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Chapter Text

5 November 2001

Jane Moneypenny didn't hate Mondays so much as tolerate them - the pile of intelligence reports that came in over the weekend was almost always large and absolutely always interesting. For definitions of interesting that included oh, this might be a bit of bother and let's get the bastards! and  everything in between. Distilling the reports from throughout the Commonwealth and around the world into a concise summary for her boss, the woman code-named M, was Jane's primary, though tedious, task every week, and she was quite good at it.

This Monday would be especially challenging, as tonight was Bonfire Night, and celebrations would take place throughout the country, causing more mayhem than Guy Fawkes ever had. Fortunately, Jane lived in London, and in London, celebrations were typically limited to fireworks…though they could start much earlier than Jane would prefer.

But that was tonight. This morning, Jane crossed to the coffeemaker discreetly set back on a shelf above the credenza behind her desk and set it to heating the water she'd filled it with the previous Friday. M would never demand that Jane make coffee for her, but Jane enjoyed a cup - just one cup - every Monday morning, and it was truly no trouble to make a second cup for her boss.

While the water heated, she took a seat at her desk and booted up her computer. The sooner she began reviewing the reports that had come in over the weekend, the sooner she could get on with the rest of her work.

She'd just called up her email program, where the vast majority of those reports would be waiting, when the outer door opened.

"Good morning!"

She knew the voice, of course, but she'd never heard it quite so cheerful before.

"Good morning, 007," she said without looking up from her screen. "It seems you had quite the weekend."

"Dreadfully dull without you, Moneypenny." James Bond, Agent 007, sounded entirely too flirtatious for this early on a Monday.

"Are you certain?" She finally looked up to offer him a smile. "You sound far too chipper to have had a dull weekend."

"The weekend was most definitely dull," Bond replied. "But this morning brought great cause for good cheer."

"And what might that be, James?" Jane asked.

"That bit of bother MI-13's been keeping an eye on seems to have taken care of itself."

A chill ran down her spine. Given her family, she knew far more about that department than most people did, but that was a well-kept secret, even in the office of the director of MI-6.

"What do you mean, took care of itself?" Jane asked, carefully neutral.

"I'm quite interested in the answer to that question myself."

The new voice had Jane speaking automatically. "Ma'am."

"Good morning, M," Bond said, shifting position slightly so that he could see both women. His tone was somewhat more formal when he addressed M directly. "I stopped by Paddington's office for an update, as our last briefing indicated that the trouble in the Wizarding World might be spilling over into ours in ways that couldn't be contained."

"I am aware," M said, and Jane bit back a smile at the older woman's tone, as frosty as her hair was white. "Tell me something of which I am unaware."

"Right." Bond glanced at Jane, but she had her expression under control and merely arched an eyebrow at him. "Well. Paddington's people got hold of one of their newspapers-" James held a rolled piece of - yes, parchment - up in one hand "-and it says that the terrorist Voldemort is dead."

Relief swept through Jane, and she fought not to let it show. MI-6, like MI-5, might be aware of the Wizarding World and exactly what MI-13 dealt with, but her own role in that world was a well-kept secret and would remain that way if she had anything to say about it.

"Excellent news," M said. "How did it happen?"

As James began his tale - one that sounded even more fantastic than Jane would have expected - Jane reached for the parchment he held so that she could scan it into their database of incidents and she would add it to the briefing she'd present to M later today.

Certainly, Paddington and MI-13 would have their own copies, but Jane was not one to shirk a duty simply because it resulted in a bit of duplication now and then.

While Bond and M spoke, Jane rose and unfolded the parchment - a copy of the Daily Prophet, she saw now, dated a few days before - and turned toward the scanner.

The headline made her freeze in her tracks, her breath as still as the rest of her.

YOU-KNOW-WHO DEAD!

ATTACK ON POTTER FAMILY REBOUNDED!

BABY HARRY ONLY SURVIVOR!

The parchment started to slip from suddenly nerveless fingers, and Jane clenched it tightly so she could read the article.

Despite the sensationalist headlines, the article itself was somewhat light on details. Still, Jane gathered that Voldemort himself had attacked James and Lily Potter, and the only survivor was their fifteen-month-old son Harry.

Harry.

Jane set the Prophet aside and turned back to face M and Bond, who were still discussing the article and its implications.

She cleared her throat quietly, but it was still enough to draw the others' attention to her.

"Sorry, ma'am," she said to M, "but I need to take a personal day."

Those sharp blue eyes focused on her and Jane unconsciously straightened her shoulders. "Is there a problem, Miss Moneypenny?"

Of course there was, else I wouldn't be asking for a personal day. Jane kept the thought to herself, swallowed hard, and forced herself to say the bare minimum necessary.

"Lily Potter was my sister."

*BREAK*

James guided the Range Rover southwest along the A3 toward Surrey, occasionally stealing a glance at the unusually quiet woman in the passenger seat beside him.

As soon as Moneypenny had said that Lily Potter was her sister, M had blown out a short, sharp breath, clearly deciding to table questions for later, and said, "Take her wherever she needs to go, 007. She's in no condition to drive."

That had been clear - in place of the spectacularly competent, witty woman James had come to know during his time with MI-6 now appeared a woman who looked as though she'd lost her whole world.

There had to be some way to pull her out of her not-quite-fugue state. James cast about for topics of conversation, finally settling on,

"I didn't realize you had a sister."

And then he winced, because that was both inane and, in the circumstance, cruel.

Moneypenny - or should he call her Jane, at least for now? - turned her head toward him with a small smile.

"We've never had that kind of relationship, 007."

A fact James was only now beginning to regret. If they'd had more than a professional - if flirtatious - relationship, he might have a clue what to say, how to comfort her.

"Perhaps not," he allowed. "But perhaps that's for the best, right now." She looked at him, clearly baffled, and he smiled a little in return as he explained, "I have no preconceptions based on anything you've told me in the past. I can simply listen to you talk about your sister."

Moneypenny regarded him seriously for a long moment before she said, "Sisters, actually. There are - were - three of us. Me, Lily, and Petunia."

James couldn't help raising an eyebrow at that. "Jane seems a bit…pedestrian, no offense, compared to your sisters' names."

Moneypenny actually laughed, and James congratulated himself for lightening the mood, however briefly. "I'll have you know I was named for Henry VIII's favorite wife. And my mother's favorite flower."

"An interesting combination. Jane Rose?"

"Violet Jane," Moneypenny answered. "Lily Catherine - named for the wife Henry was married to the longest - and then Petunia Anne - named for the most infamous wife. My father wrote Renaissance History at Oxford. With Honours."

"You don't use Violet?" Personally, James thought it suited her.

"Not for a very long time."

And that was the end of that topic of conversation, James thought, oddly amused, before he cast about for another. A road sign provided one.

"We're out of London proper," he said. "Where next?"

He followed Moneypenny's - Jane's? Violet's? Maybe Moneypenny was best, after all, at least for now - instructions to Little Whinging and then to Privet Drive, finally parking in front of number four.

The house was large and square with a low garden wall in front. Several chimneys jutted from the roof. Beyond it, James saw what was likely a flower garden that in summer was probably a riot of color, though at this time of year only some shrubbery remained.

He followed Moneypenny to the door at a distance far enough to be respectful of her privacy but close enough to offer support if she should need it.

Moneypenny rang the bell, and after a moment, the door opened to reveal a tall, thin, blonde woman with a face that reminded James uncomfortably of a horse.

"Vi," the woman said, and shifted a toddler from one hip to the other. "It's been a while."

"Tuney," Moneypenny returned, and the woman made a moue at the nickname. "Have you heard? About - about Lily?"

Petunia sniffed. "Yes, I've heard. It's nothing to do with us, though, is it?"

"What happened to Harry? Do you know?" Moneypenny asked. "The paper doesn't say."

"Paper?" Petunia's face suffused with anger. "You actually subscribe to that - that - rag?"

"I saw a copy at work," Moneypenny said.

Petunia's gaze narrowed. "I thought you're a secretary."

"In the Foreign Office. I see rather a lot of things that most people don't."

Which, James thought, was true enough, but there seemed to be something else underlying Moneypenny's tone. He'd ask her about it once they were back on the road to the city.

Petunia sniffed again and turned into the house. "You'd best come in, I suppose. It's a story that shouldn't be overheard."

James followed Moneypenny into the house and closed the door carefully behind him. Years of training and experience had him surveying the interior of the house while Petunia Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Was settled her child into a high chair and set about preparing a plate for him - or James assumed the baby was male thanks to the anchor pattern embroidered on his shirt.

James paid no attention to the women speaking softly in the other room as he surveyed the lounge and looked up the stairs to the upper floor where morning light streamed through a window at the top of the stairs.

Everything appeared well-kept - almost perfectly well-kept, as though he were in a showplace instead of a home. Then he remembered that on the drive down, Moneypenny had mentioned her brother-in-law was hoping to become the director of some manufacturing company. Corporate politics would almost demand that a director's home be well-kept for those occasions when he might entertain business guests.

Still, James imagined that Moneypenny's - house? flat? - home would be neat and tidy, but still feel, well, homey in ways this sterile place didn't.

He was just turning to join the women in the dining area when something made him pause. It wasn't a sound, not really, though it could have been just at the edge of hearing. No, it was an instinct that told him they weren't as alone as he thought.

James considered alerting Moneypenny, but discarded the thought as soon as it occurred. Yes, she would be sensible and follow his lead, but he couldn't guarantee her sister would, especially with her young son around.

So he eased his Walther PPK from its holster at his back and turned back into the lounge, this time clearing it as if he suspected an enemy might be hiding somewhere inside.

A metallic glint drew his attention to a cupboard built into the wall supporting the stairs.

There was, of course, nothing unusual about a lock on a cupboard, though James would've expected a child-proof lock rather than a simple sliding bolt. … A shiny, new-looking simple sliding bolt.

The very newness of it niggled at James' awareness. Yes, there was a toddler in the house, but if Moneypenny's efficiency ran in the family, the bolt should have been a childproof lock that was installed months ago and already showing signs of developing a patina of use.

He approached the cupboard with care and as quietly as the hardwood floor would allow, then paused to one side, as if it were a full-sized doorway and not one that was barely taller than his knee.

He held there, stretching out all his senses…and heard the faintest of rustling noises.

Cautiously, he bent just enough to reach the bolt and slide it aside, the click as it fell into its open position abnormally loud to his ears, but the conversation in the dining area didn't change at all, so perhaps it wasn't that loud.

The rustling sound got ever-so-slightly louder, and James eased the door open, his Walther ready to fire at anything inside the cupboard.

A flash of movement and white had him stepping back…and then he saw just what was moving and bit back a curse.

A child - a toddler, really, close to the same age as the one on Petunia's hip - lay staring up at him, tangled in a white blanket.

Chapter Text

Jane sat with her nephew, Dudley - and what on Earth had possessed Petunia to allow her son to be named Dudley Dursley? Dudley wasn't a family name on their side, so it must've come from Vernon, and that was just another reason to dislike the man - while Petunia put the kettle on for tea and pulled biscuits from a cupboard over the cooker.

"Have you heard anything about a funeral?" she asked.

Petunia sniffed. "As though her kind would tell us anything."

Jane winced. Petunia was the only one of the three sisters without enough magic to channel through a wand, and over the years, she'd become more and more bitter about that fact, even though Jane was careful never to use magic around her or even speak of it unless absolutely necessary.

Like now.

"Why didn't you call me?" she asked. "I had to read about it in the paper."

"I thought they'd've told you before they told me," Petunia responded just as the kettle started to whistle.

Petunia removed it before the noise could get too loud - "Dudders has very sensitive ears" - and poured it over the tea in the flowered teapot that had been their maternal grandmother's.

"I - don't have much contact with them," Jane answered. "Not the British them, at any rate."

It had started before she was born, though she hadn't found that out until years later. Her father was not Lily's and Petunia's father, but rather a Frenchman their mother had met while on holiday on a break between semesters at uni.

A whirlwind romance later, and Rose Moneypenny found herself married to a French history student. Once they'd found out Rose was pregnant, Jane's father had transferred his studies to Oxford - only to be killed in a traffic accident before her first birthday.

That her father came from a well-known French wizarding family meant Jane had been invited to attend Beauxbatons Academy, not Hogwarts. Lily and Petunia had been too young to be aware of magic, so they'd only been told that Jane was following in her father's footsteps.

By the time Lily's invitation to Hogwarts came, Rose had married Gareth Evans and birthed two more daughters.

The woman who delivered Lily's letter had been so full of praise for Hogwarts - and not a word of criticism, however mild, and that really should have set instincts on alert, because no place was perfect - that Jane had said only that she went to school "in France, where my father went. I stay with my aunt and uncle while I'm there."

That had satisfied the woman, who'd gone on to perform simple, showy, feats of magic to convince Lily - and, by extension, Petunia - that magic was real.

Jane pulled herself from her momentary reverie and refocused on her surviving sister as Petunia brought the tea and biscuits to the table. She put a biscuit on the tray of the high chair, and Dudley grabbed it immediately.

"How are you, Tuney?" she asked. "Still happy with Vernon?"

Petunia smiled and the expression lightened her entire demeanor. "Very. I know you're not fond of him, but he's a good man, and it looks like he'll be made director at the next stockholders meeting."

"Congratulations," Jane said, and mostly meant it. She wasn't overly fond of Vernon Dursley - but then, she wasn't overly fond of boisterous, loud people generally.

"With the increase in salary, we've been talking about moving to a nicer area," Petunia continued and then, inexplicably, her expression darkened. "But that's not in the cards anymore."

Just as Jane was about to ask why not, Bond's voice came from the other room. "Moneypenny, if you would?"

Jane murmured an apology and rose to return to the lounge.

"What is it?" Jane asked, frowning when she saw Bond standing beside an open cupboard door and returning his weapon to its holster.

"You should see this." He stepped back and fixed her with a hard glare - no, not her, she realized. He was looking past her to Petunia. "And you stay where you are. For everyone's safety."

Jane glanced over her shoulder to see Petunia standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her expression torn between anger and shame. Jane frowned at her sister, then at Bond as she took the few steps necessary to bring her to the cupboard.

She took one look inside the cupboard before whirling to glare at her sister. "Petunia Anne Evans Dursley! What are you thinking, locking a child in a cupboard?!"

"It's one of them." Petunia glanced from Jane to Bond and back to Jane. "One of Lily's."

Realization slammed into Jane's awareness. "Lily's son. You locked Lily's son, your own nephew, into a cupboard!" She took a breath, let it out slowly as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing with the sister she knew - or thought she knew.

First things first, however. She knelt at the entrance to the cupboard, Harry's expression intent and curious as she did.

"It's okay, Harry," she murmured. "Auntie Vi is here."

She kept speaking to him, softly, reassuring him with her tone as well as her words, as much as she could, as she reached out for him, gathering him and his blanket - one she remembered giving to Lily at her baby shower - into her arms.

As she withdrew him from the dark cupboard, a fresh, barely-healing wound in the shape of a lightning bolt stood out in stark relief against the paleness of Harry's forehead.

She straightened, settling Harry more comfortably on her hip, and frowned at her sister. "Well? Why was your nephew in a cupboard?"

Petunia's answer was to turn and practically stomp her way up the stairs. Bond made a move to follow, but Jane shook her head.

"She'll be back," she murmured, and Bond nodded. He turned and knelt to check the cupboard. Then, apparently finding it empty, he closed and secured the door once again.

Petunia returned with a paper - or, more likely, parchment - clutched in her hand. She thrust it at Jane, and Jane shifted Harry in her arms to take it.

"Allow me." Bond stepped forward and took Harry from her. Harry stared up at this new-to-him person and fretted just a little. He calmed, oddly enough, as Bond began to rub his back.

Which, Jane supposed, told anyone with eyes to see all they really needed to know about James Bond.

Figuring she'd need a good cuppa, if not something stronger, when she read the letter, Jane returned to the dining table. In the few minutes they'd been gone, Dudley had finished his biscuit and was stretching toward the plate for another.

Hopefully, the high chair was built to accommodate an active child.

"Milk, one sugar, please, and a glass of water for him - Harry, you said?" Bond said and he took a seat beside her, settling Harry onto his lap. Petunia scowled, but gave Dudley another biscuit before she sat to prepare Bond's tea.

Jane unfolded the parchment and began to read.

Petunia,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your sister Lily and her husband were murdered on Hallowe'en, casualties of a war with Tom Marvolo Riddle, a terrorist styling himself Lord Voldemort. You can take pride that they gave their lives in defense of the Wizarding World, as well as to save your nephew. Fortunately, your nephew, Harry, survived the attack.

You are young Harry's only remaining family on either Lily's side or James', and so I entrust him to your care.

Though Lord Voldemort himself appears to have been vanquished, many of his followers remain at large and would surely like nothing more than to avenge their master's defeat. Young Harry would naturally be their first target, and they have demonstrated they do not care about anyone else who might get in their way.

Therefore, I have placed very strong protective wards around your property. These wards are anchored to Harry and to you as his only remaining blood family. As long as Harry calls your house home, the wards offer absolute protection from Lord Voldemort. These protections will last until Harry reaches his magical majority at age seventeen, or he no longer calls your house home.

I know there are no words to comfort you in this time of grief, but please know that everyone who knew James and Lily shares your sorrow. They were well loved and are already much missed.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"That meddling, unmitigated bastard." Jane placed the letter gently on the table before her - gently, because otherwise she might accidentally destroy the table - and focused on her sister once more. "That's not an explanation."

"Isn't it?" Petunia asked. "He just dropped the freaky brat on our doorstep like a bottle of milk, without even a by your leave."

"That's not Harry's fault," Jane said, anger rising no matter how much she tried to keep calm - for Harry's sake, if nothing else. "What did he do to deserve being shoved into a boot cupboard?"

"Nothing," James said unexpectedly, and Jane glanced over to see that he'd pulled the letter toward him with his free hand. His expression mirrored her anger. "There's nothing a toddler could do to warrant that kind of punishment."

Petunia flushed. "We don't want the freak, but look at that letter - we don't have a choice! And he made Vernon angry, and it was easier… out of sight, out of mind."

"There's always a choice," James shot back, then focused on soothing Harry, who'd started to fret - though none of the adults had raised their voices, the tension in the room was almost palpable.

"You could have called me." Jane glared at her sister. "You should have called me. But you didn't, and now I'm of half a mind to report you to the child protection people."

Petunia flinched. "You can't!"

"I can," Jane returned evenly. "And the only reason I don't is that Harry hasn't been here long enough for there to be actual proof other than our word."

"Which," James added, "given that we both work for Her Majesty's government, would carry some significant weight."

Where Petunia had flushed with anger, now she paled with fear. Jane smiled grimly.

"As I see it," Jane said, "there are two choices. First, I take Harry away tonight. Whatever wards there are on this house would then fall."

"Which means those terrorists could find us!" Petunia snapped.

"Possibly," Jane said. "But I doubt anyone in the magical world knows your name, much less your married name, let alone how to find you. The second choice is that I buy this house from you, and you and your family move somewhere else."

Petunia blanched, her pallor made sallow thanks to the blonde hair framing her face. "I don't like either of those options."

Bond broke in before Jane could speak. "There's a third. Or second and a half, really."

"What?" Petunia looked almost childishly eager.

"Harry leaves here-" Bond held up a hand to forestall Petunia's protest. "And we send someone to erect other wards, wards not tied to his mother's blood."

"James-" Jane began, but he shot her a look and she pressed her lips together and let him speak.

"A fourth option," Bond continued, "is that we call the Child Protection Service. The charge may or may not stick, but it will certainly make your life severely uncomfortable for the foreseeable future, as you have another child in the house."

Jane hadn't thought her sister could go any paler, but now her complexion turned corpse-like. The consequence of such an investigation - that Vernon wouldn't get the directorship - was obvious.

Bond gave a hard grin and drove the point home. "I expect your husband wouldn't get that promotion you're looking forward to, but that's not my concern."

"The wards," Petunia said hoarsely. "I'll confirm with Vernon, but I want the wards. You take the brat, and we get replacement wards."

"Excellent choice," James murmured. "I don't suppose you have a child car seat for the lad?"

Petunia just scowled.

"Right. Moneypenny, if you would." James inclined his head toward Harry and Jane reached over to take him. "I'll be back as soon as I've secured one."

Jane settled Harry on her lap and offered him a biscuit as, with a final glare at Petunia, James left. A moment later, Jane heard a car door slam and an engine start.

"He's - quite the personality," Petunia said. "And quite handsome." Her expression shifted to a puzzled frown. "But not a boyfriend, not given that he called you Moneypenny."

Jane smiled, and for a moment she could almost believe they were young again, sharing secrets in the way that only sisters could do. "A co-worker. Our boss insisted he drive me. The news - was a shock."

Petunia ignored that last in favor of a shrewd look. "You'd like him to be, though. A boyfriend, I mean."

Jane shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But we work together, and any relationship between us would be…difficult."

"But not impossible," Petunia said, and likely would have said more, but Harry and Dudley both started to cry, at the same moment, for no apparent reason.

Harry wiggled in Jane's lap, and with barely a glance at Petunia, Jane let him down. She hesitated for a moment, then let her wand slide into her hand and cast a spell.

"What was that?" Petunia's tone, like her body, had gone stiff.

"Just a barrier charm," Jane replied, holstering her wand once again. "So they can't climb up the stairs. I assume everything downstairs is child-friendly?"

Petunia nodded, only somewhat less stiffly, and Jane gave an exasperated sigh.

"Why shouldn't I use every tool at my disposal to keep the children safe?" she asked.

Petunia blinked at her. "What?"

"What I cast was nothing more than a baby gate," Jane said. "Which you don't have, at least not at the foot of the staircase. Why is that such a difficult thing for you?"

"It's magic," Petunia spat.

"So I should risk the children's safety because of your prejudice?" Jane asked. "I can't do that. And do note the charm also prevents Dudley from climbing the stairs and risking a fall that could seriously injure him. I don't expect gratitude for helping keep your son safe, but I would appreciate a little less anger."

Petunia looked away, though her expression held no remorse.

"I understand," Jane said softly. "I understand that you resent Lily and me for having enough magic to use a wand. But that's not the only kind of magic out there."

Petunia glanced back at her, her expression still grim.

"How many years have you won the Surrey Garden Show?" Jane asked. "Every year, I'd bet - it's a beautiful garden."

"Not every year," Petunia allowed. "The first two years, Davina Fife won, and I took third and second. But every year since."

"Because you have green magic," Jane said gently. "A green thumb. You could've been a brilliant herbologist, perhaps even a potionmaker."

Petunia's expression tightened even further, and Jane thought she saw tears gathering in the corners of her sister's eyes.

"You still could," Jane finished. "If you want to."

"I could've," Petunia murmured, sadness overlaying the words. "When I was younger."

"Even now," Jane said.

"Now?" Petunia snorted indelicately. "Now I'm a mum."

"How many children do you want?"

"What?"

"How many children do you want? Just the one? Two? A football team?"

Petunia looked at her, clearly horrified. "I'm not having eleven children!"

Jane chuckled. "Have however many you want. But having something just for you isn't a bad idea, either."

"I wouldn't know where to start," Petunia said helplessly, though her interest was certainly piqued.

"I'll send you some reference books," Jane offered. "Call it an early Christmas present."

"You'd do that for me," Petunia whispered, "after what I did to - to Harry?"

"I will probably always be angry about that," Jane said honestly. "But-" she took a breath, let it out slowly. "I can understand why you resented Lily and me, and I can't be angry about that, no matter how much I want to be. I keep thinking that if the genetic lottery had a slightly different outcome, we could've been in each other's shoes."

Petunia gave a watery chuckle. "I think you would've handled it better than I did."

"At that age?" Jane smiled and shook her head. "Likely not."

Whatever Petunia might have said was cut off by a squeal from the lounge. Both sisters rose and hurried into the other room-

-only to find Dudley and Harry play-wrestling on the floor. The squeal had been a happy one, judging by how well the boys were playing together.

"I hope," Jane said quietly after a moment, "that you won't let your distrust of magic deprive both our boys of the chance to know their cousin."

"I-" Petunia took a breath. "I don't know. Not right now. Ask me again - later."

Jane nodded an acknowledgment. She hadn't really expected Petunia to agree, but she had to say something - just as she had to offer,

"And if Dudley shows any signs of magic, call me."

Petunia flinched. "You think he will?"

"I think it's possible," Jane corrected. "Two of our mother's daughters have active magic - and we have different fathers. It's entirely possible that while you don't have active magic, your son could. Even if he doesn't, he very likely has passive magic like yours."

"I - I don't know what to do with that," Petunia admitted.

"Call me," Jane repeated. "And we'll figure it out. Together."

"Together?" Petunia sounded almost desperate.

"Together," Jane declared, then stood. "James should be back soon, and I want to get everything of Lily's that might be here. Harry will never know his parents in person, but he deserves to know them as much as he can - through things they owned and people who knew them, too."

Petunia nodded tightly, probably still horrified by the idea that her son might have active magic, and Jane pointed her wand toward the stairs.

"Accio anything belonging to Harry James Potter, James Fleamont Potter, or Lily Catherine Evans Potter."

Silence and stillness answered, and Jane told herself that she shouldn't be disappointed, that it was too much to hope that Lily or James had hidden anything in Petunia's home. It was the last place anyone would look, and even Lily, as smart as she was, wouldn't necessarily have thought of it.

Then the faintest of thumps sounded. Petunia heard it, too, judging by her sudden frown. Jane listened, and the thump came again.

"The lounge?" she asked, rising to her feet and returning to the lounge where the boys played.

"It sounds further away than that," Petunia answered as she joined Jane in the lounge.

A moment later, the thump sounded again, only slightly louder.

"Upstairs?" Jane asked.

"I think so."

Petunia led the way to the stairs and started up them - only to pause two steps up and turn back to Jane. "I thought the stairs were warded."

"Against children, not adults," Jane informed her. "It's for their safety, not to keep them prisoner."

Petunia nodded sharply, once, and continued up the stairs, pausing at the landing until the thump came again.

"The attic," she said and pointed to an access panel in the ceiling. "I'll get the stepladder."

"No need," Jane murmured and pointed her wand at the panel. "Alohomora."

The panel opened and a plain wooden box about the size of a travel packet of tissues floated down from the space above.

"It's - beautiful." Petunia reached toward it, but Jane caught her hand in hers.

"There's a compulsion charm on it," Jane said. "Probably keyed to Lily's blood, since we can feel it."

"Compulsion." The single world held so much contempt and disgust that Jane was surprised the very air around Petunia didn't burn with it. "What kind of compulsion?"

"At a guess, since we both feel it, it's to draw someone of Lily's blood to it." Jane absently closed the attic access panel with a nudge of magic and then cast a diagnostic charm on the box.

"But I didn't feel it until I saw it," Petunia objected.

"Because you don't have active magic," Jane said as realization dawned. "I didn't realize that's what I was feeling, but I think the charm made me cast the spell to retrieve Lily's things. Accio my bag."

Her purse came floating up the stairs as she holstered her wand. She caught the purse, opened it, and used it to scoop up the floating box before securing her purse once again.

Petunia looked fascinated by the whole process but Jane knew her sister well enough to know she wouldn't ask anything about magic.

"I'm being extra careful," Jane said. "I don't expect whatever charms Lily put on it - or James, or anyone else, for that matter - to be actively dangerous to anyone who shares her blood, but it's best to be sure."

Petunia nodded somewhat stiffly, and the two women returned to the kitchen, passing the still-playing children in the lounge on the way.

Petunia refreshed the tea in their cups and stared into the dark liquid in her cup for long moments before she spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me about passive magic before?"

Jane winced, briefly, and took a sip of her own tea while she gathered her thoughts. "Do you remember when that professor brought Lily her Hogwarts letter?"

Petunia gave a most unladylike snort. "Hard to forget, with the emerald green business suit straight out of His Girl Friday."

Jane chuckled softly. "Well, she spoke about Hogwarts in such a holier than thou way that I didn't want to hear what she might have to say about Beauxbatons, so I ignored most of what she said. But when you asked if you had magic, she said no so firmly that I figured she had some knowledge that we didn't - she was a professor, after all, at a very prestigious school. Surely she would know, wouldn't she?"

"One would think so," Petunia muttered.

"And after she left, well-" Jane smiled softly at her sister. "You grew to hate magic, so there was no point suggesting you might have even a little of it."

"And then we grew apart," Petunia concluded. Then she shook her head. "Then I pushed you away - you and Lily both, especially after Mum and Dad died."

Jane finished the last of her tea. "I'd like to be closer again, if only a little."

Petunia looked torn, chewing the lipstick off her bottom lip as she thought. "I'll try, Vi. That's all I can promise."

Jane smiled at her. "That's all I can ask."

Chapter Text

Jane stared unseeingly out the window of the Range Rover as James drove them back to London - and, presumably, her flat, which was not at all ready for a child, let alone a magical child.

She'd have to move house, but to where? The only magical enclave in London proper was Diagon Alley, which she would not consider safe for Harry, not in the aftermath of his parents' deaths and with so many Death Eaters still alive and gunning for him.

And she had to assume Voldemort's followers would be after Harry; the Daily Prophet article made it clear that the Potters were particularly attacked, not casualties in some random attack nor warriors on the front line, not to mention Dumbledore specifically said as much - for whatever that might be worth.

For the first time, Jane regretted spending so much of her time in the mundane world. She had no idea who Lily's friends might have been, who she might be able to ask to tell her the truth about Voldemort and, more importantly, who she might trust to help with Harry's safety.

"Moneypenny."

Bond's tone brought her out of her reverie, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Harry napping in the car seat before turning to him. "007?"

He smiled gently, and she thought it might have been the most honest expression she'd ever seen him wear. "At least you responded to something," he said. "I'd already tried Jane, Violet, and Vi."

Jane's cheeks heated. She hated blushing - it clashed horribly with her strawberry blonde hair - but she kept her tone brisk as she said, "Sorry. Did you need something?"

"I wanted to remind you that you're not in this alone," James said. "I'll help you, however I can, and I'm sure there are others."

She blinked. "How did you-?"

"I know what I'd be thinking if I were in your position. There's much to do, and it appears overwhelming."

Hearing him say it aloud sent a wave of relief flooding through her. His acknowledgment didn't change the fact, of course, but knowing that someone recognized the challenges ahead of her brought a comfort she hadn't realized she needed.

"It does," she said. "And while beginning at the beginning and continuing until I come to the end is very good advice, finding the beginning at which to begin is…difficult."

"The trouble with you, Moneypenny," James said, his tone somehow teasing despite its severity, "is that I never know whether you want me to offer a suggestion or not."

Jane gave a startled chuckle. "In this case, I welcome any suggestions."

"Then first, have Harry checked over," he said. "We have no idea what treatment, if any, he's gotten since…that night, and that wound on his forehead doesn't seem to be healing very quickly for being as shallow as it is."

"A curse wound," Jane murmured, then shook her head. "I don't feel comfortable taking him anywhere in Britain, not after the rather sensationalist story the Prophet had."

"Your father was French, correct?" James offered. "Perhaps somewhere in France?"

She nodded slowly. "I can call Aunt Marine. If she doesn't know where I can take Harry, she'll know someone who does."

"Excellent," James said. "I'm happy to escort you and help with Harry."

"That's not necessary, James," Jane began, but he held up one hand.

"I insist. You yourself said that Harry may still be in danger."

"And no one will expect him to be in France," Jane said firmly. "Besides, my Uncle Antoine is a judge." She shook her head at James' blank look. "Sorry - an investigating judge, rather similar to our detective inspectors. We'll be quite safe."

James spared her a doubtful glance. "If you're sure."

"I can apparate directly to their home, and then apparate back to my flat," Jane assured him, and he nodded, though he still looked ready to accompany her. "While I'm there, it would be a great help if you'd visit the Daily Prophet."

James eyebrow shot up. "Why?"

"I'd like to know their sources for the story about James and Lily's deaths," Jane said. "They reported it as if they were certain of the events, and I want to know how or why they are."

"They're unlikely to reveal their sources."

Jane smiled grimly. "But the reaction to the question will be interesting."

That made James smile an equally grim smile. "It will, won't it?"

*BREAK*

James left Moneypenny at her flat only after she assured him that she'd spend at least two full days in France to get Harry checked over and to see her family, and that she'd call him before she returned to England.

Those two days would give him enough time to make sure that everything baby-related she might need was delivered and assembled, ready and waiting for her.

Everything on the mundane side, at least.

It was that thought that had him aiming the Range Rover back to the office - not to see M, though he certainly would, as much as to speak with his colleague in MI-13, Crispian Paddington.

It was past noon when James knocked on the open door to Paddington's office. Paddington, about James' age and height, looked up from his computer and smiled briefly. "Bond."

"Paddington." James stepped fully into the office and closed the door behind him, drawing a raised eyebrow from the other man. "I'll ask for your silence on what I'm about to tell you. M is aware, mostly, and I will fully brief her when I leave here."

Paddington sat back in his chair and waved James to one of his visitor chairs. "You've piqued my interest."

James sat, offering Paddington a wry grin as he did so. "That wasn't your agreement."

Paddington regarded him gravely. "I will treat this conversation as most secret. Will that suffice?"

"What do you know of the terrorist known as Lord Voldemort?" James asked.

"Besides that he's not a lord of anything, since the magical world doesn't use noble titles?" Paddington asked dryly. "And that he is no longer a threat?"

"Yes. Besides that."

"Not as much as we'd like," Paddington replied. "Even on the magical side, no one seems to know who he is or where he came from."

"I might be able to assist with that."

Paddington's eyebrows flew up. "I wasn't aware that MI-6 had any connections on that side."

"Officially, we don't," Bond answered. "Unofficially, however - I can give you his real name."

"That - would be most helpful," Paddington allowed, the slight hitch in his voice the only hint of his excitement. "How did you come by that information?"

James offered a prayer that Moneypenny would forgive him for speaking of her personal life without her leave. "Moneypenny is Lily Potter's sister."

"Bloody hell!"

James chuckled briefly, quietly, before extending Petunia's letter toward him. "This was left with Harry Potter."

Paddington took the letter, scanned it quickly. "Voldemort's real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle? No one told us." And they bloody well should have went unsaid.

"I need the letter back," James said. "And I need a favor."

"What favor might that be?" Paddington's wand appeared in his hand and he cast a Duplication Charm before sliding the letter back toward Bond.

"Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey," James said. "That's where the wards referenced in that letter were placed. Since Harry is no longer there, but it might still be a target for Riddle's forces, new wards need to be set up. That's certainly not my area of expertise."

"Nor mine," Paddington replied. "But I know where to find someone who can - discreetly, of course."

"Of course," James agreed. "If you can assess the wards that were already set, according to that letter, I'd appreciate a copy of the report. And, of course, anything else you find of interest."

"Of course," Paddington said. "Dumbledore has a point, however - that Riddle's followers might be coming after Harry. He'll need protection, too."

"Yes, but that's Moneypenny's decision. You're welcome to discuss it with her at her convenience. She'll be available after Thursday, I believe."

*BREAK*

"Violetta!"

Startled by her uncle's voice, Jane looked around the International Arrivals lounge at the Ministre de l'État Magique until she found him - tall, straight, and graying, with eyes too kind to have seen the things he surely had as an investigator - and waved as she threaded her way through the half-full lounge.

He met her halfway, bending to buss each of her cheeks. "Bon jour et bienvenue. I did not expect to see you before Christmas."

"If it weren't an emergency," she replied, "you wouldn't have. Tata Marine?"

"Has a class until three, but will meet us at home." Tonton Antoine made a point of looking at Harry, though she'd bundled him against the chilly air and very little of Harry himself could actually be seen. "And who is this?"

"My nephew," Jane answered, warning him with a glance not to say anything else.

He took her meaning - or, perhaps, was simply being his usual reticent self. "Come, we'll get home and see that he's fed. As young as he is, apparation has certainly made him hungry."

"I fed him before we left England," Jane murmured. "And gave him a mild sleeping draught, though I think he would've slept on his own."

"Then perhaps we wait until he wakes," Tonton said. "In the meantime, we can Floo to Aix and get you settled in while he sleeps."

"Flooing to Aix sounds wonderful." Jane couldn't help smiling at the memories the name brought to mind, but it faded quickly. "Unfortunately, I need to take him to a healer before we settle in."

"Why are you traveling with a sick child?" Tonton demanded, though he kept his voice low, presumably to keep from waking Harry.

"Not sick," Jane corrected. "Injured. Please - no questions until we're at the healer's office?"

He glared at her briefly and without real heat before gesturing to his right. "There's a semi-retired healer in Aix. Domestic Floo is this way."

*BREAK*

Two hours later, Jane had a new appreciation for medical practitioners of all kinds and had added half a dozen new curses - in both the magical sense and the swearing sense - to her repertoire.

Then again, Dr. John Watson had seen active service in several conflicts, so perhaps his proficiency was only to be expected.

What she hadn’t expected, and what Tonton Antoine clearly found horrifying, was the nature of the wound on Harry’s forehead.

Well, to be fair, Jane found it horrifying, too, but she wasn’t the one who had the contacts at the International Confederation of Wizards and would take this straight to them.

“Horcrux,” she repeated, testing out the unfamiliar word. True, MI-6 had occasionally dealt with magical issues, but she’d never come across a Horcrux before, not even a mention in the daily briefings. “You said it’s a part of someone’s soul?”

Dr. Watson visibly calmed himself. “Yes, created through a very dark, black, evil ritual a long-ago pharaoh devised when she believed traditional mummification would not be enough to ensure her immortality.”

Jane frowned. “Her? But I thought pharaohs were male.”

Watson smiled grimly. “There’s a reason they tried to obliterate all references to Hatshepsut.”

“While I find history as fascinating as the next person,” Tonton put in, “at the moment I’m most interested in whether or not the Horcrux can be removed.”

“Certainly,” Watson answered immediately.

“Without hurting Harry?” Jane put in.

“I am both a doctor and a healer,” Watson retorted. “My oaths in both instances include first to do no harm.”

“My apologies,” Jane murmured. “It’s just - rather distressing news.”

“Yes, quite.” Watson’s smile told her all was forgiven. “Now, I can’t remove it by myself. I’ll need a team of curse-breakers.”

“Done,” Tonton and Jane said at the same time, and Watson chuckled briefly.

“With all respect to your colleagues,” Tonton said, “I think it’s best if the ICW was involved. Had the British Ministry involved them sooner, by which I mean at all, in their recent domestic dispute, it’s entirely possible James and Lily Potter would still be alive.”

Jane felt the blood drain from her face. She’d forgotten. In her anger and concern over Harry, she’d momentarily forgotten why she had Harry in the first place. She offered a silent apology to James and Lily’s spirits, and offered a resolute nod.

“Of course, Uncle Antoine,” she said. “Though I would appreciate it if someone from Britain was involved, as well. Certain factions of the Wizengamot can be quite…parochial. Having one of their own assist can only be beneficial should any questions arise.”

Watson frowned. “You think questions might arise?”

Jane blew out a breath and focused her gaze on Harry, who slept peacefully, thanks to a renewed sleeping charm, on the bed that served as Watson’s exam table. Tonton wasn’t the only one who could ask the difficult questions, it seemed.

“I think,” she said slowly, deliberately, “that someone left Harry on my sister’s doorstep, and clearly someone didn’t bother taking him to a healer, or,” she added, correcting herself, “didn’t follow that healer’s recommendations. Someone had reasons for leaving that abomination in Harry’s scar, and may not be best pleased when it’s removed. Who knows what someone will do then?”

“I, ah, take your point,” Watson murmured. Jane didn’t think he did, but she was in no mood to enlighten him.

Tonton, though…Uncle Antoine looked ready to kill. Or at least raise holy hell at the ICW, which could amount to the same thing. But that was for later. For now…

“Right,” Jane said briskly. “I suggest Rhiannon Jones from Britain. Who else?”

Chapter Text

The Minister for Magic's office was perhaps even more formally intimidating than the Prime Minister's office, James thought as he and Crispian Paddington were ushered in for their appointment with Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold.

Then again, James mused, magic made almost anything possible - including an opulent office. He only hoped Moneypenny would forgive him for going to the Ministry rather than the Daily Prophet - and that the Ministry would be more cooperative than the Prophet.

He was jerked from his musing by the minister's secretary introducing him. He shook Bagnold's hand and took the moment to survey her.

She stood a couple of inches over five feet, with dark hair just beginning to go gray - which probably put her in her mid-eighties, given that she was a witch and therefore somewhat longer lived than nonmagical people - and sharp green eyes over a no-nonsense expression.

Bagnold gestured them to seats, and James settled back in his chair, declining tea when it was offered. Paddington accepted a cup, though, and busied himself with preparing it to his liking, clearly giving James the lead in the conversation.

"So," Bagnold said, "I'm unsure as to what the Prime Minister is concerned about, since I've already answered to the International Confederation of Wizards for possible breaches of the International Statute of Secrecy.

"Yes," James said with mockery that he hoped would be taken for amusement, "by asserting your right to party. The Beastie Boys would be proud."

Bagnold frowned, puzzled. "The who?"

"No, that was-" James cut himself off. "My apologies, I was wandering off track. To answer your question, the Prime Minister is concerned with the lack of substantive reporting on the terrorist calling himself Lord Voldemort. He's requesting a complete copy of all of the relevant files."

Bagnold stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

James quirked an eyebrow. "I thought I was clear. The Prime Minister wants a complete copy of every file ever opened in any department pertaining to Voldemort, his followers, Death Eaters, and so on."

"That's…quite the request," Bagnold said, looking flummoxed.

"It shouldn't be that difficult," Paddington put in. "There are duplication charms, after all, and the charms to certify the copies are trivial. I'm happy to help with the duplication, if needed."

"The investigation is still ongoing," Bagnold said. "Surely, the Prime Minister wishes to wait until it's completed?"

"I understood he wants a complete copy of what you have so far," James said, "and then to be copied on everything going forward."

"That's-" Bagnold began, then cut herself off with a frown. "He does understand what he's letting himself in for, doesn't he?"

James sat forward, hardening his tone and expression. "He understands, madam, that if the celebrations of his defeat spread into the non-magical world - how much longer would it have been for his terrorists to break into that world if he hadn't been defeated? And yet, you barely notified him of the threat. He is, like Queen Victoria before him, not amused."

Bagnold took a sip of her own tea, grimaced, cast a Warming Charm on it, and then took another sip before she spoke again.

"It will take some time-"

"My colleague and I are prepared to begin work immediately," Paddington said. "As long as a Ministry elf can supply us with tea and sandwiches, I'm certain we can finish the job within a day or two."

Idly, James wondered how Bagnold had become Minister for Magic when she had no poker face to speak of.

"I see," she said slowly, and it was clear she wasn't happy with the situation. "Then I will have my assistant show you to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The bulk of the files are, of course, there."

"Of course," James agreed neutrally and rose to his feet. "Soonest begun is soonest done, so we'll not take up any more of your time, Minster."

*BREAK*

In the end, it took a little over a day to collect all the files, and James suspected it would've taken much longer if the elf the minister assigned to them had been less helpful.

Back at their own office, James helped Paddington arrange the files they'd copied on a large conference table, then sat in on the briefing Paddington gave the analysts from MI-13. Finally, he returned to M's office to update her.

She listened attentively, as she always did. When he finished, she sat quietly for a moment. He could almost feel the intensity of her thoughts.

Finally, she looked up and met his gaze. "Do you believe this will require MI-6's intervention?"

"I think," James said carefully, "that, after what happened in the U S a couple of months ago, we can't be too careful. I also think that Paddington and his people will let us know if they need assistance, but it never hurts to remind them we're available."

M made a slight hm noise. "Thank you for your analysis, 007. What have you heard from Moneypenny? The office isn't the same without her."

No, it wasn't, but James would be damned before he admitted that aloud.

"When we spoke last night, she said the healers are still looking at Harry, but she expected to be home soon."

"Excellent," M said. "Keep me informed, both about her and about Paddington's people. Until this situation is resolved, I won't assign you outside the country, or for a long-term assignment. You are instead assigned as a liaison to MI-13, to assist them in any reasonable manner, and to coordinate an anti-magical-terrorist response. Their so-called Lord Voldemort very nearly brought his war to our door, and we wouldn't have been ready for him."

"To be fair, Ma'am," James said, "I doubt anyone would've been ready for that. The magicals certainly weren't."

"We will not be caught unprepared again," M said. "I don't care what it takes to get us ready. Is that understood, Commander?"

"Perfectly, Ma'am."

*BREAK*

Moneypenny’s two-day trip to France had turned into a week-long trip to France while healers and specialists cared for Harry, but though James was concerned for Harry's health, he didn’t mind the delay. Much. As well as giving Paddington's people plenty of time to analyze the files from the Ministry of Magic, Moneypenny's absence had given him the chance to get a nursery set up for Harry.

Thankfully, M hadn't argued over providing him Moneypenny's address once he explained what he wanted to do. That an MI-13 agent would be involved in setting security measures cemented her agreement.

So James and Gavin Troy, formerly of Causton CID and now with MI-13, had set about arranging Moneypenny's flat to accommodate a child. She had a two-bedroom flat, and Troy turned the second bedroom into a nursery with a little assistance from James.

Now, after a brief telephone conversation with Moneypenny, James waited in the living room of her flat. He didn't know Moneypenny as well as he would like - a situation he was determined to remedy, and sooner than later - but she'd sounded exhausted, if not near tears, so he was determined to make her homecoming as stress-free as possible.

That included having dinner delivered - already done, and sitting on the counter under preservation charms to keep it fresh and at the correct temperature - and the flat fully cleaned.

Troy, the MI-13 agent, helped with that, casting Cleaning Charms with abandon as soon as the alterations to the flat were completed. When James commented on the other man's ease with them, Troy snorted. "You don't know the kinds of muck and mud you end up in investigating cases in a rural county."

James agreed that he didn't, but kept the thought that he'd been in similar, if not worse, situations in Her Majesty's Secret Service to himself.

Apparation, of course, had no scheduled departure or arrival times, but when they'd spoken, Moneypenny said she'd arrive around three, and a glance at his watch told him that it was ten minutes to, so she could arrive at any moment.

Rather than sit and flip idly through the books on Moneypenny's coffee table - both biographies; one of Disraeli and one of Diana, Princess of Wales - James rose and crossed to the kitchen to put a kettle on for tea, as well as a bottle for Harry. The boy was certainly old enough for solid food, but given the healing he'd undergone, a bottle was probably a safer choice.

James was just getting some milk from the fridge when a muted pop of Apparation sounded from the living room and he slid his Walther PPK from its holster before easing the few steps that would let him see into the lounge.

Moneypenny stood there, soothing an only slightly-fretting Harry in her arms. James re-holstered the PPK and moved fully into the lounge.

"Welcome home. The kettle's on."

She looked up with a smile. "It's good to be home. Let me get Harry settled for a nap and then I will gladly have a cuppa."

James followed as she carried Harry down the short hallway to the second bedroom - and stopped in the doorway. Beyond her was what had been her spare bedroom - he couldn't quite think of it as a guest bedroom - but was now a fully-appointed nursery, the walls charmed to show scenes from children's stories and the ceiling painted to resemble a summer sky.

Besides the changing table, cot, and rocking chair, a bookshelf held necessary supplies, picture books and storybooks suitable for bedtime reading. A wardrobe against the near wall held baby clothes for all seasons in Harry's current size plus two more.

If James had ever wanted children, he would have wanted a nursery like this, but that didn't mean Moneypenny felt the same. He supposed he'd find out in a moment or two.

"James?" Her voice sounded shaky.

"Once she heard about your situation, Paddington's wife got involved," James said. "Which is to say she took charge of appointing your nursery. I'm sure you have everything you need, both magical and mundane, for the next year, at least."

She turned slightly, and he was shocked to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's - too much, James, surely-"

He shook his head and smiled - possibly more softly than he had in years. "If you have complaints, talk to Paddington. I told you before, Moneypenny - you're not in this alone. Get the lad settled while I finish the tea."

James brushed a kiss against Harry's forehead and left her to it. He had no doubt he'd learn all the little things associated with caring for a toddler, but for now, he focused on caring for a sudden mother.

A selection of biscuits from a tin and sandwiches from the refrigerator went onto a plate, and by the time Moneypenny rejoined him - Harry presumably having been put down for a nap - James was pouring tea.

"Thank you, James," she murmured, taking the cup from him and sitting at her dining table. He followed her, bringing the plate in one hand and his own cup in the other.

"I saw his scar looks much better," he said, and her scowl cut off whatever else he might have said. He settled instead for, "What happened?"

"That wanker Voldemort-"

Unable to fully conceal his surprise, James blinked. Had he ever heard Moneypenny swear before?

"-made Horcruxes."

He recalled the term from various magical briefings over the years and surprise turned to shock. "Plural?"

"Five. And he meant for Harry to be a sixth - seven being the most magical number, of course."

"Of course," James murmured automatically. Then the rest of what she'd said hit him. "You said he meant for Harry to be a sixth?"

She took a bite of a biscuit and a sip of tea before answering. "The ICW wants to examine the cottage in Godric's Hollow to be sure, but the prevailing theory at the moment is that Lily created a protective ritual charm, with Harry as the focus, that would be triggered by her willing sacrifice for him. That protection, whatever it is, caused the Horcrux ritual to…misfire, as it were. The curse that would have killed Harry killed Voldemort instead, and the remnants of his soul were trapped."

"In Harry's scar," James finished. "But the specialists removed it?"

"Yes." Moneypenny's smile conveyed satisfaction and triumph. "And used it as a focus to track down and destroy the others. Tom Riddle - Voldemort - is well and truly gone. Terminated with extreme prejudice, you might say."

Her smile wobbled, and James matched it with a frown. "Moneypenny?"

"It's just-" she broke off, took a breath, and began again. "Until now, there were things that needed to be done. Now…it's finally hitting home that I have a child to raise. I never thought I'd have that - especially not alone."

James reached over to take her hand where it rested on the table beside her cup. "I've told you before, Moneypenny. You're not alone."

"No - and the nursery is wonderful," Moneypenny assured him. "It's the day-to-day that I worry about."

James heard what she didn't say - that, day-to-day, he and the other 00 agents were out serving Her Majesty in ways that could possibly lead to their deaths. Day-to-day, Moneypenny would be the one dealing with a growing child - a growing, magical child - and that thought daunted her.

James squeezed her hand. "You are Violet Jane Moneypenny, assistant to the director of Her Majesty's Secret Service. You've seen more megalomaniacs trying to bring down Her Majesty's government, or even the world, than I can count. Why should raising a child terrify you?"

She laughed, appearing startled to have done so, and her eyes twinkled with mirth when she looked up at him. "Well, when you put it like that…."

Chapter Text

12 November 2001

With assistance from Crispian Paddington's wife, Jane spent the first couple of days since she returned from France interviewing magical nannies and, of all things, house elves. That latter had been at James' suggestion.

"The elf at the Ministry was quite helpful," he'd told her. "And it's my understanding that their services are quite reasonably priced, especially if they have a family to care for. I would never doubt your capability, Moneypenny, but even you might find yourself stretched a bit thin with a job, a flat to care for, and a growing magical toddler."

In the end, Jane hired an elf named Kiki and arranged for Harry to join a magical day care especially set up for MI-13 agents and their families - many of whom also worked for Her Majesty's government. She'd get to see Harry every day at lunch - barring emergencies, of course - and with Kiki's help around the flat, she felt confident that Harry would have the best care and homelife possible under the circumstance.

So Jane returned to the office ready to dig out from under whatever had accumulated in her absence. She accepted M's congratulations and gift of a hundred pounds "for the necessaries," and set to work reviewing the most recent reports for anything urgent.

By 10:00, she had reviewed reports from the last few days, and felt that she might finish them all by lunchtime.

She rose from her desk, stretched and twisted a bit to loosen her muscles and get the blood flowing again, then grabbed her coffee cup and headed for the refreshment station down the hall to refill her cup.

When she returned to her desk, a man with brown hair and green eyes was waiting for her. She frowned briefly; she wasn't aware that M had any appointments today, so what could this man be doing here? There was only one way to find out.

"May I help you?" she asked as she resumed her place behind her desk and settled her coffee cup on the warmer she kept near her keyboard.

"Ms. Moneypenny, I presume?" the man asked. At her nod, he smiled gently. "I'm Crispian Paddington. May I have a few minutes to talk?"

"About Harry?" she asked.

"Indirectly," Paddington replied. "I wanted to let you know we've completed our review of the Ministry's files as pertaining to the terrorist Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Please, sit." Jane waved to a chair along the far wall and rose from her desk to join him. "What did you find?"

"All the evidence suggests that Riddle was…disembodied, at least, as a result of whatever happened that night."

"You don't know?" Jane asked.

Paddington gave an aristocratic sniff. "The cottage has been trampled over by so many people, even the best forensic magicologist would have difficulty determining more than that. However, there were still faint traces of runes placed around the nursery."

"Lily was almost as good with runes as she was with charms," Jane murmured.

"We've recorded what we found and will consult with masters to try to determine whether the runes were, in fact, placed by Lily Potter, or someone else, and their purpose," Paddington finished. "The traces were quite faint, however, so I caution you that we may not be able to determine much of anything at all."

"I understand, and will be grateful for anything you do find."

Paddington smiled briefly at that before continuing, "The PM has impressed upon the Minister for Magic that no one bearing Riddle's Dark Mark will be tolerated in the Wizengamot or any high-level position in the Ministry itself."

Jane felt her eyebrows climbing. "I understood several of them were put under the Imperius Curse to take the Dark Mark."

"So they claim," Paddington said by way of agreement. "Regardless, they have that mark, and certainly Riddle isn't the only one who could ever figure out how to use it - or them - against the Ministry and, by extension, the realm or even Her Majesty personally. The Minister protested, but the PM reminded her of what happened in America a couple of months ago and suggested some extra caution on everyone's part would not go amiss. Besides, allowing them to remain could be considered seditious."

"I'm surprised the Minister knew," Jane murmured. "About America, I mean. I understand the British magical community can be…somewhat insular."

"I expect every Muggle-born was talking about it, and she couldn't help but know," Paddington said and stood. Jane stood with him, and he continued, "That's where things stand. Investigations are still ongoing, and trials and such will occur in due course."

Jane nodded. "Thank you, Agent Paddington. I appreciate you taking time from your normal duties to look into this matter."

"I've no doubt it would've been required of me, eventually," Paddington said. "I'm glad to have a leg up, so to speak - and to reassure you and help the only one we know is truly innocent in all this."

"Harry."

"Harry," Paddington agreed. "My wife tells me your flat is set up, and you've an elf to help out as well?"

"I'm most grateful for her assistance," Jane said, and she didn't have to fake the sincerity in her tone. "I doubt I'd have gotten even a quarter as much done without it."

Paddington took his leave, and Jane returned to her work with her usual efficiency, if not her usual good cheer.

Intellectually, she knew Paddington was correct; the wheels of justice sometimes ground more slowly than anyone would like - even in the magical world. Still, she had hoped for some closure. The thought made her chuckle softly and shake her head at her own naivety

No one could give her closure; she'd have to make her own, especially for Harry's sake.

*BREAK*

21 December 2001

Jane didn't know whether or not Petunia realized today was the Winter Solstice - Yule -  when she'd invited her sister to bring Dudley for tea, but Petunia had agreed gamely enough and now Harry and Dudley sat stacking blocks of varying sizes and colors while Jane and Petunia sat on the sofa.

For once, Kiki had agreed to remain invisible and let Jane handle the tea, though not happily. Only Jane's explanation that Petunia wasn't comfortable around magic convinced the elf, and Jane figured she'd need to invite the entire cohort of MI-13 agents over for a formal dinner at some point to make up for it.

On the whole, Jane was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable, for lack of a better word, the day was. She'd invited Petunia because she was family, and while neither one of them wanted to spend Christmas with the other, Yule and Christmas was a time for family, even if in small doses.

"The tea is excellent," Petunia murmured. "I don't recall tasting anything like it before - is that vanilla?"

"It's a rooibos blend with vanilla overtones," Jane said. "Aunt Marine sent it for my birthday. I can ask her to order some for you."

"Don't go to any trouble," Petunia protested.

"Then I'll add a tin when I order more for myself," Jane said dryly, and Petunia laughed.

It was as good a time as any to offer her present, so Jane rose from the sofa and crossed to the tree she'd set up on a table in the corner. The tree itself was barely a meter tall and came from a special farm that raised small trees for those without much room - or with inquisitive small children.

Jane retrieved a package about thirty centimeters by twenty by fifteen and brought it back to the sofa before retaking her seat.

"I - didn't bring you anything," Petunia said, her gaze averted.

"It's not necessary, Tuney," Jane said gently. "If it hadn't been for our discussion last month, I wouldn't have got you anything, either."

That startled a laugh, however small, from her sister, and Jane counted it a win. Petunia set her cup aside and took the package. Moments later, the wrapping paper had been cast aside, revealing the two books inside.

"Goshawk's Guide to Herbology and Healing at Home with Herbs." Petunia looked up at Jane with an inquiring expression, and Jane smiled.

"I thought you might find them interesting," Jane said. "And it's possible they may help you with your own talents."

Petunia hmed under her breath and flipped through Goshawk's Guide. "At least the pictures are pretty," she said lightly, and Jane chuckled. Petunia looked up at her again. "But - Vernon only barely knows about magic."

"And how much interest has he shown in your garden?" Jane countered.

"He's always proud when I do well in the garden shows."

"Then tell him the Guide will help with that," Jane said. "And the healing book…well, it's always better to try natural remedies for things first, isn't it? I know there are recipes in it for teething and similar childhood issues. He won't notice any pictures moving if he ever opens one - non-magicals never see that kind of magic."

"Thank you." Petunia sounded sincere, and she reached for the diaper bag she'd brought to stow the books away. Then she picked up the wrapping paper and began to smooth it in her lap.

Jane sat patiently, and it wasn't long before Petunia said, "Have you looked in the trunk? Lily's trunk?"

"No," Jane admitted. "I had it checked, confirmed that the charms on it were tied to her blood and only enough of a compulsion that we would seek it out if we found it." She blew out a breath. "I think…perhaps I was waiting for us to open it together. If you want."

"I think-" It was Petunia's turn to exhale sharply. "Yes. Whether she meant it for us or for Harry, we should know."

Jane agreed, so she rose and went down the hallway to her bedroom. She'd put the trunk, still shrunken, in a shielded box on the upper shelf of her wardrobe, and then cast a Disillusionment Charm on it before putting a pair of handbags she never used in front of it. She'd hoped that would be enough to keep Harry from finding it until they were ready to look at it together.

Now, though….

Now she retrieved the trunk and brought it back to the lounge. She cast a very mild, silent Compulsion Charm on the blocks the boys were playing with, to ensure the blocks kept their attention and the sudden resizing of the trunk didn't startle them.

Jane shoved the coffee table aside and put the trunk on the floor before them. A tap with her wand, and the trunk regained its full size. Then she turned to Petunia.

"Your hand, please, Tuney. I just need a little blood to pass the wards on it."

"But - you're her sister, too," Petunia blurted.

"Half," Jane said. "Half-sister. In this instance, I'd prefer both our blood be used."

Petunia hesitated only briefly before thrusting her hand toward Jane. With a murmur of thanks, Jane drew a drop of blood and added a drop of her own to it, then smeared the mixture on the hasp.

The lock popped open.

Jane glanced at Petunia. "Together?"

Mutely, Petunia reached out one hand to help her lift the lid, then sat back.

Jane took the hint, shifting so she could look inside the trunk - and blinked. There were three compartments inside, which wasn't unusual. What was unusual, though, was what each contained.

The first compartment was full almost to overflowing with books and papers. Knowing Lily, they were all arranged by library section, then alphabetically by author.

Jane smiled at the thought, but her humor faded at the contents of the second compartment - food and bottled water. Lots of both, bathed in a gentle glow of magic that Jane assumed meant stasis or preservation charms.

The third and final compartment was appointed as a studio flat, with a kitchenette along one wall, a dinette, a pair of comfortable-looking armchairs, and a bed…and a child's cot.

"There's a note," Petunia said quietly. "Taped to the lid."

Jane started, briefly, and then glanced up, irritated that she'd missed the white envelope against the dark wood - walnut, she thought - of the trunk. Carefully, she pulled the envelope off the lid and removed the note it contained.

She swallowed hard and read the note aloud.

To Harry's Guardian,

I know it's supposed to be you, Sirius, but I've been feeling fey, as Grandma Iris called it, and we're at war, and anything can happen. So - to whomever is watching over Harry.

The trunk is charmed to remain near Harry and reveal itself once he's safe, because his safety is paramount. There's a prophecy about him and an unnamed "Dark Lord," that everyone assumes means Voldemort, and how neither of them can live while the other survives. There's more, of course, but the point is, the prophecy has painted a target on Harry's back, and therefore on mine and James', so we're taking steps to protect Harry.

I don't agree with all those steps - going into hiding? Still in Britain? Why not seek asylum somewhere else? - but James is insistent, and even if I took Harry and ran…well. I don't know that I'd succeed on my own, and I won't risk Harry.

So. Hiding. In Britain. Under a Fidelius Charm. James and Sirius think it's a great prank to switch Secret Keepers, secretly, but it was during that discussion that my fey feeling started. I argued against it, but was overruled when Peter agreed to be our Secret Keeper. So we've told everyone it's Sirius, but it's really Peter.

Why did they want to do this switch? Because, they say, Sirius is better capable of defending himself if anyone tries to force him to reveal the Secret, so it's better if they do come after him, rather than Peter.

That's another way of saying that Peter is weak - and that's why I'm afraid of this plan. I might have eventually persuaded James that it's a bad idea, but Professor Dumbledore agrees with James and Sirius, and I've never been able to persuade James to a different point of view than Dumbledore's.

So, Sirius, if you're reading this - I TOLD YOU SO.

Right. About this trunk. I've supplied it with enough food for a year, based on two adults and one growing child. I've also stocked it with books, both reference and pleasure. There's a homeschooling plan for Harry, combined with my notes from Hogwarts and some additional reading I've done since I graduated.

In other words, I've done everything I can think of to make a safe retreat for Harry in case the worst happens. If it does - take Harry and run. Find a country that will offer asylum and take Harry there.

Where? I suggest France, as I have distant relations there. Australia or New Zealand offer distance, but are still subject to the Crown. Ditto Canada. The United States, perhaps? Belize? There are many choices, and maybe it's best if you don't pick one from this list.

Whatever you choose, wherever you go, I wish you the best, and ask you to tell Harry every night that his parents love him very much.

Lily Potter

Carefully, Jane re-folded the note and tucked it back into the envelope. The contents - or more accurately, the implications of the contents - were staggering.

"S0 why didn't the trunk appear when he arrived?" Petunia asked. "It would've been nice to have had some bloody clue beyond the letter Dumbledore wrote."

"Because-" Jane began, then cut herself off. There was no need to lay out in black and white that whatever charms Lily had used, they hadn't felt that Harry was safe at Petunia's home. Instead, she said simply, "I'm not sure. It's possible that the notes she left explain more."

Petunia simply shrugged and returned to her tea, leaving Jane to her troubled thoughts.

The revelation that Sirius Black - now in Azkaban for conspiracy to murder James and Lily - might be innocent had shocked her. She could only hope it would shock Agent Paddington, too - enough to take action and right the wrongs had been done to Sirius Black.

Chapter Text

22 July 2011

"It came!" Harry called as he flung open the door to his flat and rushed in from his summer football camp.

Well, technically it wasn't his flat, as he was only eleven and couldn't afford to buy much of anything yet. But it was the flat he lived in with his Aunt Vi, that was frequently visited by his uncles James, Sirius, and Q, so he felt like he could call it his flat without being too arrogant.

"It came, Auntie Vi!" Harry called again, closing and locking the door with far more care than he'd opened it. Uncle James wouldn't be happy if the door wasn't properly secured.

Aunt Vi came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "You're late - dinner's almost ready."

"Sorry," Harry said. "But the game ran long."

"You do have a mobile phone."

There was no reprimand in Aunt Vi's tone, but Harry felt his face heat nonetheless.

"Sorry," he said more sincerely. "I got caught up and I forgot."

Aunt Vi smiled. "No harm done, but do try to remember to call next time." Harry nodded vigorously, and Aunt Vi said, "Now, what came?"

"My Hogwarts letter!" Harry offered it to her, then frowned. "At least, I think it is. I don't get lots of mail."

"Let's see, shall we?" Aunt Vi opened the letter, read it briefly, and then handed it back to him.

The script was old-fashioned, elegant in a way that modern handwriting - or at least his handwriting - wasn't. Harry read the letter with growing excitement.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Harry read the letter a second time, and looked up at his aunt. "I can go, can't I?"

"Call Sirius and ask him to come to dinner," Aunt Vi said. "We'll talk about it."

*BREAK*

Jane was pleased and proud that Harry kept his excitement to himself throughout dinner - Harry had clearly paid attention to 007's lessons in Deportment as Spycraft 101, even if Jane wasn't entirely thrilled that he was offering them - and explained football well enough that Sirius appeared to understand it.

"I'd like to go to a game sometime," Sirius said as Harry finished and took a sip of his water. "It sounds about as close to Quidditch on the ground as you can get."

"Without the lopsided scoring for catching the Snitch." Harry put his glass down and folded his napkin. "I mean, as fun as Quidditch is, it's sometimes like two separate games being played at the same time."

Sirius looked surprised by the observation, so Jane added, "I've sometimes felt the same. Even as a spectator, it's hard to know what part of the game to watch."

"Hm." Sirius appeared to consider that as he took a sip of his wine. "I hadn't thought about that before. Now that you mention it, it seems best to have a broad view of the whole game, and only focus on parts of it when needed."

Jane chuckled and finished the last of her own wine - never more than two glasses, and a second only in situations where she felt safe - and sat back as Harry started to collect plates and clear the table.

"That's not how most people look at anything," she said. "Even driving, most people look only a few feet in front of them - and don't see the accident half a mile ahead that they need to be reacting to until it's too late."

Sirius shrugged and stacked the rest of the plates with a swish of his wand. "I don't see why you made me get a driving license when you have the Tube and I finally learned to apparate."

"Because sometimes, we go out into the country, where there's no Tube," Harry answered, returning to the table and picking up the stack of plates. "And you can't expect Aunt Vi to drive all the time - that's not fair."

He disappeared back into the kitchen and Sirius smiled ruefully at Jane.

"Nothing quite like being put in your place by an almost-eleven-year-old," Sirius murmured. Then he turned, well, serious. "That's why I'm here tonight, isn't it? He turns eleven next week, and that means…."

"It came today." Jane summoned the letter and guided it toward Sirius, who caught it easily.

Sirius glanced over the letter and supply list, then looked up at Jane as Harry returned from his final trip to the kitchen. "It seems just like I remember mine. What's the issue?"

"The issue is that it's just like yours," Jane said, then frowned when Sirius looked puzzled. "Harry was raised in the non-magical world. If I hadn't been magical, how would he have known what to do with that? We await your owl by July 31," she added, and finally Sirius appeared to understand.

"I don't understand," Harry said, and Jane turned to address him directly.

"I've told you that you were originally left at Tuney's - your Aunt Petunia's - house," she said, and he nodded. "If she'd raised you, disliking magic as much as she does, do you think you would have known what to do with that?" She gestured at the letter Sirius still held.

Harry's eyes widened, but all he said was, "No, probably not."

"I remember when Lily got her letter," Jane said, and Harry perked up. No matter how many stories she or Sirius told him about his parents, Harry absorbed each one eagerly. "Besides the invitation and the supply list, there were pamphlets describing the Statute of Secrecy and shops on Diagon Alley. More to the point, Professor McGonagall brought it personally. She demonstrated that magic was real, and then took Lily to Diagon Alley to do her initial shopping."

"But Lily was Muggle-born," Sirius said, reverting to the term he'd grown up with. "There's a different procedure for Muggle-borns."

"What, exactly, is the difference between Muggle-born and Muggle-raised?" Jane demanded. When Sirius had no answer, she said, "That's my point. Someone should be here to do the same thing for Harry."

"But they know I'm in contact with Harry," Sirius said. "I can barely go onto the Alley without someone asking me how he's doing."

Which was a whole other headache Jane didn't want to get into. "Still," she said, "it speaks to a lack of attention to detail, and I don't like that at all."

"Does-" Harry cleared his throat. When Jane looked at him, his expression seemed…forlorn. "Does that mean I don't get to go to Hogwarts?"

Jane floundered, and Sirius jumped in. "Do you want to go to Hogwarts?"

"I-" Harry straightened in his chair. "Yes. I want to go to the school where my parents went. Especially after reading Mum's journals…."

And that had been the biggest blessing of the trunk Lily left behind - the chance for Harry to know his parents through their own words own words. James' journal had been far more sparse than Lily's, and the final entries - made just as they were going into hiding - were bittersweet, full of love for Harry and fear for all of their safety. Still, Jane doubted Harry would give up those journals for anything.

Neither would she.

Jane blew out a breath as she realized both Harry and Sirius looked at her for a decision. She'd honestly been surprised when Sirius chose to remain as godfather and uncle, rather than take primary custody of Harry.

"I'm not ready, yet," he'd said. "To be a father, even a father figure, I mean. I'd do it if there were no other choice, but you seem to have gotten everything together far better than I would’ve. Let me be the uncle who tells him very seriously to mind his auntie and then slips him chocolate frogs when you’re not looking."

And he'd been exactly that over the years, so it was no surprise now that he waited for her decision.

Which she had to make. Now.

"All right," Jane said finally, then held up a hand as Harry started to cheer. "With conditions."

He looked wary. Good. "What conditions?"

"I want honest reports of everything that happens." Jane glanced at Sirius. "While I enjoy a good prank as much as the next person, some pranks cross the line into bullying, and you're just eleven. You may not know the difference yet."

Harry's expression showed his frustration at her pointing out that he was not nearly as mature as he thought he was, but he nodded. "I understand. What else?"

"Study, of course." Jane smiled, and Harry laughed. "But have fun, too - join a club or two, make more friends."

Harry's expression fell. "What do I tell my friends?"

"Tell them you've been accepted to an exclusive school in Scotland," Sirius said, and Jane raised an inquiring eyebrow at him. He shrugged. "Lily said that's what she told her friends."

"And that's a good idea," Jane said. "But it does bring up the question of your regular studies. I want you to be able to pass your exams in the non-magical world, too. So, send me a copy of your class schedule, and we'll discuss how to continue your current studies as well."

"That seems like a lot," Sirius said.

"It is," Jane agreed. "But I'm confident Harry can do it."

"I'll do my best," Harry promised.

*BREAK*

Dear Professor McGonagall,

When my sister, who was born and raised in the non-magical world, received her letter of acceptance to Hogwarts, you delivered it in person and spent several hours with my family explaining magic and the magical world. You then escorted my sister to Diagon Alley to purchase her supplies and introduce her to the magical world.

My nephew, Harry Potter, was raised in the non-magical world, yet he only received his acceptance letter via the Royal Mail, with nary a visit from a Hogwarts staff member to explain anything about magic or the magical world, let alone show him where and how to purchase his supplies.

If this oversight is indicative of a general decline in Hogwarts' standards since my sister attended, you will understand my reluctance to allow Harry to attend.

However, and despite my reluctance, Harry is determined to attend the school his parents attended. Therefore, please consider this letter confirmation of his attendance at Hogwarts, but please be advised that should I find his magical education lacking, I shall transfer him to Beauxbatons.

Sincerely,

V.J. Moneypenny

*BREAK*

Minerva McGonagall set the letter she'd just received - not from a Hogwarts owl, but rather a snow white owl that had flown off the moment Minerva removed the letter - on her desk, frowning.

Whatever she might have expected from those apparently dreadful Muggles Albus Dumbledore had left Harry Potter with all those years ago…this letter certainly wasn't it. What could have led to the difference?

Perhaps the Muggle mother had simply had a bad day? Or perhaps the child, who'd kicked her all the way up the street, only occasionally threw tantrums? Or perhaps Sirius Black had more influence on Harry than he'd publicly claimed since being exonerated?

Or - and this was certainly the most likely - Albus's letter had held far more of an explanation than Minerva could have expected.

Yes, that must be it. He was, after all, Albus Dumbledore. Even a Muggle couldn't help but be impressed by him.

Certain in her analysis, Minerva picked up the letter to file it with the other acceptance letters she'd received.

Chapter Text

23 July 2011

The day after Harry received his Hogwarts letter was Saturday and, at Sirius' insistence, Jane agreed to take Harry to Diagon Alley to buy his supplies. She'd hesitated to do so, given the unreasonable fame Harry had in the British magical world, but Sirius had, quite reasonably, reminded her that Diagon Alley was where both of Harry's parents had gotten their supplies, and since Harry wanted to experience what his parents had, then he, too, should shop Diagon Alley.

So Jane had called James, and it was a couple with their son who made their way through the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley.

Before leaving, Jane had applied a color-changing charm to Harry's eyes, turning their distinctive emerald green to a soft, earthy brown. She'd tried changing Harry's hair as well, but it had reverted to its natural state almost immediately. So she settled for applying a bit of foundation to the pale white lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

Hopefully, those changes, plus the fact that he was accompanied by his parents, would confuse anyone who might be looking for Harry Potter.

Sirius had told her which brick to tap with her wand to open the portal to Diagon Alley, so Jane waved away the publican's offer of assistance and led the way through the pub into the courtyard.

The trio stepped away from the portal and paused, allowing Harry to look his fill - and to give a freshly groomed large black dog time to lope up to them.

The dog reared up on Harry and ran a wide, slobbery tongue up Harry's cheek.

"Padfoot!" Harry all but yelled, shoving the dog away and rubbing his cheek against his shoulder to dry it.

Padfoot plopped his butt on the ground and offered a big doggy grin as his tail thumped the sidewalk.

"Right," James said. "Did anyone bring a leash?"

Padfoot growled, Harry laughed, and Jane rolled her eyes.

"Which first?" Harry asked. "Wand, books, robe, or supplies?"

"Robes, I'd think," James put in. "If they need to be tailored, best to know early. We can pick them up when everything else is done."

"But Gringotts first," Jane said firmly. "At the very least, I need to change some pounds for Galleons."

*BREAK*

Only James' years in spycraft kept him from staring as the small party entered Gringotts. Instead, he surveyed the spacious bank lobby with practiced glances.

Inside the vast marble hall, about a hundred small beings he thought he remembered were called goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large legers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. Too many doors to count led off the hall, and even more goblins were showing people in and out of them.

Jane - and even now, nearly a decade later, it still felt intimate to think of her by her given name - started toward the counter, and James took two long strides to catch up as she approached a free goblin.

"Good morning," she said. "We're here to visit Harry Potter's safe."

The goblin looked down from the counter. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. Then he lowered his voice, "I'm a little disguised, for my safety."

"Do you have your key?" the goblin asked, and James wasn't the only one who frowned at the question - Jane and Harry did, too, and probably Padfoot, if the dog could have a human expression.

"No, sir," Harry answered. "I've very little that belonged to my parents, and nothing that looks like a vault key."

The goblin frowned. "It is unwise to allow anyone else to control your vault key."

Jane snorted. "As though a fifteen-month-old would know anything about such matters."

The goblin jerked back, clearly startled, and it was all James could do to hold back a laugh. Beside him, Padfoot shook briefly.

"But." Jane stepped closer to the counter and lowered her voice that even James, less than a meter away, had difficulty hearing. "I am Lily Potter's sister. I request a blood confirmation that we are who we say we are, and privacy while we do so."

Thirty minutes later, Jane's relation to Harry, as well as their identities, had been confirmed, Harry's vault had been re-keyed, and James had seen more gold than he knew existed all in one place.

When they emerged into the bright summer morning light, Harry looked up at Jane.

"Why didn't you tell me I had money?" Harry asked quietly. There was no accusation in the tone, just honest curiosity.

"I didn't know," Jane answered, urging him to start down the alley. James followed and Padfoot, who'd waited outside the bank, fell into step beside him.

Harry frowned. "What?"

"I didn't know," Jane repeated. "The Potters were wealthy, but there was a civil war going on. I didn't know how much of that wealth went to the war effort - though I shouldn't be surprised your mother made sure you had a trust account that couldn't be touched."

"Organization and efficiency run in the family," James commented, and Jane glanced over her shoulder to smile at him.

"Besides," Jane continued, "we had enough, and I felt it better to let any accounts continue earning interest, rather than dip into them for everyday expenses. Though I am concerned that your solicitors, as your legal representatives, haven't contacted you."

"That's probably for his safety," James murmured. "Certainly that's the reason given for pretty much anything else surrounding him."

Padfoot gave a bark that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Jane smiled again, more ruefully.

"Yes, well," she said and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. "Robes, yes?"

*BREAK*

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions shop was familiar to James - not the shop itself, of course, but the ambiance. He'd felt the same in shops on Saville Row, and that familiarity invited him to relax, at least a little, while Harry got fitted for robes.

Then it was time for Harry to get his wand. James admitted, privately, that he was as excited for it as Harry himself. Padfoot, too, judging by the excited whine he gave as the party approached Ollivander's.

"Hello." An old man with wide-set moon-like eyes - presumably Ollivander, the proprietor - came forward. "Your first wand, I take it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

Ollivander pulled a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Erm…I'm - right handed?" Harry said, though it was as much a question as a statement.

"Hold out your arm. That's it."

Ollivander measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. James thought the production was rather like a stage magician's, designed to impress and distract more than to actually accomplish anything.

But as he measured - or, more accurately, the wand measured apparently of its own accord - Ollivander spoke. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Ollivander prattled on, and James found himself distracted by the other bits and bobs in the shop: wand care kits, holsters, and the like. He supposed a wand was rather like the gun he often carried in the line of duty and should be treated similarly.

"What do you think, Padfoot?" he murmured to the animal beside him. "Do you think Harry would appreciate a holster for his birthday?"

A couple of thumps of Padfoot's tail was answer enough, and James selected a holster of some kind of leather with a simple geometric pattern stamped in it, along with a care kit.

When he turned back to the till, he realized that Harry had tested at least half a dozen wands while he'd been distracted. No, he mentally corrected himself, at least a full dozen, to judge by the pile of boxes on a spindly chair by the till.

"Tricky customer, eh?" Ollivander sounded almost gleeful. "Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand, raised it over his head, and brought it swishing down through the dusty air. A stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end of the wand like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light across the walls of the shop.

Padfoot's tail thumped madly against the floor.

"Oh, bravo!" Ollivander cried. "Yes, indeed, oh, very good." He paused, a frown gracing his features. "Only…how curious. How very, very curious."

"What's curious?" Jane asked, saving James the trouble.

Ollivander fixed her with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold - every single one. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in this wand gave just one other feather. It's very curious indeed that Mr. Potter here-" James stiffened at the name, as they hadn't introduced themselves "-should be destined for this wand when its brother was used the night his parents died."

The other three seemed shocked into stillness, and the wand slipped from Harry's fingers. James darted forward, snatched the wand before it hit the ground.

A glance at Harry, then Jane showed neither had quite collected themselves yet, so James cleared his throat and drew Ollivander's attention to him.

"Yes?" Ollivander asked.

"How much for the wand, a care kit, and this holster?" James put the named items on the counter next to the till.

"Sorry?" Ollivander looked startled by the request. Or perhaps the entire sequence of events, James couldn't tell. Ollivander recovered quickly. "Ah - seven Galleons for the wand, two for the holster, and one for the kit. Ten total."

"Right." James took out the money pouch he'd gotten at Gringotts after exchanging a hundred pounds for Galleons, counted out ten Galleons, and placed them on the till. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ollivander."

He gathered the purchases and herded the others out of the shop and into the alley proper. A breeze had grown up while they were inside, but it did little to cool the heat of the morning.

"I won't let him use that wand," Jane said.

"I don't want to use that wand," Harry said at the same time.

Padfoot growled his agreement with both of them.

"He won't," James told Jane, then looked at Harry and repeated, more firmly, "You won't. This was just the simplest, fastest way to extract ourselves from the situation."

"But-" Harry started, swallowed, and started again. "You still have the wand, even though you said I won't be using it?"

"We'll get another wand for you," James said. "Perhaps some of Jane's contacts in Paris can assist?"

Jane nodded briefly, and James hoped his smile at Harry was reassuring. "We'll do some research into what brother wands mean, and then we'll decide what to do with this one - store it or destroy it."

Harry nodded, and Jane relaxed. Padfoot whined, and when James glanced over, he saw that Padfoot was staring upwind down the alley.

"We'd never make you use that wand," Jane said. "It's…obscene that he sold it to you."

"But - what does it say about me?" Harry asked, his tone and expression both far too somber for the day. "That his wand should be a brother to mine?"

"Perhaps that you share similar strengths, even if you turned them in different directions," Jane said. James was still watching Padfoot, whose entire body was lined with tensions. "Or perhaps that he simply got tired of searching for wands."

"But it reacted to me," Harry said. "It felt warm in my hand, and then there were the sparks…."

"Harry-" Jane began, but James wasn't listening to more because Padfoot was on his feet, growling low in his throat.

James turned his gaze to mimic Padfoot's, automatically surveying the alley as he did. Late morning on a Saturday, shoppers thronged the street between the shops, what James would've called the high street in any village. A double handful of families, mostly with only one or two children of varying ages, mingled with singles and couples.

One family stood out, though, for its sheer size - five children - plus the fact that they were all gingers. James idly wondered how those genetics actually worked as he studied the group. Mother, the oldest son, a pair of twins, then another son, and a small girl who was obviously the youngest.

As the gingers drew closer, Padfoot's growl intensified slightly.

"Something with the ginger family?" James asked and got a single thump of Padfoot's tail in acknowledgment.

"Right," the mother was saying, her voice carrying over the crowd, probably as the result of having to make herself heard over the noise five children could create. "It's the apothecary for your potions kits, and then we're done."

"But Mum," the youngest boy said, "we have to go to the Menagerie. Scabbers needs his tonic."

The boy reached inside his pocket and pulled out a rat, who looked to be asleep.

Padfoot stiffened, his growl turning even more dangerous. James rested a hand on Padfoot's head, telling himself the gesture was no different than resting his hand on a comrade's shoulder.

"Yes, right," the mother said. "The apothecary, then the Menagerie."

James was wondering how he could approach the family to ask about the rat, Padfoot - or rather, Sirius - took the decision out of his hands by lunging, as swiftly and silently as the Grim his form so strongly remembered, toward the family and snatching the rat from the youngest boy's hands.

James spared a moment to regret welcoming Sirius into Her Majesty's Secret Service, because surely he'd never otherwise have learned to shift back to human mid-stride while still holding onto the rat.

Sirius smiled at the rat even as he drew his wand. "Hello, Peter. Stupefy."

"Moneypenny," James snapped, the use of her surname a signal that this was a professional situation, then hurried to the family of redheads, who were only now coming out of their shock.

Unfortunately, for that family, it appeared anger equaled volume. Led by their mother, they all started to shout - some yelling for an Auror, some cursing Sirius, and the youngest boy screamed, "Don't you hurt Scabbers!"

James barreled in just as the mother's wand came out. Thankfully, none of the children appeared old enough to have wand rights outside of school. "My apologies for my partner's manners."

The mother started, and it was enough that she didn't cast whatever spell she'd been intending. "Your - partner?"

James smiled, the practiced smile he'd used so many times in service to Her Majesty. "Commander James Bond, at your service, Madam. My partner, there, is Sirius Black."

The name sent another ripple of shock through the family.

"What's that - man - doing with Ron's pet?" the mother demanded.

"This is no rat, Molly Weasley," Sirius snapped. Then he frowned, puzzled. "Well, he's in his rat form, and he's a rat in the sense that you can't trust him. But this is Peter Pettigrew, the man who betrayed the Potters to Voldemort."

"But - he's been in the family for years," the youngest boy - Ron - protested.

"We've had him since I was little," the - apparently - eldest said. Then his face paled. "But rats, even magical ones, don't live that long. Why didn't we ever notice?"

"Perhaps because he's lying," the mother - Molly - said hotly. "He may have been declared innocent of conspiring to murder James and Lily Potter, but he's a Black, and they can't be trusted."

Sirius' grin was evil, pointed. "Is that so? Then how can you have married Arthur, whose mother was Cedrella Black Weasley?"

The Weasley woman sputtered, and James took advantage of the opening. "Sirius - we can prove this right now. Since you already have your wand out, returning him to his human form will only take a moment. I have suppression cuffs ready."

He pulled said cuffs from a pocket, thankful now that he'd given in to the odd impulse to have a set with him during what should have been a routine shopping trip.

Then again, he mused, perhaps it wasn't such an odd impulse. He always carried his service weapon, after all. How were suppression cuffs any different from his other routine gear.

Sirius nodded once, sharp and hard, and dropped the rat onto the ground. Their scene had gathered a bit of a crowd, and it seemed that the onlookers took a collective breath, holding it in anticipation.

Sirius aimed his wand. "Homo Fierus. Stupefy."

A bright blue light surrounded the rat, and James watched the result almost clinically. It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upwards from the ground; limbs were sprouting; next moment, a man was lying supine where the rat had been. Then a bolt of red light hit him, and James took the cue.

It was only a moment before he had the suppression cuffs on the rat-faced man lying in the street.

"What's going on here?" a deep male voice demanded.

"We've caught a fugitive for you," Sirius said, and James suspected it was only his training in Her Majesty's Secret Service that kept him from outright gloating. "Peter Pettigrew."

James turned to see a tall Black man in Auror robes striding forward. Another Auror accompanied him, and behind them both Jane had hold of Harry, though James couldn't be certain whether she held him for comfort or to stop him attacking Pettigrew.

Quickly, the Aurors took charge of the situation, replacing James' suppression cuffs with their own as Sirius gave a brief statement.

The Black Auror frowned when Sirius finished. "Why were you in your Animagus form?"

"Extra security for my family," Sirius said simply. "The alley is always crowded before term starts, and anything can happen in a crowd."

Thankfully, the Aurors seemed to accept that explanation, so they wouldn't have to reveal that Sirius' family included Harry Potter.

James rejoined Jane and Harry as Sirius finished with the Aurors.

"Are you all right, Harry?" James rested a hand on his shoulder.

Harry shook his head, his eyes hard. "I won't be all right until Pettigrew is tried and punished for his crimes."

"That'll happen as soon as possible," Sirius said as he joined them. "We'll make sure of it. But-" he added, smiling suddenly, "today's about getting someone ready for school."

"We're done," Jane said. "I think," she corrected herself, glancing down the supply list once more. Finally, she said, "That's everything except picking up his robes."

"One thing more," Sirius said, and James wasn't the only one who turned to look at him. "It's a bit early for your birthday, but I'd planned to get you an owl. Conveniently," he added, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "We're right by Eeylops. You up for an extra stop, Harry?"

Chapter Text

1 September 2011

Harry had been to King's Cross Station before -  many times during trips into the city proper with Auntie Vi or Uncle James or Uncle Sirius, but none of them had been as exciting as today.

Today, he was going from King's Cross to Platform 9 3/4 and from there onto the Hogwarts Express and finally start studying magic formally.

Auntie Vi and Uncle Sirius were with him - Uncle James was out of the country for work - and, if Harry were honest, it was hard to tell which of the three of them were more excited.

"Write as often as you like," Auntie Vi said with a smile as they approached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. "Every day is too much to ask for, but I do want to know all about it."

Uncle Sirius barked a laugh. "You just want to know how it's different from B- where you went to school."

"Not just," Auntie Vi said, and though Harry couldn't see it, he was sure she'd rolled her eyes. "I'm curious how it will be different from primary school, also."

"How are we on time?" Harry asked, grateful once again for the Disillusionment Charm Uncle Sirius had put on Hedwig's cage. Very few people at King's Cross had pets, and none of those pets were a snowy owl like Hedwig.

"It's barely half-ten," Auntie Vi responded. "Plenty of time."

Harry let out a sigh as he maneuvered the cart with his trunk and Hedwig's cage through the throngs of people toward the wall that would take him to Platform 9 3/4 … only to come to a sharp halt as he realized another family lingered beside it.

The family reminded him oddly of his own - mother, father, child - except that their child was a girl with bushy brown hair, who looked more sad than excited.

"It's not fair," she was saying as Harry drew closer.

"It's all right, sweetheart," the mother said. "We knew we'd be losing you for a large part of the year when we agreed to let you go."

"It's still not fair," the girl protested, and Harry was a little surprised that she didn't stomp her foot.

"Sorry for the interruption," Harry said. "But what's not fair? Maybe it can be fixed."

The girl looked up. "Not unless you-" she paused. "Oh, you do, don't you?"

"I do a lot of things." Harry grinned at her. "Can you be more specific?"

The girl's eyes widened, even as her parents chuckled softly. Then she scowled briefly, and it took a moment before Harry realized that must be her thinking expression. Finally, she said, "Are you going to school today? A school in Scotland?"

"A secret school?" Harry countered, and she nodded. Harry grinned again. "Yep! So - what's not fair?"

"My parents can't go through to see me off on the train," the girl answered. "They…"

"Never qualified to go to that school," the father finished easily enough. "But as we were saying, it's…well, not really all right, but we knew what were getting into. Or, we thought we did."

"Well, if that's all that's concerning you," Auntie Vi said, "I think we can help. If you will, Sirius?"

"Of course - but shouldn't we introduce ourselves first? I'm sure your mum taught you never to go anywhere with strangers." Sirius grinned.

"Oh, sorry!" Auntie Vi shook her head. "My apologies. Jane Moneypenny."

"Sirius Black."

"I'm Wendell Granger. My wife, Monica, and our daughter Hermione."

The adults shook hands all around, and the girl - Hermione - stared at Harry, impatiently.

"Well?" she asked - more like demanded.

Harry offered her the best smile he had. "I'm Harry - Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" said Hermione, sounding a little excited. "I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twenty-First Century - So Far."

Harry couldn't stop the grimace, and her face fell. "Sorry," he said. "It's just - nobody knows what happened that night. Not really - I mean, there were only four of us involved. Three are dead, and I was too young to remember. So whatever you read in those books is probably speculation."

"Thank you," Mrs. Granger said. "You see, Hermione? Not all books are good resources."

"And that's a discussion for another day," Sirius said. "Else we'll be here all day, and these two would miss their train. Mrs. Granger, may I escort you onto-" he lowered his voice dramatically "-Platform 9 3/4?"

He offered his arm, and Mrs. Granger took it with a curtsy and a smile. A moment later, they disappeared through the barrier.

In turn, Mr. Granger offered his arm to Auntie Vi. "Ms. Moneypenny, will you do me the great honor of escorting me?"

"Of course, kind sir," Auntie Vi said. She took his arm and then they, too, were gone.

Harry hesitated, and Hermione said, "Well?"

"I think if you take my arm, we won't be able to control the trolleys," Harry said. "So I'm trying to figure out how to be a gentleman in this situation, especially since you don't actually need my help to get through."

"Oh." Hermione thought for a moment. "Shall we go through together?"

Harry grinned. "We shall."

He lined up his trolley so it was parallel to hers, like cars lining up for Le Mans, then looked at her. "Three."

She took a breath, suddenly looking nervous in a way she hadn't before. "Two."

"One." Harry waited until she started to move before pacing her through the barrier.

Before them, a scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform full of people - including Auntie Vi, Uncle Sirius, and the Grangers.

Mr. Granger turned at the sound of their trolleys. "Glad you made it." He grinned, mostly at Hermione but including Harry as well. "It's really something, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, wide-eyed, and Harry had to admit the train was an impressive sight. More impressive than he'd expected, if he were honest about it.

"Go on, then," Auntie Vi said, her voice rough. "If you get aboard now, you'll have a better choice of seats."

She bent down, and Harry hugged her, letting her buss his cheek, before Sirius caught him up in a bear hug.

"Study hard to make your Mum proud," Sirius told him, "and have a little fun to make your Dad happy."

"I'll do my best," Harry promised.

"That's all any of us can do," Auntie Vi said, unloading both Harry's and Hermione's trolleys with a wave of her wand. "We'll take them back for you."

"I'll miss you," Harry murmured. "I know I'll be back at Christmas, but that's so far away…."

"And that's why we'll write," she said. "Remember to describe everything for your Uncle James."

"I will, I promise. See you in December!" Before he could cry like a child, Harry turned toward the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione joined him a moment later, and he hoisted her trunk onto the train. With a tap of his wand, he ended the Disillusionment Charm on Hedwig's cage and handed it up to Hermione, who'd paused at the top of the stairs to help him with his own trunk. Hedwig shook out her feathers and gave him a reproachful prek.

"Oh, she's beautiful," Hermione said. Practical girl that she appeared to be, though, she set Hedwig's cage aside and turned back, ready to steady his trunk as he hoisted it onto the train.

"How'd you know she's a she?" Harry asked as they started down the train.

"The spots. Males don't have any. What's her name?"

"Hedwig - she was a birthday present from my Uncle Sirius. How far back do you want to sit?"

"Does it matter, really? All the windows on the same side will have the same view within a minute or two of each other, won't they?"

"Probably," Harry said, "but it's a magic train, so who knows? Still, lady's choice."

"Are you always so polite?" Hermione asked. "Not complaining, just curious."

"I'm polite until I have a reason not to be. Uncle James would be disappointed otherwise."

"How about here?" Hermione asked. "And I thought James was your father."

"My Dad's name was James, too," Harry said, maneuvering so he could get her trunk in the compartment she'd chosen.

An overhead rack looked big enough for four trunks, and it was the work of a few minutes to lift first her trunk and then his into the rack.

He placed Hedwig's cage on the seat by the window and settled into place next to her. Hermione took the seat opposite.

"So you grew up with magic," she said. "What was that like? Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard - I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. Do you think it will be?"

Hermione said all of that very fast, and Harry found himself deciding whether to parse what she'd said or not. Finally, he gave it up as a bad job, and decided to be honest.

"Hermione," he said, hoping his tone was gentle enough not to offend, "you seem like a really nice girl, and somewhere in there is someone I'd like to be friends with. But you've got to let a fellow get a word in edgewise now and then."

Hermione's mouth formed an O and her cheeks suffused with red. "I'm so sorry! It's just - I'm nervous, and I talk a lot when I'm nervous."

"What's there to be nervous about?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. "I thought we were getting along quite well. And why wouldn't your knowing our course books by heart be enough?"

"Well." Hermione blew out a breath, and Harry could see her determination not to ramble as she had before. "It's all so very different, isn't it? We don't know what they'll ask of us at the sorting, do we? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. But what if they want more than that?"

"We're eleven," Harry pointed out. "They won't ask much of us until we've had some classes at least."

"But the sorting," Hermione protested. "I couldn't find anything about it, not even in Hogwarts, A History. How are we supposed to prepare?"

Harry debated just a moment before leaning forward conspiratorially. "Uncle Sirius went to Hogwarts. He wouldn't tell me about the sorting, but he did say that it's not as scary as everyone says."

Hermione looked shocked. "Why would anyone say it's scary if it's not?"

Harry shrugged and sat back in his seat. "Tradition, I suppose - scare the firsties."

"Hmf. I'm not sure I like traditions like that."

*BREAK*

2 September 2011

Dear Aunt Vi, Uncle James, and Uncle Sirius,

I was really expecting more from the Hogwarts Express. It's a magical train, right? So why did it feel like taking any other train?

Aunt Vi - I know I grumbled about you packing a lunch for me, but thank you. A snack trolley came around about halfway through the trip, but it had just that: snacks. No sandwiches, pasties, soups, or anything resembling a meal. Despite the welcoming feast we had when we arrived at Hogwarts, it seems rather short-sighted for a train full of kids to have nothing but sweets for several hours.

You'd be proud of me, Uncle James - some kid named Malfoy came by the compartment Hermione and I were in, said he could help me make the "right sort" of friends. Instead of punching him, I thanked him for his offer and told him I'd never had much trouble making friends, but would ask him if I did. He looked like he didn't know what to do with that.

Wasn't Malfoy - not the kid, but his father, maybe? - one of Voldemort's staunchest supporters? I don't want to punish the child for the sins of his father, but I can't help thinking that he's very likely his father's son, just like I'm the son of Uncles James and Sirius, and if that's true, he might be someone to watch out for. Plus, I really didn't like his attitude.

Anyway - the part Uncle Sirius is surely waiting for, my Sorting. (And really, a telepathic hat?) Anyway, after a lot of blather about how I could do well in any house, specially noting that I could be "great" in Slytherin, I was sorted into Gryffindor.

So was Hermione, the girl we met at the station…and all of the Weasley kids, you remember the family that Pettigrew was hiding with? The youngest, Ron, wants to be my friend, but I'm having a hard time overlooking the fact that they kept Pettigrew safe. Oh, I know it's not entirely their fault, that Pettigrew charmed them not to notice that he lived so long, but still. If any one of them had shown even the slightest doubt…

But, as Uncle James says, it's no use crying over spilt milk.

Uncle Sirius would like the Weasley twins, though - they're pranksters! On occasion their pranks border on bullying, but I suppose that's at least partly a matter of perception. I'm just grateful that I grew up with a prankster, so I know what to watch for!

I'm starting to ramble, so will cut this short. Don't worry, Aunt Vi, the next letter will have a ton about Hogwarts itself. Did Uncle Sirius forget to mention it's in an actual castle?

All my love,

Harry

Chapter Text

1 November 2011

Dear Ms. Moneypenny, Mr. Black, and Commander Bond,

I don't really know where to start, so as the King of Hearts advised Alice, I'll begin at the beginning.

Last night was the Halloween feast. Harry asked Professor McGonagall if he could be excused because it didn't feel right to celebrate the anniversary of his parents' deaths, but she refused. So he sat at the table and didn't eat a bite the whole time.

The feast was almost over when Professor Quirrell rushed in and said that there was a troll in the dungeons. Then he fainted! Can you believe it? The professor who teaches Defense against the Dark Arts fainted!

It caused a bit of a ruckus, as you can imagine, and the Headmaster ordered the prefects to lead their Houses back to their dormitories - only Hufflepuff and Slytherin dorms are in the dungeons.

Harry reminded Percy Weasley, a fifth-year Gryffindor prefect, of that fact, and it wasn't long before the professors made another plan - Professors McGonagall and Sinistra would remain with the students in the Great Hall, and Professor Dumbledore would lead the other professors to deal with the troll.

It was in the middle of this that Harry realized everyone had forgotten Professor Quirrell. So he went over to check on him. Harry put his fingers on Professor Quirrell's neck to check his pulse, and both of them began to burn.

I screamed for help…and after that, I'm not entirely sure what happened, as the professors and prefects all crowded around. In the commotion Professor Quirrell's turban came off, and there was another face on the back of his head. Some people said it looked like You-Know-Who, but I don't know if that's correct.

What I do know is that Harry is in the Hospital Wing, and hasn't woken up yet. On the headmaster's orders, Madam Pomfrey isn't allowing him any visitors.

I really don't want to send this letter with no other news, but I'd want my parents to know as soon as possible if something happened to me, so I'm borrowing Hedwig to send this to you.

I'm sure Harry will be fine - but I'm going to try again to see him. If I do, I'll let you know how he's doing.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

*BREAK*

2 November 2011

Jane followed Sirius through Hogwarts, wishing her first visit to the castle that Harry clearly loved were under better circumstances. As it was, anger fueled both of their long strides, and she was so focused on their destination that she barely registered her surroundings.

She could only be grateful - however oddly, that James was out of the country on a mission. Had he been with them, he'd likely have been scoping out the castle and grounds for an off-books mission after school let out for the summer.

The thought eased her anger. Barely.

They'd just turned into another corridor when a woman wearing emerald green robes and a very stern expression confronted them.

Sirius actually stopped, so Jane followed suit, despite her desire to get to Harry's side immediately.

"Minerva," Sirius said evenly, and from the woman's expression, she wasn't used to such familiarity. But Jane appreciated it, since it allowed her to identify the woman as Minerva McGonagall because surely there couldn't be two Minervas at Hogwarts, could there?

"Sirius Black," McGonagall returned. "How did you get past the wards?"

Sirius snorted. "As if Hogwarts would keep the guardians of an injured child from visiting said child."

McGonagall's expression softened, if only slightly, but her gaze remained stern as she looked past Sirius to Jane. "And your companion?"

Sirius started to reply, but Jane touched his forearm. He nodded, stiffly, and shifted so that Jane had a better look at McGonagall.

"We've not met, Professor," Jane said, "but I'm certain you received my letter about Harry last July. I must say, I am disappointed that even after receiving such a letter, no one visited him to explain the magical world - but that is neither here nor there at the moment. Sirius, if you will?"

They resumed their trek - she could call it a march - to the infirmary without another word, and they weren't accosted again, thankfully. She wasn't certain either she or Sirius could have kept their tempers in check if they had been.

Just inside the doorway to the infirmary, Jane paused beside Sirius. In the far corner, a curtain much like ones she'd seen in non-magical hospitals had been drawn, presumably around a bed.

Harry's voice came from behind the curtain.

"Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry, he has not." The answer came from another male voice - certainly mature, and perhaps even old - that Jane didn't recognize. Sirius apparently did, as he stiffened beside her. "He is still out there, perhaps looking for another body to share…not being truly alive, he cannot be killed."

Jane turned to stare at Sirius, only to find her shock mirrored in his expression. The words confirmed what Hermione Granger had said in her letter, but were no less shocking in their implications.

"Dumbledore," Sirius breathed. Jane nodded, wondering what else the man had to say.

"He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may have only delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time - and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Sirius dashed forward and had the curtain ripped aside so quickly that Jane would've thought he'd apparated, if that weren't impossible within Hogwarts.

"How long?" Sirius demanded. "How long have you suspected he could return to power?"

The man who had to be Albus Dumbledore - if only because of his flowing white hair and beard plus the eye-wateringly bright robes he wore - leapt to his feet, wand ready, and Jane had to admire his reflexes, if nothing else.

Dumbledore's expression relaxed as, presumably, he recognized Sirius, and his wand disappeared up his sleeve.

"Ah, Sirius," Dumbledore said cheerfully, as though he hadn't been ready to curse Sirius a heartbeat before. "Should we be having this discussion here? I doubt his aunt would approve."

"His aunt," Jane stepped forward, the motion drawing Dumbledore's focus to her "is quite interested in the answer to that question herself, and will certainly share it with her nephew, so here is as good a place as any to have that discussion."

Dumbledore frowned at her. "Now, Petunia-"

"Violet," Jane corrected. Dumbledore's expression turned flummoxed, and she smiled grimly. "The other Evans sister - the one who's been raising Harry all these years after you so negligently dropped him on my sister's doorstep."

"I wasn't aware Lily had another sister."

"I'm sure there are many things you aren't aware of - just as there are many things I'm not aware of, nor Sirius. Now - you were about to answer Sirius's question, I believe?"

He hadn't been, she was certain of that, but between her and Sirius, they'd effectively boxed him in. Still, Dumbledore hesitated, and Jane suspected he was debating how to answer.

Finally, he said, "One can never be certain of these things until they happen."

Which wasn't really an answer at all. Jane glanced at Sirius and caught the end of his eyeroll. She agreed with the sentiment, even if she'd never show such weakness to anyone she wasn't fully comfortable with.

"That's true enough," Jane said, "even if it doesn't answer the question fully and completely."

"It is the only answer I am comfortable giving at this time," Dumbledore said serenely. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Violet. I'm certain we'll speak more in the future, but for now, I will leave you to speak with your nephew."

Dumbledore offered a regal nod as he swept past them and out of the room. Jane shared a glance with Sirius. One day, and sooner than he would expect, Dumbledore would be answering that question in court - and preferably under Veritaserum.

"Aunt Vi? Sirius?" Harry asked. "What are you doing here? I mean - how did you know?"

Jane smiled as she perched on the near edge of his mattress. "Hermione sent a letter with Hedwig."

Sirius matched her pose on the other side of the bed. "She said she didn't know if we'd been told that you were here, but since we hadn't come to see you, she assumed not. She's very smart, that one. Keep her if you can."

"Sirius!" Harry sounded scandalized. "I'm eleven."

"You won't be eleven forever," Sirius countered.

"And that's enough of that kind of talk for now." Jane kept her tone mild. "More importantly - how are you feeling, Harry?"

"Tired," he said. "And I don't understand why. Professor Dumbledore said I was out for two days."

"Recovering takes a lot out of you," Sirius murmured. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"You mean Hermione didn't?"

"She did, as much as she knew," Jane said. "But she didn't see everything."

Harry grimaced and adjusted the blankets around him. Jane suspected the action was to buy him time to collect his thoughts. Finally, he looked up at them again. "She told you about the troll and Professor Quirrell?"

Sirius snorted. "Some professor he is, fainting at a troll. Sure, they're big and nasty and spell-resistant…but there are lots of ways to stop or kill them. … None of which are relevant right now," he added, apparently somewhat abashed at the conversational detour. "What happened, Harry?"

"He'd fainted, you see - and nobody was paying attention to him," Harry explained. "So I went to check on him, just to make sure he was okay. Only when I touched him, his skin started to burn." Harry's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I may never eat steak again."

"And you held on?" Jane asked. "Even while his skin was…burning?"

"I wanted to let go," Harry protested. "I tried to let go. But I couldn't. I yelled for help - or maybe I only think I yelled for help, and I remember Quirrell trying to get free, too, but I passed out. I think I remember someone pulling me away, but I could be wrong." He swallowed hard. "Professor Dumbledore told me Quirrell died."

Jane glanced at Sirius, whose expression was as grim as her own, before she looked back at Harry. "In a way, Professor Quirrell died the moment he agreed to share his body with Voldemort."

Harry stared at her. "You - know? How do you know?"

"Something Dumbledore said as we came in," Jane answered.

"Then you also heard that he's not really dead."

"We did," Sirius agreed. "Which means I'll talk to Paddington, and his people from 13 will get on it."

Harry seemed to relax at that. "That's good. I mean, I think if Professor Dumbledore suspected Voldemort was still around, someone should have spent more time on that before now, but…at least someone will take care of it now."

*BREAK*

After a brief discussion with Madam Pomfrey, Jane left Sirius with Harry and started for the Deputy Headmistress's office…which she promptly realized she had no idea the location of.

She paused at the end of the corridor outside the infirmary and said, "If Hogwarts has house-elves, I would like some assistance, please."

An elf, female judging by the dress she wore, popped into view in front of her. "How can Mindy help Hoggywarts visitor?"

"Please tell me where the Deputy Headmistress's office is, or show me how to get there."

"Hoggywarts visitor follow Mindy."

Mindy wasn't inclined to talk as she led Jane through the corridors of Hogwarts, and Jane took advantage of the slower pace necessitated by the elf's shorter legs to take in more of the ambiance of Hogwarts itself than she had during her rush to the infirmary with Sirius.

So different than the chateau that held Beauxbatons, at least on the surface, but the same sense of lingering old magic. She and Lily had often discussed the differences between the two schools, and while Lily admitted that the curriculum at Beauxbatons might be somewhat more strict than the one at Hogwarts, she'd never been convinced that Beauxbatons was more beautiful.

Perhaps that was a result of both of Lily's parents being British, or perhaps it was a reaction to the ages-old conflicts between England and France - now officially done, of course, but some things lingered in the subconscious far too long.

Either way, Jane was pleased to walk the same halls Lily once walked, to feel what Lily had felt - far too late for another one of their friendly debates on the matter, but better late than never. Perhaps.

Mindy's voice pulled her from her reverie. "Professor Kitty's office be here. Back of classroom."

"Thank you," Jane said, but the elf disappeared before the second word.

Jane strode through the classroom to the open door at the back and knocked on the jamb.

McGonagall looked up - and only then did Jane realize the professor wasn't alone. The headmaster was with her.

"Sorry," Jane said. "I didn't realize you were in a meeting. I'll wait outside."

"Nonsense," Dumbledore declared, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "Routine school business can wait. Do come in, dear lady."

Jane accepted the invitation, crossing to stand before the professor's desk. "I won't take much of your time. I simply wanted to advise you that we'll be taking Harry out of school for the rest of the week."

Dumbledore's expression turned puzzled. "Whatever for?"

"I just want our family healer to have a look at him."

Dumbledore offered a smile that Jane supposed was meant to be reassuring. "Madam Pomfrey has assured me Harry is fine."

"Yes, she assured me the same," Jane said. "But our family healer is far more familiar with Harry's health history than Madam Pomfrey and, from what I know of the incident, more than a simple hex or curse was involved. I'd prefer someone with more knowledge of such things take a look at him. For my own peace of mind, you understand."

"Surely that's not necessary," Dumbledore said. "I have complete faith in Madam Pomfrey's abilities."

Jane's fingers twitched, and she stilled the impulse to hex the man standing before her. Instead, she forced a bland, if pleasant smile.

"But I just met her a few minutes ago. As I said, it's for my own peace of mind." She turned to McGonagall and offered her a folded piece of paper - deliberately not parchment. "For your records - a note of my intentions. Harry will be back for Sunday supper."

"Really, now-"Dumbledore began, but Jane whirled on him.

"As Harry's guardian, my peace of mind is of far more relevance than your faith in your employee," she snapped. "If you continue to attempt to detain Harry against my - and Sirius Black's - wishes, I will have no choice but to report your attempt at unlawful detainment to all appropriate authorities."

"Miss Moneypenny," McGonagall put in, her tone clipped and her expression stern. "I agree with the headmaster that it seems unnecessary, but it is your decision. I would ask that your healer forward a copy of any treatment prescribed to Madam Pomfrey."

"I'll see that he does, Professor," Jane murmured. "Thank you."

She slipped out of the office before either of them could say anything else.

Chapter Text

3 November 2011

"Harry seems fine," Healer/Doctor Watson said as he emerged from Harry's bedroom. "I gave him a potion to make him drowsy - sleep is often the best medicine. And I don't mean being unconscious as he was."

Jane let out a long breath. Beside her, Sirius did the same, only exaggerated for effect. She mock-glared at him, briefly, but focused on Watson once more as he sat across from them in the lounge.

"What happened?" Jane asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Watson replied and held up a hand to forestall questions. "My best guess is that whatever protected him from Voldemort before did so again. I hate not knowing for sure, but Harry's circumstances are unique, so almost everything is guesswork."

"Educated guesswork, though," Jane murmured, offering a silent thanks to James and Lily's spirits for whatever they'd done - for it could be none else - to protect Harry.

"Indeed." Watson grinned at her, but sobered quickly. "I'm surprised the curse-breakers didn't find it when they excised the darkness from Harry's scar."

"Or maybe they did, but didn't mention it?" Sirius offered. "Or they didn't catch it because they weren't looking for it?"

"More likely the latter," Watson said wryly. "At least based on my experiences with curse-breakers in the past."

"Perhaps a more thorough examination is in order?" Jane asked. "Because if Dumbledore is correct that Voldemort isn't entirely alive, and therefore can't be killed, then he needs to be contained, imprisoned somehow."

"What, like an indestructible jar dropped into the bottom of the ocean?" Sirius quipped.

"Perhaps with a Fidelius Charm on the location where it was dropped that the Secret Keeper never reveals," Watson added. "But that's for later, once the curse-breakers determine what's actually happened."

"You think they can?" Sirius asked.

Watson shrugged. "It's the only option I see at the moment, though I'm quite disappointed that the ritual we did for Harry ten years ago doesn't seem to have worked properly."

"I remember you saying that Horcruxes are thankfully rare," Jane said. "Should it be so surprising that the curse-breakers didn't know everything?"

"Perhaps not," Watson allowed.

Jane smiled briefly. "I'll ask our colleagues for recommendations for specialists to look at Harry. Thank you again for coming, Healer Watson."

She saw him out, heard the pop as he Apparated away, and turned to head back into the lounge - where she found Sirius talking quietly into his mobile phone, so she altered course to the kitchen to prepare tea.

By the time she returned to the lounge with a platter of tea and biscuits, Sirius had ended his call and had rested his head on the back of the sofa, eyes closed. He raised his head and opened his eyes as she drew closer.

"Paddington said he'd find a curse-breaker to look at Harry again," Sirius said. "This time with the express intention of examining whatever protection he has, and then trying to track down Voldemort's…shade. Or spirit. Or whatever he is now."

"That's good." Jane poured tea for both of them, adding two sugars to Sirius' cup and a dollop of cream to her own.

Sirius took the cup from her. "You don't sound happy."

"Should I be?" she countered. "Everyone thought Voldemort died ten years ago. Then I got Harry, and discovered he had a piece of Voldemort's soul, a Horcrux, in his scar. We had expert curse-breakers remove it from him, and the four others Voldemort made. Now, Voldemort's turned up again, and I don't know what to think."

"Well," Sirius shifted so that his body angled toward her, "he made those Horcruxes before that Halloween night, right? Then he tried to murder Harry, but Lily's protective ritual disembodied him, somehow. Due to the fragile state of his soul - or spirit, whichever - after he'd split it by making Horcruxes, a part of his spirit latched onto Harry and was contained within his scar. The rest of it…vanished, and has been wandering the world ever since. Not being anchored in an object…maybe it couldn't be found?"

"Maybe," Jane murmured and took a sip of tea. "What a horrible existence."

"Until he found Quirrell," Sirius said by way of agreement. "A willing host made things much easier for him."

Jane frowned. "Do we know that Quirrell was willing?"

"Know?" Sirius shrugged. "Unless we find a way to speak with the dead, I doubt we'll ever know. But given how long he was at Hogwarts, and what Hagrid told me about unicorns being killed in the forest, it's a reasonable bet."

*BREAK*

3 November 2011

Dear Professor McGonagall,

You will be pleased to know that our family healer confirmed that Harry is in excellent health despite the events of Halloween evening. He will forward a copy of his report to Madam Pomfrey for Harry's record.

Please advise what time I should have Harry back at Hogwarts on Sunday, as I should like to speak with you at that time. Our discussion shouldn't take longer than half an hour.

Regards,

1. J. Moneypenny

*BREAK*

6 November 2011

Though it was only midafternoon, the sun hung low in the sky when Jane Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts with Harry. He squeezed her hand briefly before letting it go and straightening his school robes.

Jane bit back a smile at Harry's independent streak - she'd been no different at that age - and then regarded the large gates before them.

"Is there a doorbell?" she asked, though she'd felt the tingle of wards as they arrived. "Or perhaps we simply shout until someone comes?"

Harry chuckled. "No, there are wards. Someone - probably Hagrid - will be here shortly…there he is now."

The man who approached them could have played the giant in a production of Jack the Giant Killer. His face was almost entirely hidden by a mass of thick black hair and a great black beard, though as he came closer, Jane could see that he was smiling broadly.

"Welcome back, 'Arry!"

"It's good to be back, Hagrid," Harry answered. "You've not met my Aunt Violet, I don't think?"

"Welcome t'Hogwarts," Hagrid said. "Pleasure t'meet ya. Come on through."

"Thank you," Jane said, unsure whether Hagrid was his first or last name. She'd have to remind Harry to use full names in his letters at least once. Harry had already passed through the gates, and she followed quickly, letting the giant gates swing silently closed behind her.

She was happy to follow Harry and Hagrid to the castle proper, listening to them talk about…well, honestly, she didn't really pay close attention to their talk. She was focused, instead, on the coming conversation with the deputy headmistress. She had a feeling it would not be pleasant, and it might only barely be considered civil.

At the doors to the Great Hall, Harry hugged her briefly before going inside to join some of the other students who were…studying? Perhaps, judging by the books open on the tables, but she couldn't be certain given the lively discussion that appeared to be going on.

"D'you know your way from 'ere?" Hagrid asked, and Jane forced her attention away from the students.

"I believe so, unless the route changes."

She'd meant the comment in jest, but Hagrid appeared to be considering the question with the utmost seriousness.

"I don' think so," he said finally. "Routes to the heads' offices change less than the others."

"Well," Jane said briskly to cover a sudden attack of nerves, "if I need help, I can call for an elf. Thank you."

Hagrid blushed - or she thought he did, given the sudden ruddiness in his cheeks - then mumbled what might've been "pleasure t'help," and strode away.

*BREAK*

Jane found McGonagall's office without needing to call an elf, and this time, thankfully, the deputy headmistress was alone in her office.

"Miss Moneypenny." McGonagall gestured her to a seat opposite her desk. "You indicated this meeting would not take long, but I confess I've no idea what we need to discuss."

"Quite simply," Jane took the offered seat, sitting primly forward rather than settling back, "you need to convince me not to withdraw Harry from Hogwarts right now."

"I beg your pardon?"

Jane affected an open, innocent smile. "What part wasn't clear?"

McGonagall's lips thinned so much they almost disappeared. "Why would you consider removing Harry from Hogwarts?"

Jane let her smile fade into the glare she'd perfected on a dozen 00 agents during her career. "That you wouldn't excuse him from your Halloween feast to grieve his parents is sufficient reason, as far as I'm concerned. But if you require more, I offer a possessed teacher - who injured Harry, and you couldn't be bothered to let me know. I had to find out from one of his school friends."

McGonagall met her gaze evenly. "It is Hogwarts policy to notify parents or guardians only of significant injuries or accidents."

"Harry was unconscious for two days, Professor. If that isn't significant to you, I shudder to consider what is."

"Further, it is policy that all students attend all feasts," McGonagall continued as though Jane hadn't spoken. "They are, after all, celebrations."

Jane shook her head. "Lily adored you, you know. She would be devastated to know you think so little of her sacrifice. Moving on," she added over whatever McGonagall might have said, "there was a troll that somehow got into the school - which I understood was one of the safest places in Britain. How do you explain that?"

"It's my understanding that Professor Quirrell tampered with the wards."

"That shouldn't be possible - not a single professor, anyway," Jane corrected herself. "I understand that any wards can be circumvented or broken. But if Hogwarts is truly one of the safest places in Britain, how is it that a single person managed that feat without alerting you or the headmaster, or anyone else on staff?"

"An investigation is in progress," McGonagall answered. Without elaborating, she looked sternly over her spectacles. "What else?"

Jane smiled grimly. "I saved the worst for last. The worst - worse than all of those combined - thing about Hogwarts is that you have a Death Eater teaching Harry."

"A reformed Death Eater." McGonagall glared at her. "Professor Snape regrets his actions-"

"I don't care," Jane snapped. "He supported the man who murdered Harry's parents. A case could be made that allowing him to teach Harry is psychological abuse."

McGonagall jerked back, the first genuine sign of emotion she'd displayed. "I assure you, there is no abuse at Hogwarts."

"Then we clearly have different definitions of abuse," Jane said flatly. "But please - you were attempting to convince me that Harry should continue attending Hogwarts."

McGonagall eyed her shrewdly. "You seem already to have made up your mind that he won't."

"Not entirely," Jane admitted. "But right now, the most persuasive argument I've heard is his own - that he wants to attend the school his parents did. I respect that, but I have to make the best decision I can for him, regardless of what he wants."

McGonagall stayed silent for long moments, and Jane could practically hear the other woman thinking. Finally, McGonagall sat forward, interlocking her fingers and resting her hands on her desk.

"Perhaps I should be asking what we can do to convince you to let him stay."

Jane allowed herself to relax, however fractionally. At least McGonagall seemed open to listening, even if her cooperation wasn't assured.

"He will no longer take potions with Severus Snape," Jane said. "That's not negotiable."

"But he must study potions," McGonagall pointed out. "It's part of the core curriculum, and he will be tested on it during his OWLs."

"I'll arrange for a private tutor." Technically, she already had, but McGonagall didn't need to know that.

McGonagall didn't appear entirely reassured, but said only, "Do provide a - what do you call it? a sieve?"

"A C.V.," Jane answered. "Curriculum vitae."

"Yes, thank you. What else?"

"Notification of any injury Harry should have. Honestly, that's standard procedure in Muggle schools."

"I will suggest that the policy be changed for all students, not just Harry."

Why was McGonagall being so accommodating? Jane had no idea, but resolved to pose the question to Sirius, James, and also Crispian Paddington when she had the chance. She said only, "I'm sure the parents will appreciate that."

"What else?"

Jane considered that briefly, then decided to charge ahead. "An explanation, perhaps - why are you so intent on Harry attending Hogwarts?"

"Many reasons." McGonagall sat back in her chair, and for a moment looked as old as she must be. "The very least of which is the prestige he brings with him."

"Prestige? He's eleven." Then Jane got it. "You mean because of his ridiculous fame."

"Yes. Not that I - or most of the professors - care, you understand. The parents, however, are quite…pleased, perhaps, is the best word, that he is here with their children."

"Only some," Jane murmured.

"Pardon?"

Jane met the other woman's gaze. "I said, only some parents are pleased that he's attending. Those who supported Voldemort surely aren't. I'd suspect some of them might even be contemplating avenging their fallen master."

"Surely not-" McGonagall began, then broke off with a sigh. "But that's likely wishful thinking on my part."

There was nothing Jane could say to that, so she kept silent, allowing the other woman to gather her thoughts.

"I'll admit that many of my reasons for wanting Harry to remain at Hogwarts are selfish," McGonagall said finally. "James was one of my favorite students - when he wasn't being a rascal - and Harry reminds me so much of him that it hurts, sometimes. I feel like I failed James and Lily both, and I want to make it up to their son."

"You aren't the only one to have failed them," Jane observed. "And while my preference still is to remove Harry from Hogwarts immediately, I will allow him to attend for this first year - with the understandings we previously discussed."

"And after this year?" McGonagall asked.

"I'll speak with Harry and decide then."

Chapter Text

16 June 2012

"Are you sure I can be here? It's not forbidden?"

Jane linked her arm through Petunia's as they made their way toward the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. This late on a Saturday evening, King's Cross bustled with people, and she had to be careful not to bump into anyone else.

"You're part of a magical family, Tuney," she answered, keeping her voice at the low end of normal. She'd found the best way to keep a secret was not to look like she was trying to keep a secret. "You're already covered by the Statute of Secrecy, and there's no other reason you wouldn't be allowed to come."

Petunia nodded tightly, and her hand clenched around Jane's arm as they made straight for the barrier.

"Trust me," Jane murmured, and then they were onto Platform 9 3/4 and she released her sister's arm after guiding her away from the entry point so as not to block anyone who came through after.

A glance at her wristwatch told her the Hogwarts Express should be arriving shortly, and she looked around for Sirius and the Grangers. He'd offered to ride with them to King's Cross to escort them onto the platform to meet the train as it returned.

Frankly, Jane was appalled at the lack of a parent-teacher association to organize such things. For a moment, she considered trying to organize one herself. Petunia's somewhat disdainful sniff interrupted that train of thought almost before it began.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"Not wrong, exactly," Petunia replied. "I just - I suppose I was expecting more. It's a magical place, isn't it?"

"Ah, but form follows function." Sirius' voice, cheerful as always, came from off to their left, and Jane turned with Petunia to see him approaching with the Grangers and, somewhat unsurprisingly, James. "And a train platform's got a very ordinary function, doesn't it?"

"Well, yes," Petunia admitted. "Still, I confess I'm a little disappointed."

"So was I, our first trip," Monica Granger offered. "Though, looking back, I don't know why I was disappointed."

"Very likely because of the word magic," James said. "We associate that word with so many things, from Disney films to The Lord of the Rings. Finding out that magical people are relatively ordinary was certain to disappoint."

"That said," Sirius said, "it's also partly because the platform is tucked away in the middle of London. Places like Hogwarts, far from anyplace else, are far more magically interesting."

"It's a shame non-magical parents never get to see Hogwarts," Wendell Granger said.

"Odd that you should say so just now," Jane said. "I was just thinking that I've never heard of Hogwarts having a parent-teacher association. Do you remember Lily ever talking about one, Tuney?"

Petunia looked momentarily surprised - possibly at being included in the conversation, but Jane didn't know for certain - before she collected herself. "No, she never did. All Mum and Dad ever received were mid-term and end-of-year marks."

"I thought that was because it's a boarding school," Monica said, then gave a rueful chuckle. "Though even if it were a day school, Wendell and I couldn't help her with her homework."

"Sure you can," Sirius said. "At least, the theory part. We quiz Harry over the summer hols."

"Which he hates," James put in. "Harry's always been better with practice than theory."

"And that's beside the point," Jane declared.

"Oh, I really don't think it is," Wendell countered cheerfully. "Embarrassing stories about our children are never beside the point."

Jane waited for the brief laughter to subside before speaking again. "Two reports a year don't seem sufficient to me, especially not after Harry's years in primary, where parents met with teachers twice a year and received quarter-term marks and recommendations for improvement. I realize it won't be the same at Hogwarts, but I do think there should be some organization for parents who want to be involved."

"Such an organization could've…helped." Petunia's voice had dropped nearly to a whisper. "I was so jealous of Violet and Lily, and no one explained anything to me. They just said I couldn't go to Hogwarts."

"The lack of compassion many magical people have for non-magical people is truly appalling." James came forward and rested a hand on Petunia's shoulder. "More so when some of those they consider non-magical just have different gifts."

"It sounds like an excellent idea," Monica said. "Though I wouldn't know where to start to create one."

"Perhaps a letter to other parents?" Wendell suggested. "Though we don't have an owl…"

"Hedwig will enjoy the exercise," Sirius offered. "And we can always hire one if we need to."

James shifted closer to Jane and murmured, "That sounds like you've decided Harry will stay at Hogwarts."

Jane turned to grin at him, keeping her voice similarly low as she said, "Officially, my decision is still pending a talk with him once he comes home."

James quirked an eyebrow. "Unofficially?"

"Unofficially, I saw at least a half dozen other parents who were listening to our discussion about a PTA, even while they were trying desperately hard not to look like they were listening."

"You devious little witch." His eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Why, thank you, 007. I do believe that's the nicest compliment you've ever paid me."

A long, low train whistle sounded before James could respond, and Jane turned with everyone else to watch the Hogwarts Express approach, steam billowing from its chimney.

"I suppose that is impressive," Petunia observed dryly. "At least a little."

Jane chuckled but couldn't disagree with her sister. A functioning steam train wasn't something one would ordinarily see, after all.

It wasn't long before the train came to a stop, the doors opened, and children poured out of it, chattering and happy after being stuck on a train all day.

"There are so many other forms of magical transport," James said. "Why confine children to a train for a day?"

"Tradition," Sirius answered.

"They had to do something different before the train was invented, didn't they?" Monica asked. "Why did they change to something that is, magically speaking, far less efficient?"

"Because it's more efficient for the school, my dear."

The sudden, unfamiliar voice had Jane and Sirius drawing their wands and James drawing his service weapon. All three whirled to face the newcomer - who turned out to be a man with flowing white hair and beard.

"Headmaster." Sirius lowered his wand but didn't holster it. Jane followed his example. "What brings you here?"

"Most disturbing rumors, my boy," Dumbledore answered with a grave expression. Rather than elaborate, he turned to Monica. "But to your question - having the children all arrive at the same time in the same place is far more efficient for the staff and administrators."

Monica raised a dubious eyebrow. "I'm sure the first years at least are somewhat hyperactive after the ride, and as you can see, even now, some of the older years, too."

"There are always trade-offs." Dumbledore smiled at her, eyes twinkling, before turning to Jane and Sirius. "But as to those rumors, I've heard you're considering removing Harry from Hogwarts."

"We have been, yes," Jane told him. "But the decision is not yet finalized. And, yes," she continued before he could speak again, "I understand why you wouldn't want us to withdraw him, but ultimately it is our decision."

"I must urge you to consider this question most carefully." Dumbledore smiled what Jane supposed was his best conciliatory smile, though to her it came across more like condescending.

"What makes you think we're not?" Jane countered. "Honestly, if I were headmistress of a prestigious school, I'd be more concerned about my star students - like the Grangers' daughter, Hermione."

"Ah, yes," the headmaster turned his twinkling eyes to Monica and Wendell. "I've heard great things about your daughter. Even our most exacting professors praise her." His focus returned to Jane. "But Harry is a special case, you understand."

"Harry," Petunia broke in, . "It's always about Harry. Never about Lily, or even James. Honestly, what do you think a fifteen-month-old child could do against the most feared dark wizard of the modern age? Spit up on him? Throw toys at him?"

"We believe," Dumbledore said, "that Harry performed some kind of accidental magic, and that saved him."

"What a load of tosh." This new voice was at least familiar, and Jane smiled at Crispian Paddington.

Dumbledore frowned at the newcomer. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're pardoned," Paddington responded with more aristocratic posh than Jane knew the man possessed. "James, Sirius - we found him."

"And this was worth coming in person?" James countered, even as Sirius - finally - holstered his wand.

"Yes, because Harry needs to come with us."

"What?" Petunia echoed Jane's exclamation.

"You remember he's only eleven, right?" Jane added.

"I do," Paddington replied, his expression grave. "I also remember that while Riddle feared the Chief Warlock, here, he has only known defeat at the hands of Harry Potter - twice."

"You want him there because three is a magically significant number." This new voice was female and sounded young - Jane glanced around to find that Harry had joined them, Hermione Granger at his side. "And if Harry defeats him a third time…it'll be forever and final."

Paddington nodded even as Dumbledore rounded on him. "Who are you and how do you know that name?"

"Crispian Paddington, of Her Majesty's Magical Service, and I am not at liberty to tell you anything." Having answered both questions, Paddington focused on Jane. "I can't begin to understand how you must be feeling, but I trust you understand that I wouldn't ask this if it were not deemed critically important by those who know more than either of us."

"I'll do it, Aunt Vi," Harry said with quiet determination. "I don't have a choice, really."

"Oh, Harry." Jane stepped forward to hug him. "Much like Frodo, I wish this had never come to you."

Harry's chuckle sounded in her ear, soft and resigned. "So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for me to decide. All I have to decide is what to do with the task and time that is given me."

Jane forced herself to swallow a sob and held her nephew tightly for a moment, surprised when Petunia was there to hug him, too.

"I don't know what this task of yours is," Petunia said, "but I expect you to handle it straight away. Dudley's birthday is Saturday, and I expect you to be at his party."

"I'll do my best, Aunt Petunia." Harry straightened away from Petunia, only for Hermione to glomp onto him in the hardest, fiercest hug Jane remembered seeing.

"You're a great wizard, Harry," Hermione declared fiercely. "Call me when you're back."

"I will." Harry disentangled himself and looked at Jane. "Aunt Vi-"

Jane summoned a smile, somehow. "Go, Harry. I'll see your things home and take care of Hedwig while you're gone."

Harry nodded and moved to stand beside Paddington. "I'm ready when you are, sir."

Sirius clasped James' arm but looked at Paddington. "Your office or mine?"

"Go on to yours so you and Bond can gear up. I'll take Harry to mine to do the same."

"Wait-!" Dumbledore began, but Paddington and Sirius were already Apparating away.

Dumbledore turned to Jane with a frown. "Who was that?"

"Crispian Paddington, of Her Majesty's Magical Service," Jane said. "Though he said that already. Are you having difficulty with your hearing? Or, perhaps, your memory?"

"Both are in perfect working order, I assure you." But Dumbledore's cheeks flushed as he spoke. "Perhaps I should clarify - who was Crispian Paddington that you would so foolishly allow Harry to leave with him?"

Jane held back a snort with difficulty, limiting herself to, "I trust him - far more than I trust you, I should add. You've done nothing to help Harry since the night Lily and James were murdered, and even then your help could've killed him. I'll thank you to stay out of Harry's business, except as it may pertain to his schooling. Even then, I trust that his head of house can handle almost everything, and for those things she can't, I expect to be notified before any final decisions are made."

Dumbledore straightened. "Most parents trust the school staff to handle all issues."

"Not five minutes ago, you argued that Harry is a special case. Which is it?"

While Dumbledore floundered, Jane turned to the trunk Harry had left behind. A wave of her wand shrank it small enough to fit in her bag and light enough not to overbalance her.

"Would you shrink mine, too, please?" Hermione asked. "If un-shrinking it won't violate the underage magic restriction, I mean."

Jane cast the spells again. "Of course not. Just tap it with your wand and say, restore."

Hermione picked up her trunk, grinning widely, and offered it to her mother. Monica smiled and tucked the trunk away.

"Remember," Jane said, drawing Hermione's attention back to her. "Keep your wand on you at all times. If you must use it for some reason, call me immediately. I'll see that you have proper representation."

"Thank you," Wendell said. "It's been a blessing to have someone knowledgeable about the magical world to speak with about such things."

Wendell directed a glare at Dumbledore, and Jane hid her smile.

"We'd best get going," Monica said. "We don't want to be late for our dinner reservation." She turned to Jane and offered her hand. "Thank you, again."

"Of course." Jane shook her hand. "I do hope Hermione can come to Harry's birthday party next month. We're planning to have it the Saturday before."

"We'll hold the date," Monica promised, and with a brief exchange of farewells, the Grangers disappeared through the barrier back into King's Cross. They were some of the last to leave, thanks to the appearances of and discussions with Dumbledore and Paddington.

That realization made Jane check her watch. "I'm sorry, Tuney - we're later than expected. Would Vernon accept an excellent takeaway dinner as an apology for keeping you so long?"

Petunia chuckled. "He'll accept an excellent takeaway anytime. You'll join us, of course?"

"Please," Jane said fervently. "I'll welcome the distraction rather than worry about Harry and the others."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I must insist that you tell me where they went."

Jane blinked, having momentarily forgotten the man's presence, but collected herself quickly. "Whitehall, of course. More than that, I cannot say."

"I am the Chief Warlock," Dumbledore began, but Jane raised a hand.

"The Ministry is still subject to the Crown," she said, "and my oaths to the Crown do not permit me to say more. If you're truly interested, you may contact the Prime Minister and Mr. Cameron will determine what you may be told."

"Now, see here-!"

"No, you see here," Jane snapped back. "You cared not a whit for me or anyone else in Harry's family since the day James and Lily died. There is no need for you to pretend to do so now. I've told you how you may proceed, and that is all I will say on the matter. We're leaving now, Tuney."

Petunia nodded stiffly. Jane gripped her sister's hand and Apparated them both away.

*BREAK*

21 June 2012

The days since Harry had left with Sirius, James, and Paddington had been difficult for Jane - busy as usual at work but interminably slow at home. Thankfully, she had Kiki to keep her company, even if the elf appeared somewhat ill at ease joining Jane in front of the telly after the dinner dishes were done.

Tonight would be no different. Jane closed the door to the cottage that had been hers since Harry turned three behind her, letting out a quiet sigh at the end of another busy day. She hung her bag on the hall tree and dropped her umbrella - not nearly as versatile as 007's, but still quite serviceable, thank you - into the stand beside it.

A soft pop announced Kiki's presence - though Jane wouldn't be surprised if she'd been there, invisible, since she heard Jane's key in the lock.

"Mistress be welcome home," Kiki said. "For dinner tonight, there be a choice of roast chicken or lamb."

"Roast chicken sounds delightful," Jane answered, knowing from years of experience that tomorrow's choice would be lamb or something else, all the way through the week until Sunday, at which time, whatever Jane hadn't chosen during the week would be prepared for Sunday dinner.

Kiki nodded and popped away as Jane made her way to the bedroom to change out of work clothes, most especially the heels that professionalism demanded, and into a silky pajama set.

By the time she returned to the lounge, a glass of white wine was waiting on the end table beside her favorite wingback chair. She called a thank you and sat down to read and sip wine while Kiki prepared dinner.

The division of labor nagged at her sensibilities, but she hadn't had the heart to let Kiki go after Harry was old enough to care for himself for brief periods. Releasing Kiki would've broken Kiki's heart and Harry's, too, so Jane gave in with as much grace as she could. She also kept doing the laundry as her own domain and made sure Harry learned to keep his room neat regardless of Kiki's presence.

Still, when she worried that Kiki didn't have enough work to do, Kiki said that she "took care of Mister Jamesy and Mister Padfoot, too, and they make enough work for two elves. Each!" Jane let it go and made sure Kiki got generous gifts from all three of them and Harry every Boxing Day.

Her current choice in reading was Violet Bonham Carter's Winston Churchill as I Knew Him, and while she enjoyed the woman's personal glimpses of Churchill, the book as a whole was somewhat less than engaging. More than once, Jane had considered setting it aside in favor of a new biography of Her Majesty. For now, though, she opened it to the page she'd marked and began to read.

She'd barely finished the first paragraph before a key turned in the lock. She rose, tossing the book aside, and drew her wand. Only Harry, James, Sirius, and Petunia had keys, but she'd take no chances.

The door opened to reveal Harry and, behind him, James and Sirius. Jane holstered her wand and opened her arms for the nephew who'd become her son.

Harry rushed into her arms and she held him tight. "I'm so glad you're back," she murmured.

"Glad all of you are back," she added, embracing Sirius and James in turn, then urging them to seats.

"It's all over?" she asked, noting that none of them had any apparent injuries.

"As of last night, yes," Sirius answered, murmuring thanks as Kiki popped in with whiskies for him and James and a butterbeer for Harry. "We helped Paddington capture the wraith, and then Harry participated in a final banishing ritual last night."

"The solstice," Jane murmured. "Shortest night of the year. Significant?"

"Ritually so," James answered, surprising her. He grinned slightly. "I don't have enough magic to use a wand, but I did very well in maths. I understand the arithmancy involved."

"The best part," Harry put in, "was that today we took the remains from the ritual to the Department of Mysteries and threw them through the Veil. Riddle's really gone, this time."

Jane would never doubt her son aloud, but she couldn't help glancing at Sirius, who nodded once.

"Then there's only one thing to say." Jane raised her glass. "Congratulations on a job well done!"

Chapter Text

As people seemed to enjoy my notes to the Iron and Magic series, I thought I'd continue the tradition.

Re: 2001

I brought the Harry Potter stories forward in time to be somewhat contemporaneous with the Brosnan Bond years purely for my convenience. I'm a bit obsessive about getting things "right" and really didn't want to lose a ton of time figuring out when certain things became available to the general public in 1981.

Re: Jane Moneypenny

Moneypenny is never given a first name in Ian Fleming's novels. She was named Jane in the authorized spin-off book series, The Moneypenny Diaries. She was named Eve in the film Skyfall. As the Diaries came before the film (2005 vs. 2012), I chose Jane…and then had to figure out how Jane could fit into the theme of names implied by Lily and Petunia. The names of Henry VIII's wives as middle names fit the bill.

Re: Dumbledore's Letter to Petunia

Yes, I re-used the one from The Magical Sentinel as a basis. Why reinvent the wheel?

Re: Dumbledore's Titles

In PS/SS chapter 4, Dumbledore is listed as Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc[erer]., Ch[ie]f. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed[eration] of Wizards. A check of the HP Lexicon and other sites doesn't narrow down the date he becomes Supreme Mugwump or Chief Warlock - though it's certainly before Harry's 11th birthday - so I've chosen not to have him holding either of those titles at the time of Voldemort's defeat.

As a side note, there's no entry in the Lexicon for Grand Sorcerer, nor a description of what it entails; the Harry Potter Wiki merely says it's "an illustrious title" which a witch or wizard could hold, and cites two others besides Dumbledore who have held that title, though not from what I would consider canonical sources.

Re: Director

In SS/PS, on the very first page, we read, "Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills."

From my research, it appears that, in the UK, a director of a corporation is similar to a CEO or President in the US, so that's how I've used it in this story. If that's wrong, I apologize, and I ask for sources to correct my understanding.

Re: Aunt Marine and Uncle Antoine

Characters based on the ones by the same name in Murder in Provence.

Re: Crispian Paddington

Crispian is Tony DiNozzo's cousin in NCIS. I'm not tagging for NCIS because the character is only referenced in the show and never appears on screen, so he's effectively an OC.

Re: Tata and Tonton

The French terms for auntie and uncle, per a vocabulary list I found at French Today dot com. If I'm using the terms incorrectly, I apologize.

Re: Rhiannon Jones

As far as I knew, she's an OC, first used in "The Magical Sentinel." Then, one commenter referred to a character from Torchwood. I've never watched that show, and any resemblance between the two is purely coincidental.

Re: Gavin Troy

Based on the character from Midsomer Murders.

Re: Trials Will Occur in Due Course

It's a popular trope in HP fanfics to have magical trials happening within a week, or even less, of a crime occurring or some new evidence (i.e., of Sirius' innocence, or of someone's malfeasance) coming to light. Unfortunately, I don't buy it.

Even allowing for the use of Veritaserum, according to the HP Lexicon, Rowling has said something to the effect of, "Veritaserum works best upon the unsuspecting, the vulnerable and those insufficiently skilled (in one way or another) to protect themselves against it," so it's not infallible. I would expect the same to be true of honesty hexes or compulsions and the like.

Therefore, investigations - including crime scene investigations, interviews of witnesses, examination of physical evidence, and so on - would still take place. That process would take several weeks, at least, and then the matter would need to be set for trial, and so on.

Magic would no doubt make much of the process go quickly - but there's still the question of how soon a trial could be set on the court's (in this case, the Wizengamot's) docket. Three to six months seems like a reasonable time frame.

Re: Lily's Note

We never see James and Lily's marriage from the inside, so to speak. We know that James was willing to lay down his life for Lily and Harry ("Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off-") and we know Lily bargained with Voldemort for Harry's life - but that's all we see of them: their love for Harry, which says nothing about how they see each other.

Harry sees them as having a great marriage, but I believe that's a result of his upbringing with the Dursleys: he's desperate for love, and that would manifest as a fully loving family. (His family, I note; not the Weasley family or any other family. His family.)

But marriages are rarely 100% blissfully happy, and given the dystopian nature of the Wizarding World, I wonder if pureblood James didn't look down on Muggle-born Lily, at least subconsciously. (See, Ron's comment about the accountant uncle they don't talk about.)

So I tried to shade in a bit of that in the letter in Lily's trunk - which trunk, in the back of my mind, she was planning to use herself to take Harry away, but didn't get the chance. Instead, she placed some amazing-as-all-hell charms on it, and therefore it ended up staying with Harry.

Re: 22 July 2011

In canon, Harry's Hogwarts letter arrived on Friday, 24 July 1981. Unfortunately, 24 July 2011 is a Sunday, and the Royal Mail doesn't run on Sunday. I chose to move the letter's arrival back two days and keep the Friday delivery.

Re: Bond's "Magic"

The definition of a Squib (aside from being a small explosive, or a bullet without sufficient expanding gases to leave the barrel) is someone with such a low level of magical power that they are essentially unable to do magic at all (per the HP Lexicon).

It's not much of a stretch to think that wizards mean "unable to do wanded magic at all" since Squibs can, for example, see magical creatures. Therefore, Squibs might have some non-wanded magic that they don't even realize is magic; rather, they consider it a natural talent, if they consider it at all.

It's from this slightly expanded definition that I took Petunia's "green magic." Following that definition, Bond has a wizard in his ancestry somewhere, but his natural talent is something that makes him one of the best agents Her Majesty's Secret Service has ever had. It's not entirely combat-related nor entirely sneak/stealth-related, but some odd combination of both.

As to why/how he works with MI-13…I suspect he ran into something overtly magical; MI-13 was called in to deal with it, and when they realized that he could see whatever happened, they read him in on the secret. (I further assume that all department heads (i.e., M, the head of MI-5, etc.) have at least the knowledge that the magical world exists, but that's a different discussion.)

Re: Homo Fierus

The Animagus reversal spell isn't given an incantation in canon, so I found an online English to Latin translator and typed in "become human." The translator gave me homo fieri, but that looked a little too much like a certain Food Network personality, so I tweaked it a bit to homo fierus.

Re: A Few Simple Spells

That's taken directly from PS/SS, chapter six. I know - it doesn't track with "can't use your wand outside school," but it's there.

Re: 16 June 2012

In canon, the Hogwarts Express returned to London on Saturday, 20 June, according to HP Lexicon. In 2012, 20 June was a Wednesday. As with the arrival of Harry's Hogwarts letter, I've chosen to move the date to match the day of the week.

Re: So do all…

Paraphrasing the great J.R.R. Tolkien, because he said it better than any of us.

Re: Churchill as I Knew Him

I haven't read it, myself, and based Jane's opinions on Amazon reviews. No insult to the author was intended.

Re: 2012 Summer Solstice

It happened on the 20th, as 2012 was a leap year. Yes, I am OCD enough to have looked it up. GRIN