I had failed and paid a steep price.”

“That may be so, yet the fact remains – you are an incredibly talented individual. Or perhaps you are fortunate?” Mr Greengrass shook his head. “It matters not, and good fortune is a talent in and of itself. Regardless, you have my condolences on the loss of your friend.”

A sombre mood took over as Harry nodded his thanks, though he was shaken out of it when he felt a gentle hand on his elbow. Turning to his right, he found Tracey smiling gently at him, instantly raising his mood. Astoria, the pocket rocket that she was, quickly grabbed his other elbow in a sign of support as well, causing them all to chuckle at her antics and brought a healthy blush to her face. Considering that was a sign of her health improving, Harry figured that was a good thing to see.

“I have not seen my Tracey look so comfortable standing next to a boy, either.” The older man smiled at his daughter, who shuffled awkwardly under the scrutiny of her parents. “I am sure you will be good friends from here on, and I hope to see you soon whenever you are ready to visit.” Apollo glanced behind him, finding that his wives had the unconscious Daphne and the trunks set close to each other with a rope set on them. Portkey? “But alas, I am afraid we have to go now. Girls, say farewell to your friend, it's time to go home.” The Greengrass patriarch walked over to his family, leaving him with his two daughters.

“Bye, Harry.” Astoria hugged him surprisingly tightly for her small and thin frame, “Thanks for saving my life and being Luna’s and mine friend. Any chance I can keep Hedwig?” The girl gave him a toothy grin, causing him to chuckle as he hugged her back. She was possibly one of the few girls shorter than him, so he enjoyed the moment while it lasted. “Not on your life, shorty. Come on, Hed.”

The owl nibbled the girl’s ear one last time before she jumped on his shoulder once he separated from the pint-sized girl, causing her to pout petulantly. 

“It’s been fun, Harry.” Tracey gave him a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger and come visit us, okay?”

“For sure.” Harry could feel his cheeks warming, especially where the pouty lips had touched his skin. The blonde girl grabbed her sister and walked to her family. They waved at each other one last time before the rope glowed blue, and they were twisted into a rapid spiral even his eyes could barely trace before disappearing with a pop.

Harry dropped his hand once they were gone and felt the smile melt from his face as he noticed he was the only one left on the platform that was swarming with children and their parents less than fifteen minutes ago. It was… dispiriting with how lonely it felt. He had gotten so used to the company of others around him: the bubbly and vivacious Daphne, the implacable yet helpful Hermione, the eager Neville, the energetic Astoria, the serene Luna and finally, the calm yet supportive Tracey.

The reality that he would be on his own from now on hit him like a bludger, and he took a deep shuddering breath before he felt a sense of warmth filling him from his soul. 

No, never alone.  

Harry chuckled as he felt Ghost’s presence in his mind before decisively activating the portkey.

As the wrench glowed blue, and Harry felt a pull behind his navel, he decided that come hell or high water; he would find a way for his most loyal companion to be free and be with him in the waking world. For both of them to challenge what the world threw at them. Come what may, he will do it, that was his vow.

No matter what it takes.

.

.

.

The swirling motion of the portkey seemed to last for a few seconds and forever at the same time. It was a most disorienting feeling, and when the swirling started slowing down, Harry braced himself for landing. He couldn’t have timed it better as he remembered Mrs Abbott’s advice, and once he felt solid beneath him, he stepped forward as if walking.

It took a second for him to orient himself and check his surroundings, finding himself in a rustic yet charming room. It had a single bed in the middle with his trunk and broom placed by its foot, a fireplace with a stack of jars that he knew contained mead, a mirror, and a window. While Harry had managed to land well enough, Hedwig did not, as evidenced by her bark of indignation and the slap on the head he got from her wings. The owl flew to the open window and perched on the sill.

A popping sound reverberated in the room, and Dobby’s enthusiastic face greeted him by the fireplace. “Master Harry Potter Sir has made it! Dobby has done as sir has said, but Dobby could not cook you dinner. Nasty owner kicked Dobby from the kitchen when Dobby demanded to cook Master Harry’s meal.”

Harry chuckled genially as he moved to his trunk. “Don’t worry about it, Dobby. I am a guest of old Tom’s establishment, of course, he would want to cook me dinner himself.” Rummaging in his trunk, he found his coin sack and pocketed it for his coming outing before grabbing a hoodie. “Would you accept anyone visiting your house and insisting on kicking you out of your kitchens to cook for me instead?”

The very idea appalled the elf, and a vicious scowl twisted on his face. “Dobby would never! Dobby would sooner burn the kitchens than allow anyone to cook for the Great Harry Potter. But…” The elf’s face turned downcast and looked hesitant to speak. Harry was on his way to the door when he stopped and raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s wrong, Dobby?” 

The normally bold elf fiddled his thumbs before raising his sad eyes to him. “We don’t have a home, sir. Dobby needs to have a home and work .”

The forlorn look on the elf’s face made him sigh and remember Leeney’s advice. The elder elf had warned that house elves could not be homeless for long. While they gain power from a bond, if their master did not have a home for them to share, they would soon start to wither regardless of how powerful the wizard was. 

Dobby could make do with the Chamber of Secrets because Harry had used it as his haunting place, and Hogwarts helped sustain the bond. It helped that the loyal elf had been too busy dismantling the basilisk to feel the effects, but Harry couldn’t simply send him back. He wasn’t certain about the mechanics, but Harry himself didn’t consider the Chamber to be home, and thus, Dobby did not either.

They were called House Elves for a reason. They needed a house to call home, or things would go bad. This also explained why Dobby behaved erratically over the past few days.

“Don’t worry, Dobby. Tomorrow, I will figure something out.” He lowered his back to be at the elf’s height, Harry’s own short stature not necessitating him to kneel for the elf. “I need you to be strong for me, my friend. Be strong, and I promise you that within the week, we will have a home for ourselves. Can you do that for me?”

The elf’s large green orbs got wet, and massive ugly tears flowed down his cheeks. “Yes! Dobby can do that, Harry Potter, Sir.”

“Good.” Harry smiled before thinking for a moment, “I need you to protect my room while I’m out. I know it's much smaller than the Chamber, but it is still important for me to have someone protecting it. Can I count on you, Dobby?”

The elf nodded his head so rapidly that one of his hats fell off, causing Harry to chuckle. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours then.”

“Dobby will wait for you, sir.”

Harry smiled as he left the room and made his way down the common room of the pub. A meal would not go amiss, but he could not afford to waste time. Checking a clock on the wall, it was nearly eight in the evening, and the pub was jam-packed with customers. He put his hood on to hide his face as much as possible, though, thankfully, many of the pub’s patrons were either deep in their cups or dressed in cloaks that hid their features. Harry needed to get a change of clothes, and he would rather not venture into muggle London. He hoped there were a few clothes stores open in the alley, and perhaps this would be a perfect opportunity for Jon to make an appearance.

But first and foremost, food.

Chapter Text

Saturday 12th of June 1993

Early morning

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire England

Narcissa Malfoy shifted in her sleep, her eyes shut tightly as she tried to ignore the bright light streaming through the window. 

Morgana’s hat, who had left the curtains open?!

… Right, she had.

A few minutes of restlessly tossing and turning, shuffling from one side to the other, had Narcissa give up on the endeavour and her hands unconsciously sought through the soft, silky sheets for her husband’s. After a minute of mindless search, she finally opened her eyes, finding her marriage bed cold and empty.

After an annoyed sigh rolled off her lips, the blonde woman sat up and removed the covers, rubbing the sleep from her eyelids. Her drowsy eyes roamed the empty room, noticing how messy it had been since that fateful day she confronted Lucius. A vase was shattered on the wall, upturned chairs and tables, and a broken mirror from a thrown hairbrush. Narcissa was about to instinctively call for their house elf, only to remember that her husband had lost Dobby in some silly bet he wouldn’t tell about.

Her eyes settled on the bed beside her as she stared forlornly at the spot where Lucius usually slept. They each had private rooms, of course, but they normally shared a bed when they went to sleep. Whilst their marriage had started rocky, Narcissa would admit that the Malfoy Lord had done his best to accommodate her since she had produced him an heir. Yet, they had rarely copulated again, no matter how many times she tempted him for more children, almost as if her husband feared getting her with another child. 

It had taken her some time to notice that in the past few generations, the Malfoys did not have more than one child. On the rare occasion when there was a second sibling, they were quietly made to disappear. Narcissa recalled an older Malfoy girl a few years ahead of her in school, but she suddenly vanished in her seventh year, conveniently when Lucius’ father, Abraxas, became head of house. Unwilling to think of the dreadful prospect of kinslaying, Narcissa swept it away from her mind.

Shaking her head to get rid of the last bit of lethargy, the Malfoy Matriarch got off her bed and grabbed her wand. The heat of summer did nothing to the fabulously warded Malfoy manor that, amongst plenty of other features, kept the interior at a pleasant and even temperature, no matter the weather. It might have cost a king’s ransom to install and a princely one for its yearly maintenance, but Lucius had insisted that it was a good investment. Narcissa tended to agree as she disrobed her sleepwear and strolled naked to the accompanying washroom to prepare for the day. Not having to worry about the cold or the heat in her home was satisfactory; not even the Black manor had such features, considering Lucius had the enchantment placed a few years ago when her maiden house was in its death throes and could not compete.

As she entered the expansive bathroom, which immediately turned on its lights the moment she stepped in, Narcissa’s eyes sought the massive mirror covering an entire side of the wall, which had an equally large marble sink. Approaching the sink, the blonde woman turned on the tap and washed her face before staring at her reflection for a moment; tired grey-blue eyes set on an impassive face stared back at her. As usual, the reflection eyed her up and down, then groped its teats and leered at her.

Looking good, girl.

Shaking her head at the antics, Narcissa walked to the showers and turned on the water, placing her wand on a nearby shelf. Enjoying the hot water on her body, she scrubbed herself clean and washed her long platinum-blonde hair before finding herself lost in thought as she stared at her wet reflection in the mirror. Tired eyes traced down her body as she idly rubbed her wide hips, ample breasts and flat belly with a loofa and sighed. She wondered what the use was in having such good looks, a fertile constitution and a fecund body if her husband refused to put any of it to use. The more she thought about Lucius, the angrier she felt over his actions. 

Yet, more than anger, she felt wistful for what could have been. Narcissa had always known Lucius was a cut-throat man who would not hesitate to grab any opportunity to improve his fortunes, even at the expense of others. Yet, she had respected that in him and would not deny that she found it attractive. Furthermore, most of his adversaries were upstarts who knew not their betters or their peers. Lucius, however, had never lowered himself to swindling the pitiful and downtrodden, for it offered a poor reputation in return for negligible profit, and reputation was paramount for the Malfoys, especially after the downfall of the Dark Lord. 

She drew the line, however, when that entire scheme of his offered no benefits whatsoever to House Malfoy and put her precious Draco in danger, and for what? To annoy his rival? Attempt to kill his daughter? After so much bragging about how he never saw Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, which admittedly was as ridiculous as it sounded, as anything more than a nuisance. To think he would unleash a bloody, feral Basilisk in the school where her son studied along with hundreds of children, the future of their nation?

The Malfoy matriarch hoped her husband would see the error of his ways and return full of repentance. She would have welcomed him with open arms, for it was the wife’s duty to support her husband in good or ill. Even the fleeting idea of trying for another child crossed her mind more than once! Yet instead, when he did return, he dared to demand she become a sacrifice for some harebrained ritual?! 

“Do you not understand the danger you put our son in?” She had asked the cold and shivering man she agreed to meet again, hoping for a smidgen of guilt in his eyes.

“W-what danger, w-woman. He’s a Mal-lfoy, nothing would h-have happened t-t-to him.” The arrogant proclamation that would once have been true was ruined by the pathetic stutter. “ W-worst thing that would happen, I would put another b-babe in you as you consistently nag w-with your pathetic attempts of s-seduction.”

It was the final straw for Narcissa, and she had sent her husband away. Normally, it would have been impossible as this was still his home, even the wards were still keyed to him. However, for some reason they did not follow his commands, and he had trouble casting the simplest of magics. The blonde woman even wondered if whatever was ailing him had caused him to lose so much control of his senses and thought process, along with his ability to reliably use magic. Normally, Lucius would never have allowed his inner thoughts to come out like this, and she felt nothing but pity as he failed even to pull his wand when she asked him to leave. 

Perhaps he was truly hurting, and she should have helped him?

No. The woman scowled at her reflection before turning the water to cold, the abrupt change in temperature causing her to flinch slightly before relaxing. If Lucius could not control his mind enough to not reveal his true thoughts, then good riddance. 

A few minutes later, the woman sighed and turned off the showers. Drying herself with a towel, she enjoyed the feeling of the fabric on her skin before using her wand to dry her hair and trace it down to her waist. Stepping out, Narcissa walked to the sink and glanced at her toothbrush. Clicking her tongue at the thought of using it like a muggle, she opened her mouth and washed her teeth with her wand, causing water and toothpaste to follow the wand’s movements and scrub her mouth clean. 

Normally, such a procedure would be dangerous, yet she was proficient enough in charms to take the risk, and within seconds, her mouth smelled fresh, and her teeth were shiny. That it took longer than it should have compared to the muggle method was conveniently ignored.

There was a mouth and teeth cleaning spell, but neither left your mouth as refreshed as proper toothpaste.

Humming to herself, the blonde woman dressed in a bathrobe and exited back to her room. Glancing at the mess from a week ago, she hesitated for a moment, glancing at the clock showing half-past seven, and convinced herself there was no time for cleaning. After all, why would she ever bother learning household charms when house elves did such mundane tasks? Still, she might need to see into hiring servants or acquiring a new house-elf soon.

Narcissa walked to her closet room and spent a few minutes choosing her outfit for the day before settling on an elegant black and blue dress that matched her eyes with flowing flounces that would flare in the wind. That it showed her collarbone and a fair bit of her ample cleavage was a bonus – men staring at her with unbidden lust always amused her, and women glaring at her in envy made her titter. It was a good thing she was wicked with a wand, as anyone who dared to get smart with her would be reminded that she was still a daughter of the House of Black.

Making her way to the vanity, she mused on what accessories to wear today and decided on something less exuberant considering her young companion. A pair of sapphire earrings, a pearl necklace with a lapis lazuli stone and gold bracelets should be enough to showcase her wealth and power without going overboard. Oh, and a black hair ornament with an onyx jewel to hold her lovely hair, of course. 

As she put on the jewellery, Narcissa noticed her ring box, where she would normally place her wedding ring whenever she returned home. She opened the box and stared at the beautiful Goblin-wrought silver ring with a mithril gem mined from the mountains of the mainland. It was an exquisite thing, with built-in charms and protections that would have bankrupted any other house aside from the Malfoys. She bit her lips in indecision before remembering her last encounter with Lucius. Frowning at the memory, she also remembered how this was supposed to be her sister’s ring, which caused her to scowl as she thought about her cowardly sister. Let her have her mudblood toy, Narcissa still got the last laugh with her high life compared to the drudgery Andromeda had to endure. 

Slamming the box shut, Narcissa put on a pair of black high-heeled shoes, then left the closet and made her way out of her room.

The Malfoy Manor of Wiltshire was the ancestral seat of the Malfoys, built by Armand Malfoy when he accompanied the muggle king William of Normandy in his conquest of the isles after these lands were seized from their previous owners. The Malfoys would insist on that word instead of the reality of their situation: they were servants to a muggle king. Narcissa smirked inwardly as she walked in the marble corridors of the manor, ignoring the multitude of tapestries and portraits wishing her good morning. She glanced outside one of the windows and inspected the vast expanse of the grounds of her home, lands that, over the centuries, the Malfoys had seized from their muggle owners through dealings and businesses. Something that they had to stop once the statute was implemented.

For those six hundred years from the conquest to the statute, the Malfoys had disdained marrying into the local magical nobility, just like their muggle counterparts. Instead, they opted to marry from the mainland, such as their homeland of France, where she suspected a Malfoy branch existed, but no matter how much she asked, Lucius had neither denied nor confirmed. Still, with the statute implemented, the Malfoys were forced to look in Britain for marriage prospects as most nations had become even more insular. 

Narcissa continued walking for a few more minutes until she turned a bend in the corridor and arrived at her son's room. If there was one thing she did not like about this mansion, it was the long walks to reach anywhere. She was about to open the door before she heard pages turning and her son's unmistakable heavy breathing. Frowning for a moment, Narcissa stifled a giggle once she realised what was happening.

Her baby boy is not that much of a baby anymore.

Figuring that there was no need to embarrass her Draco, the beautiful blonde mother sneakily traced her steps back to the bend before accidentally bumping into one of the many vases, causing it to tip over and shatter loudly.

“Oh, dear me,” she called out loudly. “Reparo.”

Fixing the vase and placing it back in its original spot, Narcissa gave it a minute before she walked up to her son’s room and knocked on the door.

“Draco? Are you up?”

“Yes, Mother! Come in.” Her son’s voice squeaked out.

Smirking inwardly yet maintaining a neutral expression, the Malfoy matriarch opened the door and found her son standing in the middle of the room, looking for all the world like the obedient son greeting his noble mother politely.

“Good morning, Mother.” Except his grey eyes refused to meet her imperious blues. “Are you off for your outing?”

“Indeed, I am.” She replied stoically. It was a difficult decision for her to be strict with her son and act like the stern mother in an attempt to curb the extreme pampering that his father’s methods had instilled in him. Narcissa wasn’t innocent either, as she had spoiled her beautiful son rotten growing up, which adversely affected how he socialised with his peers. Lucius could harp all he wanted about how the Malfoys were above all, but she knew better, not even the Blacks could afford to offend everyone. 

It tore her heart to do it, but Narcissa soldiered on, knowing for certain that it was for his own good. “I have arranged for breakfast and lunch to be delivered via Floo, so keep an eye on the fireplace.”

“Understood, Mother. Mind if I ask what food to expect?” Draco still wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Narcissa frowned inwardly. Perhaps she had overused the stern mother act?

“It’s your favourite, dear. From the Cauldron Cuisine.” She smiled softly at him, causing the boy to finally look at her and smile back. 

“Thank you, mother.” She nodded to him and turned to leave when he coughed. “Where are you going with Potter, of all people?”

She froze and pursed her lips at her son, “I do not believe it would be proper to speak about other people’s affairs.”

“But you are my mother! That makes it my affair, and Potter is dangerous.” Narcissa frowned at her boy’s tone; this seemed more than a simple school rivalry.

“Did I not ask you to avoid provoking the boy? What did you do, Draco?”

“I did nothing!” At his mother’s continued gaze, he gulped heavily. “Okay, I might have bumped into his mudblood friend, and things got a bit out of hand, but I didn’t intentionally provoke him. Yet, he still threatened and nearly strangled me.”

“Strangled?” Now that was serious, she would not allow anyone to threaten her precious boy, regardless of who it was.

“Yes!”

“Mind if I see?” At the boy’s uncertain sideways look, Narcissa raised her eyebrow. “Were you lying to me, Draco?”

“Of course not! It’s just… fine, I might have bothered Granger, but I swear I didn’t provoke Potter. You can see it yourself, I have nothing to hide.”

Narcissa wanted so much to rub the bridge of her nose, but she couldn’t show weakness to her dear boy. This was why she needed to be firm with him; they were above seeking issues with lowlifes, yet Draco demeaned himself for it. 

“Prepare yourself and don’t struggle.” She waited until her son was ready and stared into her eyes before pointing her wand and whispered, “ Legilimens.”

Using Legilimancy was incredibly dangerous for anyone, let alone a child, yet if the user was gentle and the target was ready and trusted the user, then it was no different from using a Pensieve. Except Pensieves were incredibly rare that even the Malfoys, for all of their vaunted wealth, were unable to acquire one. While Narcissa was accomplished in the mind-arts, as any daughter of House Black should be, she was not a master to enter someone’s mind without a wand. Surface thoughts, sure, that was the most basic form of Legilimancy, but deep dives? Only the Dark Lord was known to be capable of that with a single glance, at least according to her husband and her mad sister.

Several images and memories flowed into her mind, and she could feel Draco watching with her. He hurriedly tried to hide his earlier session from her, and she pretended not to notice them. Apparently, he did not think this through when he offered to show her his memories. Finally, they arrived at a memory from a few days ago, and Narcissa watched it closely. She hummed and narrowed her eyes as she saw the events play out for a few minutes, especially when she saw the astonishing scene of the small slip of a boy lifting her son with one hand. 

Nodding to her son and cancelling the spell, they were back in the room. The blonde mother hurriedly grabbed her son as he staggered and led him to an armchair, one she knew hid a certain book of photos under the pillow and waited until he recovered.

“Well then, Draco. Do you know what you have done wrong?” Narcissa stood over her son as he sat rigidly with his hands on his knees and waited for his response.

“I, er, I should have just accepted the girl’s apology and walked away?” The hesitant tone did not hide the unwillingness that the idea instilled in her son.

“That was one of them, yet you chose to blow a simple accident out of proportion.”

“But she bumped into me!”

“Indeed, and for any of the other lowlifes, you could have ‘showed them who’s boss’, as you younglings call it these days.” Narcissa shook her head inwardly at the need for boys to prove themselves. “Yet, sometimes, it is better to let bygones be, especially when there was no harm done and your target has a very protective, and as you have discovered, a very dangerous friend. The fact that Harry Potter had somehow befriended the Greengrasses and that you ran away from a duel sponsored by their heiress brought shame to your name. Be thankful that if I am only now hearing of this, it means Potter and his friends have decided not to shame you publicly.”

“So what, I should apologise and thank them for not being rumour mongers?” Her boy turned sideways with a petulant pout, causing her eyebrow to twitch. 

“Of course not. You should pretend the whole matter never happened and move on, just like they seem to be doing.” This time, she didn’t bother hiding her sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Draco… sweetie. I need you to understand our current position.” She knelt to be level with her boy and held his shoulders with both hands. “Your father has made a mistake, a big, stupid mistake that he sadly refuses to acknowledge the consequences of. He has made many enemies over his lifetime, and they have now chosen to go after him when he is at his weakest. You cannot go around causing trouble hoping that he would bail you out of any punishment or consequences. Do you understand me, my dragon?”

The boy nodded hesitantly, “Is father ever coming back?” Her heart nearly broke at the small and vulnerable voice of her dear boy. “Will we ever recover from this?”

“Oh, my baby boy.” Narcissa hugged her precious son tightly; she could not bear to lie to him, but there was no way she would let him feel so weak and inadequate. “ Of course, your father would return, and of course, we will recover from this stronger than ever. We just need to persevere but, I need you to learn to conduct yourself better, baby dragon. Not just as the scion of House Malfoy but potentially as the heir of the House of Black. Can you do that for me, sweetie?”

“Of course, mother. I will do everything possible to be better. Better than father and better than any previous Malfoy.”

Looking at her son’s face, she could tell he did not fully understand what she was asking of him, but it mattered not. His resolve had reached her, and she hugged him again, ecstatic that he hugged her back and seemed willing to improve himself. That was all she asked.

“I am getting late, and I would rather not have a bad first impression on a boy who I am hoping would become an ally, if not to me, then to you and our house.” She smiled gently at Draco as he was about to open his mouth, no doubt refusing to even consider the idea, and pinched his cheeks to silence. “Next time you want some time for yourself to use Playwitch , make sure to use the bathroom, okay, sweetie?”

The look of utter mortification on her son’s face was enough of a punishment for almost getting their family in even more dire straits. Narcissa left her son’s room with a smirk as she went to the manor’s parlour. Harry Potter was untouchable, that was always the first unspoken rule about the boy, but it was more true now than ever.

He had proven himself to be an accomplished wizard and warrior at such a young age, and if there was one thing that people respected unequivocally, it was personal strength. So what if you had millions of Galleons at your disposal? The Dark Lord was a penniless half-blooded bastard born out of rape, yet he had gathered so many powerful followers out of sheer power. 

The blonde woman had a strong feeling that The-Boy-Who-Lived would grow to be someone on the same level as Dumbledore and Voldemort. The signs were all there, and she would be damned if she allowed him to slip from her grasp when he could have been a close friend to Draco. If that Greengrass hag and her girl toy set their girls on him, they would surely gain unimaginable control and power through him. She had seen how friendly he was with them, although she could not help but notice the youngest Greengrass's interest in her Draco despite her son’s thickheadedness.

Entering the parlour, Narcissa made her way to the fireplace but paused when she passed a mirror. Looking at her reflection, she found herself unconsciously smiling, all signs of exhaustion and stress gone from her face. Her eyes shone bright, and the blonde mother thanked the heavens for the gift they had blessed her in her Dragon. Still, It would be better not to appear overly happy when she met with the boy. Taking a few seconds to fix her expression back to her neutral and impassive face, Narcissa walked to the fireplace and lit it with her wand. She grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and threw it in the fire.

“Leaky Cauldron.” The fire turned green, and Narcissa stared at it for a moment. If her attempts at having the Potter boy befriend her son failed, perhaps she should aim for the friend of a friend angle? Despite her feelings about the family, the Greengrasses were still old and noble, not to mention rich and powerful. She knew Lucius had been courting them for one of his many businesses, which meant they weren’t straight-laced prudes but willing to get their hands sticky. Unfortunately, Lucius never shared what those businesses were, reminding her of her duty to him whenever she asked.

Narcissa scowled inwardly at the reminder. Regardless, It would be an honour for them to marry their second daughter to her dear Draco, Astoria Greengrass would surely come with a significant dowry. 

Much better than the useless elf that the Blacks gave her. She stepped into the green flames and disappeared from her home.

A*L*S*M

07:50 am, Leaky Cauldron’s taproom.

Harry adjusted the sleeve of his black half-cloak as he waited at his table. He tried not to appear nervous as he waved off the cute waitress that Tom sent. The old owner was understanding when he explained he was waiting for a friend, but he was not sure if they would have breakfast here first. The pub was already crowded with early risers, but Harry had strategically chosen his table in a corner where he could view the whole pub and the fireplace.

Waking up at the crack of dawn to continue his workout routine had become more of a hindrance than he imagined. He was unsure where he could exercise, but Tom had given him directions to a nearby park in muggle London. He had managed to finish his routine swiftly enough before trouble found him. To say it had been unpleasant to deal with the muggle policemen who questioned him why he was awake and alone at ‘five in the bloody morning’ would be an understatement. Defenceless and knowing he would be in deep trouble if he used his wand, Harry was forced to distract the officers and sprint as fast as possible to the pub. Thankfully, the muggle-repellent wards worked brilliantly in sending them away.

That was two hours ago, and Harry used that time to make sure he appeared as well-groomed and meticulously clean as possible. Yesterday's evening stroll through Diagon Alley had proven a limited success. Many of the stores were closed, and he barely managed to catch the proprietress of Twilfitt and Tattings as she was closing the store. For some reason, she was taken aback by his appearance, which gave him an opportunity to convince her to stay open for a few more minutes. A promise of a hefty sack of gold also helped. Still, it had caused him to worry, as he had chosen to walk in Jon’s appearance to avoid scrutiny rather than gain any. He would need to discover why his appearance was so attention-grabbing, as now that he thought about it, several older people in the alley did a double take when they saw him.

Regardless, after spending close to sixty Galleons to get himself measured and tailored in less than an hour, the result was what he was wearing. More than anything he had ever spent on in his life, especially as his clothes would soon get small, and he would need to be refitted anyway. Nevertheless, Harry would confidently say that he was satisfied with the money spent, and he did look dapper in some of the comfiest clothes he had ever worn.

At first, he was wary of wearing whatever magicals considered fashionable. Disregarding how the clothes appear, he cared a lot more for practicality than anything else. In that, Jon’s memories of noble attire had proven essential, with the most prominent feature of his garb; the black doublet with golden stitches of elaborate wolves, with particular emphasis on a white wolf made from Acromantula silk with red eyes made from garnets on his breast. 

It had two moke skin pockets where he placed his coin sack, invisibility cloak, the Basilisk Fang, and a copy of the Daily Prophet. Under the doublet was a long-sleeved white shirt made from the smoothest cotton from Egypt, assured by the proprietress to be grown over a scarab blessed land, whatever that meant. Over all of that, Harry wore a black half-cloak that covered his right arm, made from a combination of highland Cooley cattle wool and its hide. While he did not think he would have to fight anyone where he was going today, it would still allow him to discreetly pull his wand and cast before an assailant could realise it. 

He had opted for a pair of black gloves, also made from silk, simply because he thought they looked cool but put a firm line over buying a top hat. For trousers, Harry had the tailor sew more pockets into the black silk pants he chose and had a belt made from Bicorn hide, dyed black, of course, with a silver wolf buckle to secure it. The final part of the attire was the pair of dragon-hide boots, also black. Jon might no longer be a brother of the Night’s Watch, and the mere memory of it brought a tide of unimaginable wrath in him, but he had always been more prone to wearing black. Harry eagerly agreed, black looked great, so long as he showed a bit of white in his shirt; otherwise, he would be no better than a certain greasy potions master.

Harry felt ready to face the world or attend a wedding in his new clothes, though he did worry about his hair, as it had resisted all attempts to be combed. Eventually, he managed to borrow a drop of Sleekeazy from Tom, which helped greatly in taming his wild nest of hair.

Checking the clock again, Harry found it was one minute until eight, and he wondered whether the woman would show. No sooner had the thought rolled over his mind than the fireplace flashed green, and out came a vision of absolute beauty.

Dressed in an elegant black and blue dress, with her platinum blonde hair held back by a simple black ornament that allowed it to fall like a waterfall, Narcissa Malfoy commanded the presence of the entire taproom the moment she stepped in. All chatter died as men’s eyes glazed over with blazing lust, while women either nodded appreciatively or glared jealously at the Malfoy matriarch. Her piercing gaze moved around the room until they met his own before making her way to his table. Harry left his seat and politely stood aside as she stopped before him, their eyes fixed on each other for a moment before those piercing orbs of grey-blue roamed him. 

The woman’s gaze seemed to inspect him from his combed hair all the way down to the laces of his boots, and Harry suddenly felt naked under her gaze, yet he resisted the urge to shift. It was certainly awkward for him, as he had to tip his head backwards to stare at anything aside from her bosom. 

As the tall woman inspected him, their eyes met, and for an instant, he thought he felt something brush against his forehead, almost like a feather, and then he felt Ghost growl in his mind. The woman’s face remained impassive, yet her eyes fractionally twitched. It was so subtle he would have thought it nought but his imagination if not for his senses.

“Harry Potter. A good morning to you.” Her melodic voice unconsciously put him at ease, and he found himself smiling lightly. He kissed her offered hand’s knuckles before greeting her back. 

“And you as well, Mrs Malfoy. Please, join me.” He courteously pulled her chair for her and, when she stood in front of it, gently pushed it in as she sat. Harry swiftly returned to his seat, “have you broken your fast yet, Mrs Malfoy? I can have Tom prepare his special for today if you wish.”

“I appreciate that, Mr Potter.” Draco's mom nodded to him. Before he could signal for Tom, the same waitress approached to take their order. 

“Two of today's special, double serving for me and a pot of tea, please.” 

The waitress, Chiara, he thought she was called, was a recent Hogwarts graduate if he had to guess. She nodded politely to them before swiftly making her way to the bar. Her shoulder-length silver hair and slightly slitted eyes of the same colour gave her a unique appearance, and for some reason, Ghost was curious about her. A sniff had him feeling a little flabbergasted, the girl felt completely submissive and meek, almost like a pup eager to please its master yet fighting within itself to maintain its individuality. 

He shook his head inwardly and filed the girl's strangeness away as Mrs Malfoy raised an eyebrow at his double order, but he simply smiled. Eventually, she retrieved her wand from the sleeve of her dress and waved it around the table with a muttered, “Muffliato.”

“A simple privacy spell that was popular during my time in school.” The blonde woman explained at his inquiring look. “Anyone who attempts to listen to us will only hear a buzzing noise, like a fly or a bee.”

Nodding in gratitude, Harry made sure to file this spell for later. “I hope I did not take time from your day, Mrs Malfoy. I understand that with Draco back for the summer holidays, you would want to spend as much time with him as possible.”

“I have the entire summer to spend with my son, and it is no trouble at all to help you in your matter today.” For the first time, Draco's mom smiled gently at him. “Do not hesitate to let me know if you need any help. It would be my pleasure to help an up-and-coming young lord such as yourself.”

That gave Harry pause. While the blonde woman did offer him her aid and favour during Ron's funeral, he was under the impression that she was simply being courteous in front of her extended family.

Before he could comment, the waitress returned with a tray and deposited their breakfast on the table before retreating as swiftly as possible. The special was a five-layered omelette stuffed with black olives, mushrooms, bell peppers, and cheese. On the side were blood sausages, biscuits, and baked potatoes. His plate was noticeably larger than Mrs Malfoy’s.

They ate in silence, interrupted only by the occasional request to pass the salt or other condiments on the table. Harry had been starving, as he had got used to Dobby’s cooking and the basilisk meat. Ordering a double serving for himself was his absolute compromise, as he would have needed five times the serving just to be full.

He still ate with a dignity befitting a noble, and judging by the lady’s slight smile as he devoured his food, it seemed she approved. Harry took a discreet whiff of the air, inhaling Mrs Malfoy's unique scent of vanilla and mint. His senses told him her maternal instincts were flaring as she looked at him. The very idea that a woman would feel this way towards him was strange. Neither Harry nor Jon had ever known the love of a mother, and once the thought intruded on his psyche, it stuck.

Shaking his head inwardly, Harry blamed his raging hormones on not only affecting his lust but also his deep-seated desire to be mothered. He stabbed a blood sausage with a bit more force than necessary, scraping on the plate.

“Are you all right, dear?” The woman’s worried tone was sincere, and his senses do not lie.

“Perfectly fine, just hungry.” Harry smiled woodenly at Draco's mom, yet he could tell the perceptive woman was unconvinced. Thankfully, she let the matter go, and they continued their meal in silence until they were done, and the waitress took away the plates.

“So, how is Draco?” Harry drank the plain Earl Grey tea as he preferred it while gazing at his school rival's mom. The woman took her time as she stirred her teacup after placing a generous amount of sugar and milk.

“He is doing well, although he has told me the queerest of tales.” The woman sipped her tea before gazing at him with a strange glint in her eyes. 

“Oh? Anything that concerns me?” 

“It does indeed concern you.” Narcissa Malfoy placed her cup on the table before leaning slightly forward, causing her generous bust to rest on the table. She placed her chin over her folded hands and stared at him intently with an amused smile. “My Draco claimed that you attempted to strangle him over a misunderstanding.”

Harry was in the midst of taking another sip before he paused for a second, he shrugged and drank deeply from his cup, draining it, and then placed it on the table.

“I might have done something like that, but I assure you I had no intention of harming your son.”

“Oh? Do you take me for a fool, Mr Potter?” Her cold voice cut like a blade, and Harry frowned. 

“I take you for an intelligent woman who knows perfectly well how her son behaves in school. Draco has never given me a reason to take his word in good faith. So when I discovered him and his friends harassing my best friend as they had been doing all bloody year, I naturally assumed the worst.” His voice was neutral, yet he put enough of a growl into it to send the point across. ‘Do not test me, woman.’

Narcissa Malfoy glared back at him for a solid minute before suddenly chuckling in amusement, causing Harry's eyebrows to twitch in surprise. Breathing through his nose, Harry smelled satisfaction and respect aimed at him, and he felt his cheeks heat up. 

A fucking test.

“Well said, Harry. As I mentioned, I already knew it was a misunderstanding. I would like to apologise for my son's behaviour. I would also ask that you try to find it in you to let bygones be and, hopefully, give him a chance to be a friend.” He could feel the sincerity in her words, yet he was not the type to simply forgive and forget. That mindset earned him a dozen stab wounds in his chest.

“We shall have to wait and see next term.” There, as good of a non-answer as he could give.

“Fair enough.” Draco's mom shrugged her shoulders, causing her cleavage to slightly jiggle. Whether she did that on purpose or not, probably not as he did not feel mischief from her, it made it much more difficult to maintain eye contact while ignoring the heat in his body.  

“So, how is your husband Lucius doing?” The mere mention of the man's name caused the woman's brow to twitch, and Harry grinned inwardly. “I figured after our discussion at the funeral, you would have an interesting talk with him. How did it go?”

The beautiful blonde woman silently drank her tea for a minute as she gave him an inscrutable look. “Lucius…is no longer living with us.” Hairy blinked in surprise. Could he have been responsible for wrecking their marriage? 

“What I would like to know, however, is if you had cursed him.” At his confused look, The Malfoy matriarch continued. “I had already mentioned that he was suffering from some kind of cold malady.” Harry nodded as he did recall her mentioning that. “Whatever he was suffering from turned out to be a curse, something serious enough that he needed a very expensive ritual to cure him. He was utterly convinced you were somehow responsible for it and vowed vengeance over it.”

“I assure you I know nothing of the sort. There is bad blood between your husband and I, so him swearing vengeance does nothing but amuse me.”

“I would advise not to underestimate my husband, Mr Potter. He is a dangerous man.” The woman’s tone had a warning edge to it, yet he was undeterred. 

“The only one who did any underestimation was Lucius, and from what you tell me, he is sorely regretting his life choices already. If he dares to attack me and mine, then I will show no mercy.”

“Is that a threat, Mr Potter?” Narcissa Malfoy glared coldly at him, and Harry glared back, unconsciously deepening his voice, and he could feel Ghost adding his growl to his voice.

“ It’s a promise . In fact, I will tell you now that I wish for nothing more than his most excruciatingly slow death.” His sudden declaration took the woman by surprise, and he detected apprehension coming from her. “You have to remember, Mrs Malfoy, that your husband caused my friend's death. Not only that, his reckless stunt could have caused hundreds of deaths; Including your son’s . If he continues on his self-destructive path, then I won’t even need to do anything before he ends up killing himself.”

Draco's mom gulped as she was reminded of Lucius’s folly. An awkward silence fell upon them before they were distracted by the clock striking nine.

The last of the tea was instantly drained, then Narcissa Malfoy stood up and offered him her arm almost stiffly. Harry hesitantly stood up as well, though he felt bewildered and regretful. 

His intention had not been to make a stubborn stand-off with his helper for the day…

“I do not blame you for your hatred, Harry.” The beautiful mother smiled gently at him as if reading his thoughts. “But you cannot blame me for seeking answers regarding the matter. A wife's duty is to her husband, even if said husband has proven unreliable and made questionable life choices.” 

Relief swelled within, although he did his best to keep his face impassive; thankfully his plans for today had not fallen through. Her reasoning was something Harry could respect greatly. 

“Fealty goes both ways, whether between a lord and his vassal or a husband and his wife.” He left a Galleon on the table, more than enough tip for the strange waitress, and grabbed her offered arm. Draco’s mother led him to the fireplace and threw some floo powder from the provided pot.

“Ministry of Magic, Atrium.”

The fire flared green, and the woman let go of him, “I'll see you on the opposite side, Harry.” Then, she walked in and disappeared into the flames.

Harry waited a moment before throwing floo powder and repeating after the woman. Within seconds, he was swirling in place until he was spat out of the fireplace. His head landed on something soft and bouncy, and he felt slender hands hold him.

“I forgot to warn you that the Leaky’s fireplace is more temperamental than normal.” An amused voice sounded above him, and Harry felt heat instantly rush all the way to his brow as he found himself face to cleavage with his chaperone.

Narcissa Malfoy giggled at his look, her laughter reminding him of clear bells and nightingales. She did not at all look like the woman whom he promised to murder her husband, and Harry was beyond confused but forgot about it as she moved aside to allow him his first view of the Ministry of Magic.

And what a view it was, they were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds, a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the fireplaces they just left with a soft whoosh; on the far right-hand side, past a tunnel leading somewhere, short queues of wizards were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, Harry.” Narcissa Malfoy smiled, spreading her arms as if showcasing her home, “I can assure you that by the end of the day, you will absolutely detest it here.”

Chapter Text

The Matriarch

“This doesn’t seem right.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. These statues seem more like how wizards wish other creatures looked at them.” Harry frowned, scrunching his eyebrows in that adorable way boys did when they were deep in thought. “Goblins would sooner gut a human than look at them like that. In fact, the only statue that appears authentic is the house-elf.”

“Indeed. I highly doubt a centaur would ever look at a wizard with such adoration.” Narcissa tittered as they stood in front of the so-called Fountain Of Magical Brethren . That it only showed three magical creatures instead of the myriad of sentient creatures living in the British Isles was telling about its hypocrisy. Not that she cared about the other magical beings, for just like muggles, their place still remained beneath them.

“Although I do hear tales of certain witches and hags seducing centaur stallions and centaur mares seeking studs of their own.” She snickered without thought before widening her eyes as she remembered her company. Narcissa carefully glanced at the short boy, even younger than her son, yet he simply snorted in amusement, causing her to sigh inwardly in relief.

Rule number two when it comes to Harry Potter; He’s a lot more mature than anyone his age should be, despite his small stature, yet Narcissa should be careful when speaking to him in a public setting.

“Come, Harry Potter. Let us begin.” She gently placed her hand across his shoulder and was thankful when he allowed her to steer him to the security desk. “You have yet to tell me what exactly you seek in the ministry, my boy.”

She could feel him stiffen slightly when addressed as a boy , but he quickly relaxed. Something to keep an eye on, as she could not afford to alienate him. Not to mention, Narcissa had started to care for Harry Potter.

… When did that happen?

“I need a house. Otherwise, I will be forced to either stay in Diagon Alley long-term or, worse – return to my muggle relatives, and that is not an option.” She could feel the revulsion in the boy’s words as he mentioned his relatives, and Narcissa could sympathise. She could never imagine being forced to live without magic let alone in the presence of filthy muggles! Even if they were kin, the idea was repulsive.

“So you would like to check if your family left you any property?”

“Yes. Everyone tells me how the Potters were rich and powerful in their heyday or how my grandfather amassed a massive fortune making potions. If what I have in my vault was the result of that, then my house’s reputation has been severely overblown. There has to be a house or two hidden somewhere, I'll even take the shrieking shack.”

Despite his words, Harry looked calm, like even if he did not find a place to live in, he had the confidence to survive somewhere, regardless. For a fleeting moment, Narcissa entertained the idea of offering him her home. It would have been a perfect chance to have him and her son befriend each other. 

She scrapped the idea as quickly as it came; the scandal that would arise as a result would be too much for the Malfoys to weather presently. Then there was the fact that Malfoy Manor was not hers, but her husband’s. Perhaps if Lucius had found a way to restore his sanity and agreed, then they could have seriously sought such a proposal. Besides, she doubted the prideful boy would accept anything that might constitute charity, not to mention his clear hatred of her husband. She might have understood, but it was difficult to accept.

“I’m sure we will discover something, Harry. I know my great aunt Dorea married your great uncle Charlus, and they mentioned the Potter ancestral manor was surrounded by mountains. My best guess would be somewhere in Wales.”

“Great Uncle? We’re related?” The way Harry turned to her so suddenly, his eyes almost glowing in excitement, made her dread crushing his hopes.

“Sadly, no. They did have a son, but they all died from the Dragon Pox.” Her heart ached for the young boy as his eyes dimmed, but Narcissa had learned that he was as pragmatic as they came and appreciated hard truths over being patronised. Or at least, that’s the impression she got from him, and she considered herself a good judge of character.

They stopped before the security desk, where a bored wizard in peacock-blue robes was reading the Daily Prophet with his legs crossed.

“Names and purpose of visit?” The man didn't even bother lowering his paper. 

“Narcissa Malfoy and Harry Potter, here to search the public records.”

The man shoved his paper down roughly at their names and stared intently at Harry, though he looked confused when he looked at his forehead. It was understandable, as Harry Potter’s famous scar was nearly gone now, even more than when she met him for the first time. She had yet to ask him about it, but that was neither the time nor place, as she smirked inwardly when the wizard’s eyes glazed blankly at her figure. It always felt spectacular to be worshipped this way, to show the world how magic had blessed her with an irresistible figure of beauty, and how she worked hard to maintain it. 

Outwardly, though, she frowned at the man’s rudeness. “Well?”

“You can't be Harry Potter, where's your scar?” The man coughed, and Narcissa nearly scowled at the man's voice. Thankfully, no one seemed to have heard that The-Boy-Who-Lived was here, which could have started a riot.

“My good man, of course I am Harry Potter. Or are you telling me you have met me in person without me realising it?”

The guard spluttered, and Narcissa smirked inwardly at the boy's exasperation. “Will you need to check us for contraband?”

The wizard stared blankly at her for a moment and as he was sitting, she could tell that his eyes were glued to her teats.

“N-no need. Just your wands.” The man finally managed to squeal as he pointed to the wand scale on the table. Narcissa smirked inwardly and didn't hesitate as she placed her wand first, causing the device to vibrate before it printed out her wand’s information. 

“Phoenix feather core, Silver Lime, ten and a half inches, purchased and used by Narcissa Black for twenty-one years.” The guard read the paper before looking at Harry, who placed his wand on the device.

“Phoenix feather core, Holly, eleven inches, purchased and used by Harry Potter for two years. You really are Potter, then?” Harry's unamused countenance was the only reply the man got, making the clerk shuffle uncomfortably.

“I don't know what you are looking for exactly, Madam Malfoy, but you can always check with magical transportation first.” The security guard helpfully advised as he handed them two tags with Record Diving written on them.

“Thank you, we will keep that in mind. I would appreciate your discretion on young Harry’s visit here, at least until we are done with our errand.” Narcissa gazed at the wizard with an unhidden promise of violence if her request was not heeded. 

“C-certainly, madam. You will hear nothing from me.”

She kept her piercing gaze on him, subtly reading his intentions, and nodded with satisfaction when the wizard looked away with thoughts of pleasing her clouding his mind. The beautiful woman led Harry away and gently held his hand as he tried to pin the badge. “You don't have to wear that, Mr Potter. Just keep it on your person in case someone asks. We are trying to keep a low profile, after all.” 

The boy nodded as they continued to the nearest lift, which had over a dozen people standing in line. The lift dinged, and they all tried to get in, only for it to be full right on their turn.

Narcissa scowled inwardly at their luck but was distracted when Harry Potter hesitantly nudged her. 

“So, you also have a Phoenix feather core. You're the first person I've met with the same core as mine.” 

“Indeed, phoenixes are rare, and notoriously frugal with their feathers and tears. I'm surprised you have one as well, they are especially useful for healing and duelling, in my case, the latter was more my forte.”

“Yeah, Ollivander had said the same. He mentioned Voldemort also having a similar core.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. The Dark Lord’s wand was as infamous as the man himself, but to think such a vile monster’s wand would have a core from one of the noblest of creatures?

She noticed Harry shifting awkwardly and realised she hadn’t spoken in a minute. Trying to think of something to talk about, she was beaten to it by the boy.

“Er, the clerk said you had your wand twenty-one years ago.” Narcissa arched her eyebrow, surely he wouldn’t mention her age. “Does that mean you had Draco when you were in school?”

“… Indeed. I was pregnant with my dear boy as I took my NEWTs exams.” Smart boy, he confirmed how old she was by bringing the discussion to Draco instead of her. Narcissa normally wouldn’t discuss that dark moment of her life, but she had long accepted her lot in life and was thankful for the gift she had in Draco.

A comfortable silence settled on them until the lift dinged and they filed in with the large crowd that had appeared behind them. Paper planes also joined them right before the doors closed, and settled near the ceiling.

“So what's our first stop?”

“Might as well follow the guard’s advice, so sixth floor.” She sighed as she absent-mindedly hugged the boy close to her as more people squeezed in for room. “Magical Transportation should have floo records for magical residents. If they prove useless, then we will have to check with the DMLE for records.”

“I see.” The blonde mother frowned as she noticed Harry's voice was slightly hitched before smirking in amusement as she realised she was hugging the boy closely to her chest. It was a good thing he was facing away from her, but perhaps she should tone down on the familiarity. This wasn't her Draco, after all.

Hugging his neck closer, Narcissa noticed the boy’s skin redden, yet he valiantly endured and remained still. She would have probably let the boy go, if hugging him was not so pleasant, along with the amusing embarrassment Harry Potter radiated. A few witches and wizards stared at her in confusion, probably recognising her but not her charge, yet with one of her patented glares Narcissa easily had them turn away.

“Level 6, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre.” Came the announcement.

“That’s us, Harry.” Narcissa forced her way out of the lift, Harry Potter in hand, and stepped into the corridors. “Well, Mr Potter? Are you ready to experience the efficient bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic?”

The theatrical shiver the boy gave her had her smiling outwardly yet frowning inwardly. She never had to visit the ministry without her husband but had heard horror stories of the incompetence and laziness of the workers. Hopefully, it won’t be as bad as she feared.

.

.

.

“This is ridiculous!”

“I am sorry, Madam Malfoy, but these are the rules.” The woman, Mariana Edgecombe, replied woodenly. “You must have authorisation from the DMLE for us to disclose any property under the Potter name.”

“But I have Harry Potter right here! ” Narcissa pointed to Harry, who looked like he was a minute away from wringing the witch’s neck. 

“Harry Potter is not of age and requires his guardian’s approval to access this information.” The wretched witch dared to play games with her? They had already wasted two hours speaking with over a dozen witches and wizards, all proving either useless or outright hostile for daring to ask them to do any kind of work, even if it was for Harry bloody Potter! It was only after Narcissa had threatened to curse one of them and prodigious use of visual Legilimancy that she was directed to Mariana Edgecombe, yet the vapid little hag dared waste her time still?! 

This would not have happened if Lucius was here. He needed only snap his fingers, and the department head would be grovelling at his feet.

“It is his property, and he has every right to access this information, regardless of his age, and you know this. There is no such thing as age restrictions for property ownership, only that he is required to have an adult witch or wizard of good standing vouching for him. Are you implying that I am not trustworthy? That the word of Narcissa Malfoy is worthless ?” Her voice was as cutting as a blade and nearly growled as the woman gulped and sweat gathered on her brow. Narcissa could read her mind like an open book, how the woman was absolutely terrified of her, but she was even more scared of going against her superiors. 

Who was it? Narcissa threw caution to the wind and glared daggers at the woman’s wide brown eyes but she could only glimpse a hideous figure in pink.

“You will tell me what is going on here and why you are refusing young Harry his rights.”

“T-this information was sealed and requires–” The woman started to repeat for the sixth time, stuttering and shaking like she was going to murder her. And Narcissa was tempted to do so.

“ Fine! Who do I need to talk to about this?”

.

.

.

“Is it always like this?”

“… I honestly could not tell you, Harry. This is my first time being here on my lonesome. When I was young, the mere mention of the Black name would have opened any door for me.”

They were waiting for the lift to take them to the second floor, and Narcissa felt drained from the complete waste of time this had been. She knew that Lucius’ actions would cause many people to not respect the Malfoy name, and in turn herself, as much, but to be so blatantly obtuse? They wouldn’t even do it for Harry bloody Potter! What had the world come to? Still, she needs to learn the root of this conspiracy, for it was surely one. Who was that ugly woman in pink who dared seal such basic information?

“Edgecombe, I think there's a student with that name.” The boy was adjusting his half-coat as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“Who knows, probably a daughter, though I pity any child having a cowardly mother like her.” Narcissa had her arms folded as she tapped the ground in annoyance. Perhaps that wasn’t very fair, but Mariana Edgecombe had not impressed her in the slightest. She could ignore being slighted, as Narcissa understood that all her power and authority came from her husband, but to be so uncaring to young Harry’s requests? Even if she was being threatened, the law was on all of their sides, yet she chose to be an annoyance .

“Heh, I might have a chat with her.” The boy’s face turned into a wolfish grin, which made her pity the girl even more.

A ding of the lift had them stand upright and wait for it to open and empty its occupants. Once they were inside, Narcissa again held Harry close and was delighted that the boy felt relaxed in her arms as he leaned his head on her bosom. For any outside observer, they would look like the perfect image of a mother and her son.

“People will think you are my aunt or something.” 

An unbidden smile bloomed on her face, and she was glad that there were only a couple of wizards in the lift, deep in conversation about the legal thickness of cauldron bottoms. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing? The fewer people who recognise you, the better. Unfortunately, I am quite well known, so I doubt anyone will mistake me for your aunt.”

The boy lightly shrugged, “You never know.”

“Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”  

The ding following the announcement finally had the doors open, and they shuffled out to the corridor.

“Do you think Mr Weasley would be working today?” The boy was staring at a sign that said, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office , and Narcissa frowned inwardly as she seriously thought about it. Arthur Weasley, the head of MMA, regardless of his unhealthy obsession with muggles, was an affable man and would eagerly help them in a heartbeat just for Harry’s sake. She just did not feel it proper for her to show her face to her distant cousin after what Lucius did, even if he did accept her condolences at the funeral.

“Let’s check with the Auror office first since it's along the way to the MMA office.”

.

.

.

Arthur Weasley was on an understandable sabbatical, and Narcissa was lost on what to do next. She and Harry made way for Mad-Eye Moody of all people passing through, followed by a line of exhausted Auror trainees. Didn't Moody retire a few years ago? He must have got bored and took up instructor work. Her idle gaze fell on a pink-haired girl tripping over her feet, causing her to snicker inwardly. 

Still, it might be best not to stand around here for long. For obvious reasons, her husband was not popular in this office, and no doubt Mad-Eye had seen her and Harry, yet he hadn't commented. Despite Narcissa’s apprehension, she would do her best for Harry's sake at least. Perhaps the department head would be of use, for surely, Amelia Bones would help Harry Potter…

“Madame Bones is currently in a meeting with the minister, and I am afraid to say that she is off for the rest of the day.” The friendly official they found, and wasn't that a rare thing, notified them with an apologetic smile. 

“May I ask what could be so important for the head of the DMLE to take the day off?” This day just kept getting worse, and Narcissa's quickly dwindling patience was sorely tested long ago. Still, this was arguably the friendliest face they've met so far, and it would hardly seem proper to act rude. 

“Well, for starters, it's a Saturday, and she was forced to come for the minister's meeting.” The young man, Robert Proudfoot, was patient as he flicked a few papers on his desk and did his best to help them while continuing his Auror work. “I believe she mentioned she will be celebrating her nephew’s graduation as well.”

Oh, she had forgotten about that. Narcissa recalled seeing the two elder sons of the Bones family holding their sister on the platform.

“Ah, Amelia Bones? Aunt to Edmund and Susan?” Harry asked as he moved away from the piles of books that hid him to better speak to the wizard. 

“The very same. Are you a friend of theirs?” The dark-haired wizard asked kindly.

“A friend of Susan actually, we're in the same year. I'm Harry Potter, by the way.” Harry gave a polite bow as he offered his hand to the stunned wizard.

“Are you really?” The wizard shook the boy's hand dazedly, and Harry brought out the name tag, causing Proudfoot to chuckle. “I believe you, lad. So tell me, what sort of help do you need anyway?”

Narcissa couldn't believe her luck and launched with Harry into an explanation of what they needed, including their less-than-positive visit to the floo office. The wizard thought deeply on the matter before carefully replying.

“The problem is that not every property is registered with the ministry, only those that are connected to the floo network or were involved in a will. If the floo office refuses to provide the information, then it must be sealed. You will need to go to the Office of Records and check for any information on whom to speak to unseal it. It will be tedious as they are understaffed, but I think I saw one of their staff picking up reports. Let me see if she is still here.”

“Thank you so much, Mr Proudfoot. You have been more helpful than anyone else we've met today.” Narcissa gave a genuine smile to the wizard, who impressively maintained eye contact with her without leering. A glance at his left ring finger found a wedding ring, which explained a lot. 

“Nice guy, the nicest one I've met today, at least.” Harry smiled sardonically as they watched the wizard walk off searching for that staff member.

“Indeed, such a man must be treasured in this sort of work environment.” They stared at each other for a second before lightly chuckling. It was a sad state of affairs when, for the past three hours, only one ministry official had proven to be competent and helpful.

Speaking of the man, he had returned with a brown-haired girl of short stature who looked like she had not slept a wink all night. Behind her floated a few stacks of books and scrolls.

“Thank you for your patience. This is Eleanor Fawley, and I have explained to her your situation. She will take you to the office of records and hopefully sort you out.” Fawley? A respectable old house, and she recalled a Fawley a few years ahead of her in school. Could this be his daughter?

“Please, follow me. I just need to pick up a few more reports, first.” The girl nodded shyly and motioned for them to follow her. Narcissa turned to the helpful young man first, “Thank you again, Mr Proudfoot.”

“It was my pleasure, have a pleasant day.” 

They followed young Eleanor as she stopped at a couple more desks to pick up even more reports and booklets. Narcissa would admit she was impressed with her casual use of the levitation charm, considering the girl barely looked out of school.

Harry, bless his heart, immediately grabbed a stack from the girl when she finally reached her limit of a dozen stacks floating behind her.

“Please, allow me to help you, Ms Fawley.” Despite the long and stressful day so far, Harry Potter maintained an easy smile for the Fawley girl. 

“Oh, thank you so much, Harry.” The girl smiled tiredly at the boy as she led the way. 

“Er, have we met before?” The boy asked, confused, and Narcissa arched an eyebrow at the girl’s familiarity.

“Not in person, but I was a seventh-year Gryffindor when you started school. You've gotten taller and gained some weight. Good on you, I’m your biggest fan, by the way.”

For the first time since she met him, Harry Potter preened like a peacock and gave the girl a smile so bright it finally looked his age. Narcissa smirked inwardly, so the vertically challenged boy had a complex regarding his height.

Eleanor stumbled on a loose tile, but Harry grabbed her before she fell. Her loads, however, were in danger, so Narcissa waved her wand with a sigh and lifted the stack in both of their arms and took control of four more of the floating stacks. 

“If I let young Harry show me up like this, it would be quite shameful.” She gave a rare smile to the girl, causing her to smile gratefully.

“Thank you, er, are you perhaps Harry’s aunt?” Narcissa blinked and turned to a guffawing Harry.

“Told you this could happen.” 

“That you did.” She gave him an unimpressed look, though inwardly, she liked that he seemingly approved of the idea. 

“Er, so you are his aunt?” The girl asked confused as she opened a large oak door with a plaque that said Office of Records nailed to it. The place was as expansive as Hogwarts’ library, with just as many, if not more, rolls of parchment and books.

“No, she's not. She's a… mother of a friend, here to help me with some matters. What gave you that idea?” They followed into her office and then to an empty table and deposited the stacks. Looking at the opposite wall, it was made of glass and oversaw the atrium below. Eleanor waved her wand, and the parchment rolls were separated from the booklets and the reports, with all of them easily being sorted into an empty bookshelf.

“Oh, it's just… I may have read your file when I started working here. I mean, who wouldn’t want to learn about The-Boy-Who-Lived, and it was a public record as well, though your home address was sealed by order of the Chief Warlock.” The girl was flustered as she explained her curiosity swiftly before taking another breath. “It had your muggle family filed as guardians, and while there weren't any pictures, your aunt was described with blonde hair and pale eyes. I apologise for any offence.” Fawley hurriedly added once she saw her face twist. 

To be compared to a muggle. The mere idea had her feeling filthy, and Narcissa urgently wished for a shower.

“No, there was no offence meant. I am Narcissa Malfoy. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Eleanor Fawley’s eyes widened as she recognised her, and Narcissa frowned minutely. A brief surface check with Legilimancy had her frown become more pronounced as an image of Lucius sitting in a meeting room with a few blurry figures appeared in her mind. She thought she recognised one of them, but she was unsure, as the girl quickly controlled her defences.

“O-oh, a pleasure as well, Mrs Malfoy.” The girl curtsied, and Narcissa nodded. Eleanor clearly had something to say to her, she could see the struggle on her face and another surface look showed magic was blocking her Legilimancy. An oath, perhaps? While magical oaths and vows provided rudimentary protection for the owner’s mind to prevent them from blurting them, that did not mean they protected the mind from determined Legilimens. Obviously, Narcissa would not do anything to the pure and helpful girl and decided to shelf it for later. 

Helping Harry came first.