At a young age, Harry encounters the extraordinary realm of magic and unveils its hidden depths. Guided by steadfast allies, he ventures into the heart of the wizarding world, aiming to influence its political landscape. Alongside confronting formidable figures such as Dumbledore and Malfoy, he forges an independent path, determined to leave his indelible mark.
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Harry Potter and the Lost Innocence
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Disclaimer: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the characters are all a property of JK Rowling.
Authors Note(Please Read): This story is purely my interpretation of how things could go if Harry had a little bit more of James and Lily's intelligence, remember for all of the pranking and bullying claims against James, he was rather smart, he had become an animagus without any adult help with only Sirius to help him. He was also most likely an instrumental part in the making of the Marauders Map and the communication mirrors Sirius and James used during detentions. I will address his supposed bullying in a later author's note when Snape comes into the picture or as a part of the story in a conversation with Sirius so that we can get the POV of the Marauders and not just Snape. Lily's personality and intelligence is generally accepted, so not much to comment there, Harry was smart enough to puzzle out multiple things throughout his years at Hogwarts, his being unwilling to apply himself could be down to the conditioning years with the Dursleys has on him, this story will attempt to correct some of them, this will have your usual tropes of Lordships, ancient houses etc. There will be bashing but it will not be indiscriminate senseless bashing, this isn't an evil Dumbledore story, he is just an old man who is too set in his ways and has become so used to everyone believing his words as gospel that he always thinks he knows best. Any comments with valid criticism even if it is just to question my writing style, my opinions are welcome but remember there is always a line, criticism is sometimes the greatest boon anybody can have, but the moment it becomes abuse, all it does is show the abuser to be a shallow fool who has no other outlet beyond hiding behind a random account and hurling words. With all that said, in the words of Fabrizio Romano - HERE WE GO!
Chapter 1 Discovery
On a hot June evening, six-year-old Harry found himself sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, desperate to escape from Dudley and his gang of friends. The oppressive heat of the evening sun beat down on him, making the air thick and stifling, but fear gave wings to his feet, propelling him forward with a sense of urgency and dread.
"Catch him!" Dudley shouted, his voice echoing menacingly through the narrow street, the sound bouncing off the brick walls and amplifying the threat. "The freak is gonna get it today!"
"Let's spread out across the lane so he can't hide," suggested Piers, his voice dripping with malicious glee and anticipation.
'Oh no,' Harry thought, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized his escape route was blocked by the advancing bullies, their shadows stretching long in the fading light. Panic surged through him, bringing back memories of all the other times he had been caught and subjected to Dudley and his gang's merciless thrashings. He frantically searched for an escape, his eyes darting around, and his gaze landed on an alleyway. Without thinking, he dashed into it, only to discover to his dismay that it was a complete dead end. The walls towered over him, trapping him with no way out except the way he had come.
'I'm stuck,' Harry realized in despair, his breathing growing shallow and rapid. 'I need to get away from here.' He scanned his surroundings for any possible hiding place, his mind racing with fear and desperation. He knew that if he got caught, the punishment would be severe. His breathing grew ragged, and he felt his legs starting to give way under him, the adrenaline beginning to wear off. Closing his eyes, he wished with all his might to be somewhere, anywhere, that Dudley and his friends couldn't find him. Just as he felt his strength waning,
"Crack!" A sudden, sharp noise pierced the air, and Harry felt a squeezing sensation engulf him. Before he knew it, he found himself on the roof of a building, the world below him spinning slightly from the unexpected journey. Panting from exertion and the shock of the sudden movement, he looked around in amazement, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
'Where am I?' he wondered, his breath coming in short gasps, the cool breeze on the rooftop a stark contrast to the stifling heat below. He looked down at the street below and recognized the familiar layout of his school's grounds. He was on the school's rooftop. 'I got away,' he thought with a mixture of relief and disbelief, as the sound of Dudley's angry shouts faded into the distance. Feeling a surge of giddiness, he began to piece together what had happened. Cornered in the alleyway with no escape, he had somehow ended up on the school's roof. This wasn't the first time something strange had happened around him. He recalled the incident when his teacher's hair turned blue while she was scolding him because Dudley had destroyed his homework.
Sitting down to catch his breath, Harry thought, 'I did something freakish again. I can't let Aunt Petunia find out or I'll be thrown into my cupboard without dinner.' He glanced around, trying to figure out how to get down from the rooftop. 'Now, how do I get out of here?' he pondered, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity. The prospect of being stuck on the roof was daunting, but the fear of what awaited him if he didn't find a way down was even worse.
Later, the principal called Vernon and Petunia, reporting that Harry had been found on the roof with the entrance door locked. The principal accused Harry of climbing to the top of the school building. Vernon and Petunia exchanged a worried glance, knowing that Harry was too small and weak to have climbed up there on his own. They suspected his "freakishness" was the cause.
Once the Dursleys and Harry arrived home, Harry braced himself for the inevitable punishment. He knew that being called into the principal's office and making the Dursleys come to fetch him would earn him a beating and another day without dinner. As the front door closed behind him, he saw Petunia's face twisted in fear, her eyes wide as she murmured, "Like my sister," and, "He shouldn't be able to do it this young." He turned to Vernon, whose face had turned an alarming shade of purple, the vein on his forehead throbbing ominously, indicating the storm that was about to break.
"BOY! What do you think you were doing, using your freakishness? I'm done with you and your freak world!" Vernon bellowed, his voice shaking with rage and frustration.
Petunia turned to Vernon in shock, realizing he had let slip something about the wizarding world, although it wasn't much for Harry to understand. The tension between them was palpable, a mix of fear, anger, and confusion.
"Pack your things, boy. You'll be staying with Mrs. Figg for a while. You've been suspended from school for a week, and we will stay with Marge this summer so we won't have to see you until September," Petunia declared, her voice cold and determined, leaving no room for argument.
Harry's heart sank as he trudged upstairs to gather his things. He knew that his stay with Mrs. Figg would be miserable, and the prospect of being separated from the Dursleys until September filled him with a strange mix of dread and relief. He couldn't shake the feeling that his life was about to change in ways he couldn't yet comprehend, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him.
A few hours later, Harry found himself seated in the spare room at Mrs. Figg's house, surrounded by a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The events of the day had left him grappling with a maelstrom of confusion and curiosity. From his initial yearning to escape the stifling atmosphere of Privet Drive to the startling confrontation with Petunia over Vernon's vehement rejection of the magical world, Harry's mind raced with questions. Were there others like him out there, hidden away in ordinary neighborhoods? Where could he find them, and what would they be like? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a constant undercurrent to his thoughts.
Seeking solace and grounding, Harry reluctantly turned his attention to the simple meal laid out before him—a steaming bowl of soup and a few slices of bread, lovingly prepared by Mrs. Figg. Hunger gnawed at him, a stark reminder of his human needs amidst the chaos of discovering his extraordinary abilities. The aroma of the soup was comforting, a small beacon of normalcy in an otherwise bewildering day.
As the night ebbed away into dawn, Harry's rest was fitful and restless. He awoke with the first rays of sunlight, his body trained by years of routine to rise early. Yet this morning held a peculiar weight; uncertainty clouded his every move. Unfamiliar with Mrs. Figg's preferences, he tentatively ventured into her quaint kitchen. The fridge beckoned, its contents a mystery to him until now. He wondered what kind of food she kept, imagining rows of tins and jars, each holding some unknown delight or dread.
Casting a wary eye around the tidy kitchen, Harry's gaze landed upon an unexpected sight—a newspaper spread across the dining table. Intrigued, he approached cautiously, drawn by a moving image that danced across its pages. A man soared on a broomstick amidst a sprawling stadium, defying gravity in a breathtaking display of skill. The magical spectacle captivated Harry, momentarily eclipsing his worries. The idea of people flying on broomsticks seemed too fantastic to be real, yet here it was, right in front of him.
The abrupt sound of footsteps echoing from above shattered his reverie. Startled, Harry swiftly retreated to the sanctuary of his room, pressing himself against the door to conceal his presence. Peeking through a slender crack, he observed Mrs. Figg descending the stairs with measured steps, her presence a calming anchor amidst the storm of uncertainty. He watched her movements closely, wondering if she had any inkling of the magical world that seemed to be unfolding around him.
Yet tranquility was short-lived. A sudden crackle erupted from the fireplace, causing Harry to jump in alarm. His eyes widened as the flames flickered green, forming a portal through which a familiar face emerged, calling out to Mrs. Figg with urgency.
"Arabella," the voice echoed, its tone weighted with concern. Harry's heart raced, threatening to betray his hiding place with a startled cry. Barely managing to stifle the sound, he watched in silence as Mrs. Figg leaned closer, engaging in hushed conversation with the unexpected visitor.
"Albus, Harry displayed a startling case of accidental magic yesterday," Mrs. Figg began, her voice carrying a mix of apprehension and resolve. "He apparated onto the roof of his school. The Dursleys have abandoned him with me, disappearing off to Merlin knows where. I'm ill-equipped to care for a child of his unique needs." The worry in her voice was palpable, a reflection of the challenges she anticipated.
"My dear Arabella, don't worry about his accidental magic, I will put up some wards to ensure he can't apparate again, and I will ensure funds are swiftly transferred to your Gringotts vault for the boy's welfare" Dumbledore responded calmly, his demeanor unwavering despite the gravity of the situation. "You may need to make a discreet trip to Diagon Alley to secure necessities. Remember, it is imperative that Harry doesn't find out about the magical world for the greater good." His words were measured, carrying the weight of a plan long in the making.
"I'll do my utmost to protect him, Albus," Mrs. Figg vowed solemnly, her concern etched deeply into every line of her face. "But he appears frail, too small for his age. I fear he may require care beyond what I can provide." Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her anxiety and the burden of responsibility she felt.
"Madam Pomfrey will attend to him under cover of night in a few days' time, ensuring he sleeps peacefully while receiving the care he needs," Dumbledore assured her, his words a balm to her troubled thoughts. "Now, I must take my leave, my dear Arabella." His presence seemed to bring a measure of comfort and reassurance, if only for a moment.
With a final nod of understanding, Mrs. Figg bid Dumbledore farewell, her gaze lingering on the flickering green embers that now seemed to hold the weight of Harry's uncertain future. The Floo call disconnected, leaving a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.
As the house settled back into its quiet routine, Harry carefully closed the door behind him, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just witnessed. He decided to get ready for the day, eager to explore and uncover more about this new and mysterious world that was slowly revealing itself to him. The desire to understand what was happening around him was overpowering, fueling his determination.
Later, after finishing his lunch, Harry lay down on his bed, pretending to take a nap. He planned to sneak out when Mrs. Figg wasn't looking. When he heard the door close and her footsteps receding, he opened his eyes, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Carefully and silently, he crept to the door, opening it just enough to peek through. He watched Mrs. Figg take a pinch of powder from a pot near the fireplace and throw it into the flames. The fire turned the same unusual color as it had during her earlier conversation with Dumbledore. She then stepped into the fireplace and said, "Diagon Alley," before being whisked away.
With Mrs. Figg gone, Harry saw his chance. He stepped out of his room, a sense of determination guiding his every move, and began searching for anything that could explain the strange things he had seen over the past few hours. In the living room, he spotted the morning newspaper. He picked it up and tried to read it, but much of it was confusing and unfamiliar. As he flipped through the pages, his eyes landed on a drawing of a boy who looked eerily like himself standing in front of a castle, riding a creature with the head of an eagle and the body of a horse. He almost dropped the paper in shock when he realized it was an advertisement for a book titled "Harry Potter and the Wild Hippogriff." The advertisement announced a grand launch the next day at a place called "Flourish and Blotts" in Diagon Alley.
Harry quickly gathered himself and put the newspaper back in its place to avoid arousing suspicion. He concluded that something strange was indeed going on and decided to find an opportunity the next day to use the same fire travel method that Mrs. Figg had used to explore Diagon Alley himself. The prospect of exploring this new world was both thrilling and terrifying.
The following morning, Harry woke up early to find the sun just rising. Mrs. Figg was still fast asleep, her house quiet and peaceful. Quietly, he changed into his best-fitting clothes and made his way to the fireplace. He hesitated for a moment before taking a pinch of the powder and tossing it into the fire, just as he had seen Mrs. Figg do. He said, "Diagon Alley," and watched as the flames turned green. Tentatively, he put his foot close to the fire, expecting to feel a burning sensation, but to his surprise, it didn't burn. Encouraged, he put one foot in and then stepped through the fireplace.
It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. The sensation of spinning rapidly overwhelmed him, and the deafening roar in his ears drowned out all other sounds. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the whirl of green flames made him nauseous. Something hard struck his elbow, and he quickly tucked it in, continuing to spin faster and faster. It now felt as if cold hands were slapping his face. Squinting, he caught blurred glimpses of fireplaces and the rooms beyond them. Desperately, he shut his eyes again, wishing for the ordeal to end. And then, suddenly, he was flung face-first onto a cold stone floor.
Groaning, Harry pushed himself up and got to his feet, looking around to find himself in a dimly lit tavern. The room was filled with people sitting around tables, eating and drinking. He spotted the counter and approached the man behind it, his curiosity and urgency blending into a single question.
"How do I get to Diagon Alley, sir?" Harry asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and determination.
The old man behind the counter, who introduced himself as Tom, the barman, peered down at Harry with a concerned expression. "Where are your parents, child? You shouldn't be here alone."
Thinking quickly, Harry replied, "I got lost, sir. My parents told me to find someone here and ask to be directed to Gringotts. They said they'll be able to find me there."
Tom's expression softened at Harry's explanation. "Alright, follow me. I'll show you the way." He led Harry to the entrance of the alley and used his wand to tap a few bricks, which magically opened to reveal a bustling alleyway.
Harry's eyes widened in awe as he took in the scene before him. People in flowing robes moved about, and children ran excitedly from store to store. Tom smiled at the wonder in Harry's eyes and pointed to a majestic white building that stood out from the rest at the beginning of the alley.
"That is Gringotts, child. Go there and wait in the lobby. It is run by Goblins. Be polite, they aren't very kind to humans, but they are excellent at guarding our money."
Harry nodded and made his way through the alley, marveling at the variety of shops. Some sold pets, others offered books, and still others displayed strange plant cuttings and animal parts. He passed a group of children with their faces pressed against the glass of a store, ogling a broomstick mounted on the wall. Finally, he arrived at the largest building in the alley—Gringotts.
As he stood before the imposing structure, Harry felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The grandiose architecture and the bustling activity within the alley hinted at the vastness and mystery of the wizarding world he was only beginning to discover. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, ready to face whatever awaited him.
Authors Note(Please Read): This story is purely my interpretation of how things could go if Harry had a little bit more of James and Lily's intelligence, remember for all of the pranking and bullying claims against James, he was rather smart, he had become an animagus without any adult help with only Sirius to help him. He was also most likely an instrumental part in the making of the Marauders Map and the communication mirrors Sirius and James used during detentions. I will address his supposed bullying in a later author's note when Snape comes into the picture or as a part of the story in a conversation with Sirius so that we can get the POV of the Marauders and not just Snape. Lily's personality and intelligence is generally accepted, so not much to comment there, Harry was smart enough to puzzle out multiple things throughout his years at Hogwarts, his being unwilling to apply himself could be down to the conditioning years with the Dursleys has on him, this story will attempt to correct some of them, this will have your usual tropes of Lordships, ancient houses etc. There will be bashing but it will not be indiscriminate senseless bashing, this isn't an evil Dumbledore story, he is just an old man who is too set in his ways and has become so used to everyone believing his words as gospel that he always thinks he knows best. Any comments with valid criticism even if it is just to question my writing style, my opinions are welcome but remember there is always a line, criticism is sometimes the greatest boon anybody can have, but the moment it becomes abuse, all it does is show the abuser to be a shallow fool who has no other outlet beyond hiding behind a random account and hurling words. With all that said, in the words of Fabrizio Romano - HERE WE GO!
Chapter 1 Discovery
On a hot June evening, six-year-old Harry found himself sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, desperate to escape from Dudley and his gang of friends. The oppressive heat of the evening sun beat down on him, making the air thick and stifling, but fear gave wings to his feet, propelling him forward with a sense of urgency and dread.
"Catch him!" Dudley shouted, his voice echoing menacingly through the narrow street, the sound bouncing off the brick walls and amplifying the threat. "The freak is gonna get it today!"
"Let's spread out across the lane so he can't hide," suggested Piers, his voice dripping with malicious glee and anticipation.
'Oh no,' Harry thought, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized his escape route was blocked by the advancing bullies, their shadows stretching long in the fading light. Panic surged through him, bringing back memories of all the other times he had been caught and subjected to Dudley and his gang's merciless thrashings. He frantically searched for an escape, his eyes darting around, and his gaze landed on an alleyway. Without thinking, he dashed into it, only to discover to his dismay that it was a complete dead end. The walls towered over him, trapping him with no way out except the way he had come.
'I'm stuck,' Harry realized in despair, his breathing growing shallow and rapid. 'I need to get away from here.' He scanned his surroundings for any possible hiding place, his mind racing with fear and desperation. He knew that if he got caught, the punishment would be severe. His breathing grew ragged, and he felt his legs starting to give way under him, the adrenaline beginning to wear off. Closing his eyes, he wished with all his might to be somewhere, anywhere, that Dudley and his friends couldn't find him. Just as he felt his strength waning,
"Crack!" A sudden, sharp noise pierced the air, and Harry felt a squeezing sensation engulf him. Before he knew it, he found himself on the roof of a building, the world below him spinning slightly from the unexpected journey. Panting from exertion and the shock of the sudden movement, he looked around in amazement, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
'Where am I?' he wondered, his breath coming in short gasps, the cool breeze on the rooftop a stark contrast to the stifling heat below. He looked down at the street below and recognized the familiar layout of his school's grounds. He was on the school's rooftop. 'I got away,' he thought with a mixture of relief and disbelief, as the sound of Dudley's angry shouts faded into the distance. Feeling a surge of giddiness, he began to piece together what had happened. Cornered in the alleyway with no escape, he had somehow ended up on the school's roof. This wasn't the first time something strange had happened around him. He recalled the incident when his teacher's hair turned blue while she was scolding him because Dudley had destroyed his homework.
Sitting down to catch his breath, Harry thought, 'I did something freakish again. I can't let Aunt Petunia find out or I'll be thrown into my cupboard without dinner.' He glanced around, trying to figure out how to get down from the rooftop. 'Now, how do I get out of here?' he pondered, feeling a mix of dread and curiosity. The prospect of being stuck on the roof was daunting, but the fear of what awaited him if he didn't find a way down was even worse.
Later, the principal called Vernon and Petunia, reporting that Harry had been found on the roof with the entrance door locked. The principal accused Harry of climbing to the top of the school building. Vernon and Petunia exchanged a worried glance, knowing that Harry was too small and weak to have climbed up there on his own. They suspected his "freakishness" was the cause.
Once the Dursleys and Harry arrived home, Harry braced himself for the inevitable punishment. He knew that being called into the principal's office and making the Dursleys come to fetch him would earn him a beating and another day without dinner. As the front door closed behind him, he saw Petunia's face twisted in fear, her eyes wide as she murmured, "Like my sister," and, "He shouldn't be able to do it this young." He turned to Vernon, whose face had turned an alarming shade of purple, the vein on his forehead throbbing ominously, indicating the storm that was about to break.
"BOY! What do you think you were doing, using your freakishness? I'm done with you and your freak world!" Vernon bellowed, his voice shaking with rage and frustration.
Petunia turned to Vernon in shock, realizing he had let slip something about the wizarding world, although it wasn't much for Harry to understand. The tension between them was palpable, a mix of fear, anger, and confusion.
"Pack your things, boy. You'll be staying with Mrs. Figg for a while. You've been suspended from school for a week, and we will stay with Marge this summer so we won't have to see you until September," Petunia declared, her voice cold and determined, leaving no room for argument.
Harry's heart sank as he trudged upstairs to gather his things. He knew that his stay with Mrs. Figg would be miserable, and the prospect of being separated from the Dursleys until September filled him with a strange mix of dread and relief. He couldn't shake the feeling that his life was about to change in ways he couldn't yet comprehend, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him.
A few hours later, Harry found himself seated in the spare room at Mrs. Figg's house, surrounded by a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The events of the day had left him grappling with a maelstrom of confusion and curiosity. From his initial yearning to escape the stifling atmosphere of Privet Drive to the startling confrontation with Petunia over Vernon's vehement rejection of the magical world, Harry's mind raced with questions. Were there others like him out there, hidden away in ordinary neighborhoods? Where could he find them, and what would they be like? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a constant undercurrent to his thoughts.
Seeking solace and grounding, Harry reluctantly turned his attention to the simple meal laid out before him—a steaming bowl of soup and a few slices of bread, lovingly prepared by Mrs. Figg. Hunger gnawed at him, a stark reminder of his human needs amidst the chaos of discovering his extraordinary abilities. The aroma of the soup was comforting, a small beacon of normalcy in an otherwise bewildering day.
As the night ebbed away into dawn, Harry's rest was fitful and restless. He awoke with the first rays of sunlight, his body trained by years of routine to rise early. Yet this morning held a peculiar weight; uncertainty clouded his every move. Unfamiliar with Mrs. Figg's preferences, he tentatively ventured into her quaint kitchen. The fridge beckoned, its contents a mystery to him until now. He wondered what kind of food she kept, imagining rows of tins and jars, each holding some unknown delight or dread.
Casting a wary eye around the tidy kitchen, Harry's gaze landed upon an unexpected sight—a newspaper spread across the dining table. Intrigued, he approached cautiously, drawn by a moving image that danced across its pages. A man soared on a broomstick amidst a sprawling stadium, defying gravity in a breathtaking display of skill. The magical spectacle captivated Harry, momentarily eclipsing his worries. The idea of people flying on broomsticks seemed too fantastic to be real, yet here it was, right in front of him.
The abrupt sound of footsteps echoing from above shattered his reverie. Startled, Harry swiftly retreated to the sanctuary of his room, pressing himself against the door to conceal his presence. Peeking through a slender crack, he observed Mrs. Figg descending the stairs with measured steps, her presence a calming anchor amidst the storm of uncertainty. He watched her movements closely, wondering if she had any inkling of the magical world that seemed to be unfolding around him.
Yet tranquility was short-lived. A sudden crackle erupted from the fireplace, causing Harry to jump in alarm. His eyes widened as the flames flickered green, forming a portal through which a familiar face emerged, calling out to Mrs. Figg with urgency.
"Arabella," the voice echoed, its tone weighted with concern. Harry's heart raced, threatening to betray his hiding place with a startled cry. Barely managing to stifle the sound, he watched in silence as Mrs. Figg leaned closer, engaging in hushed conversation with the unexpected visitor.
"Albus, Harry displayed a startling case of accidental magic yesterday," Mrs. Figg began, her voice carrying a mix of apprehension and resolve. "He apparated onto the roof of his school. The Dursleys have abandoned him with me, disappearing off to Merlin knows where. I'm ill-equipped to care for a child of his unique needs." The worry in her voice was palpable, a reflection of the challenges she anticipated.
"My dear Arabella, don't worry about his accidental magic, I will put up some wards to ensure he can't apparate again, and I will ensure funds are swiftly transferred to your Gringotts vault for the boy's welfare" Dumbledore responded calmly, his demeanor unwavering despite the gravity of the situation. "You may need to make a discreet trip to Diagon Alley to secure necessities. Remember, it is imperative that Harry doesn't find out about the magical world for the greater good." His words were measured, carrying the weight of a plan long in the making.
"I'll do my utmost to protect him, Albus," Mrs. Figg vowed solemnly, her concern etched deeply into every line of her face. "But he appears frail, too small for his age. I fear he may require care beyond what I can provide." Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her anxiety and the burden of responsibility she felt.
"Madam Pomfrey will attend to him under cover of night in a few days' time, ensuring he sleeps peacefully while receiving the care he needs," Dumbledore assured her, his words a balm to her troubled thoughts. "Now, I must take my leave, my dear Arabella." His presence seemed to bring a measure of comfort and reassurance, if only for a moment.
With a final nod of understanding, Mrs. Figg bid Dumbledore farewell, her gaze lingering on the flickering green embers that now seemed to hold the weight of Harry's uncertain future. The Floo call disconnected, leaving a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.
As the house settled back into its quiet routine, Harry carefully closed the door behind him, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just witnessed. He decided to get ready for the day, eager to explore and uncover more about this new and mysterious world that was slowly revealing itself to him. The desire to understand what was happening around him was overpowering, fueling his determination.
Later, after finishing his lunch, Harry lay down on his bed, pretending to take a nap. He planned to sneak out when Mrs. Figg wasn't looking. When he heard the door close and her footsteps receding, he opened his eyes, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Carefully and silently, he crept to the door, opening it just enough to peek through. He watched Mrs. Figg take a pinch of powder from a pot near the fireplace and throw it into the flames. The fire turned the same unusual color as it had during her earlier conversation with Dumbledore. She then stepped into the fireplace and said, "Diagon Alley," before being whisked away.
With Mrs. Figg gone, Harry saw his chance. He stepped out of his room, a sense of determination guiding his every move, and began searching for anything that could explain the strange things he had seen over the past few hours. In the living room, he spotted the morning newspaper. He picked it up and tried to read it, but much of it was confusing and unfamiliar. As he flipped through the pages, his eyes landed on a drawing of a boy who looked eerily like himself standing in front of a castle, riding a creature with the head of an eagle and the body of a horse. He almost dropped the paper in shock when he realized it was an advertisement for a book titled "Harry Potter and the Wild Hippogriff." The advertisement announced a grand launch the next day at a place called "Flourish and Blotts" in Diagon Alley.
Harry quickly gathered himself and put the newspaper back in its place to avoid arousing suspicion. He concluded that something strange was indeed going on and decided to find an opportunity the next day to use the same fire travel method that Mrs. Figg had used to explore Diagon Alley himself. The prospect of exploring this new world was both thrilling and terrifying.
The following morning, Harry woke up early to find the sun just rising. Mrs. Figg was still fast asleep, her house quiet and peaceful. Quietly, he changed into his best-fitting clothes and made his way to the fireplace. He hesitated for a moment before taking a pinch of the powder and tossing it into the fire, just as he had seen Mrs. Figg do. He said, "Diagon Alley," and watched as the flames turned green. Tentatively, he put his foot close to the fire, expecting to feel a burning sensation, but to his surprise, it didn't burn. Encouraged, he put one foot in and then stepped through the fireplace.
It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. The sensation of spinning rapidly overwhelmed him, and the deafening roar in his ears drowned out all other sounds. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the whirl of green flames made him nauseous. Something hard struck his elbow, and he quickly tucked it in, continuing to spin faster and faster. It now felt as if cold hands were slapping his face. Squinting, he caught blurred glimpses of fireplaces and the rooms beyond them. Desperately, he shut his eyes again, wishing for the ordeal to end. And then, suddenly, he was flung face-first onto a cold stone floor.
Groaning, Harry pushed himself up and got to his feet, looking around to find himself in a dimly lit tavern. The room was filled with people sitting around tables, eating and drinking. He spotted the counter and approached the man behind it, his curiosity and urgency blending into a single question.
"How do I get to Diagon Alley, sir?" Harry asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and determination.
The old man behind the counter, who introduced himself as Tom, the barman, peered down at Harry with a concerned expression. "Where are your parents, child? You shouldn't be here alone."
Thinking quickly, Harry replied, "I got lost, sir. My parents told me to find someone here and ask to be directed to Gringotts. They said they'll be able to find me there."
Tom's expression softened at Harry's explanation. "Alright, follow me. I'll show you the way." He led Harry to the entrance of the alley and used his wand to tap a few bricks, which magically opened to reveal a bustling alleyway.
Harry's eyes widened in awe as he took in the scene before him. People in flowing robes moved about, and children ran excitedly from store to store. Tom smiled at the wonder in Harry's eyes and pointed to a majestic white building that stood out from the rest at the beginning of the alley.
"That is Gringotts, child. Go there and wait in the lobby. It is run by Goblins. Be polite, they aren't very kind to humans, but they are excellent at guarding our money."
Harry nodded and made his way through the alley, marveling at the variety of shops. Some sold pets, others offered books, and still others displayed strange plant cuttings and animal parts. He passed a group of children with their faces pressed against the glass of a store, ogling a broomstick mounted on the wall. Finally, he arrived at the largest building in the alley—Gringotts.
As he stood before the imposing structure, Harry felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The grandiose architecture and the bustling activity within the alley hinted at the vastness and mystery of the wizarding world he was only beginning to discover. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, ready to face whatever awaited him.
Accounts and Identity
New
Climbing the stone steps, Harry thought back to the conversation he heard yesterday between Mrs. Figg and the fire person, about money being transferred into her vault and wondered if the financial transactions of this marvellous new world worked the same way it did in non-magical society. He remembered the plastic card that Aunt Petunia used in stores to buy things, accessing her bank account. He hoped his parents had something similar. Approaching the entrance, he noticed two short, humanoid beings armoured in steel, holding sharp spears with stern, imposing expressions. His attention was drawn to a plaque on the door, where an intriguing poem was etched:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn
Must pay most dearly in their turn
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
A shudder runs through him as he reads it, he promises to be careful when dealing with the Goblins. He walks up to an empty counter where he could see a stern faced goblin counting gems and putting them in a bag.
"Excuse me, sir, can you help me?" Harry politely asks
The goblin looks down to see a child and snarls
"Where are your parents, human?"
Shivering in fear Harry replies "My parents are dead sir, I only recently found out about the wizarding world, I wanted to know if my parents had an account here"
"What is your name child?" The goblin asks a little more softly
"Harry Potter, sir" Harry shyly answers
The goblin sharply glances towards Harry's forehead and sees a small part of the scar not hidden behind the fringe of his hair, he climbs down from the counter and calls out to Harry
"Come with me child"
Harry shores up his courage and walks behind the goblin and asks him, "What is your name, sir?"
"My name is Sharptooth" says the goblin
After walking through several doors and narrow tunnels, they finally arrive at a door, Sharptooth knocks on the door and asks Harry to wait outside before stepping in. He enters a largely utilitarian office with a sharp axe mounted on the wall behind the desk where the occupant of the office sat with a nameplate which read Barchoke, Potter Accounts Manager
"What is it?" Asks Barchoke
"Sir, there's a child who came here claiming to be Harry Potter, he has the scar on his forehead, he appears to be completely unaware of the magical world" says Sharptooth
"Meddling old goat" mutters Barchoke before saying "Bring him in"
Sharptooth steps out and finds Harry standing there nervously shuffling his feet, he asks Harry to follow him and they step into the office.
Harry enters the room and sees the goblin behind the desk looking straight at him, he nervously approaches the desk and waits.
Barchoke looks at Sharptooth and talks to him in a strange language, Sharptooth hurries away before bringing a stepchair meant for a child to sit and then leaves the office, Barchoke indicates for Harry to take a seat.
Once he does, Barchoke says "For security reasons, we have to identify you are Harry Potter, poke your thumb and put a drop of blood on this" saying that he passes a small dagger and an ornate basin carved with different symbols to Harry
Harry pricks his thumb and squeezes out a drop of blood into the basin and is astonished when the wound heals automatically.
Barchoke chuckles and tells Harry "The dagger is enchanted to automatically heal any cut it makes"
After a few moments the symbol glow in a bright golden colour, Barchoke smiles in satisfaction and puts the bowl back in its place on the side.
He looks at Harry and says "Now that the identification is over, can you tell me why you are here Heir Potter"
Harry looks confused at the new address prompting Barchoke to explain "You are the heir to the Potter title and fortune, which makes you Heir Potter"
Harry nods but is still confused and resolves to find out about all of this later, he wants to get on with finding out about his parents before he has to return to Mrs. Figgs house.
"Sir, please call me Harry" he says before adding "Can you tell me more about my family,, what their names were, what did they do and how did they die?"
Barchoke is visibly upset to hear that Harry doesn't know anything about his parents and his legacy, he takes a deep breath, calms down and starts telling Harry briefly "You are the heir to one of the oldest magical families still around, House Potter is recognised as an 'Ancient and Noble House' which means it has a seat on the Wizengamot the magical equivalent of the parliament's house of lords. Your family has a long and storied history in the magical world, starting from Linfred of Stinchcombe, also called the Potterer, he was a pioneering potioneer who is credited with the invention of many medicinal potions, to Fleamont Potter your grandfather, he invented the Sleakeazy's Hair Potion which can be used for taming and styling hair."
He collects his thoughts and continues "Your parents, James and Lily, on the other hand developed a reputation for being courageous fighters. A few years before you were born, a war broke out in the wizarding world."
He thinks about how he could explain the war to a child, saying "It was started by the most powerful dark wizard of the time, he called himself Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord's insurgency was supported by a group of violent dark witches and wizards called Death Eaters, they fought for the ideology that only the purebloods, people who were descendents of wizards and witches for generations, had the right to wield magic, and those that were born to non magical parents, like your mother had stolen their magic."
"The Dark Lord was opposed by the Ministry of Magic and a covert organisation called the Order of the Phoenix. The Order of the Phoenix was led by a man called Albus Dumbledore, he is the Headmaster of Britain's biggest magical school and the chief warlock of the Wizengamot. He led a group of people who resisted the attempted coup of the Wizarding World, your parents were part of this organisation, your father was also a part of the Ministry of Magic, he was an auror, a part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and your mother was an employee in the Department of Mysteries before she took a break when you were born, she was one of the brightest witches to have come through in the recent years and was pursuing a mastery in both charms and potions."
"A few months after your birth, Lord and Lady Potter went into hiding and locked down their accounts with us until you or they could reactivate them. Then we heard they were killed in an effort to protect you, on the 31st Oct 1981 and you became the only known person to survive the killing curse, which then rebounded on to the Dark Lord, that saved you and destroyed the body of the dark lord thereby ending the war"
He continues "The end of the war brought about widespread fame and love for you, and you were given the moniker "The Boy Who Lived" by the press. After you were removed from your parents house, Dumbledore took control of you and claimed to place you where you would be safest"
Hearing all this, Harry feels tears brimming in eyes at the thought of his parents dying to save his life and thinks back to all the lies the Dursleys told him about them, which makes him very angry and even more resolved to never be under their power again.
Harry responds with anger and determination in his eyes he says "Sir, can you help me? I want to live up to my family's legacy and make sure my parents' death isn't in vain. I don't want to go back to my relatives, they don't seem to like magic and they hate me."
Barchoke looks at Harry's reaction and sees that he will fight against injustice, which appeals to the goblin's warrior side. He sees the frail form of the child and realises he has been mistreated and is malnourished, he decides to help Harry more than most clients would get from Goblins because he could make a valuable ally in the future for the Goblin Nation, he sends a message to the leader of the Goblin Nation, Ragnok, asking for permission to aid the boy and get him some assistance from the healers. Meanwhile, he expands on what Harry can do to get control of his own life, "You have a number of choices going forward if you want to live up to your legacy, your family is fairly wealthy and have properties across the globe. I'd suggest you go to you family's seat of power, Potter Hall in Wales, there you'll find portraits of various ancestors who will be able to guide you, you can get there by using a portkey, a teleportation device, which is in your family vault"
Thinking about the profits which could have been gained but he has no control over, he brings up the licensed products saying "There are multiple products which are using your name and moniker without giving you a share of the profits, the wealth you will gain from that can come in handy if you want to continue fighting for the same rights your parents stood for. To get royalties you will need an attorney who can send notices to the companies using your image and take them to court for settlements."
Harry reluctantly admits his ignorance about financial matters, he asks "I do not know anything about royalties or attorneys." He thinks back to how often the Dursleys complained about having to spend money on him, "Do you know anybody that can handle my affairs, could you recommend anybody"
Barchoke has a shark like smile on his face as he says "I know just the man, he and his wife were mentioned as a potential guardians for you in your parents' wills, he was born to non-magical parents just like your mother and had to face a lot of difficulties and has grown to become one of the best attorneys in the magical world. I could ask him to get him in touch with you after our business"
As Harry was pondering about the man and why he wasn't placed with them if his parents' will suggested him and was going to raise the question to Barchoke, they were interrupted by Sharptooth knocking on his door and urgently talking to Barchoke in what Harry now guessed was the Goblins' language. Barchoke gets a surprised expression on his face and hurries out, while doing so he tells Harry "Sit here for a while child, I'll be back soon, someone will bring you a snack and some juice"
Barchoke hurries to the last room in the cavernous corridor and enters the office of the Head of the Gringotts, he sees the leader of the Goblin Nation, a large and imposing person, he bows low and addresses him "King Ragnok, thank you for agreeing to my request for a meeting"
Ragnok nods his head in greeting and replies "I was told you were meeting an important client of yours, what was so urgent that you had to send a message to me in the middle of your duties?"
Barchoke realising the importance of what he's about to say carefully considers his words and says "Your majesty, the client I was in a meeting with was Heir Potter, he seems to have been completely ignorant of the wizarding world and his family, he also looked to be in poor health, the wound from the killing curse looks completely untreated, I wanted your permission to take him to our healers and curse breakers so that he could be looked at"
Ragnok looks shocked at Barchoke asking for permission to go above and beyond what an account manager would do for his client, he queries "And why should we offer services to a wizard?"
Barchoke gets a sly smile on his face as he proceeds to tell him of his plan "Your majesty, if we could help young Heir Potter and set him on his path to understanding the power he could wield in the Wizengamot and the Wizarding populace. We would have a sympathetic voice to speak for us, we could finally have an ally who actually acts on getting us the right to live outside the caves underground and maybe even be allowed to open our own businesses.
Understanding dawns on Ragnok as he fully comprehends the implications of this step "I haven't met a human who has ever stood up for us since his mother defended the security forces posted outside from stray spellfire during the attack on Diagon Alley, if you think he is like his mother and will help us, we should do our utmost to aid him as much as we can without compromising our neutrality openly, the living situation is getting dire in the caves under the bank with our population being at its highest in centuries, anything beyond that is a bonus that can be thought about later"
Upon getting the acquiescence to his request, Barchoke bows again before his King "I'll take your leave, your majesty, the child is still in my office and I'd like to extend our offer of aid to him"
Ragnok dismisses him with a nod and Barchoke goes back to his office thinking of the child and decides to right by the child while doing his utmost to help the Nation's cause.
He enters his office to see the child nibbling on the biscuits, he takes his place behind the table and gestures for Harry to complete eating. After the food was cleared away, he suggests "Before we go to your vault to get your portkey, I can take you to one of our healers and getting you looked at, the scar on your forehead looks far too fresh for a 5 year old injury, wounds caused by curses usually require special treatment and help from curse breakers, the best of which are employed by our bank"
Harry isn't sure that is necessary and is reluctant to a healer or a doctor after having heard the horror stories from the other kids in his school, but resolves to brave through it because he did not want to constantly feel his gaze drawn to what he once thought was a cool scar, now that he knows that his parents being murdered was the reason he has it, he doesn't want to look at it, so he accepts Barchoke's offer and nods in acceptance.
Harry is led down deeper into the tunnels to a large hall-like room with rows of beds with kinder looking female goblins wearing a doctor's coat.
"Lie down on the bed" says Barchoke to Harry, pointing to a bed nearby before walking over to one of the goblins. They proceed to have a conversation before both of them come to Harry's bedside.
The kind looking woman/female goblin smiles at Harry and introduces herself "Hello Heir Potter, my name is Freylka, I am a healer and I'd like to do a small check up on you, lie down and relax child, this will only take a moment". Saying so, she waves a small round blinking device from his head till his feet and proceeds to go through the readings. After a few moments of looking at the reports, she has a fast whispered conversation with Barchoke, before telling Harry he was done for the day.
Barchoke takes Harry back to his office and once they're settled, he calmly explains "There is a residue in your scar that needs to be cleaned and there's a small tap into your magic which is going towards protecting your relatives house. The healers are working on treatment and I will send you a letter when we finalise it. Don't worry we will do our best to help you with both the problems. You are also suffering from Malnutrition, there are nutritional potions to help with that readily available, once we get you in touch with Ted Tonks, he will easily be able to procure them for you"
Harry nods in gratitude at all the help he has been given, he feels himself start to tire and get sleepy, he asks "Sir, can we go to the vault to retrieve the portkey? I would like to get settled there and get some rest"
Barchoke, seeing that this has already been a pretty exhausting day for the young boy, takes him to the cart which will lead them down to his vault. They get into the cart and hurtles down the tracks at a breakneck speed before seeming going through a waterfall, it finally comes to a stop in a large opening in the cave, Barchoke tells Harry to stay put before rushing out carrying something that was making a loud ringing noise, after ringing it for a while, Barchoke indicates for Harry to get off the cart and follow him. They reach a large metal door embossed with a crest featuring a Griffin holding a wand in one of its claws and a sword in the other. Barchoke asks Harry to step forward and place his hand on the small indentation, once he does, they hear a series of locks clicking open and finally the door opens inward.
"Whoa!" exclaims Harry seeing the piles of treasure stacked from floor to ceiling in the room in neat rows of gold, silver and bronze coins and cabinets packed with different kinds of jewellery.
"Is this all mine?" asks Harry, looking around in awe
"Yes, Heir Potter, all of this belongs to your family, but you will only be able to access the money from this vault once you reach your majority" says Barchoke chuckling at the child's wondrous gaze around the room.
Spinning around Harry sees that apart from the coins, there's shelves with lots of books, some looking quite ancient, and in the middle on a pedestal which was glowing were 3 rings and a thick tome. He starts walking towards it.
Barchoke says warningly "Stop, Heir Potter, those rings are for the Lord, Lady and the Heir of the house, you will be able to take up the ring on your 7th birthday in a few weeks, which will make your position official, touching them now might have dire consequences. For now, take the large silver key on the table next to it, that key will take you to your family's ancestral home directly from here when you say Potter Hall, it only works for those with Potter blood or if the Lady's ring accepts them."
Harry walks over to the table with Barchoke following closely behind, he turns to Barchoke before expressing his gratitude "Thank you for all the help sir, I will wait for your letter about the treatment procedures"
Barchoke nods and says "I will try to inform you as soon as possible, in the meanwhile, I will contact Ted Tonks and start working with him to get things moving and ensure you are not forced to go back to your relatives, take care child"
Harry says "Potter Hall" and feels a tug starting at his navel and feels himself getting pulled through a swirl of colours before being abruptly thrown to the ground. He rights himself and looks up to see large wrought iron gates with a grand P carved onto them, he sees a place to insert the key he just used to travel and twists the key into it, the gates creak open and he sees a long pathway leading up to a grand house built with white marble.
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn
Must pay most dearly in their turn
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
A shudder runs through him as he reads it, he promises to be careful when dealing with the Goblins. He walks up to an empty counter where he could see a stern faced goblin counting gems and putting them in a bag.
"Excuse me, sir, can you help me?" Harry politely asks
The goblin looks down to see a child and snarls
"Where are your parents, human?"
Shivering in fear Harry replies "My parents are dead sir, I only recently found out about the wizarding world, I wanted to know if my parents had an account here"
"What is your name child?" The goblin asks a little more softly
"Harry Potter, sir" Harry shyly answers
The goblin sharply glances towards Harry's forehead and sees a small part of the scar not hidden behind the fringe of his hair, he climbs down from the counter and calls out to Harry
"Come with me child"
Harry shores up his courage and walks behind the goblin and asks him, "What is your name, sir?"
"My name is Sharptooth" says the goblin
After walking through several doors and narrow tunnels, they finally arrive at a door, Sharptooth knocks on the door and asks Harry to wait outside before stepping in. He enters a largely utilitarian office with a sharp axe mounted on the wall behind the desk where the occupant of the office sat with a nameplate which read Barchoke, Potter Accounts Manager
"What is it?" Asks Barchoke
"Sir, there's a child who came here claiming to be Harry Potter, he has the scar on his forehead, he appears to be completely unaware of the magical world" says Sharptooth
"Meddling old goat" mutters Barchoke before saying "Bring him in"
Sharptooth steps out and finds Harry standing there nervously shuffling his feet, he asks Harry to follow him and they step into the office.
Harry enters the room and sees the goblin behind the desk looking straight at him, he nervously approaches the desk and waits.
Barchoke looks at Sharptooth and talks to him in a strange language, Sharptooth hurries away before bringing a stepchair meant for a child to sit and then leaves the office, Barchoke indicates for Harry to take a seat.
Once he does, Barchoke says "For security reasons, we have to identify you are Harry Potter, poke your thumb and put a drop of blood on this" saying that he passes a small dagger and an ornate basin carved with different symbols to Harry
Harry pricks his thumb and squeezes out a drop of blood into the basin and is astonished when the wound heals automatically.
Barchoke chuckles and tells Harry "The dagger is enchanted to automatically heal any cut it makes"
After a few moments the symbol glow in a bright golden colour, Barchoke smiles in satisfaction and puts the bowl back in its place on the side.
He looks at Harry and says "Now that the identification is over, can you tell me why you are here Heir Potter"
Harry looks confused at the new address prompting Barchoke to explain "You are the heir to the Potter title and fortune, which makes you Heir Potter"
Harry nods but is still confused and resolves to find out about all of this later, he wants to get on with finding out about his parents before he has to return to Mrs. Figgs house.
"Sir, please call me Harry" he says before adding "Can you tell me more about my family,, what their names were, what did they do and how did they die?"
Barchoke is visibly upset to hear that Harry doesn't know anything about his parents and his legacy, he takes a deep breath, calms down and starts telling Harry briefly "You are the heir to one of the oldest magical families still around, House Potter is recognised as an 'Ancient and Noble House' which means it has a seat on the Wizengamot the magical equivalent of the parliament's house of lords. Your family has a long and storied history in the magical world, starting from Linfred of Stinchcombe, also called the Potterer, he was a pioneering potioneer who is credited with the invention of many medicinal potions, to Fleamont Potter your grandfather, he invented the Sleakeazy's Hair Potion which can be used for taming and styling hair."
He collects his thoughts and continues "Your parents, James and Lily, on the other hand developed a reputation for being courageous fighters. A few years before you were born, a war broke out in the wizarding world."
He thinks about how he could explain the war to a child, saying "It was started by the most powerful dark wizard of the time, he called himself Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord's insurgency was supported by a group of violent dark witches and wizards called Death Eaters, they fought for the ideology that only the purebloods, people who were descendents of wizards and witches for generations, had the right to wield magic, and those that were born to non magical parents, like your mother had stolen their magic."
"The Dark Lord was opposed by the Ministry of Magic and a covert organisation called the Order of the Phoenix. The Order of the Phoenix was led by a man called Albus Dumbledore, he is the Headmaster of Britain's biggest magical school and the chief warlock of the Wizengamot. He led a group of people who resisted the attempted coup of the Wizarding World, your parents were part of this organisation, your father was also a part of the Ministry of Magic, he was an auror, a part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and your mother was an employee in the Department of Mysteries before she took a break when you were born, she was one of the brightest witches to have come through in the recent years and was pursuing a mastery in both charms and potions."
"A few months after your birth, Lord and Lady Potter went into hiding and locked down their accounts with us until you or they could reactivate them. Then we heard they were killed in an effort to protect you, on the 31st Oct 1981 and you became the only known person to survive the killing curse, which then rebounded on to the Dark Lord, that saved you and destroyed the body of the dark lord thereby ending the war"
He continues "The end of the war brought about widespread fame and love for you, and you were given the moniker "The Boy Who Lived" by the press. After you were removed from your parents house, Dumbledore took control of you and claimed to place you where you would be safest"
Hearing all this, Harry feels tears brimming in eyes at the thought of his parents dying to save his life and thinks back to all the lies the Dursleys told him about them, which makes him very angry and even more resolved to never be under their power again.
Harry responds with anger and determination in his eyes he says "Sir, can you help me? I want to live up to my family's legacy and make sure my parents' death isn't in vain. I don't want to go back to my relatives, they don't seem to like magic and they hate me."
Barchoke looks at Harry's reaction and sees that he will fight against injustice, which appeals to the goblin's warrior side. He sees the frail form of the child and realises he has been mistreated and is malnourished, he decides to help Harry more than most clients would get from Goblins because he could make a valuable ally in the future for the Goblin Nation, he sends a message to the leader of the Goblin Nation, Ragnok, asking for permission to aid the boy and get him some assistance from the healers. Meanwhile, he expands on what Harry can do to get control of his own life, "You have a number of choices going forward if you want to live up to your legacy, your family is fairly wealthy and have properties across the globe. I'd suggest you go to you family's seat of power, Potter Hall in Wales, there you'll find portraits of various ancestors who will be able to guide you, you can get there by using a portkey, a teleportation device, which is in your family vault"
Thinking about the profits which could have been gained but he has no control over, he brings up the licensed products saying "There are multiple products which are using your name and moniker without giving you a share of the profits, the wealth you will gain from that can come in handy if you want to continue fighting for the same rights your parents stood for. To get royalties you will need an attorney who can send notices to the companies using your image and take them to court for settlements."
Harry reluctantly admits his ignorance about financial matters, he asks "I do not know anything about royalties or attorneys." He thinks back to how often the Dursleys complained about having to spend money on him, "Do you know anybody that can handle my affairs, could you recommend anybody"
Barchoke has a shark like smile on his face as he says "I know just the man, he and his wife were mentioned as a potential guardians for you in your parents' wills, he was born to non-magical parents just like your mother and had to face a lot of difficulties and has grown to become one of the best attorneys in the magical world. I could ask him to get him in touch with you after our business"
As Harry was pondering about the man and why he wasn't placed with them if his parents' will suggested him and was going to raise the question to Barchoke, they were interrupted by Sharptooth knocking on his door and urgently talking to Barchoke in what Harry now guessed was the Goblins' language. Barchoke gets a surprised expression on his face and hurries out, while doing so he tells Harry "Sit here for a while child, I'll be back soon, someone will bring you a snack and some juice"
Barchoke hurries to the last room in the cavernous corridor and enters the office of the Head of the Gringotts, he sees the leader of the Goblin Nation, a large and imposing person, he bows low and addresses him "King Ragnok, thank you for agreeing to my request for a meeting"
Ragnok nods his head in greeting and replies "I was told you were meeting an important client of yours, what was so urgent that you had to send a message to me in the middle of your duties?"
Barchoke realising the importance of what he's about to say carefully considers his words and says "Your majesty, the client I was in a meeting with was Heir Potter, he seems to have been completely ignorant of the wizarding world and his family, he also looked to be in poor health, the wound from the killing curse looks completely untreated, I wanted your permission to take him to our healers and curse breakers so that he could be looked at"
Ragnok looks shocked at Barchoke asking for permission to go above and beyond what an account manager would do for his client, he queries "And why should we offer services to a wizard?"
Barchoke gets a sly smile on his face as he proceeds to tell him of his plan "Your majesty, if we could help young Heir Potter and set him on his path to understanding the power he could wield in the Wizengamot and the Wizarding populace. We would have a sympathetic voice to speak for us, we could finally have an ally who actually acts on getting us the right to live outside the caves underground and maybe even be allowed to open our own businesses.
Understanding dawns on Ragnok as he fully comprehends the implications of this step "I haven't met a human who has ever stood up for us since his mother defended the security forces posted outside from stray spellfire during the attack on Diagon Alley, if you think he is like his mother and will help us, we should do our utmost to aid him as much as we can without compromising our neutrality openly, the living situation is getting dire in the caves under the bank with our population being at its highest in centuries, anything beyond that is a bonus that can be thought about later"
Upon getting the acquiescence to his request, Barchoke bows again before his King "I'll take your leave, your majesty, the child is still in my office and I'd like to extend our offer of aid to him"
Ragnok dismisses him with a nod and Barchoke goes back to his office thinking of the child and decides to right by the child while doing his utmost to help the Nation's cause.
He enters his office to see the child nibbling on the biscuits, he takes his place behind the table and gestures for Harry to complete eating. After the food was cleared away, he suggests "Before we go to your vault to get your portkey, I can take you to one of our healers and getting you looked at, the scar on your forehead looks far too fresh for a 5 year old injury, wounds caused by curses usually require special treatment and help from curse breakers, the best of which are employed by our bank"
Harry isn't sure that is necessary and is reluctant to a healer or a doctor after having heard the horror stories from the other kids in his school, but resolves to brave through it because he did not want to constantly feel his gaze drawn to what he once thought was a cool scar, now that he knows that his parents being murdered was the reason he has it, he doesn't want to look at it, so he accepts Barchoke's offer and nods in acceptance.
Harry is led down deeper into the tunnels to a large hall-like room with rows of beds with kinder looking female goblins wearing a doctor's coat.
"Lie down on the bed" says Barchoke to Harry, pointing to a bed nearby before walking over to one of the goblins. They proceed to have a conversation before both of them come to Harry's bedside.
The kind looking woman/female goblin smiles at Harry and introduces herself "Hello Heir Potter, my name is Freylka, I am a healer and I'd like to do a small check up on you, lie down and relax child, this will only take a moment". Saying so, she waves a small round blinking device from his head till his feet and proceeds to go through the readings. After a few moments of looking at the reports, she has a fast whispered conversation with Barchoke, before telling Harry he was done for the day.
Barchoke takes Harry back to his office and once they're settled, he calmly explains "There is a residue in your scar that needs to be cleaned and there's a small tap into your magic which is going towards protecting your relatives house. The healers are working on treatment and I will send you a letter when we finalise it. Don't worry we will do our best to help you with both the problems. You are also suffering from Malnutrition, there are nutritional potions to help with that readily available, once we get you in touch with Ted Tonks, he will easily be able to procure them for you"
Harry nods in gratitude at all the help he has been given, he feels himself start to tire and get sleepy, he asks "Sir, can we go to the vault to retrieve the portkey? I would like to get settled there and get some rest"
Barchoke, seeing that this has already been a pretty exhausting day for the young boy, takes him to the cart which will lead them down to his vault. They get into the cart and hurtles down the tracks at a breakneck speed before seeming going through a waterfall, it finally comes to a stop in a large opening in the cave, Barchoke tells Harry to stay put before rushing out carrying something that was making a loud ringing noise, after ringing it for a while, Barchoke indicates for Harry to get off the cart and follow him. They reach a large metal door embossed with a crest featuring a Griffin holding a wand in one of its claws and a sword in the other. Barchoke asks Harry to step forward and place his hand on the small indentation, once he does, they hear a series of locks clicking open and finally the door opens inward.
"Whoa!" exclaims Harry seeing the piles of treasure stacked from floor to ceiling in the room in neat rows of gold, silver and bronze coins and cabinets packed with different kinds of jewellery.
"Is this all mine?" asks Harry, looking around in awe
"Yes, Heir Potter, all of this belongs to your family, but you will only be able to access the money from this vault once you reach your majority" says Barchoke chuckling at the child's wondrous gaze around the room.
Spinning around Harry sees that apart from the coins, there's shelves with lots of books, some looking quite ancient, and in the middle on a pedestal which was glowing were 3 rings and a thick tome. He starts walking towards it.
Barchoke says warningly "Stop, Heir Potter, those rings are for the Lord, Lady and the Heir of the house, you will be able to take up the ring on your 7th birthday in a few weeks, which will make your position official, touching them now might have dire consequences. For now, take the large silver key on the table next to it, that key will take you to your family's ancestral home directly from here when you say Potter Hall, it only works for those with Potter blood or if the Lady's ring accepts them."
Harry walks over to the table with Barchoke following closely behind, he turns to Barchoke before expressing his gratitude "Thank you for all the help sir, I will wait for your letter about the treatment procedures"
Barchoke nods and says "I will try to inform you as soon as possible, in the meanwhile, I will contact Ted Tonks and start working with him to get things moving and ensure you are not forced to go back to your relatives, take care child"
Harry says "Potter Hall" and feels a tug starting at his navel and feels himself getting pulled through a swirl of colours before being abruptly thrown to the ground. He rights himself and looks up to see large wrought iron gates with a grand P carved onto them, he sees a place to insert the key he just used to travel and twists the key into it, the gates creak open and he sees a long pathway leading up to a grand house built with white marble.
Home and Ancestors
New
Harry Potter stepped through the ornate iron gates of Potter Hall, his heart thrumming with a mix of excitement. Harry takes a few moments to savour the welcoming feeling that settles all around him as he steps onto the lands that have belonged to his family for centuries. He probably hadn't been back to his ancestral home since he was a baby, and the towering structure, with its ivy-clad stone walls and sprawling grounds, seemed like something out of a dream.
The pathway leading up to the manor was lined with ancient trees, their branches whispering secrets of old. Just as Harry stepped onto the first stone of the grand entrance, a small, slightly stooped figure appeared with a soft pop. The creature, unlike anything Harry had seen before, had large, bat-like ears and eyes that were wide and bright beneath the dim light.
"Good morning, Master Harry," she said in a high-pitched voice, her tone imbued with a reverence that made Harry stop in his tracks. "I am Mipsy, the caretaker of Potter Hall. I am here to serve you, sir."
Harry, taken aback, looked at the creature with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "What are you?" he asked, not unkindly.
Mipsy's face seemed to brighten at the question. "Oh, I am a house-elf, sir. We serve wizards and witches, taking care of their homes and needs. I've been here since your great-grandparents' time, maintaining the Hall and waiting for your return."
Harry, still processing the existence of house-elves, managed a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Mipsy. I didn't know about... well, house-elves."
Mipsy smiled, pleased to educate her new master. "Yes, sir, we are quite discreet, usually."
"Would you mind showing me around, Mipsy?" Harry asks, brimming with eagerness
"Of course, Master Harry" Mipsy chirped, her voice filled with pride. She led Harry into the grand entrance hall, where the walls were adorned with portraits of his ancestors. The paintings came alive at the sight of Harry, whispering excitedly and waving from their frames.
"This is your great-great-grandfather, Hadrian Potter," Mipsy pointed to a stern-looking wizard with a fierce beard. "He was a great duelist and adventurer."
Harry listened intently, his eyes scanning the faces of his lineage, feeling a strange connection to the past. Mipsy then guided him to the left wing of the manor, where the potion making laboratory was located. The room was a chaotic array of cauldrons, shelves crammed with jars of strange ingredients, and ancient spellbooks.
"Master Harry's family has always been keen on potion making," Mipsy explained, as Harry peered into a cauldron emitting a peculiar blue smoke. "This lab has seen many potion innovations over the centuries."
Next, they moved to the alchemy room, smaller and dense with the smell of metals. Symbols were etched deeply into the dark stone walls, and an array of peculiar instruments lay scattered across the workspace. "Alchemy is a precise art," Mipsy said. "Your ancestors spent lifetimes mastering it."
As they continued to explore Potter Hall, Harry paused, looking curiously at Mipsy. "Mipsy, for someone who might not know, could you explain what exactly a house-elf is?"
Mipsy nodded, her large ears twitching slightly. "Of course, Master Harry. We house-elves are magical beings, we is. We serve wizards and witches, bound to the families and homes we serve by a powerful enchantment." Her voice was tinged with a mix of pride and solemnity as she spoke.
"We possess our own kind of magic, different from wizards. We can apparate within our house boundaries even when wizards cannot, and we perform tasks to keep the home running smoothly. Our magic is bound with our loyalty, and we cannot disobey the family we is bound to," Mipsy explained, gesturing around the hall.
"House-elves can only be freed when given clothes by their masters. Until then, we wears whatever we can—like this," she pointed to her own outfit, a patchwork of old clothes and rags that served as her uniform. "It is a life of service, but we takes pride in our work, sir."
Harry listened intently, his understanding deepening. Mipsy's words painted a fuller picture of their existence and the depth of their bond to their places of service. This knowledge stirred a respectful gratitude in him for Mipsy and her kin, enhancing his appreciation for the unseen labour that maintained the magical world's everyday life.
Their tour continued to the duelling room, with its enchanted sky-like ceiling and spell-cushioned floors. "Many Potters have honed their skills here," Mipsy noted, watching as Harry examined the room with an expert eye. "It's designed to be safe for all manners of magical combat."
Finally, Mipsy led Harry outside to the grounds, where the Quidditch pitch awaited majestically. "The Potters have always loved Quidditch," she said, as they walked towards the pitch. The stands shimmered with enchantments, and the hoops stood tall and imposing.
As they stood overlooking the vast Quidditch pitch, Mipsy turned to Harry, her large eyes gleaming with excitement. "Master Harry, Quidditch is a magical sport played on broomsticks, and it is very popular in the wizarding world."
Harry nodded for her to continue, curious to hear her explain the sport.
Mipsy's voice filled with enthusiasm. "There are seven players on each team: three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and one Seeker. The Chasers handle the Quaffle and try to score goals by throwing it through one of the opposing team's three hoops. Each goal is worth ten points."
She gestured to the hoops at either end of the pitch. "The Beaters, they protect their teammates from the Bludgers, which are enchanted balls that try to knock players off their brooms. The Beaters use bats to hit the Bludgers away."
Mipsy then pointed upwards, tracing imaginary paths through the air. "The Keeper guards the goal hoops to prevent the other team's Chasers from scoring. And the Seeker," her voice dropped to a note of reverence, "the Seeker searches for the Golden Snitch, a tiny, fast-moving ball that is very hard to see. Catching the Snitch earns the Seeker's team an additional one hundred and fifty points and ends the game."
Harry smiled, imagining young wizards and witches zooming across this pitch, the thrill of the game alive in their hearts. "It sounds exciting," he said, playing along as though hearing this for the first time.
"It is, Master Harry!" Mipsy clapped her hands. "And it's a game that brings together skill, courage, and teamwork. Your father was an exceptional Seeker in his day. He loved flying more than anything."
Her description painted a vivid picture of the sport, bridging Harry's personal memories with the heritage of his family's involvement in Quidditch. It added another layer of appreciation as he prepared to experience flying on the pitch himself.
She then led him towards a small building adjacent to the pitch. "And here," she said as she opened the door, "is the broom shed."
Inside, the shed was neatly organised, with brooms of various models and ages hanging from racks on the walls or standing in neat rows. Each broom was tagged with a small, enchanted label that chronicled its model and history.
"Here you will find everything from old Cleansweeps to the latest Nimbus models," Mipsy explained. "Some of these brooms have been in your family for a very long time, used by your ancestors for both sport and travel."
Harry walked through the rows of brooms, his hand brushing against the smooth, polished wood. He paused at a particularly well-worn broom, its handle scarred with use. "This one seems to have seen a lot of action," he remarked, looking at the label.
"That, sir, is a Nimbus 1000," Mipsy said proudly. "It was your father's favourite for casual games. He flew that broom countless times right here on this pitch."
Harry felt a surge of connection, touching the broom gently. "I'd like to fly it, if I may," he said, his voice soft but eager.
"Of course, Master Harry, but you must first learn how to fly!" Mipsy beamed. "It would be an honour to see a Potter fly on this pitch again."
"Thank you, Mipsy," Harry said, his heart full as he looked over the grounds. "This place... it feels like a piece of me I never knew was missing."
After their lively discussion about Quidditch and a nostalgic trip through his father's and ancestor's history with it, Harry's curiosity was piqued about the rest of Potter Hall. Sensing his eagerness to explore more, Mipsy clapped her tiny hands together. "Master Harry, there's another wonderful place I must show you!"
Together, they walked towards a structure made entirely of glass, shimmering under the morning sun. "This, Master Harry, is the Potter Hall greenhouse," Mipsy announced as she pushed open the heavy glass door.
Inside, the air was warm and humid, filled with the rich, earthy scent of soil and plants. The greenhouse was alive with a variety of magical plants, some twisting towards the sunlight, others pulsing with faint luminescence.
"Many of these plants are used in potions that your family has been brewing for generations," Mipsy explained, leading Harry down the narrow paths between lush plant beds.
She stopped in front of a plant with glowing blue leaves. "This is Bubotuber," Mipsy said. "Its pus is very useful in treating severe acne, but it must be handled carefully because it is very irritating to the skin."
Next, they moved to a plant that looked quite dangerous with its snapping jaws. "And this is a Venomous Tentacula. It's very poisonous, but its venom is a powerful ingredient in potions that can reverse paralysis."
As they walked, Mipsy pointed out a plant with delicate, silver petals shimmering in the light. "Here we have Moonseed," she explained. "Moonseed is used in sleeping draughts and calming potions. It's very powerful and a bit rare."
Harry listened intently, his eyes wide with fascination as he moved cautiously around the plants. "Do wizards grow all their potion ingredients?" he asked, looking at a plant that seemed to dance.
"Many do, Master Harry, especially those who brew a lot of potions. It ensures that they have the freshest ingredients," Mipsy answered. "Your family has always maintained this greenhouse to ensure a supply of high-quality, magical plants."
As they reached the end of the greenhouse, Harry looked back at the rows of mystical flora. "It's like a magic jungle in here," he said, a smile spreading across his face.
"Yes, Master Harry, and it's all yours to explore whenever you wish," Mipsy said, her eyes twinkling with delight at Harry's enthusiasm.
With a new appreciation for the art of potion-making and the wonders of magical horticulture, Harry felt even more connected to the magical world and the legacy of his family. He knew he would spend many more hours in the greenhouse, learning about each plant and its uses.
Mipsy nodded, her face brightening with excitement as she led Harry back inside. "There is more to see, Master Harry," she said, her small feet making almost no sound on the rich, dark wood floors.
They entered the library, a vast room lined from floor to ceiling with books. Ladders on wheels moved quietly along the shelves, and the air was rich with the scent of old parchment and leather. "This is the Potter library," Mipsy explained, her voice echoing slightly. "It contains books dating back hundreds of years, some written by your ancestors themselves."
Harry ran his fingers along the spines of the books, "Incredible," he murmured, pulling out a volume that looked particularly ancient.
Next, they moved through a set of double doors into the informal dining area, a cosy room with a large, round table that looked inviting and warm. The walls were decorated with tapestries depicting various magical creatures. "The family often eats here when not entertaining guests," Mipsy commented.
Adjacent to this room was the formal dining hall, grander and more imposing, with a long table that could seat fifty. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting glittering light across the silver and crystal set up on the table. "This room has hosted many important gatherings," Mipsy said, her voice filled with pride.
Finally, they ascended a grand staircase to the upper floors, and Mipsy led Harry to the master bedroom. The room was spacious, with a large four-poster bed draped in rich, emerald green velvet. Large windows offered views of the gardens and the distant hills. "This will be your room, Master Harry," Mipsy said, gesturing around.
Harry stood in the doorway, taking it all in. "Thank you, Mipsy," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Everything... it's more than I could have imagined."
Mipsy beamed. "We is always here to make Potter Hall a home for you, sir. Please, rest and enjoy your stay."
As Mipsy left, Harry walked over to the window, looking out over the grounds as the last light of day faded. The sense of heritage, of belonging to something greater than himself, was overwhelming. He was home.
The morning sun streamed through the large windows of the master bedroom, casting warm rays across the emerald velvet and polished wood. Harry woke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar, yet comfortingly luxurious surroundings of Potter Hall. Then the reality of his heritage, of his return to his ancestral home, came flooding back, bringing a smile to his face.
He stretched and got out of bed, preparing for the day. After a quick shower, he dressed in comfortable jeans and a sweater laid out for him on the dresser, his mind buzzing with anticipation for what the day might bring. Descending the grand staircase, Harry found his way back to the informal dining area, where Mipsy was already waiting.
"Good morning, Master Harry," Mipsy greeted, her large ears twitching with delight. "I has prepared a traditional Potter breakfast for you."
The table was laid with an array of dishes: eggs, sausages, freshly baked bread, and a variety of magical preserves that shimmered enticingly. Harry thanked her and sat down to eat, enjoying the flavours and the quiet serenity of the morning.
After breakfast, feeling satisfied and energised, Harry decided it was time to delve deeper into his family's past. He walked back to the library, where the walls of ancestors awaited him. The portraits, animated and chattering softly amongst themselves, quieted as Harry approached.
"I was wondering," Harry began, addressing the room at large, "do any of you know if my parents, James and Lily Potter, ever had their portraits done?"
A hush fell over the room. An elderly witch in one of the frames, her hair piled high atop her head, spoke first. "I'm afraid not, dear," she said with a soft, regretful tone. "They were so young, you see, and no one thought... well, we just never imagined..."
Harry felt a pang of disappointment but nodded in understanding. "What about my grandparents?" he asked, hopeful.
"Ah, yes, your grandparents!" another portrait piped up, this one of a robust-looking wizard with a twinkle in his eye. "Fleamont and Euphemia, they were quite the pair. They do have portraits, indeed."
Mipsy, who had followed Harry, clapped her hands softly. "I can take you to them, Master Harry," she offered eagerly.
Harry followed Mipsy to a smaller, more intimate room off the main library. There, hanging on a wall between bookshelves, were two portraits that Harry had never seen before. A kind-looking wizard with spectacles and a gentle smile waved at him, while a woman with soft eyes and hair like Harry's own beamed beside him.
"Hello, child." the woman said, her voice warm and welcoming.
Harry's heart swelled as he approached the portraits. "Hello," he managed, his voice thick. "I'm Harry. I'm your grandson."
"We know, dear," Fleamont said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "We've been waiting for you for a long time."
Euphemia's smile widened. "We're so happy to see you, Harry."
"It's incredible to finally meet you," he started, his voice filled with emotion.
Fleamont Potter smiled warmly. "And it's a joy to finally speak with you, Harry. There's so much we've wanted to share."
Euphemia's eyes sparkled with kindness. "Where would you like to begin, dear?"
Harry thought for a moment, his eyes wandering over the details of the portraits. "Could you tell me about the Potter family history? And any stories about my parents would mean a lot to me."
"Of course," Fleamont replied, his voice taking on a narrative tone. "The Potters have always been an old wizarding family, known for our loyalty and our often unusual knack for getting into and out of trouble. Your ancestor, Linfred of Stinchcombe, was the original 'Potterer,' which became Potter. He was a beloved apothecary and the inventor of several potions that we still use today."
Euphemia chuckled softly. "Our family was always involved in matters of justice and advocacy for Muggle rights long before it was common in the wizarding world. Your great-great-grandfather Henry Potter was a member of the Wizengamot and famously argued against the Ministry's secrecy policies regarding Muggles."
Fleamont's expression turned fond. "Now, your father, James, he inherited that same rebellious streak. Always standing up for what was right, even if it landed him in a spot of trouble."
"And your mother, Lily," Euphemia added, her tone tender, "she was extraordinary. Brilliant and kind, she had a way of seeing the good in everyone. When she and James joined the Order of the Phoenix, they were very young, but their courage and commitment were beyond their years."
Harry listened, absorbed, every detail painting a richer picture of his parents. "Did they ever talk about their time in the Order? About fighting against Voldemort?"
Fleamont nodded gravely. "They did. Those were dark and dangerous times, Harry. Your parents were incredibly brave. James would often talk about how the group felt like a second family to them, united by a cause greater than themselves."
Euphemia smiled slightly, her eyes distant. "I remember Lily writing to us about how they were all working to protect people, to stand up against the darkness. She believed so fiercely in the power of love and hope."
As Harry lingered in front of his grandparents' portraits, eager for more connection to his past, Fleamont's face lit up with a fond memory. "Ah, Harry, there's a story about your father, James, that I think you'll enjoy. It happened during his time at Hogwarts."
"James was always known for his mischief," Fleamont began, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "One day, he and his friends managed to enchant one of the teacher's desks to levitate whenever the teacher said 'homework.' It caused quite the stir, especially when the desk started to float out of the classroom window!"
Euphemia laughed gently. "Yes, and your mother, Lily, she was the one who figured out how to reverse the charm. She was top of her class—brilliant with spells. That day, she earned points for Gryffindor for her quick thinking, and even though she often scolded James for his antics, you could tell she was impressed."
Harry laughed, imagining the scene with youthful versions of his parents, the chaos and the laughter.
Euphemia continued, her voice softening. "Your mother had a way of bringing out the best in people, Harry. She and James were quite different, but together, they were a formidable team."
Fleamont nodded proudly. "They believed in equality and justice deeply, traits that you've inherited, Harry. During the war, they were fearless. There's another story—during a mission for the Order, they were cornered by Death Eaters. James and Lily managed to escape, but not before ensuring the safety of several Muggle families who had been targeted. Your father distracted the Death Eaters while your mother led the families to safety."
Listening to these stories, Harry felt a profound connection to his parents, their courage and their spirit. He felt grounded in the legacy of love and bravery they had left behind.
Harry felt a surge of pride and a pang of loss. "It sounds like they were amazing people."
"They were, Harry," Fleamont said firmly. "And they'd be immensely proud of you"
Euphemia reached out, as if she could touch him. "We all are, Harry. Always remember that you carry the strength and love of many generations of Potters with you."
"Thank you," Harry said, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Knowing these stories, feeling this connection—it means everything to me."
"We are always here, Harry," Fleamont assured, his voice strong and comforting. "Whenever you need guidance, or just want to hear more about your family, just come and visit us."
Harry nodded excitedly. "I will," he promised, a smile breaking through. "I definitely will."
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for telling me about them, for keeping their memories alive."
"We always will," Fleamont promised, a firm assertion that carried the weight of centuries. "Just as we'll always be here for you."
As Harry stepped back, his heart full, he knew he'd return often. There was so much more to learn, so many more stories to hear. And in the painted eyes of his grandparents, he saw the enduring love and legacy of the Potter family.
With a new sense of purpose and a deeper understanding of his family's legacy, Harry felt more equipped to continue forging his path, carrying with him the strength and love of the Potters.
The pathway leading up to the manor was lined with ancient trees, their branches whispering secrets of old. Just as Harry stepped onto the first stone of the grand entrance, a small, slightly stooped figure appeared with a soft pop. The creature, unlike anything Harry had seen before, had large, bat-like ears and eyes that were wide and bright beneath the dim light.
"Good morning, Master Harry," she said in a high-pitched voice, her tone imbued with a reverence that made Harry stop in his tracks. "I am Mipsy, the caretaker of Potter Hall. I am here to serve you, sir."
Harry, taken aback, looked at the creature with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "What are you?" he asked, not unkindly.
Mipsy's face seemed to brighten at the question. "Oh, I am a house-elf, sir. We serve wizards and witches, taking care of their homes and needs. I've been here since your great-grandparents' time, maintaining the Hall and waiting for your return."
Harry, still processing the existence of house-elves, managed a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Mipsy. I didn't know about... well, house-elves."
Mipsy smiled, pleased to educate her new master. "Yes, sir, we are quite discreet, usually."
"Would you mind showing me around, Mipsy?" Harry asks, brimming with eagerness
"Of course, Master Harry" Mipsy chirped, her voice filled with pride. She led Harry into the grand entrance hall, where the walls were adorned with portraits of his ancestors. The paintings came alive at the sight of Harry, whispering excitedly and waving from their frames.
"This is your great-great-grandfather, Hadrian Potter," Mipsy pointed to a stern-looking wizard with a fierce beard. "He was a great duelist and adventurer."
Harry listened intently, his eyes scanning the faces of his lineage, feeling a strange connection to the past. Mipsy then guided him to the left wing of the manor, where the potion making laboratory was located. The room was a chaotic array of cauldrons, shelves crammed with jars of strange ingredients, and ancient spellbooks.
"Master Harry's family has always been keen on potion making," Mipsy explained, as Harry peered into a cauldron emitting a peculiar blue smoke. "This lab has seen many potion innovations over the centuries."
Next, they moved to the alchemy room, smaller and dense with the smell of metals. Symbols were etched deeply into the dark stone walls, and an array of peculiar instruments lay scattered across the workspace. "Alchemy is a precise art," Mipsy said. "Your ancestors spent lifetimes mastering it."
As they continued to explore Potter Hall, Harry paused, looking curiously at Mipsy. "Mipsy, for someone who might not know, could you explain what exactly a house-elf is?"
Mipsy nodded, her large ears twitching slightly. "Of course, Master Harry. We house-elves are magical beings, we is. We serve wizards and witches, bound to the families and homes we serve by a powerful enchantment." Her voice was tinged with a mix of pride and solemnity as she spoke.
"We possess our own kind of magic, different from wizards. We can apparate within our house boundaries even when wizards cannot, and we perform tasks to keep the home running smoothly. Our magic is bound with our loyalty, and we cannot disobey the family we is bound to," Mipsy explained, gesturing around the hall.
"House-elves can only be freed when given clothes by their masters. Until then, we wears whatever we can—like this," she pointed to her own outfit, a patchwork of old clothes and rags that served as her uniform. "It is a life of service, but we takes pride in our work, sir."
Harry listened intently, his understanding deepening. Mipsy's words painted a fuller picture of their existence and the depth of their bond to their places of service. This knowledge stirred a respectful gratitude in him for Mipsy and her kin, enhancing his appreciation for the unseen labour that maintained the magical world's everyday life.
Their tour continued to the duelling room, with its enchanted sky-like ceiling and spell-cushioned floors. "Many Potters have honed their skills here," Mipsy noted, watching as Harry examined the room with an expert eye. "It's designed to be safe for all manners of magical combat."
Finally, Mipsy led Harry outside to the grounds, where the Quidditch pitch awaited majestically. "The Potters have always loved Quidditch," she said, as they walked towards the pitch. The stands shimmered with enchantments, and the hoops stood tall and imposing.
As they stood overlooking the vast Quidditch pitch, Mipsy turned to Harry, her large eyes gleaming with excitement. "Master Harry, Quidditch is a magical sport played on broomsticks, and it is very popular in the wizarding world."
Harry nodded for her to continue, curious to hear her explain the sport.
Mipsy's voice filled with enthusiasm. "There are seven players on each team: three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and one Seeker. The Chasers handle the Quaffle and try to score goals by throwing it through one of the opposing team's three hoops. Each goal is worth ten points."
She gestured to the hoops at either end of the pitch. "The Beaters, they protect their teammates from the Bludgers, which are enchanted balls that try to knock players off their brooms. The Beaters use bats to hit the Bludgers away."
Mipsy then pointed upwards, tracing imaginary paths through the air. "The Keeper guards the goal hoops to prevent the other team's Chasers from scoring. And the Seeker," her voice dropped to a note of reverence, "the Seeker searches for the Golden Snitch, a tiny, fast-moving ball that is very hard to see. Catching the Snitch earns the Seeker's team an additional one hundred and fifty points and ends the game."
Harry smiled, imagining young wizards and witches zooming across this pitch, the thrill of the game alive in their hearts. "It sounds exciting," he said, playing along as though hearing this for the first time.
"It is, Master Harry!" Mipsy clapped her hands. "And it's a game that brings together skill, courage, and teamwork. Your father was an exceptional Seeker in his day. He loved flying more than anything."
Her description painted a vivid picture of the sport, bridging Harry's personal memories with the heritage of his family's involvement in Quidditch. It added another layer of appreciation as he prepared to experience flying on the pitch himself.
She then led him towards a small building adjacent to the pitch. "And here," she said as she opened the door, "is the broom shed."
Inside, the shed was neatly organised, with brooms of various models and ages hanging from racks on the walls or standing in neat rows. Each broom was tagged with a small, enchanted label that chronicled its model and history.
"Here you will find everything from old Cleansweeps to the latest Nimbus models," Mipsy explained. "Some of these brooms have been in your family for a very long time, used by your ancestors for both sport and travel."
Harry walked through the rows of brooms, his hand brushing against the smooth, polished wood. He paused at a particularly well-worn broom, its handle scarred with use. "This one seems to have seen a lot of action," he remarked, looking at the label.
"That, sir, is a Nimbus 1000," Mipsy said proudly. "It was your father's favourite for casual games. He flew that broom countless times right here on this pitch."
Harry felt a surge of connection, touching the broom gently. "I'd like to fly it, if I may," he said, his voice soft but eager.
"Of course, Master Harry, but you must first learn how to fly!" Mipsy beamed. "It would be an honour to see a Potter fly on this pitch again."
"Thank you, Mipsy," Harry said, his heart full as he looked over the grounds. "This place... it feels like a piece of me I never knew was missing."
After their lively discussion about Quidditch and a nostalgic trip through his father's and ancestor's history with it, Harry's curiosity was piqued about the rest of Potter Hall. Sensing his eagerness to explore more, Mipsy clapped her tiny hands together. "Master Harry, there's another wonderful place I must show you!"
Together, they walked towards a structure made entirely of glass, shimmering under the morning sun. "This, Master Harry, is the Potter Hall greenhouse," Mipsy announced as she pushed open the heavy glass door.
Inside, the air was warm and humid, filled with the rich, earthy scent of soil and plants. The greenhouse was alive with a variety of magical plants, some twisting towards the sunlight, others pulsing with faint luminescence.
"Many of these plants are used in potions that your family has been brewing for generations," Mipsy explained, leading Harry down the narrow paths between lush plant beds.
She stopped in front of a plant with glowing blue leaves. "This is Bubotuber," Mipsy said. "Its pus is very useful in treating severe acne, but it must be handled carefully because it is very irritating to the skin."
Next, they moved to a plant that looked quite dangerous with its snapping jaws. "And this is a Venomous Tentacula. It's very poisonous, but its venom is a powerful ingredient in potions that can reverse paralysis."
As they walked, Mipsy pointed out a plant with delicate, silver petals shimmering in the light. "Here we have Moonseed," she explained. "Moonseed is used in sleeping draughts and calming potions. It's very powerful and a bit rare."
Harry listened intently, his eyes wide with fascination as he moved cautiously around the plants. "Do wizards grow all their potion ingredients?" he asked, looking at a plant that seemed to dance.
"Many do, Master Harry, especially those who brew a lot of potions. It ensures that they have the freshest ingredients," Mipsy answered. "Your family has always maintained this greenhouse to ensure a supply of high-quality, magical plants."
As they reached the end of the greenhouse, Harry looked back at the rows of mystical flora. "It's like a magic jungle in here," he said, a smile spreading across his face.
"Yes, Master Harry, and it's all yours to explore whenever you wish," Mipsy said, her eyes twinkling with delight at Harry's enthusiasm.
With a new appreciation for the art of potion-making and the wonders of magical horticulture, Harry felt even more connected to the magical world and the legacy of his family. He knew he would spend many more hours in the greenhouse, learning about each plant and its uses.
Mipsy nodded, her face brightening with excitement as she led Harry back inside. "There is more to see, Master Harry," she said, her small feet making almost no sound on the rich, dark wood floors.
They entered the library, a vast room lined from floor to ceiling with books. Ladders on wheels moved quietly along the shelves, and the air was rich with the scent of old parchment and leather. "This is the Potter library," Mipsy explained, her voice echoing slightly. "It contains books dating back hundreds of years, some written by your ancestors themselves."
Harry ran his fingers along the spines of the books, "Incredible," he murmured, pulling out a volume that looked particularly ancient.
Next, they moved through a set of double doors into the informal dining area, a cosy room with a large, round table that looked inviting and warm. The walls were decorated with tapestries depicting various magical creatures. "The family often eats here when not entertaining guests," Mipsy commented.
Adjacent to this room was the formal dining hall, grander and more imposing, with a long table that could seat fifty. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting glittering light across the silver and crystal set up on the table. "This room has hosted many important gatherings," Mipsy said, her voice filled with pride.
Finally, they ascended a grand staircase to the upper floors, and Mipsy led Harry to the master bedroom. The room was spacious, with a large four-poster bed draped in rich, emerald green velvet. Large windows offered views of the gardens and the distant hills. "This will be your room, Master Harry," Mipsy said, gesturing around.
Harry stood in the doorway, taking it all in. "Thank you, Mipsy," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Everything... it's more than I could have imagined."
Mipsy beamed. "We is always here to make Potter Hall a home for you, sir. Please, rest and enjoy your stay."
As Mipsy left, Harry walked over to the window, looking out over the grounds as the last light of day faded. The sense of heritage, of belonging to something greater than himself, was overwhelming. He was home.
The morning sun streamed through the large windows of the master bedroom, casting warm rays across the emerald velvet and polished wood. Harry woke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar, yet comfortingly luxurious surroundings of Potter Hall. Then the reality of his heritage, of his return to his ancestral home, came flooding back, bringing a smile to his face.
He stretched and got out of bed, preparing for the day. After a quick shower, he dressed in comfortable jeans and a sweater laid out for him on the dresser, his mind buzzing with anticipation for what the day might bring. Descending the grand staircase, Harry found his way back to the informal dining area, where Mipsy was already waiting.
"Good morning, Master Harry," Mipsy greeted, her large ears twitching with delight. "I has prepared a traditional Potter breakfast for you."
The table was laid with an array of dishes: eggs, sausages, freshly baked bread, and a variety of magical preserves that shimmered enticingly. Harry thanked her and sat down to eat, enjoying the flavours and the quiet serenity of the morning.
After breakfast, feeling satisfied and energised, Harry decided it was time to delve deeper into his family's past. He walked back to the library, where the walls of ancestors awaited him. The portraits, animated and chattering softly amongst themselves, quieted as Harry approached.
"I was wondering," Harry began, addressing the room at large, "do any of you know if my parents, James and Lily Potter, ever had their portraits done?"
A hush fell over the room. An elderly witch in one of the frames, her hair piled high atop her head, spoke first. "I'm afraid not, dear," she said with a soft, regretful tone. "They were so young, you see, and no one thought... well, we just never imagined..."
Harry felt a pang of disappointment but nodded in understanding. "What about my grandparents?" he asked, hopeful.
"Ah, yes, your grandparents!" another portrait piped up, this one of a robust-looking wizard with a twinkle in his eye. "Fleamont and Euphemia, they were quite the pair. They do have portraits, indeed."
Mipsy, who had followed Harry, clapped her hands softly. "I can take you to them, Master Harry," she offered eagerly.
Harry followed Mipsy to a smaller, more intimate room off the main library. There, hanging on a wall between bookshelves, were two portraits that Harry had never seen before. A kind-looking wizard with spectacles and a gentle smile waved at him, while a woman with soft eyes and hair like Harry's own beamed beside him.
"Hello, child." the woman said, her voice warm and welcoming.
Harry's heart swelled as he approached the portraits. "Hello," he managed, his voice thick. "I'm Harry. I'm your grandson."
"We know, dear," Fleamont said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "We've been waiting for you for a long time."
Euphemia's smile widened. "We're so happy to see you, Harry."
"It's incredible to finally meet you," he started, his voice filled with emotion.
Fleamont Potter smiled warmly. "And it's a joy to finally speak with you, Harry. There's so much we've wanted to share."
Euphemia's eyes sparkled with kindness. "Where would you like to begin, dear?"
Harry thought for a moment, his eyes wandering over the details of the portraits. "Could you tell me about the Potter family history? And any stories about my parents would mean a lot to me."
"Of course," Fleamont replied, his voice taking on a narrative tone. "The Potters have always been an old wizarding family, known for our loyalty and our often unusual knack for getting into and out of trouble. Your ancestor, Linfred of Stinchcombe, was the original 'Potterer,' which became Potter. He was a beloved apothecary and the inventor of several potions that we still use today."
Euphemia chuckled softly. "Our family was always involved in matters of justice and advocacy for Muggle rights long before it was common in the wizarding world. Your great-great-grandfather Henry Potter was a member of the Wizengamot and famously argued against the Ministry's secrecy policies regarding Muggles."
Fleamont's expression turned fond. "Now, your father, James, he inherited that same rebellious streak. Always standing up for what was right, even if it landed him in a spot of trouble."
"And your mother, Lily," Euphemia added, her tone tender, "she was extraordinary. Brilliant and kind, she had a way of seeing the good in everyone. When she and James joined the Order of the Phoenix, they were very young, but their courage and commitment were beyond their years."
Harry listened, absorbed, every detail painting a richer picture of his parents. "Did they ever talk about their time in the Order? About fighting against Voldemort?"
Fleamont nodded gravely. "They did. Those were dark and dangerous times, Harry. Your parents were incredibly brave. James would often talk about how the group felt like a second family to them, united by a cause greater than themselves."
Euphemia smiled slightly, her eyes distant. "I remember Lily writing to us about how they were all working to protect people, to stand up against the darkness. She believed so fiercely in the power of love and hope."
As Harry lingered in front of his grandparents' portraits, eager for more connection to his past, Fleamont's face lit up with a fond memory. "Ah, Harry, there's a story about your father, James, that I think you'll enjoy. It happened during his time at Hogwarts."
"James was always known for his mischief," Fleamont began, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "One day, he and his friends managed to enchant one of the teacher's desks to levitate whenever the teacher said 'homework.' It caused quite the stir, especially when the desk started to float out of the classroom window!"
Euphemia laughed gently. "Yes, and your mother, Lily, she was the one who figured out how to reverse the charm. She was top of her class—brilliant with spells. That day, she earned points for Gryffindor for her quick thinking, and even though she often scolded James for his antics, you could tell she was impressed."
Harry laughed, imagining the scene with youthful versions of his parents, the chaos and the laughter.
Euphemia continued, her voice softening. "Your mother had a way of bringing out the best in people, Harry. She and James were quite different, but together, they were a formidable team."
Fleamont nodded proudly. "They believed in equality and justice deeply, traits that you've inherited, Harry. During the war, they were fearless. There's another story—during a mission for the Order, they were cornered by Death Eaters. James and Lily managed to escape, but not before ensuring the safety of several Muggle families who had been targeted. Your father distracted the Death Eaters while your mother led the families to safety."
Listening to these stories, Harry felt a profound connection to his parents, their courage and their spirit. He felt grounded in the legacy of love and bravery they had left behind.
Harry felt a surge of pride and a pang of loss. "It sounds like they were amazing people."
"They were, Harry," Fleamont said firmly. "And they'd be immensely proud of you"
Euphemia reached out, as if she could touch him. "We all are, Harry. Always remember that you carry the strength and love of many generations of Potters with you."
"Thank you," Harry said, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Knowing these stories, feeling this connection—it means everything to me."
"We are always here, Harry," Fleamont assured, his voice strong and comforting. "Whenever you need guidance, or just want to hear more about your family, just come and visit us."
Harry nodded excitedly. "I will," he promised, a smile breaking through. "I definitely will."
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for telling me about them, for keeping their memories alive."
"We always will," Fleamont promised, a firm assertion that carried the weight of centuries. "Just as we'll always be here for you."
As Harry stepped back, his heart full, he knew he'd return often. There was so much more to learn, so many more stories to hear. And in the painted eyes of his grandparents, he saw the enduring love and legacy of the Potter family.
With a new sense of purpose and a deeper understanding of his family's legacy, Harry felt more equipped to continue forging his path, carrying with him the strength and love of the Potters.
Introduction to Magic and Plans Afoot
New
Six-year-old Harry Potter was gradually settling into the grandeur and mystery of Potter Hall, his ancestral home. Each morning brought new wonders, from the ghostly whispers of the hallways at dawn to the shadows that danced across the vast grounds in the moonlight. But what fascinated Harry the most was the magic that seemed to seep from every stone and whisper through the leaves of every ancient tree.
Harry spent countless hours in the company of his ancestors' portraits, especially those of his grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. The portraits, with their endless tales and magical wisdom, had become his primary tutors in the arts of magic. "Magic, dear Harry, is not just about waving wands and chanting spells; it's about understanding the essence of the world around you," Euphemia's portrait would often say.
One brisk morning, Fleamont's portrait decided it was time to start Harry on basic magical concepts. "Let's begin with the four basic elements, Harry: fire, water, air, and earth. Wizards can influence these elements in many ways, which is the foundation of magical interaction with the world," Fleamont explained, his voice echoing slightly in the gilded frame.
As Harry listened intently, Mipsy, the ever-helpful house-elf, would often bring animated illustrations from old books to aid his learning. They fluttered around Harry like leaves caught in a gentle breeze, showing him moving images of wizards commanding the elements with grace and power.
His days were spent in the grand library, a vast room filled with books and the portraits of his ancestors, who were eager to introduce him to the wonders of the wizarding world. With no wand yet in his small hands, Harry's magical education began with the basics, explained in ways a young child could grasp.
Under the watchful eyes of Fleamont Potter's portrait, Harry's lesson on Charms began. "Charms are special spells that wizards use to make objects do things they normally wouldn't," Fleamont explained, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Imagine being able to make a toy dance or a feather fly without touching them!"
Next, Euphemia Potter took over to introduce Transfiguration. "Transfiguration is about changing the appearance or nature of something," she said softly. "It's like turning a stone into a cup or a twig into a silver spoon. It's making one thing into another."
Fleamont talked to Harry about Potions. "Potions are magical mixtures that can heal, change, or protect us," he said as he gave Harry a few examples. "They're made by combining magical ingredients in just the right way. It can be like following a recipe to make a cake, but these recipes create magical effects, but it often requires deeply ingrained intuition for the different ingredients to master potion making. Our family, as we already told you has a long history with the art of potioneering starting with the founder of our house "
Euphemia interjects "Even your grandfather over here has contributed to the world of potions, The Sleakeazy hair potion might not be medical in nature, but the royalties from the invention still fill the coffers in the Potter vaults to this day" heaping praise on her husband.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was a topic introduced with care. Fleamont chose his words thoughtfully, aiming to teach without frightening his young listener. "This magic helps protect us from things that might try to harm us," he explained. "It's like knowing the right words to say to keep yourself safe during a scary dream."
Harry's fascination grew when Euphemia shared tales of magical creatures. "The wizarding world is home to many wonderful creatures, each with its own special magic," she narrated, her voice echoing around the library. "From tiny bowtruckles, who guard trees, to majestic phoenixes, who can carry heavy loads and have healing tears."
Each lesson was carefully crafted to suit Harry's young mind, filling him with knowledge and sparking his imagination. Though he was far from ready to practise magic himself, these theoretical lessons laid a strong foundation for his future studies and kindled a deep love for the magical world he was born into. In Potter Hall, surrounded by books and the wise eyes of portraits, Harry was not just living in a magical place—he was beginning to understand and cherish his magical heritage.
The library of Potter Hall became another of Harry's favourite haunts. It was not just a room but a labyrinth of knowledge, with towering shelves that reached the ceilings and hidden corners filled with ancient scrolls and powerful artefacts. Mipsy would guide him through the rows, teaching him how to handle the delicate books. "This one," she'd whisper, holding up a leather-bound tome with care, "contains the basic potions that healers first learn. Potions can be tricky, so we must treat them with respect."
Each book that Harry opened seemed to breathe with life, the pages sometimes whispering their contents to him, making the young boy's eyes widen in awe. The library was a treasure trove, and Harry was its eager explorer, slowly learning to read the runes and symbols with Mipsy's patient guidance.
Even the portraits seemed to watch over him with a protective gaze, their eyes following his small figure as he moved from one shelf to another, pulling down books that were nearly as big as he was.
As the days passed, Harry's understanding of magic grew, and so did his connection to his family's history. He was not just living in Potter Hall; he was becoming a part of its long, enchanting story. Each whispered secret from a book, each lesson from a portrait, wove deeper into his heart, filling him with a sense of belonging and an insatiable curiosity about the magical world that was now his to explore.
Ted Tonks, a tall and kind-looking wizard with light brown hair and a gentle demeanour, entered the imposing doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The grand hall was bustling with goblins attending to various tasks, the clinking of coins and the rustling of parchment filling the air. Ted had been here many times before for his legal work, but today's visit felt different. He was here on a special invitation from Barchoke, the Potter Accounts Manager, regarding young Harry Potter.
After a brief exchange with a goblin teller, Ted was escorted down a series of winding corridors and through several doors until they reached a spacious and somewhat austere office. Barchoke, a stern but fair goblin with sharp features and keen eyes, rose from behind his desk as Ted entered.
"Mr. Tonks," Barchoke greeted, extending a clawed hand. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Of course," Ted replied, shaking the goblin's hand. "It's not every day I get an invitation from Gringotts, especially regarding Harry Potter. What's this about?"
"Please, have a seat," Barchoke said, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk. Once they were both seated, Barchoke began. "As you know, Harry Potter is the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. However, due to the unfortunate circumstances following his parents' deaths, he has been living with his non-magical relatives, the Dursleys, who have not treated him well."
Ted's expression darkened. "I've tried to get custody of Harry many times, but I have been blocked at every turn"
Barchoke nodded. "We should look into who has been doing that. Harry has been kept ignorant of the magical world and his heritage. Recently, he displayed a significant case of accidental magic, after which he somehow was able to find his way to us. After having briefly explained his heritage to him, he was taken to our healers, who found him malnourished and suffering from untreated injuries."
Ted clenched his fists, struggling to keep his composure. "That's horrible. Where is he now? Is he safe?"
"Yes, he is safe," Barchoke assured him. "Harry is currently residing at Potter Hall, his family's ancestral home. He is beginning to learn about his heritage and the responsibilities that come with it. However, he needs more than just knowledge. He needs guidance and someone to help him navigate the complexities of our world."
Ted nodded, understanding the weight of the task ahead. "What do you need me to do?"
"Firstly," Barchoke began, "Harry's seventh birthday is approaching, and he must take up the heirship formally. This involves a ceremony that will bind him to his family's legacy and grant him access to certain magical abilities and protections. We need someone he can trust to explain this to him and guide him through the process."
"I can do that," Ted agreed. "I'll make sure he understands everything and feels comfortable with it."
"Secondly," Barchoke continued, "there are financial and legal matters to address. Harry's name and likeness have been used without proper compensation. We need to secure his rights and ensure he receives what is rightfully his. I believe your expertise in magical law will be invaluable in this regard."
Ted smiled, his determination evident. "I'll handle it. I'll make sure Harry gets every Knut he's owed."
"Finally," Barchoke said, leaning forward, "Harry needs someone to help him acclimate to the magical world. He has missed out on so much, and he needs a mentor who can teach him about our customs, our laws, and our way of life. I believe you and your family would be perfect for this role."
Ted's expression softened. "My wife, Andromeda, and I would be honoured to help Harry. We have a daughter, Nymphadora, who would love to have him around. We'll make sure he feels like part of our family while he learns about his own."
Barchoke smiled, a rare but genuine expression. "Thank you, Mr. Tonks. Your assistance will make a significant difference in Harry's life. I will provide you with all the necessary documents and arrange for you to meet with Harry at Potter Hall. It's crucial that he feels supported and prepared for the responsibilities he will soon undertake."
Ted stood, extending his hand once more. "Thank you, Barchoke. I'll do everything in my power to help Harry."
Barchoke shook Ted's hand firmly. "I have no doubt that you will. Together, we can ensure that Harry grows into the wizard his parents would have been proud of."
Ted Tonks left Gringotts with a renewed sense of purpose. He was determined not only to help Harry navigate the complexities of the magical world but also to ensure he had a strong network of allies and friends. As he walked through Diagon Alley, Ted began to formulate a plan. He knew the importance of connecting Harry with other influential families in the magical community. His first thoughts were of House Longbottom and House Greengrass, both part of The Great Alliance, a coalition of old and powerful wizarding families who had once been a strong faction in the Wizengamot.
Ted decided to start with the Longbottoms. He had known Augusta Longbottom, the formidable matriarch of the family, for many years. Her grandson, Neville, was around Harry's age and had also lost his parents to the war. Ted believed that connecting Harry and Neville could provide both boys with a sense of camaraderie and understanding.
Ted sent a letter to Augusta Longbottom, explaining briefly about Harry's life so far and requesting a meeting to discuss how they could help Harry and the possibility of arranging a playdate for Harry and Neville. Within a day, he received a positive response, inviting him to tea at Longbottom Manor.
A few days later, Ted arrived at the grand entrance of Longbottom Manor, an imposing structure with sprawling gardens filled with magical flora. Augusta Longbottom, a stern yet kind-hearted witch, greeted him warmly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tonks. It's been too long," Augusta said, ushering him into a cozy sitting room where tea was already set out.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, Augusta," Ted replied, taking a seat. "I appreciate your willingness to help."
Augusta nodded, pouring tea for both of them. "I've read your letter regarding young Harry's plight. It's disgraceful how he was treated by those Muggles. What can I do to assist?"
Ted explained the situation in detail, including Harry's current residence at Potter Hall and his need for guidance and connections within the magical community. "I was hoping you could arrange for the alliance to support House Potter in some lawsuits that I will be filing against the people who have been profiting on Harry's name. Neville and Harry could also spend some time together. They have both suffered losses and could benefit from each other's company."
Augusta's stern expression softened. "Neville has been through a lot, but he's a good boy with a kind heart. I think it would do him good to have a friend who understands his struggles. I'll arrange for a visit to Potter Hall once you've spoken to Harry and things have settled down a bit."
Ted smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Augusta. Your support means a lot. There's one more family I was hoping to reach out to—House Greengrass."
Augusta raised an eyebrow. "The Greengrasses? They're known for their neutrality and focus on traditional values. What are you thinking, Ted?"
"I believe it's important for Harry to have allies from various backgrounds," Ted explained. "The Greengrasses have a strong reputation, and their daughters, Daphne and Astoria, could also be good friends to Harry. It could be beneficial for Harry to build relationships with peers who come from different perspectives."
Augusta nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. I'll have my house-elf deliver a message to Lord Greengrass to introduce you as Harry's representative. I'm sure he'll be interested in meeting you and discussing how our families can support young Harry."
A week later, Ted found himself in the elegant drawing room of Greengrass Manor. Lord Greengrass, a stern wizard with an air of quiet authority, welcomed him graciously.
"Mr. Tonks, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I've heard about your efforts on behalf of Harry Potter. How can House Greengrass assist?"
Ted outlined Harry's situation and his plans for integrating Harry into the magical community. "I also believe that having friends like Daphne and Astoria would provide Harry with a well-rounded view of our world and help him feel more at ease."
Lord Greengrass nodded thoughtfully. "Daphne and Astoria have been raised with a strong sense of tradition and respect for all magical beings. We can arrange for them to visit Potter Hall once Heir Potter has a better understanding of the wizarding world."
Ted expressed his gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Greengrass. Your support is invaluable. With the help of families like yours and the Longbottoms, I believe we can give Harry the foundation he needs to thrive."
With arrangements made for him to get the required votes to force the companies using Harry's likeness without permission to pay House Potter for their infringement and for Harry to meet Neville Longbottom and the Greengrass sisters, Ted felt a sense of accomplishment. He knew these connections would be instrumental in helping Harry build a strong support network. As he prepared to meet Harry at Gringotts on his seventh birthday, Ted felt confident that with the help of The Great Alliance, Harry would be well-equipped to embrace his heritage and forge his own path in the magical world.
The next step was to personally speak to Harry and discuss these plans with him, ensuring he felt supported and understood. Ted knew this journey wouldn't be easy, but he was determined to help Harry every step of the way.
(While Harry was in Gringotts a few days ago)
In the dim light of his office, lined with ancient texts and powerful artefacts, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his cluttered desk, the only sounds were the soft ticking of an ornate clock and the distant calls of a phoenix. His eyes, usually twinkling with warmth and mischief, now flickered with calculations as he contemplated his next move.
The fireplace crackled suddenly, and Arabella Figg's face appeared amidst the flames, her expression fraught with urgency. "Albus," she said, her voice tense, "Harry has vanished. I've looked everywhere, but he's not in the house, and none of the neighbours have seen him since yesterday."
Dumbledore's heart skipped, not out of fear for Harry's safety, but for the precarious balance of his meticulously laid plans. "Are you certain, Arabella?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
"Yes, completely certain," she replied, her eyes wide with concern. "I fear he may have stumbled upon some old magical artefact or book and triggered something... magical."
Dumbledore stroked his beard, his mind racing through scenarios. If the Ministry got wind of Harry's disappearance, it would not only jeopardise his position but could also bring to light the uncomfortable details of Harry's upbringing under his watch. The abuse, the neglect he had wilfully overlooked for the 'greater good'—it would all come under scrutiny, and the consequences would be disastrous.
"Listen carefully, Arabella," Dumbledore began, his voice low and commanding. "We must handle this discreetly. You must continue to search, and I shall see what can be done from my end. Under no circumstances is this matter to be brought to the Ministry's attention—not yet."
"But Albus, what if he's in danger?" Arabella's voice cracked with panic.
Dumbledore's gaze hardened, though his voice remained calm. "I will call on the Order to help search for the boy. Our primary concern must be to keep this quiet. He has enemies who would exploit this situation to their advantage."
As he spoke, Dumbledore couldn't help but think of the greater war at play, the delicate threads he was pulling to shape the future. Harry was central to everything—his survival crucial. Yet, in this moment, Dumbledore felt the old, familiar sting of guilt. He was, once again, choosing the many over the one.
He closed his eyes briefly, wrestling with the Machiavellian calculus that had defined much of his life. When he opened them again, they were resolute. "I will look into a few... unconventional methods to locate him. Perhaps a few discreet inquiries to those who operate in the shadows of our world. Pay attention to any signs or omens. Harry is tied to deeper magics, and they may give us clues to his whereabouts."
Arabella nodded, her face still etched with worry. "Very well, Albus. I trust your judgement."
As the flames died down, leaving Dumbledore alone with his thoughts, he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his decisions pressing down upon him. He had walked this fine line many times before—balancing the greater good against the individual costs. Each decision, each sacrifice, was a mark upon his soul, a ledger book he feared to one day reckon.
With a weary sigh, he reached for a small, silver instrument on his desk, its purpose known only to him. As he set it into motion, its gentle chimes filled the room, weaving a spell of seeking looking for Harry's location, only for it to turn up blank, implying he was behind powerful wards. Dumbledore watched it for a moment, his mind far away, before turning to pen a letter to an old contact in Knockturn Alley.
As he sat in his office, the light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the stone floor, illuminating the troubled lines that marked his aged face. The news of Harry's disappearance had come at the most inopportune time, complicating the delicate web of plans he had so carefully constructed. His mind raced through the various implications and necessary adjustments, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and concern.
He stood and paced before the large windows, hands clasped behind his back, gaze distant. Dumbledore was fully aware of the deep injustice he had allowed to fester—a decision that haunted him more than he cared to admit. Sirius Black, the rightful guardian of Harry Potter, languished in Azkaban, convicted without a trial, based largely on circumstantial evidence and Dumbledore's calculated inaction.
As he pondered his next steps, Dumbledore's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Fawkes, his phoenix, who fluttered to his desk, a silent witness to his inner turmoil. Dumbledore paused, the sight of the phoenix reminding him of the capacity for renewal and change. Yet, the path he had chosen was a dark and solitary one.
Dumbledore moved to his desk and pulled out a hidden drawer, revealing a series of complex documents and notes—plans within plans, all centred around the boy who lived. With a heavy sigh, he reviewed the information on Sirius once more, his actions—or lack thereof—weighing heavily on him. He had known, even then, that Sirius had been more scapegoat than perpetrator, yet he had allowed fear and the public's clamour for vengeance to dictate the course of justice. Sirius was impulsive, certainly, but not a traitor. Dumbledore had seen it in his eyes, the shock and horror, not the coldness of a murderer.
"The greater good," he muttered to himself, the phrase tasting bitter on his tongue. It was a rationale that had justified many decisions, some dark, some light, and it was the bedrock of his plan to protect Harry from the far-reaching shadows of Voldemort. But at what cost? Now, with Harry missing, the fabric of his carefully laid plans was unravelling.
Dumbledore sat down and penned a note with a steady hand. It was not to the Ministry—no, he could not trust them not to blunder through this with their usual lack of finesse, nor could he draw their attention to the fact that he had been the one the one to take charge of young Harry's safety. Instead, he wrote to Remus Lupin, an old member of the Order of the Phoenix, whose loyalty and discretion were beyond reproach. Remus could initiate a search without attracting undue attention, navigating the shadows of the magical world more adeptly than most.
As he sealed the letter with a dab of wax, Dumbledore allowed himself a moment of regret. Sirius should have been here, looking after his godson, protecting him as James and Lily would have wanted. But Dumbledore had seen too many pieces moving on the board; he had made a choice to control the game from behind the scenes, to keep Harry safely hidden until he was ready to face his destiny. Sirius, with his reckless bravery and fierce loyalty, was too much of a wildcard.
Fawkes let out a soft, melodic trill, a sound that seemed to carry both comfort and a reminder of the burdens of those who lead. Dumbledore looked at the phoenix, his eyes tired yet resolute.
"We must do what we can to mend the threads we've broken, my old friend," he whispered.
With the letter in hand, Dumbledore strode from his office, his robes swirling around him. The corridors of Hogwarts felt especially empty this evening, echoing with the weight of coming decisions. Dumbledore knew that his actions would be judged in time, and he could only hope that history would understand the necessity behind the sacrifices made.
As the last light of day faded from the sky, Dumbledore dispatched the letter with a sense of urgency. The game was changing, and he had to adapt. For Harry's sake, for the sake of all they had fought to protect, he would have to face the consequences of his decisions—sooner or later.
Harry spent countless hours in the company of his ancestors' portraits, especially those of his grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. The portraits, with their endless tales and magical wisdom, had become his primary tutors in the arts of magic. "Magic, dear Harry, is not just about waving wands and chanting spells; it's about understanding the essence of the world around you," Euphemia's portrait would often say.
One brisk morning, Fleamont's portrait decided it was time to start Harry on basic magical concepts. "Let's begin with the four basic elements, Harry: fire, water, air, and earth. Wizards can influence these elements in many ways, which is the foundation of magical interaction with the world," Fleamont explained, his voice echoing slightly in the gilded frame.
As Harry listened intently, Mipsy, the ever-helpful house-elf, would often bring animated illustrations from old books to aid his learning. They fluttered around Harry like leaves caught in a gentle breeze, showing him moving images of wizards commanding the elements with grace and power.
His days were spent in the grand library, a vast room filled with books and the portraits of his ancestors, who were eager to introduce him to the wonders of the wizarding world. With no wand yet in his small hands, Harry's magical education began with the basics, explained in ways a young child could grasp.
Under the watchful eyes of Fleamont Potter's portrait, Harry's lesson on Charms began. "Charms are special spells that wizards use to make objects do things they normally wouldn't," Fleamont explained, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Imagine being able to make a toy dance or a feather fly without touching them!"
Next, Euphemia Potter took over to introduce Transfiguration. "Transfiguration is about changing the appearance or nature of something," she said softly. "It's like turning a stone into a cup or a twig into a silver spoon. It's making one thing into another."
Fleamont talked to Harry about Potions. "Potions are magical mixtures that can heal, change, or protect us," he said as he gave Harry a few examples. "They're made by combining magical ingredients in just the right way. It can be like following a recipe to make a cake, but these recipes create magical effects, but it often requires deeply ingrained intuition for the different ingredients to master potion making. Our family, as we already told you has a long history with the art of potioneering starting with the founder of our house "
Euphemia interjects "Even your grandfather over here has contributed to the world of potions, The Sleakeazy hair potion might not be medical in nature, but the royalties from the invention still fill the coffers in the Potter vaults to this day" heaping praise on her husband.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was a topic introduced with care. Fleamont chose his words thoughtfully, aiming to teach without frightening his young listener. "This magic helps protect us from things that might try to harm us," he explained. "It's like knowing the right words to say to keep yourself safe during a scary dream."
Harry's fascination grew when Euphemia shared tales of magical creatures. "The wizarding world is home to many wonderful creatures, each with its own special magic," she narrated, her voice echoing around the library. "From tiny bowtruckles, who guard trees, to majestic phoenixes, who can carry heavy loads and have healing tears."
Each lesson was carefully crafted to suit Harry's young mind, filling him with knowledge and sparking his imagination. Though he was far from ready to practise magic himself, these theoretical lessons laid a strong foundation for his future studies and kindled a deep love for the magical world he was born into. In Potter Hall, surrounded by books and the wise eyes of portraits, Harry was not just living in a magical place—he was beginning to understand and cherish his magical heritage.
The library of Potter Hall became another of Harry's favourite haunts. It was not just a room but a labyrinth of knowledge, with towering shelves that reached the ceilings and hidden corners filled with ancient scrolls and powerful artefacts. Mipsy would guide him through the rows, teaching him how to handle the delicate books. "This one," she'd whisper, holding up a leather-bound tome with care, "contains the basic potions that healers first learn. Potions can be tricky, so we must treat them with respect."
Each book that Harry opened seemed to breathe with life, the pages sometimes whispering their contents to him, making the young boy's eyes widen in awe. The library was a treasure trove, and Harry was its eager explorer, slowly learning to read the runes and symbols with Mipsy's patient guidance.
Even the portraits seemed to watch over him with a protective gaze, their eyes following his small figure as he moved from one shelf to another, pulling down books that were nearly as big as he was.
As the days passed, Harry's understanding of magic grew, and so did his connection to his family's history. He was not just living in Potter Hall; he was becoming a part of its long, enchanting story. Each whispered secret from a book, each lesson from a portrait, wove deeper into his heart, filling him with a sense of belonging and an insatiable curiosity about the magical world that was now his to explore.
Ted Tonks, a tall and kind-looking wizard with light brown hair and a gentle demeanour, entered the imposing doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The grand hall was bustling with goblins attending to various tasks, the clinking of coins and the rustling of parchment filling the air. Ted had been here many times before for his legal work, but today's visit felt different. He was here on a special invitation from Barchoke, the Potter Accounts Manager, regarding young Harry Potter.
After a brief exchange with a goblin teller, Ted was escorted down a series of winding corridors and through several doors until they reached a spacious and somewhat austere office. Barchoke, a stern but fair goblin with sharp features and keen eyes, rose from behind his desk as Ted entered.
"Mr. Tonks," Barchoke greeted, extending a clawed hand. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Of course," Ted replied, shaking the goblin's hand. "It's not every day I get an invitation from Gringotts, especially regarding Harry Potter. What's this about?"
"Please, have a seat," Barchoke said, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk. Once they were both seated, Barchoke began. "As you know, Harry Potter is the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. However, due to the unfortunate circumstances following his parents' deaths, he has been living with his non-magical relatives, the Dursleys, who have not treated him well."
Ted's expression darkened. "I've tried to get custody of Harry many times, but I have been blocked at every turn"
Barchoke nodded. "We should look into who has been doing that. Harry has been kept ignorant of the magical world and his heritage. Recently, he displayed a significant case of accidental magic, after which he somehow was able to find his way to us. After having briefly explained his heritage to him, he was taken to our healers, who found him malnourished and suffering from untreated injuries."
Ted clenched his fists, struggling to keep his composure. "That's horrible. Where is he now? Is he safe?"
"Yes, he is safe," Barchoke assured him. "Harry is currently residing at Potter Hall, his family's ancestral home. He is beginning to learn about his heritage and the responsibilities that come with it. However, he needs more than just knowledge. He needs guidance and someone to help him navigate the complexities of our world."
Ted nodded, understanding the weight of the task ahead. "What do you need me to do?"
"Firstly," Barchoke began, "Harry's seventh birthday is approaching, and he must take up the heirship formally. This involves a ceremony that will bind him to his family's legacy and grant him access to certain magical abilities and protections. We need someone he can trust to explain this to him and guide him through the process."
"I can do that," Ted agreed. "I'll make sure he understands everything and feels comfortable with it."
"Secondly," Barchoke continued, "there are financial and legal matters to address. Harry's name and likeness have been used without proper compensation. We need to secure his rights and ensure he receives what is rightfully his. I believe your expertise in magical law will be invaluable in this regard."
Ted smiled, his determination evident. "I'll handle it. I'll make sure Harry gets every Knut he's owed."
"Finally," Barchoke said, leaning forward, "Harry needs someone to help him acclimate to the magical world. He has missed out on so much, and he needs a mentor who can teach him about our customs, our laws, and our way of life. I believe you and your family would be perfect for this role."
Ted's expression softened. "My wife, Andromeda, and I would be honoured to help Harry. We have a daughter, Nymphadora, who would love to have him around. We'll make sure he feels like part of our family while he learns about his own."
Barchoke smiled, a rare but genuine expression. "Thank you, Mr. Tonks. Your assistance will make a significant difference in Harry's life. I will provide you with all the necessary documents and arrange for you to meet with Harry at Potter Hall. It's crucial that he feels supported and prepared for the responsibilities he will soon undertake."
Ted stood, extending his hand once more. "Thank you, Barchoke. I'll do everything in my power to help Harry."
Barchoke shook Ted's hand firmly. "I have no doubt that you will. Together, we can ensure that Harry grows into the wizard his parents would have been proud of."
Ted Tonks left Gringotts with a renewed sense of purpose. He was determined not only to help Harry navigate the complexities of the magical world but also to ensure he had a strong network of allies and friends. As he walked through Diagon Alley, Ted began to formulate a plan. He knew the importance of connecting Harry with other influential families in the magical community. His first thoughts were of House Longbottom and House Greengrass, both part of The Great Alliance, a coalition of old and powerful wizarding families who had once been a strong faction in the Wizengamot.
Ted decided to start with the Longbottoms. He had known Augusta Longbottom, the formidable matriarch of the family, for many years. Her grandson, Neville, was around Harry's age and had also lost his parents to the war. Ted believed that connecting Harry and Neville could provide both boys with a sense of camaraderie and understanding.
Ted sent a letter to Augusta Longbottom, explaining briefly about Harry's life so far and requesting a meeting to discuss how they could help Harry and the possibility of arranging a playdate for Harry and Neville. Within a day, he received a positive response, inviting him to tea at Longbottom Manor.
A few days later, Ted arrived at the grand entrance of Longbottom Manor, an imposing structure with sprawling gardens filled with magical flora. Augusta Longbottom, a stern yet kind-hearted witch, greeted him warmly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tonks. It's been too long," Augusta said, ushering him into a cozy sitting room where tea was already set out.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, Augusta," Ted replied, taking a seat. "I appreciate your willingness to help."
Augusta nodded, pouring tea for both of them. "I've read your letter regarding young Harry's plight. It's disgraceful how he was treated by those Muggles. What can I do to assist?"
Ted explained the situation in detail, including Harry's current residence at Potter Hall and his need for guidance and connections within the magical community. "I was hoping you could arrange for the alliance to support House Potter in some lawsuits that I will be filing against the people who have been profiting on Harry's name. Neville and Harry could also spend some time together. They have both suffered losses and could benefit from each other's company."
Augusta's stern expression softened. "Neville has been through a lot, but he's a good boy with a kind heart. I think it would do him good to have a friend who understands his struggles. I'll arrange for a visit to Potter Hall once you've spoken to Harry and things have settled down a bit."
Ted smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Augusta. Your support means a lot. There's one more family I was hoping to reach out to—House Greengrass."
Augusta raised an eyebrow. "The Greengrasses? They're known for their neutrality and focus on traditional values. What are you thinking, Ted?"
"I believe it's important for Harry to have allies from various backgrounds," Ted explained. "The Greengrasses have a strong reputation, and their daughters, Daphne and Astoria, could also be good friends to Harry. It could be beneficial for Harry to build relationships with peers who come from different perspectives."
Augusta nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. I'll have my house-elf deliver a message to Lord Greengrass to introduce you as Harry's representative. I'm sure he'll be interested in meeting you and discussing how our families can support young Harry."
A week later, Ted found himself in the elegant drawing room of Greengrass Manor. Lord Greengrass, a stern wizard with an air of quiet authority, welcomed him graciously.
"Mr. Tonks, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I've heard about your efforts on behalf of Harry Potter. How can House Greengrass assist?"
Ted outlined Harry's situation and his plans for integrating Harry into the magical community. "I also believe that having friends like Daphne and Astoria would provide Harry with a well-rounded view of our world and help him feel more at ease."
Lord Greengrass nodded thoughtfully. "Daphne and Astoria have been raised with a strong sense of tradition and respect for all magical beings. We can arrange for them to visit Potter Hall once Heir Potter has a better understanding of the wizarding world."
Ted expressed his gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Greengrass. Your support is invaluable. With the help of families like yours and the Longbottoms, I believe we can give Harry the foundation he needs to thrive."
With arrangements made for him to get the required votes to force the companies using Harry's likeness without permission to pay House Potter for their infringement and for Harry to meet Neville Longbottom and the Greengrass sisters, Ted felt a sense of accomplishment. He knew these connections would be instrumental in helping Harry build a strong support network. As he prepared to meet Harry at Gringotts on his seventh birthday, Ted felt confident that with the help of The Great Alliance, Harry would be well-equipped to embrace his heritage and forge his own path in the magical world.
The next step was to personally speak to Harry and discuss these plans with him, ensuring he felt supported and understood. Ted knew this journey wouldn't be easy, but he was determined to help Harry every step of the way.
(While Harry was in Gringotts a few days ago)
In the dim light of his office, lined with ancient texts and powerful artefacts, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his cluttered desk, the only sounds were the soft ticking of an ornate clock and the distant calls of a phoenix. His eyes, usually twinkling with warmth and mischief, now flickered with calculations as he contemplated his next move.
The fireplace crackled suddenly, and Arabella Figg's face appeared amidst the flames, her expression fraught with urgency. "Albus," she said, her voice tense, "Harry has vanished. I've looked everywhere, but he's not in the house, and none of the neighbours have seen him since yesterday."
Dumbledore's heart skipped, not out of fear for Harry's safety, but for the precarious balance of his meticulously laid plans. "Are you certain, Arabella?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
"Yes, completely certain," she replied, her eyes wide with concern. "I fear he may have stumbled upon some old magical artefact or book and triggered something... magical."
Dumbledore stroked his beard, his mind racing through scenarios. If the Ministry got wind of Harry's disappearance, it would not only jeopardise his position but could also bring to light the uncomfortable details of Harry's upbringing under his watch. The abuse, the neglect he had wilfully overlooked for the 'greater good'—it would all come under scrutiny, and the consequences would be disastrous.
"Listen carefully, Arabella," Dumbledore began, his voice low and commanding. "We must handle this discreetly. You must continue to search, and I shall see what can be done from my end. Under no circumstances is this matter to be brought to the Ministry's attention—not yet."
"But Albus, what if he's in danger?" Arabella's voice cracked with panic.
Dumbledore's gaze hardened, though his voice remained calm. "I will call on the Order to help search for the boy. Our primary concern must be to keep this quiet. He has enemies who would exploit this situation to their advantage."
As he spoke, Dumbledore couldn't help but think of the greater war at play, the delicate threads he was pulling to shape the future. Harry was central to everything—his survival crucial. Yet, in this moment, Dumbledore felt the old, familiar sting of guilt. He was, once again, choosing the many over the one.
He closed his eyes briefly, wrestling with the Machiavellian calculus that had defined much of his life. When he opened them again, they were resolute. "I will look into a few... unconventional methods to locate him. Perhaps a few discreet inquiries to those who operate in the shadows of our world. Pay attention to any signs or omens. Harry is tied to deeper magics, and they may give us clues to his whereabouts."
Arabella nodded, her face still etched with worry. "Very well, Albus. I trust your judgement."
As the flames died down, leaving Dumbledore alone with his thoughts, he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his decisions pressing down upon him. He had walked this fine line many times before—balancing the greater good against the individual costs. Each decision, each sacrifice, was a mark upon his soul, a ledger book he feared to one day reckon.
With a weary sigh, he reached for a small, silver instrument on his desk, its purpose known only to him. As he set it into motion, its gentle chimes filled the room, weaving a spell of seeking looking for Harry's location, only for it to turn up blank, implying he was behind powerful wards. Dumbledore watched it for a moment, his mind far away, before turning to pen a letter to an old contact in Knockturn Alley.
As he sat in his office, the light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the stone floor, illuminating the troubled lines that marked his aged face. The news of Harry's disappearance had come at the most inopportune time, complicating the delicate web of plans he had so carefully constructed. His mind raced through the various implications and necessary adjustments, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and concern.
He stood and paced before the large windows, hands clasped behind his back, gaze distant. Dumbledore was fully aware of the deep injustice he had allowed to fester—a decision that haunted him more than he cared to admit. Sirius Black, the rightful guardian of Harry Potter, languished in Azkaban, convicted without a trial, based largely on circumstantial evidence and Dumbledore's calculated inaction.
As he pondered his next steps, Dumbledore's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Fawkes, his phoenix, who fluttered to his desk, a silent witness to his inner turmoil. Dumbledore paused, the sight of the phoenix reminding him of the capacity for renewal and change. Yet, the path he had chosen was a dark and solitary one.
Dumbledore moved to his desk and pulled out a hidden drawer, revealing a series of complex documents and notes—plans within plans, all centred around the boy who lived. With a heavy sigh, he reviewed the information on Sirius once more, his actions—or lack thereof—weighing heavily on him. He had known, even then, that Sirius had been more scapegoat than perpetrator, yet he had allowed fear and the public's clamour for vengeance to dictate the course of justice. Sirius was impulsive, certainly, but not a traitor. Dumbledore had seen it in his eyes, the shock and horror, not the coldness of a murderer.
"The greater good," he muttered to himself, the phrase tasting bitter on his tongue. It was a rationale that had justified many decisions, some dark, some light, and it was the bedrock of his plan to protect Harry from the far-reaching shadows of Voldemort. But at what cost? Now, with Harry missing, the fabric of his carefully laid plans was unravelling.
Dumbledore sat down and penned a note with a steady hand. It was not to the Ministry—no, he could not trust them not to blunder through this with their usual lack of finesse, nor could he draw their attention to the fact that he had been the one the one to take charge of young Harry's safety. Instead, he wrote to Remus Lupin, an old member of the Order of the Phoenix, whose loyalty and discretion were beyond reproach. Remus could initiate a search without attracting undue attention, navigating the shadows of the magical world more adeptly than most.
As he sealed the letter with a dab of wax, Dumbledore allowed himself a moment of regret. Sirius should have been here, looking after his godson, protecting him as James and Lily would have wanted. But Dumbledore had seen too many pieces moving on the board; he had made a choice to control the game from behind the scenes, to keep Harry safely hidden until he was ready to face his destiny. Sirius, with his reckless bravery and fierce loyalty, was too much of a wildcard.
Fawkes let out a soft, melodic trill, a sound that seemed to carry both comfort and a reminder of the burdens of those who lead. Dumbledore looked at the phoenix, his eyes tired yet resolute.
"We must do what we can to mend the threads we've broken, my old friend," he whispered.
With the letter in hand, Dumbledore strode from his office, his robes swirling around him. The corridors of Hogwarts felt especially empty this evening, echoing with the weight of coming decisions. Dumbledore knew that his actions would be judged in time, and he could only hope that history would understand the necessity behind the sacrifices made.
As the last light of day faded from the sky, Dumbledore dispatched the letter with a sense of urgency. The game was changing, and he had to adapt. For Harry's sake, for the sake of all they had fought to protect, he would have to face the consequences of his decisions—sooner or later.
The Heir's Journey Begins
New
As the weeks passed, Harry Potter found himself increasingly comfortable in the grandeur of Potter Hall. The days were filled with learning and exploration, guided by the ever-helpful Mipsy and the wise portraits of his ancestors. He had learned so much about his family's legacy, the basics of magic, and the enchanted grounds of his ancestral home. The sprawling estate felt like a treasure trove of secrets waiting to be uncovered, and each day brought a new discovery.
One bright morning, just a few days before his seventh birthday, Harry woke to find a small, neatly wrapped package on his bedside table. Attached to it was a letter bearing the seal of Gringotts. His heart raced with anticipation as he opened the letter and began to read.
Dear Heir Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that the necessary preparations for your treatment have been completed. Your scheduled appointment with our healers and curse breakers is set for the day before your seventh birthday. The ritual will be performed to remove any lingering curses and ensure your well-being.
Furthermore, we are delighted to introduce you to Mr. Ted Tonks, an attorney I had mentioned to you in our previous meeting, will be overseeing your legal affairs and guiding you through the formalities of your heirship. Mr. Tonks will meet you at Gringotts on the same day to discuss the unsealing of your parents' will and other important matters.
Please ensure you arrive at Gringotts at 10:00 AM. Mipsy can assist you with any travel arrangements if needed.
Yours sincerely,
Barchoke
Potter Accounts Manager
Gringotts Wizarding Bank
Harry felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as he finished reading the letter. He had heard about Mr. Tonks from Barchoke and was eager to meet him and discuss the unsealing of his parents' will. He also knew that the upcoming ritual would be significant for his health and future.
The day of the appointment arrived quickly. Mipsy helped Harry prepare, ensuring he was dressed in his best clothes and ready for the journey to Diagon Alley. The morning sun cast a golden glow over Potter Hall as Harry and Mipsy walked to the grand fireplace in the main hall. The portraits lining the walls seemed to watch with approval as Harry took a pinch of Floo powder from Mipsy.
"Remember, Master Harry, speak clearly," Mipsy advised, her large eyes filled with concern and pride.
Harry nodded, a determined look on his face. "Gringotts," he said clearly, tossing the powder into the flames and stepping into the green fire.
The journey through the Floo Network was a whirlwind of colours and sounds. Harry stumbled out of the fireplace at Gringotts, greeted by the imposing grandeur of the goblin-run bank. The marble floors gleamed under the bright chandeliers, and the air was filled with the sounds of quills scratching on parchment and the clinking of coins.
Sharptooth, a goblin Harry had come to recognize, greeted him with a sharp-toothed grin. "Welcome, Heir Potter. Follow me."
Harry followed Sharptooth through the grand bank halls, marvelling at the intricate carvings and gold inlays that adorned the walls. They entered a private meeting room where Barchoke was already waiting.
Barchoke stepped forward, a warm yet formal smile on his face. "Welcome, Heir Potter. It is good to see you again."
"Hello, Barchoke," Harry replied with a smile. "Thank you for helping me with everything."
"It is our honor, Heir Potter," Barchoke said, his tone respectful. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Edward Tonks."
Ted Tonks, a tall, kind-looking wizard with light brown hair and a gentle smile, stepped forward and extended his hand. "Hello, Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
"Hello, Mr. Tonks," Harry replied, shaking his hand. "Thank you for coming."
"Please, call me Ted," he said, smiling. "We have a lot to discuss today, but first, let's focus on your treatment."
Harry was led deeper into Gringotts, descending into the ancient tunnels that twisted and turned beneath the bank. The air grew cooler, and the light dimmer, lit only by the glowing runes etched into the walls. They reached a chamber that felt ancient, the stone walls covered in intricate carvings and the floor inlaid with powerful runes. In the centre of the room stood a large, ornate basin.
Barchoke and several goblin curse breakers awaited them, their expressions serious and focused. The room hummed with an almost palpable energy, the air thick with the scent of ancient magic. A goblin healer, Freylka, was present, her demeanour professional and calm.
"Harry," Barchoke began, "this ritual will remove any lingering dark magic from your scar and address a parasitic leech on your magic that has been powering the wards at Privet Drive. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it is necessary for your well-being."
Freylka stepped forward and smiled reassuringly at Harry. "Hello, Heir Potter. I will be overseeing your treatment. This process is essential for your health and future magical development. The removal of the dark magic and the leech will help you regain your strength and clarity."
Harry nodded, feeling a bit nervous but determined. He lay down on a stone slab as the goblins began chanting in their ancient language. The runes on the walls glowed with a golden light, and Harry felt a tingling sensation in his scar.
As the chanting grew in intensity, the magic around the room moved towards the stone slab, buoyed by their words of safety, healing, purging and exorcism. The magic seemed to pulse in tune with their chants, as it scanned Harry in the centre of the field.
As the magic scanned through Harry's body, it touched upon all facets of it, looking for any taint, any lingering foreign magic which was present in him. It scanned him of past curses, and divined the intent behind the magic imbued in him.
Harry, feeling the magic flowing into him, was suddenly aware of what the magic was doing, as if the ritual was telling him what he was experiencing, he could feel the magic start at his extremities in his toes, slowly moving up and going through his body. With a start, he realised that there was another magic filling his body, it felt protective and warm, almost like how he imagined a mother's hug would feel, he realised it was probably the magic from his mother's sacrifice, he could feel its intent, and he almost cried right then.
He could feel his mother's sacrifice spread through his body, filling him with her love and her desire to protect him. He saw how his mother's magic was also healing him when he got hurt, guiding his own magic to help himself heal better. He focused on that, not wanting to forget this feeling. He focused with all of his mind to remember the feel of his mother's magic so that he could find it later.
The ritual magic kept moving on, from his legs to his arms and torso, until it reached his heart. He found another magic there, almost like a leech, draining his magic, but more importantly, his mother's magic.
Looking at it, he could see that it was sucking up both his own and his mother's magic. He could feel the leech mixing up both of the magics, converting it into some form of protection and sending it outwards away from his body, which left the ritual magic confused. While the leech was sucking away magic, it was also giving a form of protection, so the ritual magic ignored it and moved on.
Deciding to trust the ritual, Harry decided to go with the flow, and affirmed to ask the goblins about the leech later. As it slowly moved up his neck and to his head, he realised with a start that his mother's magic was thinning here. Almost like a current which was flowing from all over his body to his head, but was becoming stronger here, strong enough for it to be noticed.
Following her magic, he found the flow of her magic focus on his forehead, around the scar, where he felt something evil, a malignant magic which was trying to latch onto him, while his mother's magic blocked its advances. He observed his mother's magic, and feeling the influx of the ritual magic almost as if sensing the purpose of the ritual, guided the magic towards the scar.
As the ritual magic encountered the scar, it was roused into action, bolstering the efforts of his mother's magic and starting to break the hold the evil magic had over him. The miasma fought back, almost as if something intelligent was guiding it. It managed to read the intent of the ritual, and moved to disguise itself, almost as if it knew that the ritual could be influenced. The malignant magic also started to confuse the scanning enchantments of the ritual, trying to make it see his mother's magic as harmful and to be purged.
Angered by that, he wished his own magic could help his mother's magic. He could feel his mother's magic startle, as if surprised, before swelling up in love and joy, as it guided his own magic. Together, his own, his mother's and the ritual's magic, all pushed at the dark presence until it lost all of its connections and was completely pushed out of him.
The chanting grew louder, filling the room with a resonant hum. Harry's scar began to throb painfully, the tingling sensation turning into sharp, stabbing pains. He clenched his fists, trying to stay still as the pain intensified. A dark, shadowy mist began to rise from his scar, swirling above him before dissipating into the air. The pain subsided, replaced by a feeling of lightness and relief.
Harry blinks his eyes open and looks around, trying to get to his feet because he was feeling restless.
Freylka hurries to keep him on the bed "Stay there child, the treatment isn't complete yet. How did the first part feel? Is there anything that hurts?"
Harry, annoyed at having to stay on the bed for longer "I feel lighter than I have ever felt before. I felt three different types of magic other than my own, one I think was from my mother's sacrifice, a different magic which almost felt like it was draining both mine and my mother's magic, and a third black miasmic magic which almost felt like it had a mind of its own, it was trying to fight both mine and the ritual's power to stay on inside me."
Both Freylka and Barchoke are slightly shocked at Harry's ability to sense everything that was happening, which even grown adults could very rarely comprehend. Freylka soothes Harry saying "The dark miasmic magic was the residue from the killing curse that we found when you were last here, a small part of the dark lord's power got trapped in your scar, the whole ritual was to sever that part and purge it from your magic."
Deciding that Harry's newfound ability can be better explained to him at a later time, Barchoke stepped forward with a small, intricate device that pulsed with a soft, blue light. "Now that the residue is removed, we can proceed to the next part. This device will help us locate and remove the tap on your magic, which you felt was draining your magic. The tap is powering a protective ward over your relatives house" he explained.
Harry felt a slight pressure in his chest as the device was placed over his heart. The goblins resumed their chanting, and a faint, dark tendril began to emerge from Harry's chest, writhing as it was pulled away from his body. The tendril dissipated into nothingness, and Harry felt an immediate surge of strength and clarity.
Freylka observed Harry closely throughout the process. Once it was complete, she turned to Ted. "Mr. Tonks, it is important to note that Heir Potter has been suffering from malnutrition. He will need a course of nutrient potions to help him recover fully. I recommend starting with a basic nutrient potion, taken daily for the next three months."
Ted nodded, his expression serious. "Thank you, Healer Freylka. We'll make sure he gets what he needs."
Freylka documented the entire process meticulously, noting the details for future reference. "It is done, Heir Potter. The curse has been removed, and the parasitic leech has been extracted. This documentation will be useful should Mr. Tonks need it to secure your independence from Dumbledore."
Harry sat up, feeling a strange sense of clarity and strength. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"Now," Barchoke continued, "it is time for you to formally accept your heirship."
Harry was led to a different chamber, where a pedestal held the three rings of the Potter family. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with a sense of ancient power. The rings were intricately designed, each with a different gemstone representing the legacy of the Potters. The first had a deep green emerald, the second a fiery red ruby, and the third a sapphire blue as clear as the sky.
"Place your hand over the ring, Harry," Barchoke instructed. "When you are ready, accept your role as Heir Potter."
Harry took a deep breath and placed his hand over the heirship ring. The ring glowed with a brilliant light, and he felt a warm energy flowing through him. He can feel the magic of his ancestors niggling through him, almost playfully, as if recognizing he is indeed their descendant, finally he felt a sense of acceptance and the ring resized itself to fit his finger perfectly.
"I, Harry James Potter, accept my role as Heir Potter," he declared, his voice steady and clear.
The light faded, and the ring settled comfortably on his finger. Barchoke nodded in approval. "You are now officially recognized as Heir Potter. Congratulations."
Ted stepped forward, smiling. "Well done, Harry. Now, let's discuss your parents' will."
In the meeting room, Ted laid out several documents. The room was warmly lit, the wooden table polished to a high shine. Large windows allowed the morning light to stream in, casting a golden glow over the papers spread before them.
"Harry, your parents' will has been sealed for years, but now that you are officially recognized as Heir Potter, we can petition to have it unsealed. This will allow us to fulfil their wishes and ensure you receive everything they intended for you."
Harry nodded, feeling a mix of emotions. "What do we need to do?"
"We need to submit a formal request to the Wizengamot," Ted explained. "I'll handle the legal aspects, but your presence and approval are essential. We also need to gather any evidence that supports your claim."
Harry listened carefully, his determination growing. "Let's do it."
Ted smiled. "Very well. I'll start the paperwork immediately. In the meantime, continue your studies and enjoy your birthday. We'll ensure that everything is in place for the hearing."
As the meeting drew to a close, Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose and confidence. He had taken significant steps towards understanding his heritage and securing his future. With the support of Ted, Barchoke, and the legacy of the Potters, Harry knew he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
The journey had only just begun, but Harry was prepared to embrace his destiny and honor the legacy of his parents.
After the formalities at Gringotts were completed, Ted looked at Harry with a warm smile. "How about we take a little tour of Diagon Alley? It's a special place, full of wonders. I think you'll enjoy it."
Harry's eyes lit up with excitement. "I'd love that, Ted."
They stepped out of Gringotts and into the bustling street of Diagon Alley. The cobblestone path was filled with witches and wizards going about their business, and the air buzzed with chatter and laughter. Harry took in the sight of shops selling all kinds of magical items.
Ted pointed to a nearby shop with a large sign that read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." "That's Ollivanders, Harry. It's where you'll get your wand when you're ready for Hogwarts. Every wizard needs a wand to channel their magic."
Harry stared at the shop with wide eyes, imagining the day he would get his own wand. They continued walking, passing shops with enchanted books, potions ingredients, and magical creatures.
"Here we have Flourish and Blotts," Ted said, pointing to a large bookstore. "It's the best place to find any book you might need for your studies."
As they walked, Ted shared stories about the various shops and their histories, filling Harry's mind with a sense of wonder and excitement. They passed by Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where young witches and wizards were being fitted for school robes.
As they strolled through the bustling alley, Ted paused and pointed to an apothecary called Slug and Jiggers. "We need to stop here for a moment, Harry. We have to get your nutrient potions."
They entered the shop, where the air was thick with the scent of various herbs and magical ingredients. Shelves lined with potions and vials filled the space, and a wizened old wizard stood behind the counter.
"Good afternoon," Ted greeted the shopkeeper. "We need to place an order for a three-month supply of nutrient potions for young Harry, here is the prescription that was given to him by the healer"
The shopkeeper peered over his spectacles at Harry, then nodded. "Of course. I'll prepare the order right away. When will you be collecting them?"
Ted smiled. "Harry's house elf, Mipsy, will collect them when they're ready."
The shopkeeper made a note of the order and nodded. "Very well. The potions will be ready in a few days."
With their business at the apothecary concluded, Ted and Harry continued their tour of Diagon Alley. Finally, they arrived at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The shop had a cheerful, inviting atmosphere, with colorful ice cream flavors displayed in the windows. Ted led Harry inside, and they were greeted by the pleasant scent of freshly made ice cream.
Sitting at a corner table were two women: one with dark hair and a kind smile, and the other with bright, bubblegum-pink hair that changed colors with her mood. Ted waved to them, and they stood up to greet Harry.
"Harry, I'd like you to meet my wife, Andromeda, and our daughter, Nymphadora," Ted said, introducing the two women.
"Hello, Harry," Andromeda said warmly, giving him a gentle hug. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."
Nymphadora, who seemed just a few years older than Harry, grinned widely. "Hi, Harry! You can call me Tonks. Everyone does."
Harry smiled shyly. "Hello, Mrs. Tonks. Hello, Tonks."
"Please, call me Andromeda," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Let's sit and have some ice cream. There's so much I want to tell you."
They all sat down, and Florean Fortescue himself came over to take their orders. Harry chose a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of raspberry, delighted by the vibrant colors and flavors.
As they enjoyed their ice cream, Andromeda began to tell Harry about her connection to his family. "I knew your father when he was at Hogwarts. Although we weren't close then, we became good friends after I was banished from the Black family because I married Ted, who is a Muggle-born."
She paused, her eyes softening. "Your parents, James and Lily, were incredibly kind to us. They supported us and helped us when we needed it most, upon Sirius' request."
Harry looked up, his curiosity piqued. "Sirius?"
Andromeda nodded. "Sirius Black. He was your father's best friend and your godfather. Unfortunately, after your parents were killed, Sirius was accused of betraying them and was sent to Azkaban, the strongest prison in the magical world in the United Kingdom, without a trial."
Harry's eyes widened in shock. He did not know he had a Godfather, though he had heard Sirius being mentioned in some stories his grandparents had told him about his father. He wasn't sure how to feel about the possibility that his father's best friend was one of the reason's he had to grow up as an orphan. He knew that any doubt could be cleared up with a trial and said the same to Andromeda. "But everybody deserves a trial, how can his guilt be confirmed without one?"
Andromeda's expression turned serious. "I've always suspected that Sirius was innocent. He was devoted to your parents and loved you dearly. The lack of a trial makes me believe that there was more to the story."
Harry felt a surge of determination. "We have to help him, then. We have to find out the truth."
Ted placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "We will, Harry. With your heirship recognized, we have the means to investigate further. We'll work together to uncover the truth."
Nymphadora, or Tonks, gave Harry a supportive smile. "And I'll be here to help too. We're family now, and we'll stand by you no matter what."
Harry looked around at the faces filled with kindness and determination. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly hopeful. With the support of Ted, Andromeda, and Tonks, he knew he could face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As they finished their ice cream, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over Diagon Alley. Ted looked at Harry and said, "How about we head to Potter Hall now? There's something special we need to discuss there."
After finishing at Fortescue's, they all traveled to Potter Hall. The familiar grandeur of the estate greeted Harry warmly, and the sight of the grand hall filled him with a sense of pride and belonging. Mipsy was waiting for them, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Welcome back, Master Harry," she said, bowing slightly. "Welcome, Mr. Tonks, Mrs. Tonks, and Miss Tonks."
"Thank you, Mipsy," Andromeda replied with a smile. "It's wonderful to be here."
Ted and Andromeda looked around, impressed by the grandeur of the hall. "It's beautiful, Harry," Ted said. "You have a remarkable home."
"Come, let's go to the portrait gallery," Harry suggested, leading them through the hallways to the room where the portraits of his ancestors were displayed.
As they entered the gallery, the portraits came to life, greeting Harry warmly. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter's portraits beamed with pride.
"Harry, it's good to see you," Fleamont said.
"And you've brought friends," Euphemia added, her eyes twinkling.
"Yes, these are Mr. Edward Tonks and Mrs. Andromeda Tonks and their daughter, Nymphadora," Harry introduced them.
Andromeda stepped forward, her expression respectful. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Your family has been very important to us."
Fleamont and Euphemia exchanged a pleased look. "Andromeda, thank you for coming. We have a favor to ask of you," Fleamont said.
"Of course," Andromeda replied. "Anything to help Harry."
Euphemia's portrait leaned forward slightly. "Harry needs to understand the wizarding world, its history, customs, and the responsibilities that come with his heritage. We would be grateful if you could help teach him."
Andromeda smiled warmly. "I'd be honored. I'll come once a week to teach Harry about the different aspects of the wizarding world."
Harry's face lit up with excitement. "Thank you, Andromeda!"
"And I can come too," Tonks said eagerly. "I can teach you about the more fun things, like Quidditch, different wizarding games like Gobstones and wizard chess."
Harry grinned widely. "That sounds brilliant, Tonks!"
Ted placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've got a lot of people who care about you, Harry. We're all here to help you on this journey."
As they stood in the gallery, surrounded by the warm and supportive presence of his new family and the legacy of his ancestors, Harry felt a profound sense of belonging and purpose. He was ready to embrace his destiny, honour his parents' legacy, and uncover the truth about his godfather. With Andromeda and Tonks by his side, he knew he could face whatever challenges lay ahead.
The journey had only just begun, but Harry was prepared to step into his role as Heir Potter with confidence and determination. Together, they would uncover the truth, uphold the legacy of the Potters, and create a future filled with hope and possibility.
One bright morning, just a few days before his seventh birthday, Harry woke to find a small, neatly wrapped package on his bedside table. Attached to it was a letter bearing the seal of Gringotts. His heart raced with anticipation as he opened the letter and began to read.
Dear Heir Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that the necessary preparations for your treatment have been completed. Your scheduled appointment with our healers and curse breakers is set for the day before your seventh birthday. The ritual will be performed to remove any lingering curses and ensure your well-being.
Furthermore, we are delighted to introduce you to Mr. Ted Tonks, an attorney I had mentioned to you in our previous meeting, will be overseeing your legal affairs and guiding you through the formalities of your heirship. Mr. Tonks will meet you at Gringotts on the same day to discuss the unsealing of your parents' will and other important matters.
Please ensure you arrive at Gringotts at 10:00 AM. Mipsy can assist you with any travel arrangements if needed.
Yours sincerely,
Barchoke
Potter Accounts Manager
Gringotts Wizarding Bank
Harry felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as he finished reading the letter. He had heard about Mr. Tonks from Barchoke and was eager to meet him and discuss the unsealing of his parents' will. He also knew that the upcoming ritual would be significant for his health and future.
The day of the appointment arrived quickly. Mipsy helped Harry prepare, ensuring he was dressed in his best clothes and ready for the journey to Diagon Alley. The morning sun cast a golden glow over Potter Hall as Harry and Mipsy walked to the grand fireplace in the main hall. The portraits lining the walls seemed to watch with approval as Harry took a pinch of Floo powder from Mipsy.
"Remember, Master Harry, speak clearly," Mipsy advised, her large eyes filled with concern and pride.
Harry nodded, a determined look on his face. "Gringotts," he said clearly, tossing the powder into the flames and stepping into the green fire.
The journey through the Floo Network was a whirlwind of colours and sounds. Harry stumbled out of the fireplace at Gringotts, greeted by the imposing grandeur of the goblin-run bank. The marble floors gleamed under the bright chandeliers, and the air was filled with the sounds of quills scratching on parchment and the clinking of coins.
Sharptooth, a goblin Harry had come to recognize, greeted him with a sharp-toothed grin. "Welcome, Heir Potter. Follow me."
Harry followed Sharptooth through the grand bank halls, marvelling at the intricate carvings and gold inlays that adorned the walls. They entered a private meeting room where Barchoke was already waiting.
Barchoke stepped forward, a warm yet formal smile on his face. "Welcome, Heir Potter. It is good to see you again."
"Hello, Barchoke," Harry replied with a smile. "Thank you for helping me with everything."
"It is our honor, Heir Potter," Barchoke said, his tone respectful. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Edward Tonks."
Ted Tonks, a tall, kind-looking wizard with light brown hair and a gentle smile, stepped forward and extended his hand. "Hello, Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
"Hello, Mr. Tonks," Harry replied, shaking his hand. "Thank you for coming."
"Please, call me Ted," he said, smiling. "We have a lot to discuss today, but first, let's focus on your treatment."
Harry was led deeper into Gringotts, descending into the ancient tunnels that twisted and turned beneath the bank. The air grew cooler, and the light dimmer, lit only by the glowing runes etched into the walls. They reached a chamber that felt ancient, the stone walls covered in intricate carvings and the floor inlaid with powerful runes. In the centre of the room stood a large, ornate basin.
Barchoke and several goblin curse breakers awaited them, their expressions serious and focused. The room hummed with an almost palpable energy, the air thick with the scent of ancient magic. A goblin healer, Freylka, was present, her demeanour professional and calm.
"Harry," Barchoke began, "this ritual will remove any lingering dark magic from your scar and address a parasitic leech on your magic that has been powering the wards at Privet Drive. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it is necessary for your well-being."
Freylka stepped forward and smiled reassuringly at Harry. "Hello, Heir Potter. I will be overseeing your treatment. This process is essential for your health and future magical development. The removal of the dark magic and the leech will help you regain your strength and clarity."
Harry nodded, feeling a bit nervous but determined. He lay down on a stone slab as the goblins began chanting in their ancient language. The runes on the walls glowed with a golden light, and Harry felt a tingling sensation in his scar.
As the chanting grew in intensity, the magic around the room moved towards the stone slab, buoyed by their words of safety, healing, purging and exorcism. The magic seemed to pulse in tune with their chants, as it scanned Harry in the centre of the field.
As the magic scanned through Harry's body, it touched upon all facets of it, looking for any taint, any lingering foreign magic which was present in him. It scanned him of past curses, and divined the intent behind the magic imbued in him.
Harry, feeling the magic flowing into him, was suddenly aware of what the magic was doing, as if the ritual was telling him what he was experiencing, he could feel the magic start at his extremities in his toes, slowly moving up and going through his body. With a start, he realised that there was another magic filling his body, it felt protective and warm, almost like how he imagined a mother's hug would feel, he realised it was probably the magic from his mother's sacrifice, he could feel its intent, and he almost cried right then.
He could feel his mother's sacrifice spread through his body, filling him with her love and her desire to protect him. He saw how his mother's magic was also healing him when he got hurt, guiding his own magic to help himself heal better. He focused on that, not wanting to forget this feeling. He focused with all of his mind to remember the feel of his mother's magic so that he could find it later.
The ritual magic kept moving on, from his legs to his arms and torso, until it reached his heart. He found another magic there, almost like a leech, draining his magic, but more importantly, his mother's magic.
Looking at it, he could see that it was sucking up both his own and his mother's magic. He could feel the leech mixing up both of the magics, converting it into some form of protection and sending it outwards away from his body, which left the ritual magic confused. While the leech was sucking away magic, it was also giving a form of protection, so the ritual magic ignored it and moved on.
Deciding to trust the ritual, Harry decided to go with the flow, and affirmed to ask the goblins about the leech later. As it slowly moved up his neck and to his head, he realised with a start that his mother's magic was thinning here. Almost like a current which was flowing from all over his body to his head, but was becoming stronger here, strong enough for it to be noticed.
Following her magic, he found the flow of her magic focus on his forehead, around the scar, where he felt something evil, a malignant magic which was trying to latch onto him, while his mother's magic blocked its advances. He observed his mother's magic, and feeling the influx of the ritual magic almost as if sensing the purpose of the ritual, guided the magic towards the scar.
As the ritual magic encountered the scar, it was roused into action, bolstering the efforts of his mother's magic and starting to break the hold the evil magic had over him. The miasma fought back, almost as if something intelligent was guiding it. It managed to read the intent of the ritual, and moved to disguise itself, almost as if it knew that the ritual could be influenced. The malignant magic also started to confuse the scanning enchantments of the ritual, trying to make it see his mother's magic as harmful and to be purged.
Angered by that, he wished his own magic could help his mother's magic. He could feel his mother's magic startle, as if surprised, before swelling up in love and joy, as it guided his own magic. Together, his own, his mother's and the ritual's magic, all pushed at the dark presence until it lost all of its connections and was completely pushed out of him.
The chanting grew louder, filling the room with a resonant hum. Harry's scar began to throb painfully, the tingling sensation turning into sharp, stabbing pains. He clenched his fists, trying to stay still as the pain intensified. A dark, shadowy mist began to rise from his scar, swirling above him before dissipating into the air. The pain subsided, replaced by a feeling of lightness and relief.
Harry blinks his eyes open and looks around, trying to get to his feet because he was feeling restless.
Freylka hurries to keep him on the bed "Stay there child, the treatment isn't complete yet. How did the first part feel? Is there anything that hurts?"
Harry, annoyed at having to stay on the bed for longer "I feel lighter than I have ever felt before. I felt three different types of magic other than my own, one I think was from my mother's sacrifice, a different magic which almost felt like it was draining both mine and my mother's magic, and a third black miasmic magic which almost felt like it had a mind of its own, it was trying to fight both mine and the ritual's power to stay on inside me."
Both Freylka and Barchoke are slightly shocked at Harry's ability to sense everything that was happening, which even grown adults could very rarely comprehend. Freylka soothes Harry saying "The dark miasmic magic was the residue from the killing curse that we found when you were last here, a small part of the dark lord's power got trapped in your scar, the whole ritual was to sever that part and purge it from your magic."
Deciding that Harry's newfound ability can be better explained to him at a later time, Barchoke stepped forward with a small, intricate device that pulsed with a soft, blue light. "Now that the residue is removed, we can proceed to the next part. This device will help us locate and remove the tap on your magic, which you felt was draining your magic. The tap is powering a protective ward over your relatives house" he explained.
Harry felt a slight pressure in his chest as the device was placed over his heart. The goblins resumed their chanting, and a faint, dark tendril began to emerge from Harry's chest, writhing as it was pulled away from his body. The tendril dissipated into nothingness, and Harry felt an immediate surge of strength and clarity.
Freylka observed Harry closely throughout the process. Once it was complete, she turned to Ted. "Mr. Tonks, it is important to note that Heir Potter has been suffering from malnutrition. He will need a course of nutrient potions to help him recover fully. I recommend starting with a basic nutrient potion, taken daily for the next three months."
Ted nodded, his expression serious. "Thank you, Healer Freylka. We'll make sure he gets what he needs."
Freylka documented the entire process meticulously, noting the details for future reference. "It is done, Heir Potter. The curse has been removed, and the parasitic leech has been extracted. This documentation will be useful should Mr. Tonks need it to secure your independence from Dumbledore."
Harry sat up, feeling a strange sense of clarity and strength. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"Now," Barchoke continued, "it is time for you to formally accept your heirship."
Harry was led to a different chamber, where a pedestal held the three rings of the Potter family. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with a sense of ancient power. The rings were intricately designed, each with a different gemstone representing the legacy of the Potters. The first had a deep green emerald, the second a fiery red ruby, and the third a sapphire blue as clear as the sky.
"Place your hand over the ring, Harry," Barchoke instructed. "When you are ready, accept your role as Heir Potter."
Harry took a deep breath and placed his hand over the heirship ring. The ring glowed with a brilliant light, and he felt a warm energy flowing through him. He can feel the magic of his ancestors niggling through him, almost playfully, as if recognizing he is indeed their descendant, finally he felt a sense of acceptance and the ring resized itself to fit his finger perfectly.
"I, Harry James Potter, accept my role as Heir Potter," he declared, his voice steady and clear.
The light faded, and the ring settled comfortably on his finger. Barchoke nodded in approval. "You are now officially recognized as Heir Potter. Congratulations."
Ted stepped forward, smiling. "Well done, Harry. Now, let's discuss your parents' will."
In the meeting room, Ted laid out several documents. The room was warmly lit, the wooden table polished to a high shine. Large windows allowed the morning light to stream in, casting a golden glow over the papers spread before them.
"Harry, your parents' will has been sealed for years, but now that you are officially recognized as Heir Potter, we can petition to have it unsealed. This will allow us to fulfil their wishes and ensure you receive everything they intended for you."
Harry nodded, feeling a mix of emotions. "What do we need to do?"
"We need to submit a formal request to the Wizengamot," Ted explained. "I'll handle the legal aspects, but your presence and approval are essential. We also need to gather any evidence that supports your claim."
Harry listened carefully, his determination growing. "Let's do it."
Ted smiled. "Very well. I'll start the paperwork immediately. In the meantime, continue your studies and enjoy your birthday. We'll ensure that everything is in place for the hearing."
As the meeting drew to a close, Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose and confidence. He had taken significant steps towards understanding his heritage and securing his future. With the support of Ted, Barchoke, and the legacy of the Potters, Harry knew he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
The journey had only just begun, but Harry was prepared to embrace his destiny and honor the legacy of his parents.
After the formalities at Gringotts were completed, Ted looked at Harry with a warm smile. "How about we take a little tour of Diagon Alley? It's a special place, full of wonders. I think you'll enjoy it."
Harry's eyes lit up with excitement. "I'd love that, Ted."
They stepped out of Gringotts and into the bustling street of Diagon Alley. The cobblestone path was filled with witches and wizards going about their business, and the air buzzed with chatter and laughter. Harry took in the sight of shops selling all kinds of magical items.
Ted pointed to a nearby shop with a large sign that read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." "That's Ollivanders, Harry. It's where you'll get your wand when you're ready for Hogwarts. Every wizard needs a wand to channel their magic."
Harry stared at the shop with wide eyes, imagining the day he would get his own wand. They continued walking, passing shops with enchanted books, potions ingredients, and magical creatures.
"Here we have Flourish and Blotts," Ted said, pointing to a large bookstore. "It's the best place to find any book you might need for your studies."
As they walked, Ted shared stories about the various shops and their histories, filling Harry's mind with a sense of wonder and excitement. They passed by Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where young witches and wizards were being fitted for school robes.
As they strolled through the bustling alley, Ted paused and pointed to an apothecary called Slug and Jiggers. "We need to stop here for a moment, Harry. We have to get your nutrient potions."
They entered the shop, where the air was thick with the scent of various herbs and magical ingredients. Shelves lined with potions and vials filled the space, and a wizened old wizard stood behind the counter.
"Good afternoon," Ted greeted the shopkeeper. "We need to place an order for a three-month supply of nutrient potions for young Harry, here is the prescription that was given to him by the healer"
The shopkeeper peered over his spectacles at Harry, then nodded. "Of course. I'll prepare the order right away. When will you be collecting them?"
Ted smiled. "Harry's house elf, Mipsy, will collect them when they're ready."
The shopkeeper made a note of the order and nodded. "Very well. The potions will be ready in a few days."
With their business at the apothecary concluded, Ted and Harry continued their tour of Diagon Alley. Finally, they arrived at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The shop had a cheerful, inviting atmosphere, with colorful ice cream flavors displayed in the windows. Ted led Harry inside, and they were greeted by the pleasant scent of freshly made ice cream.
Sitting at a corner table were two women: one with dark hair and a kind smile, and the other with bright, bubblegum-pink hair that changed colors with her mood. Ted waved to them, and they stood up to greet Harry.
"Harry, I'd like you to meet my wife, Andromeda, and our daughter, Nymphadora," Ted said, introducing the two women.
"Hello, Harry," Andromeda said warmly, giving him a gentle hug. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."
Nymphadora, who seemed just a few years older than Harry, grinned widely. "Hi, Harry! You can call me Tonks. Everyone does."
Harry smiled shyly. "Hello, Mrs. Tonks. Hello, Tonks."
"Please, call me Andromeda," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Let's sit and have some ice cream. There's so much I want to tell you."
They all sat down, and Florean Fortescue himself came over to take their orders. Harry chose a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of raspberry, delighted by the vibrant colors and flavors.
As they enjoyed their ice cream, Andromeda began to tell Harry about her connection to his family. "I knew your father when he was at Hogwarts. Although we weren't close then, we became good friends after I was banished from the Black family because I married Ted, who is a Muggle-born."
She paused, her eyes softening. "Your parents, James and Lily, were incredibly kind to us. They supported us and helped us when we needed it most, upon Sirius' request."
Harry looked up, his curiosity piqued. "Sirius?"
Andromeda nodded. "Sirius Black. He was your father's best friend and your godfather. Unfortunately, after your parents were killed, Sirius was accused of betraying them and was sent to Azkaban, the strongest prison in the magical world in the United Kingdom, without a trial."
Harry's eyes widened in shock. He did not know he had a Godfather, though he had heard Sirius being mentioned in some stories his grandparents had told him about his father. He wasn't sure how to feel about the possibility that his father's best friend was one of the reason's he had to grow up as an orphan. He knew that any doubt could be cleared up with a trial and said the same to Andromeda. "But everybody deserves a trial, how can his guilt be confirmed without one?"
Andromeda's expression turned serious. "I've always suspected that Sirius was innocent. He was devoted to your parents and loved you dearly. The lack of a trial makes me believe that there was more to the story."
Harry felt a surge of determination. "We have to help him, then. We have to find out the truth."
Ted placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "We will, Harry. With your heirship recognized, we have the means to investigate further. We'll work together to uncover the truth."
Nymphadora, or Tonks, gave Harry a supportive smile. "And I'll be here to help too. We're family now, and we'll stand by you no matter what."
Harry looked around at the faces filled with kindness and determination. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly hopeful. With the support of Ted, Andromeda, and Tonks, he knew he could face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As they finished their ice cream, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over Diagon Alley. Ted looked at Harry and said, "How about we head to Potter Hall now? There's something special we need to discuss there."
After finishing at Fortescue's, they all traveled to Potter Hall. The familiar grandeur of the estate greeted Harry warmly, and the sight of the grand hall filled him with a sense of pride and belonging. Mipsy was waiting for them, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Welcome back, Master Harry," she said, bowing slightly. "Welcome, Mr. Tonks, Mrs. Tonks, and Miss Tonks."
"Thank you, Mipsy," Andromeda replied with a smile. "It's wonderful to be here."
Ted and Andromeda looked around, impressed by the grandeur of the hall. "It's beautiful, Harry," Ted said. "You have a remarkable home."
"Come, let's go to the portrait gallery," Harry suggested, leading them through the hallways to the room where the portraits of his ancestors were displayed.
As they entered the gallery, the portraits came to life, greeting Harry warmly. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter's portraits beamed with pride.
"Harry, it's good to see you," Fleamont said.
"And you've brought friends," Euphemia added, her eyes twinkling.
"Yes, these are Mr. Edward Tonks and Mrs. Andromeda Tonks and their daughter, Nymphadora," Harry introduced them.
Andromeda stepped forward, her expression respectful. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Your family has been very important to us."
Fleamont and Euphemia exchanged a pleased look. "Andromeda, thank you for coming. We have a favor to ask of you," Fleamont said.
"Of course," Andromeda replied. "Anything to help Harry."
Euphemia's portrait leaned forward slightly. "Harry needs to understand the wizarding world, its history, customs, and the responsibilities that come with his heritage. We would be grateful if you could help teach him."
Andromeda smiled warmly. "I'd be honored. I'll come once a week to teach Harry about the different aspects of the wizarding world."
Harry's face lit up with excitement. "Thank you, Andromeda!"
"And I can come too," Tonks said eagerly. "I can teach you about the more fun things, like Quidditch, different wizarding games like Gobstones and wizard chess."
Harry grinned widely. "That sounds brilliant, Tonks!"
Ted placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've got a lot of people who care about you, Harry. We're all here to help you on this journey."
As they stood in the gallery, surrounded by the warm and supportive presence of his new family and the legacy of his ancestors, Harry felt a profound sense of belonging and purpose. He was ready to embrace his destiny, honour his parents' legacy, and uncover the truth about his godfather. With Andromeda and Tonks by his side, he knew he could face whatever challenges lay ahead.
The journey had only just begun, but Harry was prepared to step into his role as Heir Potter with confidence and determination. Together, they would uncover the truth, uphold the legacy of the Potters, and create a future filled with hope and possibility.