Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The idea comes, in the end, from Harry lamenting over the sorry state of his summer vacation, compared to the relative bliss at the beginning of his third year. Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World and not-quite 14-years-old, was bent over his Aunt Petunia’s flower beds, pulling weeds and slaving away under the blazing sun. He was thinking longingly of Fortescue’s ice cream and the Leaky Cauldron’s cooking as his stomach rumbled, as he had been sent to work without breakfast that morning. And the morning before that. And before that.

He had only been back for two weeks, but the first time he stepped into the house that summer, the hair on Harry’s arms stood from the tension. It seeped into the floorboards, the walls, penetrating the tentative safety of Dudley’s second bedroom, and turning even the relative peace of the garden uneasy. Harry was strongly aware that a sword was swinging above his head. His relatives had neither forgotten nor forgiven the events of last summer, and were very displeased, to say the very least. Uncle Vernon hadn’t properly beat him yet, but Harry was acutely aware his Uncle was just waiting for him to make some sort of arbitrary mistake to fully unleash.

I wish I could just run away again. Harry yanked out another weed with force. It’s too bad that… that…

Then, the most peculiar feeling occurred. It was as if, some barrier in his mind, something that had concealed itself among the many broken pieces of Harry’s psyche, snapped. And he could suddenly start thinking clearly, at least about this one thing.

That what? Sirius is still on the run, I can claim I had another fight with the Dursleys, and stay at the Leaky for the rest of the summer. They let me stay for three weeks last time, that’s pretty long. I can even take the Knight bus again.

It took very little time for Harry’s mind to be set. Some distant part of him knew there were flaws in the plan, but all the same he refused to consider the possibility it would fail. He absolutely refused to consider the fact that he could be sent back. If he did that, then doubt would creep in, and he would be absolutely fucked, for lack of better words.

Your plans never work. Some little treacherous part of him whispered. And yet he continued to pull weeds with a single-minded focus.

Pack. Knight bus. Wait, no. Wait until the Dursley’s leave. Pack. Knight bus. Gringotts for money. Leaky to establish a spot to stay. Go from there.

It was a solid plan, Harry thought, and he could have a decent summer. (And if his evil, awful mind cast back to those wonderful, terrible 30 minutes when he thought he would be living with his godfather, not planning on how to run away for the summer, it didn’t matter. And if, if, he had to wipe his eyes, that’s his business.)

(He missed Sirius, he realized, with a pang. He barely even knew the man, and he missed him. Professor Lupin, too. He spent a whole year learning under him, and he told Harry about his parents. How could he not miss him?)

Harry tried to focus on his chores, on his plan, as the day moved on, but found himself glancing at the backdoor to the house, resisting the urge to rush in and start packing now. A suicide wish, with Uncle Vernon still home and Dudley out in the neighborhood. Harry has never had a problem with patience, days and weeks in the cupboard forcing that skill into him, but now, when it mattered most, he was struggling. He clenched his jaw and got back to work.

In the end, it took another day before he had the opportunity to leave. The Dursleys decided to go out for dinner. Something rare when Harry was home, as they delighted in having him cook dinner. They threatened him, of course.

“You better get this done by the time we’re home, boy,” Uncle Vernon said, brandishing a list of chores, “or there’ll be big trouble to pay.”

Harry consciously unclenched his teeth. “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Aunt Petunia sniffed, turning away from where Uncle Vernon had Harry pinned against the wall by his hair. She said nothing.

Dudley ran out the door without looking back, yelling about food and dinner. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia followed, but not without leaving Harry with a bruise forming on his stomach, gasping for breath.

It took him 20 minutes to pack everything he owned, break his school trunk out of his cupboard, and double- and triple-check he didn’t forget anything.

Not for the first time, Harry realized he had a pitiful amount of things.

Well, nothing I can do about that now.

Shoving the last of his things into his truck, Harry turned to Hedwig, who was sitting on the windowsill, preening herself. There was no way he was taking her on the Knight Bus. Considering his options, he figured he should probably send her off with a letter, just in case it took him longer to get settled in Diagon this time. Grumbling, he dug through his school bag, pulling out a spare piece of parchment, a quill, and some ink.

Can’t write Ron, or ‘Mione, because I just wrote them. It would be kind of weird to write Neville, right? I mean, he’s never written me. And I’m not that close with Seamus or Dean. Who else do I know? After a few seconds of thinking, Harry was rapidly realizing he spent his time very isolated.

Unbidden, his mind went back to snippets of time spent in Professor Lupin’s office, learning about the Patronus charm, talking about his parents. Maybe he could write his Professor, or was that weird? He couldn’t just write about his summer, though. Professor Lupin didn’t want to hear about endless lists of chores or nightmares of dark, sucking faces.

Then what do I… Harry mentally face-palmed. Lupin was his professor! He could write to him about DADA. Maybe Harry could pretend to be doing some extra studying this summer and want to supplement his DADA education. With all the trouble he got in, that was probably a good idea.

A thought stopped before it could be completed. Harry’s head pounded.

Sitting in Dudley’s old desk chair, Harry wrote. It took him several crumpled pieces of parchment, but he settled on:

Professor Lupin,

I’m sorry for bothering you, but I had a question I was hoping you would be willing to answer. I’ve decided it would be for the best to study up on more DADA topics over the summer, as my education hasn’t been the most consistent.

I was wondering if you had any book recommendations for studying DADA topics I should have previously learned, and ones I will in the upcoming year. If you think I should start with one area at a time, I’ve been interested in dueling since a Dueling Club was started my second year (even though it was a disaster).

Thank you so much for your time!

Cheers,
Harry Potter

Blowing on the ink, he rolled up the letter and tied it to Hedwig’s leg.

“Think you can take this to Professor Lupin, girl? I don’t know where he lives, sorry.”

Hedwig side-eyed him as if to say of course I can take it, before taking off out the window. Harry watched her go until she was a speck in the distance.

~~~

It was already late at night when Harry stepped off the Knight bus, and he was ready to crash. He was considering renting a room at the Leaky now and going to Gringotts in the morning, but there was something in his gut that urged him to keep going. That feeling had saved his life again and again, so he supposed he had to trust it. Even if the rational part of him argued that Gringotts might not even be open.

Bidding Stan and Ernie goodbye, Harry pulled the ratty baseball cap that used to be Dudley’s low over his forehead. He walked into the Leaky Cauldron, trying to keep as low of a profile as possible. Thankfully, Tom was deep in conversation with a patron, attention firmly diverted from the door and any new patrons.

Harry disappeared into the ally, pulling his wand out to tap on the bricks. He stuck his wand in his back pocket, walking down the alley.

It was different at night, but the magic in the air was still palpable, brushing against Harry’s arms and face. Some storefronts were dark, but many were lit up with warm, welcoming lamplight, illuminating enticing wares, or the insides of pubs and restaurants. There were floating lanterns that illuminated the cobblestone streets, some even changing colors. Harry felt warm, like he had settled in front of the common room fire. Gringotts shone in the distance, a beacon of white stone and pillars.

When he finally arrived, Harry was surprised to find it open, but he figured if 24-hour banks were going to exist anywhere, it would be magical London. He pushed open the heavy doors, finding the lobby looking the same as the last time he was in it, except almost deserted of people, humans and goblins alike.

He approached one of the tellers, taking off his cap and trying to look as little like a street urchin as possible.

“Hello, sir. I’d like to withdraw from my vault.”

The goblin looked at him neutrally, or what Harry guessed was neutrally. “Key.”

“I, uhm, I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have my key. I’ve never had my key.” He explained quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans to keep them from shaking.

The goblin’s face went from annoyed to enraged in moments. “What do you mean you’ve never had your key?”

“Professor Dumbledore had it and gave it to Hagrid when he took me shopping my first year, and then Molly Weasley has had it the past two years.” Anger built on top of the panic. Now that he thought about it, why did the Headmaster have his key? Why didn’t Harry have his key in the first place? Why hadn’t he demanded it back the past three years? What was wrong with him?

The goblin snarled. “One moment.” He slammed a button on his desk and spoke Gobbledygook into it. He turned back to Harry. “We will get to the bottom of how this happened. As for the withdrawal, you can identify yourself with magic or blood.”

Thoroughly intimidated, Harry croaked out, “Magic, please.”

Long, spindly fingers passed over a gem that Harry thought was amethyst. He was sternly told to hold onto it in both hands. After a few seconds, a small piece of parchment poofed into existence on the goblin’s desk. His face didn’t change as he read, but Harry watched as he quickly pressed another button and barked more Gobbledygook into it.

“Heir Potter, I have taken the liberty of setting you an appointment with your account manager. Immediately. I suggest you take it.” The smile on the goblin’s face told him it was not a suggestion.

Stuttering and now thoroughly confused, Harry nodded. The teller gestured for him to follow, and the two walked briskly through one of the dark doorways in the back of the room.

The halls were adorned with long murals, depicting bloody wars and even bloodier mining expeditions. They were beautiful, if slightly terrifying, and Harry knew he could spend hours looking at them, taking in all the little details. He had questions, but he didn’t want to come off as disrespectful. He knew nothing about goblin culture, after all. Harry had had his fair share of scolding for asking questions.

Speaking of disrespect, Harry thought, I never asked the teller’s name. Surely, it’s ruder not to ask.

“Um, excuse me, but I forgot to ask your name.” Harry spoke up, a bit timidly.

The goblin stared him down for a few seconds, keeping the quick pace. Harry bit back the urge to take back his question, that felt cowardly.

“Kohul.” Harry nodded in thanks and acknowledgement.

After minutes of twisting turns and dark, stone walls, they finally approached a door, the first one they had seen since they’d been down there. Harry wondered if that was some sort of magic or if the underground portion of Gringotts was really that spread out. The plaque beside the door read Potter Account Manager.

He had a whole account manager to himself? Just for his vault? Surely that wasn’t right. Before Harry could ask any more questions, though, Kohul lead him through the door, and turned around to walk away.

“Thank you for your time, Kohul!” Harry called after him. The teller turned around briefly, nodded, and left.

The Potter Account Manager was a harrowing-looking goblin, with a missing eye and even sharper looking teeth than their brethren. Harry was unable to identify whether they were male or female. Their eye seemed to peer right through Harry’s soul. It was more than a bit intimidating. Their hands were steepled in front of them. They were sat in a lavish, yet comfortable-looking chair. The room was covered in more murals. Specifically, in one, large mural, with the centerpiece being a large vein of crystals Harry could not identify, surrounded by goblins. It stretched on from there, showing more goblins bringing it out of the cave, and on the other side, more goblins venturing further into the cave.

After a minute of staring, his account manager finally spoke up. “Heir Potter, how can I assist you today?”

“Hello, sir, or madam, I came to withdraw money from my vault, but after verifying my identity with magic, I was told to come see you right away.”

A, frankly, horrifying scowl appeared on their face. “Call me Master Nis, I have no need of wixen honorifics. So, you did not come as a result of the many missives we have sent over the years.”

“Missives?” Harry frowned. “I’ve never received any missives.” At the stormy face that received, he frantically added. “I’m not saying you didn’t send any! I’ve had my mail tampered with before.”

Somehow, that elicited an even more aggressive response. “Gringotts’ mail can only be tampered with by an extremely powerful individual.” They growled, levitating multiple stacks of paperwork out of the desk, and slamming them on the table. Harry tried not to jump. He failed. “Heir Potter, if what you’re saying is true, and I’m unfortunately inclined to believe you, someone has gone through a great deal of work to make sure you don’t receive mail from us. Have you ever received mail from fans? From journalists? Even from your parents’ old friends?”

Harry gaped. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No, I’ve never… You think they would write?”

Master Nis snorted. “Heir Potter, you are one of the most important people to the wixen world, you should be getting multiple letters a day. No, it is clear you have a mail ward on you.”

“What’s a mail ward? And why does everyone keep calling me Heir Potter?”

A low of growl of Gobbledygook filled the room. Harry shrank back slightly, it wouldn’t do to piss his account manager off with too many questions. Before he could open his mouth to apologize, Master Nis spoke.

“Apologies, Heir Potter, but your ignorance of your station is… disturbing. You are the heir to at least one Lordship. I do not know much about wixen Lordships, but a simple explanation is that they have a seat or seats on the Wizengamot, and control portions of land." Harry was a what? His head pounded. "A mail ward is a powerful ward attached to a person to block any unwanted mail. I suspect the one on you blocks any mail not from someone on an approved list, or that you haven’t written first. It is typically only performed on celebrities or those of high status, and is highly illegal to do without consent, as with all allowed blood-based spells, wards, and potions.

“Now this,” they gestured to the first, and smallest, stack of parchment they finished laying out, “is paperwork to confirm you want a new key made, and old keys destroyed. Please sign where it glows orange, initial where it glows pink, and date where it glows blue. Keep the last sheet of parchment out.”

Harry read each word carefully. Thankfully, the contract wasn’t very long, only two pages of parchment, as the words were blurring in front of his eyes. It seemed standard enough, so he signed and dated and initialed. He kept the last page in front of him, which seemed blank, but when he squinted Harry could tell there were runes impressed into it like braille.

Master Nis passed him a golden pin. “Prick your finger and drop three drops of blood onto the parchment. It will disintegrate all former keys and make a new one.”

Harry did as told, passing the pin back, and watched as the parchment seemed to absorb his blood, then crumbled up into the shape of a key, and solidified into metal.

“Cool.” Harry smiled, before remembering his audience and blushed. Master Nis gave him a snarl of a smile before pointing to the next stack of parchment.

“In order to fully audit your accounts, we must know which accounts are yours by blood and magic. This is done using an inheritance test. It is done similarly to making a new key, but with seven drops of blood, instead of three. The parchment on top is the contract allowing us to conduct this test.”

This stack was longer, but Harry still read it carefully. He didn’t think the goblins were unfair, perse, but if he knew anything, it was that he had to look out for himself. Most of it wasn't too difficult to understand, and was about Lordships and land. However, there was a section of the contract that confused him.

“I’m sorry, but it says here that ‘each inheritance test will be taken alongside a minor magic scanning’. It goes on to list what the magic scanning might find, but what are ‘blocks, compulsion potions/spells, person-changing potions/spells, and corrupted magic’? And why do you have the scan in the first place?” Harry didn’t want to annoy the goblin, who seemed to be relatively nice, but he felt it was best to fully know what the contract was asking him.

“Do not apologize for nothing, Heir Potter, it is unbecoming.” Despite the harsh words, and the snarl of a smile, that felt almost… nice. “We implement a minor magic scan in each test in order to make sure each potential Heir of a House is here under their own free will, and that someone is not trying to steal their inheritance from them. That does not just mean the imperious curse, but compelling wixen to act a certain way or changing aspects of their person with potions and spells, and blocking their magic or family gifts. Corrupted magic is more commonly referred to as ‘dark magic’, although the two are completely different. Corrupted magic damages both the caster and target of the magic, while dark and light magic both have their uses, and are simply categorized differently.”

Harry’s head felt like it was spinning. He had so many questions on his mind, and a splitting headache, but the first one was, “Why don’t more, uh, ‘wixen’ know about corrupted magic, and just call it dark magic?”

“Frankly, Heir Potter, I am concerned about your ability to comprehend whatever I try to explain to you.” At Harry’s outraged expression, they continued, “Not because of your own intelligence, which seems decent for a wizard, but because of the mail ward I suspect you already have on your person. I would like to continue with the inheritance test to see if you have anything else.”

Harry laughed bitterly, “Oh, I probably do. I’m Harry Potter, after all.” Master Nis just raised an eyebrow.

After finishing reading through and signing the contract, Harry arrived at the last piece of parchment. Receiving the golden pin once more, Harry pricked his finger and squeezed out seven drops of blood on the parchment. Like last time, the parchment absorbed his blood, but unlike last time, words started appearing on the page in deep, rich red.

GRINGOTTS INHERITANCE TEST
Name: Hadrian James Potter
Born: July 31, 1980
Father: James Fleamont Potter (deceased)
Mother: Lily Josephine Potter née Evans (deceased)
Godparents: Alice Marie Longbottom née Fortescue (incapacitated), Sirius Orion Black III (blood adopted March 28, 1981)
Magical Guardian: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (claim unverified)

Inheritance:
The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter: Blood Heir, Paternal (Lord Upon Majority)
Vaults:
Potter Heir Vault: 19,382 G (refills to 20,000 G annually)
Lily Potter’s Vault: 18,293 G, Misc. Items
“For Prongslet” Vault: Misc. Items
Heirloom Vault: Misc. Items
[Access to rest of vaults upon majority]
Properties:
Potter Manor
Godric’s Hollow
Lily’s Pad
Peverell Manor
Willowmere Lodge
Hippogriff Reserve
Holdings:
Sleakeasy’s: 55%
Potter’s Potions, Inc.: 55%
Dogweed and Deathcap: 35%
Stowe and Packers Magical Bags: 25%
Daily Prophet: 10%
(For further holdings, see account manager)

The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black: Named Heir
Vaults:
Black Heir Vault: 50,000 G (refills to 50,000 G annually)
[Other Black Vaults only open to acting Black Lord and Vault owners]
Properties:
[Access to Properties only open to acting Black Lord]
Holdings:
Pâtissière Golden Dawn: 45%
Slug & Jiggers Apothecary: 40%
Daily Prophet: 35%
Borgin and Burkes: 35%
Shyverwretch’s Venoms and Poisons: 30%
(For further holdings, see account manager)

The Founding House of Slytherin: Blood Heir, Maternal by Conquest (Lord Upon Majority)
Vaults:
Slytherin Heir Vault: 80,000 G (refills to 80,000 G annually)
[Access to rest of vaults upon majority]
Properties:
Hogwarts (25%)
Slytherin Castle
Boomslang Villa
Basilisk Isle
Holdings:
ML Press: 45%
Brews and Stews: 35%
(Other holdings since defunct)

Magic Scan:
Blocks: Magic blocked: 75%, Family gifts suppressed
Compulsion potions/spells: Multiple potions/spells found. See healer to identify.
Person-changing potions/spells: Multiple spells found. See healer to identify.
Corrupted magic: Located in cursed scar on forehead. Unable to identify.

Medical attention recommended IMMEDIATELY

Many thoughts came to mind: My name is Hadrian? Is my other godparent related to Neville? What does blood adoption mean? Why the hell is Dumbledore my magical guardian? What even is a magical guardian? What does Lord Upon Majority mean? Holy hell he was an Heir to three Lordships. And he owned part of Hogwarts. “For Prongslet”?

Then one thought, overpowering in its feeling of relief; Oh, I have properties. I have a place to go.

Buoyed by the realization, and overwhelmed that all that lordship stuff applied to him times three, he couldn’t even get upset when he learned that he was actually the Heir of Slytherin. However, he certainly got upset when he saw how many things the magic scan saw wrong with him.

“What the hell.” He could feel his magic swirling around inside him, frantic and whipping around within himself. He took a deep breath, and then another, figuring Master Nis wouldn’t take it well if he had a complete mental breakdown in the middle of their office. “Just… look at this.”

Reading much faster than Harry, Master Nis got to the end of the paper very quickly, looking both contemplative and murderous.

“Heir Potter, Black, and Slytherin. Very impressive.” Harry’s face warmed. Master Nis continued. “But a block this large is very serious, especially combined with the type of spells, potions, and the corrupted magic in your scar. Whoever did this to you had no intention of ever releasing you from these magics.” Harry shuddered. He needed this off of him, out of him, now.

“Is there anywhere I can go about this? I know St. Mungo’s exists, but I would prefer somewhere a little more… private.”

“Indeed, despite having Healer Oaths, there are some loose lips there.” Master Nis snarled, showing exactly how they felt about that. With a wave of a hand, a drawer from a filing cabinet at the back wall opened, and two pieces of parchment floated out. Master Nis duplicated them, passed the copies to Harry, and vanished the original parchments back to the cabinet. “This is a list of independent healers that Gringotts have recommended to clients before, along with a list of law firms that have had standing contracts with the Potter family. We also have a list of independent lawyers, if you would prefer those. I would give you recommendations for curse breakers for that scar of yours, but healers tend to have curse breakers they work with.” They made no mention of the fact he did not ask for a lawyer, but Harry supposed with the blocks and such he would need one.

(Harry had no idea the back-breaking labor he was going to be putting his future lawyer through)

“Thank you very much,” He looked at both sheets briefly, spending a bit more time on the lawyers. These were people that had worked with his family, however briefly. I wonder why my family needed laywers. Harry wondered, a touch bitterly.

Before he could ask his other questions, a thought came, unbidden, to the front of Harry’s mind. “Master Nis, what if the person who is messing with my account and my magic realizes they don’t have their key anymore?”

Master Nis dipped their head. “To anyone not the Potter Account Manager, the key exchange will be recorded as a random change in security measures. We change keys periodically for this exact reason. They will not be able to get a copy of the key without the account owner’s direct permission. We also conduct random audits of accounts, which leads to our last pile.”

The last pile had tripled in size since the last time Harry glanced at it, startling him.

“This is the paperwork to start a formal audit of all your accounts, their contents, and any transactions that have taken place in the past 20 years.” At Harry’s dumbfounded look, they added, “The amount has increased since you are inheriting three Family’s accounts. The paperwork gives me permission to access your accounts to do an inventory to make sure it lines up with what’s on file, that the magic has not been tampered with. I already have access to the Potter files, and limited access to the vaults, the paperwork also gives me access to the Slytherin vaults, or to do a concurrent audit with the account manager in the case of the Black Vaults.”

Harry’s head pounded. This was just too much information to take in, and he still was having trouble processing the issues with his magic. He rubbed his temples, and the goblin’s face relaxed, just a degree.

“Right now, I suggest we do three things before you can go to a property and relax, Heir Potter. First, you sign the final stack of paperwork, so I can get started on an audit of your vaults. Second, we get you officiated as Heir of your Houses. Third, you decide on a property to stay at.”

Harry nodded dumbly. He started on the third, and thankfully final, stack of paperwork. Reading it through was difficult, but he was too tired to resist asking questions. Luckily Master Nis was never rude about his, probably stupid, queries. It didn’t take as long as he feared, and soon he was finishing off the last signature.

“Okay,” Harry said. “How do I get officiated as an Heir? I thought I already was one?”

Master Nis shook their head. “Someone has done you a great disservice, keeping this information from you. You are only Heir presumptive right now until the Family magic, to put it simply, the magical culmination of years of marrying into a family, can claim you through the heir ring.” They pulled out a small ring box and passed it to Harry. “This ring was worn by your father, and his father before him, and the Lords and Ladies Potter before him. While different rings have different effects, the Potter ring can shield from minor curses, and slow major ones. As is standard, it can be glamoured to be invisible.”

Slowly, cautiously, Harry opened it. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry Harry had ever seen, a pair of antlers framing a deep red ruby, not Gryffindor red, but almost bloody. This was it. This was the representation of his family, the one he never got to meet, never got to grow up with. He was the last Potter, and although he now represented other Houses, he knew this was the main one he was focused on. It would hurt if the others rejected him, sure, especially if he could no longer be Sirius’s Heir, but he would be devastated if the Potter ring rejected him.

Voice in almost a whisper, Harry said, “Do I just… put it on?”

“Yes, Heir Potter.” Slowly, he slipped the ring on.

It was like stepping into a warm summer day after an eternity inside a cold basement, like experiencing the rays of sun on your skin for the first time. Like getting your first birthday cake, age 11. Like a loving hug from a parent. The magic of the ring touched him, caressed his face in a sense that he could feel not through touch, but in his magic, in his very soul. Harry breathed, deeply, trying to keep himself from crying. He knew, then, that even though he didn’t understand what it meant, that was the Family magic accepting him. You are ours, It said without words. And his whole body screamed, Yes, yes, please.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

After a few minutes of lingering in the feeling, it slipped away, and Harry was left in his bare rags, in the chilly office of Master Nis. He wiped the remnants of tears away. “Thank you, Master Nis.” Harry’s voice was slightly croaky. “Will the others be a similar process?”

Not commenting on his state, or even looking slightly perturbed, Master Nis nodded, “I do not currently have the rings, so we will have to schedule an appointment for you to be formally accepted into the other family magics. How does a week from now at 9 a.m. sound? We will also be able to discuss the preliminary results of my audit. It will not be complete, but I will have made some progress by then. I can explain to you more about corrupted magic, and any questions you have about your inheritance test, since you should have visited a healer by then.”

Having absolutely no plans, and knowing a threat when he hears one, Harry agreed. Finally, he looked back at his inheritance test, and the lists of healers and lawyers. Pushing the lists aside, he decided to focus on his most immediate need: where the hell he would be sleeping that night. He was feeling overwhelmed by all the choices, though.

“Do you…” He spoke up hesitantly, “Do you have a recommendation of where I should stay? I don’t know anything about the properties, and I was hoping you at least knew a little more.”

The goblin hummed, a low throaty hum, and gestured for the inheritance test. After giving it a long look, and a wave with their hand, they passed it back, and properties were highlighted either red, orange or blue.

“Red properties are ones I believe would be dangerous or uninhabitable, orange I do not know the status of, and blue I believe would be acceptable accommodations.”

All of the Slytherin properties were highlighted orange, along with Peverell Manor and Willowmere Lodge. Godric’s Hollow and Hippogriff Reserve were highlighted red. Potter Manor and Lily’s Pad were highlighted blue. Harry bit his lip.

“Do you know anything about Lily’s Pad or Potter Manor?”

“For Lily’s Pad, just that it is a small flat located in a part of London prone to wixen. It is only with the rest of the Potter properties as your mother insisted they combine finances when they got married, and she joined the family. Your father grew up in Potter Manor, and it was the accommodation of your grandparents until their deaths in 1980. It has been the primary residence of the Head of the Potter family since it was built in 1580. It is in the countryside, I cannot tell you the exact location as it is Unplottable.”

Harry smiled at the small snippet of information from his parents’ lives. He so desperately wanted to visit both places. He also had no clue how to get either place. As he thought through which property to commit to (which parent he wanted to learn more about), Master Nis spoke again.

“As transportation will likely be an issue for you, I will inform you that your Heir rings can serve as a portkey to the House’s primary place of residence. In this case, it is Potter Manor. If you wish to use it, simply touch the ring with your other hand and say ‘Potter Manor’.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgment. Well, that solved that argument. He supposed he could ride the knight bus to his mother’s flat, but a portkey would be much easier (after he sheepishly got Master Nis to explain to him what a portkey was). Finally, he looked down at the lists of healers and lawyers. Hedwig was probably not going to be back until the morning, especially if the Potter Manor was in the countryside, so he had time to figure out who he was going to write.

“I believe I know where I am going to stay.” Thinking through his to-do list, Harry was brought back to the reason he originally came here. “Oh! I need to withdraw money from my account before I leave.”

Master Nis let out a hoarse laugh, pulling something out of a desk drawer. “Here is a checkbook for your Potter Heir account.” They briefly explained how to use it, and that most businesses would take it.

“Thank you so much for your help, Master Nis. You have helped me so, so much today. I can’t thank you enough.”

They looked almost surprised, before their eyes softened, just a tad. “You are so much like your mother, Heir Potter.” And if his eyes grew teary before he portkeyed away, only Harry and Master Nis would ever know.

~~~

Harry landed in a sprawl in some plush grass, panting as he fought to not throw up what meager food he had managed to eat at the Dursley’s before leaving. Master Nis could have mentioned how unpleasant portkeying was.

Finally, after several moments of heavy breathing and groaning, he was able to look around and found there was no manor to be seen. However, he could feel magic so strongly in the air, it was almost swimming before his eyes. It settled over his skin like a warm blanket, but simultaneously refreshing in the hot summer night, and as soon as he realized it was there Harry knew it was the Potter family magic. He stood up, pressing forward, moving deeper and deeper into the magic, before it seemed to press back into him, testing him.

Why are you here? It wanted to know.

I just want to go home. Harry’s magic called back.

And it opened to him. Standing in the middle of the field was a beautiful Elizabethan manor, made of light stone and pointed roofs. It was three stories tall at places, and looked like two 4 Private Drives could comfortably fit right next to each other, lawn and all. It was still dark outside, but lanterns lit a path up to the front porch, which was large and had a swinging chair on it.

Suddenly, before Harry could even finish processing the view, a house elf popped into existence in front of him. She looked like the anthesis of Dobby, who was all skin and bones and rags. She had a little uniform on, complete with a crest on her chest, and long hair she had pinned into a bun. Is that the Potter crest? We have a crest?

“OH! MY! MERLIN! Little Master be here! Hello!” Her small body was almost vibrating with enthusiasm as she bowed. “I be Nipsy, the head house elf.”

Harry finally brushed the grass off of him, wanting to make at least a decent first impression. “Hello Nipsy, it’s nice to meet you. Are there any other house elves here?” The little elf nodded vigorously.

“Little Master be so kind and polite! There is being Lethy and Plink.”

“Can I meet them?” With a snap, two more elves appeared.

The one who introduced himself as Lethy looked even more different than Dobby, plump and absolutely glowing with happiness as he met Harry. He said he worked as the chef, and looked absolutely ecstatic at the possibility of cooking for someone besides the elves. Plink was more subdued, and looked like they were just interrupted while gardening, but still looked treated well. They worked on the grounds and did maintenance. The two new elves were also wearing uniforms, although with slightly different variations than Nipsy. While Nipsy wore a skirt, Lethy wore pants, and Plink wore shorts.

Despite how happy they looked, Harry thought back to Dobby. “Um, I’m not sure the right way of going about this, but are you all happy working for me? I mean, for the Potter family?”

The elves looked absolutely horrified. “Of course!” Nipsy cried out. Plink looked devastated. Lethy was nodding so hard, Harry was worried he was going to get whiplash.

“Okay, do you all want payment? I’m not sure how to go about being a house elf… owner. I really don’t like that phrasing.” Harry frowned. “I want to make sure this arrangement is fair.”

“Little Master be so kind! We is okay with this arrangement.” Nipsy said, and Lethy nodded. So did Plink, although they looked contemplative. “We gets your magic, and that be all we need.”

“You get my magic?” Harry said. “What does that mean?”

“No one has told Little Master?”

“I grew up in the Muggle world, I learned about magic when I turned 11, and no one has told me a whole lot.” Harry scowled. The elves seemed to feel similarly, as they all gasped.

“Someone stole you from us!” Lethy said. “Master Harry should have been raised in his real home, not where he wasn’t taken care of!” Harry looked down at his thin body and grimaced. He wasn’t wrong.

“We house elves need strong magics to survive. A strong family can be producing those in excess, enough for house elves to be taking the extra. The Potter family is strong, even with one member. You replenished the family magics when you be joining earlier today.” Plink said quietly.

“Little Master be having very strong magics!” Nipsy crowed. Harry blushed, he didn’t feel particularly powerful, not with how he struggled in class.

“Okay, so you’re all okay with this arrangement?” They all nodded, but it looked like Plink was holding something back. Harry didn’t feel like now was the right time to push, given he’s just met them, and his head was still hurting. He felt strange, not quite antsy, but like there was a livewire in his body, simultaneously exhausting and keeping him awake.

“Nipsy, do you mind showing me around the house and helping me pick a room to stay in?” Luckily, she looked thrilled at this. The other two elves gave their goodbyes and popped away.

Somehow, the house was even bigger on the inside. While they mainly stuck to the living part of the house, Nipsy informed him it had a library, several studies, a ballroom, an observatory, and even a dungeon! (He even had a feeling there was more, she was holding something back for whatever reason).

Harry appropriately ooh’d and aah’d as they made their way through the entrance hall, the drawing room (whatever that meant), the receiving room (which had the floo, and thankfully, floo powder), the formal and family dining rooms, the breakfast nook (which was somehow different than the family dining room), a billiard room, a crafting room (Harry was very curious what sort of magical crafts there were), and many bedrooms (Harry did not go into the ones belonging to his Dad and Grandfather, although he was tempted to peek into the one he learned Sirius took when he had lived there). His favorite room, though, was a sunroom, which had cozy-looking couches and chairs and large floor-to-ceiling windows. It was right next to the library, so it was clear what the room was for. It would be a wonderful spot to curl up and do his homework, or read a book.

Look at me now, wanting to read a book. Harry thought. Ron would laugh at me, and ‘Mione would be shocked. He used to read all the time as a child, however, hiding in the library as Dudley and his gang tried to find and beat him. I wonder why I only stopped now, you think learning about magic would make me want to read more. I wonder— Harry’s thought was cut off by a pounding in his head.

As much as he wanted to linger, Harry had to pick a room and settle. He ended up picking a larger room on the second floor, near the back set of stairs and the back exit to the house. The walls were a light tan, with a bookshelf half full of books, large windows covering a wall, and interestingly enough, magical and non-magical paintings. No portraits, but scenes from nature, heavily featuring wildlife. The magical ones moved, but even the non-magical ones seemed alive. At the side of the room stood a queen-sized bed with a light blue comforter and a warm-looking green blanket on top. It looked crocheted, or hand knitted, Harry didn’t know the difference, and had intricately twisting cables that seemed to twist and turn as he stared at them.

Magic blanket… I wonder if it’s warm. He thought sleepily. Yeah, it’s definitely time for sleep.

He fell asleep wondering which one of his ancestors had slept there before.

~~~ 

The next morning, Harry woke up with the sun, utterly shocking the elves. They were used to Sirius and James, they said, who would sleep in until noon if allowed. Harry just explained he was an early riser, not wanting to explain he was forced to be that way. He wondered if he would naturally be one, or if he would be a night owl now that he was allowed to be.

And wasn’t that an exciting thought. He was allowed to sleep in! He was allowed to stay up late! There was no one around, he essentially had no rules.

(somewhere, many miles away, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape shuddered.)

Harry settled in the breakfast nook. It was relatively easy to decide on a lawyer, as Harry decided to go with the ones that had serviced his family most recently (as soon as 1978! He wondered if they were helping his grandparents, or if his dad got into as much trouble as him. Probably not. Not many people got in as much trouble as Harry did.) However, this list went back until the early 17th century. Harry wondered how old his family was.

The list of healers was more difficult, until he came across a name he recognized. “Andromeda Tonks née Black”. Black… Could she be related to Sirius? To me, a little, now? It was dangerous to meet up with her, after what happened with Sirius, considering literally everyone thought he was guilty, but damn it if Harry wasn’t drawn to danger. Maybe he could get to know her, and tell her about Sirius’ innocence.

“Nipsy,” The elf in question popped into view. “Do you know anything about Andromeda Tonks?”

“Oh! Master Paddy’s cousin! Nipsy has never met her, but Master Paddy said she be a ‘bloody good healer, and fierce as a hippogriff.’”

“So, they got along, then?” Harry knew well enough not everyone got along with their family, and didn’t want to assume just because they shared a name, they liked each other.

“Oh, yes! Master Paddy said good things about her.” Then Nipsy tilted her head. “Where is Master Paddy? Is Little Master not staying with him?”

Oh shit. I didn’t explain anything to the elves. I just showed up. The elves seemed to know his parents were dead, but not about anything else.

”Uhh, so here’s the thing… You might want to get Lethy and Plink in here for this, it’s a long story.”

Nipsy popped away to gather the other elves, and Harry thought about how he was going to go about this. Even he didn’t know all the details, just what Sirius had managed to tell him in the Shrieking Shack. He figured he would just tell them as best he could, and when he could finally get a hold of Sirius, he would tell him to head to the Manor.

The elves arrived, and Harry took a deep breath. “So it started in when my parents when into hiding during 1981. They went under the Fidelius charm…” He detailed as much as he could remember, only leaving out what the dementors made him hear. The elves deserved to know. They were family.

By the time Harry had gotten to the street being blown up and Peter Pettigrew escaping, he realized he didn’t really know what happened next.

“I’m not sure how the trial went, but I bet it was a farce if they couldn’t see Sirius was innocent. I saw Pettigrew alive just a few months ago, so I know what I’m saying is true.”

The elves were silent for a couple minutes, soaking in the information they had learned. Plink’s fists were clenched, Nipsy was in tears, and Lethy was coaching her through deep breaths, while taking some himself. Eventually, Nipsy said.

“We had—the bond between us and Masters James and Lily broke so we be knowing they were gone, but…” Nipsy’s tears trailed off into silence.

“How did Master Harry see Mas—the traitor.” Lethy asked.

“That’s another long story, are you sure you all are up to it?”

The sun had begun to peek through the trees, shining through the window, as the elves all nodded, and Harry began his new tale. Harry told them of a cat, a rat, a dog. A convict that broke out of Azkaban, having to fight for scraps of information about his life because people were trying to ‘protect’ him. Eventually, Harry told of that fateful day in the Shrieking Shack, where he learned everything, and Snape tried to ruin it all, and a prophecy that came true.

“Then Ron was knocked out, and no one would listen to ‘Mione or I, so Dumbledore told us to use her timeturner to ‘save two lives that night’.” He tried to imitate the Headmaster’s voice, but unbeknownst to Harry, he didn’t quite get the level of condescension right. “We saved Buckbeak from his execution, then waited for everyone to leave the Shrieking Shack. Long story short: I had to use a patronus to save Sirius from a horde of dementors, then Hermione and I rode Buckbeak to break Sirius out through the window.”

The elves were gaping.

“Little Master and Master Paddy be getting in too much trouble!” Nipsy suddenly said, bursting into tears again and clutching his legs. “How are we supposed to take care of you if you be always getting into trouble!”

“I’m sorry, Nipsy, I didn’t mean to.” Harry said, patting her back gently.

Eventually, they all calmed down, and Harry was able to get started on his letters. The one to his lawyers was relatively simple, not revealing anything about the blocks or compulsions, simply saying he had need of their legal services if they were interested.

The letter to Andromeda was more interesting.

Dear Andromeda Tonks,

Hello, I hope this letter finds you well. I am in need of your healing services, for quite a few things, as I recently found. There are a few reasons why I can’t explain, one of them being a mail ward attached to me I did not consent to. You came recommended through Gringotts, so I hope you accept, as there’s not many more people I can go to with this.

I can’t say where I’m staying at this moment, so I would appreciate meeting somewhere other than my place. I promise I will explain more if you accept, although if there’s such thing as an oath for confidentiality, I would appreciate it.

Cheers,
Harry Potter

Feeling like his letter was appropriately ominous, Harry finished his final draft to Andromeda. He was going to vaguely mention Sirius in the letter, but thought it wouldn’t be fair to his godfather to tell his cousin without his permission. He was shooed out of the breakfast nook and into the backyard while Lethy cooked breakfast. He was going to attempt to find the kitchen so he could help out, but Nipsy foiled that plan before it could even begin.

“Little Master needs to be acting like a kid!” Nipsy made shooing motions with her hands, opening the door to the backyard without touching it and ushering Harry outside. “Go play!”

The grounds in the light of day were absolutely stunning. The gardens were beautiful, wild in a way that would make Aunt Petunia faint, but clearly well-cared for. The grounds themselves were surrounded by woodlands. There was a gravel path twisting through large ferns and native grasses. Harry recognized both Muggle and magical plants, including lilies, aconite, and moonseed. At one point, he wandered into a section of carefully maintained potion ingredients and herbs, sitting in raised wooden boxes. This is Snape’s dream, he thought.

He was quickly distracted of unpleasant thoughts of Snape, because he saw them, rising into the sky.

Quidditch hoops.

Running as fast as he could, weaving in between plants that leaned and swiped at him, he found himself at a Quidditch half pitch. It was perfect. Surrounded by miniature stands, what looked like a changing and storage room, and forest. Harry was already imagining zooming through the hoops on his Firebolt. Just as he was contemplating getting his broom out at that very moment, he was called back in for breakfast.

Harry enjoyed a delicious breakfast of eggs and toast, arguing with Nipsy about being allowed to fly ‘without adult supervision’. He had insisted that the house elves join him in eating breakfast, especially when Lethy made much more than Harry could ever eat. They sat with him, but protested eating, until he quietly explained that he wouldn’t be able to eat much more than what was on his plate, and didn’t want the food to go to waste.

Hedwig flew in through the open window. Surprisingly, she had a letter tied to her feet. Harry wasn’t expecting Professor Lupin to write back immediately (or at all).

Feeling inexplicably nervous, Harry opened it.

Harry,

It’s good to hear from you. Feel free to call me Remus, as I’m no longer your professor. I had heard of your previous professors, and I’m proud you’re supplementing your education. You were my best student, you know. (Don’t tell the others).

Harry blushed, but continued reading.

As for books, I recommend The Art of Dueling by Tracy Mason, Defensive Magics by Leonard Graves, and Potions and Plants for Personal Protection by Charlus Potter. That’s your great uncle. I know potions isn’t your favorite, but part of the potions curriculum falls under the DADA one as well. It wasn’t my favorite, either, although you have a better reason to dislike it than I did.

I also recommend checking out the Potter family grimoire, if you already haven’t. Your family is renowned for its defensive magics, although they have always been very secretive about it, so I can’t tell you much more. I will say, your mother and father followed that tradition, although in their own ways. If you’re interested, I’ll tell you more about it.

I also recommend you read The State of Magic by Gloria Wright. It’s a political book about the Ministry, Dark magic, and many other things I legally wasn’t allowed to teach you at school and can’t explain over the course of one letter. If you want to properly learn about Defense, that includes the politics of what makes something “Dark”, and what legally counts as defense. Unfortunately, that’s a bit complicated, and people have lots of different opinions. What’s legal may not be what’s enforced. Frankly, it’s a hard book to get hold of, and don’t go asking around at Florish and Blott’s for it. If you’re interested in reading it, let me know and I’ll mail you my copy.

I hope these books are able to help you out. Feel free to write me anytime, whether you have more questions, or if you just want to talk.

Best,
Remus Lupin

P.S. I heard about that dueling club briefly, but you’ll have to tell me more about what happened sometime.

Harry grimaced at the last line. Profes—Remus did not need to know he was a parselmouth. Harry wanted someone in his life who knew his parents, and if it meant he had to hide things, so be it.

The letter itself was… fascinating! Harry had never considered the legality of defense, but now that he thought about it, there had to be some threshold of what counted as defending yourself and what was unreasonable. And there was more information about his family! Even though he had no clue what a grimoire was, he would be sure to ask more about it in his next letter.

He briefly considered where to hide the letter in this new environment, before the realization hit him—he didn’t need to hide here. This was his new home, an actual home, one where he didn’t have to squirrel away all correspondence for fear of pain. Heart squeezing, he gently set the letter down on the table in the breakfast nook.

As he was about to give Hedwig a piece of egg, Harry noticed she had left.

“Oh, where’d Hedwig go?”

“Little Master’s Hedywig probably went to the owlery.” Nipsy said.

“There’s an owlery here? Where is it?”

“Third floor, east wing. I can be taking you there, if you’d like.”

“It’s okay, I’d rather explore on my own, for now. I have to stop by my room to change clothes anyway.” Harry declined, as he was still in his pajamas.

~~~

While he found the owlery easily enough, somehow, Harry had gotten turned around on the way back. He was going to find the library and try to check out the books Lu—Remus had recommended, but ended up in a large room with several walls dividing the middle of the room, not connected to any of the side walls.

Up and down the corridors he walked, realizing that each wall was lined with portraits. Two people, standing regal in front of a red velvet backdrop, but slumped as if they were sleeping standing up. Each portrait had an inscription, two names and a date. It was only when he got to the most recent date that he realized what it all meant.

Lord Fleamont Potter and Lady Euphemia Potter, 1976.

He looked up at two faces he recognized, not from any photos, but from the mirror of Erised. These were his grandparents. Sleeping, yes, but he recognized how he inherited the messy hair from his grandfather, and the dark skin from his grandmother. While he was spitting image of his father, he had never really recognized how much like his grandparents he was, too. This was a portrait archive of all his ancestors.

Gently, he reached a hand out. Not to touch the portrait, just to hover over it. He could feel the magic buzzing. It was similar to the magic from the Manor, but instead of a symphony blending together and overwhelming him, it was just one melody. Gently, he pulled.

With a gasp, the occupants of the portrait woke up.

Chapter Text

Just like waking from a coma, waking a portrait takes time. Usually, it takes a large amount of energy to wake a portrait, especially ones that have been asleep for almost 20 years. It is easier for kin to wake their family’s portraits, as the family magic tends to—well, sing, together. Harry Potter, with the blocks on his magic and none of this knowledge, nor the knowledge of what waking a portrait even meant, was baffled as he felt a wave of dizziness overcome him. He sat down, hard, on the cool stone floor, and watched as the portrait he just did something to slowly came to life.

Oh god, oh Merlin, Harry thought, I hope I didn’t break the portrait, or screw with the magic with my own messed up magic. Why did it make me feel weird? Should I get Nipsy? I should probably get Nipsy.

Before he could act on that rare survival instinct, Fleamont, his grandfather, groaned, blinking open his eyes.

“Hello?” Noticing Harry, he jumped. “Oh! Hello. James, is that you, son?”

Son. Harry’s eyes got suspiciously wet, for just a moment, before he shook his head, both to answer the man’s question and rid himself of the nuisance.

“Love, he’s too small to be our James, remember?” A low, feminine voice spoke, and Harry realized Euphemia, his grandmother, was awake too.

It was quiet for a second too long before Harry realized he should introduce himself.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Harry Potter, well, Hadrian Potter, apparently; I’m your grandson?” His last words came out as a question, but his grandparents’ portraits were already smiling.

“Oh, of course! You look so much like James, let me get a look at you.” Fleamont said. Harry awkwardly stood, hands dangling by his sides. Fleamont chuckled. “Glad to see the Potter hair is still going strong.”

Euphemia frowned, “Love, what do you mean ‘Hadrian, apparently’? Who are you living with? Why is this the first time we’re seeing you? Surely, you’ve been to the Manor before. And you’re looking peaky.” She made eye contact with Fleamont, and Harry guessed even portraits could have silent conversations.

Harry sighed. He should’ve waited before explaining to the elves what happened, so he didn’t have to do it twice in one day. And he had a feeling his grandparents would be asking a lot more questions. The problem was, well, how do you break to the living portrait of the grandparents you’ve never met that their son and his wife are dead?

“So…” Harry began. Fleamont and Euphemia both frowned at his low, hesitant tone. “I just learned my full name was Hadrian yesterday, as I took an inheritance test. I’m currently living here at Potter Manor as of yesterday. Alone.”

It took a second before the realization struck. Fleamont staggered, his hand on his chest, while Euphemia leaned on the chair in front of her heavily.

“You mean… James is…” Euphemia said.

“My mum and dad died on October 31st, 1982. I was one year old.” Harry said quietly. “They were murdered by Voldemort while in hiding with me. That same night, Voldemort was defeated.” He hesitated. He didn’t know whether this was the right time to bring up the whole night in detail.

It took the portraits several minutes to compose themselves. Harry stood there silently, trying not to fidget, staring at the ground. He didn’t blame them for their grief, he just didn’t know what to do.

After both Fleamont and Euphemia had taken several deep breaths, they turned back to Harry.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Euphemia said.

“Yes.” Harry said, “Are you sure you want to hear it now? We always have time.”

The two looked at each other and nodded. “Yes, we want to hear it.”

“So, when my parents first went into hiding, they decided to go under the Fidelius charm—” It was remarkably like telling the elves, except Harry felt obliged to go into more detail. His parents going into hiding, the betrayal of Wormtail, what he remembered from the dementors (just the bare bones, though). His surviving of the killing curse, and the defeat of Voldemort, including Dumbledore’s theory about his mother’s love (they looked contemplative, at that). He included all of what Sirius told him, with him arriving to the scene and seeing baby Harry, and Hagrid taking him away. He even included what little the Dursleys had told him, that he had been left on their doorstep with just a letter.

His grandparents already looked angry and devastated, but he had to keep going. They deserved to know. “There’s—There’s more.” When they looked ready, he continued with the confrontation between Sirius and Pettigrew, and Sirius being sent to Azkaban. He had to backtrack, a bit, to explain the fact that they were animagi, but it came out sounding remarkably coherent.

“Surely—” Fleamont interrupted, aghast. “Surely, he didn’t stay there. Surely someone got him out.”

Slowly, Harry shook his head. “Sirius escaped a year ago when he saw Pettigrew in the paper living as my best friend’s rat. He went to go track him down at Hogwarts, and there was this whole confrontation. Me and my friends were there, which is how I know about all the details about illegal animagi and Sirius’ innocence.”

“I still can’t believe our boys were animagi…” Fleamont said faintly. Euphemia patted his shoulder, but narrowed her eyes at Harry.

“You were in a room with an escaped convict and a criminal that had killed 12 muggles and was responsible for the death of James and Lily? And that happened while you were at Hogwarts?” Harry nodded meekly. “What on earth happened? What is a child your age doing, getting in situations like that? You can’t be more than twelve.”

“I’m almost fourteen!” Harry protested. Euphemia’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and covered Fleamont’s mouth before he could say something. What he was going to say, Harry didn’t know. “Besides, Sirius isn’t dangerous or anything. And I was in loads more danger when I was in second year. Even first year was worse.” As soon as the words came out, petulant and childish, Harry realized he had made a big mistake.

“What do you mean more dangerous?!” Fleamont yelped, mouth still covered by Euphemia’s hand.

Uh oh. “It wasn’t that big of a deal! It was resolved at the end of the year both times.” By me. Harry bitterly added.

Before Fleamont could speak again, Euphemia spoke. “Although I know we both want to hear about your school years, and those adventures you seem to have gotten into, I think it would be best to save that for another time. You said Sirius is on the run right now?” Harry nodded. “When you have the opportunity, send him a letter letting him know, discreetly, that he can come here to stay.”

Harry beamed. “That’s a great idea!”

Having finally been freed from his confines, Fleamont spoke unimpeded. “I think it’s about time for lunch. You better go eat, son.”

The care shown was too novel to argue with, so Harry just nodded, said his goodbyes, and tried to find his way back to the kitchen. He was thankful for the lack of questions; little did he know the interrogation the future would bring.

~~~

Waiting was something Harry was familiar with. Long hours in his cupboard, slowly flexing cramped legs and arms when they got pins and needles, counting the cracks in the wall to stave away boredom.

Never had he had so much to look forward to. Even when he was at Hogwarts, there was this sense of isolation. Forced independence. He knew he was on his own—although Ron and Hermione were sometimes there to help—he had never had an adult to reach out to. The only thing he had to anticipate was the next piece of the puzzle, the next burden to be placed on his shoulders.

But now, he was looking forward to help. That had never happened before. Help had always come too late, after the danger was already gone, after Harry had already saved the day in the form of defeating whatever monster-of-the-day had shown up this time. While he wasn’t discounting the amount of help he’d had from friends, it seemed like when it came to the real problem, whether it be Quirrelmort, or a basilisk, or a horde of dementors, it was Harry vs. the world.

So when Mrs. Tonk’s response came the next morning, politely requesting his presence early the next day, Harry could hardly contain himself. (There was a sick sort of unease that came along with the unfamiliar excitement. He wondered if it was all him, or if any part of it had to do with the personality-changing spells or potions he had discussed with Master Nis. But Harry tried to push it away, and it wasn’t too hard, because thinking about the problems with his magic at all left him with headaches.)

He spent the day leading up to visiting Mrs. Tonks’ flying around the Quidditch pitch and exploring the Manor. At first, he tried to help the house elves with chores, not knowing what else to do with himself, but found himself soundly rebuked by all the elves, who told him firmly that it was not his job. He may have gotten a little choked up at that.

He eventually got a reply from his lawyer, and sent a letter back scheduling an appointment the day after the one with his account manager. If he was this antsy for his meeting with Mrs. Tonks, he had no clue how he was going to survive until his meeting with his lawyer. It was a whole week away.

Unfortunately, whether due to the excitement or something else, Harry could barely find it in himself to read any of the books Remus had recommended him. They truly sounded interesting, and he had managed to find The State of Magic in his family library. But, every time he would try to settle down in the sunroom and read, it was like he became a zombie. His mind became fuzzy and distractable, he would stare into space mindlessly, unable to comprehend the words despite knowing it wasn’t that far above his reading level.

(It scared him, this feeling. Throughout all of his adventures, he had only felt this helpless one other time, and it was while he was living at the Durleys. He felt like a prisoner in his own mind.)

His favorite activity, though, to stave off the boredom, was talking to his grandparents. They were a treasure trove of stories, about his father, about Sirius, and about themselves. Unfortunately, they were painted in his father’s sixth year, before he started dating his mother, but after she had joined the friend group, so the stories they had about her were few and far between. They reminded him, gently, that Sirius would be able to fix this problem.

Harry avoided talking about most of what happened during his years at Hogwarts, and everything that happened during his years at the Dursleys. He was getting good at finding ways to segue into more questions to ask them instead of elaborating on any answers he gave. Questions about his year group? No need to mention most of them thought he was the Heir of Slytherin second year, so he barely talked to them, were you two in the same year? (Unfortunately, Harry’s attempts to change the subject were not as smooth as he thought).

When Hedwig arrived, he sent Sirius a letter, with the help of his grandparents, simply saying:

Padfoot,

I’m at the spot you burnt off your eyebrows in sixth year, and dyed Prongs’ hair green the muggle way after he stole your last Sugar Quill. Really petty, by the way. I admire it.

There’s more than enough space for the both of us.

Stay safe,
Prongslet

P.S. I’ll explain how I know when you get here.

It had taken Harry an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to realize Prongslet was supposed to be him. He had signed off his first letter as ‘Prongs’ son’ before the word popped in his head and he realized what it meant. It was a cheesy nickname, and the thought of it made him flush, but it was his.

He sent the letter off with Hedwig, and settled in for more waiting.

~~~

Andromeda Tonks’ house had a homey, yet elegant, feel to it. The magic brushed up against Harry, testing him, before hesitantly settling over his skin. It reminded him of a stray cat he had met once, that seemed aloof until Harry had sat with it for a while. He just needed to give the house a chance to warm up to him.

Mrs. Tonks herself was much the same way, aloofness replaced with an air of professionalism. She was dressed in bright green robes, and had long, curly hair pulled into a bun. There was a small smile on her face as she introduced herself and led Harry out of the floo room.

“This is where I take patients,” Andromeda said, leading him into a small room. There was a white cot up against the wall. Across from that, a counter with a set of glass cabinets holding a whole assortment of potions. Harry couldn’t read any of the labels from where he was, and leaned forward, squinting to try to read the thin handwriting. “Those are the most common potions I use with my patients. I usually have a briefcase I take with me to house calls, but wanting a bit of privacy about where you live isn’t uncommon, Mr. Potter.”

Harry startled away from the potions. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Please, no need to apologize, and call me Andromeda. So, you wrote that you are under a mail ward?” She prompted him.

“It’s not just that, there’s—” Harry began, but remembered his reason for visiting a private Healer in the first place. “Is there any way we can make sure this stays between us?”

“And a guardian.”

“Is… is that necessary?” Harry fumbled with his fingers. If she had to alert his guardian that he was getting healed, that could get back to Dumbledore, and that—Harry’s head pounded—couldn’t be allowed to happen. He would be sent back to the Dursleys.

Andromeda sighed, scrutinizing him for a moment, “Do you have adult supervision at the moment?”

He thought of the portraits, the house elves, and Sirius, “Yes…? Kind of? I will soon.”

Giving him another searching look, she raised her wand hand in the air and said, “I, Andromeda Tonks, swear upon my magic to not discuss or communicate Harry Potter’s case with anyone besides his adult supervision unless given permission by Harry Potter. So mote it be.”

A rush of magic swept through the room, ruffling Harry’s hair and sweeping through his clothes, old robes of his father’s. “What was that?” Harry said.

“A basic Healer’s oath. It uses the Healer’s magic to stop them from speaking about confidential patient information.” Andromeda said, conjuring a clipboard. “Now, Mr. Potter?”

“Oh, uh, call me Harry.” Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of parchment. “This is my inheritance test. Look at this.” He folded it so only the bottom section was viewable, showing the block and recommendation for a Healer. She took it from him gently, read it through once, twice, and frowned deeply.

“Harry, may I have your permission to do a deep scan of your health history? It is a fairly complex spell, and usually Healers don’t bother doing it, but the scan will allow me to determine what spells and potions have been used on you, as well as previous injuries.” As Andromeda spoke, Harry felt a deep sense of foreboding. Nevertheless, he nodded. She directed him to lay down on the cot.

Andromeda waved her wand in complicated swirls and jabs all around his body. He tried to stay as still as possible, even when her magic started to poke at his body. First his feet, where his left ankle twinged, then up his body, where his arms ached and burned, but the worst was his scar. He bit his lip to not yell out in pain; it felt like it was going to burst open. Finally, after an eternity of tingling and pain, it ended.

He panted, desperately trying to breathe through the lingering pain as he noticed a long piece of parchment pop into existence in front of Andromeda. She cast a spell on it, keeping it levitating at eye level as she wrote notes onto her clip board. A lot of notes. At one point, after Harry’s breath had gone back to normal and he had sat up, she conjured up another sheet of parchment and kept writing. Finally, she stopped writing and turned to Harry.

“Well, you have a long road ahead of you, Harry.” Andromeda conjured up a stool and sat down across from him. “What would you like to work on first, your magic or physical condition?”

Seeing as he already knew about his physical condition, he wanted to know what was wrong with his magic as soon as possible (and, possibly, put off talking about what his relatives did to him). “Magic, please.”

She paused, making heavy eye contact with him. “I want you to know I’m keeping extensive records of everything I’ve found, so if you ever want to press charges, I can help.” He nodded, a tad helplessly. “I found two blocks on your core, a baby block and a blood binding. The baby block was likely placed by your parents, and was supposed to wear off over time, but the placement of the blood binding made it stay. The blood binding, which was supposed to block around 80% of your magic, was supposed to be permanent.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Someone wanted him to stay this way. I mean, it’s obvious when you think about it, Harry thought, heart pounding. It didn’t help much.

“Because of the baby block, we can remove the blood binding safely.” Harry’s breath rushed out of him.

“Why would my parents place a block on me?” Harry said. He didn’t feel like addressing the blood binding, as terrifying as it sounded.

“Baby blocks are used when children use large amounts of accidental magic, and may accidentally hurt themselves if it continues, either by draining themselves, or hurting themselves with the magic.”

Harry wondered what he was like as a child, if he had to have a block placed on him. Did he throw temper tantrums, throwing his stuff all over the place? Or did he just use magic too often? Too freaky yet again, he thought wryly.

“What about the other compulsions and stuff?” Harry asked.

Andromeda’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “To be frank with you, Harry, there are a lot of compulsions on you. Some of which I think would be hard to hear until you get them removed. I’m going to see if my regular curse-breaker is available to portkey over here, so we can get those removed and get him to look at the corrupted magic in your scar.”

Unable to help himself, Harry asked, “Why do you need a curse-breaker to remove everything? The inheritance test just mentions a Healer.”

Andromeda gave him a small, strained smile. “Usually, Healers are able to remove blocks or compulsions on wixen relatively easily, but with so many different types of magic involved, it’s best to get a specialist in here.”

Ah, so I’m just that fucked up, Harry thought.

To his surprise, Andromeda conjured a patronus. It was a bright swan, elegant and swimming in the air. She spoke to it, “Deliver a message to Bill Weasley: I need your immediate and discrete assistance with a patient. I’ll pay for the portkey.” The swan nodded its long head, and swam off, disappearing through the wall.

“Woah!” Harry couldn’t contain his excitement. “I had no idea you could do that with patronuses. That’s amazing!” Strangely, Andromeda got a pained look on her face at that.

“Yes, it is quite clever, and a relatively recent evolution of the spell.” She hesitated for just a moment. “Harry, while we are going to talk about most of this after you get your compulsions off, I do need you to know there is a chance not all of it can be fixed today.”

He nodded. “I expected that.”

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. “You may have to be on potions for a few months, and I’m not sure if the corrupted magic in your scar is something we will have a solution to today, as no one else has ever survived the killing curse.”

Harry supposed that made sense. “Okay.”

“Is this your first visit to a Healer?” Harry blinked in surprise.

“What?”

Andromeda smiled, “Usually, children that have been to a Healer before expect things to be done that day, and would be upset to learn they had to go on a long-term treatment.”

“Ah, yes, it is.” Harry said. He did not want to elaborate that it was the only time he had been to a doctor of any sort, and thankfully did not have to, as a different patronus entered the room. It was a big cat, with stripes down its back, but not one that Harry recognized.

“I’m on my way.” It said in, presumably, Bill Weasley’s voice. “You don’t need to worry about the portkey, I assume it’s serious since you used a patronus.”

Andromeda sighed. “No tact, that man.” Harry glanced at her, picking at his fingernails. He didn’t even need to ask the obvious. “Your case is more serious than most other ones I’ve worked on, yes, but that does not mean it is unfixable.” He nodded. Somehow, he trusted her to tell the truth.

“What type of animal was that patronus? I didn’t recognize it.”

“Bill says it’s a Tasmanian Tiger, an extinct animal.” Harry didn’t know patronuses could be an extinct species! Now that he thought about it, he wondered what species of deer his patronus was.

Andromeda raised her head like she was hearing a doorbell, although nothing sounded. “Looks like he’s here. I’ll go get him, just wait here.”

Harry waited patiently, swinging his legs as they dangled off the cot. Merlin, he was short.

Finally, the door opened, and in came the sound of voices.

“You know the rules, Bill. Here we are. Bill, this is Harry Potter; Harry, this is Bill Weasley.” Standing there was the coolest guy Harry had ever seen. His red hair was long, tied back in a ponytail, and he had an ear pierced with a dragon tooth. He was wearing casual jeans and a t-shirt, and dragonhide boots. Harry could feel his face turning red. Not cool, Harry! He yelled at himself. He figured he was embarrassed at how lame he looked, in Dudley’s old trainers and robes that were too big for him.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Harry managed to get out. Bill laughed, and Harry’s face warmed further. Unknown to him, Andromeda watched with an air of amusement.

“Call me Bill. It’s nice to meet you, Harry.” He conjured himself a chair, sitting down backwards. Andromeda rolled her eyes, and sat next to him in her seat. So cool, thought Harry. “I hear you’re a friend of my brother’s.”

“Yeah.” Harry calmed down, slightly. Bill didn’t care much that he was Harry Potter, and that was always a point in his book. “Ron’s great. So are Fred and George, and Ginny.”

“Great!” Bill gave him a wide smile. Harry looked down at his hands. “So, why have you called me here?”

“Harry,” Andromeda said, “do I have your permission to tell Bill just what he needs to know to help?”

Having briefly forgotten about the Healer’s Oath, Harry nodded, “If he takes an Oath too, please.”

Bill happily took the Oath. With a wave of Andromeda’s wand, the long piece of parchment cut in half, and she passed one piece over to Bill. Carefully, he read it over, consulting her clipboard on several occasions. Harry sat there quietly, not quite sure what to say, if he was allowed to say anything at all.

Finally, Bill said to Andromeda, “I generally agree with your opinion, but I have a few suggestions on how to make the process of removing the blocks easier. A strong cleansing ritual should take care of the compulsions and such, but I’m worried about how it will interfere with the corrupted magic.” Turning to Harry, he said. “May I do a few scans of my own? Not nearly as in-depth as Andromeda’s, just about the corrupted magic.” Harry nodded.

Bill’s spells weren’t as invasive as Andromeda’s was, and mainly felt like he had stuck his head in a bucket of water. There was a slow and steady ache coming from his scar, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Similarly to the other spell, at its conclusion it gave Bill a sheet of paper. He frowned at it.

“We should be able to do the cleansing ritual without any issue, but,” He made eye contact with Harry. “I need you to tell me if it starts to hurt.” Privately, Harry thought that he didn’t care if it hurt, he just wanted this done. But, he nodded.

“I need to perform a quick spell to collect the magic signature of the person that cast the blocks, and the compulsions, but I suspect they are from the same person.” Andromeda said. “While I don’t have a database of magical signatures to compare it to, the DMLE does. If you ever choose to open an investigation, they will be able to track down whoever did this to you.” Seeing Harry’s confusion, she explained. “The DMLE is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

So, a question for my lawyer. It’s probably not smart to press charges right now when I’m not even sure who did this to me, it could be someone with a lot of power over me. Harry thought. There was that feeling, again, like he was running into walls in his mind that he couldn’t quite cross over.

Andromeda performed the spell, pulling out a crystal from the shelves to store the magical signature in. She placed the crystal in a new, large, file she had dubbed Harry’s. He wondered if all patients got folders the first time they were there.

(They did not.)

“Alright,” Bill clapped his hands. Harry jumped. Bill shot him an apologetic look. “How about you get dressed, then we make our way to the ritual room to get you fixed up.”

Andromeda handed him a set of white robes, vaguely similar to a hospital gown except for closing in the front, and a grey shirt and trousers. “Take off everything. We can’t use any synthetic materials for this.” Unfortunately, it meant Harry had to take off his pants, but he supposed if it made him better, it was worth it.

Harry changed and followed them out the door, shivering in the thin clothes. “What’s a ritual room?”

“It’s a room, close to the wardstone, that’s set up with runic circles for rituals and cleansings. Most modern houses don’t have them, unless they’re specialized, like a Healer, but a lot of older houses do.” Bill explained. “Most rituals have fallen out of style, but they’re still popular in some pureblood crowds.”

“Do all rituals require a ritual room?” Harry asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to annoy Bill with too many questions. Or look stupid.

“Good question! Not all of them do, but the ones that are focused on one person always do.” Harry had never been so captivated with learning about magic.

“And what’s a wardstone?”

That caused Bill to raise an eyebrow at him, “They’re the main anchor of all the wards in a house; it’s what the Family magic latches onto to power the wards.” Harry nodded like that made sense to him. It was Bill’s turn to ask him a question.

“You were raised with muggles?”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. He would always like to avoid talking about the Dursleys if he could avoid it. “They didn’t tell me anything about magic.”

“Hm,” Bill looked contemplative at that. “You should go sue all those people that wrote books about your childhood. Are you even getting royalties from that?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I forgot about those.” Unfortunately for Harry and the new problem that had popped up on his radar, he had just arrived at the ritual room. A problem for his future lawyer, then.

It was a stone room, with slate-gray walls and flooring. There were chalk circles adorning the floor and walls, inscribed with runes that Harry couldn’t see. In the corner, on a small table, was a bucket of white chalk. Andromeda picked it up, conjured parchment in the air, kneeled on the floor, and began writing runes around the center circle, which was wide enough for someone to sit in. Bill joined her. Harry stood in the doorway, fidgeting with his baggy robes, for the few minutes it took for them to finish writing the circle.

Bill wiped his palms on his pants. Andromeda shot him a look, and used her wand to spell away her own chalk dust.

“Now Harry, if you would set down your wand down on the table, along with any enchanted items you have, we can begin.” Harry had only brought his wand with him, and decided to take his glasses off. They weren’t enchanted, but had been reparo’d so many times it felt wrong to have them on.

Bill directed him to stand in the center of the circle. “First, we are going to remove the blocks on your magic. It will be easier to get them both off at once, as they have become entangled. You might feel nauseous. If you do, feel free to sit down slowly, try not to disturb the chalk.”

Harry stepped into the center circle and took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said.

Bill and Andromeda began chanting in Latin, one to his left and one to his right. While Bill was correct, there was a nauseating feeling, he didn’t mention that it was because of something delving through his magic. The feeling bowled Harry over, leaving him barely able to lower himself to the ground, shaking. He couldn’t even look up to see Bill or Andromeda’s face, he was so focused on the awful, strange feeling of his magic being untangled. He groaned, voice covered by the rushing blood in his ears, burying his face in his hands.

At one point, they stopped speaking in sync, trading back and forth, and that was when Harry could feel the thing, the terrible binding, slightly lifted from him. A small explosion ripped out from Harry, shaking the walls, nearly sweeping the chanters off their feet. Still, they continued, until the binding was entirely lifted away, and Harry was pulsating magic like a beacon.

Even after the ritual ended, and they told Harry it was over, it took him a few minutes for the magic to stop rippling out of him, and for the nausea to abate. Eventually, he stood, stumbling out of the circle. Bill placed a hand on his shoulder, ushering him over as Andromeda conjured a glass and filled it with water.

“How are you feeling?” Bill asked.

“I feel…” Harry took stock, and realized he was tingling with magic. Normally cramped around his chest, his magic was filling his body, curiously poking around at its surroundings. “I feel amazing. My magic feels so free.”

Bill smiled at him, a little confused. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ll let you rest up for a few minutes, then start with the cleansing ritual.”

They stepped outside, and left Harry there, sipping his water. He set the glass down on the table, taking deep breaths and trying to feel his magic. He had always had difficulty with his classes, and it frustrated him how his magic seemed to slip through his grasp, inconsistent, while most of his peers picked things up with ease. Now, it felt like Harry could cast any spell he knew effortlessly. He had an absurd urge to summon a patronus, just to try out sending a message, and to feel his magic really stretch.

Bill and Andromeda reentered. “Are you ready for the cleansing ritual, Harry?” Andromeda said. Harry nodded.

“Now, this one may hurt a little, because of your scar, but if it starts to become painful, let us know and we will stop the ritual immediately.” She continued.

Harry took his place in the circle again, and prompted by Bill, sat down before it started. He was grateful for that suggestion when the chanting started. His magic was caressed by burning hot tendrils of magic, sweeping through him and burning away anything that was not his. It felt like a flame being passed through him, over and over. Harry clenched his jaw tight.

When it reached his scar, though, the flame suddenly became a red-hot poker, stabbing into his forehead, and he held back a little scream as best he could. He clenched his fists, bowing his head, praying that any moment the pain would stop, that the pounding beneath his eyelids would go away. Something dripped into his eyes, so Harry closed them. He let the chanting overwhelm him, and the pain became the only thing he could focus on, then suddenly, it stopped. An eternity later, the pain faded away. Harry sat there, slouched and panting, until it finally receded enough for him to speak.

“Did…” Harry’s throat was dry. He straightened up, Bill and Andromeda were looking down at him with worry and disappointment respectively. “Did it work?”

“Yes.” Andromeda’s voice was stern. “Why did you not tell us you were in pain? We could have stopped the ritual.”

“Because I was tired of feeling like I had no control over myself!” Harry slapped a hand over his mouth. I just yelled at her, He thought frantically. Why did I do that?

That got Andromeda to crack a smile, “You will probably be having emotional outbursts for the next couple weeks before your personality settles down.” She sobered up again. “You had quite a few things done to you.”

“What happened to me?”

“There were quite a few compulsions on you: to hate Dark Magic, Slytherins, Severus Snape; to be loyal to Albus Dumbledore, the Weasley family, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, and ‘the Light’.” Harry felt his feet fall out from under him. His friends, were they in on this? Did he even like them? Was everything fake?

“There were even more person-changing spells and potions. Spells that blocked your ability to learn about Lordships, although that was partially broken. Things to make you more reckless, less focused, less ambitious, less curious of the magical world, but more curious of mysteries around you.” Her voice quieted. “Things to make you ashamed of the abuse you went through, to be less likely to trust adults, to not run away. Although, it looks like that last one was partially broken, too.”

Harry was quiet for a long moment. They knew about the Dursleys. Whoever did this, knew about the Dursleys. His hands were shaking. Not with fear, with anger and helplessness.

Before he could work himself into a full panic attack, Bill spoke up. “I’m… I had no idea my family was involved in this. I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Harry brushed him off. If Bill wasn’t involved, maybe that meant the rest of the Weasley family wasn’t involved, either.

“I believe I know what the corrupted magic in Harry’s scar is, but I’d like to share my information with a colleague who would have a better idea of how to get rid of it. Harry, do I have your permission to share what is relevant with said colleague?” Bill said, thankfully changing the topic.

“Sure.” Harry didn’t like the look on Bill’s face, like he was pretending to be calm. But, maybe he was just tired from the rituals, or felt bad about his family. Harry needed it to be that, right now.

Bill bid his goodbye, taking his leave now that his services were no longer needed. Andromeda moved them back to her work space, and Harry sat back on that too-high cot, cursing the way his legs dangled.

“Do you need more time before we begin on the physical portion?” Andromeda asked. Harry shook his head. Better to get it over with now, he thought.

“There’s no easy way to say this, Harry.” Andromeda said. She was on her conjured stool, elbows on her knees to lower her to Harry’s height. Despite the apparent condescension, he didn’t mind it. “You’re malnourished, with decreased bone mass, except for your right arm, and anemia. You have several broken bones that didn’t heal right, and will need to be rebroken. Your stomach has also shrunk, and your immune system isn’t where it needs to be.

“I’ll need to get you started on a low dose of Skelegrow,” Harry made a face at that, taking the vial he was handed. “I know it’s gross, but decreased bone mass comes with a whole host of health issues. It’s better to deal with it now. You’ll need to be on a nutrient potion for the malnourishment, and an immune boosting potion until you can have your vaccines. Stay away from anyone who gets sick, and while you should have your vaccines by then, if you don’t, wear a mask when it gets to flu season at Hogwarts.” Rummaging around in the potion cabinet, she pulled out two potions. “These are your nutrient and immune potions, until I can tailor them to you.”

“You’re going to come see me every week for the next two weeks, we are going to see how the nutrient and immune potions and Skelegrow fare, if anything needs to be changed. If, after that, we are able to rebreak and heal your bones, we will do that. If not, we will keep meeting until you are able to get your bones healed.

“We can meet less often after that, but I do want to see you before you go off your Skelegrow at 5 weeks, and your nutrient and immune potions at 7 weeks.” Overwhelmed, and hands full of potions, Harry just nodded. Smiling, Andromeda said, “Drink your nutrient and immune potions in the morning when you wake up, and the Skelegrow before you go to bed, as it might be uncomfortable.” Harry grimaced. Uncomfortable was certainly one word for it.

“Now, I will be owling you your potions once I make them. I will also send a meal plan I expect you to stick to as best you can. I want you to eat often in smaller, manageable portions. What is your access to food like?”

Harry already had a panicked conversation with the elves about where they got the money for the food (from an allowance vault in the Potter vaults, it was one of the ones he couldn’t see in his inheritance test), so for once, this was a question that didn’t make him panic. “I should be able to get anything you need me to.”

She looked at his thin figure skeptically.

“Now.” He added. “I can now.” Andromeda nodded, accepting that readily enough.

“I believe you should also see a Mind Healer, although I understand if that is not possible at this moment, with your circumstances.”

“Mind Healer?” Harry asked. He was getting tired of all the things he didn’t know about the wixen world, having been a part of it for three years already.

“Similar to a muggle therapist or counsellor. In fact, they take a lot of inspiration from muggle methods, as the mind can’t be healed as simply as the body.” Before Harry could protest, she continued. “You’ve been through a lot, especially for someone your age. You don’t need to talk to me about it, but I recommend talking to someone.” He just nodded. He had no intention of talking to a Mind Healer, but Andromeda didn’t need to know that. He had too many things to hide.

“I also want you to get a new pair of glasses.” She raised a hand before he could interrupt her. “You’ve squinted at everything I’ve handed you. I don’t know how people haven’t noticed sooner. There’s a place in Diagon, Olley’s Optometry. Visit them while doing your school shopping.”

Summoning a new piece of parchment, Andromeda wrote something down. “This is when to take your potions, and my treatment recommendation, including the glasses, in case you forget.” She handed it to him. She then made a duplicate of what was on her clipboard. “And these are my diagnoses.”

“Thank you.”

Placing the potions and parchment in the surprisingly deep robe pockets, Andromeda led him back to the floo room. Before he could go, Andromeda placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, please owl if you have any questions, any at all, especially before your… adult supervision gets to wherever you are staying.” She seemed so deeply, completely earnest that all Harry could do was nod and murmur a thank you. Then, he was lost to the green flames of the fireplace.

~~~

Harry floated through lunch with the elves like a ghost. Unable to process anything except the results of his visit with Andromeda, he numbly picked at his food. Lethy tried to get him to eat more, and Nipsy tried to talk to him, but he just mumbled excuses.

What was Harry really like?

Did he actually like Ron and Hermione? The Weasleys? Dumbledore? Did he really hate Slytherins? Malfoy? And what about Dark vs. Light magic that he apparently was supposed to have opinions on?

Thinking back on it, Ron and Hermione had been kind of awful friends the past year, constantly fighting and allowing Harry to be right in the middle of it. Still, there was a chance they didn’t know about the compulsions, so Harry would continue to tentatively be friends with them. A sort of test run.

The Weasleys had been great to him in the past, although Mrs. Weasley could be overbearing at times. He didn’t really have an opinion on many of the Slytherins, as, now that he thought about it, most of them tended to stay out of the rivalry he had with Malfoy. A rivalry, he was now realizing, was mainly between Ron and Malfoy. Harry didn’t hate Malfoy, per se, just thought he was a prat.

With the realization that Dumbledore had guardianship over him this whole time, it was safe to say he was wary of the old man. Could he have placed the blocks and compulsions? The blocks certainly weren’t placed by Hagrid or Sirius, the only other people who had him the night his parents were killed. And speaking of Sirius, why didn’t Dumbledore call to get him a trial? Surely he had that power with all his fancy titles. Maybe, it was for the same reasons he placed the compulsions and blocks.

If he did place the compulsions, which Harry was leaning towards, why did Dumbledore care so much about Harry having an opinion on types of magic? Didn’t Master Nis talk to him about how corrupted magic was the one that did the actual damage? It was confusing. Even with his mind unimpeded, Harry couldn’t figure out what Dumbledore was playing at. Why did he care about what Harry thought, of all people.

Why would he want Harry to do poorly at his classes? Why would he want Harry’s magic blocked? Did he want Harry to die in all the adventures he got into? Adventures, he was realizing, Dumbledore was probably responsible for, in one shape or another. There was no way one child could get in so much trouble without going to look for it.

Harry thought back to the muggle saying; one time’s chance, two time’s a coincidence, three time’s a pattern.

Three’s a pattern, indeed. He thought, panicked. It was becoming rapidly clear to Harry, as his mind reorganized, that some part of this was planned.

He needed a second opinion. Having barely eaten any of his food, he tried to finish off as much as possible, and left the kitchen when the house elves (mainly Nipsy) were satisfied.

Making his way up to the portrait room, he found that his grandparents’ portrait was empty. Deciding to have a wander, Harry walked around the Manor, occasionally calling out for his grandparents, but mostly just thinking about how he was going to break the news to them that they had the most messed-up grandchild in the world. Eventually, he heard voices.

He entered the private sitting room, and saw a wide painting covering most of the wall. It depicted a beautiful, serene beach with rolling waves and a perfectly sunny day. His grandparents were there, sitting in the sand, talking.

“Won’t you get sandy?” Harry asked in lieu of greeting.

Fleamont startled, “Hadrian!” Harry startled, too. It felt strange, to be called that. But also, right. “Where’ve you been?”

“Ah, about that… I’ve been at the Healer’s.”

Euphemia raised an eyebrow. “What mischief happened that you needed to go to the Healer’s?”

“Um, no mischief, just—” Harry pulled out his diagnosis sheet. He didn’t exactly want to reveal everything to his grandparents. Would they be disappointed to learn out the Dursleys? That their grandson was so weak he couldn’t fight back.

“Are that your diagnoses? May we see?” Euphemia asked gently.

Reluctantly, he held it up so the portraits could read. Some of the words on the sheet had made no sense to him, but they seemed to all make sense to his grandparents, as they looked livid.

“Who. Did this to you.” Euphemia said, her voice clipped.

“The physical stuff was mostly caused by the Dursleys, the muggles I used to live with. I think,” Harry hesitated. “Dumbledore did the rest.”

“And Dumbledore was the one that placed you with the Dursleys, yes?” Fleamont asked lowly. He was mostly calm, and Harry appreciated the restraint.

“Yes. He’s also my magical guardian, according to my inheritance test.” That made Fleamont furrow his eyebrows.

“Can you summon the inheritance test for me?” Harry was relieved the topic didn’t stay on the Dursleys for long. He knew, now, that the well-worn shame surrounding what the Dursleys did to him was partially because of the compulsions, but that didn’t stop his mind from walking the familiar paths.

“I, uh, don’t know how to do that.” Harry tilted his head a little. “And I’m not allowed to do magic outside of school.” Fleamont just chuckled.

“Hadrian, with wards this thick, the ministry can’t tell who’s casting the magic. Remind me to tell you more about wards later. Anyway, a simple summoning spell you would learn this year is accio. For example, accio inheritance test.” Fleamont demonstrated the wand movement. “Try it out! It’s easier when you can see the object, but your magic will be itching to be used after being under those blocks.”

Harry grabbed his wand out of his pocket. Euphemia tsked. “We need to get you a wand holster, or you’re going to break your wand one of these days.” He nodded. Maybe he could get one that his parents or grandparents had used!

“Accio inheritance test.” Harry said. Nothing happened.

“Try envisioning it this time.” Fleamont said. “If you don’t manage it, that’s okay! It’s your first time casting it, after all.”

Harry pictured the test in his mind: the material of the parchment in his hands, the content of what it said. “Accio inheritance test.” For a moment, nothing.

Then something came flying in the room. Before he could stop it, it ran into his chest, falling to the floor with a soft flump.

“It takes a bit of practice to catch them,” Fleamont said. “Let me see the beginning, please.”

Harry showed the parchment to his grandparents. Fleamont hummed in consideration, while Euphemia’s eyes flashed. The accio shenanigans had not distracted her from her anger.

“That bastard stole you.” Euphemia said, voice low and taut. “He took you from Sirius, and from us, and from Magic.”

Fleamont placed a hand on her shoulder. “Love, we need to explain to Harry.”

Euphemia took a deep breath. “Dumbledore’s claim of magical guardian is unverified, meaning it’s definitely—”

“Most likely,” Fleamont cut in.

Euphemia rolled her eyes. “Most likely illegal. You said he ordered Hagrid to take you away from Sirius despite definitely not having the authority to do so at the time. If Hagrid hadn’t taken you away from Sirius, he might not have gone after Pettigrew, and you would’ve grown up in the magical world.”

They fell into silence at that. If I hadn’t been taken away, I could’ve grown up with Sirius, and maybe Remus, instead. The thought made him ache.

“What do I do?” Harry asked helplessly. “He’s so powerful and I’m just… me.”

“I know you are just a child, and are too young to have these burdens placed on you, but you are much stronger than you think. To have survived what you have… just from what I saw on the medical report.” Fleamont said.

“Don’t think we didn’t see that you somehow survived a basilisk bite, young man.” Euphemia sent him a stern look.

“I didn’t even know that was on there.” Harry said weakly.

“I am expecting an explanation for that.” Euphemia said, and Harry warily agreed.

“Anyway,” Fleamont cut in. “You aren’t alone now. You have us, and since portraits aren’t great company, you have the elves, and you’ll have Sirius again soon. Dumbledore is just one man. A powerful one, yes, but one steeped in his own hubris. He will slip up, and we will take advantage of that. You’re already partially out from under his grasp, and that is a great starting point. Just focus on healing, and on preparing for the visit to your lawyer. Who are you working with? Have you thought about what you want them to focus on?”

“Oh, I’m working with Benson & Haynes.” Harry said. “And I want them to focus on freeing Sirius, but I’m not sure how to go about getting them to believe me.”

“Oh, they’re great!” Fleamont said. “Why don’t you show them a memory? I’m sure they have a pensieve in office for helping clients go over details of events.”

“Show them a memory? What do you mean?” Harry asked. Euphemia grumbled something under her breath.

“There’s a spell you can use to extract copies of memories, and a type of object inlaid with runes called a pensieve you can use to watch the memories. The memory comes out as a strand of light, you just place the strand into the bowl of the pensieve, and stick your hand into it. You get sucked right into the memory.”

Harry thought back to second year. “The magic isn’t like—dangerous, is it?”

“No, it’s completely safe. Why?”

“It’s a long story, I’ll explain later.” That earned him two frowns, but Harry was not in the mood to explain Tom Riddle’s Fucked Up Diary (Patent Pending). “Do I need to know how to do the spell?”

“No, whoever is assigned to your case should know the spell. It’s something you learn in seventh year, I think?” His grandfather said. Harry sighed in relief. He didn’t want to learn another spell today. Along with his emotions, his magic felt unsettled, liable to go off at any moment.

“You should make a list of things you want your lawyer to be working on, just in case.” Harry’s grandmother said.

Sitting on the floor in front of the couch, Harry, at his grandparents’ urging, asked for Nipsy to bring him some parchment and a quill and ink. Harry still wasn’t quite comfortable using the house elves, preferring to take his plates to the kitchen and grab things by hand. But, the elves always seemed pleased to be called upon, especially Nipsy and Lethy. He hadn’t called on Plink yet, not needing to, but he got the impression the elf enjoyed their alone time.

Together, Harry and his grandparents’ portraits complied a list in no particular order: dealing with the books written about him, building a case about the blocks and compulsions, changing guardianship away from the Dursleys and Dumbledore (and hopefully to Sirius), and pressing charges against the Dursleys. Some part of Harry, an echo of past thoughts, didn’t want to go against the Dursleys, until he realized that was how he used to feel, when he was forced to not speak about the abuse. Now, some part of Harry still felt ashamed, but the rest of him burned.

By the time they finished, there were still a couple of hours until dinner. “I guess I’ll just go flying?” Harry said, statement coming out more like a question. He was enjoying spending time with his grandparents, even if they were just paintings.

“Actually, Harry,” Euphemia stopped him. “I wanted to talk to you about your defense education. That’s something many Potters go into, and I think it would be beneficial for you to get a deeper education.”

“’Mia was a world-class dueler, back in our day!” Fleamont said, stars in his eyes as he looked at her.

“Woah.” Harry looked at his grandmother with new respect. Badass…

She smiled at him, “So, how has your education been so far?” Harry scrunched up his face in disgust.

“Horrible. I mean, last year was great, but with the curse on the DADA position and everything it landed us with some awful teachers. I tried to self-study, but with the compulsions…” Harry trialed off. It hit him again how difficult it would be to pass his classes, to defend himself, if he hadn’t run away from the Dursleys.

Euphemia made a noise of distaste, “And in third year, at least in James’ time, the DADA curriculum covered ‘Dark’ creatures. Not the best for your situation.”

“I mean, it could’ve been helpful,” Harry rationalized. “If we covered any of the creatures I’ve met in the DADA curriculum.” Although, Harry thought, I did end up seeing a werewolf.

“What do you mean creatures.” Fleamont pulled at his hair. Euphemia patted his back and shot Harry a look that said ‘stop your shenanigans’.

“Er. Tell you when Sirius gets here?” Harry smiled awkwardly. “Anyway. We had a dueling club in second year that lasted one session. I wish we could’ve had a competent professor, dueling was fun while it lasted.”

“I’d be happy to teach you how to duel.” Euphemia said. Harry sat up quickly.

“Really?” His eyes were shining in excitement, and Harry’s unbound magic was vibrating so hard he felt like he was about to blow something up.

“Yes, now, let’s try to find the dueling room.”

Harry’s shout of “dueling room?!” followed her as she walked out the edge of the painting.

~~~

The dueling room was tucked away on the opposite end of the library, supposedly to protect the books should something go terribly wrong and the protections on both sets of rooms fail. Near the door were sets of dummies, targets (that moved!), and a dueling stage. “For formal duels,” said Euphemia. There were no paintings in the room, but Euphemia insisted Harry carry around a small painting of a forest that she and Fleamont went into.

The second section of the room was larger, but empty, with only the Potter Crest on the wall showing up as particularly important. Until Euphemia spoke up.

“Tap the crest with your wand, and say forma silva.” He followed her instructions.

The floor softened under his feet. Harry swung out his arms to catch his balance, nearly knocking them into a tree that had appeared right next to him. He gasped, spinning around in a circle. He was in the middle of a forest!

Fleamont laughed. “That never gets old, seeing someone’s reaction for the first time.”

“Don’t bully the poor child, Monty.” Euphemia said, but there was a smile in her voice. “This area simulates different fighting environments in order to prepare our family for all eventualities.”

“Woah…” Harry said. “Why do we have this? Does our family join the Aurors a lot?”

Fleamont barked out a laugh. “As if! James was the first in generations. We prefer to take on evil from the sidelines, unseen, or train up others to defend themselves.” Harry hummed; he liked the sound of that.

“So!” He bounced on his toes, holding the painting eye-level. “What’re you going to teach me? Blasting curse? Impediment jinx?”

Euphemia laughed. “Nothing that flashy. First, tell me about what defensive spells you know. Even the ones that you didn’t learn in defense. If you can think of a defensive capability for them, tell me.”

Of course, Harry started with expelliarmus. He continued from there, but quickly found himself trailing off. He really didn’t know that many defensive spells.

“Um, I could use a sticking charm on someone’s feet so they can’t dodge.” Euphemia nodded encouragingly. “I could use a hardening charm on someone’s clothes so they can’t move as easily. I could summon something to use as a shield from a curse.” Harry’s list ended there.

“Oh! I forgot, I can cast a Patronus. Sorry, I learned it recently. I don’t know if that counts, since it’s against a creature instead of a person.”

Both grandparents raised their eyebrows. “You can cast a Patronus at 13? When and how and why on earth did you learn?” Fleamont said incredulously.

“I started learning this past Christmas, it took a few months to perfect. Prof—Remus taught me how to; he was our DADA professor. I learned because there were dementors on campus, guarding against Sirius.”

“I always knew that Remus was the teacher type! If we had money, you would owe me five galleons.” Fleamont said gleefully, nudging Euphemia.

“I know, I know.” Euphemia rolled her eyes. “I’m glad he was able to settle down a little. Why did you feel the need to learn the Patronus charm, though? Surely the dementors were kept away from campus.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “They were supposed to be, but those stupid things are like, attracted to me. They interrupted a Quidditch match, and we lost, so I decided to learn. And…” He hesitated, and decided against telling them. “It generally just sucks to be around one.”

“I can agree with that.” His grandmother said. “Now, you should show us your Patronus! It’ll give your magic a chance to breathe.”

“Love, no one knows what you mean when you say that.” Fleamont said, but Harry understood perfectly. His magic had been feeling a little cramped since he got the blocks removed, like water pressing against a dam. He had used it a couple times that day, but nothing like casting a Patronus.

Harry leaned his grandparents’ portrait against the closest wall. Focused on the idea that Sirius was coming to live with him, and with a cry of “Expecto Patronum,” Prongs sprung into existence in a brilliant flash of light. It did a lap of the room, on the lookout for any dangers. Harry looked back at his grandparents proudly. Even if his grades were garbage, this was a tangible achievement.

There was pride in his grandparent’s eyes. It took him aback. It was the first time he had ever seen that in a family member’s eyes. Except, he remembered seeing the exact same look of pride before. From Remus, whenever Harry was practicing the Patronus charm with him. Still, it warmed him, and Prongs seemed to glow brighter.

“That’s brilliant, Hadrian!” Fleamont said.

“Very impressive.” Euphemia said. Harry beamed.

“Thank you! I call him Prongs because, well, my father was a stag.”

“You’ve probably realized this, as you have the Heir ring now,” Fleamont said, “but the Potter family is represented by a stag. Not all families choose animals, but we did. It not only represents strength, but protection. The stag is a prey animal, but will fight away predators for the safety of the other members of the herd. In some cultures, it is also representative of the in-between, of the space between this world and beyond.”

“Oh,” Harry said quietly. It made sense that his father, someone who deeply valued his family, would be represented by its animal. It also made sense that Harry, someone who deeply ached for a family that would never be, would see his soul’s protector as the representation of that family.

(In a quiet part of his mind, he wondered if he would’ve been able to connect with this part of his family with the blocks on. So much was taken from him.)

Finishing his pacing, Prongs settled in front of Harry. The Patronus bowed its head, and Harry tried to pat its nose. Of course, his hand went right through it, but it tingled with the feeling of pure magic. The stag faded into nothing.

Harry took stock of himself. Euphemia, of course, was right. His magic felt freshly stretched, not in any sort of exertion, but like a cat in the sun. He also felt calm, settled. The frantic energy that had consumed him the past few days had been expelled with the Patronus, leaving him slightly empty, but happier for it.

Smiling, Harry turned to his grandparents’ portrait, which was still on the floor. “We have to find a better spot to put you, especially if you’re going to be teaching me in here.”

“Once Sirius is here, he can help with training you.” Euphemia said. “I trained him myself.”

“I don’t want to bother him... and you already agreed…” Harry was thrilled at the prospect of spending more time with his godfather; it wasn’t the same, really, spending time with portraits. But, the last thing he wanted was for Sirius to get tired of Harry because he had to train him. And, he still wanted to spend time with his grandparents, even if they were portraits.

“He won’t be bothered.” Euphemia smiled at him gently. “But I can still help.”

“Thank you.” Harry said sincerely.

“Now that we’ve been sufficiently derailed several times, let me give you a crash course on the Protego charm.”

What followed was the most ruthlessly effective and efficient DADA, well, Defense, class Harry had ever had. Remus was great, of course, but he suffered because of the amount of teenagers in the classroom. As soon as Harry was conjuring weak shields that held for more than a few seconds, Euphemia clapped her hands.

“Wonderful! Time for the real test. Tap your wand on one of the practice dummies and say initium, then stand across from it.” Not noticing Fleamont stifling a laugh, Harry did as told.

“Get ready.” Before Harry could ask what he was getting ready for, Euphemia yelled. “And DODGE.”

Spells came flying at Harry. Hastily, he tried to dodge: left, right, down, right again. Years of Harry Hunting came back to him in an instant. A spell grazed his left arm, making the skin numb, but he was still able to move it. Before he could ask what the hell was happening, Euphemia yelled out again.

“If you aren’t able to dodge, use a shield! But, you never know what might break through.”

As a spell flew right for his chest, he yelled out “Protego!” A weak shield shimmered in front of him, the same ephemeral light as Prongs. The spell bounced right off. Just as he was about to celebrate, another spell came and hit his right forearm. Harry cursed, shaking it out as he ducked out of the way. He wished there was cover, but he supposed when he faced Quirrelmort there wasn’t any cover, either.

His shield moved with him as he moved. He developed a rhythm; dodging was like weird dancing, in a way. But then, Harry saw a bright red spell headed straight for his chest, thicker than any of the other spells shot at him. Hoping his Protego would hold, he poured magic into it, but when the spell hit, it shattered. The spell knocked Harry off his feet, straight on his ass. Panting, he laid back on the floor.

“I yield.” He groaned. The spells stopped flying, thankfully.

When Harry managed to lift his head up, he saw his grandfather beaming at him, but his grandmother looked like 20 years of Christmases had come at once.

“You did brilliantly, Hadrian.” He grinned at her, a little lopsided, still panting. “Ready to go again?”

Chapter Text

The first thing Remus Lupin did when he returned “home”—to an old safe house he had been holed up in for the last however many years—was bring his luggage inside. The second thing he did was pop open a bottle of firewhiskey Minerva had given him and drink straight from the bottle.

Just like back after graduation, He thought bitterly. Out of a job, drinking firewhiskey from the bottle. All that’s missing is…

He cut off that train of thought. No need to go into that tonight. Besides, hadn’t he just learned that Sirius was innocent? He had one of his friends back, he wasn’t alone anymore. Hopefully.

(And if his greedy heart yearned for more, he would push it down with practiced detachment.)

Remus thought, briefly, about the hug in the Shrieking Shack, and felt the firewhiskey unsettle in his stomach. He didn’t deserve Sirius’ forgiveness, not after thinking he was guilty and abandoning him for twelve years. Did the man even forgive him, or was he so desperate for anyone to believe him that he was willing to put aside all that Remus had done?

Those twelve years stretched out in a blur to Remus. Friends he made and left, hookups in dirty bars. His masteries, traveling around the world and learning about so many different things just like they said they would, together. Trying and failing to find and contact Harry. Trying and failing to forget about Sirius. It all blended together in a haze.

He remembered, in France, when a partner someone had figured out what he was. He was horrified, offering to leave the country if they didn’t speak a word to anyone. They simply invited him to a werewolves’ rights organization meeting. Remus wanted to go, he wanted to embrace himself like that. He left France the next week.

Harry and Sirius both deserve so much better, Remus thought, taking another drink. There was a helpless sort of grief to the words. They both deserve so much more than a fucked-up werewolf that can’t even fight for them. That doesn’t even have a fucking job.

He fell asleep to the words ringing in his head, shoes still on his feet.

~~~

Remus’ head was pounding when he woke the next morning, sun peaking through the threadbare curtains in his bedroom. He groaned, barely lifting his head, before he heard it.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Instantly, he was alert, gripping the wand on his bedside table and letting the wards tell him who was there. Two people, no one that had been here before, so the wards didn’t recognize the magical signatures, but the way they knocked screamed Auror.

He cast a freshening charm on himself, taking in his wrinkled, hungover appearance in the hallway mirror. Nothing he could do about that now. He rushed to the front door and opened it.

Proudfoot and Dawlish. Remus thought, taking in the men in his doorway. Fuck. The last people he would ever want to see from the Auror office.

The two men shouldered their way in, looking around warily. Remus didn’t bother asking for a warrant, as, of course, Aurors can do searches on werewolves without warrants. Lucky him.

Proudfoot turned to him, sneering at his appearance, as Dawlish began to walk into his cabin, casting spells as he went. “So, got a cuppa?”

Remus nodded warily, walking into his kitchen. Proudfoot took a seat in the attached dining room, leaning the chair back on two legs, and Remus fought to not roll his eyes. He made the tea by hand, partially because it was soothing, and partially because he didn’t know the reaction he would get if he got his wand out.

He passed over the mug, watching as the Auror put an obscene amount of cream and no sugar into his tea. Remus shuddered, and settled for his splash of cream and one sugar. Even if he had no intention of drinking it.

Proudfoot took a long sip and spoke. “I’m sure you know why we’re here, Lupin.”

Remus nodded. “Yes, and as I told the last group of Aurors, I have no clue where Black is.”

Proudfoot slammed the mug on the table, making the dishes jump. Remus didn’t flinch, but his heart started to beat faster. “Don’t be short with me, wolf. Tell me where Sirius Black is or I’ll force it out of you.”

Remus tried to stay calm. Nothing good came with an angry Auror, he had learned that the hard way. “I’m telling the truth.” His voice was low, and calm, like you would use for a feral animal. “I haven’t seen Black.”

“Dawlish.” The man in question walked into the small dining room. He stood behind Remus, blocking his exit. Fuck, Remus thought. “Hold him down.”

Remus bolted out of his seat. He tried to dart around Dawlish, but the older man grabbed his arm and forced him back into the chair. The auror grabbed his other arm, pulling them harshly behind his back. Remus’ mug fell off the table and shattered. “Hold still, fucker.” He grunted, as Remus struggled.

Proudfoot approached, pulling a bottle of clear liquid out of his chest pocket. Veritaserum. Remus thought rapidly. He was overpowered, and even if he could get away, he could be arrested for impeding an Auror investigation. He had no legal recourse against this. His only hope was that these guys were stupid enough to ask open-ended questions that could be easily reinterpreted. He relaxed against the rough hold.

Despite his lack of resistance, Proudfoot yanked his mouth open, almost popping his jaw out of place. He held Remus’ mouth open with one hand, and with the other, dropped three drops of the liquid into his mouth. The Auror set the bottle down, and then closed Remus’ mouth and plugged his nose. Reluctantly, Remus swallowed.

Instantly, his body disconnected from his mind. Luckily, he was ready for the feeling, having felt it dozens of times practicing during the war. He managed to reach back, tethering his body to his mind, and it was just enough to where he could process what was being said to him.

“What is your name?” Dawlish asked, more a demand than a question.

“Remus John Lupin.”

“Where is Sirius Black?” Proudfoot cut in. Dawlish sent him a look.

Remus didn’t even have to try to lie with this one. “I don’t know.”

Proudfoot groaned. “What is Sirius Black planning?”

“I don’t know.”

Dawlish joined in again. “Did you help Sirius Black escape?”

“No.” For the first time, he was grateful he was not involved with the either escape attempt, whatever the second one was.

“When is the last time you saw Sirius Black?”

“Before his escape.” Remus did not add he meant his most recent escape, and prayed they did not ask follow up questions. This might be the worst interrogation he has ever seen.

“He doesn’t know anything.” Dawlish said to Proudfoot. Remus felt relief flood his body. Neither of them looked pleased at this, especially when Dawlish said they needed to administer the antidote. Proudfoot looked like he would prefer to just leave Remus like that until it wore off.

They pried open his slack jaw and dripped the antidote in, ordering him to swallow. He felt his mind float back into his body, and instantly fixed the Aurors with the deepest glare he could manage. Dawlish gulped.

“I’ll show you out.” Remus said flatly.

They followed him to the front door. Dawlish left quickly, but Proudfoot lingered. “We’ll be… in touch, Lupin.” Remus gave him a snarl of a smile and slammed the door when he heard the Auror apparate away, slamming the lock down.

Instantly, all the fight drained away from Remus’ body. He slumped against the door, sliding to the ground.

“Fuck!” He had to get a message out to Sirius.

~~~

Padfoot,

Fuck. I’m sorry. Had a bit of unexpected company, and I’m afraid they’re sticking around. I won’t have enough space to house you.

We need to I’m I owe you an apology, in person. Stay safe.

Love Yours Mischief Managed,

Moony

~~~

The next two weeks passed in a haze of paranoia. Remus had gone to the owl office in Diagon to mail his letter, and that was the only time he left the cabin except to get groceries. Even then, he did it only once. His pantry was as empty as his Gringotts account.

Although he tried to hide away, Remus could feel the prickling of skin that meant someone was watching him. Remus swore he heard cracks of apparition outside, but didn’t dare investigate. It wouldn’t take much for those Aurors to escalate. But knowing they were there, watching, he wondered: How was a normal person supposed to act after learning their ex-friend had broken out of imprisonment again?

How was he supposed to act, knowing Sirius was innocent?

Remus tried to go through his routines as best he could. He sent off owls resubscribing to magazines that held job listings. He cooked, cleaned, sent off job applications, and spent the full moon tearing apart old scars with practiced apathy. 

However, even an uneasy peace cannot last. A few days after the full moon (which was a particularly rough one, given his wolf knew that Padfoot was back, and was very displeased), Remus received a visitor one early morning.

Knock knock.

It wasn’t the ‘fist against the door’ that the Aurors preferred, but it seemed to echo through Remus’ house all the same. He stiffened where he sat on his couch, reading a book and generally ignoring all the job rejections he had gotten.

(His secret, his oh-so precious secret, was out. And Remus so desperately wanted to put it back in the bag, to go back to hiding. But nothing, not even something as damaging as this, could be undone.)

Groaning as he stood, Remus limped to the door, opening the door before he could wonder who the hell was visiting him in the middle of nowhere.

Dumbledore. Of-fucking-course. The Headmaster was standing at the door, head bowed slightly.

“Remus, my boy.” He said, “May I come in?”

Having no reason to refuse the man, despite wanting to wallow by himself, Remus let him in. He escorted the older man to the tiny kitchen.

“Tea?” Remus offered, just to be polite. So, of course, Dumbledore accepted.

As he prepared the tea, he noticed the other man taking in the cabin, like he had never been there before. Like he hadn’t been there just a year ago to drag him out of his miserable life because Sirius had broken out of Azkaban. Sirius… Remus tore himself away from that well-worn line of thought. Talk to Dumbledore, then he could think about Sirius some more.

Remus set down the mugs. “So, what brings you here?”

Dumbledore smiled genially at him. “I was wondering if you had heard anything from young Harry. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to talk to him before he left for the summer.”

Although his bullshit alarms were ringing, Remus answered genuinely, “I haven’t heard anything from Harry. Why do you ask?”

Ignoring his question, Dumbledore asked. “Did Harry ever mention any place he was planning on visiting this summer?”

Again, Remus answered truthfully. “No, we didn’t talk about summer plans…”

Remus stared at Dumbledore, dumbfounded. He was making connections and was shocked and horrified at the conclusion he came to.

“Did you—Dumbledore, did you lose Harry?” Remus said calmly, voice low and deadly.

The Headmaster spluttered into his tea. “No, my boy, you misunderstand.”

“Then why,” Remus grit his teeth, a headache quickly forming. It would do him no good to yell at Dumbledore, no matter how much he wanted to. “do you seem to not know where he is?”

“He merely went on vacation with his family, and I was trying to make sure he was adequately protected while there.”

His family? Remus thought, That could only be… Petunia. Oh Merlin, Harry’s living with Petunia. There was no way Petunia would take Harry on vacation. And, fuck, that would explain why he was so skinny, and dressed in rags on the weekends. So many things were making sense, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed it before, but he tried to keep his reaction to this information as internal as possible.

Remus just said. “I see.” As amicably as possible when he wanted to hex the man across from him.

Cautiously, they talked some more about the school and Remus’ job hunt. But, clearly realizing he didn’t know anything, Dumbledore quickly drank the rest of his tea, and bid Remus goodbye.

Before he fully left, though, Dumbledore fixed him with a searching look. “Please, my boy, let me know if you hear anything. Anything at all.” Remus agreed.

Finally, the Headmaster left, leaving Remus silently fuming and with an awful headache. Since when did the man seem so untrustworthy? And how the hell did he lose Harry?

Right as Remus settled down on his couch to have another crisis, there was a tap at his window. Groaning, and not wanting to deal with another job rejection, Remus pulled himself up and opened the window. To his surprise, he recognized the owl.

“Oh, hello,” He didn’t know their name, but he saw them visiting Harry often at the breakfast table. “You have a letter? For me?”

The owl gave him a look that said duh and stuck out their leg. Remus quickly untied the letter so they could leave, but the owl stuck around, sitting on the kitchen counter.

He scanned the letter, then read it again, slowly. Harry was really writing him for advice? Remus would’ve jumped for joy if the thought didn’t make his body ache. The boy probably didn’t have any access to magic books at home, so why was he writing for reading material?

He smiled to himself. “Harry Potter, you’re up to something. Just like your father.”

Although, if he was being completely honest, this situation seemed closer to Sirius than anyone else. Running away from home was right up his alley. Maybe Sirius knew where he was? Then he could—

No, Remus argued with himself, stopping the thought before it could begin, If he did run away from home, I’m not telling Dumbledore where Harry is. The Headmaster is not his guardian. The only person who really has a right to know where Harry is, is Sirius.

Not even he, Remus realized, had that right. He abandoned that long ago, when he abandoned Sirius to Azkaban and Harry to the Dursleys. He had his excuses, sure, but that didn’t really excuse anything. The only thing he could do now was support them and try to offer his apologies when he saw them next.

His resolve, a weak thing, hardened. Supporting Harry Potter and Sirius Black was going to be hard work, that Remus knew. But what else was there? A damned life of isolation and bouncing from job to job? Being pushed out of Britain due to creature laws?

Nothing else was worth it. Nothing else except Sirius and Harry was worth his time, he decided.

So, he would give what support he could, until the time came that he could earn Harry and Sirius’ trust.

~~~

July 11, 1994

Remus,

Still feels weird calling you that. How’s your summer going? Mine is going surprisingly well.

Thanks for the book recommendations! I managed to find The State of Magic on my own, so I don’t need your copy. I’ve started reading it, and it’s been really interesting! I didn’t think about the implications of the Statue of Secrecy on all of the creatures that didn’t agree to it. I’m interested to see how the Ministry enforces the Statue with them, but I have a feeling I won’t like it.

I did have a question about creatures. You taught during class that we were learning to fight ‘dark’ creatures. However, I recently learned that the difference between light and dark magic comes down to whether intent or emotion is powering the spell. How does that work with dark creatures? Are they all corrupted instead?

Cheers,

Harry

~~~

July 12, 1994

Harry,

Imagine how I felt seeing James’ son calling me Professor Lupin. Chills, I tell you.

My summer could be better. I’ve had some unwanted visitors I’ve not managed to get rid of. I’m glad to hear you’re having a good time, you deserve it after the school year you had. What sort of things have you been up to?

While I will say I’m curious how you managed to obtain such a book, I won’t ask questions. While it may not be the right word, I do hope you enjoy the book. The Statute is a complex topic, and I’d be happy to listen to any and all questions you have about it, even if I may not know the answer.

Unfortunately, what I told you in class wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. Yes, there are no such thing as dark creatures, but there exists a classification of ‘dark creatures’ in the Ministry that third years are required to learn about and how to defend against. The question about corruption is a good one. While many ‘dark creatures’ are just simply creatures, there are those we theorize began because of a corrupted curse or hex. Specifically, werewolves.

The common theory is that werewolves were created as a result of an individual or individuals getting hit with corrupted magic. It doesn’t make every werewolf corrupted, but it did result in the bloodthirsty nature of werewolves in their wolf form.

I hope this helps.

Faithfully,

Remus

~~~

July 14, 1994

Professor Lupin,

Did you get chills? Just kidding.

Remus,

How are you doing? I can’t talk much about what I’ve been doing. But, ironically enough, I feel like I’m learning more now than when school is in session (except for your class, of course). And I haven’t even started my summer homework.

Thanks for your response about dark creatures! Are there any other dark creatures that were created the same way as werewolves? I have a hard time believing that something as awful as dementors weren’t created as a result of corrupted magic. Maybe boggarts, too. Like, really, something that takes the shape of your worst fear? Stereotypical wixen.

I also just learned about extendible shield charms. I know they’re just theories right now, but the idea of an unanchored shield that can protect multiple people is crazy useful! I’m still trying to go through the literature. I can’t put where I’m staying in writing, but you should come help me out, if you’re not busy. You can even stay, if you want to escape your visitors. I understand if you’re busy, though!

Cheers,

Harry

~~~

It wasn’t hard for Remus to figure out where Harry was staying; there was only one place he knew of with extensive enough Defense literature that Harry would also have access to. If, somehow, he wasn’t at Potter Manor, Remus would be able to play it off as some sort of nostalgia, or wanting to retrieve something for Harry.

He was surprised that Harry invited him to stay, but wasn’t going to throw away this opportunity to get to know him better. Remus wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had somehow figured out the Aurors were hovering; he wasn’t exactly subtle.

The hard part, however, was waiting. Remus wanted to run to his cub immediately, check on him and make sure he wasn’t causing too much trouble, but with his unwelcome guests, that just wasn’t possible.

He had never felt so grateful for the extensive wards around the cabin property that allowed him to know whenever someone was nearby. It was stressful, and made him feel paranoid, knowing someone was watching him at almost all times, but now it came in handy.

It took a whole day from the morning Remus received the letter for him to finally find an opportunity to leave. He had slowly and quietly packed up his most important things, leaving the rest of the cabin looking like he was due to come back any day. It wasn’t illegal for him to take a vacation (not yet, anyway), but the ministry would not be happy to learn he was changing his permanent address without informing them. But, well, he wasn’t exactly going to reveal where Harry was staying, was he? Not when he was in this for real.

It was five in the morning when the wards finally showed the last person leaving his property. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Remus quickly gathered up everything he had packed, not knowing how much time he had left.

It was considered pretty rude to apparate in a house, especially one that wasn’t yours, but honestly, it was basically his cabin now. He was pretty sure James had bought it for the Order, anyway. He popped away several times, from point to point, before arriving in an alcove near a train station he knew would still be running, even at that time of night. Quickly paying for a ticket, he rode the train for around 20 minutes before getting off at a random stop. He would apparate the rest of the way to the Manor, of course. It was something Lily had come up with during the war; you can’t trace an apparition trail if you can’t find the rest of it. Muggle transportation happened to be the easiest way to do that.

Finally, Remus arrived, exhausted from all the apparition jumps, at the Manor. The building, dark as it was, seemed to smile down at his exhausted form. He was pleased he hadn’t been kicked from the wards, but a little concerned. Did Harry even know he should have locked them down? Was Harry alerted that he was there?

Deciding to go with the most cautious option, Remus approached the front door, knocking on it. It seemed to echo in the early morning air. Remus waited. And waited some more. As he was contemplating knocking again, the door yanked open, and a wand was shoved in his face. There stood Harry, in his pajamas, hair a mess, looking as fierce as Remus had ever seen him.

Just as quickly as the wand had appeared, it lowered.

“Prof—Remus? You came?” And if Remus’ heart broke a little at the disbelieving look on his cub’s face, only he had to know.

“Of course. You asked.” And it was as simple as that.

Chapter Text

July 10, 1994

Prongslet,

Merlin, is it good to hear from you! I assume it’s safe to write back, because your owl stuck around. What’s their name, by the way? They’re beautiful!

I’ll be headed your way as soon as I can. I want to have the muggles catch sight of me as far away as possible, so it may be a bit before I can arrive. Don’t be afraid to write, though! How’s your summer at the place-that-must-not-be-named? What’re you up to? Any chaos? Mischief? Tell me everything.

Yours,

Padfoot

P.S. You HAVE to explain how you know all that stuff. I’m going even more crazy trying to figure it out.

P.P.S. Sorry if this is hard to read, had to steal the writing supplies from a muggle home. I’m not used to pens.

~~~

July 13, 1994

Padfoot,

Please stay safe. Muggles can be dangerous, too, even if wixen like to pretend they aren’t. Guns aren’t common in Britian, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t impossible to find.

My owl is named Hedwig. She’s much smarter than me, because I forgot to ask her to wait around for a reply. She’s very pleased you called her beautiful, you might be her new favorite.

My summer has been great so far! Only an appropriate amount of mischief and chaos...  so far. I can’t tell you about most of it, it should be talked about in person. I will say, the Quidditch pitch? Wonderful. I have been flying a very appropriate amount and definitely not like a Quidditch addict. The gardens and library are also quite lovely.

I hope you’re doing well. Say safe, please.

Cheers,

Prongslet

P.S. Suffer.

P.P.S. I should’ve thought about sending writing supplies the first time, sorry!

~~~

Harry was so preoccupied with his newfound freedom, his meeting with Andromeda, writing Remus and Sirius, and his upcoming lawyer visit that he almost forgot about his second meeting with his account manager. Luckily for Harry and his love of life, he remembered the morning of, waking up with a very prominent ‘oh shit’ feeling in his stomach. He needed to get a planner, or something.

He trudged through breakfast groggily, grimacing as he drank his potions, stress making it simultaneously easier and harder to wake up. It clouded his mind, not unlike the compulsions he once had. He barely even noticed when Hedwig swooped down, but perked up when he noticed the letter was from Sirius.

July 14, 1994

Prongslet,

I’m staying as safe as I can, when you’re in the situation I’m in. I don’t know what guns are, but I’ll stay cautious. I’m almost ready to start heading your way. And I will say, I’m ready to settle down for a while. Especially if it means getting to know you properly.

I will say I’m curious how you’ve ended up there, presumably without adult supervision, but I know you’ll say that’s a story for when I get there. For now, I guess the curiosity will just slowly kill me.

Hedwig is a beauty, and very smart! When I asked if the quill and parchment were for me, I could practically hear the ‘yeah, duh’. I’d say you probably have yourself a familiar there, but I can’t say for sure right now.

I’m glad your summer is going well, and I can’t wait to be a proper part of it soon. There’s no such thing as too much flying, and I’m glad you’re getting good use out of the Firebolt. How does it handle? Have you done any tricks with it? How did you get into Quidditch, anyway?

I remember the gardens and library well. I wasn’t much for books, but you have to do some reading to be able to do the types of pranks we did. The gardens are beautiful, though. Have you gone into any of the greenhouses yet?

Keep me updated on all the shenanigans you get into, at least until I can join in.

Yours,

Padfoot

P.S. Cruel. My godson is cruel.

P.P.S. Don’t worry about it! Thanks for what you sent.

It was always exciting, to hear from Sirius. They had only exchanged a couple of letters, but the man was attentive and curious about Harry’s life, and most of all, Harry knew he wanted to be in it.

(Harry still wasn’t sure about Remus. The man was so uncertain, during Hogwarts, as if he was fighting with himself about whether he could talk to Harry. He had decided to give everyone he knew a second chance, especially because he didn’t seem to be involved with the blocks or compulsions, but… Harry was unsure. He was unsure about a lot of things, these days.)

Harry had received a few letters from fans and the press, asking for his opinion about this or that. He hadn’t replied to anything yet, not wanting anyone to know that he no longer had the mail ward on him. He wondered if he could get a modified mail ward on him that would keep out anyone that he didn’t know personally, and redirect the rest to a vault he could check later.

In dress robes that were his grandfather’s, Harry arrived at the Gringotts’ floo, spitting out ash and wiping it off his glasses. Which he still hadn’t upgraded. Maybe he’d do that today, now that he had bothered going to Diagon Alley.

It was much busier in the day than when he had visited during the night. Now that he thought about it, what was Master Nis doing working those hours? Did they get time off? Maybe they were just on-call, or something.

On-call bankers, the idea made Harry want to giggle, but he wasn’t dumb enough to do that in a room full of people.

Each teller had a long line, but Harry recognized the goblin that had escorted him before, so he got in that line. Many minutes later, he finally stepped up to the front.

“Hello, Kohul. I have a meeting with Master Nis.” Harry said. The goblin looked at him weirdly, but gestured for him to follow.

Again, they made the trek to his account manager’s office. The silence felt more comfortable this time, and Harry was able to better appreciate the murals on the walls. He noticed that, while they didn’t move like wixen paintings, they had depth to them, as if they were three-dimensional. When he walked by, he was able to see more details behind parts of the mural, like peeking around an object.

When they arrived at Master Nis’s office, to Harry’s surprise, they were not the only goblin in there. There was another goblin sitting beside them, slightly less terrifying than Master Nis, but with a sharper grin that seemed to promise pain. He was growling softly to Master Nis, pointing at a piece of parchment on their desk, but looked up when Harry and Kohul entered the room.

The same as last time, Harry thanked Kohul before he could leave and received a nod in return. The two goblins sitting at the desk exchanged looks. Harry sat in the ornate seat in front of Master Nis’s desk.

“Hello, I’m Harry—I mean, Hadrian Potter.” He said to the new goblin.

He received a sharp smile in return. “I’m well aware of who you are, Heir Potter. I am Master Bloodstone, the manager of the Black accounts.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I assume you’re here to officiate me as the heir?” His grandpa had explained that goblins tend to find pleasantries and small talk tedious, which was all good with Harry. He wasn’t a huge fan, either.

“Yes, and to discuss the results of the audit with you. But before we can do that, I must ask: have you been in contact with Sirius Black?”

“No?” Harry squeaked, utterly unprepared for this line of questioning. Master Bloodstone laughed, like grating a rock.

“I do not ask for legal reasons, we goblins do not care for matters of wixen law. Lord Black is needed to officially claim his lordship, and to come manage the monetary state of affairs of his house.” Harry nodded, he supposed that made sense.

“If I am, somehow, able to get in contact with him, I’ll pass along the message.” Both goblins grinned.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” said Master Bloodstone.

“Now,” Master Nis folded their hands in front of them. “We are here to discuss the preliminary results of the audit, and to officiate you as Heir of your other houses. I will also answer any questions you have about your inheritance test, but we will do that last, as Master Bloodstone does not need to be here for that. Which would you like to do first?”

Harry considered the question. “Are there any advantages to doing them in a certain order?”

“Not unless you will be distracted during the audit talk by thinking about going through the officiation process.” Master Nis said.  

“I think I’d like to be officiated first. Just in case.” That earned him a quirk of a lip from Master Bloodstone. Or a snarl. Harry couldn’t read him yet.

Master Bloodstone pushed forward a small black ring box, engraved with runes. Cautiously, Harry opened it. There sat an elegant ring, braided silver, with a large black stone Harry thought was obsidian. Like the Potter ring, it seemed to radiate power.

Sirius’ family, Harry thought. If he messed this up, somehow, would Sirius not want to be his godfather anymore?

“The Black Heir ring has extensive protections against potions and poisons. Additionally, it will heat up if your food is tampered with. Place it on the same finger as your Potter ring.” Master Bloodstone said.

Confused, but with a deep breath, Harry did as told, letting the Family magic envelop him. Unlike the Potter family magic, it was not warm and did not pretend to be. It was judging, and cold. Not a painful chill, but enough to where Harry started shivering. It was the harsh gaze of every teacher that’s called him a liar, both at the Dursley’s and at Hogwarts. It was the judging eyes of every student in Hogwarts, believing he was a murderer, that he was weak, that he was any of the things whirling around the rumor mill. But, as with all these things, Harry straightened his back and persevered. He had survived worse, and would continue to survive, as it was what he did best.

Good, the Family magic murmured to him, you will be worthy.

And, with a burst of energy, the magic settled into him. The cold became a pleasant chill, and it solidified around him with all the strength of generations of wixen before him.

“That was… wow.” Harry said, dumbly. It earned a harsh laugh from the goblins.

“And you still have one more to go, Heir Potter. The Slytherin Heir ring has the most impressive protections of the three, as it offers a low level of occlumency protection. We believe it can also protect against compulsions and blocks, but the enchantments are so old it is difficult to tell.” Master Nis pulled out another ring box, this one a dark wood. “On the same finger, yet again.” Before Harry could ask questions about how all the rings were going to fit, he noticed that the Potter and Black rings had merged, and would flicker between one ring or the other, depending on how he looked at his hand. Magic never ceased to amaze him. He was shocked out of his staring when the wooden box slid towards him. Inside held a silver band, but when Harry looked closer, he realized it was a coiled snake biting its own tail. Ouroboros, The word popped into his head.  

While the Potter ring was the one he was the most nervous about rejecting him, Harry was the most scared about the Slytherin ring. He wasn’t even sure if he fully wanted this responsibility. His grandparents had acted like it was such an honor to receive this ring, but Harry wasn’t so sure. The mere rumor of it earned him a year of isolation from most of his classmates, and who knew what sort of messed up things the Family magic would do to him if it rejected him. What would it do to him if it accepted him?

Still, Harry knew he could not run from this. So, he placed the ring upon his finger.

He was plunged into an icy bath of magic, slippery and smooth. A hundred memories flickered through his mind: facing down the basilisk in the chamber; Uncle Vernon’s hands and belt and so much pain; sneaking out of his cupboard in the middle of the night to get food; days and days working on the patronus charm; Aragog, white eyes and large pincers; telling McGonagall about the Philosopher’s Stone; hundreds of dark, sucking faces; hiding from Dudley and his gang in the library; Quirrell, burning to death under his tiny hands. There was no order or reason, just flashing behind his eyes for a long, terrible eternity.

More reckless than we would like, the Slytherin Family magic spoke, much clearer than the other magics. But, I suppose you’ll do.

The magic drained into him, leaving him fuller and more energized than before, but emotionally exhausted. Maybe he should have done this after the audit results, Harry realized. Too late for that now.

Looking up at his account managers, Harry smiled wearily. “Time for the audit results?” They simply nodded, and Master Nis took the lead.

“I focused my time on the last 13 years of activity, as that is the most relevant to our circumstances right now. Am I right in assuming you never authorized monthly transfers of money to,” Master Nis looked down at their parchment. “Vernon Dursley, Albus Dumbledore, Molly Weasley, Arabella Figg and John Granger?”

Harry gaped. “I—no, I never…” The Dursleys were being paid to keep him. He felt sick. And Mrs. Figg?

Master Nis nodded. “I also found evidence of artifacts being withdrawn from the Potter vaults without the proper paperwork being filed. However,” Their grin turned nasty. “We take careful and automatic accounting of everything that ends up in our vaults. Additionally, if one of our kind has betrayed the oaths they have taken to protect that which lays in these vaults, they will pay accordingly.”

Master Bloodstone took over, “I also found evidence of artifacts being illegally taken from the Black vaults, though not to the same extent. Most artifacts stored in our vaults are tied to the Family magic, and so can be summoned quite easily, if you choose to reclaim them at this moment.”

As Harry opened his mouth to tell them to summon everything back, to stop the payments, he thought through the implications of such an action. If he stopped the payments now, Dumbledore would surely know something was wrong. If the Headmaster somehow didn’t notice items going missing, or money that stopped appearing, surely the others receiving money would tell him.

Harry had to wonder about Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Granger, though. Surely, they didn’t know they were stealing from a child.

“Don’t… don’t stop anything, yet. I hate it, but I can’t. Is it possible for you to document the withdrawals and figure out who initially authorized them? I have a feeling I know who it is, but evidence is always good.” Harry said.

Master Nis curled their lips in a bloodthirsty smile. “Yes, Heir Potter, we are able to do such a thing. Goblin evidence is treated very highly in court cases of any kind.” Harry felt this probably had to do with their view of traitors, but chose not to mention it.

With Harry’s final decision being to leave the payments alone and document them, Master Bloodstone was dismissed. The other goblin turned to the boy.

“I feel it prudent to tell you about two more items I discovered during my audit.” Master Nis said. “The first were your parents’ wills. At this moment they are, unfortunately, sealed, but as Heir Potter you would be able to open them again.”

Harry nodded, even as his mind drifted. My parents’ wills… I wonder what they say.

“The second is a marriage contract between you and one Ginerva Weasley.” Harry reared back in shock. “Luckily for you, as your Magical Guardian was the one to sign it, and his claim is unverified, the contract will not hold.” Harry let out a sigh of relief, but the idea of being forced to marry someone, even someone that was his friend, made him feel nauseous. Something was niggling at his mind, though.

“Was Dumbledore the only one to sign the contract?”

That earned him an approving look. “No, he was not. Marriage contracts require guardians from each party to agree to it. It looks like it was signed in 1992 by Molly Weasley.”

Harry supposed it was too much to ask for, for Mrs. Weasley to not be involved in this. She had done so much for him, but this was too much to forgive. A bit detached, he wondered if Ginny knew about it too. Hopefully not, he didn’t want to feel regret about saving someone’s life. And Ginny was younger than him, surely, she couldn’t be too involved.

Taking several deep breaths, Harry turned his attention back to his account manager, who was looking at him with an impassive face. “Okay, is that all?”

“Yes, now, for the questions you have for me.”

Harry took another moment to organize his thoughts and pulled out his inheritance test that he had brought with him.

“First of all, how do I go about unsealing the wills?”

“As it is many years since they should have been heard, we would be able to open them without a formal hearing. If you would like, the wills can be heard after our discussion. However, by unsealing them, the people listed in the wills will be notified, and the money and items distributed.”

“Heard? I’m sorry, I thought wills were written down?”

“In the magical world, there is both a written and recorded version of the wills, to help authenticate them.”

Harry nodded, and tried not to think about the fact that this would be the first time he would hear his parents’ voices happy and not in pain. Even though people would be notified he had opened the wills, he didn’t think that was suspicious on its own. I mean, isn’t it normal for an orphan to ask about what his parents have left him behind?

“Okay. Okay.” He looked back down at his inheritance test. “I was wondering how I’m a blood Heir of Slytherin? And what it means by ‘Maternal by Conquest’?”

The goblin’s eyes widened minutely. “I seemed to have overlooked something when reading your inheritance test. May I look at it again?” Harry handed it over. “Hmm. It seems the night He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished, Magic registered it as your mother being the one to defeat him. This action met a list of requirements to, essentially, take a Lordship from someone else. Briefly, she became the acting Lady Slytherin. As you are her only child, you became the blood Heir after her death.”

Harry thought this over. Honestly, it made much more sense for his mother to be the one to defeat Voldemort, not a baby. Oh, this is going to make people so mad. A muggleborn defeating Voldemort, of all people. He silently vowed to his mother that he would spread the word of what she did, when it was safe.

“What are the list of requirements to lose a Lordship?” Although he was still iffy on the Slytherin Heirship, he certainly did not want to lose the Potter or Black ones.

“Great question, Heir Potter.” Master Nis laughed gravelly. “At this moment, it is unknown. There are theories, of course. It is clear that the complete destruction of a line is required. It may also be that facing someone multiple times is required, or that the party that loses their Lordship no longer fits the requirement of that line. As you are the first Heir to claim the Slytherin ring in centuries, and no one has claimed the Lord ring in that amount of time, it is possible that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attempted to claim the Heir or Lordship, but was denied, likely due to using too much corrupted magic.”

So, he wasn’t going to lose anything anytime soon. Good. And it comforted him to know that Voldemort never wore the ring on his finger. Maybe Slytherin did have standards.

“At the beginning of my inheritance test, it says my godfather also blood-adopted me. What does that mean?”

“A blood-adoption is something not done very often these days. It allows for, essentially, a person to become blood-related to the object of the ritual. So, in this case, your godfather is now directly related to you.” Master Nis said.

“Sirius is also my father?” Harry squeaked. That earned him a laugh.

“It depends on the situation, but I suspect in this case it is the reverse, that Lord Black became related to you and your family.” Master Nis grew grim. “In the case of an adoption, it also means that the adopting party will be unable to harm the adopted party, whether directly or indirectly. I suspect you already know this, but this means he could not have been responsible for your parents’ deaths.”

Harry nodded. “It’s a long story, but it was Peter Pettigrew.”

They hummed. “Hopefully one day I will get to hear this story. Do you have any more questions?”  

“About the compulsions, I don’t know how much you know about that, but I’ve noticed I can think easier now, even about things that weren’t directly related to the compulsions. Do you know why that may be?” Harry asked.

“I cannot say for certain. The purpose of compulsions and personality-changing magics is to fog the mind, and a side-effect of this can be frequent headaches and difficult thinking.”

Harry nodded. “That makes sense.” He put his inheritance test away. “Just one more thing; do you know where I might be able to get a mail ward put on me that I can actually control?”

“Gringotts is able to create a mail ward, with all mail not from authorized persons going to a specialized vault that sorts for curses, jinxs, and hexes.” Master Nis grinned. “For a fee, of course.”

“Would that be possible to do today? I’d also like to go down to my mum’s vault, just to look around.” Harry had been thinking about it, and he was tired of not having anything of his mother’s. He had his father’s cloak, and now his grandparents’ portaits, but nothing from his mum. He was so tired.

Master Nis’ eyes softened, just a bit. “Of course, Heir Potter. We can do both after the will hearing, if you’d like.” Harry nodded. “Now, I will have someone fetch the wills.” They pulled out a stone engraved with a rune, and pressed it, barking out instructions.

Harry waited. He wished he knew how wixen wills worked, or even normal wills. Would there be a message for him? His mind whirled. What if there was nothing for him? What if his parents actually wanted him to go to the Dursleys?

Finally, a goblin he didn’t recognize arrived at the back door, carrying two scrolls and two orbs. She handed them to Master Nis, looked at Harry, and walked out the door.

“Which one would you like to listen to first?” Master Nis asked.

“I don’t…” Harry looked at the orbs in front of him, softball-sized and glowing a soft blue. He pointed to a random one. “That one.”

“Alright.” Master Nis smiled, the kindest Harry had seen them. Harry realized, then, that they knew his parents too. “Touch it when you’re ready.”

Harry took a deep breath and placed his hand on the sphere.

“I, James Fleamont Potter, of sound mind and uncorrupted magic, do declare this my last will and testament.”

Harry gasped, clasping a hand on his mouth. Dad.

“God, imagine that?” His dad snorted. “Me? Sound mind? Boring. Ow, sorry Lils, I’ll be serious.” Harry straightened.

“In the event of my untimely demise, all of my belongings are to go to my wife, Lily Josephine Potter. In the event she follows me, my belongings are to go to my son, Hadrian James Potter, with the following exceptions.” He could hear his dad take a deep breath, like the very idea pained him. Harry’s own breath was ragged.

“To Sirius Black, I bequeath you a sum of 10,000 galleons and Potter Manor, with the hope that you’ll raise my son there. I know you’ll do a good job, Pads. Thank you for being the best brother I could ever ask for.”

To Remus Lupin, I bequeath you a sum of 100,000 galleons and Willowmere Lodge. It’s a great secluded property, you’ll love it. Although, if you aren’t spending most of your time at Potter Manor helping out Sirius, I’ll come haunt you. Also, you get my chocolate frog collection. Even after my death, I will always enable your obsession, Moony.”

To Peter Pettigrew, with the stipulation that we did not die in our place of residence under the Fidelius charm, as he is our secret keeper, I bequeath you a sum of 100,000 galleons and copies of my transfiguration journals. I know you were always fascinated with those, Wormy, but Prongslet gets the originals.”

If Lily and I are both gone, the following people are our choices to take care of Hadrian:”

First, Sirius Black, as his oath-sworn and blood-adopted godfather.”

Second, Alice Longbottom with the help of Frank Longbottom, as his oath-sworn godmother. I know you have Neville to look after, too, so Lily and I didn’t want to put too much on your plates.”

Third, Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadowes. I know you two will do a great job, and thank you so much for agreeing to this responsibility.”

Fourth, Minerva McGonagall. As my head of house and a wonderful maternal figure in both my and Lily’s life, I know you will do a fantastic job raising Harry.”

If none of these people are available, I ask that Hadrian be placed with a magical family without Death Eater ties.”

“Hadrian, hopefully you’ll never have to hear this, and by the time we’re gone you’ll be old and grey,” Harry let out a bitter, wet laugh. “But this is war, and we’re losing people every day. I wanted to tell you that no matter what, I’ll be proud of you. Hell, you could snap your wand and live as a muggle, and as long as it made you happy, I wouldn’t care. Hopefully the war will be over by the time you’re old enough to get involved, but if not: you don’t have to fight. This wasn’t started by you, and no matter what, it is not your responsibility. Hold your loved ones close. I love you, Prongslet, and I’ll hold you close until the end.”

Thus stands my last will and testament.”

The silence was deafening. Harry didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to process anything he just heard. Master Nis passed over a tissue. Harry used it to wipe his tears. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

“Thank you. Can—can we just move on?” Thankfully, Master Nis agreed. Harry reached for the next orb.

“I, Lily Josephine Potter née Evans, of sound mind and uncorrupted magic, do declare this my last will and testament.” After hearing his dad’s voice, Harry thought he was prepared for his mum’s. He was not. The tears started anew.

“In the event of my death, all of my belongings are to go to my husband, James Fleamont Potter. In the event he follows me, my belongings are to go to my son, Hadrian James Potter, with the following exceptions.”

To Alice Longbottom, I bequeath you 2,000 galleons and my jumper collection. If you are going to steal them all the time, you might as well have them.”

To Marlene McKinnon, I bequeath you 2,000 galleons and copies of my charms journals. We should’ve been doing our charms masteries, not fighting in a war. I hope one day you will be able to fulfill our dream.”

To Dorcas Meadowes, I bequeath you 2,000 galleons and five sickles. I guess I lost the bet.”

To Severus Snape, I bequeath you 1,000 galleons and copies of my potions journals, with the stipulations that you renounce the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who and turn over all information you have through private veritaserum questioning with the goblins. I know we had a falling out, Sev, but I know you’re better than this. It’s not too late to leave.” Harry was gaping. Snape was a Death Eater? And his mum knew? And they were close enough to be in his mum’s will? What was going on?

“If James and I are both deceased, Hadrian is to be placed with the people outlined in James’ will. However, I want to state that in no circumstance is Hadrian to be placed with Petunia Dursley and her family. They despise magic and will make his life a living hell.

“Hadrian, my sweet boy, you’re the light of my life and the best thing to ever happen to me. I’m so sorry I’m not there to see you grow up, and I promise I fought as hard as possible to be there.”

I know, mum, I know.

“This war is a terrible thing, and I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe and sound, even when I’m gone. But, the attitudes that caused this war will still be there, even when it is over. Your safety should always be your first priority, but don’t be afraid to stand up for what’s right. Know that I will always be with you. I love you, Harry.” For a brief moment, Harry imagined that he could feel the warmth of his mother’s magic around him, swaddling him.

“Thus stands my last will and testament.”

Harry stared at the ground for a long moment, then looked back up at Master Nis, fire and tears in his eyes. “Who sealed the wills?”

“The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, which in this case was Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry clenched his fists. It was all there. Evidence to exonerate Sirius. Explicit instructions for Harry to not be sent to the Dursleys. Messages to Harry that he had to wait 13 years to hear. Why did Dumbledore do this?

He still didn’t know why that man had done anything. It was haunting him.

Harry wiped his face with the tissue again. Thankfully, he had stopped crying. “Is it possible to get a copy of the part of my father’s where he says Petter Pettigrew is his secret keeper? And copies of the end messages to me?”

“Yes, I will have them mailed to you tomorrow. Are you ready for the mail ward, or do you need a minute?” Master Nis said, not unkindly.

“I think I need a minute, please.” Harry croaked out.

He tried to organize his thoughts. It was one thing, to be told that his parents loved him, but he wasn’t prepared for how different it felt to hear his parents say they loved him. To truly know it. His mum and dad, who fought Voldemort for him, and wanted him to go to a loving home if they died. The thought was almost incomprehensible, even after almost three years of knowing the truth about their deaths. But he couldn’t think about this any longer. It was time to move on, just like the first time he had learned the truth.

Harry looked up at Master Nis, and nodded. “Follow me,” They said, leading him through the back door.

Getting the mail ward was a quick and painless process, with the most annoying part being signing the paperwork to set up a vault containing the letters. After around 30 minutes, it was over, and he was able to ask someone to take him to his mum’s vault.

A different goblin took Harry down to his mother’s vault, and he didn’t have the strength to ask for their name. He just let himself sway with the movements of the cart, and hoped by the time he headed into Diagon Alley, his face wouldn’t be blotchy with tears.

His mother’s vault was around the size of his Heir vault. It didn’t have many things, a table here, a chair there, a dresser of dress robes. What really fascinated him, though, was a trunk. Harry opened it to find that it was larger on the inside than the outside. Why doesn’t my trunk do that? He thought. Looks dead useful. However, what excited him is that it was filled with books and journals.

Harry pulled some out. The History of Charms in Great Britain. Advanced Potion Theory. Defensive Charms and Their Applications. The Patronus Charm. He stopped, looking down at the book in his hands, before flipping it open. It was thin, which made sense as it was only about a single charm, but it was filled with annotations, a rough handwriting that blended into itself. It reminded him of his own handwriting. He touched the pages, before setting the book down gently.

He looked in the other side of the trunk, which held more miscellaneous items. A scarf, some perfume, a coin purse, some quills and ink. Something dark glinted near the bottom, and Harry dug it out. A wand holster?

It was dark and metal, and cool to the touch. Harry strapped it to his forearm, and slid his wand in. With a flick of his wrist, it popped out again, silently. He decided to take it with him.

Maybe now Euphemia will stop looking at me all annoyed. Harry thought.

He packed all the books back in the trunk, and grabbed the coin purse, intending to fill it up with galleons, just in case he came across a business that didn’t take checks. Harry stuck his hand in the coin pouch, and his whole arm went in. Wow, he thought. He grabbed several handfuls of galleons, and some sickles and knuts, tossing them in as he went. He tucked it in his pocket, and snapped the trunk shut.

A rune seemed to glint on the outside of the trunk, right next to the handle. Following his instincts, he tapped it with his wand. With a small pop, it shrunk to the size of a brink. Harry placed it in his pocket, already making plans to transfer all of his stuff into this trunk. It still had plenty of room, after all, and he could unpack some of the books at Potter Manor.

It hit him, once again, that he had a home to come back to when he was at Hogwarts. Unwilling to start crying again, he walked out of the vault.

~~~

As Harry wandered around Diagon Alley, he realized yet again how big it was. Last summer, he stuck to the same areas, unwilling to explore and get lost (and, he realized, curiosity stifled from the compulsions). He was attempting to find Olley’s Optometry, but he supposed it was too much to ask for some sort of directory.

However, he wasn’t too bent out of shape, enjoying the sights and window shopping to his heart’s content. There was furniture that expanded depending on how many guests you had, toys that sang and danced, and used bookstores with shelves that stretched to the ceiling. He was temporarily fascinated by a yarn store that showed a pair of clacking knitting needles in the display window. Harry wondered about the craft room at the Manor. He had yet to visit it, but had a hunch there was going to be yarn in there.

Eventually, he came across a shop with robes in the windows, but what caught his eye was how soft everything looked, even from far away. Silverlings, the shop read. Looking down at his ill-fitting robes, Harry was unable to stop himself from heading inside.

A bell dinged somewhere farther in the shop, and Harry took a moment to look around. There were slacks hanging on racks, along with robes and shirts. Like everything in Diagon, it was colorful, each robe boasting a different pattern and color scheme. The shirts and slacks were more plain, but Harry peered at a pair of bright red trousers, his eyes wide.

Wixen sure love colors, he thought. There was a part of him, that part that burned with anger every time he put on Dudley’s old castoffs, that loved the color and absurdity. He was tired of standing out in his awful clothes, and wanted to join the rest of wixen society in their wild choices of clothing.

A man emerged from the back, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. He wore a set of impeccable light pink robes that closed in the front, with silver lining.

“Ah, hello. Welcome to Silverlings, I am Ahmed Silverling. What brings you here?”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Silverling, I’m Hadrian.” Harry’s face turned determined. “I need a whole new wardrobe.”

The man raised a single eyebrow. “Oh? Doing some spring cleaning?”

“Nope.” Harry didn’t want to offer any more context, but realized he was coming with a strange request. “Assume I have absolutely nothing.” He gestured down the robes he was wearing. “These aren’t mine.”

“Young man, I don’t know if you know about our prices…”

Harry snorted. He’d looked at some of the prices for tailored clothes on the wall. “I can afford it.” If he was filthy rich, he might as well spend it to get himself some nice clothes. He just wouldn’t go overboard. He brought out his Gringott’s checkbook. “Do you take checks?”

The eyebrow lowered, and the man smiled. “Indeed, we do. Come with me, and I’ll get you sorted.”

Harry followed the man to the back of the store, and through a door to a small room. It held two small platforms, like in Madam Malkin’s, but Harry certainly appreciated the privacy. He probably needed new school robes, too. But last time he was there, he saw—

“Potter.” Mr. Silverling raised his eyebrow yet again.

Harry startled. “Malfoy?” He was surprised at the lack of animosity coming out of his mouth. Evidently, so was Malfoy, as the other boy stared at him for a moment from one of the platforms.

“Are you finally getting rid of the rags you call a wardrobe?” Malfoy sneered. Harry had no clue how to navigate this conversation without his blocks.

“Uh. Yes.”

Malfoy shot him a look. “What’s wrong with you?”

As Harry was ushered to the stage by Mr. Silverling, he answered, sincerely. “Why do you care?”

The other boy spluttered, then flinched as the seamstress working on him poked him. “I don’t! You’re just acting weird.”

Harry just sighed. “Okay, Malfoy.”

The two seamsters worked in silence, ignoring the tension radiating from Malfoy and the resignation from Harry. It didn’t take long for Malfoy to be finished with whatever he was there for, but the other boy didn’t leave, sticking around by the entrance to the room. Harry was too used to his bullshit to question it.

Finally, Mr. Silverling stopped taking Harry’s measurements. “Alright, Mr. Potter,” Harry was thankful he remembered to disguise his Heir ring before stepping into Diagon Alley. “What type of robes are you looking for. Closed? Open?”

Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, before glancing back at Malfoy. He didn’t want to look stupid in front of the other boy, but he refused to wear another wardrobe he didn’t like. “What’s the difference between them? Is one more formal than the other?”

The dreaded eyebrow raised again. Harry could hear Malfoy scoff, but refused to look at him. “Closed robes are more formal, but some still enjoy how they look in a casual setting. Open robes present more of a challenge, because you have to coordinate the underclothes, too.”  

Harry nodded. “I think I’d like a couple of each, then. How many robes is normal to own?”

“Around 10 or 11, on the low end.” Harry let out a wheezing cough. He had never even owned that many shirts at once.

“Sorry, sorry.” Harry managed to get out. “Just seemed like a lot.” He took a couple of deep breaths. Malfoy was surprisingly silent. He made determined eye contact with Mr. Silverling. “I want five open and five closed.”

At his declaration, the man just nodded. “We will decide on the colors for your robes now, and then decide on the shirts and trousers. We tailor all robes in house, except for the sale racks in front.”

With a wave of his wand, dozens of reams of cloth flew out from the back room, lining up in the air orderly. The man began to hold them up, allowing Harry to say whether or not he liked them. He said yes to a dark blue pattern with stars on the hems, a light yellow gradient, and a deep red with black trimming that reminded him of his Potter Heir ring.

When he was about to say no to a deep green pattern with vines, Malfoy finally spoke up.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, if you say no to that pattern because it’s ‘Slytherin colors’ I’m going to hex you.”

Mr. Silverling chuckled. “I have to agree with Heir Malfoy. It brings out your eyes.” Harry begrudgingly agreed.

Malfoy seemed to get more comfortable sharing his opinion, despite Harry not asking, commenting on a number of patterns. It was certainly weird, but Harry didn’t exactly want to get in a fight in Mr. Silverling’s shop. So, he stayed quiet, except to give his opinion on the cloth.

Picking out the rest of his clothes was much the same, although the patterns for the shirts and trousers were much tamer. He supposed even wixen must have a line somewhere.

Eventually, it came to an end, and without a word, Malfoy disappeared out of the door. Harry followed him, and watched as he left the shop without so much as a word. Wow, rude, Harry thought. But Mr. Silverling just looked amused. And he didn’t feel like talking to Malfoy much either. He didn’t know how to talk to the other boy now.

Harry paid for his things, settled the matters of his undergarments, and asked for them to be owled to him. He wasn’t sure if it was safe to come back to Diagon so soon. Dumbledore could be looking for him and force him to go back to the Dursleys. Maybe when he could, he could go to muggle London and get some clothes there, too.

Two whole wardrobes. He thought dreamily.

“Thank you for your patronage, Mr. Potter.” Mr. Silverling said.

“Oh! Do you know where I can find Olley’s Optometry, and a good place to buy shoes?” Harry asked before he could forget. He didn’t want to spend his whole day wandering around. Mr. Silverling gave him directions and sent him on his way.

Olley’s Optometry was a quick and painless experience, and Harry walked out with similar frames that were gold instead of black. The attendant was remorseful they couldn’t fix his eyes with a potion, but apparently there were different types of damage. A lot of the details went over his head. They had helped him pick out a new pair of frames, and spelled them to be unbreakable, waterproof, and a whole host of other things Harry couldn’t keep track of but paid for happily.

The shoe store was similar to muggle ones, or Harry assumed it was, given he had never been shoe shopping before. He tried on what felt like dozens of shoes, but was probably only ten pairs, before deciding on a pair of boots, two pairs of sneakers, and a pair of sandals. It felt like overboard, but the salesman insisted it was a normal amount.

Just as Harry was considering the pros and cons of getting some ice cream, he ran into someone, literally. They fell to the ground with a thud.

“I’m sorry!” Harry said, helping them up. “Wait, Neville?”

“Hey Harry,” The other boy said, getting to his feet and smiling shyly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem. How’ve you been?” Harry asked, before realizing they were standing in the middle of the street. “Do you want to get ice cream with me?”

Neville’s eyes widened. Harry realized with a jolt of guilt that he hadn’t really been a good friend to the boy, or much of a friend at all. “Sure! Gran isn’t expecting me home for a while.”

They got their ice cream, Harry going with popcorn and Neville with honeysuckle. The boys settled outside Fortescue’s, in a sufficiently shady area that had not yet been claimed.

“So, how’s your summer been?” Harry asked.

“Good!” Neville said. “Gran and Minny, one of our house elves, let me take over one of the greenhouses, so I’ve been working on that mainly. I got this new strain of mallowsweet—” As Neville chattered on about herbology, and they munched on their ice cream, Harry felt a mix of pride and envy. Neville could only be described as a herbology genius, and Harry was proud to know him and be friends with him (even if he wasn’t the best at it). They both weren’t the best at their other classes, but unlike Neville, Harry didn’t have one thing he was good at, unless you counted not dying. Hopefully Defense could become his new thing, but Harry was skeptical about his skills in it.

“Anyway, what have you been up to?” Neville asked him, and Harry wondered how much of his summer he should reveal. He remembered, then, that Neville’s mom was supposed to be his godmother. Would they have grown up together, if things went right?

“Harry?” He had zoned out.

“Sorry, Neville. I just—I learned something recently, and it’s, well,” Harry decided to just come out and say it. “Did you know we were godbrothers?”

Neville’s gaped. “You didn’t know?”

“You knew?” Harry asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He tried not to sound upset.

“I tried to, our first year, but every time I tried to talk to you, Ron said,” Neville hesitated. “Ron said you didn’t want to talk to me. I figured you knew and didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry. I have no idea why he did that. I would’ve loved to know earlier. I—” It was Harry’s turn to hesitate. “I would’ve loved to grow up with you.”

Neville smiled. “Thanks, Harry.” His gaze turned curious. “How’d you find out, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well,” Harry figured a half-truth was the best. His gut was telling him he could trust Neville, and it hadn’t led him wrong yet. “I realized that no one had ever said anything to me about my parents’ wills, so I asked about them, and it was mentioned in there.”

Neville looked around, and leaned in close, “Their wills were never read?”

Harry shook his head. “They were sealed. I’m getting someone to look into it, but please don’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone, that I know about them.”

“Of course.” Somehow, Harry knew he was telling the truth. Harry sighed, relieved, and looked down at his melting ice cream.

“I can’t really talk about where I’ve been this summer, but it’s been great, much better than usual.” Harry said.

“Yeah, you and your relatives don’t get along, much, do you?” Neville said, and Harry winced.

“That’s an understatement.” He left it at that, and took another bite of his ice cream. “I’m getting really good on my Firebolt, I managed a Repass Dive the other day.”

They didn’t chat for too much longer, as Neville had to get home to his grandmother, but it was relieving for Harry to know definitively that one of his classmates was on his side.

~~~

Harry woke up the next day a bundle of nerves. It was time for his appointment with his lawyer, and what was probably his only chance to get Sirius his freedom. His appointment was with Richard Haynes, and he hoped the man had at least a little familiarity with his father, as he didn’t really know another way to get the man to believe him.

It was in the afternoon when he left for the appointment, so thankfully his new clothes had arrived. He chose a closed dark red robe with black trimming, black trousers, and a green shirt, as it felt appropriate to represent his houses, even if no one could know he was the Heir.

He arrived at the Benson & Haynes floo ten minutes early, his stomach a mess of nerves. Harry had already gone over the process for extracting a memory for pensieve use multiple times with his grandparents, but he just hoped the man would listen to him long enough to watch the memory. He walked up to the front desk.

“Um, hello. I have an appointment with Richard Haynes.” He said.

“Go ahead a take a seat, he’ll be right with you.” The receptionist said, gesturing to a small waiting area in the floo room.

After a few minutes of restless waiting, the receptionist called for him to follow them. They walked through the only other door besides the front door. Harry was led down a hallway, until they stopped next to a door that said Richard Haynes, Law Wizard. The receptionist knocked on the door, before opening it and letting Harry in.

“Thank you,” Harry said. He walked through, taking in the office. It was simple, decorated with pictures and dark wood. The blinds on the window were currently open, letting in light. The main bit of character in the room came from the pictures, the couple of plants on the windowsill, and how terribly messy the desk was. Behind the messy desk sat, presumably, Richard Haynes. Mr. Haynes looked to be in his 60s, was balding slightly, and was wearing a set of immaculately pressed robes. He wore a kind, yet firm, smile.

“Sit down, please.” He said. Harry did as told. The seat was surprisingly comfortable. “I’m Richard Haynes, but call me Richard. It’s nice to meet you, Heir Potter.” Harry looked down at his hand in surprise, but there was no ring on it.

“Nice to meet you, too. Call me Harry, or Hadrian. Uh, how did you know I was an Heir?” The man laughed.

“I’ve been working with your family for years, so of course I know about the Heirship. Why do you seem so surprised?”

“Normally people just call me Mr. Potter, no one really mentioned the Heir thing until the goblins, this year.” Richard’s eyebrows furrowed.

“You didn’t take your Heir ring at 11?” Harry shook his head. “That’s concerning. Who is responsible for you?”

Harry winced. “That’s a whole other issue.”

“Ah, sorry, I got carried away.” Richard said. “Why don’t you tell me why you called the appointment.”

Harry hummed. He had the same problem here as he did with Andromeda, but he needed to make sure that Richard could talk about the case with some people, as that was the whole point. “Is there any way you can assure that you won’t abuse the information I give you?”

The lawyer looked at him consideringly. “It’s not typical, but you can sign an initial contract to take me on as your lawyer. It will keep me from speaking about information you give me, except in circumstances that which is relevant or necessary for the case. Typically people only sign them after they’ve decided they want me to take their case.”

“Okay, can we do that?” Harry said.

It took a relatively short amount of time to get the paperwork sorted out, especially compared to the contracts he had to sign with the goblins. Those seemed to be much more thorough, but he supposed this was only an initial contract, anyway. After he signed the last page, Richard looked up at him expectantly.

Harry considered his words carefully. “I’m sure you know about the Sirius Black case.” Richard nodded. “This school year, I learned that Sirius was my godfather. At the end of the school year, I saw irrefutable evidence that he is innocent of killing Petter Pettigrew and the muggles, and of being responsible for my parents’ deaths.”

Richard sat back in shock, blinking rapidly. “Are you sure?”

Harry nodded. “I’m sure. I’d be happy to share the memories with you to prove it.”

“Sit here, I’ll be back with the pensieve.” It took a few minutes for the man to come back, levitating what looked like a large stone basin, and filled with a silvery liquid. He sat it on the floor and beckoned Harry forward. “Have you ever used a pensieve?”

“No, but I had it explained to me how it works.” Harry said.

“Just think over the events you want to show me carefully.” Richard brought his wand up to Harry’s head as he concentrated on that night in the Shrieking Shack, and slowly drew it away, a silvery strand of light following. The lawyer then deposited it in the basin, which began emitting silvery wisps of smoke. “Would you like to view the memory with me?”

Harry shook his head. He had no desire to watch Petter Pettigrew grovel for his life yet again, or to see his godfather look so ragged and angry. Richard placed his hand in the bowl, and his head drooped down. Harry was left to his thoughts.

He hoped, once Sirius was free, some of his anger would dissipate, and they could be happy yet again. He wanted a family so desperately it ached. It was probably stupid of him to invite Remus to stay with him, he could easily be in Dumbledore’s pocket, but he couldn’t help himself. The idea of having his godfather and his uncle close made Harry feel warm inside. He couldn’t help but be anxious about Sirius being on the run. He knew the animagus was good at hiding, but it was still worrying to have to wait days at a time to hear from him. Harry wondered, a little, about Remus’ situation, and hoped he was okay. The man had alluded to unwanted guests, but the only people who Harry could think of other than family members would be Aurors looking for Sirius, and he didn’t know how the law enforcement in the wizarding world treated minorities like werewolves. Harry had had his fair share of dirty looks from muggle police officers just because his skin was dark, and his clothes ragged. He just hoped both men would be okay, until the time they would be safe in Potter Manor.

With a gasp, Richard’s head snapped up. He blinked rapidly, looking around before his eyes landed on Harry.

“Great Merlin, child. How did you end up in that situation?” Harry snorted.

“Things like that just happen to me. I’ve got my theories, but it’ll make me sound paranoid.”

“Okay. I’ll let it go, for now. But if more dangerous things have happened to you, it may be a charge for child endangerment.” Richard’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “I think we have a great case. Even if we can’t get Pettigrew, it will be simple enough to get Lord Black under Veritaserum and to play your memory as witness. Would you be willing to be a witness in his case?”

“Of course.” Harry said instantly.

“It may bring some unwanted media attention.” Richard warned.

“It’s worth it.” Harry bit his lip. “Is there any way to make sure the part about Remus, I mean, Professor Lupin doesn’t become public? I don’t want him to get in trouble. He already lost his job.”

“Of course.” Richard said. “It’s not relevant to the case, and as long as you don’t concentrate on that part of the evening, it won’t appear in the memory you give at the hearing.”

“And what if…” Harry hesitated. But, he felt like he should be honest with his lawyer, if he didn’t want to get arrested. “What if I was involved in Sirius escaping the second time?”

Richard sighed. Very deeply. It was somewhat worrying. But he didn’t look upset, just concerned. “It’s not relevant to the matter of whether or not he’s innocent, so I should be able to successfully steer around it.” He gave Harry a serious look. “I can’t promise you that, though. Is this worth potentially getting in legal trouble for that?”

“Yes!” Harry said, indignant. Richard smiled, slightly.

“I thought you would say that. I also wanted to let you know Lord Black will also probably not get in trouble for being an unregistered animagus, given he’s already served a lengthy prison sentence for no reason. Additionally, our case is stronger given he’s a Lord, even if he hasn’t claimed it yet.” Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Yes, it’s unfair, but it should get the pureblood crowd on your side, even if they won’t want to watch a good man walk free.”

“Good.” Harry breathed, relieved. “That’s… great to hear.”

“I should be able to get in contact with some people at the DMLE. Luckily, they aren’t too busy right now, and their main case is the one for Lord Black. They should already have the trial records dug out, which should make it much easier for a retrial. Now, do you have other reasons for hiring me, or is it just for Lord Black?”

Harry pulled out his sheet of paper with a sheepish grin. “Okay, it’s kind of a lot, so I understand if we have to hire more help, or it takes a long time. Sirius is the first priority.”

Richard agreed, staring at the paper warily.

“After Sirius is free, I would like to get my custody moved to him, and away from my magical and muggle guardians. My muggle guardians are abu—abusive and I ran away. I refuse to go back. Second, I’d like to press charges on my muggle guardians. Third, I had a magical block and a bunch of compulsions placed on me, I believe by my magical guardian, but I’m not sure, and I’d like to press charges for that, but I believe it will be difficult. They also didn’t tell me anything about my Heirships, and never checked in on me growing up. I don’t know if there’s a charge for that, but it has to be illegal. I also had a bunch of money taken from me and given to other people by my magical guardian. The evidence is with my account managers, Master Nis and Bloodstone. Finally, I want those awful books about my ‘childhood’ recalled and money as compensation.”

There was silence as Richard’s quill scratched against parchment. Eventually, he looked up. “Do you have documentation of the block, compulsions, and abuse?” Harry passed over his medical records from Andromeda. The man scanned through them, his face paling. “I dare say, Hadrian, this will be one of the most straightforward cases I’ve had in a while.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up. You haven’t heard who my magical guardian is.”

“Who is it?”

“Dumbledore.”

Richard swore. “That will certainly make our job more difficult, but not impossible.” He met Harry’s eyes gravely. “No one is above the law, even if they pretend otherwise.”

Harry cracked a grin. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

~~~

Harry had found a new joy in sleeping in. Mind, this was only until 9 o’clock or so, but that felt like ages after he normally got up. After the meeting with his lawyer yesterday, and spending the evening playing Quidditch, Harry was thoroughly worn out. Even with these factors, when a house elf popped into his room early the next morning, Harry woke himself up with a groan.

“Nipsy? What’s going on?”

“Little Master, there be someone at the door.” She said in a whisper.

“What?” Harry sat up fully, alert. “Who is it?”

“I do not be knowing.” Nipsy wrung her hands together. “The wards aren’t back at full strength. Could be anyone, Little Master.”

“What do you mean ‘not at full strength’? Was I supposed to do something to the wards?” Nipsy looked at him fearfully. “Right, deal with the person at the door first.”

“I can be doing it! Little Master needs to stay safe.”

“No, Nipsy, let me deal with this. It’s my home, too.” Harry said. They argued back and forth for a few minutes before Harry sighed. “Fine, lets go together.” Thankfully, Nipsy agreed.

Harry grabbed his wand, and put on his glasses, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. He crept down from his room towards the front door, heart pounding, but feeling strangely calm all the same. Probably the trauma, he thought. Nipsy followed behind him, frying pan in hand. Why she needed a frying pan when she could cast magic, Harry didn’t know.

He arrived at the door and realized there was no peephole or way to look out to see who was there. The only windows were high above the door, allowing light to stream in when it wasn’t ungodly early in the morning. Harry groaned internally, and gripped his wand tighter.

With a grunt, he yanked the door opened, and held the person at wandpoint, staying in the defensive position Euphemia had drilled into his head. To his surprise, the person didn’t fight back, just looked at him in disbelief. Harry stared back, lowering his wand.

“Prof—Remus? You came?” Frankly, after Harry had sent the letter inviting Remus to stay with him, he was expecting a polite rejection, not the man showing up without warning.

“Of course. You asked.” The werewolf said, as if it was that simple. Harry wanted to scoff, but instead felt a part of him melt.

Suddenly, he was pushed to the side. “Master Wolfy, come in!” Nipsy said, vibrating with excitement, frying pan still in hand. “Oh, I’s be so happy to have more masters in the house. It almost be time for breakfast! Follow me.”

Nipsy walked away, an awkward silence brewing in her wake. Harry followed, unsure of what to say to his former professor, now… what? Uncle? He wasn’t sure, and that was the whole issue, wasn’t it? Remus came, but did he really want anything to do with Harry?

Nipsy led them to the breakfast nook, and they settled across from each other at the table. Sun was beginning to peek between the leaves of the trees surrounding the manor, filtering in through the window. Harry stared at Remus, and the man looked back steadily.

They both flinched when, with a pop, Lethy appeared in the room levitating food in two trays, and Harry’s potions. He set the food down in front of them, offered Harry a smile, and popped away. Normally, Harry would insist that they all stay, but now he was thankful for the privacy.

Harry pulled his plate closer to him, drank his potions with a grimace, and started picking at the food. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew Nipsy would scold him if he didn’t eat.

Remus looked like he wanted to ask about the potions, but refrained. “I’m sorry for showing up with no warning, Harry. I wanted to write that I was coming, but I’ve had Aurors surrounding my house, and I didn’t think it was safe to put in my letters that I was leaving.”

Harry glanced up, shrugged, and went back to eating. Remus sighed. Harry wasn’t sure why he was acting like this, but the moment Remus had appeared, Harry wanted to scream at him where were you? He had begun to come to terms with the things that had happened to him at the Dursleys, but the question remained. Where was he?

“I wrote to Sirius that I wasn’t able to house him, so I’m not sure where he’s at right now. I couldn’t get a response, so I’m not sure how he is, but my letter was at least delivered.”

“Oh,” At least Harry knew what to say to this. “I’ve been talking to Sirius. He’s heading here soon.” Remus choked on his food. After a few seconds of coughing, he cleared his throat.

“That’s good… that’s good.” Despite his words, the man looked faint. “You’ll get to see him soon.”

Harry scrunched his eyebrows at Remus. Why was he acting so weird? “You will too… right? Or are you just visiting?”

“No, uh, I was planning on staying, if that’s okay with you. I just don’t expect… nevermind.” Remus shook his head. “What have you been up to?”

Harry considered how much he wanted to reveal. The best test of Remus’ loyalties, besides no one else finding him at Potter Manor, would be revealing what happened to him and seeing the reaction. He didn’t want to talk about it, but it seemed like the only option. “I had to go to the Healer’s,” Harry said carefully.

“Oh?” Remus looked concerned. “What happened?”

In lieu of a response, Harry called for Nipsy. “Nipsy, would you please grab me a copy of my diagnostic sheet from Andromeda and Bill?”

As Nipsy popped away, Remus said. “Oh, you went to Andromeda? She’s wonderful. Good choice.” Harry couldn’t help but feel warm.

Nipsy came back with a few sheets of parchment, and that alone made Remus frown. Harry passed them over, and watched as Remus rapidly paled as he read. The werewolf hissed, holding his head.

“Who—” He was barely audible. “Who did this to you?”

“The Dursleys did most of the physical stuff, besides the stuff that happened in school.” Harry said quietly. “I don’t… I don’t know if I should tell you who did the compulsions and block.”

“Cub, please.” Remus begged. Harry couldn’t deny him, after hearing the nickname. He’d never had a nickname before.

“I think it was Dumbledore.” Harry said.

“Shit,” Remus groaned, gripping his head. “What the hell?”

Harry thought back to what Master Nis said, and his own frequent headaches. “Remus… have you been getting headaches often?”

Remus frowned at the change in subject, but answered, “Yes, since the beginning of the school year, why?”

“I think you have compulsions too. Master Nis, my account manager, said headaches were a sign of compulsions. It’s pretty weird you’re having one in the middle of a conversation like this.” Harry pointed out.

Remus ran a hand through his hair, leaning back. “You’re right. Do you think Andromeda would be willing to take me on as a patient?”

“I think so, she seemed nice.” Harry said.

“I’ll write her as soon as we’re done here.” Remus said, then he turned serious again. “I’m sorry, Harry, I should’ve tried harder to get you out of there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I tried to get custody of you, after—well, after. It was never going to happen, not with my condition. I tried to write to you, but I never got a response, so I assumed you didn’t want to talk. I should’ve tried harder to get you away from that place, but Dumbledore told me you were safe.” His voice was a low growl. “I never should have believed him. When I see him…” He clutched his head and cursed.

Harry blinked away tears. Remus tried to get him. He fought for Harry, even if he was unsuccessful, he tried. “You really wanted me?” Harry’s voice broke.

“Oh cub,” Remus moved around the table, and crouched next to Harry. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, making sure Harry could see it was coming. “Of course I wanted you. It’s my biggest regret that I didn’t fight harder for you. I should’ve gone and seen you, no matter what it took.”

With a lurch, Harry latched onto Remus’ shoulders with lanky arms, burying his head in his shoulder. “Thank you.” Harry whispered, tears wetting Remus’ robes. “Thank you for trying.”

They crouched there on the ground, clutching each other as the sun rose.

Chapter Text

After Harry’s crying outburst, he was drained and more than a little embarrassed. Remus didn’t seem to mind, but still, Harry pulled away after a few minutes. They finished breakfast in a serene, if a little awkward, silence, faces blotchy from crying. When they had both finished their food, Remus finally spoke.

“Mind if I pick out a room?” Harry shook his head.

Remus stood, and Harry trailed behind him, watching as the man navigated the house as if he had been there dozens of times. He probably has, Harry thought. Unwillingly, some part of Harry was jealous. Remus had been to Harry’s new house more than Harry had. The familiarity would come, he tried to soothe himself.

Eventually, they came to a familiar set of rooms on the third floor. Remus walked into a room right next to the one where the elves said Sirius had stayed, and near the one his dad used. With a jolt, Harry realized this is where Remus probably stayed when he was a kid.

As Remus walked into the room, Harry hovered outside the door, unsure of what to do with himself, but unable to bring himself to walk away. Harry was used to being alone or ignored during the summers, and having someone around was such a novel feeling that he wanted to savor it as much as he could. Even if Remus eventually wanted nothing to do with Harry, he would take what he could get.

Remus took his trunk out of his pocket, enlarged it, and began to unpack his things with a wave of his wand. I need to learn that spell, Harry thought. There were dozens of household spells that would be useful to learn, especially now that Harry was living on his own. He didn’t want the house elves to have to do everything. As Remus’ things whirled around the room, Harry noticed that he didn’t have many things, and like last year, his robes were old and worn. Harry added a shopping trip of things to do when Sirius arrived, as the other man would definitely need clothes, too. If he couldn’t spend his obscene amount of money on the people he cared about, then what was the point?

After he was fully unpacked, Remus sat at his desk for a moment with some parchment and a quill. He paused.

“Harry, does Andromeda know about Sirius’ innocence?”

“Uh, no.” Harry said. “I was going to tell her, but I didn’t want to without Sirius’ permission. Also, I didn’t know if she would believe me.”

“Haven’t you been talking to Padfoot?” Remus asked. Harry blushed.

“I forgot to bring it up.” Thankfully, Remus just laughed.

“When is your next appointment with her?” Remus said. It took a moment for Harry to remember the date.

“Oh Merlin, it’s tomorrow. I almost forgot.” Harry really needed that planner. Maybe Remus had recommendations. He was a teacher, so he had to be organized, right?

“Even if she isn’t able to see me, can I come with you? I’d like to thank her, and to see if telling her about Sirius would be a good idea.” Harry didn’t particularly like the idea of someone being at his appointment, but he figured Remus had already seen the worst and probably wasn’t going to judge.

“Okay, you can come. It’ll probably be good for her to see that I have a guardian, now.” Realizing what he said, Harry froze. What if Remus didn’t want to be his guardian, and he left? It was a lot of work, being in Harry’s life, and the boy knew this.

But, when Harry dared to look up at Remus, he was beaming. “Thank you, cub. Do you mind if I borrow Hedwig?”

“Go ahead. She’s been enjoying having work to do.” Harry was going to reply to Sirius’ letter from yesterday, but he supposed there was so much going on that he could wait a little longer to reply. Hopefully Sirius wouldn’t be upset.

“I’ll head to the owlery. We can meet in the garden sanctuary to talk more, if you’d like?” Remus said. Harry agreed, wanting a moment to gather his thoughts, and resisting the urge to cling to Remus like a child. He felt confused at the feeling, but figured he would keep that confusion to himself. 

Harry wandered into the garden, wondering where Remus thought they should talk. He had gone exploring a few times, and had found a few places with picnic tables and chairs, but nowhere he would describe as a sanctuary. For now, he decided to walk and think. The weather was nice, warm with a cool breeze, and trees occasionally casting shade on the paths.

This was probably going to be a meeting to establish boundaries. Even though he didn’t act like it, Remus probably wasn’t pleased that Harry wanted to rely on him as a guardian, at least a little, and wanted to nip that in the bud. What better place to do that than the comfort of the outdoors? Harry would agree to it, as he still wanted Remus to live with him, and he knew Sirius would be upset if he managed to piss Remus off. Not that he had ever seen the werewolf angry, other than that day in the Shrieking Shack. Besides, didn’t he only need Sirius to be his guardian? He just needed to make sure one person didn’t back out, which was much easier than two.

Harry kicked a pebble down the path, and frowned. What would he have to do, to make Remus angry? It was dangerous, to not know that line, especially if Remus was going to be living with him. What type of anger did Remus, and for that matter, Sirius, have? Were they like Aunt Petunia, biting words and cold glares, or were they like Uncle Vernon, red face and swinging fists? Harry was nervous, not knowing. He really, really wanted to transfer his guardianship to Sirius, and hopefully Remus would help out too, but it was nerve-wracking not knowing much about either of them.

Maybe they won’t take their anger out on you, some part of him rationalized, they were friends with your mum and dad, after all. Harry scoffed. As if he could ever be that lucky. With his abysmal luck, Remus was going to tell Harry to go back to calling him ‘Professor Lupin’ within a matter of minutes.  

“Harry!” He heard Remus call out for him. Following the direction of the voice, Harry came across a section of large hedges. Confused, he looked around, but there was no Remus to be found.

“Uh, Remus? Where are you?” To his shock, Remus emerged from the bushes as if they didn’t exist.

“Sorry about that, cub, I forgot you didn’t know about the sanctuary.” With a wave of his hand, Remus invited Harry through the hedges. Harry pushed his hand through hesitantly, and like the platform to get to the Hogwarts Express, the bush simply didn’t exist.

Stepping through the hedge, Harry arrived at a beautiful field of wildflowers and grasses, bordered by trees and hedges. There were bees buzzing merrily, and dragonflies flitting about the area. Four comfy-looking couches surrounded a small fire pit and two small tables were placed in the corners. There were also two chairs to the side, with a large umbrella and table set up between them. Harry breathed in deep, feeling the wild magic of the area surround him, as if he could taste it on his tongue. The magic reminded him of how it felt to go deep into the Forbidden Forest, without the accompanying fear for his life that had happened both times.

“Woah,” He breathed out. “This is amazing.”

Remus chuckled. “This is a well-kept secret within your family, as only family members and close friends are told about it.”

“The magic is…” Harry trailed off, spinning around, as if the act would expose him to more magic.

“The magic?” Remus looked at him, confused, but Harry didn’t elaborate. “Well, there is a higher concentration of magic in this area, due to how your ancestors bred and planted certain magical plants.”

Harry crouched down, gently taking a flower in hand. “It’s so strong, and beautiful.” He whispered. He missed Remus sending him a contemplative look.

“How about we sit down and get to talking.” Remus recommended. The nerves that the sanctuary had briefly chased away came back in full force. After Remus magicked away the dust and pollen, they settled in the chairs near the tree line, not wanting to bake in the sun. Harry fidgeted with his fingers, hunching forward slightly.

“So, cub.” Harry glanced up, and saw that Remus was smiling at him. He relaxed, slightly. “How’d you end up here?”

Harry took a deep breath. His hands shook. “If I tell you, do you promise not to send me back?”

A conflicted look passed over Remus’ face, before it turned determined, and he nodded fiercely.

“I don’t know if you know who I was staying with, but it was my aunt and uncle. Petunia and Vernon Dursley. They hate me. They—they abused me.” Harry heard a sharp breath but carried on. He needed to get this out. He couldn’t afford to be sent back, even if Remus had promised. “They beat me and they starved me.” Harry’s breath stuttered. He wanted to stop talking, but he couldn’t. “For ten years my bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs and I slept on a little cot, and I had to cook and clean and garden and do all the chores for them, and, and—”

Harry choked on his breath. Why couldn’t he breathe? Something was wrong, his magic had gone funny, it was burnt and sour and he couldn’t breathe.

A low, calm voice interrupted his thoughts. “With me, cub. Follow my breathing.” Harry heard exaggerated breathing. He tried his best to follow it. It was hard, he kept gasping for air, the edges of his vision going blurry, but eventually, his heart rate began to slow, and his vision came back.

“Good, good job.” The voice said. Harry realized he was on the ground, in the fetal position, in front of the chair he was sitting on. Remus was crouched beside him, hands hovering but not touching.

“What—” His voice cracked, mouth dry. Harry cleared his throat and tried again. “What happened?”

Remus’ eyes looked sad. “I think you had a panic attack. Understandable, considering what you were telling me.”

“Oh.” Harry said. He had heard of panic attacks before, but never thought he would be the type to get them. He supposed Andromeda did say he would be more emotionally unstable for a while. “But, I’ve been through so much worse than just talking about my problems.”

It wasn’t a question, but Remus answered anyway. “Sometimes, the body only reacts when it knows we’re safe. The previous times bad things have happened to you, and you haven’t panicked, it still hurt you, instead of being something you simply powered through. You’re just processing it now, instead of then.”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense.” Harry said. He realized they were still on the ground, and stood up abruptly, almost knocking Remus’ head with his. “Sorry!”

Remus joined him with a groan and several cracking bones. “No need to apologize, Harry.” They both settled back in their chairs silently. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep talking, but when he looked at Remus, the man only had a small, sad smile for him.

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay. I told you all that so you know that when I say I had to get out of the Dursley’s, I meant it. I’m not being dramatic.” Harry squared his shoulders, daring Remus to challenge him.

“I know, cub, I would never say otherwise.”

Harry deflated slightly. “Oh. Well after I blew up Aunt Marge last summer.” After Remus’ alarmed look, he added, “like, inflated, she turned into a balloon sort of. It was an accident.” Remus just shook his head and waved at Harry to continue.

“I knew this summer I was screwed if I stayed any longer at their house. Nothing super bad had happened, but it was only a matter of time, you know? So, I decided to go to Diagon and get a room at the Leaky, but something in my gut was telling me to stop by Gringott’s first. I was basically dragged to my account manager, took an inheritance test, and learned I had three Heirships and a bunch of stuff wrong with my magic. That’s also when I learned this place existed.” Harry gestured to the area around him, meaning the whole of Potter Manor. Remus nodded, understanding his point. “I got audits started, learned I had a mail ward, and uh, what else did I learn that day…”

“What were the Heirships?” Remus asked. “I know you have the Potter one, and maybe the Black one, if Sirius is somehow Lord now, but what’s the third?”

“Oh, that.” Harry fidgeted in his seat. Maybe he should have lied about having three, he didn’t want Remus to be disgusted with him. “It’s, uhm, Potter, Black, and Slytherin.” Harry reached out his hand, revealing the ring, and willing it to change between the three.

Remus looked a bit faint. It would’ve been funny, if it wasn’t so scary. “Oh.” The man said. “That’s surprising. How’d you get that one?”

“By conquest, through my mum.”

That snapped Remus out of his shocked state, “Through Lily?” He laughed. “That’s amazing.”

Harry looked away before asking his question. “Are you… upset?”

“No!” Remus yelled, making Harry jump. He quieted his voice. “No, Harry, I’m not upset, why would you think that?”

“Everyone thought I was Heir of Slytherin in my second year. It was awful, they all hated me.” Harry said sullenly.

“Well, I promise you there’s nothing wrong with it. That was when the chamber was open, and they were just scared about what was going on. Now that the situation is resolved, it’ll be different.”

Harry wasn’t so sure about that, but nodded anyway, finally glancing over at Remus. The werewolf had a kind smile on his face.

“Now, what else have you been doing while you’re here?”

“Well, I already told you about the Healer’s.” Harry chose not to mention his visit to his lawyer, as he wanted it to be a surprise for Remus and Sirius when he made progress. Besides, Remus was acting weird about Sirius. “I had another meeting with my account manager, to go over the results of the audit, and get my rings for my other Houses, but I decided to go shopping while I was already in Diagon. Andromeda said I needed new glasses, too.”

Remus pursed his lips at hearing he wandered around Diagon, but said nothing.

“The audit meeting…” Harry clenched his fists. “Did you know they were taking money from me? And things?”

Remus’ eyes went wide. “What? Who?”

“There are payments going to Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Granger, Mrs. Figg, and the Dursleys.”

“I had no idea, cub. That’s horrible.” Remus furrowed his eyebrows, “Did you say ‘are’? Are Gringotts not able to stop the payments?”

“No, they can, I just didn’t want to reveal what was going on too early. There’s too much at stake.” Remus nodded. Harry’s voice got quiet. “There was also a marriage contract for me, with Ginny.”

A noise ripped out of Remus’ throat that he had never heard before, a low, dark growl. Harry leaned back, concerned, but Remus quickly got hold of himself. He blushed, roughly shaking his head. “Sorry. I knew someone whose life was almost ruined by a marriage contract. Do you know what it said?”

Harry shook his head. “No, but it’s not valid anyway since Dumbledore’s magical guardian claim over me is unconfirmed.” Remus let out a sigh of relief.

“Any more heart attacks you want to give me?” Remus said.

Harry hummed, tapping his chin with a finger. “Not that I can think of.” They stared at each other, before bursting into laughter. It really wasn’t that funny, but the panic and anger of the situation had boiled over into relief, then laughter.

Their laughs slowed, and Harry peered over at Remus. The man was shaking his head, a small smile on his face.

“What else have you been doing, cub?”

“Oh, well, I’ve been teaching myself Ancient Runes and learning Defense. Your book recommendations have helped a lot, so thanks.” Harry smiled.

“You’re welcome, but I didn’t know you were in Ancient Runes?”

“I’m not.” Harry sighed. “I’m in Divination and Care, but I hate Divination so much and want to drop it, so I’m hoping I can catch up with Runes and take some sort of test to be let into the class.”

Remus hummed. “I think I’ve heard of someone doing that, but it’s not super common. Why do you hate Divination so badly?” Remus snorted. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

“You mean that Trelawny is a fraud? She keeps predicting my death every. Single. Class. It’s infuriating. Like, I know I’m probably gonna die before I’m 18, but there’s no need to rub it in.”

Remus’ eyes turned sad. “Cub…”

“Joke! It was a joke!” Harry said abruptly. He did not want to get into the certainty he had of his death with Remus (nor the lack of fear he had regarding it). The man also didn’t need to know of his many, many near death experiences. Remus didn’t look convinced, but nodded either way. Harry changed the subject. “What have you been doing?”

Remus winced, almost imperceptibly. “I honestly haven’t been doing much. The Aurors have kept me stuck at home, and I haven’t managed to get a new job or anything.”

Harry deflated. He felt guilty for his part, however small, in Remus being fired. “Oh, I’m sorry.” The werewolf just smiled at him, a little bitterly.

“Nothing you can do about that, Harry. Werewolf rights have only gotten more constricted over the years. It’s a miracle I’m even allowed in the country.”

“Surely we can do something about that!” Harry exclaimed. “I’ve got three Heirships now, that has to count for something.”

Remus laughed a little, and Harry’s heart sank with it. “You’re just like your parents. When Lily learned about my condition, she was horrified with all the laws going against it. James wanted to use his Lordship to put forth laws to ease restrictions on werewolves. They were forces to be reckoned with. But, for now, there’s not much you can do. I’m sorry, Harry.” He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Strangely, Harry felt like he could burst into tears at the expression on Remus’ face. It was one of complete resignation.

“I’ll make things better one day, Remus. I promise.” Maybe it was childish optimism, but Harry knew that one day he would make it up to Remus, if only for teaching him the Patronus Charm. He simply had to.

“Thanks, cub.” Remus wiped his eyes, looking up at the sky. “How about we talk about something a little happier, alright? How’s your Defense studying going? Did you ever find the grimoire?”

Harry suddenly realized that he had not mentioned the portraits of his grandparents to Remus yet. He tried to school his expression, but failed. “No, I haven’t found the grimoire yet. Honestly, I’ve had so much going on that it slipped my mind. I think I have an idea of where I’m going to find it, though.” He did not mention this would be his grandparents’ painting. “I think you mentioned in one of our letters that Mum and Dad added a lot to Defense, what did they do?”

Remus watched his face closely, but if the werewolf noticed his avoidance of the question, he didn’t tell Harry. Instead, he smiled wistfully.

“Lily’s specialty was charms and potions. She was always innovating new ways to apply potions to battle, or to make defensive potions apply quicker before a fight. She always made sure we had a stocked up first aid kit, and was great at healing spells.” Harry leaned forward, hanging onto every word. “One of the most influential things she did, however, was figure out that Patronuses can carry messages. She was studying how to make the Patronus charm easier to cast, since dementors were a real problem, and came across that instead.” Harry remembered the book he had found in his mum’s trunk, an annotated copy of The Patronus Charm. His Patronus had always made him feel closer to his dad, given the shape of it, but now he wondered if he would think of his mum while casting it, too.

“What was mum’s Patronus shape?” Harry asked quietly. Remus’ smile turned sad.

“It was a doe.” They sat in silence for a moment, while Harry processed.

“They really loved each other, huh…” Harry trailed off, not knowing how to articulate the deep, deep ache in his chest. Somehow, Remus knew what to say, anyway.

“The only person they loved more than each other, was you.”

Harry wiped his eyes. “What did dad do?”

Remus got that far-away look on his face, again. “Your dad was all about traps. Anything to catch a Death Eater off guard, or to break down their defenses. It was like he needed to channel his pranking energy, and this was the only way he could get away with it. Sirius and I helped, quite a bit, but…” Remus sighed. “I was gone so often, on missions, that I couldn’t tell you a majority of the things he invented. I bet there’s a book of inventions somewhere in the Manor, or at Godric’s Hollow. He might have copied some down in the grimoire, too.”

“About that,” Harry fidgeted with his fingers. “What is a grimoire?”

Remus frowned, but shook his head. “I forgot no one has told you anything, if you grew up with the Dursley’s. Sorry about that.” Harry shifted in his seat, embarrassed, but Remus didn’t dwell on it. “A grimoire is a collection of invented spells and potions, usually gathered by a family, but a singular person can have one too. It helps a family keep an advantage over their enemies.”

Harry nodded. “If they don’t know what the spell or potion is, they can’t counter it.”

Remus beamed, “Exactly! Your father was a force on the battlefield because of this. He was careful not to use his family spells too often, or someone can learn them, but they were a great trump card. Sirius knows quite a few of the spells too, once Euphemia and Fleamont, your grandparents, took him in.”

“Do you think he would be willing to teach me?” Harry asked shyly. If anyone knew what would push Sirius too far, it would be Remus.

“Cub, he would be honored.” Remus said. Harry sighed, relieved, but knew it was also time to bring up what he had been avoiding.

“Uh, also, speaking of my grandparents.” Harry stopped for a moment, contemplating his next words. “Did you know it’s common in my family to have portraits made of the head of house and their spouse?”

Remus’ eyes widened. “Oh. Oh Merlin. I completely forgot. I bet Sirius has, too.” He murmured the last part to himself, but Harry still heard it.

“I haven’t been able to mention it to him, Euphemia said to not tell him over letter.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Remus said. “They were his parents, too, in all the ways that mattered. It devastated him and James when they died.”

Harry smiled sadly, “Yeah, if their paintings are accurate, they’re wonderful.” He only wished he had been able to meet them in life, too. “Do you want to go see them?”

Remus sat up straight, obviously excited. “Only if you’re okay with it, cub.”

Harry nodded, but felt thrown off. They hadn’t talked about any boundaries, or anything serious at all. “Is this everything you wanted to talk about?”

Remus cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You know, since you asked if you could talk to me, did we talk about everything you wanted to?”

“Oh cub,” Remus looked sad, but Harry couldn’t pinpoint what he did wrong. “I just wanted to have a conversation about what you’ve been doing. I didn’t have a specific agenda, or anything. Did you think I was going to say something specific?”

Harry shook his head quickly. If Harry brought up the idea of Remus leaving or backing away, wouldn’t that just put the idea in his head? He couldn’t risk it. Remus didn’t look convinced, but Harry moved on.

“How about we go find my grandparents, then?” Harry said, standing up and moving to the entrance without letting Remus respond.

They walked in silence through the garden. Harry wanted to say something, but each thing he could think of to say was cringy and awkward. He didn’t know how close he was allowed to get, now that it was revealed that Remus had tried to reach out to him multiple times when he was younger. But if that was true, why hadn’t he reached out to him during Harry’s third year, besides the Patronus lessons? It made Harry feel awful, but part of him was hoping something would come up when Remus visited Andromeda, if only to give him an excuse to forgive Remus.

Nipsy was waiting for them when they entered, cleaning off their shoes with a snap and passing them glasses of lemonade.

“Thanks, Nipsy!” Harry said, “Do you know where my grandparents are?”

Nipsy nodded. “A couple hours ago, they was in the dueling room.”

They thanked her, before walking towards the far side of the house.

“I had no idea they had a dueling room!” Remus said, eyes shining. There was a spring in his step that made him look a decade younger.

“I think it’s a family secret,” Harry said. “Nipsy didn’t even tell me about it on our tour, Euphemia told me.”

“Oh,” Remus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, meeting Harry’s eyes seriously. “You don’t have to take me there, if it’s a secret. I can meet you all in a different room.”

Harry shook his head. As if he was going to refuse after seeing Remus get so excited about it. “No, you should come with. After all, you’re… yeah.” Harry cut himself off, looking down with a blush. You’re being freaky, Harry, he thought.

Remus beamed, looking even more excited than he had before. He’s probably just excited about the dueling room. “Thank you, Harry.”

They started walking again. “Oh! That reminds me,” Harry said. “Why do you call me Harry and not Hadrian?”

“I thought that was your preference?” Remus side-eyed him. “It was written as your preferred name on your Hogwarts paperwork.”

“No, I had no idea that my name was even Hadrian until I went to the bank. Did my parents just introduce me to everyone as Harry, and it stuck?”

“Oh cub, I’m so sorry. If I had any idea that you didn’t know…” Remus shook his head. “No, they didn’t. Harry was a nickname for family and close friends. They couldn’t introduce you to many people, as they were in hiding for the majority of the time you were with them, but it was always as Hadrian. I wonder…” Remus trailed off, eyebrows furrowed, before looking back at Harry. “Do you prefer one over another?”

“I think,” Harry hesitated. “I think I want people—just people I’m not close to—to call me Hadrian. You can keep calling me Harry, though. I just don’t know how to go about correcting people.” Harry added, “Euphemia and Fleamont call me Hadrian though, and that feels right… so really, I don’t know.”

Remus hummed, “I think until you’re forced to make some sort of public statement, you’ll have to go with correcting people on an individual level and hoping it gets passed around. But you don’t have to decide now what you want to go by. You have all summer.”

Harry nodded. Of course nothing would be easy for him. At least he had time.

They arrived at the dueling room. Harry pushed open the door, calling out. “Fleamont, Euphemia? Are you here?”

“Hadrian!” Fleamont responded, and Remus let out a strangled gasp. Harry looked up, and was surprised to see that his eyes were teary. “We were supposed to meet up for dueling today, where have you been?” The words weren’t accusatory, simply curious.

“Um, we have a guest?” With that, Harry fully stepped into the room, Remus following slowly behind him.

“Monty. Euphemia.” Remus said, voice choked. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Remus!” Fleamont called out. They were both in a newly-hung painting on the wall, perpendicular to the training dummies. Fleamont was smiling widely, and Euphemia looked pleased to see him, too, although she was more reserved.

“Oh, Remus. How have you been? You’ve grown so much.” Euphemia smiled, but her voice was sad. Harry guessed that Remus’ tired and shabby state had not gone unnoticed.

“It’s… it’s wonderful to see you both. I’m,” Remus swallowed thickly. “I’m alright.” He nodded weakly, unable or unwilling to say any more.

They sat in silence for several moments, before Harry took mercy on both parties. “Nipsy mentioned something about wards this morning, when Remus arrived. She said they weren’t fully working, or something like that? Also, we have to show Remus how this room works.”

“The wards!” Fleamont exclaimed, nearly falling over as he vaulted up from the painting’s couch. “I completely forgot! Whenever there’s no head of house, the wards lose power, until they can be claimed again. Although you aren’t head of house, you can still lock them down since you’re the Heir.”

“People have been able to get in this entire time?” Harry tugged his hair anxiously.

“No, not that extreme, they’re just more lax than they normally are. It would take an exceptionally powerful wixen to break the wards, even in their weakened state. I would still recommend locking them down to only let through people you choose. We had quite the long guest list, ourselves.” Fleamont said.

“Oh, is that how Remus was able to get through?” Harry asked. “He was already, uh, keyed into the wards?”

“Exactly!”

“Can you show me how to fix the wards?”

“You’ll have to take a painting down there, but yes, I can walk you through it.” Fleamont said.

Euphemia spoke up. “I’d like a moment with Remus, while you two are doing that.” Harry was curious about what they were going to talk about, but Remus just seemed resigned, and Euphemia had a fantastic poker face.

Remus shooed him out, so Harry grabbed a spare painting on the floor (Euphemia used it to get different angles of Harry training) and left the room. Fleamont quickly appeared in the painting.

“The wardroom is on the first floor, in the center of the house.” With those vague directions, Harry set off, hoping that Fleamont would give him a little more direction once they got close.

“So,” Harry said. “Do you know what they’re going to talk about?”

Fleamont laughed. “Yes, and I’m not going to tell you.”

“It was worth a try.” Harry sighed.

“Now, a wardroom mainly contains a wardstone, the anchor for the wards in the Manor. When you get there, I’m going to have to stay outside the door, but all you have to do is put blood on the stone and say some words. That’ll connect you to the wards, essentially introducing yourself. After that, you can go to the book in the corner, that’s a list of who is allowed in the Manor. You just need to write down who you’re allowing in, while thinking about them, or else you’ll let in everyone with the same name. Also, cross off the previous names, but do that after you write Remus’ name down, or it’ll be unpleasant for him. I’ll tell you more when we get there.” With that, Harry hopped the last step to arrive on the first floor.

Fleamont lead Harry through the Manor as he desperately tried to memorize the twists and turns of hallways and the many, many rooms. Finally, they arrived at a stretch of blank hallway, and Fleamont told him to stop.

“Do you see the indent of the Potter crest in the wall?” Harry looked closer, and saw an impression around the height of his head. “Touch it, and push a bit of magic through it.”

Harry did as told, although it took him a moment to figure out how to channel his magic through his hand. The wall was cool to the touch and slid away to reveal a dark doorway with a deep, grinding noise.

A set of stairs led down, and down, and Harry followed them at Fleamont’s insisting. He tried not to panic when the stone door closed behind him, but was assured when carvings on the wall glowed warmly, revealing another crest by the door. Presumably, the way out.

When Harry examined the carvings, he was surprised to find a forest scene stretching down the staircase. Trees that stretched over Harry’s head, snakes that slithered underfoot, but the most surprising (although it shouldn’t have been) was a glowing stag that bounded up to him. He could see its nostrils flare, snorting silently, before it moved down the stairs, gesturing with a toss of the head for Harry to follow.

Cautiously, Harry followed the glowing stag. For a moment, Harry imagined he was there, with his dad, who was showing him how to introduce himself to the wards as the Heir. That he didn’t have to do this accompanied by a painting.

Finally, they reached a landing at the bottom of the stairs. A simple wooden door hid the wardstone room. The stag bowed, once, to Harry. Then, a doe came, brushed against the stag, and together, they left. Harry would’ve laughed, if he didn’t feel so choked up.

“Hadrian.” Fleamont spoke up quietly. “You’ll have to leave me here, so let me walk you through the introduction you’ll have to say. It isn’t long, so I know you’ll get it down easily.” Fleamont walked him through the process, then Harry had him repeat it a few times, feeling extremely nervous.

“If I mess this up, what happens?”

Fleamont smiled reassuringly. “Most likely, nothing, you just won’t connect to the wards. If you change the wording significantly, it could cause some damage to the wards, but the Potter Manor wards are designed to channel any mistakes into themselves, so you shouldn’t come into any harm.”

Harry frowned at that. “I don’t want to hurt the wards.”

“The wards can recover, you are much more precious than wards.” Fleamont insisted. Harry didn’t really think he was worth more than several hundred-year-old wards, but knew better than to argue with an adult, even if said adult was a painting.

After repeating the introduction to himself once more, Harry spoke up. “Okay. I think I’m ready.” Gently setting the painting on the ground, he stepped into the room. He tried to leave the door open behind him, but it shut without making a sound.

He was surrounded by the same warm light from the carvings, but unlike the stairway, the walls were still. Even then, Harry couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched. It was a similar forest scene, but the floor was covered in carvings too, skeletons of various animals, as if he was seeing straight into the earth itself. In the corner of the room sat a wooden desk and chair with a large, thick book on top of it. In the center of the room, however, was the wardstone.

It was a thick chunk of uncut crystal, about half as wide as it was tall, stretching to Harry’s waist. He could imagine other families having polished and cut stones, but the uncut Potter wardstone seemed right to Harry. Natural. As if the power not only came from Magic, but from the Earth, itself.

And Merlin, was there power. It seemed to pulse throughout the room. Harry could feel the magic radiating from the stone twisting and meshing with the Potter Magic inside him, leaving him buzzing.  The warmth was intoxicating, like a shot to his bloodstream of his family’s love. Harry wanted to drown in it. But, he had work to do, and he knew Fleamont would get worried if Harry took too long.

Using a spell Fleamont had showed him, Harry drew a shallow cut on his outer arm and wiped some blood with his palm. With a slap of his bloody palm on the stone, power erupted throughout the room. The carvings on the wall roared to life, and, so did the ones underfoot. Skeletal creatures joined the ones clambering along the wall.

Somehow, Harry stayed standing, even with the scrambling underfoot, though his knees shook. Fleamont told him it was important to keep his hand on the stone for the whole time, and damn it, he would not disappoint his grandparents or Remus. He would make this a safe space for them, and the elves. Ignoring the chaos, Harry spoke.

“I, Hadrian James Potter, do declare myself the Heir of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.” With those words, the room seemed to calm, slightly. The walls watched him intently. “I introduce myself to Potter Manor, and in exchange for its protection, I swear to power its wards, as my ancestors have done before me. May the occupants inside always be protected, and may the foes outside never reach us. So mote it be.” It wasn’t a complicated set of words, but by the end, Harry was sweating. Magic seemed to drain out of him, not enough to incapacitate him, and nothing like the fight against Quirrelmort, but enough to make him sway where he was standing.

Suddenly, a feeling enveloped him, like when he had first entered the property. The Manor itself, reaching out and communicating to him, through magic. It bolstered him and sent a sense of welcome. He could almost hear the Heir Potter that came along with it, the sense of responsibility the welcome entailed. Harry straightened his back from where he was slouching, understanding what the Manor was saying.

“Thank you, I’ll do my best to protect you.” Harry said. He didn’t know if it understood, but the feeling surrounding him slipped away, leaving him energized and full of magic.

Glancing down at his arm, he went to carefully tergeo the blood away (a spell Nipsy had taught him), and was shocked to see that he was already healed. He had always been a fast healer as a child, but never like that. Harry figured it was most likely a result of the ritual with the wardstone, and resolved to ask his grandfather about it later.

Before he could forget, he walked over to the desk in the corner, ignoring the staring from the animals on the walls. He swore they weren’t looking this much on the stairway. He sat down in the old wooden chair, and flipped slowly through the book, admiring the different handwriting. My ancestors, he thought, gently touching a looping cursive.

Finally, Harry got to the most recent page, whose handwriting must have been Fleamont’s. First, he proudly wrote down Remus and Sirius’ names, thinking of them intently. His quill was about to write Ron’s name, when reality hit him, and Harry sighed. He supposed for now, he was fine with having only two people there. Looking at the several pages of names Fleamont had written, he groaned. Harry began crossing them out, but was surprised to see that about half of them were already done.

When Harry finally stepped out of the room, and Fleamont beamed at him from the floor. “Great job, Hadrian! That was some impressive control of the wards, I could feel it from my painting. Let’s get upstairs.” Full of energy from the wardstone, Harry bounded up the steps and out of the stairwell, heading back to the dueling room, presumably where Remus still was.

“If you reach out now, you should be able to feel your connection to the wards, and feel whoever is inside the Manor.” Fleamont said.

“What do you—” Harry began, but quieted when he realized he had been feeling something since the wardstone accepted him. Closing his eyes, and reaching with his magic, he realized he felt a tentative strand of something immaterial connecting to the ball of magic he held deep within himself. Harry delved into it.

Harry knew the air at Potter Manor was full of magic, but tapped into it like this, it was like the air was sweating with it. He could feel the entire layout of the house, Remus in the library, Plink in the garden, Lethy in the kitchen. Nipsy was in the crafting room, so Harry was presuming she was making something, as she had told him she was the one to make the uniforms. He could even feel the numerous animals spread throughout the property, their many bodies attempting to spread his attention, but tried not to focus too deeply on them.

Overwhelmed, Harry pulled himself out of the connection, and stared down at the portrait he was holding. “What… what was that?”

“That,” Fleamont said smugly, “Is the Manor in all its glory.”

“Will I be able to feel that all the time?”

“Only when you’re on the property. When you’re off it, you’ll only know if someone tried to break in.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know whether to feel relief or not. It was a lot, but he kind of liked it. He changed trajectory towards the library. He wondered what Remus was doing there, as he figured the man would be trying out the dueling room. “Oh! Fleamont. I had a few questions, if that’s okay?” Harry still wasn’t entirely comfortable asking questions, but he felt more comfortable asking the paintings than any ‘real’ adults.

“Ask away!”

“I noticed that when I was marking out the names in the book, most of them were already crossed out?”

Fleamont sighed. “Ah, that’s a result of the war. I was alive for the first few years of it, and it meant our guest list was drastically reduced. It just wasn’t safe enough to let everyone through the wards.” Harry nodded, and instead of asking how Fleamont died, which still hadn’t come up in more than a week of living there, he moved on to his other question.

“While I was doing the ritual, my arm healed itself. Is that normal?”

Fleamont’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I’ve never heard of that happening before. You must have a strong connection with the family magic! You may have the family gift, too.”

“The family gift? What’s that?” Harry asked.

“In general, a family gift is a magical ability passed down through families, like parseltongue. However, our family gift is something different. It’s been centuries since someone has connected strongly enough with the family magic to completely manifest its gift, although there has been hints of it, so I’m actually not exactly sure what it is. You should be able to find the details in the journals in our family vault.” Fleamont said.

“Oh yeah,” Harry said. “I think they were mentioned in my inheritance test. Something about them being blocked?”

Fleamont nodded. “With the blocks on your core, you wouldn’t have been able to manifest your gifts. The actual details of the gifts won’t show on the test, even if you take it again, though. The magic is a too closely guarded secret.”

Harry hummed, pushing open the door to the library. “Hopefully I’ll be able to figure it out soon. There’s probably a lot of journals in the main vault, and I can’t even access it right now.” He thought for a moment. “I wonder where my parseltongue came from, if it’s supposed to be hereditary.”

Fleamont looked contemplative, “I have no clue, son. Let me think on that.” Harry nodded, and scanned the front of the room, finding no sign of the werewolf.

“Remus!” Harry called out quietly. Despite being the only people in the library, it felt wrong to make too much noise.

“Harry!” A voice called from a few isles down. Remus emerged, tucking a book into his satchel. Harry didn’t manage to catch the title. It didn’t seem to visibly grow larger, so Harry wondered if it had enchantments on it. “Sorry about that, I meant to get back to the dueling room before you finished up, but I got a bit distracted.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“It’s alright!” Harry said. “I’m more curious why you left in the first place. I thought Euphemia would be showing you how it worked.”

Remus smiled. It made his face seem younger, despite the ways his scars stretched. “I wanted you to show me how it worked.” Harry smiled back.

As they headed out of the library, Euphemia poked her head into the frame Harry was carrying, squeezing her way in. It was a tight fit, with both his grandparents in there. “Hello, darling. How did it go?”

“Wonderful! Harry connected to the family magic beautifully. I think he may have some of the family gift, even.” Fleamont said. Euphemia smiled up at Harry, nodding a tad smugly at her husband.

“I knew he was talented.” Harry blushed, turning his face away from the portrait and Remus.

“I barely did anything.” He mumbled.

“For now,” Euphemia said, eyes sharp. “But, with practice, we can hone your gifts, whether it’s your knack for Defense or the family gift itself.”

“Indeed, cub.” Remus said quietly. “You have an incredibly amount of power, as shown with your skill with the Patronus Charm, but what really allowed you to learn that charm was your determination.”

Harry nodded, face turning fierce. He wanted to do better, this school year. At his studies, at defending himself, at being Hadrian Potter. I want to—Harry’s thoughts faltered—I want to make Remus, Sirius, and my grandparents proud. He had never had anyone to make proud, before.

He barely noticed that they had finally arrived at the dueling room, but kept enough attention to thank Remus when the man held the door for him. Harry shook himself out of his thoughts, ignoring Remus’ concerned looks. He grinned at the werewolf, flicking his wand out of his holster, and approaching the training area.

“Wait until you see this. Forma silva.”

~~~

Harry had never dueled someone properly before (he was not counting what happened with Malfoy. That was a farce and a sham and frankly, he was surprised Malfoy’s pride stood for it), but he was surprised with how much fun he was having.

Not that it was easy. While Remus was certainly going easy on him, and using spells more suited to his age, the werewolf was great at dueling and making it as difficult as possible for Harry, while still possible for him to fight back. Despite this, Harry could feel a smile creeping onto his face as he dodged another expelliarmus.

It was their fourth duel in a row, with just a few breaks for water, and Harry was determined to win this time. This was supposed to just be a show of what he had learned with Euphemia, but now it was turning into a matter of pride.

Normally, duels happened on a stage, such as the one they had in the dueling room, but Remus and Euphemia were much more practical teachers, and insisted on dueling in the terrain-forming section of the room (after Remus had spent an appropriate amount of time gushing over it). After cycling through the options, they started with an urban area, but now they were in a forest. Even though Remus didn’t know half of his adventures at Hogwarts, he knew enough to figure that Harry would probably find himself in trouble in all sorts of places in the future.

Harry ducked behind a large tree trunk, catching his breath as spellfire whizzed past his hiding spot. Shit, shit, how am I gonna get the upper hand here? Harry thought, mind whirling, this is nothing like my past duels, least of all because there’s… no… snakes…

Plan quickly forming, Harry whispered a spell under his breath, desperately praying it worked. Despite the fact he had never used it before, a snake appeared. It looked like a common garden snake, but was big enough for his plans. Harry shot a few spells at Remus to further distract him, before leaning forward and whispering quickly.

“I’m in a practice fight with a friend. Will you help dissstract him?” Harry hissed.

“What’sss in it for me?” The snake hissed back.

“Whatever mouse or frog you want. Just do not bite him.”

“Deal.” With that, the snake slithered off. As the final step of his incredibly rushed plan, Harry sent a spell Remus’ way that made the air full of dust.

Like he thought, Remus conjured a gust of wind that dispelled the dust pretty much immediately, but it was enough time for Harry to duck closer and around to Remus’ side, and for the snake to get into position.

“I am scaring you!” Hissed the snake, rearing up at Remus’ feet. “Get scared, wolfman!”

Remus shrieked.

Harry jumped out and sent out a simple spell chain, a tickling jinx and expelliarmus. With a laugh and a spin, Remus’ wand leapt into his hand. The werewolf spun around, hand on his heart.

“Cub, is this because of you?” He pointed to the snake, who was slithering in Harry’s direction, now chattering about frogs and lizards. Harry nodded sheepishly. “You scared the shit out of me, but good work. And good job with the spell chain!”

“It was just a tickling jinx and expelliarmus.” Harry murmured, head down.

Remus walked closer, no longer bothered by the snake, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him towards the rest of the room. Luckily for Harry, he seemed to ignore his flinch. “Spell chains are difficult to do, especially before sixth year. I know Euphemia told you it’s easier to make them with spells you’re familiar with, which is what you did. Also, a tickling jinx makes it harder for me to hold on to my wand, so good thinking.”

“Thanks,” Harry said shyly. He fidgeted with his hands, hoping the conversation would move on.

“Excellent work, boys.” Euphemia spoke up from the wall. “Although, Remus, you could do with getting less distracted from normal parts of a forest.”

“It’s a conjured forest!” Remus defended himself. “There aren’t supposed to be any snakes here!”

“Oh, what did Alastor always say?” Fleamont said, grinning. “’Constant vigilance’?”

Remus groaned. Then, he looked down at the snake, which was now complaining about the cold stone floor, having followed Harry. “Where did it come from, anyway? Did you conjure it? That’s well above your year level.”

“I used a spell Malfoy used in dueling club. I was going to tell you about that, right? Let me ask.” Bending down, Harry focused on the snake, keeping careful note of Remus’ reaction. “Hello, I wasss wondering where you came from. Did I create you?”  To his surprise, Remus didn’t even flinch.

“Ha! Speaker doesss not even know where he sssummoned me from.” The snake said. “I do not need to go back, there wasss nothing for me there. Not enough frogsss.”

“I sssee.” Harry said, even though he did not. He repeated the information to Remus.

“You probably summoned it from the garden, or the forest surrounding the property. You’ve probably seen it, but there’s a pond in the garden with plenty of frogs, so you can probably put it there.” Remus said.

Harry relayed this information to the snake. “That isss acceptable. You have to catch at least one frog for me, though.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Harry said. “Would you like to ride on my shoulders until I place you by the water?” He reached out a hand, and with a flick of their forked tongue, they climbed up Harry’s arm.

Remus smiled at the two, “What did you decide?”

“We have a snake to drop off at the lake,” Harry said. “And I have a frog to catch.”

~~~

It turns out the snake was rather picky about having no magically-caught frogs, so Harry spent the afternoon running around after frogs, catching one to be examined by the snake, before being denied and having to go through it all over again. Remus was absolutely no help, as he was enjoying relaxing in a chair by the pond (which was almost big enough to be a lake) and watching Harry get himself muddy. The snake spent the whole time sunning themself on a rock.

Harry was quite afraid of Remus’ reaction to the realization that he was a parselmouth, but in reality he had nothing to worry about. It turns out the werewolf was more interested in how the dueling club fiasco went.

“Severus really told a second year how to summon a snake in a practice duel?” Remus pinched his nose. “What a petty, petty man.”

Harry and Remus enjoyed the summer sun for a couple of hours, before finally getting called in for lunch. The elves chose not to eat with the two, having already eaten. Lethy had cooked up a feast, and despite his usual levels of appetite, Harry was ravenous. He figured it was something to do with seeing Remus, and dueling, and introducing himself to the wards, and catching frogs, and wow he had done a lot of stuff already today.

Despite the wonderful food, the best part of eating was Remus, and his verifiable fountain of stories. They sat there for hours, talking about everything from pranks during his school days, to dark creatures he was hired to dispose of. It was incredibly interesting, and Harry hung on to his every word.

“And then,” Remus said, eyes bright with glee, “you turned James’ hair green, and I swear I’ve never seen that man look more offended in his life.” Harry burst out laughing, imaging an older version of himself with green hair and an affronted look.

When laughter finally died down, Harry asked, “was that something I did a lot as a kid, accidental magic?”

“Oh yes,” Remus said. “It was quite exhausting for your parents, you know. One minute you would be in your crib, as calm as could be, and the next you’d be crawling around the floor because you vanished the bars.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully, “I guess that’s why they put a baby block on me?”

“Oh, yes. I forgot about seeing that on your medical records.”

“I had wondered…” Harry trailed off. He was scared of the answer Remus would give.

“Yes, cub?” Remus gently prompted him.

“Andromeda told me about the reasons parents use baby blocks, so I wondered if it was because I was draining myself, or because I was too violent.” Harry’s voice came out quietly, in a rush.

Remus hummed thoughtfully, clearly thinking over his answer. “While I can’t tell you the exact reasons your parents did it, as I wasn’t there, I can tell you that you weren’t a violent child. The most violent thing you ever did was enjoy pulling Sirius’ hair. However, I also don’t think you were in danger of draining yourself, as you had a large magical core, even as a baby. I think they were worried about you hurting yourself. Your room was upstairs, so whenever you escaped your crib, they were worried about you falling down the stairs and hurting yourself.”

A breath left Harry. He supposed that the part of him that thought he was a freak would always be there, even if it wasn’t necessarily true all of the time. “Thank you, Remus.”

The werewolf smiled. “Anything else hanging over you that you’d like to talk about?” Harry’s smile faltered, mind flashing back to his mum’s will. “Harry?”

“Um,” Harry was unsure where to begin. “You know how I had another meeting with my account manager a few days ago?” Remus nodded. “Well, they managed to find my parents’ wills.”

Remus gaped. “They were never read?” Harry shook his head. “I figured that when I never received a summons they truly thought I was the spy. I never thought…” He trailed off.

“Yeah…” Harry said. “But that’s not why… Did you know Snape and my mum were friends? And that Snape was a Death Eater?”

Remus faltered, looking uncharacteristically lost, not confused. He knew, Harry thought. “Oh, cub, I don’t…”

“Why?” He demanded, feeling a familiar anger boil inside of him. “Why were they friends? Why does he hate me, then?”

Remus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I had hoped that Severus would’ve grown up enough to tell you that much about your past, but I’m certainly not one to talk. I don’t… I don’t know much about your mother’s history with Severus, and I was hoping to avoid some of these conversations until Sirius got here, but you deserve to know now.

“Lily grew up in a small town called Cokeworth, where she befriended Severus when they were young. I don’t know much more than that, other than the fact that they came to Hogwarts already as best friends.

“When James saw Lily for the first time, he was instantly infatuated. In all his 11-year-old glory, he picked a fight with Severus, and she, well, didn’t return his feelings.” Remus managed to crack a smile at that. Harry didn’t return it. “Sirius and James had become fast friends on the train, and Wormtail and I would soon join them after sorting. It took a few months for them to begin their pranking, and a few more months for me to be convinced to join, but Severus was instantly a target. He was smart, a Slytherin, prejudiced against muggleborns, and most importantly, he received all of Lily’s attention.”

Remus sighed, looking tired. “We were awful, really. I tried to get them to stop at some points, but that didn’t stop me from helping. He fought back, sure, but it was four against one, and we were really much better at pranking.

“In our fifth year, Sirius pranked Severus by… well, I think it would be better to let him tell you what he did. Needless to say, Severus almost died, and James saved his life, causing Severus to be in life debt to him. We were all furious with Sirius, and didn’t talk to him for months.

“Later that year, things were getting worse. The war was on, and tensions were running high in the school. People were hexing each other in the corridors, calling each other slurs, and the outside world brought constant news of death. One day, by the Black Lake, this boiled over, and Severus said some awful things to us. We publicly humiliated him, and when Lily tried to help, he called her a slur. That was the end to their friendship, and I believe when he joined the Death Eaters.” Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe.

”We stopped our harmful pranks in sixth year, and your father stopped trying to impress Lily so much. When he became Head Boy, and Lily Head Girl, he really stepped up to the responsibility, and seeing the way he changed impressed her. She eventually fell for him. I’m surprised that Severus was in her will, but even after she stopped talking to him, she didn’t enjoy speaking ill about him.”

When it was clear Remus wasn’t going to speak any longer, Harry broke the silence, “So, you all bullied him? And now he bullies me because he thinks I’m like my dad?” A low anger was burning him up inside, whether at Remus or Snape or both, he didn’t know.

Remus winced at his bluntness. “Yes, I believe so.”

“And you did nothing, throughout all of Hogwarts, to make sure your friends weren’t bullying people. You participated in it!” Harry’s chair screeched as he stood up abruptly from the table.

The werewolf bowed his head. “I’m deeply ashamed of how I acted during my Hogwarts years. If I could go back and change them, I could. I’ve offered Severus an apology, but he refused to accept it, as is his right.”

“I just—" Harry stuttered, overwhelmed with anger and sadness and the realization that everything that Snape has said about his father might have been true. “I need to go.”

Harry stormed out of the breakfast nook, ignoring Remus calling out for him.

~~~

Harry didn’t come down for dinner, instead choosing to eat in the sunroom. He would’ve just skipped, but Lethy hunted him down after he didn’t show up. Remus gave him space for a couple hours after Harry stormed out, but that didn’t last. The man had been periodically hunting for him for the past several hours. Harry was using his connection to the wards to his full advantage, avoiding Remus whenever the man began to approach where he was. He suspected the elves were telling Remus where he was, or being a werewolf gave him supersenses, because there was no way he should’ve been finding Harry that quickly.

He was going to let Remus find him, one of those times. But every time he considered it, a new way that Dudley had humiliated him in the past popped up in his mind. The anger would flare back, and it was all Harry could do to not hunt Remus down and start yelling at him. He didn’t even know what about, Harry just felt like he needed to yell at someone, because how couldn’t he have known that his dad was a bully? That the only remnants of family Harry had left had helped?

Was his dad watching from the afterlife, thinking about how weak his son was? Would he be ashamed of Harry for letting Dudley push him around?

After growing up thinking his parents were drunks who died in a car crash, with periodic phases where he deluded himself into thinking otherwise, Harry would’ve thought he was immune to any bad news regarding his parents. But, no. He’s gotten complacent, Harry realized. He’s gotten greedy.

He came to this realization while hiding in the craft room, admiring some of the crochet books on the shelves. The room itself was cozy, with a fireplace, and walls filled with bookshelves of materials. Part of the shelves were dedicated to a rainbow of yarn in all textures and sizes. He wondered who had enjoyed crocheting, before brushing it off. It didn’t matter, because everyone who could’ve was fucking dead, and he didn’t even know them in the first place.

Angrily wiping tears away, Harry picked up a small stuffed animal working as a bookend. It was a turtle, and it was heavier than expected from some beads inside. He squeezed it roughly, feeling the stuffing squish satisfyingly under his fingers.

“James probably made that.” A voice said from behind Harry. He whirled around in surprise to see Remus standing there. He had been too caught up in angsting that he hadn’t checked the wards.

“Oh,” Harry didn’t know what to say. Why wasn’t Remus mad? He had been looking for Harry all day. “I didn’t know Dad knew how to crochet.”

“Oh yes, Euphemia taught him. He was never one for long projects, but enjoyed making little stuffed animals. He gave your mum a stuffed rabbit that turned into flowers on their first date, after she told him about Muggle magicians.” Remus sat in a chair opposite the fireplace and gestured to the adjacent one. “Come sit with me, cub.”

Unable to make eye contact, Harry sat down. He felt as if he looked up, he would explode.

“Harry, I’m sorry. You should never have had to learn about your father and mother like that. They should be here for you to draw your own judgements about them, and every day I wish they were.” Remus shook his head. “But that’s not why I wanted to apologize. Your parents were multifaceted people, just like most everyone else. They had their flaws, yes, but they were good people.” Harry finally raised his head to look at Remus. He was surprised at how earnest the other man looked.

“I’m sorry because I should have made it clear how amazing your parents were, not in spite of their flaws, but because of them. Lily had one of the fiercest tempers I’ve ever seen, but she wielded it well. James had no respect for authority, but he would go around it for others, too. And I see so much of them in you,” Remus’ mouth quirked into a grin. “Both the good, and the bad.”

Harry took a deep, gulping breath. He hadn’t realized he hadn’t been breathing for most of Remus speaking. He’d needed, desperately, to hear what Remus had said. Everyone treaded around the subject of his parents carefully, speaking of them as if they were concepts, not people. James: the Quidditch Captain, Lily: the Loving Mother.

“I still don’t,” Harry said quietly, anger fading away. “I still don’t understand why anyone would do that.”

“A lot of our pranks were genuinely not harmful, although we did target the Slytherins often. The times we would take it too far…” Remus sighed. “I tried to stop them most of the time, other times I just stayed out of it. Looking back, I was entirely too complicit in the bullying, even if I didn’t directly participate.”

“But why?” Harry stressed the word, staring at Remus.

“You’ll have to ask Sirius about his and James’ reasoning, but I didn’t want to make a scene, or to go against the only people that had ever willingly kept my secret. And before they kept my secret, they were my first friends. A poor excuse, I know.” Remus appeared to deliberate his words for a second. “And, while I don’t mean to talk ill about the man, Severus was not blameless on his end. He was often testing his spells and potions on younger students, or us, which I think James and Sirius saw as justification for their actions. I certainly did. Those spells were not kind.”

Harry looked down at the floor. “I just don’t… Did you know Dudley bullied me?”

“I had no idea, cub.”

“Do you—” Harry mumbled, “Do you think my dad would be ashamed that I let myself get pushed around like that? That Sirius would, if I told him?”

“Oh, Harry.” Remus sounded close to tears, but Harry couldn’t bear to look at him. “Your father would be so proud of where you are, now. He would understand that living at the Dursley’s was a terrible thing, and that you did the best you could. What happened to you was not your fault. Sirius is going to say the same thing, and will probably be righteously angry on your behalf.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered. With the fear and anxiety leaving his body, all that was left was a bone-deep exhaustion. “I think I’d like to go to bed, now.”

“Sounds like a plan, cub. You’ve had a long day today, and you still have a meeting with Andromeda tomorrow.” Harry groaned, if a bit subdued.

With a grunt, Remus stood up and offered his hand for Harry to take. Harry tentatively took it and was pulled to his feet. Together, they walked to Harry’s room in a fragile silence, Harry swaying gently on his feet. Harry expected Remus to just drop him off at his room and leave, but when they arrived, Remus hovered at the doorway.

“Goodnight, Harry.” Remus said, reaching out a hesitant hand, before settling it on Harry’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. “Goodnight, Remus.” The warmth from the touch was enough to chase away unpleasant thoughts as Harry got ready for the night. It did not stop him from dreaming.