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Chapter Text

“S-sir… May I really…”

Little Harry watched his uncle warily over the plate of delicious-smelling food. He had never seen food like this before. Not at the Dursleys. He was never allowed to eat at the table. Sometimes they would taunt him with food. Tell him he could have it, then take it away and punish him. Uncle Allister had turned up like Cinderella’s fairy godmother, but with sandy whiskers and khakis. He had spoken to Uncle Vernon and whisked him away as if by magic from Little Whinging to a sunbaked land of sand and swaying palm trees.

“Go on, try it. Don’t be shy,” Sir Allister Grey coaxed the tiny boy. He was painfully thin, as stunted as the street children who roamed the alleys of the old city of Cairo. He quietly cursed his Muggle grand-niece and her husband. Ah, the scales of Ma’at will catch up with them eventually. What was important now was for Lily’s son to heal. He had come so far and worked so hard. Turning back was not an option. After the boy has been fed, they had an appointment at Gringotts’ Cairo branch to keep. The ancients knew the power of a name. To protect Lily’s boy, they would have to obscure his name.

Harry gingerly scooped up a falafel ball and bit into it. It tasted like nutty with just a hint of spice. He almost cried. It was so good. He had not eaten anything since the burnt toast yesterday morning…

“There, there… it’s alright now, child…” A gruff voice, a hand awkwardly petting his back. Allister Grey was no good with children, but for the poor mite’s sake, he had to have a go at it. Maybe he could secure an ayah elf to be Nanny.

Five years later…

Cleo had cleared the breakfast things. Harold Grey smiled at the photo of his parents. He wished them a good morning before heading for the library to start on his homework. Uncle Allister had returned home late from the Library of Alexandria last night and would not be up so soon. It was vacation time. Once he was done with his homework, he could read up on his hieroglyphs and try deciphering the stele in the study Uncle Allister had set as a challenge to him. He had already ruled out Greek. The last urn he helped his uncle decipher was from Troy and told part of the Iliad. A tablet a month back was a Sumerian account tally. His guardian loved setting puzzles and riddles to challenge his ward during the off-dig season. Ibis House’s library was full of books and tomes relating to the ancient world.    

Horus bobbed his head in greeting when Harold passed his perch. The boy stopped to stroke the hawk on the back of his head. His uncle was sitting by the fireplace in the study, snoring softly in his armchair. He had not made it back to his bedroom after all. Harold gave his elderly guardian a fond smile before browsing through the shelves for the texts he needed. He would like to finish up before evening and Sir Allister took him out to the bazaar.

“Young Ma-s-s-ster…” Nefertari slithered into the study. The Egyptian cobra’s hood flared as she greeted her wizard.

“Good morning, my little queen… I trussst you fed well last night?” Harold replied as she preened under his regard. She had fed well indeed on a plump rat. Their bond went deep, forged when she was still a snakeling caged in a Moroccan souk destined for potion ingredients. The wizardling had felt sorry for the cobra and saved her. He was not a true Speaker, but he was quick enough to pick up the nuances of the serpent tongue.

Harold sat at his little walnut desk beside his uncle’s dark mahogany one. He pondered the homework from the academy. Perhaps he should start with French and finish with Arithmetic, or should it be the other way round? He could complete his Latin verbs in an hour, perhaps less. It was the weekend after all. He could take his time about it. The International Charms Academy catered to the small European wizarding population in the city. The lessons were, well, basic for a child of Harold’s calibre. Yet he had to attend and obtain a Charms certificate if he was to apply to one of the established magical schools in the States or Europe since he would not be a resident of the region. He would not get an admission letter otherwise. Academically he was well ahead of his age group. Uncle Allister asked the teachers to issue him extra homework or readings so he would not be bored. Harold did most of his learning during dig season when he accompanied his guardian on his travels, whenever to the Trojan ruins or the lost pyramids of Nubia.

He was going to be eleven soon - when a magical child should have his first spurt of magic by, according to European belief. The locals claimed a child’s magic was stable by nine and most would be apprenticed out if not sent up the Nile to Uagadou.

His life would have been so different were it not for his Great Uncle Allister. He recalled a dark, cramped space, almost a tomb. Unkind words and rough blows. Weak, helpless. Pain and tears. That was all gone now. He had feared the darkness of the tomb once, but his guardian had shown him the hidden wonders within the secret tombs in the Valley of the Dead. Knowledge is power. He could use it to protect himself, his family and friends. Set Wards against vipers or rockfalls. Spells to identify hidden dangers lurking in the shadows. Harold could never be a regular child, not with his intelligence. Sir Allister never coddled him. He challenged him, encouraged him in his interests. By nine, he was treated as a fully-fledged member of the dig party with his own duties to see to in accordance with local practices. Ibis House was a House of Thoth, the ancient Egyptian god of knowledge and magic.

They had already discussed his possible academic future back when he was nine. Ilvermorny, Drumstrang, or Hogwarts. Beauxbatons lacked the academic rigour needed for Cursebreaking, so his Uncle Allister said. He might be a Hogwarts legacy, according to his uncle. Even if he were not, they should be honoured to have a bright lad like him as a student. Drumstrang was too focused on offensive magic. Might work for some Cursebreakers – Bombardo-ing everything in sight, but it was not Uncle Allister’s style. Arithmancy or Ancient Runes? Both subjects were required to be a Cursebreaker or Wardmaster like Uncle Allister was before he left Gringotts. Perhaps he could seek an opinion from his guardian later.

“Master Harry needs to have his elevenses,” Cleo blustered as she popped into the study.

Eleven already? Harold frowned. He had lost track of time but at least his French homework was done. He accepted the glass of milk and date cookies. He was too young for the strong coffee preferred by his uncle, though Uncle Allister allowed him to partake of hot mint tea and spiced chai during the digs to protect against the desert chill.

Allister woke up in time for lunch on the veranda overlooking the Nile. Like many of the city’s magi-archaeologists, he kept a river-barge on the river for use during digs along the Nile. A small jetty ran along the back of the house while its front faced the street of Cairo’s Magical Quarter. The entire Quarter shifted according to the yearly ebb and flow of the Nile and was magically Warded against the occasional sandstorm or earthquake. In the more populated parts, the wix lived in a mishmash of dwellings and tenements with canals cut to the main river. Some wix forwent fixed dwellings on land entirely for caravans and river barges. These were mainly trading families who followed the flow of goods across the desert sands and along the mighty Nile.

Allister waved to a neighbour who was riding her pet crocodile down the river with her grandchildren despite the noonday sun. The dowager waved back from under her parasol while rebuking her youngest grandchild to stop splashing in the river lest they attracted hippos. Hippos were the ones to watch out for on the river. No one in the quarter had tamed hippos where many had crocodiles to guard their homes and riverboats since the time of the ancients.

Magic ran deep in the sands here, in the Nile’s steady heartbeat and the seasons. Perhaps it was this magic that enthralled Allister Grey when he first arrived there between the wars an eager young wizard. He could see it working its spell on his young ward. Nefertari slithered up the chair to nestle in Harry’s lap. Horus was out delivering a letter, or his familiar would have taken his place on the back of Allister’s chair or on his shoulder. 

A dusty bird approached them - a battered, beleaguered short-eared owl. It all but collapsed on their veranda. A dusty envelope was gripped in its claws.

“Tch, it needs some water…” Allister cast a Cool Breeze Charm on the bird while Harold poured some water into a saucer. Nefertari flared her hood and flicked her tongue over the bird.

“Not food, Nefertari…” Harold warned sternly before he Summoned some of Horus’ cubed fresh rabbit from the kitchen. Owl pellets would be too dry for the poor bird.

“Who sent it, Uncle?”

“Hm, Hogwarts. It seems you are a legacy student still, Harold Potter Grey,” Allister Grey frowned. That was one complication he had not foreseen back then. It would figure that the Potters would have a trust fund set up for their heirs. It had been five years since he adopted the child and bestowed a new name on him.

Five years ago…

“State your business, wizard…” Sobecki the goblin did not need to look up at the tap-tap of a cane on the tiles to know it was his old colleague – Allister Grey. What surprised him when he did look up was the goggle-eyed little boy in ill-fitting clothes with the distinguished Wardmaster.

“Adoption. I wish to adopt this child,” Allister Grey declared.

“Tch, got yourself a street rat for an apprentice finally, huh? Could have dressed him better…” Sobecki put on his glasses and leapt down from his tall desk. That was when he saw the boy’s scar shaped like a lightning bolt.

“Oh, sons of Set… Whatever have you been up to? We will need Sheikha Sirocco for this one…” Sobecki rang the bell for the bank’s head goblin. Still, he could not hide the grin on his face. The jackal had done it again. There was no way the British would allow their precious Chosen One to leave British soil legally, even if he was forced to live with magic-hating relations. Magic subject to such abuse tend to go awry, twisted, chaotic. It was an affront to the order, magic, and Ma’at. Under Sir Grey, the child would have a chance to heal, prosper… Every goblin in Cairo knew how hard the wizard had fought for custody of his great-grandnephew after the Potters’ tragic demise, appealing all the way to the ICW. Sir Grey was anything if not doggedly determined.

“I also would like to seek the services of a healer given the child’s experiences of the past few years…” Sir Grey added quietly.

“Of course, Ali,” Sobecki snapped a goblin salute and Sir Grey returned the salute with a bow.

“Perhaps tea later in my rooms once the paperwork is done…” Sobecki offered slyly. Sir Grey only chuckled. He knew his old friend would try to interest him in some new expedition on behalf of the Goblin Nation’s artefact recovery team which Mrs Sobecki headed. Perhaps the Lost Kingdom of Punt.

As it turned out, there was no time for a leisurely tea once the healer’s report came out. A Horcrux was residing in the poor boy’s scar. Harry’s young life and very soul were in danger. The rest of the day passed in blur of fevered activity. Sobecki urged mint tea on his friend while junior goblin runners were sent to fetch their most experienced goblin Cursebreakers and Ritual-keepers.

“Horcrux – a foul business. An affront to the Order and Magic…”

Sheikha Sirocco declared as she peeled off her dragonhide gloves and burned them in disgust on the brazier. She had been overseeing the healing ritual. Her weather-lined face showed the strain of the past hours despite her outward stoicism.

“Is the child safe now?” Sir Allister asked shakily. It had been hard, watching the goblins carry out the ritual but unable to assist. The Sheikha had warned him not to intervene if he must watch. And that horror Ammit, the Devourer of Souls… They only used her for the most thorough of Cleansings and to destroy the deepest evil. The ancient Egyptians barely scratched the surface of that monstrosity in their depictions.

“That will depend on you, sir. How far will you go in this? Abducting a child, bringing him to us, applying for a new identity for him…”

“Will you assist us?” Dare he hope for the aid of the goblins?

“By Thoth, of course, the Goblin Nation will help, you addled fool…” the she-goblin snarled. He grabbed the pitcher off the sideboard and poured herself a stiff drink. “What was done here to this child was a crime! Do you wish to keep him as your ward then? Tie yourself down to raise a wizardling, jackal?” There was an edge of challenge in her voice.

“Of course.” As he replied, he looked her straight in the eye from where he was sitting. The Sheikha was taller than most goblins were. Part-Ifrit, some had alleged for her uncanny insight. She had been his supervisor once, back when he was a young man training to be a Cursebreaker. Well before she attained her current exalted office.

The Sheikha snorted and snapped her fingers. A scroll of papyrus appeared on the table. She fished out a stylus from her desk tipped with a ruby scarab. He recalled it was only used for the most solemn of agreements in the branch.

“You are taking a gamble, Ali. Sign here and you will be guardian to one Harold Potter Grey. May your enemies fall at your feet.”

“May your coffers overflow with gold…”

Harry Potter left Gringotts as Harold Grey, ward of Sir Allister Grey – retired Wardmaster and Cursebreaker and respected magi-archaeologist.   

Chapter Text

Allister Thomas Grey never felt the need for a wife or offspring. Heck, he barely wrote to his eleven brothers and sisters once he was old enough to flee the Grey family home. His magic saw to that. His parents and siblings were all Muggles. It was clear from the minute he stepped into the hallowed Great Hall of Hogwarts that he could not hope to continue living mundane. Egypt and her pharaohs were all the rage then. It gave him an excuse to leave for Cairo under the guise of pursuing studies in the field. It was a surprise to all his neighbours when he brought a young boy into his home and introduced him as his ward Harold Grey.

“Am I making a mistake, Horus?” he asked his old-time friend. The hawk only chirped and nipped his ear. He needs you, old man. The boy sat on the stair landing, staring at the mural on the wall depicting a celebration in honour of Hathor. He watched in awe as the dancers swayed and the musicians played.

What was it a growing boy need? Sustenance, shelter, clothes… Was it too soon to find a tutor? Was it done to have the ayah elf watch Harold for six weeks of the dig season? Or should he have him stay with a trusted friend? Most of his friends were lifelong bachelors, dried-up academics like him. His mute manservant Omar would give notice if asked to babysit. He had already indicated his unhappiness with the changes in the household by burning the toast. It could have been worse… Harry could have been a Harriet.

Fifteen years ago

Who are the Beatles? Allister frowned as he read Lily Evans’ letter. It was bewildering to say the least with the speed of Muggle progress in the past fifty years. Microwaves, tellies, jet planes… Lily had sent a photo of herself dressed Muggle in an indecently short skirt. Did Marjorie allow her daughter out in that? She was graduating from Hogwarts soon.

It had been a surprise when Sarah’s youngest girl wrote to him through his Muggle postal address at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities. One of her daughters had received an admission letter from Hogwarts. His niece was simply put, in over her head. Family was still family… He started corresponding with Lily out of duty. Just some tips to ease her into the magical world. There was little he could do from Egypt. He need not have worried. Lily soon made fast friends from the magical world. Friends her age, not some old fossil in the basement of the Cairo Museum.

He could relate to the difficulties Lily encountered with her older sister. He had wisely kept his mouth shut about his special school while schooling. His father believed it a scholarship from the 18^th Welsh Guards where he had served. His mother might have guessed, but she must have been relieved when those mystery fires in his bedroom stopped on his learning to manage his magic. When Allister declared himself a wizard on his graduation, his father and older brother had tried to exorcise the demons from him. Allister was not amused. He was on a steamer out of Liverpool the next day. Sarah would have been eight when he left home. Now she was gone – some Muggle illness. He was surprised she had shared tales of her black sheep brother with her children.

Jealousy, envy, whatever it was… It had eaten into Petunia, turning her into that sour woman he would eventually encounter in Little Whinging.

Women. One of life’s mysteries he had yet to figure out, and likely never will. Marjorie and his mother, accommodating, accepting their children’s magic. Then Petunia, who loathed magic to such a degree, Allister was surprised she had not sought to rid herself of Harry sooner. The Chief Warlock might have had a hand in that. At least it was a boy. Raising a girl would have driven him spare.

“Ali, you are taking a child on a dig?” his part-goblin partner scowled. “He’s not old enough to be apprenticed yet. This is not a creche for infants.”

“We can leave him with the ayah elf…” Allister glanced over to where a flustered Cleo was holding a sunshade over her charge and making squeaking sounds of distress from the hot sand underfoot. The temperature was rising with the rising sun. The ayah elf was barefoot. They had forgotten about conjuring sandals for the elf.

“They can stay on the barge…” Allister shrugged and waved to the pair. Cleo gave him a look of gratitude and led Harold back up the barge.

“So long as he does not get underfoot,” the goblin shrugged. They were excavating a river temple. They did not need some snotty-nosed urchin falling down a shaft or tripping over artefacts.

Harold sat on his wicker daybed flipping a picture book. Cleo was dozing, lulled by the heat and the lapping of waves against the barge. He was bored. The men went out to the site to work while he stayed on the barge. His meals were ferried from the cook tents. Occasionally, Uncle Allister or his men would return with crates of broken pottery and bits of stone. His guardian would return to the barge after the midday meal, or at night to pore over his treasures as Harold watched. Often, the magi-archaeologist would give him a running lecture on the era they dated from.

Here's a remarkable 18^th Dynasty statuette of Isis. There’s part of a bust of Ptolemy III. This lump was burnt amber, a luxury brought over from the Baltic and offered up to the ancient gods. Allister allowed Harold to hold a broken agate anklet which might have once adorned the leg of a noble child.

Harold wanted to go to the dig site. See where the treasures were drawn from. He was curious. Curiosity had cost him before, like when Uncle Vernon caught him out of his cupboard because he wanted to see what the family was laughing at. It was just a dumb ad on the telly. No, he must be a good boy for Uncle Allister. Stay on the barge. He would have cleaned the barge too if Cleo had not used her magic to beat him to it.

Allister noticed the child’s sullen silence when he returned to the barge. The boy barely touched his dinner. The boy was not running a fever. His brow did feel warm to the touch. Allister asked Cleo. They had left charcoal and paper for the boy to amuse himself with in the day. Allister stole a peek at the papers. They were covered with a child’s scribbles – attempts to copy the hieroglyphs and designs on the artefacts they had recovered.

“Sir, if Cleo may… Young Master is bored. We’ve been cooped up on the barge for two weeks… Maybe you can take Master Harold on shore in the evenings…”

Allister felt like kicking himself. The child’s eyes had lit up when he was describing his finds for the Self-Recording Quill. How could he have missed that? Harold had been so well-behaved. Any other child might have disobeyed his orders and gotten into mischief. Young Harold deserved an outing to the dig.

Cleo was to stay on the barge to watch it. She cast Sunscreen Charms on her ward before sending him out in the early evening. He was to dine with his uncle and the dig team by the fire. The temple once sat on the banks of the Nile, but the Nile had since shifted its path. His uncle sat him on a donkey for the short trek to where the greenery gave way to scrub and finally sand. There was only an hour of daylight left.

“Who’s that?” Harold asked when he saw an older boy, on the cusp of puberty. The boy was dressed in ancient Egyptian garb. His eyes were dark pools of sadness ringed with the green kohl favoured in ancient Egypt to protect against the sun’s glare. More strangely, he was translucent as he drifted about the broken temple doorway. A ghost.

“Prince Nephtamun. This temple used to be a sanctuary in ancient times for wix. There was a coup…” Snapjaw the goblin explained as he tapped out his pipe. “Don’t mind him. He’s been here for at least 4000 years. Keeps to himself.”

“That’s tough…” Harold murmured. Stuck in this dusty old temple with no one to speak to. But how does one speak to the ghost of an ancient Egyptian prince? Did they speak English?

There was a table at the camp on which the day’s pickings were laid. Harold walked over and picked up a clay whistle shaped like a bird. He gingerly lifted it to his lips and blew a soft note. It tasted of sand and forgotten tales.

“I thought it was broken…” The ghost drifted over.

“You speak English!”

“Of course, I do. You are not the first to come here… There is no gold left. Raiders got to it…”

“Hi. I’m Harold Grey…”

“Prince Nephtamun, son of Amektamun the Short…”

“Why are you here?”

“I died here, duh…” the ghost turned around to show Harold the glistening mess on the back of his skull. “Father promised to send someone to fetch me…”

“That looks painful…”

“I haven’t felt a thing for centuries… I understand French and German too…”

“Was this whistle yours?” A slow nod.

“It was my cousin’s. He gave it to me before they took him away…”

“Harry, come sit by the fire!” Uncle Allister called out. Dinner was ready. A whole roasted goat kid was being carved up and served in flatbread. The strong minty aroma of tea drifted over along with the savoury smell of goat.

“Go to your father…”

“He’s my uncle…” Harold scuffed his shoes in the sand.

“In loco parentis, like the Romans say… Don’t keep him waiting…”

Harold nodded and scampered off to his dinner. The ghost sighed as he took in the living going about their lives by the firelight. They would move on once their dig season was done. Take the little broken pieces of pottery away to be studied and catalogued. It was mostly mundane stuff they pulled from the ruins. Except for the bird-whistle.

That was blessed by Thoth, so his cousin claimed. Whoever blew it was gifted with the wisdom of myriad tongues. But his cousin never managed to talk their way out of their trouble when the enemy came. Maybe the entire thing was a fairy-tale for a bored prince.

Harold was allowed to go to the site again in the morning. He was given a shallow basket and a bucket of sand. They taught him to sift the dirt and call them over if he found anything. He was disappointed there was nothing to be found in his bucket, only sand and stones. He watched some dig members brush away dirt from the pottery shards they recovered, to reveal details previously hidden.

It was getting hot. Harold retreated to the cool of the temple atrium that had been dug out of the sands. There was just a hint of shade where the walls met. The sand here was cooler. The others had gone into the tents to work on cleaning their finds. The boy knew he must not get underfoot. Harold wondered if his uncle would take him back to the barge for his lunch and nap.  

He settled on the sand, digging into it to form a small hollow. There was no water here to make the grains stick to form sandcastles. He ended up with a mound of sand when he tried to make a pyramid. Hard. There was rock under the sand. Harold grabbed an unattended spade and brush.

Yes, it was rock. Cut sandstone. There was a shaft cut into it that had been blocked by loose stones and shattered masonry. Harold shivered and called his uncle over. The dig team was charged with excited energy. There was much work to be done. Allister had one of the diggers take Harold back to the barge. He would remain there with Cleo for the next two days. They soon uncovered a hidden chamber under the temple once they had cleared the shaft Harold found.

Uncle Allister had brought him back to dig again to show him their latest find as a treat. The gently sloping shaft led to a passage under the temple complex. The passage was low. His uncle had to stoop to enter. Dark, scary… Harold wrinkled his nose at the mustiness. It was worse than his cupboard. He clung fearfully to his uncle.

“Look,” Allister said as he lifted his wand and cast a Lumos. “No one has seen these since the day the temple was abandoned after the coup against Amektamun.”

Harold stifled a soft cry of awe at the murals revealed by the light. These were not magical, or the Charms had long worn out. They showed boys hunting wildfowl, fishing, sitting before a scribe at their letters. A barge sailed into the sunset. The colours were as fresh as the day they were painted. The shadowy reaches of the chamber called out to the boy. On the distant wall was a landscape of reeds and animals. It was unfinished. Harold approached it.

Discarded tools lay in the dust beside a skeleton with its skull caved in. Harold felt a wave of sorrow and peace wash over him.

“Oh, bother… You need not see that…” Allister blustered.

“It’s alright, Uncle…” Harold looked up to meet the eyes of the temple ghost, who shrugged and faded into nothingness. Here lay the mortal remains of a prince, they would treat his remains decently. No one on the dig team ever saw the ghost prince again. His name would live on in the scholarly papers and in the Cairo Museum.

Chapter Text

After leaving Britain, Harold’s education was haphazard for a time. There were few formal schools for magical children Harold’s age. Allister could have enrolled him in the Cairo International Charms School. Somehow, it always slipped his mind. As for Muggle schools, well, he overlooked them as well. Despite Cleo’s misgivings, Harold enjoyed Sir Allister’s expeditions and travels. Lessons often took place ad-hoc whether poring over artefacts unearthed, resupplying at the local trading post, en route to a new dig site, or simply relaxing by the campfire at night. It seemed every new day was an adventure waiting to happen.

It was during a jaunt to Rabat that young Harold would find his familiar. Most wixen had forgone familiars in this day. When Sir Allister Grey purchased his hawk from a street-seller in Alexandria to send an urgent missive to a friend back in the 1960s, he had not expected the young bird to become his familiar. The bond had simply grown up slowly over the years. They had developed a mutual understanding and respect. His magic also extended his familiar’s lifespan.

A familiar was the furthest thing from Harold’s mind as he tagged along behind his uncle. The souk was crowded and busy. A kaleidoscope of colours, scents, and sounds. Talismans, charms, and all manner of goods were on sale. Sellers and customers haggled in French, Arabic, and other tongues. Halter bells jingling, donkeys and mules brayed as their drivers steered them through the crowds. Spices and perfumes scented the air alongside the sour reek from the city’s many tanneries and dyehouses. Sir Allister paused to haggle with a merchant over an antique oil-lamp, which may or may not date from the time of the Romans. Harold’s eyes wandered over to the next stall, where he spotted a dejected-looking little snake in an Enchanted glass jar. Ever so often, the snake would butt helplessly against the lid.

“Yearling Egyptian cobra, discerning sirs!” the stall holder rattled his spiel off. “Live cobra… good for Virility Potions! Crushed alive under a millstone and apply as a paste with wiggenweld, good for burns… Or take the powdered fangs for strong legs… Ah, young sir, maybe a dried antelope tail to make you grow tall?”

It was a potions ingredients stall, specializing in both fresh and dried produce. The snake flared its hood in annoyance and lunged uselessly at the stall holder through the glass. Harry approached the cobra. It was not the only live animal on sale. Other jars contained worms or beetles. There was another snake that had apparently died unnoticed by the seller. Flies were buzzing about the lid but unable to reach the rotting flesh within. Harold felt sorry for the cobra. He dug into his money pouch.

“How much for this?”

“Oh, fifty dirhams. This is top rate…” the seller watched the boy with disinterest. Harold knew he did not have enough coin in his purse. He turned to his uncle.

“Uncle Allister, may I have a pet please?”

“Sure…” Allister was directing the antique seller to pack his new oil lamp purchase and a Byzantine glass vase in straw and Cushioning Charms for transport. “The Pet Market is in the next alley…”

“No, may I have this snake, please?” Harold tried to keep his voice from whining. He must not whine. Whining or crying used to set Uncle Vernon off.

“Why do you want a cobra?”

“Because they will kill it for potions otherwise…”

Sir Allister regarded the cobra. Venomous snakes were not on his list of pets suitable for young children. A dog would be more agreeable. But the boy was in earnest. If he were to refuse, would the boy start crying? Allister Grey hated tears. Perhaps they could release the cobra into the wilds outside the city…

“Very well, Harold…”

“Thank you, Uncle!” the boy’s green eyes lit up with joy.

Once the trade was made, they were given the cobra in a secured basket. She did not stay there for long. On the camel ride out to the oasis where their current dig was, boy and snake somehow bonded with Harold feeding the young cobra from his skin of goat’s milk. It startled him to see the cobra coiled placidly around Harold’s forearm like a bracelet. 

“I just have this odd feeling… like I can trust her with my life. She’ll be my friend, sir… No, my fam-fami…” Harold’s brow scrunched up as he fought to pronounce the word.

“Familiar, my lad? Isn’t that too soon?” Sir Allister blinked as the cobra raised her head to regard him and puffed her tiny hood out as if in disdain. A haughty little queen.

“Her name’s Nefertari, like the queen of Ramses the Great…” Harold grinned toothily.

“As her wizard, you will be responsible for her well-being. Go ask Bhazir Bey how to take care of a snake,” Allister replied. Their expedition’s snake-handler would best be able to advise Harold on any questions on caring for Nefertari. The familiar bond might have kicked in when Harold decided to save her life. He would not be the only wizard with a serpent familiar in the Middle East. Horus would not be pleased. Allister made a note to purchase extra rabbit for his hawk familiar to coax him into accepting the new addition to their household.

“Has Sir seen to Master Harold’s book-learning?”

Sir Grey was surprised by the ayah elf’s words. Harold and his uncle had just returned from a month-long exploration of caves on the island of Malta. Cleo was a plain speaker, but she cared for her young master. She had kicked up a fuss when they returned with Nefertari. Harold had to explain that the cobra was his familiar and would never harm him or anyone in the household before Cleo would consent to allow her to roam the house at will. Like with Horus, elf and snake reached a mutual understanding. Nefertari took care of any rodent issues in Ibis House while Cleo kept house. Omar, Sir Allister’s longtime valet gave notice after waking up to Nefertari prowling the butler’s pantry after his siesta.

“You have taken him as your apprentice, but boy’s nine and he needs, well, paper qualifications… if he is work for Gringotts…” Cleo explained as she cleaned and dusted his study. “Loppy’s young miss and master go to Cairo Charms. Nessa’s missy too. Not that you have not done well with Harold so far…”

“By Thoth, you’re right, Cleo…” Allister slapped his knee. It was true that Gringotts sometimes used established freelancers for their expeditions, but for a Cursebreaker or Wardmaster lacking qualifications from one of the more established wizarding schools, the chances of being hired were slim to none. The goblins would not even consider taking them on a probation basis. You needed a NEWT minimum to qualify for their basic Cursebreaker training. For a Cursebreaker or Wardmaster without a reputation or qualifications, the only job options open were wildcat digs, many of which were thinly veiled artefact theft.  

Cairo Charms School ran a rigorous curriculum aimed at preparing their students both for the Muggle world should they not come into their magic by eleven as well as for admission into at least four of the European and American-based wizarding academies. The students were taught Muggle subjects like languages, Arithmetic and Science relevant to their age group as well as basic Charms. They were given lessons in both Muggle and Magical history and geography.

School turned out to be boring for Harold Grey. Much of what was taught he had already learned in the field from Uncle Allister or his colleagues. He was fluent in Hebrew, Arabic, Turkish and Greek - both contemporary and ancient. He had mastered the delicate spell needed to raise a Ward repelling scorpions from a camp. One did not even need a wand for that once you got the Bedouin cadence worked out. Being asked to cast a basic Charm for cleaning his shoes or teeth was child’s play.

A bored Harold meant an unhappy Harold. A listless Harold would return with Cleo, barely touch his meal and then retreat to the library of Ibis House in the company of Nefertari. Reflecting her wizard’s distress, the cobra took to puffing up her hood and hissing at Sir Allister, even if she would never lunge at him. The cobra was acting as any good familiar should. Her wizard was upset. She must protect him. A quiet child, Harold was not given to voicing his feelings.

Seeing his ward’s unhappiness after two weeks of conventional schooling, Sir Allister called Harold to his study and sat him down. They then had a serious discussion about Harold Grey’s academic and professional future over a pot of mint tea and baklava. When Harold explained how boring he found regular lessons, Sir Allister Floo-called the headmistress to ask for a favour. Madam Estelle Delacour regrettably informed his guardian that Harold needed to attend Charms school for at least two years to graduate, even if he was well ahead of his age group. If they wish to apply to Beauxbatons, they might file for an exemption after one year. Like many of the Charms schools in the former colonies, they had an agreement with the French academy to admit fluent French-speakers…  

Sir Allister then called his colleague who worked in the Cairo Antiquities department in the museum. Harold had to attend the routine classes in Charms School to get his qualifications, but the boy needed to be challenged. During term time, Harold was given a job after school in the vault of the Cairo Museum translating hieroglyphs and restoring artefacts under the watchful eye of the Custodian of Magical Artefacts, Fathima Al-Sharfiq, for two hours. At school, he was tasked with tutoring the weaker students and given more advanced homework. In the third month of his enrolment in Cairo Charms, Harold started researching into the history of the old French colonial-styled building that housed the school. He uncovered long-forgotten tunnels underneath that led some distance away to the Nile. The former owner had installed it for a quick escape route or smuggling of illicit goods. Harold soon uncovered the building’s first owner as a mid-19^th century local oil merchant known as Ali Baba for his unexplained wealth. The tunnel was quickly sealed by the school lest any other child thought to explore it. Allister only chuckled and proudly clapped his ward on the shoulder. At the age of nine, Harold was looking set to be a budding historian.

“We got a box of Charmed shabati in today…”

After two months away working on de-Cursing a monastic ruin in Jordan, Allister had returned home to find Harold smiling. Allister laughed heartily as Harold related the afternoon’s misadventure in the museum vault over a dinner of lamb kebab and lentil soup. Horus was perched on the back of Allister’s chair. Nefertari generally declined to join them for meals claiming the smell of cooked meat turned her stomach. Harold turned out to be a passable Parselmouth, as was common with wizards bonded to snake-familiars. Allister had found the pair holding a conversation more than once in the language, no doubt with Nefertari correcting the boy’s pronunciation where needed. His Horus was more taciturn. Outside alarm calls and greetings, he preferred communicating with nips and pecks. 

A shipment of funerary statuettes from the Nubian Kingdoms had been received by the custodian and left on a worktable for cleaning. The Charms kicked in and before they knew it, two dozen little clay figurines were running all over the building.

“One got as far as the Visitors’ Gallery and fell into the lotus pool. We had to fish it out before it melted… Took us three different spell-books before Miss Fathima worked out how to deactivate them…”

Harold’s green eyes were shining. The boy was clearly blossoming. Life was kind to him, Allister smiled. In his old age, he had found a worthy apprentice, a son of his heart. Where his sun was setting, Harold’s would rise. His legacy…

Harold did not like going to Charms school much. Well, the lessons were tolerable now that he was asked to help the teachers with the weaker students. What he hated was the bullying. Dudley and his gang had made Harry’s life a misery in school. He was the freaky kid, the weird one. Harry had no doubt that Aunt Petunia went out of her way to turn his teacher and the other parents against him. If Harold Grey was to be singled out for being too brilliant, so be it. To Ammit if he was going to act the dumb kid again. Most of his classmates were happy to seek his help with their homework or listen to his stories of the digs and his adventures abroad. All except Oscar Muller, Jules de Charpentier, and Gordon White.

They were ten, and large for their age. The trouble started when Madeleine Marcel invited Harold to her birthday party. Madeleine was a pretty girl with blue eyes and dark curls. She was the only daughter of the French Consulate Warlock. She had to invite the three boys too since the Mullers, de Charpentiers and Whites were in the same social circle as her father. Harold enjoyed the party, but Oscar and gang took offence at his presence, even more so when Maddy kissed him after he gave her an amber pendant he had Charmed to play a melody when rubbed thrice. Oh, they weren’t so crass as to corner him at the party. Oh, they weren’t so crass as to corner him at the party.

It happened on Monday during lunch break. Harold almost rolled his eyes when after using the facilities, he was cornered in the boys’ lavatory by the trio. He saw the intent in de Charpentier’s eye before his fist moved. He dodged it, and then a punch from Muller. He was still quick enough on his feet. His body still retained the memory of avoiding Dudley’s gang. His only escape was the door which the trio had blocked. He needed to fight his way out or be beaten. He dropped his bag. It would get in the way. Nefertari had taught him how to weave, feint, and dodge much like a snake, and how to strike both hard and fast when pressed. It had been a game then. There were times on the digs where the workers would spar or wrestle for sport in the evenings. When Muller grabbed him from behind, he headbutted him in the face, breaking his nose to force him to release his grip. A well-placed kick to the groin had de Charpentier floored. Harold did take a punch to his face but that got him close enough to deliver one to his last tormentor’s solar plexus. Wiping blood from his lip, Harold Summoned his bookbag over and walked off after disabling his attackers. Harold still had a higher tolerance for pain than his bullies, but he would need to go see the school nurse all the same lest his uncle got worried. The back of his head was also smarting. He felt blood when he touched it. Bother, he would be late for the next class after all. 

“Fighting in school! Harold, I expected better from you…” Sir Allister shook his head. He had hurried back to Cairo from the Library of Alexandria. The headmistress had Floo-called the parents and guardians of the four boys. Once the school nurse had patched them up, all four were summoned to the headmistress’ office to give their statements and memories.

“Sorry, sir…” Harold replied dejectedly. The word had spread through the small European magical community about Harold Grey besting the bullies. The boys had to apologise to each other over the fight. The Mullers, Whites, and Monsieur de Charpentier had likely issued their own punishments for their wayward sons.

“My father would have had me flogged…” Sir Allister shook his head. “However, I do not believe in physical punishment… Instead, you will have some of your privileges revoked for the coming month.”

“W-what privileges, sir?” Harold asked fearfully as he stood ramrod straight before his uncle’s desk. Would he be denied meals? Shut up in a closet?

“I will inform Miss al-Sharfiq that you will be unavailable to assist in the vault for the next month. You are to return home immediately after school. Also, there will be no outings to the souk, with or without Cleo…”

“I understand, sir…”

“However, you are entitled to defend yourself, despite what those blokes at the Counsel say. While you are officially grounded, you will be assisting me with deciphering a map of ancient sea routes out of the Nile Delta… They broke it by accident. Think of it as a rather fragile jigsaw with codebreaking thrown in…” Sir Allister noticed the smile that came to his ward’s face.

“I-It’d be a pleasure, Uncle Ali.” The thought of a puzzle always delighted Harold.

“Now, where did you learn to fight like that?” Sir Allister laced his fingers and studied the boy over them.

“I- I watch the workers spar sometimes. Hashim taught me a bit. Nefertari too…” Harold replied timidly. Hashim had been an older boy apprenticed to one of the other Wardmasters a few digs back. A former street urchin, the boy’s fighting style had been brutal, fast, and dirty. There were eye-gouges, kicks below the belt and jabs to the more vulnerable parts of the body. The influence of Harold’s familiar would have explained some of her master’s more snake-like moves.

“You are only to fight in this manner if in danger. If you wish to pursue it as a gentleman’s sport, I suggest you familiarize yourself with the rules be it Queensbury for boxing or others… If you wish, I will find you a trainer…”

“I really don’t wish to fight, sir…” Harold looked at his feet. He was more a scholar than warrior.

“I know… perhaps when you are older, you might want to have a more athletic pursuit. Now, let’s go get a treat for Nefertari for her help… Come on,” Allister ruffled his ward’s hair as they went for dinner.

Chapter Text

Bill Weasley could not help flinching as he stepped out from the tenement into the midday sun. Even with a heavy Sunblock Charm, his pale skin was prone to sunburn. He dashed from shade to shade, weaving through pack mules, local pedestrians and street vendors until he reached the sandstone edifice of Gringotts. The Sheikha was holding a meeting of the senior managers today. He needed catch his supervisor before the meeting. He had to know if he had passed his probation, whether he could continue training as a Cursebreaker in the field.

He found Farid Shah in the Blue Gallery, conversing with an elderly wizard. He stopped short when he recognized the wizard. Sir Allister Grey was a legend. As a young wizard, he had broken the Curse on King Tut’s chariot. He had Warded the Treasury of Petra almost single-handedly against marauding dark wizards in the 60s until the bank could remove all the magical artefacts within to their secure vault. Even now in his retirement, Gringotts regularly invited him to consult on their expeditions. Shah was indeed trying to convince Sir Allister to join another expedition, but the older wizard was reluctant. The pair haggled like a pair of local fishwives. Bill struggled to follow the exchange as they lapsed into pidgin French, then Arabic.

“Mister Shah does not want to send his intern, but Uncle Allister wants him to…” a child’s voice piped up. Bill then realised that they were not alone. A young boy with owlish-looking glasses was standing half-hidden behind an ornamental vase. The boy seemed vaguely amused, as did the cobra that was coiled around his shoulders. A familiar. He seemed to be Ron’s age.

Finally, the wizards seemed to come to an agreement with a handshake.

“Oh, I guess we’d be seeing you around,” the child piped. “I’m Harold Grey…”

Sir Allister motioned for the child to leave with him. Shah then turned to his newest Cursebreaker with a scowl.

“Weasley! have your bags packed and be on the Sofia Pier at seven tomorrow. Goodness knows you don’t deserve this job. Disgrace me and you go home to whichever hole spawned you!” his supervisor raged before stomping off for that meeting.

Bill Weasley sat at the prow of the river barge. He had been given his orders by none other than the Head of Acquisitions, Madam Sobecki. He was to assist their team of goblins in Wardsetting, Cursebreaking and documentation of any magical artefacts they might find. The ancient tomb they were headed for belonged to a rumoured dark wizard and high priest. He had in his lifetime enlisted the services of the goblin race to create various artefacts that the Goblin Horde now wished to recover. Muggles were expending their reach into the desert, and it would be a matter of time before some poor fool stumbled over them.

Bill had yet to be on a dig. Farid Shah would have preferred someone more experienced. His supervisor had made his displeasure felt and banished him from where the rest of the Gringotts’ crew sat under the canopy that was the only source of shade on deck. Bill now sat alone on the open bow under the climbing sun, hoping to catch a bit of wind. Sweating profusely, Bill pulled the bit of sailcloth shielding him from the sun over his head. His throat was dry, but he dared not go back to the stern where the canopy and water butts were. Soon his head was aching. His muscles cramped. He thought to renew his Cooling Charm, but his fingers felt oddly nerveless when he reached for his wand. A cobra slithered past his feet. He must be seeing things…

“Mad dogs and Englishmen… you’d be no use with heatstroke…” A cool splash of water on his face. When had he passed out?

“You’d fare better in the shade, and after a nice cool drink…” The same child from the Blue Gallery now helped him onto shaky legs. He led Bill past the other Gringotts staff and dig workers under the canopies, below decks to the cabin where it was cool and dark.

“Harold, what have you there?”

“A case of possible heat exhaustion.”

“Pah, they should have warned the lad.” Firm arms supporting him as he stumbled. A reed-woven cot, Cooling Charms. The pounding in his head seemed to lift. “Fresh out from England, are you? Must watch out for the heat… He should know better with newbies…”

Sir Allister Grey’s gruff voice as he called the expedition’s medic over. More Cooling Charms. A potion forced between his lips. Then blackness.

When Bill next awoke, there were stars overhead. Night had fallen. He was no longer below decks but out on the open deck. He looked around him. The barge was still headed upriver. Those not on watch were sleeping. A cool breeze wafted off the water. Somewhere in the dark, a bird called.  

“Checkmate…” The same bespectacled child was playing chess with Sir Allister, apparently beating him. Bill’s mind struggled to piece things together. The boy was not an apprentice on the dig with a master. He was too confident for that. He was no street child tag-along too, not feral enough. There was an uncanny similarity in his mannerisms to Sir Allister’s. Perhaps a young relation. The boy had saved his life.

“Uncle, our patient is awake. Shall I fetch Healer Khan?” His uncle nodded and the boy was off.

“Shah should have known better… Bad form to leave a man exposed in the sun like that. From Hogwarts, right?”

“Y-yes, sir…” Bill’s tongue felt thick and dry as sandpaper.

“You don’t look like a Hufflepuff. Gryffindor? A Ravenclaw would have worked out a switch with the Giza team. A Slytherin would have likely put Shah in the Nile by now. Well, young man, if Shah gives you any more grief, you best get a transfer before you really get hurt.”

“But my probation…”

“Gringotts will never send you out had you not passed that stage. I confirmed this with the Sheikha herself before I asked for you to join the expedition. Did Shah not tell you? It’s been cleared, Mister Weasley. You are free to ask for a transfer to another team without any penalties…”

Bill groaned. He felt like an idiot. He should have known that Shah was lying about his probation. Once they got back from this dig, he was applying for the Giza or Thebes team.

“Why me?”

“I always insist on giving the newbies a chance. Your academic qualifications are acceptable, as far as Hogwarts’ standards go. More importantly, you are the only probationer in ten years assigned to Farid Shah who made it to the end of probation without quitting. That dogged stubbornness got to count for something.” 

“Uncle, Master Khan would like to look his patient over.” The boy was back with a Middle Eastern man. The healer motioned for Bill to lie back on the cot while he waved his staff over him.

“Good boy, Harold. It’s late and time for you to be in bed…” the older wizard ruffled the boy’s tousled dark hair as the pair headed below decks.

“But I want to look over the maps…”

“We’ll reach our destination at dawn. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”

“Very well, sir. But I will get to help with the cataloguing, right?”

“Of course, you imp.” 

Satisfied with the results of his scan, the healer urged Bill to down another potion before ordering him back to sleep.

Harold Grey. Ward and distant nephew of Sir Allister Grey. Bill had gleaned that much from conversations with the rest of the dig. The boy had taken leave from Charms School to join his uncle on the dig. It would likely be his last before he started formal schooling at eleven. He had been following his uncle on digs since he was six. Many of the old-timers knew him. Shah seemed a little put out Bill Weasley was not being Portkeyed to the Cairo Magical Hospital for heatstroke or worse. The irritable Shah made the mistake of lashing out at Master Grey’s familiar at the dig and it was him who ended using the Emergency Portkey. After all, Nefertari acted in accordance with her nature as a cobra. Cobra venom was nasty. Harold had fussed over his familiar afterwards, treating her with healing balms and feeding her milk from his saucer.

With Farid Shah incapacitated, the team turned to Sir Allister Grey as their expedition leader. Spiros Nestor, a senior Crusebreaker, quickly took young Weasley under his wing. Harold Grey was an odd duck, like his uncle. The boy waxed lyrical over the pottery shards and broken tablets they recovered from the ruins of the funerary temple. He would work alongside his uncle cleaning and cataloguing their finds where most of the apprentices his age would be playing games or lounging by the campfire.

It took them three days of digging to undercover the actual tomb entrance hidden in the ruins. It turned out to be a disappointment. Whatever Wards and Curses laid were eroded by time or broken by tomb robbers in antiquity. The treasures within looted and lost to time. The tomb paintings within had been defaced as if the ancients feared the return of the tomb’s owner. The all-important burial chamber was bare, not even the sarcophagus remained.

No one knew why Harold had slipped in with his uncle. Children were not allowed to enter tombs until after they had confirmed all Curses and Wards had been deactivated. Sometimes not even after. They were untrained and not strong enough magically. There were nine of them - Harold. Bill, Nestor, Sir Allister, the local dig overseer and four of his men.  

“Nothing to fear. They conducted the Ritual of Judgement - The people committed the evil one to the maw of Ammit … Am I right, Uncle?” Harold said as he pointed at his notebook of jottings translated from the broken walls of the temple. “They did the ritual and recorded it on the walls. But they made no mention of any artefacts or funerary goods…”

“Right you are, boy. We can confirm this a bust. At least we have some bits of historical record for the museum,” Allister Grey shrugged. He had long suspected the tomb was raided in antiquity, but Gringotts needed to confirm it for themselves. They had been watchful for any lingering Curses but there were none. Were there?

A girlish giggle. Everyone froze as their torches flickered in the darkness of the now empty burial chamber. A djinn or a ghoul. Allister pulled the boy close to him. Bill flicked out his wand. The ghouls that haunted the sands of Egypt were not as agreeable as the one in the Burrow’s attic. These had lived for centuries and grown in power and cunning.

“Play… want to play…” The voice sang in old Egyptian.  

One of the dig workers fell to his knees and started foaming at the mouth. The overseer panicked and dashed for the exit, making a wrong turn and falling into a pit. They heard his screams of pain. Then the entire tomb shook as if in an earth tremor, raining dust and sand down on their heads.  

“Stay close! Scans, shields!” Nestor shouted. They could do nothing for the luckless overseer.  Bill cast his Scanning Spells. Some malevolent magic enveloped the tomb that was clean earlier. Nestor cast a Shielding Spell while the remaining dig workers dragged their stricken brother to safety. Bill burned a protective circle around them, strengthening the protections with runes as he had been taught. Sir Allister had his wand out, but instead of jumping into the fray, he was poring over something in Harold’s notebook.

“Well, I guess we have nothing to lose…” the old man started an undulating chant and swished his wand. The walls of the chamber glowed with long-hidden glyphs. Something was being drawn out, a glowing mass condensing into the likeness of a young girl with wings. A peri. A magical being created by the ancients solely for the purpose of guarding a place or things.

“There is nothing here for you to guard…” Allister said solemnly. “Your master is long gone. It is a wonder you were not destroyed as he was…”

“Where can I go?” the figure faltered. “My existence is to guard…”

“Well, perhaps my friend here can offer you an alternative employment with proper treasure to guard…” Sir Allister smiled. “Can you leave this place?”

“I need a vessel…” the girl glanced at the fallen worker.

“No, we cannot allow that. Will this vessel do?” Harold interjected and held out an old oil lamp. The girl nodded. Turning into wisp of smoke, she slipped into the lamp, which now felt warm to the touch.

“Nestor, please owl the Sheikha that we have a new guardian for Gringott’s Cairo branch,” Sir Allister carefully took the lamp from Harold and wrapped it in his cloak.

The overseer they rescued on the way out and treated him for a broken leg. It was a miracle he was not hurt worse given his fall. Sir Allister gave the order to break camp and prepare to leave the ruins to the sands. Harold seemed uncannily blasé about his experience as he assisted Bill stowing the equipment away for the transport to the riverside.

“Weren’t you scared?” Bill asked.

“Not my first experience with a tomb guardian. Could have been worse. If Uncle has reason to believe there’s real danger, I would not be allowed inside,” Harold replied. The boy spoke with far more gravitas than his tender years should account for.

“Home-schooled?”

“Cairo Charms for now. I need to get my OWLs and NEWTs to work as a Cursebreaker or Wardmaster… I’m thinking Ilvermorny or Hogwarts like Uncle…” Harold hummed as he strapped the last box in place with a casual wave of his hand.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts beckoned. As with all the other European or American children headed for Beuaxbatons, Durmstrang or Ilvermorny, there would be a bash thrown in the Grand Cairo in their honour. There will be balloons, sweets, games… all of which bore little interest for Harold. Yet one must be polite and allow the grown witches to fuss over him. Never socially inclined, Allister Grey had left his ward in the capable hands of their house elf, Cleo, and the watchful eyes of Madam Cassetti, Cairo Charms’ deputy headmistress. He then headed for Gringotts at the appointed time.

Harold needed protection. And Allister could only think of one reliable source of that. There were no stauncher protectors of Ma’at – truth and balance than the goblin race. They were tasked with the monies and economy of the magical world for their impartiality, even back in the days of the pharaohs. Neither threats nor bribes could sway them. Europeans had made the mistake of underestimating them, showing them disrespect. Fools.

It was only with the backing of the goblins that he had wrest Harold’s guardianship away and hidden him. Oh, the goblins had a price of course. The understanding was that he would offer his expertise and perhaps Harold would too after he grew into maturity. The boy did not seem adverse in the least to the rigours of the dig and the complexities of cataloguing any artefacts. But for now, Harold Grey needed protection if Gringotts were to call on his skills in the future.

Sir Allister was directed to the Anubis Room where Sheikha Sirocco would meet him. The Anubis Room was heavily warded by Privacy Charms and guarded by the fiercest goblin warriors, who had sworn a blood oath never to divulge any of the happenings within. Allister was surprised to find that the guards had been dismissed from their posts by the Sheikha. Standing on a stool, she was waiting for him at the high stone table which dominated the room. A single shaft of sun pierced through the narrow skylight onto the table as if it were an altar.

“You have decided to allow him to return to the danger he was plucked from as an infant?”

“I’ve come to seek protection for Harold. It would seem best, ma’am… that he completed his schooling before starting…”

Allister spotted the flick of her wrist and threw up a shield instinctively. The ugly-looking dagger clattered to the flagstones.

“Egad! As fine 12^th Dynasty craftsmanship this is, I doubt he’ll be allowed to carry it in Hogwarts…” He gingerly picked up he dagger using his handkerchief and returned it to the table, which was draped with a red silk sheet.

“The British never gave up, you know. Who are you entrusting as his guardian there?” the goblin motioned for him to approach the table.  

“Scamander. Tina Scamander nee Goldstein.”

“Wise choice. She is not one to suffer fools. Still, we will inform our colleagues in London to help guard his interests. Where’s the child?” The then Miss Goldstein had been assigned to North Africa in the later part of the Muggle World War.

“At the Grand Cairo, attending the Send-off Party.”

“Pity, it would be better if he were here to select his own protection. But we cannot tarry, not with the alignment of the planets and stars so propitious.” Her eyes flashed gold as she flicked the red silk away. The smoky incense in the air grew heavier - a heady mix of amber, myrrh and frankincense. The black and gold walls seemed to echo with the faint sound of sistra. The granite stone seemed to glow gold. Under the silk were a selection of amulets. Allister recognized the Ankh, the Eye of Horus, the Feather of Ma’at… Which would offer the best protection for his ward? Perhaps the Eye of Horus… He reached for the amulet, but felt his arm being pulled in another direction – to an unassuming jet-black stone. Somewhere in the shadows, a jackal barked harshly.

The sounds and incense faded away when his hand closed about the stone. It was just the two of them in an otherwise empty room. The goblin was gathering up the other amulets and placing them carefully back into their cases, secreted in a small tray slotted into the table.

“Interesting choice, an Anubis Amulet – the guide between worlds, he who weighs the heart.”

“What does that mean?” Allister frowned as he threaded the amulet onto a leather throng so Harold could wear it under his clothes round his neck.

“Maybe someone has disrupted the balance between Life and Death…” the she-goblin smiled, revealing the points of her teeth. “Do not fret, Anubis is also the protector of the doorway. Now, if you have time to take supper with the Sobeckis, I am sure they will tell you about a lost pyramid in Timbuktu… and would you believe what the mortals have hidden in a cave-church in Ethiopia?”

There was no time like the present to start collecting their fee. If anything, the influx of jobs would keep her former protégé’s mind off his ward.

The boy’s chosen by Magic. It appeared that the cosmic order had intervened to steer his guardian towards the Anubis Amulet. They never had one of Anubis’ Chosen before. Perhaps they could expect great things from Harold should he reach his majority.  

The amulet was an unadorned jet-black. It felt cool to the touch. Nefertari studied it curiously from around Harold’s shoulder. The snake had grown both fast and well since her rescue. She was now an impressive serpent with glossy scales.

“It’s an Anubis Amulet for protection,” Allister Grey explained as he slipped it over his ward’s head. Harold was one of the last children remaining. The rest had long Portkeyed out either alone or with their parents. They had included new as well as returning students. Allister would like to go with Harold, at least to London, but he was not sure if he would be safe returning, considering how he had tricked Harold’s former guardians into surrendering him. Harold had reassured him that his uncle and aunt could not wait to see the back of him, even if all they got for him was a wad of Monopoly bills once the Transfiguration wore off.

“Mrs Scamander will be waiting for you. Best get going. Got all your things?” Allister patted his ward on the shoulder. He wanted to hug him, but not with Nefertari coiled about his person. The cobra was likely to take offence.

“Yes, Uncle Ali,” the boy grinned and hoisted up his trunk. The last call was going out for Portkeys to London for the day. Harold headed to the booth and was handed a newspaper. He stood there straight-backed, trunk in hand. The attendant activated the Portkey. Then he was gone. Sir Allister sighed, shrugged and headed back towards Gringotts. The Sobeckis had arranged to meet him at the café beside it. He had sent Horus with a letter to a contact in Alexandria for updated maps of the Sahara earlier and was expecting him back soon with the information they need to plan their expedition. 

It seemed like only yesterday Harold or Harry took his first Portkey.

Five years ago

No more playing nice. When playing by the rules failed, it was time to consider Slytherin ways… Sir Allister Grey grumbled as he opened his brolly and stepped out into the London rain. He sloshed ankle-deep into a puddle. The address the private investigator gave him was in Surrey. Hopefully the weather would be better there. He was a Ravenclaw. He had done all his research and preparations. Now it was time to put his plan into motion before any further damage was done to Lily’s son. Minimal magic. He had purchased a ticket to the town two stations down from Little Whinging. He could hail a cab to take him there. No one must link the wizard Sir Allister Grey with Mister Monty Banks, Muggle eccentric millionaire.

It was almost too easy. The Dursleys were almost falling over themselves when he rang their doorbell with his false gold-topped cane and introduced himself as Petunia’s long estranged, filthy rich granduncle. He had played the role to a tee. Petunia had almost handed him her own son, but the boy had screamed when Mister Monty hinted that he wanted to boy to work for his keep and was not above using a whip on him. Spare the rod and spoil the child. He had no need for Compulsions. Petunia had dragged Harry out of the kitchen then. He had known from the reports that Harry Potter was abused. It did not prepare him for seeing the timid, cowering youngster. Smiling, he handed a fat wad of cash to the piggish man, strongly resisting the urge to turn him into a pig. It would be an insult to all hogs.

The boy was given ten minutes to pack his belongings – a mishmash of broken toys, torn books and oversized clothes handed down from his cousin. Before leaving London, Sir Allister had donated the better clothes to a charity in Liverpool. The rest were only fit for the bin. He had taken Harry on the scenic route up and down the British rail network, scattering his assorted belongings across England before catching a Portkey to Cairo from the London Museum of Natural History as arranged by a friend. Of course, he did not tell his friend that in addition to transporting the rare manuscripts back to Egypt, he was taking a passenger along. 

Harry was sick the first time he travelled by Portkey. He was a more seasoned traveller now. He had given him a vial of Stomach Soother to be used if necessary. Well, it’s too late for regrets. Come September, the world will know that Harry Potter, or rather Harold Potter Grey, was starting at Hogwarts.

“Harold Grey, I presume?” A grey-haired witch in a navy cloak and cloche was there to greet him when he stepped out of the International Portkey Office.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harold buttoned his coat. It was colder than he expected in London. Nefertari made an unhappy noise and slithered under his vest, all the better to draw her warmth from him.

“Come on now, we have a-ways to go before Dorset… and it looks like rain.”

She took his trunk, cast a Featherlight Charm on it and headed to where a small car was parked. Cars were rare in the streets of magical Cairo. The sand wrecked the engines and wheels are forever sinking into the shifting sands. So, a goblin had explained to Harry out at the Great Pyramid.  

“Hi, took your time, didn’t you?” A boy his age exclaimed from the sidewalk where he was munching on a sandwich. Nefertari poked her head out from Harold’s collar and flared her hood in distaste at the noise and smells of London city.

“Is that a cobra?” a grey-haired wizard peered up from under the hood of the car. “Maybe we should get a Warming Charm on it…” His face was smeared with motor grease.

“Her name’s Nefertari. We will be much obliged if you could teach us a Warming Charm for her,” Harold replied as the wizard fished out a squeaking Niffler from the engine and handed it to the witch.

“Found the rascal, Tina… The car might work now,” the wizard Tergeo-ed his greasy hands and shirt before shaking hands with Harold. “Now, about the Warming Charm… How good are you at wandless magic?”

“Well, I’ve always cast wandless…”

“Good… Now the trick is in timing the incantation with the downward wave…” Newt demonstrated the hand motion. Tina tutted as she Tergeo-ed Newt’s face while holding the Niffler by the scruff.

“Newt, let’s keep this fella out of further trouble,” Tina Summoned a small wire cage and placed the protesting Niffler within. They had received a letter from Sir Allister seeking their assistance in picking up and hosting his nephew Harold earlier that month. They were also picking up Anthony Goldstein, their grandnephew that same day. His parents had sent him on ahead as they would be stuck in Greece on business until October. Anthony had enjoyed his summer in the Mediterranean. Now it was time to prepare for school.

Once the engine was fixed and Harry’s trunk loaded into the Mini, they were on their way to their hosts’ cottage over in Dorset. The car was Charmed silly. Harold noticed that. They cut through the worst snarls unnoticed by the Muggle drivers and once even took to the air like a hawk over some open farmland. Anthony was British, but his parents were with the ICW diplomatic office. His dad was currently posted in Athens but expected to be transferred back by Christmas. The family had been in Japan, New York, and South Africa previously.

The Scamanders’ home was a cottage near the sea, with more than sufficient room to home two boys in the month before term started. The couple had hosted Hogwarts students whose parents were overseas before. Newt was fascinated by Nefertari. He was not a true Speaker and that awful accent! Sounded like he learned his Parseltongue from a common runespoor, Nefertari had sniffed in disdain. Harold’s familiar could be a real snob at times. The couple had several Kneazles in the cottage. For her safety, Harold kept Nefertari in his room unless she was out hunting at night and the Kneazles locked in. Newt found a temperature-controlled terrarium she could use both during the day and at Hogwarts. 

Great Uncle Newt’s famous for his work in magizoology, Anthony explained. He wrote one of their textbooks, which they would be picking up from Diagon Alley come Saturday, along with their wand. Great Aunt Tina never saw the need for a last-minute rush the last weekend of August when most stores were stocked a month before term started. The cottage basement was magically Expanded, as was his old travelling trunk he used to work out of in the field. They were hosting a herd of Mooncalves in the basement. Newt took the boys down to show them the Mooncalves, bowtruckles and Niffliers.

“I don’t need a wand to cast. Wands are rare out in Cairo. Most wix don’t use them…” Harold explained as they prepared for bed. Anthony had been gobsmacked when he lit the fire and unpacked his trunk using magic.

“Wow, but that’s high-level magic! Don’t your folks worry about you setting off Trace and breaking the law?” Anthony asked as climbed into his bed. The boys shared a room with twin beds side by side.

“Why’s that? We start using magic young… and we’re taught to be mindful about Muggles…”

“Wow, it’s different over there, isn’t it? Here in Britain, you’re not allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts if not of age…”

“What about accidental magic? Or does this only apply to using your wand? Does everyone get their wands from the same place?”

“Gee, we’ve always used Ollivander’s. I’ve never thought of it that way… maybe you are onto something…” Anthony yawned. Harry let Nefertari out of her terrarium to hunt in the garden before climbing into bed, just as Tina Scamander knocked on the door and peered into their bedroom.

“Lights out, boys. We’re going to Diagon Alley tomorrow…”

“Yes, ma’am…” the pair replied as she Noxed the light and shut the door behind her.

Chapter Text

The Scamanders took their young charges school shopping at Diagon Alley bright and early the next day. The boys were reassured that their families had already forwarded funds for their school supplies so there was no need to wait for Gringotts to open first for a withdrawal. Harold was a tad disappointed as he had hoped to learn more about the local goblins and their bank. The façade of Gringotts in London was more Gothic and appeared more compact compared to the Cairo branch, even if the goblins preferred to build below ground. The purchase of robes and potions supplies went off without a hitch. There was less haggling than back home, with the prices agreed on beforehand. In Harold’s opinion, that took much of the fun out of it. One could learn so much from conversations with the stall owners under the guise of bargaining. A loquacious carpet seller once gave Uncle Allister valuable information about the location of Roman temple while they were haggling over a rug. 

It was on entering Flourish and Blotts that Harold came across his first Boy-Who-Lived book. Back in Egypt, he had the run of the Library of Alexandria and the Cario Museum, under the watchful eye of his Uncle Allister of course. The books and scrolls there were mostly non-fiction apart from some ancient Greek play scripts or Persian poetry. The Scamanders allowed their charges to choose a book each for leisure. Tina raised an eyebrow when Harold came to her with a book meant for much younger children.

“Aunt Tina… They got it wrong. The real Harry Potter never fought a Gorgon. We had tea under the Hagia Sofia when my uncle’s team was excavating the hidden cistern.”

“It’s called fiction…” Tina replied but her face scrunched up in distaste. It was a thinly disguised rip-off on the No-Maj myth of Perseus, which was in turn based off the exploits of the Greek wizard Perices of Aegea.   

“Miss Anastasia helped me with my Greek and Turkish. She’s quite a nice lady. She wears a veil to not petrify anyone by accident. Her sister Zoe bakes good baklava. I would never hurt them… And what’s with the weird clothes and me living in the Taj Mahal? That’s a mausoleum.”

With news that the Boy-Who-Lived had gone to some relative in the Far East, vultures had descended quickly to make a quick buck churning books and merchandise around an exotic boy hero. Thankfully, the image of the hero was some kid in a toga or ancient Persian garb. Nothing like the boy standing before Tina. The old witch stifled the urge to laugh at the outraged look on the child’s face when Anthony came by with a book bag printed with the Boy-Who-Lived on it.

“This is beyond embarrassing. Is there any way I can officially drop the name Potter?” Harold groaned.

“Oh, we will look into that… but I believe there are royalties a good lawyer would be able to recover, plus a gag order…” Maybe they would need to make an appointment with Gringotts for the best lawyers who did not buy into the entire Boy-Who-Lived craze.

“I want to be a Cursebreaker or Wardmaster… not some fictional hero….” Harold scowled. The boy remained sulky for the rest of the trip even though he kept up his veneer of politeness. Mister Ollivander was a little startled when Harold Summoned his wand over with a flick of his hand, denying the wandmaker his usual spiel.

“Oh my, most curious… Sycamore, phoenix feather…” 

“I suppose that will be 14 Galleons for both…” Tina smiled and counted out the coins. Having found his wand earlier, Anthony had gone ahead with Uncle Newt to look at the owls at Eeylops’ Owl Emporium. He wanted a personal owl to send letters to his family and friends. 

Their appointment with goblins was the following Monday. Anthony had gone to his Great Uncle Theseus’ place to see the hippogriffs while Newt and Tina escorted Harold to the bank. The Gringotts’ goblins were very obliging, as far as goblins could be. Both Newt and Tina were impressed when Harold treated the goblins with the proper courtesy and even conversed with them in their language. Harold explained that Uncle Allister worked in a freelance capacity with Gringotts’ Cairo office. His family friends in Egypt included goblins. A suitable wizarding law expert was assigned to contact the publisher of the Boy-Who-Lived series. An owl was also sent to Sir Allister as the boy’s guardian to inquire if he was open to press any charges against the publishers.

“Since Master Grey, or if you prefer, Master Potter, would you like to look over the recent expenses from your trust account set up by the late Mr and Mrs Potter?” Riptooth asked. “We will just need your key…”

“Grey, please. I do not have a key, sir,” Harold replied.

“Your guardian perhaps?” Riptooth glanced at Aunt Tina, who shook her head slightly.

“Never mind. Just a drop of blood to verify your identity. Then we issue you a new key and cancel any existing…”

Harold submitted to the procedure without compliant, pricking his thumb with the ritual dagger offered and smearing a drop onto the parchment. Satisfied that Harold Grey was the child of the Potters, the goblin burned the parchment in the table-top brazier and produced the shiny vault key from the ashes.

“That is from the trust fund from my parents?” Harold goggled at the figures when the goblin produced the ledger. His de facto guardian Mrs Scamander was not amused to discover that someone had been drawing on the account for the past five years.

“Well, it is listed as a payment for the upkeep of the child, made to Petunia Dursley nee Evans.”

“But I have been living with my Uncle Allister in Cairo…”

“Oh dear,” the goblin lowered his glasses as he flipped through the thick ledger. He clapped his hands. Several scrolls shot out of a nearby cabinet. He grumbled under his breath and grabbed the old-fashioned phone on his desk. A harsh conversation later, he turned back to the trio with an almost-apologetic look.

“I sincerely apologize. There seems to be a most grievous oversight. Your parents’ wills were never read. They were Sealed at the order of the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore.”

Dorset, Scamander Cottage, 15 August 1991

Dear Uncle Ali

Just learnt from Gringotts London that the Chief Warlock Dumbledore had my parents’ wills sealed. I strongly suspect some skulduggery involved. Aunt Tina feels the same. She has hired a solicitor on my behalf regarding this, and that Merlin-forsaken series of books about one Boy-Who-Lived. As for the fees, our goblin friends have granted me access to my trust fund (irregularities aside). Do not be surprised if you receive a back-payment for my upkeep. I propose to use my trust fund for the solicitors’ fees. What do you think?

Yours respectfully

Harold Grey

P.S. I hope I am enrolled as Harold Grey instead of Harry Potter as that will be really distracting.

Rabat, Old Bazaar Station, 25 August 1991

Dear Harold

Do not worry about the cost of a solicitor or any back payments. As your guardian, it has always been my duty, and a joyful one I must add, to provide for you. I assure you that we are financially secure thanks to discreet investments I have made. Your company over the past years is worth more than any vault of gold to this old wizard. Tina is a canny old dame. You can trust her with the legal side of things while you concentrate on your studies. I will be writing to her and any solicitor enlisted separately as your guardian to discuss our options. Our goblin friends should be able to recover any funds paid out to those wretched excuses of humanity for your upkeep. I will leave it up to you if you wish to press charges for abuse, but we are getting ahead of ourselves. Let us speak of more pleasant things. I trust your little queen is coping well with the British climate. You may wish to approach Newt in the event Nefertari is not adjusting well. I hate the climate in old Blighty. Miserable, I must add.  

Now, I must write to you about my recent jaunt in Timbuktu…

Harold regretfully set aside his uncle’s letter for later reading. He hoped to be able to pen a reply soon. He had decided against a personal owl having seen firsthand the birds’ reaction to Nefertari. And her reaction to them. None of the owls in Eeylops' would do. Anthony’s young Great Grey owl peered warily at the snake throughout the car ride. The mischievous Nefertari did not help by puffing up her hood and intimidating the poor owl despite Harold’s admonishments to please behave herself. Harold could have sworn the bird gave a hoot of relief when Uncle Newt had Anthony unlock the cage on the platform so she could fly ahead of the Express and get herself settled in the Hogwarts Owlery. It would be cruel to keep the bird cooped up so long.

It was a madhouse on Platform 9 ¾, on par with the souks in the run-up to any major festivals. School children and their harried-looking parents thronged the platform with trunks and owl-cages in tow. The bright red Hogwarts Express gleamed in the morning sun as prefects called for order. Uncle Newt was tasked with taking them to the station. He was soon distracted by a young wizard with a tarantula. The boys waved a jaunty goodbye to their guardian before getting on the train with their trunks. Anthony and Harold had become fast friends over the three weeks they were roommates. Harold had come close to unravelling and altering the rune-based Trace sequence on their Ollivander wands, enough for a Ministry owl to come knocking on the kitchen window with a notice ordering them to cease and desist whatever tomfoolery they were up to. Aunt Tina had a firm word with the boys about British laws governing underage magic, right before demonstrating some basic wandless Charms they could use without setting off Trace. It was also highly recommended that they avoid performing any magic in front of Muggles.

“We will not be reaching Hogwarts until dinnertime,” Anthony cast a Tempus. On the Hogwarts Express, Trace would not register. Uncle Newt and Aunt Tina had provided them with corned beef and egg-mayo sandwiches for their lunch.

“Well, shall we continue our game?” Harold grinned as he magically locked their compartment. Harold took out the Egyptian chess set he had shrunk down from his pocket and returned it to its original size on the table. Nefertari seemingly agreed as she stretched her full length across the boys’ trunks. Anthony had grown used to the cobra, but it would never do for some more excitable child to come bumbling in and alarm her. More children were running up and down the corridors, greeting friends and making new ones. Older children shepherded younger siblings. Perfects tried to maintain order.

A few compartments down, a shy boy lost his pet toad but ended up befriending a bookish Muggleborn. A scuffle broke out between Ron Weasley and the spoiled Malfoy heir’s goons. That ended with Percy performing an Episkey on his little brother’s bloodied nose. The Trolley Witch came and left. Goldstein and Grey had apple crumble tartlets to go with their sandwiches, along with a self-refilling thermos of tea Charmed to keep for the next six hours. The Scamanders did not believe in too many sweets, apart from chocolate – Honeydukes’ finest. The boys shared a bar from their picnic hamper once they had tired of chess. Harold had won two rounds. Anthony one. Feeling the chill as they entered the Highlands, Nefertari chose to coil around her wizard to better draw warmth from him.  

“Uncle Newt’s a Hufflepuff… So’s Uncle Theseus, but I hope I don’t end up there…” The boys’ conversation turned towards the upcoming Hogwarts Sorting and Houses. “They say Hufflepuff accepts anyone.”

“What about Aunt Tina and your parents?”

“She’s from Ilvermorny – Thunderbird. Dad’s from Beauxbatons - Flamel scholarship awardee. Mom and her sisters are Ravenclaws, I might end up a Ravenclaw…” Anthony shrugged. “What about your folks?”

“Uncle Allister said my parents were from Gryffindor. He was from Ravenclaw. He always said Ravenclaws are academically inclined, I so think that is where I will likely end up…” Harold replied. It was not every young wixen who could boast of having worked on complex Rune Arrays using Old Kingdom hieroglyphs.

The prefects were coming by, informing the students to change into their school robes. They were almost at their destination.

Chapter Text

The large man Harold took to be their escort herded the first years from the Hogsmeade train station over to the shores of lake. The older students were headed the other way under the prefects’ direction to where thestral-drawn carriages waited.

“They’re horseless!” Someone exclaimed. Harold only shrugged. He had seen death before on a dig. A devious trap set by the ancients. A Blood-Boiling Curse. Once the luckless diggers broke the seal, it was too late for them. He had seen the aftermath, watched the victims perish in great agony while Healer Khan tried to save them. Uncle Ali had been furious and laid into the overseer for ignoring his instructions not to start without waiting for the Cursebreakers to complete their Scans of the tomb first.

In the chaos, everyone had quite forgotten about the little boy who was in the healing tent helping his familiar through a difficult shedding. In his corner, Harold had kept silent and out of the way, until Bill Weasley caught sight of him. Academically, Harold understood the inherent risks of the profession. Rockfalls, booby traps, but to see it firsthand…

Bill had helped him out of the room as the bodies were shrouded for burial by their colleagues. He had Summoned a mug of hot chocolate from the cook tent for the shaken boy. All Harold could think of was how young Farid and his blind mother would cope now his father was dead.   

Sir Allister had presided over the funerary rites as the most senior member of the expedition. It was the custom in those parts to have the dead safely interred in the earth before the sunset. He had spoken of the balance and order of Magic, and paid tribute to the deceased wizards. For where there is life, there is also death. And from death springs life. Harold clutched instinctively at his amulet as they reached the lake shore. The water looked dark and ominous.

“Four to a boat!”

The sun was setting when Anthony and Harold climbed into a boat lit by a solitary lantern. They ended up sharing with an East Asian girl and an olive-skinned boy. He looked oddly familiar. The boy grumbled about being forced out of an earlier boat which he had hoped to share with his friends. The girl only shrugged and trailed her hand in the water, humming a lilting tune.

In a boat next to theirs, a bushy-haired girl was excitedly exclaiming aloud about how the boats seemed to move without anyone rowing, as if by magic. Someone yelled back it was the Giant Squid. Another student made a rude comment about Muggleborns. Harold could feel the runes carved into the gunwale of their boat. A Linking Charm, tied to a destination. The lead was clearly the boat in which their large escort was riding in. He idly pondered if by changing the Runes, one might have the boats do a synchronized display on the lake surface.

Ceremony and ritual were important in many ancient cultures. However, Harold did not appreciate it when Professor McGonagall breezed through the G’s without a mention of his name. Anthony had been Sorted in Ravenclaw by then. He raised his hand.

“Professor, you missed my name!”

“What might your name be, young man?”

“Harold Grey…”

“Sorry, it’s not on the list…” Minerva peered at the parchment through her glasses. “Might you be known by another name?”

“Oh, this is a waste of time!” Harold retorted and turned on his heel to leave. “I’m Floo-calling Aunt Tina to fetch me home…” He could sense the buzz in the Great Hall, and the commotion at the High Table.

The headmaster had descended from the High Table dais and was now peering at his deputy’s list.

“H-Harry Potter… I believe that’s your name…” Albus floundered. He had not expected this of Harry.

“No, you are mistaken, sir. Harold Potter Grey upon my adoption and as verified by the goblins. I would prefer Harold Grey and would appreciate if this august institute would get my name right!” Harry folded his arms and announced aloud. Names were important in Egypt since the days of the ancients. A given name was not only an identity. It was a symbol of power and blessing by one’s elders. Both headmaster and his deputy conferred for a moment.

“Come forward then, Mister Grey…” Professor McGonagall ushered Harold to the chair and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

“Hm, a budding scholar… yet ambitious and daring. Loyal too. You would do well in any House.”

“I am here for knowledge. To get my OWLs and NEWTs to be a Cursebreaker or Wardmaster… Where would I find like-minded peers? I do not wish to get embroiled in needless politicking… or deal with fools.”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Thank you all. I wish to make it clear that I will not answer to the name Harry or Potter!” Harold turned to address the Great Hall with a Sonorous Charm once the Hat was lifted from his head. “I do hope this is the last we hear on this matter.” 

“Brat…” Snape muttered under his breath.

“That’s wandless, wordless magic! Did you see that?” Flitwick was quivering with excitement. One would expect great things from Mister Grey. Albus Dumbledore looked slightly bewildered. Septima Vector and Bathsheba Babbling gasped as a letter appeared at their places addressed to them from Harold Grey.

“The child is asking if he can be advanced for Ancient Runes…”

“And Arithmancy…”

“Impossible! There is no way a child…” Snape spluttered.

“Er, he enclosed with his letter an analysis of the runic array for Trace, which is fairly accurate from what I can tell…” Babbling frowned.

“He will need to go through the standard process of application, though that has not been done since the turn of the century,” Professor Vector conceded. “Tests, interviews… and permission from his guardian, Head of House and the headmaster…”

“He was raised in the Near East? I hear that they start schooling younger there… I wonder how familiar he is with Cuneiform…” the Ancient Runes Professor’s eyes were twinkling.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, Grey was nonchalantly tucking into his mashed potatoes, peas and roast beef. Micheal Corner, Stephen Cornfoot and Terry Boot were the three other boys sorted with him and Anthony. The girls were Amanda ‘Mandy’ Brocklehurst, Lisa Turpin, Morag MacDougal, Padma Patil, whose identical twin sorted Gryffindor, and Sue Li, whom Harold had shared a boat with. The last boy in their boat was Sorted to Slytherin. Blaise Zabini was nudging two of his fellow first years and pointing to the Ravenclaw table. Uncle Ali had warned that many of the wizarding children would have grown up together in Britain. Slytherin House was known for attracting those from the old pureblood clans like the Blacks, Malfoys, Notts and Lestranges. Zabini was not a known British pureblood name, but his two friends Malfoy and Nott were.

“The Potters, well, they were not recognized by old Canker Nott in his Scared 28, but that might be because your grandfather entered trade to salvage his family fortune. Just not done in those days, you know… Snobs…” Uncle Ali had laughed when Harold asked about his family. His grandfather’s hair potion had done exceedingly well. “Pureblood pish-posh… if you look back far enough, every family tree has a Muggle or two. We would have gone extinct otherwise. Then there are those with giants, trolls and Veela ancestry… Not something that one would want bandied about, mind.”

It was possible Mister Hagrid was part-giant, though he seemed not to have inherited the more violent traits associated with the race. Surely, they would not allow him to work at the school otherwise. The Malfoy family was rumoured to have Veela ancestry given their unearthly beauty and charm. Ah, Zabini… Now he recalled why the name was familiar. The infamous Black Widow. Madam Serena Zabini was head of the clan and cursed to bring death to any man she married. A blood curse. Uncle Ali had been consulted on the case in Alexandria. Madam Zabini and her child had approached them at the Café Alessandro. Regrettably, the only means of breaking the curse would be repudiating her blood, which to Madam was unthinkable. Harold had been engrossed in a Chinese puzzle box then, to pay much heed to the young boy enjoying a gelato cone next to him while the grownups talked shop.

The headmaster had given some dire warnings about the third-floor corridor. Curiosity was pricked, but Harold was not going to risk rocking the boat after the hullabaloo he had already caused over his name. He would hate for Uncle Ali to receive a letter or Floo-call from Hogwarts so soon. Harold knew from his guardian the work of cleaning and cooking was done by Hogwarts elves, though he wondered why they chose to remain invisible to the students where the ghosts did not. He bowed to the Grey Lady in the courtly style when she drifted past. That brought twitters from some of the younger students, but one needed to mind one’s manners.  

“Po- Grey, how did you defeat the Dark Lord?” Turpin asked shyly after much shoving and whispering from her fellows. Poor girl had drawn the short straw.

“I’d like to know what my parents did as well. Remember, I was only a baby then,” Harold smiled tightly. “A fifteen-month-old besting the darkest wizard since Grindelwald? I think the papers and books got it backwards, don’t you?” All he wanted to do was buckle down to his studies.

Dinner ended without much fuss and the prefects led their first-year charges to the dorms. Ravenclaw dormitories were in a high tower – Ravenclaw Tower. Harold was intrigued when he learned that entry could only be gained by solving a riddle. Their dorm was circular with nooks in which a writing desk and a four-poster bed were set. The dorm also came with an en-suite bathroom.

Their trunks and belongings were already waiting in their dorms. Harold hurried to his bed and was glad to see that his familiar had been fed as he requested in the note he left with her terrarium. The Warming Charm was fading, so he recast it with his wand, careful to moderate the magical power output. Nefertari would be most displeased if she got burned.

“Better, my queen?” 

“Much obliged, young mas-s-ster,” Nefertari uncoiled herself and basked in the heat. The noise of the Welcome Feast would have been too much for his familiar. He was glad they had agreed to leave her in the terrarium. He had to shrunk it down so it would fit in his trunk, before returning it to its full-size on Hogsmeade’s station platform and placing Nefertari within after Casting a Warming Charm. Now it was nestled snugly under his writing desk.

“Cold sstone building, but much ratsss and mice. Elvesss pleasssed to let me hunt…” She puffed out her hood with pride and climbed up Harold’s arm to rest on his shoulders.

“Gosh! Is that a cobra! I thought they did not allow snakes – only cats, owls, and toads…” Terry Boot entered the room and almost dropped his book.

“Exemption for familiars, Boot,” Anthony interjected. “Nefertari has been Harold’s familiar since he was seven… Moreover, I hear you can get special permission for other pets like the tarantula and rat in Gryffindor… It’s in the Hogwarts student handbook.”

“Will she bite? They are deadly venomous, no?” Cornfoot scooted to the end of the dorm as far as he could from the cobra.

“She wouldn’t bite if you don’t bother her,” Harold reassured his dormmates “She’d be spending much of her time in the terrarium during class.” He would like to take her out more often, but he did not know how the professors would react to a cobra in class. He stroked her under the chin before allowing her to slither back into her toasty terrarium.

“You live with Sir Allister Grey, don’t you? He’s a legend… I guess you will be setting up some complex Wards to keep your familiar from wandering about?” Boot asked. Harold belatedly recalled that Boot’s family also worked for the ICW. He was also a distantly related to Anthony and Aunt Tina.

“Of course, but just some basic privacy and protection Wards… Same stuff Uncle Ali uses on the tents when we’re on a dig…”

“Cool! I suppose you have been to those pyramids in Giza. Found any treasure?” Cornfoot had sidled to over his bed now, giving the cobra a wide breadth.

“The Great Pyramid’s been looted in the ancient times. Not even the mummy remains…”

“Are you looking forward to flying lessons on a broom? Or do you still use carpets there?”

“I do not like flying much... Carpets tend to buck a lot. Tried a hot air balloon once to check out a lost monastery, ended up stuck on a ledge in Cappadocia.” Uncle Ali preferred Portkey travel over flying, but one still needed to use carpets or balloons where they did not have a fixed destination. The brush brooms they used in the desert were not suited for flying at all.  

“You should try it on a broom,” Anthony suggested. “More manoeuvrable than a carpet…”

“Lights out at ten, firsties, but Professor Flitwick wants to speak with you in the common room before that on house matters!” a fifth-year prefect peered into the room. “Look sharp now.”

The boys trooped to the common room below.

“Take me with you…” Nefertari hissed as she slipped out of her terrarium. “Better to sssmell den-matesss…”

Harold nodded and allowed his familiar to coil around his torso with her head resting on his right shoulder. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he trotted after his roommates.

Chapter Text

Dear Uncle Ali

I am starting to have second thoughts about Hogwarts. Even though Professors Vector and Babblings have both agreed to let me sit in on their classes when my schedule allows, I have yet to obtain approval from the headmaster to advance. Professor Dumbledore states I need to obtain permission from my other tutors to prove I am academically sound for my core subjects. So far, I have gotten permission from Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Sinistra. That covers Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology and Astronomy. I doubt Professor Quirrell’s qualifications in DADA. His fondness for garlic and that awful stutter gives me a headache from day one. Don’t they have spells or potions to fix that? Glory’s Glib Tongue potion perhaps?   

What’s it with the ghost tutor that just keeps rambling on about the Goblin Wars. I had to walk out of that class as I find his comments on our goblin brothers highly offensive to say the least. And the history is all wrong. The Peace Accords were signed before hostilities broke out due to a breach of faith on the part of Minister Fibbergiblet. I have also earned my first detention courtesy of our Potions Master. Suspended from class for disruptive behaviour – all because someone could not get it into his head that I refuse to answer to the name Harry Potter. My Housemates are ticked off as I lost a whooping fifty points at my first Potions lesson. May I inquire if this is the same Severus Snape whom my mother broke off with in her sixth year in her letters? Yes, I know you said I am to reserve judgement on my elders, but I do wonder that apart from being mom’s first magical acquaintance, I am hard pressed to find any redeeming qualities in him that might remotely justify my mom’s friendship with him. I shudder to imagine that had mom not broken off their friendship, he might be my godfather or worse, my dad.

Since Professor Snape is not going to give me a pass, I will need to sit out my first-year exams to prove I am ready for advancement. No hope on the Ghost Binns part and I doubt Quirrell’s qualifications. Heard from Percy he was teaching Muggle Studies before a year-long sabbatical. Ticking off Vlad Dracul is not a qualification. Self-study for now, I suppose.

“Grey… you shouldn’t have…”

“Well, he’s the one who insisted on not getting my name right…” Harold scowled.

“You got all answers to all his questions right! Asphodel, bezoar, monkshood… but you keep arguing with him over the name Potter!” Anthony groaned.

“Well, Goldstein. How will you like it if he called you Gustaferson, Gunter or something else?”

“I’d suck it up and keep the points…” Harold ignored his roommate as he cast a Quick-dry Charm on his ink.

“Hard day, young massster?” Nefertari raised her head up as Harry sealed his envelope. “May I bite him?” She was now a familiar sight in the Ravenclaw common room and their dorm.

“Thank you, but I doubt siccing a venomous snake on a professor will get me out of detention,” Harry stroked his familiar under her chin before letting her coil around his shoulders. If he hurried, he could send his letter off at the Owlery and drop Nefertari in the kitchens to hunt before going to the potions lab. He was not looking forward to another session of scrubbing cauldrons by hand or pickling toad eyes.

Cairo, Gringotts Bank Garnet Hall

“How’s Harold doing?” Bill Weasley asked as he stashed the artefacts from their latest expedition safely into the Charmed boxes for transport. Young Weasley was assigned to help him catalogue the finds before sending them to the museum or Gringotts vaults. Normally the role of assistant was filled by Harold. 

“Earned himself detention with a Master Snape…” Sir Allister peered through his glasses at the manifest before signing off. The tablets and scrolls seemed to be all accounted for.

“Snape? That bitter dungeon bat? I think he hates children… They say he’s a Death Eater, but Dumbledore claimed he’s our spy and kept him out of Azkaban… Anyhow, the guy’s get a nasty attitude…” Bill remarked. “Still, he is the youngest British wizard to earn a Potions Mastery, so he must know his stuff…”

“Just because one’s an expert, doesn’t mean one can teach…” Sir Allister shrugged. “Now, how about supper at Spiro’s later? His lamb kebabs are to die for.”

Snape. Lily Evans had mentioned a Severus Snape in her letters. Her friend as they were starting out at Hogwarts. The boy lived near to the Evans. Not a happy family situation apparently. Then something fractured their friendship beyond repair. Allister Grey had no close friends growing up caught between the mundane and magical worlds. The Muggle boys in the village found him too bookish. His fellows in Hogwarts, the purebloods especially, mocked him for his ‘muddy’ blood. Maybe Snape was bitter and disillusioned with the hand life dealt him. Still, he had no call to take it out on his students.  

But one met all sorts in life. By all accounts, Harold was sticking to his principles and giving as good as he got back. He hoped he would not be receiving any owls from Hogwarts on disciplinary matters. He would write to Harry, advise him not to antagonize his professors overmuch. If things got difficult, he should owl the Scamanders.

Their solicitor was still working on getting the Potter Wills Unsealed and read. Blasted bureaucracy. Sir Allister wondered if he was on the list of potential guardians for their children should they meet with mischance. He harrumphed. More likely after their rather dry exchange of letters, Lily had decided he was a curmudgeonly old academic ill-equipped to raise a child. She had settled into the mundaneness of domestic life after her graduation and marriage. Up until those letters seeking advice on protective charms of the highest order…

Dear Great Uncle Allister

It has been a while since my last letter. I am writing to you for advice. Things are moving quickly here due to the war. James and I may need to disappear for a while. I fear for little Harry. Are there any protective spells or charms I can use? We have considered Fidelius, but I need something more… I will not mind if it is Dark… Harry is everything to us.

He had directed her to certain books which were borderline illegal in Britain but might still be found in the British Library’s magical section. He should know. He had hidden them there during the Blitz to keep them safe for posterity. Hopefully, no one had else had any scholarly interest in Wizarding Council financial accounts and stumbled over them. The librarians then had Cast a Fireproofing Charm on the books, including the grimoires he and his friends had disguised as Wizarding Council ledgers. That was the last letter he got from Lily Potter nee Evans before the family went into hiding. Lily was intelligent. She would work it out. It was with that thought in mind that the old Wardmaster sent off his last letter with Horus to Lily. That was a lifetime ago.

Albus Dumbledore looked at the fuming Potions Master and former Death Eater. Fawkes gave a trill of pleasure as the headmaster fed him a berry. It was a month into the term and Snape was looking more frazzled than he had ever seen him.

“Well, my boy, there is no rule saying that one could not carve self-cleaning runes into cauldrons…”

“But he was meant to scrub them…”

“And he did. Then went a step further by carving runes on them to ensure they stay clean for longer…”

“The Potter brat…”

“Mister Grey if you please… I believe Lily’s boy has made it abundantly clear on that, or do you still see James Potter in him?” the headmaster noticed the slight flinch from Snape at the mention of his former rival.

“Are you still continuing with your plan, sir?” Ah, a change of tack. “I have the misfortune of removing three third-year Lions, a fifth-year Slytherin, plus a lost first-year Hufflepuff from your corridor of doom in the past week alone.”

That warning from the headmaster only served to stoke the curiosity of the students. If any of Flitwick’s eagles were sniffing about, they had eluded discovery so far. Fluffy. Such an innocuous name for that Cerberus. If he could get away with it, Snape would have put a nasty poison into all his bottles to teach any interlopers not to go poking where they should not.

Harold Potter Grey. The boy was an enigma. He was well-versed in magical lore, but open to Muggle experiences. Dumbledore had overheard Finch-Fletchley explaining Muggle movies to him during a free period. Thomas introducing him and Bones to the Muggle card game of poker. More worryingly, Zabini, Nott and Grey had an animated discussion on runes in Viking death rituals. He had to put a stop to that one. Other students, especially the Muggleborns, were looking decidedly grey once the subject of human sacrifice was broached. That conversation had also drawn curious looks from the pureblood Malfoy. The Malfoy boy was another student he would need to keep an eye on given his parentage.

If only Harry had gone to Gryffindor. The Weasleys were all there, including Ronald, Molly’s youngest son. Light as they come. Then there was that bright little Muggleborn witch. Ah, Dumbledore supposed he would have to adapt his plans accordingly.

Dear Father

Harry Potter has arrived in Hogwarts but goes by the name Harold Grey. He is a Ravenclaw. Theo and Blaise are close with him. Common interest in ritual runes. He is also friends with the Bones girl whose aunt is in the DMLE, and some mudbloods. I am keeping an eye on him where possible. He is smart. Miles ahead of everyone else in anything rune related. He must have picked up stuff from his guardian in Cairo. Not sure of his allegiances. I asked Theo to start him off on Norse rune magic and he just went on from there. Dumbledore had to break up their party when they got to the human sacrifice bit. The headmaster looked like he had swallowed a lemon. Perhaps the Boy-Who-Lived is not as Light as he hoped?

Malfoy Manor

“Sir Allister Grey… muddy as they come,” the portrait of the late and unlamented Lord Abraxas sniffed. “Somehow made prefect. He was ahead of me, Ravenclaw. Had the decency to take himself off to parts unknown… Good riddance, I must add.”

Lucius Malfoy frowned as he looked at the dossier he had obtained from his sources. Allister Grey had signed on with Gringotts as a Cursebreaker in the late 1930s, then worked his way up the ranks to achieve not only an Adept Magus rank as Cursebreaker, but an Archwarden rank in Wardmastery. He had retired after a long and illustrious career in the field, though some whispered that he acted as a consultant for Gringotts expeditions. If Grey had remained in Britain, he would have exposed the flaw in any belief that Muggleborns wix were lesser than their pureblood brethren. Heck, Lucius has long held doubts about the flaws of Muggleborns. There were half-bloods who had proven themselves as powerful wizards. The youngest Potions Master in 200 years, Snape was a half-blood. As was Dumbledore, so the society gossip went. 

His Draco learned Potions at his godfather’s knee. Lucius learnt the intricacies of Wizarding Law at his father’s side. Magically-raised children started young. What would the Boy-Who-Lived have learned from his formidable guardian? The Malfoys’ standing was precarious after his near-miss with Azkaban ten years ago. It had taken a long while for them to be welcomed back into pureblood society though some drawing rooms will remain forever closed to them, like the Longbottoms’.

Yes, he would warn his son not to provoke any trouble. The ancient Egyptians were experts at Curses, and one could only guess what young Grey had in his arsenal.

Dear Uncle Ali

I have never met a more exasperating person! Granger is bossy to a fault and thinks she knows better even though she’s barely a month in the magical world. Would you believe she insisted Professor B’s one-sided history is right? Oh, it is in the textbooks, but that textbook is outdated by sixty years! She’s a Gryffindor and I am tempted to picture her as Sekhmet the lioness. Too bad I doubt getting her drunk would improve her attitude. Is this a Muggleborn or Gryffindor flaw? We were both evicted from the library thanks to our overly spirited discussion, and she blamed me for the mess. By Thoth! She keeps insisting that I am Harry Potter, and I believe most of her House is on her side. Neville Longbottom is one of the few who have been reasonable about my name. Poor bloke is using the wrong wand. His Gran gave him his dad’s old wand to use but it is not working for him at all. Will it be remiss of me to help snap his flawed wand? Understand that wands are a very personal thing here. I have also had the misfortunate of encountering Bill’s brothers. Percy the prefect is alright. A decent chap, but the twins are Disciples of Chaos. Pranks galore. I understand why Bill chose to work in Cairo. I miss the city – the bazaar, the sunset on the Nile…. 

Back to Muggleborns– I have befriended Hufflepuff Justin F. His dad is a viscount. The family got some Egyptian relics his great-grandfather picked up in the 1900s. He’s asking if we might be interested in taking them as the British Museum declined due to unknown provenance. The current viscount is going to put them through some dodgy auction house otherwise dump them in the trash. They are remodelling the family manor and intend to put in a home theatre, so that old mummy-case must go. Dean T, another Muggleborn, told him I know experts on antiques. Not that my connections are as shady as Dean’s. I think his are called fences. He’s a Gryff, and from one of the rougher neighbourhoods in London. It took a while for him to get it, but he now calls me H.G. which sounds like the sci-fi author Welles whose book Corner loaned me – War of the Worlds. Still preferable to Harry Potter or H.P. Lovecraft was that wizard who went barking mad after he squibbed himself delving into the nether dimensions, am I right?

Aunt Tina informed me that the copy of my parents’ wills that should have been filed with Ministry have gone missing. Might Gringotts have a copy? I have made friends with Susan, whose Auntie is head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I help her with her Transfiguration. I have written a letter to her asking for her assistance on my parents’ wills. Susan says her aunt’s not one to buckle under Wizengamot pressure. If there’s anything dodgy about the wills, she’ll find out. You have encouraged me to make friends and allies while waiting out my first year. Be a child, make friends across all the Houses. I have made some inroads on the Slytherin front – Zabini and Nott. You might remember Blaise from his mom, the Contessa with the Black Widow curse. Nott’s family magic is heavy on Norse runes. I have more in common with Nott than Ron Weasley. That’s Bill’s youngest brother – Quidditch-mad, like half the school. I do not see the appeal of a game with a high risk of grievous bodily harm and possible death… Poor Neville ended up breaking his arm at his first Flying lesson. I intend to stay on terra firma as far as possible.   

Halloween Feast 1991

Ron Weasley and the bookworm Hermione Granger were going at it again. Who would have thought a simple Wingardium Leviosa would cause so much grief? Harold groaned and wished he could sneak off to the library. Too bad attendance was compulsory unless one was in the Hospital Wing. He was already in Professor Snape’s bad books. And possibly Quirrell’s. Harold had succumbed to both boredom and a dare from Sue Li to make a professor sing opera during class.  He had used a timed runestone of his own design under the professor’s desk. Once triggered, the victim would sing Madama Butterfly each time they opened their mouth. It had the whole class in stitches. Finite would not work as it was not a Hex. The only way was for the victim to leave the sphere of influence (a six-foot strip before the blackboard) or wait out the spell, which was to run for an hour. He might have made it too strong. The next class got Turandot.   

More drama… Terry Boot nudged him just in time for him to see Granger flee the Great Hall in tears. What a dickhead. Uncle Ali had stressed to his ward that a true gentleman should never cause a lady to cry. Oh, the Weasley twins had set of fireworks in the treacle tart again. The captains of the Gryff and Slytherin Quidditch teams were having a shoving match by the Puff table. A professor was running into the hall.

“Troll! Troll in the dungeons!”

Seriously? Harold groaned. This was not a school. It was a bleeding lunatic asylum.

Chapter Text

“Troll! Troll in the dungeons! Thought you might want to know…”

With that, Professor Quirrell was out cold on the flagstones. Pandemonium. Some of the younger students were screaming. Prefects yelling to be heard over the commotion. Harold glared at the unconscious man and wondered if it would be sporting to give in to his baser urges and deliver a kick or two to his turbaned skull under the guise of a stampede. The same stampede which was threatening to break out with the surging panic of the students.

“QUIET!” The headmaster cast a Sonorous. A hush fell over the Great Hall.

“No need to panic, now. Prefects, please lead your Houses to the common rooms and seal them. Stay there while the professors deal with the situation….” Dumbledore ordered. “Flitwick, McGonagall… with me.”

Harold frowned as did the entire Slytherin House. Everyone knew the Slytherins’ common room was in the dungeons, where the supposed troll was. His face dark as thunder, Professor Snape stepped to the front of the high table.

“Slytherins, stay,” he ordered curtly. “And shut the doors once we’re out.”  The Head of House had caught the oversight on the headmaster’s part. The doors of the Great Hall were solid oak. It would make more sense for the students to remain behind them than venture out with a troll prowling the corridors. There was still more that could be done.

Some prefects had the presence of mind to check on their charges. Others were barely keeping control. The Ravenclaw prefects had assembled their charges into two rows and were already finishing their headcount. One of the Gryffs, Padma’s twin sister, had somehow got swept up with Ravens. The sisters clung to each other fearfully. Which meant…

“Roll call! Is everyone here?” Harold climbed onto the table and yelled out. He stopped a moment to pull a trembling Morag MacDonald out from under the table where she was hiding.

“Flint’s missing!” a Slytherin prefect exclaimed.

“I’m here, you ninny!” Marcus Flint was pushing his way through a crowd of panicking Hufflepuffs back to his House table. Percy Weasley had left his post and was dragging his twin brothers back to the motley mob of Gryffindors, all the while berating them about how Mom was going to kill him if they got killed Troll-hunting.

“Everyone’s here, Professor Sprout,” a Hufflepuff prefect announced. The headmaster and remaining House Heads had already left in search of the troll. Flitwick and McGonagall with the headmaster, Snape later alone.

“Granger’s missing!” a blond-haired girl shouted. A Gryff.

The teachers had gone to the dungeons, but the troll and the missing student could be anywhere. The remaining adults… Professors Vector and Sinistra left the hall in search of the missing student.

Despite being one short, the Gryffindors were already snaking out of the hall, as were the Hufflepuffs. Professor Quirrell had somehow crawled out unnoticed by all. Some Defence tutor. Harold glanced back at the mob of students in red and gold. Parvati was with her Housemates now, but someone else was missing. 

“Move, Grey!” Prefect Clearwater shouted in annoyance when he stopped, causing Boot and Goldstein to bump into him. With shrug, Harold continued. They had not gotten that far up the staircase when they heard the crashing of masonry and a girl screaming. Leaning over the banister, Harold caught a glimpse of Professor Sinistra’s robe as she raced towards the commotion.

Dear Uncle Ali

We had a Troll in the castle on Halloween. No, it is not some Muggle decoration like the dancing skeletons and bats. Merlin, I wish it were. We had an actual mountain troll break into the castle during the Halloween feast. Injuries only fortunately. A young witch was attacked in the girls’ bathroom. Saved just in the nick of time by a professor. Miss Granger escaped with a broken leg from falling masonry. Good show by our Astronomy Professor and surprisingly Professor Sprout. I will never look at potted Devil’s Snare the same way again. Disappointing display from our DADA tutor. How by Bes’ hairy behind did a troll get past the Wards? I thought you told me that all magical academic institutes are required to have a minimum of Level 5 Wards in place under ICW regulations. Older institutes like Hogwarts are expected to have a Level 7 at least, just shy of War-Wards. Wait, when was the last time a Ward inspection was done? Hello, Troll in a castle full of children.

Rest assured that even with your protective amulet, I did not engage in any foolhardy heroics. As any sane eleven-year-old should, I left the monster-fighting to the trained adults. I use this term loosely, but in my assessment, most of the professors here can handle a troll, apart from Quirrell. Anubis is the gatekeeper of the dead and I have no desire to cross paths with him that soon. The headmaster is trying to pass off this incident as an unlucky fluke. Good luck with that. Did I mention that his senility almost sent an entire House in the direction of the troll? That the troll was not in the dungeons is beside the fact. The Slytherins are royally ticked. I needed to borrow Professor Babblings’ post owl as the Owlery has been emptied out by everyone writing home about Halloween. She has a draft paper on the development Phoenician runes she is interested in seeking your advice over.

Not sure if Malfoy’s Pater has the clout he claims on the Board. His Lordship will not be pleased his only son almost ended up squashed by troll. Ditto for Nott. Zabini says he will save our hearing and the windows by not informing the Contessa. Understand his mama sends very impressive Howlers. The injured witch is Muggleborn. I wonder if we can expect her folks to come to Hogwarts to visit or pull her out. British Muggles have strict rules about child endangerment, so Anthony’s been telling me.

Your nephew Harold

P.S. Sue Li and Padma decided I should go apologize to Granger over the library incident. She started it, but since she is the one in the Hospital Wing now...  

“Madam Pomfrey had to regrow the bones in my foot… since they were too crushed to mend with a spell…” Hermione explained as She hugged her pillow. “It hurts…”

“Most Pain-soothers do not mix well with Skele-Gro, so you just have to tough it out,” Harold grunted as he placed a bouquet of yellow roses in the water pitcher.

“What’s he doing here?”

“Sorry, we invited him. Grey can help you catch up with Charms…” Parvati shrugged. “He’s like, Professor Flitwick’s star pupil…”

“He doesn’t even follow the textbook…” Hermione looked doubtfully at the boy scowling in the corner. “He burned it during the first class…”

“For crying out loud, the Ministry-approved history textbook is outdated. The ICW has updated the syllabus after Grindelwald’s War to give more recognition to other magical races… including the goblins. You do realize Professor Flitwick is part goblin, don’t you? I suppose if Binns were still alive, he might be honour-bound to call him out on his anti-goblin bias, but since he’s dead and for some odd reason no one has applied to have him exorcised, Professor Flitwick just let it pass.”

“But Professor Binns’ a professor…”

“A professor with more years dead than alive. How many times did you get whacked on the head by that troll? Four? Because you are acting like it…” Harold turned to leave. “Excuse me, I have detention with Snape…”

He was rewarded with a sharp gasp from the patient.

“That’s Professor Snape!” Granger’s outraged voice was cut off when he flicked his wand to shut the door behind him.

Dear Uncle Ali

Fears confirmed. The castle Wards are in pieces. Overdue for Ward maintenance. I went out before breakfast for a look. Before you start yelling at me for going out of the castle after a troll invaded the premises, I was not alone. I met the Gryffindor Quidditch captain Wood and their team up for morning training. Then I spoke with the groundskeeper. He even loaned me his boarhound Fang though I doubt his ability as a guard dog. Hagrid’s a down-to-earth type of chap. Told me a bit about my father, thought it shame I decided not to take their name, but I am not the boy from the cupboard anymore. He also mentioned something about another dog – Fluffy. He was once a student here but was expelled. Dumbledore let him stay on as groundskeeper despite his being half-giant. I suspect his breed might have something to do with his expulsion fifty years ago. Would you know anything about that? Hagrid’s the headmaster’s loyal follower. I know a few of the NEWTs students in Ravenclaw are taking Runes and working on their dissertations. Perhaps I can convince them to make a project of analysing the castle’s Wards?  

I’ve been a right jerk with Granger. There is something about her that just sets me off. Heard from Wood the entire reason her folks weren’t visiting is because she begged Professor McGonagall not to tell. Can’t blame her for caving in. The girl can talk paint off a wall. Apparently, Granger is terrified her parents would pull her out of Hogwarts, as any sane parents would. Please send me the prospectus for Beauxbatons and Ilvermorny. I will get Padma’s sister to leave them where Granger can see them. With luck, she will ask her folks to transfer her out. Please also include the Newblood Bursary Application for Ilvermorny, just in case. Though I am doubtful she has retained enough functional brain cells after her run-in with troll to make an informed decision. I never got round to apologizing for the incident in the library. To avoid further conflict, we have formed a mixed study group and commandeered the eastern half of the library. Granger and her friends are welcome to use what’s left. Oh, the restricted shelves are on our side. I am working on overwriting those Wards for access. Nefertari sends her love. She’s been fussing about the cold weather. I have taken to carrying her on my person to give her warmth. My friends have been warned. My enemies can fend for themselves, as Uncle Sobecki says...

Snape has me scraping fairy wings with Longbottom all week. Methinks Snape fell down the stairs that night going after the troll as he has been limping since Halloween. He’s twice as cranky as usual. Possibly because Professor Sinistra beat him to the troll. Maybe he was hoping for some troll bits for his potions? While reading up on Victorian Floriography as advised by Sue Li, I have come across something interesting involving asphodel and wormwood… Something stinks in Hogwarts as my friend Dean will put it and it is not the troll.

“Grey, you’re right… the Arithmancy for the outer Wards do not add up,” Millard, an Arithmancy NEWTs student frowned. “Wonder why no one’s doing anything about it…”

“The Runes themselves are strong, if properly activated and maintained,” another student added. “It’s like watching the aftermath of Da trying to renew our home Wards after a bottle of elf-wine on New Year’s Eve.”

“You actually found the cardinal runestones of the castle Wards?” Kinnley, a NEWTs Runes student asked. The library was relatively full. With the colder weather, mixed study groups took to the library where it was warmer. It was preferable to quibbling over which common rooms to visit.

“Mister Hagrid told me where to look. He’s the Keeper of the Keys, so he ought to know where Hogwarts’ Ward-stones are located, even if he is not technically qualified to manage them. I just thought it odd a troll could just come waltzing in. Maybe we should ask Professors Vector or Babbling,” Harold blinked owlishly as Nefertari bumped the page he was reading with her nose. The cobra was sprawled on the reading table in a pool of autumn sun. Madam Pince would have hysterics should she walk in now. Granger watched the little group cautiously from across the library.

Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger were working on their Charms homework. Harold supposed Percy and the twins might have guilted their brother into apologizing to Granger. Then there was also the fact that both boys were struggling with most of their classes. Being one of the top students in their House, it was natural that Granger was tasked with tutoring them. This might prove interesting.

“Behave…” Harold warned when the cobra stood up and flared her hood in the direction of three Gryffindors. Then a whiskery snout poked out of Weasley’s robe pocket.

“Rat! Sssmellsss ssso yummy!” the snake sprinted off the table and across the floor in a shot. The trio leapt from their chairs and jumped backwards, shrieking in alarm.

“Nefertari!” Harold yelled. Longbottom tripped over his robe and fell backwards on his behind. Weasley crashed into a bookcase and sent books raining down. Standing her ground, Granger got her wand out with remarkable speed for a first year.

“Accio, cobra!” Harold Summoned his familiar back to him, just as Madam Pince stepped out from between two bookcases. The librarian screamed when the snake flew inches from her nose. For some reason, Granger had thought it a good idea to Cast an Incendio where the snake was. That spot on the carpet was now merrily burning. Oh, Set, the God of Chaos, must be having a laugh. Thankfully, Malfoy had the presence of mind to put out the flames with an Aguamenti before the nearby books and tables caught.

“All of you, out this instant!” Madam Pince bellowed. One-by-one the students filed out.

“Keep your snake under control, Grey…” a seventh-year prefect groaned. He Cast a spell that packed all his quills, notes and books into his bookbag.

“I suppose we can’t help if the lions are scaredy-cats,” Zabini smirked. Malfoy and Nott stifled their snickers when Pince glared at them through her glasses.

“I-I broke my w-wand…” Longbottom whimpered as he studied the snapped halves of his wand. Harold stifled the urge to congratulate the boy. Thank Merlin for small blessings. Hopefully, Longbottom could get himself a decent wand now.

Chapter Text

Gringotts Cairo   

Whatever had Hogwarts come to? Sir Allister Grey shook his head as he put aside the latest letter from his ward. It was not that bad under Dippet, Professor Binns aside. Trolls at school – wild mountain trolls at that. Some Gringotts branches employed security trolls, but these were trained professionals from a handful of Alpine villages, selected for their relatively more docile nature and ability to follow simple orders. A wild troll was often mindlessly violent and a danger to all. Footsteps alerted him to the arrival of his visitor.

“Careful of the dog, Bill!” he called out a warning. Bill Weasley yelped as the three-headed dog on the frieze peeled away from the marble and lunged at him. Bill leapt back, but not fast enough to lose a corner of his robe.

“B-but we got it out of Ephesus without any issues…” Bill watched as the hound returned to its original spot on the slab. There no sign of the attack apart from a maroon rag sticking out of the stone.

“Charm was accidentally activated by a rookie yesterday. I’ve been working out the glyphs to deactivate it permanently. Coffee?” Allister offered. He brushed aside parchments of Arithmancy calculations and Summoned the coffee service from the kitchens with a platter of dates. Bill gladly accepted the offer.

“My hands aren’t as steady as they were. And those Aramaic letters are tricky to carve. I ‘ve translated the intent into Elder Futhark. Would you like to help?”

“S-sure! What should I do?” Bill asked.

“Once you’re finished with your cuppa, you might want to grab that club. Just keep that hellhound away from me so I can carve the Counter runes in. It might take at least five minutes,” Allister smiled. Sometimes it was useful having a young, able-bodied wizard about to help. He chuckled when he caught sight of the Daily Prophet a colleague had left on his desk.

Troll at Hogwarts – Student Injured. Safety Concerns Raised. Hogwarts Board Calls for Ward Inspection. The headlines blared.

Wardmaster Colin Makepeace scowled as he read the Wards. They were barely a level 3. Most old families had their Wards set up to level 4 minimum. No wonder Lords Malfoy, Nott, and others of the Wizengamot had pushed for the inspection and renewal. With their precious heirs at school and the falling pureblood birthrate, they were not going to risk their bloodlines dying out. A pity some poor witch had to run afoul of a troll for them to act.

Makepeace looked over his team of two goblins and a witch and two wizards. On a job this big, they needed a half-dozen wardmasters. It would cost the board of governors a good many Galleons too. The goblins Hookclaw and Ripclaw were seasoned professionals as well as brothers. Greta Sigurdottir was a master rune-mistress. Quentin O’Shea was their acting ritual master. The only member causing Makepeace concern was the rookie – Otto Fenwick. Fenwick had only two years training under his belt and was filling in at short notice for Elison after he ran afoul of a Venomous Tentacula. The board would not hear of a postponement.

They had arrived at Hogsmeade the night before and taken rooms at the Three Broomsticks. Ward-readings were best done at dawn and dusk. Once they had the readings, they could go about fixing the damage and renewing them. Preferably, the ritual for renewal should be done without any distractions or magical interference. However, this might prove difficult as Hogwarts was an active school. It was term-time. Even at the crack of dawn, there were no less than a dozen students on the Quidditch pitch training. The Keeper of the Keys had shown them the perimeter runestones for Greta’s inspection.

Colin Makepeace was not surprised when their party’s arrival was quickly noted by gaggle of students led by two witches. They were mostly NEWT Runes and Arithmancy students. Oh, he was a student once. Perhaps in a few years, some of them would be on Gringotts’ training Cursebreaking and Wardsetting programme. However, there was a much younger student with them, far too young to even be an OWLs student.

Like the others, Harold Grey kept a respectful distance from the team as instructed by Professors Babbling and Vector. However, one of the two goblins approached them with a frown on his face. Perhaps he wanted them gone. Uncle Ali sometimes sent Harold away before a ritual if there was a risk something could go wrong. Well, one must mind one’s manners.

Hookclaw raised his eyebrow when the youngest student bowed to him with a fist over his heart, a formal salute to a Senior Wardmaster, a rank he held. Most wix would not recognize the piercings in his ear that stated his rank as a goblin. He was even more surprised when the child spoke to him in Gobbledegook, explaining his fellow scholars’ purpose in being here and seeking their permission to bear witness to the renewing of the Wards. It struck him then. This must be young Master Grey, Adeptus Wardmaster Allister Grey’s apprentice in all but name. As he was not the team leader, he could not grant permission. He would advise the professors to seek permission from Team leader Makepeace instead of huddling like a pair of broody hens. Makepeace did not mind the students acting as observers for Ward-reading. However, the Renewal Ritual would be carried out in private due to security concerns. They would need to lower the Wards to fix the damage.  

“Sir, are any of these Ward-scanning Spells covered by Gringotts’ confidentiality contracts?” Harold asked.

“Oh no, the ones I am using now are common to most Wardmasters. Those spells covered by our contracts we have already completed earlier in private…” Makepeace explained. “A report on the state of Wards will be filed with both the client – Hogwarts board of governors, the Ministry, and Gringotts. The Renewal Ritual will be carried out once we have assessed the damage. Once the Wards are renewed, you should be to feel it.”

“I will look forward to it,” Harold beamed. The team remained long enough to demonstrate some of the common Ward-reading Spells to the NEWT-level students while both professors held an impromptu teaching session.

Sadly, Harold had double Herbology up, so he bade a goodbye to the Gringotts team and left for the greenhouses.

“Before the first light of dawn and the setting of moon, that’s the best for a Ward-renewal for a place this size, lad,” Makepeace gave the boy a wink. Harold nodded. If he could calculate the moonset and sunrise times, he could calculate the possible date of the ritual. It would be a thrill to see the strength of the refreshed Wards.  

“Yer up early, laddie,” a somewhat subdued Hagrid greeted Harold. The groundskeeper was carrying a lantern and a crossbow. He looked exhausted. At his feet, his loyal boarhound trotted. The dog snuffled and sniffed at Harold. Harold frowned when he saw the crossbow. He gave a questioning look to Hagrid. 

“Hunting?”

“Ah, ah was just out fer a stroll… in da Forest… Dun ya go wanderin’ in der…”

“Why?”

“I-it’s against da rules… fer students,” Hagrid stuttered. Harold raised an eyebrow and smiled, as if to suggest he might want to go for a hike there himself.

“Argh, dun do spreadin’ it about… Something’s killin’ da unicorns… And drinkin’ their blood…” the half-giant replied in a hushed voice.

“How many?”

“Second one found… Bad business…”

“Oh, I better head off to class now…” Harold replied and hastened to the greenhouses. The thought of something killing unicorns made him sick to his stomach, as if he had partaken of bad fesikh – a traditional Egyptian dish of pickled mullet. Unicorns were purity made flesh. Sue Li had spoken of the unicorn herd. They had spotted a mare and her foal frolicking at the edge of the lake from the Ravenclaw Tower windows one full-moon night. What evil could be stalking the unicorns of the Forbidden Forest? Unconsciously, Harold touched the Anubis Amulet under his vest as he joined the stragglers filing into the greenhouse. It was just as well he had forgone breakfast. He did not think he would have kept it down otherwise.

Dumbledore frowned as he watched Harold Grey and the rest of the first-year Ravenclaws leaving the greenhouses for their next class. He would have preferred that he was Sorted like his parents into Gryffindor. However, it appeared the influence of his guardian was stronger. It could have been worse. He could have ended in Slytherin. Bill Weasley was in Cairo earning his Cursebreaker stripes under the Gringotts’ training programme. He understood from his chance meeting with Arthur that his eldest was doing well after a somewhat shaky start.

Mister Grey had a mind of his own and almost Gryffindor-ish stubbornness. Should he arrange a meeting with the boy on the pretext of discussing his difficulties with Professor Snape? How would the boy react if he were to share his theory about Voldemort having escaped destruction ten years ago? Quirrell had changed after his sabbatical. Something felt off about the man. The headmaster had his suspicions. A real pity. Quirrell had shown promise once. If he was now under Voldemort’s sway…

Most of the staff had voiced misgivings about him storing the Philosopher’s Stone in the castle. However, he had reassured them that their defences were sound enough. The lynchpin of the trap for Voldemort or his lackey is the Mirror of Erised. It appeared that most of them assumed it would be an obstacle course for the students and geared it accordingly. Even Quirrell was involved, but it was only for his part of the defences. He should not be aware of Sprout’s Devil’s Snare, or Snape’s potion riddle. He had the selected faculty set up their gauntlets separately before merging them within the third-floor corridor space using his rights as headmaster. He had to weaken the Wards to allow the troll and the Cerberus to be brought in. Not that the Wards had been maintained since his own schooldays. Somehow the previous headmasters had just allowed their contract with Gringotts to lapse during the goblin rebellion.   

It would be a real risk and a pain, having to remove the Cerberus and troll from the gauntlet before the Gringotts team returned to refresh the Wards. He could trust Minerva and Severus to assist. For Fluffy, they would need Hagrid as the half-giant was the only person the hound trusted. If Voldemort were to make his move then… No, he must trust in his own defences. That the Stone would remain safely within the mirror, until as and when he retrieved it to return to his mentor Flamel. Or could he set up a secondary Warded space elsewhere within the castle?

The headmaster popped a lemon drop into his mouth and savoured the tang. Hagrid had requested an urgent meeting about happenings in the Forbidden Forest. Some problems with the Centaurs perhaps?

A few nights later, everything was place for the Renewal Ritual. The Gringotts team made their way into the bowels of the castle. They had completed the preliminary rituals on the outer Wardstones. The team had done a double take at the sight of an actual Cerberus being walked by the large groundskeeper, who was wearing a striped dressing gown, bedroom slippers and little else. Fluffy needed to go potty and Mister Hagrid had to take him into the forest to do it. If the groundskeeper was able to keep a Cerberus , it was a sign how badly the school’s Wards had failed. At least the man seemed to have some control over the beast. Still, it was not the best guard dog to have in a school. He spoke briefly with Hagrid about alternative arrangements for the dog. Once the Wards were renewed, it may not be possible for the Cerberus to remain comfortably so close to the castle.  

Now they must cast the Renewing Spell over the castle’s Heartstone. This was the make-or-break moment of any Ward Setting or Renewal. Makepeace and his team were led deep into the dungeons by the headmaster. Blood from the current headmaster was needed to unlock the Heart Chamber. The large circular room was impressive. The walls were decorated with the symbols of the four Houses. There were life-sized statutes of three of the Founders and one shattered at the knees. Slytherin and Gryffindor’s quarrel had left its imprint even down there. Discord between Ward-crafters would always show. It would be tricky, but salvageable. Though the Wards would never be at the same level as the original Founders had intended. The air itself was lightly charged with magic. The headmaster retreated to a corner of the room, out of their way. Makepeace frowned. He firmly ordered the headmaster out with the threat to abandon the ritual if he insisted on staying. Their ritual was covered under Gringotts’ contract. There must be no outsider to observe the ritual. If he needed proof, it would be after.

Time was of the essence. The goblins started etching the worn-out runes and ritual circle on the flagstones with their blades. The rest of the team readied the offerings and candles. A pure black cockerel was produced by Greta from her knapsack. Otto looked a tad pale. It was his first blood-based renewal. If he could not last the ritual, he might as well seek another profession. The moon would be setting soon. They had to drop the Wards and raise them anew. During that brief time, any number of malignant forces could attack the castle and its inhabitants, especially the children. If anything did enter, the team hoped to reactivate the Wards to a level sufficient to neutralize it.

They took their places in the circle in silence. Whatever happened next was not to be spoken of outside the room or Gringotts. O’Shea slit the rooster’s throat with his obsidian blade and smeared the Heartstone with the first splatters. Then he held the dying bird over four clear quartz bowls to bleed. Once the bird had expired, the rest of the team took the bowls and smeared the newly etched runes. As team leader, Colin Makepeace’s role was to observe from outside the circle and intervene if anything went wrong.

Once the runes were bloodied, the team started their chant and started walking clockwise around the Heartstone. The runes glowed and swirled as the Wards were renewed. It was almost dawn, but the ritual must progress at its own pace. It must not be rushed. Ribbons of golden light shot up from the floor. A lion, a badger, an eagle and a serpent. The glowing animals soared towards the ceiling of the room and then exploded in a shower of shimmering gold against the stones. The wix and goblins could feel the magic thrum in the chamber, almost like an earthquake. For a heartbeat, their magic was attuned to that of the castle. They could all sense the children slumbering under the roof. The elves already up and toiling in the kitchens…

Then an inhuman scream. Something very, very wrong. There was the sickening sense of oily darkness for a moment, just before the Wards recharged and purged it. The force of the purging knocked everyone in the Heart Chamber, including Makepeace, to the floor. The team exchanged puzzled looks from where they had fallen. Still stunned by the magical backlash, they slowly got to their feet. The normally stoic goblin brothers were helping each other up – a sign of how rattled they were by the magnitude of the evil magic. O’ Shea was making a sign of protection to ward off evil. Young Fenwick was almost bawling as Greta rubbed his back, consoling him. It seemed the young man lacked the mettle for the job after all. It was then that Makepeace found his voice again.

“What by Merlin’s hairy backside was that?”

Chapter Text

Dear Uncle Ali

I solemnly swear by Thoth and Ma’at I did not mean for that to happen… I think I might have broken the Anubis amulet.

Harold woke up early that morning. Based on his astronomical calculations and cross-referenced with the older Runes and Arithmancy students. They should have renewed the Wards by now. He quickly dressed and hastened out in the grey light of dawn. He tried to rouse Nefertari, but she was in one of her shedding moods and reluctant to leave the warm safety of her terrarium. She flared her hood in disgust and told him off in language that would have turned the headmistress of Cairo Charms green. No time to waste gabbing over breakfast. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams seemed to have run into each other in the Great Hall. The captains were having an argument over who had the right to use the pitch for training that morning that was rapidly turning into a shoving match. The Weasley twins had their bats drawn and the look on their faces suggested they might use them to defend their rights to train. The same look was reflected on the Beaters of the opposing team. If a brawl were to break out, he did not wish to be caught in the middle of it. Harold made a detour to the side door across the Eastern yard and out from the eastern gate.

He could sense the Wards thrumming as he stepped out beyond their safety. He almost stepped on a pile of charred rags. Harold did not spare them a second glance. Maybe if he had, he might have recognized the purple turban… That was when it happened.

A dark mass of smouldering black suddenly swooped down on him. He felt his chest burn where the amulet hung. Then the pain was gone just as suddenly. The amulet had been a deep black. Now it felt warm to the touch and was red with a swirling inkiness within. Greatly shaken, Harold threw up into the grass. Was that an attempt to possess him? What was that dark mass?

He sat down against the castle walls, trying to compose himself. Until the groundskeeper Hagrid saw him and came trotting up to ask if he was alright. When he could not reply with his throat raw from retching, Hagrid scooped Harold up into his large arms and rushed to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey did a Scan and prescribed a mug of hot chocolate, a light breakfast and a rest. She diagnosed him with a case of magical backlash, but she could not explain the inky mass he had encountered. She suspected that he might have accidentally triggered the renewed Wards experimenting with magic. Harold’s propensity for magical experimentation was known to the staff by now. If he did not recover by tomorrow, they might send him to St Mungo. His guardian would be notified if that was the case.

The mediwitch was quickly distracted by the arrival of injured Quidditch players from the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams. The brawl had broken out after all before the professors arrived to restore order. The Weasley twins had proven themselves deadly with their bats. The Slytherins had retaliated in kind. The Slytherins and Gryffindors would likely be sidelined for the next game even if both teams were not suspended for the fracas. Harold was a tad bemused to see someone had transfigured the Slytherin Seeker into a large canary.

Professor Quirrell did not show up for the first DADA lesson of the day. He did not show for the others that followed. By dinner, the student body had deduced that the infamous DADA curse had struck early and that the stuttering professor was no more. Professor McGonagall hoped that the man would turn up unscathed. But she knew that was a forlorn hope. The deputy headmistress groaned as she took out her address book. They would need a replacement for the remainder of the term if Quirrell did not show up. To be on the safe side, perhaps she ought to hire two should the budget allow. Perhaps they could call in a favour or two?

Dear Father

Hogwarts has finally renewed her Wards with unexpected side-effects. At first, we thought poor Grey got caught in the middle of a brawl between the Gryffs and our Quidditch team, but it seems not to be the case. Flint claimed he saw Hagrid bring Grey in and say he was found outside the Wards. Then our DADA professor was a no-show. The NEWTs Runes students went out to look at the Wards after breakfast. They have confirmed that the Wards are up, stronger than before. Oh, and the dark Hexing crystal Theo was working on for a Yule gift to Pansy exploded in the dorm. Uncle Sev warned us earlier that should any of us have contraband of a dark nature, we should surrender them as the castle will no longer tolerate their presence outside the DADA classroom, which has special allowances for education. I have already sent all my darker books and artefacts back home with Dobby. Did he get everything home safely? Have him run into a wall headfirst if he breaks any of my stuff.

Whispers have it that Professor Quirrell fled. And that Grey encountered some malignant force outside the Wards. Hagrid has this large three-headed dog he has to care for until the headmaster can find him another home. Why the dog was even allowed on the grounds is something we have no answer for. Maybe Grey got trampled by the Cerberus since the large oaf has little control of or understanding how dangerous a Cerberus can be. And the headmaster is hushing things up after the troll incident. The rest of us are keeping within the castle walls until that dog is relocated.   

Maybe someone can send Mister Hagrid a dragon egg and we can watch him get immolated with his shack when it hatches. Then maybe we can get a groundskeeper with more common sense.

Your respectful son always, Draco

Gringotts Cairo

Sheikha Sirocco was waiting for Sir Allister Grey in the Anubis Room. The summons had come in the middle of his dinner at the Sobeckis’. The urgency and specified meeting place did not bode well. Allister thought it a pity he did not have a chance to partake of dessert and coffee. Still, Madam Sobecki had handed him a box of Turkish delights on the way out. These he hoped would soothe the she-goblin’s ire.

“Good evening, Sheikha…” Sir Allister bowed. The Sheikha had a fearsome look on her face. In her clawed hand was a scroll with the seal of Gringotts London. The flickering torches in the room made her look even more terrifying than usual.

“Grey, the team assigned to Hogwarts encountered something during the course of their work…”

“Was anyone hurt?” Allister’s heart skipped a beat. Surely, they would have informed him if anything happened to Harold.

“There is a possible death, though death might not be entirely accurate in this case. A teacher has gone missing. There is reason to suspect he might be a vessel for an evil…” The sneer on her face that told Allister Grey what she thought about wizards allowing a possibly possessed teacher anywhere near children. “Something else was destroyed in the process. Something we have encountered before here in Cairo. We would like to send you to London to interview the team. I believe this should not prove a hardship to you.”

“I-is it a Horcrux?” Allister frowned. The idea of returning to grey London with her memories sent shivers down his spine, but for Harold…

“It has not been proven, though it is suspected. We can arrange for you to be there by Yule. Oh, are those Turkish delights? How thoughtful of you, Grey,” a smile graced the goblin’s face.

“Yes, they’re from Madam Sobecki…” Grey ceded the sweets to the Sheikha.

“Mmm, from Reza Bey on Luxor Alley. She has good taste. Nothing comes near Reza Bey’s sweets.” Sirocco delicately picked up a nugget between her claws and popped it into her mouth. “A pity I am still pulling you off that planned Jerusalem Temple job. Do you have anyone you can recommend in your place?”

“Bill Weasley.”

“A little young, isn’t he?”

“He has a calm head and is knowledgeable in Latin-based Wards as well as late era Hebrew letters. Straightforward job recovering a charmed Templar sword from the Crusader era. We do not expect any big surprises.”

“I trust your judgement, Grey. If the Temple Mount does fall into the pits of Hades, it’s on your head. Have a piece…” the goblin offered him the box of candy. Allister accepted and helped himself to a piece. He hoped young Weasley would not disappoint him.

The wraith seethed in his prison. The child he meant to possess was cluelessly going about his lessons. There was a familiar – a cobra, who kept flicking its tongue over his prison. It had been going so well for him.

His servant Quirrell had gone out into the Forbidden Forest to slay unicorns so he might drink their blood to prolong his life and that of his master. The hunt had been successful. It was on their return to the castle that disaster struck, Quirrell has been on the threshold of the east gate when the power of the castle Wards suddenly surged. The magic threw him out of his vessel and burned it to ash. Were it not for his Horcruxes, he would be ash as well. He had hovered, greatly weakened outside the Wards, waiting for a chance to possess some unsuspecting host.

It had seemed that the Fates were smiling on him when he saw the young boy step out the gate. A helpless child alone and ripe for the taking. The Fates were making sport of him. The boy was protected by a far more powerful magic. Now he was trapped and powerless. And his Horcrux hidden in Hogwarts was likely ash as well. At least he still had others to fall back on.

“Unclean, massster…” Nefatari chided as she slithered round his shoulder.

“I broke it, right?”

“Not broken. Ssstone did well. Protect young master… Ssspeak to your uncle. Keep ssstone clossse. Still of use.”

On hearing Harold had been incapacitated, Padma Patil and Goldstein had volunteered to help care for his familiar while he was recovering in the Hospital Wing. The Patil family raised both mundane and magical snakes on their ancestral estate in Delhi, including cobras, for their skin and venom. Corner, Sue Li and Goldstein had brought him his homework assignments and revised with him during his week-long stay in the Hospital Wing. During which he had befriended both recovering Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch players. It was a surprise to learn that the Weasley twins were intelligent enough to come up with their own complex spells and charms. Or that advanced Arithmancy went into the game plans of Captain Oliver Wood. It was a wonder why Wood did not choose Arithmancy as an elective. Montague from Slytherin was taking third-year Runes and was a little upset he had missed the Ward Renewal. His parents were in his grandparents’ bad books. They were barred from any Ward rituals at the family seat. Still, it was good to return to the dorm and his familiar.

Now Harold was sitting in his favourite armchair by the window with his familiar in his lap to catch the pale winter sun. Around him, his Housemates were chattering about their Christmas holiday plans. The Scamanders had offered to host Harold. Anthony would be Portkeying over to Athens to join his parents. Corner and Cornfoot would be returning home to spend the season with their families on the Hogwarts Express. Terry Boot would stay behind as his parents were busy.

There were always a few students and staff who would remain at Hogwarts over the Yuletide season. The prefects had gone round asking for their names. Harold wondered if he ought to remain. He could use the quiet of the dorm to further his own research. An annoyed Nefertari had bonked him lightly on the chin with her head and reminded him that she would prefer a slightly warmer climate in Dorset. Moreover, there was the Will-reading business Mrs Scamander’s lawyer was working on their behalf. She had also encouraged him to write to his uncle.

“If he knowsss, he’d come to Albion to sssee you… Ssshow him the amulet…”

He did not have to wait long for his uncle’s reply.

Dear Harold

I am glad to know that you have emerged from your latest escapade relatively unscathed. Still, I will insist on you doing a thorough check at Gringotts at the earliest opportunity. When you described the changes to your amulet, I have delved into past cases involving similar encounters. I will advise you to keep the amulet in a secure place. Ward the vessel so it would not fall into the wrong hands. For the love of Ma’at, be careful.

As for your friend Justin F’s collection, I hear from the wizards assigned to look it over that his ancestor has been fleeced. All the items are little more than touristy trinkets from the 1900s, apart from the sarcophagus they were using as a coffee table. Might you be familiar with Alexander the Great? Though mundane, London has put the current Viscount in touch with the curator of a reputable private museum in Greece. Though the provenance is sketchy, there might be enough to identify it as originating from the time of Alexander. Alas, the magical spear of the great conqueror remains lost to this day. Thank your friend for the mock canopic jar collection he sent to me by way of thanks. Cleo has cleaned them out and uses them to store her teas, herbs, and spices.

I will be in Britain for Christmas, not only for the Will-reading, which our colleagues in London have finally arranged, but also on business. As such, I am much obliged to Scamanders for agreeing to host me at short notice. We will speak further on this matter in person. I expect to stay until after the New Year and grow heartily sick of sleet, pudding and roast beef.

Your Uncle Allister

Chapter Text

The Christmas holidays were upon them before Harold was even aware. Christmas, and its trappings, was just not that big a deal in Cairo apart from the occasional Nativity crafts fair for charity or the seasonal Yule goose dinner offered at the Grand Cairo. Overpriced and too greasy, Uncle Ali had scoffed. Why bother when one could have roast pigeon with a side of couscous or a lamb shawarma?  Still, the castle took on a decidedly festive air with a large Christmas tree in the Great Hall, holly in the corridors – and horrors, mistletoe popping up in the common room. It soon became too much. Thankfully, Harold found himself standing on the Hogsmeade station platform with the other homebound students. The Anubis Amulet was secured in Nefertari’s travelling basket as Harold decided no one would be desperate enough to stick their hand into a basket full of deadly cobra.

Granger looked awful. Nightmares about the troll would do that. However, she glared at him when Harold suggested she see a mind-healer. Or maybe she had been burning the midnight oil trying to keep ahead in class. Weasley was his abrasive self until Harold Grey flicked that Silencing Hex over his shoulder. It would last for the next two days. Surely his parents deserved some quiet. Draco and his entourage were going on about the Yule ball his family always held, and who was invited – or not. The other teachers filled in for the DADA lessons until they could get a replacement, starting with an introduction to the Dark Creatures from their Potions Master. Grey earned a detention for his spirited argument over whether werewolves could be considered dark or creatures since they were basically fellow wizards except on full-moon nights. They had a basic duelling instruction with Professor Flitwick after the holidays, which Harold was not exactly keen on. He had hoped Professors Babbling and Vector might give a lesson on Curses and their counters. It was a mess since no one really knew what their colleagues were teaching or what had been covered by Quirrell. Now, Grey settled in do review his notes on dark creatures. Wait, they considered goblins dark? Pompous gits.

Once more he shared his compartment with Anthony Goldstein. Anthony’s Portkey to Athens was arranged for tomorrow morning. Blaise Zabini also joined them a short while later, albeit a little cautiously when he saw Nefertari had her body half out of her basket. Harold reassured his friend that his familiar was safe despite the greatly exaggerated rumour about what happened in the library. Zabini had some questions about his Transfiguration assignment he needed to crosscheck with Grey. Theo Nott would remain in Hogwarts over the holidays due to urgent family matters. He had gifted a bag of ice mice to Zabini which the Italian shared with Goldstein and Grey. The three boys settled in for the ride back to London.

I hate London… Sir Allister grumbled under his breath. No sooner had he emerged from the International Portkey Office into the street when he was thoroughly splashed with muddy water from a passing red London double-decker bus. He had arranged to meet with the Scamanders at the Portkey Office but there was a hold-up in Rome. The Scamanders had gone on ahead with Harold to the Three Hares restaurant for lunch. The couple left a message at the Office for Sir Allister to meet them there. It was an upscale place catering to the well-heeled and those seeking discretion. He would not be surprised if their party included a lawyer.

The magi-archaeologist cast a silent spell with a flick of his wrist. That took care of the worst of the mess. but his clothes were still drooping from the damp. With a weary sigh, he straightened his tie before entering the establishment. Discreet. The décor exuded Old World charm. It could pass for Muggle, until one saw the house-elves. To non-magical eyes, it was a vacant shopfront under renovations. Most Muggles simply walked by the restaurant without a second thought due to the Muggle-repelling Wards. Even those in the know needed to be escorted by a wix to even see the entrance. The Queen herself had dined there at least once during the Muggle World War. It was said youngest son was an occasional diner there after he took over the Magical Liaison role. Informal discussions on Muggle-wizard relations were often conducted here instead of at the Palace or the Ministry of Magic.

Today there was no royal in attendance today, at least not openly. The maître ushered him to a table at the back, where the Scamanders, Harold, and witch who introduced herself as Madam Clarice Kent, barrister. The Potter wills had finally been Unsealed. They would go to the reading after lunch. The goblins had also reached out to the other beneficiaries, at least those still at liberty, alive, and still within the kingdom Given that the wills had been sealed for a decade…

“Uncle Ali, try the duck confit,” Harold suggested when he saw his guardian frown at the menu.  

“Of course, I’ll have the canard ala orange… and the borscht… Oh, hello, Nefertari…”

Harold’s cobra dozily emerged from his collar.

“Good to see England agrees with you,” Sir Allister greeted the snake.

“Agree? Tell the old fool my tail’s turned to ice and I cannot wait to get back in front of the fire.” The cobra fared her fearsome hood, alarming a nearby waiter. Harold translated and apologized on his familiar’s behalf. She had insisted on joining them on their outing to London.  

Two hours later, Sir Allister Grey was fuming as he sat in Griphook’s office. Baby Harry should never have gone to the Dursleys. Lily Potter had explicitly stated so, voicing concerns about her sister’s hatred of all things magic. Yet someone had sent his poor boy there. Harold was pale, though he somehow managed to keep his composure. Newt had offered him a bar of chocolate which likely helped. Sir Allister did not expect his name to be on the long list of possible guardians for Lily’s son. The first were Frank and Alice Longbottom. Sadly, their circumstances prevented them from taking guardianship. Next was Harry’s sworn godfather, Sirius Black – currently rotting in Azkaban. Third was Remus Lupin. Here Griphook quietly explained in Gobbledegook to the Greys that Mister Lupin was a werewolf and British wizarding laws precluded him from taking custody of a child.  

Mister Lupin had been invited to the Will-reading. The werewolf was gaunt and sickly-looking, understandably so given the proximity to the full moon. His clothes were worn but well-patched. James and Lily Potter had left him a private letter, as well as a generous bequest of ten thousand Galleons to help him after those awful laws were passed preventing him from obtaining decent employment. Harold was surprised to see that his Transfiguration Professor was also present. Professor McGonagall received a more modest gift of two thousand Galleons. She was the next on the list of guardians, at least those still presumed alive, Griphook smirked unpleasantly. The last war had cut a wide swarth through the Potters’ friends and family. Here Harold frowned and squeezed his guardian’s hand.

Need talk to goblins. His ward signalled by tapping his fingers against his palm. It was a code Cursebreakers sometimes use when they are unable to speak or signal their intentions in the dark confines of a tomb. Sir Allister nodded slightly. The contents of the wills bothered Harold as much as it did him.

Alice Longbottom also received a gift from Lily, but this would be transferred directly to her vault given the circumstances. The bequeaths made by James Potter to Sirius Black and one Peter Pettigrew would not be paid out given one was in Azkaban and the other presumed dead.

Why presumed dead? Harold frowned. Barrister Kent was finishing up now. Griphook suggested that they might want to adjourn for tea in the next room. Harold wondered how he would have fared under Lupin or McGonagall’s guardianship. The professor was quite elderly and burdened with her responsibilities at Hogwarts. Not conducive to raising an infant if she was deputy headmistress back then. Mister Lupin was an unknown. He looked kind enough, but being a British werewolf was hard. Moreover, Harold could not imagine living with either of them.

“What is a sworn godfather, Uncle Ali?” he asked when rest of the party except Griphook had left the office.

“A godparent recognized by magic and sworn to protect a child,” Sir Allister frowned. “Griphook, did the Potters go through the ritual with Black?”

“I said sworn godfather, didn’t I?”

“Then why is Harold’s godfather in Azkaban for involvement in his attempted murder?”

“You forgot the betrayal bit, Uncle…” Harold added. The goblin cleared his throat.

“Sirs, you might also wish to call an audit of the Potter family vaults. There have might been some irregularities when I took over from Redclaw… Poor chap, came down with some mental decline…”

“Do those irregularities involve the Chief Warlock?” Sir Allister growled. He had been negligent in leaving Harold’s birthright and the Potter vault dormant for so long. That would need to be remedied.

“Perhaps…” the goblin shrugged. “As the Potter heir is still underage, the right falls on you, Archwarden, as his guardian.”

“I was discussing magical rituals with Malfoy and Nott the other day. Malfoy mentioned that his parents did not trust his godfather enough to do the full godparent ritual. Something about his loyalties. If my parents did the ritual with Black… There is no way he could have betrayed me, not without dying himself…” Harold concluded. “Was there a trial?” The Scamanders had advised him of the circumstances in which he had lost his parents as Uncle Ali did. In addition, Newt had mentioned how the Fidelus Charm failed when the Secret Keeper Black betrayed them.

“Not that we are aware of, but then, when do the matters of wizards concern us mere goblins…” Griphook shrugged. “The Black’s account manager is Slate. You might want to have tea with him sometime. Black named Potter's firstborn as his heir but they never got round to signing, as far as we know...”

“Oh, before we forget… something weird happened to me at Hogwarts…” Harold fished out his mokeskin pouch and extracted the Anubis Amulet from within. Griphook blanched and reached for the phone. Nefertari crawled out from Harold’s overcoat and stood guard over the amulet as if she were the pharaoh’s guardian serpent. She had been hidden all this while under Harry’s voluminous coat.  

“Oh dear, looks like it is beyond his rank. Why don’t you go get a bite while we grownups discuss business?” Sir Allister nudged his charge.

“Yes sir…” Harold grinned. A growing boy, lunch seemed a long time ago.

Entering the tearoom, he found that the rest of the party had settled down for a chat. He helped himself to a cup of tea and a biscuit. Nothing too fancy. The Will-reading package included refreshments and a quiet room for the attendees to grieve in. Gringotts still provided it even though it was ten years late. Harold was surprised to see Professor McGonagall speaking with Mister Lupin. Or perhaps he should not be. Did he attend Hogwarts as a student? Maybe she was his teacher too. Tina and Miss Kent were discussing the royalties which were currently being paid to his trust fund from that awful Harry Potter book series. The latest book was going to be the last, so the author claimed. Tina did not believe it one bit. Newt came over to ask if Nefertari would like some milk. Harold explained that his familiar was with his Uncle Ali.

“A very bright boy… possibly top of his class…” Harold caught a snatch of conversation. Being small for his age, he often went unnoticed by the grownups if he chose to. A holdback from his time avoiding the attentions of the Dursleys.

“Takes after Lily then,” Lupin replied. Harold pricked his ears. The werewolf knew his mom. Were they students at the same time?

“He looks like James… the first time I saw him there in the entrance hall…”

“He was a mere baby when James and Lily went into hiding. Pa- Sirius visited them once or twice in Godric’s Hollow… Topping his classes?”

“Almost all. Somehow Snape does not take well to him… He’s awfully biased.”

“Snape? He’s still teaching Potions? I hear from Arthur that he is hard on the students…”

“But he has not had a student killed or maimed during class in all his years teaching, unlike Slughorn… Dumbledore insisted on hiring him…”

“Is there any truth to him being a spy for us?”

“I have seen nothing to disprove that, Remus…”

“So you did know my folks, Mister Lupin,” Harold carelessly drawled as he dabbed the last of the scone crumbs off his face. “Could you tell me about them please? My dad especially. I do hope Professor Snape is not still sore about mom marrying my dad. Honestly, that is getting old.”

“Your mother and Snape were friends once, before he got mixed up with the wrong crowd,” Lupin started carefully.

“So was mom really the brightest witch of her age?”

“Lily was top of our class in Charms, Potions and in fact, almost every class she took except Transfiguration…” Lupin started wistfully. “Your dad was in love with her, so very much…”

“Your father James had a gift for Transfiguration, Har- Harold. Honestly, I was surprised he and Black did not sign up for the animagus specialization in their final year… Remus, are you alright?” Professor McGonagall asked as Lupin spluttered on his tea. Maybe Lupin was sensitive to the topic of voluntary shapeshifting as a werewolf. Or something about animagi… Many of the ancient Egyptian wizards were skilled shapeshifters, though they often seemed to have had misadventures that left them part beast or bird. Harold thought it might be cool if he could turn himself into a snake – all the better for wriggling into tight spaces.

Nefertari coiled herself gingerly around the brazier an underling had brought. She regarded the trio of goblins Griphook called into the office warily. Two were highly ranked Cursebreakers while the last was a scribe.

“Yes, there is a soul, or part of one in the Anubis Amulet. Though it is so mangled as to be almost unrecognizable as one. So you say Master Grey encountered something the day after the Hogwarts Wards were renewed? Perhaps a malignant entity forced out from the castle? And we had no word from Hogwarts on this…” Adeptus Cursebreaker Fangnor carefully regarded the amulet as his deputy Cast the Scanning Spells on it. “Perhaps we should interview the boy…”

“Not sure if word reached Cairo yet, but the team working on the Wards encountered something much like what was rumoured to be removed from Master Harold Grey as a child…” the ancient goblin scribe Nibbit murmured. He was well-informed of the important happenings in most branches of the bank.

“Are you saying there was really a Horcrux in Hogwarts? Is Harold in any danger? Did his experience as a baby make him susceptible to possession…” Sir Allister’s fingers itched for the decanter of brandy on the side-table. He had not yet spoken with the Wardmasters involved. Nefertari gave a warning hiss. She was right. He needed to be clear-headed for whatever was to come.

“Nay, laddie’s chosen by a higher power. That evil is trapped in the amulet,” the third goblin Redscar spoke with an incongruous Scottish accent. “We can Cast more spells to trap it good, until you can bring it to the Deep Crypt…” For destruction. Sir Allister shivered at the unspoken threat. The Amulet pulsed red as the goblins wove Containment Spells around it.

“Whatever was in Hogwarts was destroyed by the Wards. The readings taken from the memories of the team strongly hint at a Horcrux, but we cannot verify it. The infamous DADA curse appears to be still active as the DADA instructor went missing,” Fangnor explained. He reached for the Amulet only for the cobra to slither between them.

“No, Master Harold must continue holding the Anubis Amulet as His Chosen… there may be others out there to be hunted.” Nefertari flared her hood. Her audience did not understand her hissing but Sir Allister had the presence of mind to go to the door and call his ward in from the tearoom to translate.  

Chapter Text

A good quality Invisibility Cloak. The present had been waiting for him in the dorm on his return to Hogwarts. Harold Grey regarded the note with it coldly before incinerating it in the palm of his hand. The old meddler… It was heavily laden with Tracking Charms, which Harold deftly dismantled. There were other older Charms he was not familiar with. Those he left them be.

“He would have needed to hand it to me anyhow with the goblins doing the audit of my family vault.”

“Can I bite him, young master?” Nefertari slithered over the hot water bottle in her master’s bed. She had dined well. Her midsection now boasted a nice bulge.

“No, my queen. You might upset your stomach…”

Professor Flitwick was persuaded to hold a duelling demonstration that evening. Harold had volunteered to prepare the Duelling field with Shielding Runes to protect the audience from stray spells. Except he had had forgotten to confirm if they would be using the Continental or Scandinavian duelling framework. Ah, well, back to work.

Humming under his breath, Harold headed for the Great Hall where the duelling demonstration would be held before dinner.

Dear Uncle Ali

What is going on? I have not heard back from you regarding my godfather’s innocence or his trial records. I have been trying to pump Susan Bones for information to no avail. If you are going to give me the spiel about leaving grown-up business to the grown-ups, may I remind you of the time you had me anchor help a ritual circle in the middle of a sandstorm? Or the time we got lost in the labyrinth going after Adriane’s spindle?

Who is this Sirius Black? If he is not the one who sold out my parents, who did? Draco tells me Black’s a cousin of his mom. His late Aunt Wally Black sounds highly unbalanced. Madness seems to be hereditary in the bloodline. Something to do with all the inbreeding going on in pureblood circles. Draco claimed his mother was only allowed to marry his father because his aunt eloped with someone else and the first cousin his mother was marry vanished without a trace and is presumed deceased. So, he and his mom had a lucky break. I agree with him that entire situation reads like some Greek tragedy. Draco already has a marriage contract in place thanks to his parents, and he is glad his destined fiancée is not a first cousin. Gross all the same considering they were five when the contract was signed by their parents.  

Oh, do you know they still use Dementors in Britain? I doubt exposure to Dementors would improve a wizard already predisposed to madness. Brrr… Doesn’t the ICW have any strong recommendations on humane treatment of prisoners? Maybe I should be thankful that the Death Veil was phased out after the war with Grindelwald, so Tony tells me.

I do hope you are still in Britain and not back in Cairo. I am not very sure about this entire godfather thing given that he has been absent from my life for so long. I am still your ward, right? I don’t have to move in with him to some creepy manor with crazy old Aunt Wally screeching away like a banshee, do I?

About that amulet. Nefertari has taken to guarding it when I am not wearing it. It just gives me the creeps knowing HE is in there. I lock it in a lead box when I go to bed or when I am bathing. Tried looking up on Soul magic but the Hogwarts library is sorely lacking. Malfoy suggested I speak to Professor Snape, but the man looks like he wants to bite my head off. He claims his godfather has a dual Mastery in Potions and Dark Arts. Gee, how did he fly that one past the Brits given how squeamish they are about blood magics and the like?

Concerned, Harold Grey

P.S. The old man has returned the Potter heirloom cloak to me after holding it for the past ten years. Am I allowed to use it to sneak into the Restricted section of the library?

“This is most worrisome…” Tina Scamander remarked. The trio of Madam Bones, Sir Allister and she took in the sight of the former prisoner through the window of the isolation ward. Newly released from Azkaban, Black was running about on all fours and tearing into his pillow with his teeth with what could be described as barks of delight. He was still painfully thin, though the house-elves have made some effort at cleaning him up but were unable to get him dressed. Black simply kept tearing his robes off.

“Is he an animagus?” Sir Allister frowned.

Many of St Mungo’s wards came with Animagi Suppression Wards to prevent accidental shifting during healing procedures. Black somehow had it in his muddled brain that he was a dog. Newt Scamander was valiantly trying to coax him into donning a pair of shorts. There was no way by Merlin’s beard he was allowing Harold to see his godfather in such a state. Harold might have been through more than he should have as a kid, but he was still a child.

“No, according to our records…” Amelia rubbed her temples. “The Death Eater trials were before my time… if only they didn’t make such a hash of getting him out…” Those fools the Ministry had sent to fetch Sirius Black off the prison had found him ranting in his cell. They had Stunned him to have him removed for questioning. The mediwitch in charge of the Ministry detention cells found his malnutrition to be severe enough to warrant hospitalization. When he woke up in St Mungo’s, he was barking like a dog.

“No trial records at all?” Tina asked.

“We are still looking. With the chaos after that Halloween, the records are spotty…”

“Who’s your predecessor?”

“Crouch. Bartemius Crouch. He was hard on the Death Eaters, enough to send his son to Azkaban when Junior was outed as one of them…” Amelia winced as Black snapped at Newt and sank his teeth into the older wizard’s hand.

“He resigned soon after, didn’t he? Ranting about certain Death Eaters getting off with the Imperius defence… Excuse me…” Tina hurried into the ward to rescue her husband. Black had knocked Newt to the ground and was now licking him like an excited puppy. 

“Can we lift the Suppression Wards on this room, please? If his magic is trying to protect him by turning him into a dog, it would be best for him to work it out of his system…” Sir Allister waved a healer over.

“Is that possible?”

“Well, he is from a family known for its hereditary madness. His magic could now be acting out like a child’s accidental magic, whether he was an animagus previously or not. A decade stuck with those hellish Dementors in Azkaban would have done his sanity no favours…” Sir Allister shrugged. “It’d be a while before he can be interviewed…”

He met Amelia Bones’ eyes. And we learn who exactly betrayed the Potters…

A flipping Grim. Sirius Black has turned himself into a scrawny Grim. The exhausted dog yawned and curled up on the shredded mattress after having lapped up a bowl of water and inhaled a dish of liver and lamb kibble. A few pounds would not go amiss on either wizard or Grim. Sir Allister cautiously approached the now docile dog, who regarded him with amber eyes.

“Mister Black, if you are an unregistered animagus, you have served more than your time in Azkaban,” the magi-archaeologist whispered quietly as he scratched the dog behind the ears. The dog whimpered and wagged his tail.

“There is a little boy who’d like to meet you … So pull yourself together, old chap.”

Dear Harold

Yes, I am still in Britain. Trying to locate records of your godfather’s trial have proved unsuccessful. I have decided to extend my stay for a month and will be taking lodgings at the National Library Club. It is adults only due to Club membership rules. I can recommend you for general member when you reach seventeen. They have an Age Line Ward at the entrance so don’t even think about it. Wait, knowing you… just keep it an academic exercise. About those incidents you happened to mention in your last letter… That sandstorm snuck up on us unnoticed. Were there enough grown wizards to Cast the Protection Ritual, I would not have given you the task. It was that or be buried alive in sand. Not to mention loss and damage to the Nubian artefacts already uncovered. As for King Minos’ palace, that was an accident. The map from Santorini was faulty, and we made a wrong turn.

You asked for the truth about your godfather. Well, here it is – Mister Sirius Orion Black is barking mad literally after ten years with Dementors. He might be an animagus and no, we are not keeping him as a dog. He is in very poor health, physically and mentally. He has a long rehabilitation ahead. What is certain is that he is not the Secret Keeper for your parents despite reports to the contrary. However, he might know who the traitor is. Fingers crossed that he starts coming out of it.

I have checked with Gringotts and Sirius Black is the sole male Black in magical Britain and therefore heir to the family wealth or what’s left of it. There are three cousins, all witches. Two of whom have children. Your friend Malfoy might be among them. Legally, as godson, you are ahead in the inheritance due to male-preference primogeniture unless Mister Black sires a biological son. Since Black is in no state to manage his accounts, I have requested that they be placed in stasis pending nomination of a trustworthy proxy to act on his behalf. Mister Slate has arranged a meeting with Black’s cousins, at least the ones not raving mad in prison.

It is a pity this will have to be during term time. The ladies are Narcissa Malfoy nee Black and Andromeda Tonks nee Black. If your godfather is ever discharged, he will need somewhere to go to, other than a residence that has been rotting for close to ten years. Perhaps we can meet up for Easter break and discuss this further.

Your Uncle Ali

P.S. I send with Horus a Sunning Slab for your familiar. Just tap with your wand to return it to its original size and tap again to activate the Warming Runes.

Now that his return to London was common knowledge, Sir Allister Grey had been inundated with invitations to soirees, and to give talks on Wards and Cursebreaking for various clubs and gatherings. The gratuities from the talks proved useful – what could top privileged access to the rare healing tomes in the Healers guild house or the original Potion notes by Damocles Belby on his research into Wolfsbane? Still, he could do without the mindless chitchat that dogged such social events, along with those maddening witches. 

They had arranged to meet at the atrium of the Ministry. On Floo-ing into the Ministry, Sir Allister had been waylaid by a tall redhead wizard who thanked him profusely for his guidance to his son William. That wizard could only be Bill’s father. Allister Grey made polite conversation with Arthur Weasley before the person he had been waiting for Floo-ed in. Sir Allister apologized and went to greet the lady. She was not alone.

Allister Grey had seen photographs in the back issues of the Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet of the Malfoys. Lady Malfoy was passingly beautiful as in the papers. Her husband strikingly handsome. Their arrival drew looks of curiosity and envy. Lord Malfoy looked down his nose at the magi-archaeologist and raised an elegant eyebrow at the hapless Arthur Weasley.

“Sir Allister, I presume? You must have been away for too long… not to recognize a Weasley…” he almost spat.

“Oh, I was just telling Mr Weasley here what a fine young Cursebreaker his son’s turning out to be. Most promising in a decade…” Sir Allister continued guilelessly. “Should we adjourn to the Three Hares or the White Room? Lady Malfoy might do with a cuppa…”

“I am a busy man, Grey, and my lady-wife doesn’t have the leisure to pick up after her worthless cousin’s messes. Am I right, Cissy?” Lucius asked his wife almost solicitously.    

“Y-yes… My cousin has brought nothing but disgrace to the family,” Narcissa started as she twisted the lace handkerchief in her gloved hands. “I want nothing to do with him…”

“Ah, apologies, I might have misread the situation… Thank you kindly for your time…” Sir Allister nodded. Narcissa’s reply had been guarded and terse. If she had meant to decline from the onset, she could have written so. Perhaps Lord Malfoy’s word held sway over hers. He watched as the pair strolled over to the Lords’ Lounge.

Ah well, there are still the Tonks… Even if there might be some conflict of interest with Sirius’ niece being a trainee Auror and him still waiting to be cleared of charges. 

Chapter Text

Dearest Dragonet

Your father has once more let his anger run off with him. Drop a Weasley in front of him and he loses the plot. We could have sent poor Cousin Sirius off to a chateau in France and not hear from him ever - at least until it is time for you to step up as Lord Black. Now I suppose they might have my estranged sister take him in or maybe allow him a bed in St Mungo’s for long term care. Mrs Crabbe let slip that Mister Black will likely be cleared and might be eligible for compensation for wrongful imprisonment. That the previous Director of the DMLE has being hauled in for corruption. Would you figure that they found his son (who should be buried on Azkaban) Imperio-ed in his basement? Madam Bones is calling for a review of the Death Eater trials he handled back in 1981. Your father will be taking off to southern France for his continued good health. I intend to join him shortly. You may wish to stay over at Hogwarts for Easter or get invited to the Notts’ or Parkinsons’.

I trust you have been keeping up with classes, especially with your study group. To remedy your sire’s stumble, I suggest an alliance with a half-blood. Sir Allister Grey’s ward. Since he is the leader of your study group, it would not be amiss if you were to approach him for assistance. We will need all the allies we can get. Please learn from your sire’s mistakes. I understand from Lady Serena there are at least four Weasleys in attendance at Hogwarts. I do not expect you to invite them for tea, just don’t get into any fights with them.

Keep your head down and your nose clean.

Your loving mother

“Geez, you’re all dark wizards from down there, aren’t you?” Harold looked up in annoyance as a shadow crawled over his homework. Ron Weasley.

“I heard your uncle was cozying with the Malfoys, and now you as well…”

“Actually, we’re both Greys,” Harold deadpanned. Beside him, Draco covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. They had been working on basic spell arithmancy with regards to Transfiguration theory.

“But the Malfoys are all Dark wizards and Death Eaters…” Ron pressed. The rest of the studying students were looking up from their homework and books with varying degrees of curiosity. Nott and Zabini sidled over almost protectively. Anthony fidgeted in his seat.

“Oh, I think not…” Draco snickered and rolled up his sleeve to show a bare forearm. “No Dark Mark here…”

“Ron, please…” Hermione whined from where she was helping Neville Longbottom with his Potions assignment. They could not afford to draw the ire of the librarian and risk being barred from the library with the exams coming.

“This will be a good discussion over tea – the nature of magic, right, Grey?” Draco smirked.

“Ooh, Magic is,” an older student interjected. “Simon Magus’ Ninth Theory… There’s no good or bad…”

“I think it’s more Yin-Yang,” Sue Li added with a swirl of her wand. “Everything has a balance…” Ma’at. Order. Harold agreed.

Nefertari suddenly slithered onto the nearest table and flared her hood in a sinuous wiggle. Everyone else except Ron Weasley immediately hunkered down to their books while the cobra slithered back into Harold’s robes through his sleeve.

“What gives?” Ron asked aloud. Everyone had gone quiet as church mice.

“Just hush already…” Hermione grumbled as she snapped her quill. Even if she was not on good terms with Harold, she had worked out what happened whenever his familiar did that dance. Too bad Ron had not twigged on yet. True enough, the silence was broken by the tap-tap of sensible shoes as their owner emerged from her office.

Ron Weasley looked up at the pinched face of Madam Pince. He swallowed as the stern librarian glared at him. With one bony finger, she pointed at the door.

He should have contacted the Tonks first, Sir Allister thought. They weren’t rich like the Malfoys. But both Tonks had the necessary expertise to deal with Black’s condition. Andromeda Tonks and her husband ran a private clinic out of their cottage. They were both mind-healers. Nymphadora, the daughter, was a metamorphagus. On a weekend break from the Auror academy, she was trying to coax Black the Grim to venture out of the crate St Mungo’s had used to transport him to Tonks Clinic.

“We could have Portkeyed, or even Floo-ed him, but no…” Ted Tonks shook his head. “Didn’t even give us the courtesy of informing us he’s been discharged. Just woke up to find him on our doorstep in a bloody crate.”

“I have Floo-called Newt Scamander… He’s on his way,” Sir Allister added.

He had arrived at St Mungo’s an hour ago to find the patient had been discharged. Understaffed by under qualified healers for the most part, St Mungo’s was a mess. Many of their patients in the long-term spell damage ward dated from the last war and were left to their own devices for the most part. He had met Madam Augusta Longbottom there, visiting her son and daughter-in-law. She had her own house-elf attend to them or they could be left lying in their own filth for hours. They had last met during the Muggle world war when she was working in the British Library’s Magical Section. A shock how much she had aged. She was almost tolerable for a witch. A rosy-cheeked dame, already wed to Ferris Longbottom by then. Speaking of which, he needed to send her an apology. It seemed increasingly unlikely they could meet up for lunch.

Sir Allister had already viewed the memories from the Ward Renewal team and conveyed them to Cairo with Horus. He had just located and interviewed the last member of the team. Young Fenwick who had resigned and then gone to ground in Muggle Bristol. The young man was still reeling from his run-in with evil. After a discussion with Mrs Fenwick, he had recommended her son to Tonks Clinic. It was not good for his fear to hold him back from living as a wizard. Sir Allister could not tell if it was a Horcrux, or if it had anything to do with the thing in Harry’s amulet. Interviewing the team also proved inconclusive. They still needed an actual, intact Horcrux for comparison with the thing in the Anubis Amulet. He had already spoken with the Sheikha over the Floo. She had no issues with him remaining in Britain for the foreseeable future, though Madam Sobecki might be annoyed he would not be part of that expedition to chart the Blue Nile temple ruins.

“A grave injustice indeed, that must be righted. To restore the balance and for Ma’at.” The goblin had remarked as she bade goodbye.  

Dear Uncle Ali

I am taking up meditation from Sue Li and Padma to deal with ick factor I keep getting from the amulet. Nefertari says I just need to grow a tougher hide. Can’t help it if snakes are naturally resistant to Dark Magic. Will the goblins in London be offended and cut my head off if I ask them whether their Containment Charms on it are set right? Cannot help but feel something is leaking out somehow…

“Hey, Grey… what’s that?” Malfoy asked. Harold’s amulet had slipped out when he adjusted his scarf during Herbology. They were preparing the seedbeds for Puffapods.  Harold’s regular partner Zabini had come down with the flu and was in the Hospital Wing. Draco had offered to partner him as his own partner had fallen victim to the flu as well.

“Oh, just an amulet my Uncle Ali gave me…”

“Oh, is it one of those Wit-Sharpening ones? Is that why you are so smart?” Malfoy pressed.

“It’s just for protection, Malfoy… like Goldstein’s Star of David medallion or Sue Li’s Yin-yang bracelet… or Cornfoot’s half-penny. Mine just happens to be an Anubis Amulet…”

“Isn’t that like the Egyptian god of the dead?” Daphne Greengrass asked. 

“No, that’s Osiris. Anubis is the gatekeeper between the world of the living and the dead. He guides the souls of the dead over…” Harold patiently explained. Nefertari had gone hunting in the kitchens and not yet returned by breakfast. His familiar might be sleeping off a meal before the kitchen fire. Speaking about Egyptian mythology to his classmates distracted him from his amulet’s vibes…

“Did your uncle pinch it from some dig? Is it valuable?” Malfoy seemed a bit too interested.

“One never steals from goblins, Malfoy… Not if you want to keep your head attached. It’s a gift or rather a loan.”

“Goblin-forged?”

In the depths of the amulet, the wraith stirred. A boy. His magic felt vaguely familiar. Ah, his sire had sworn to him. Perhaps he could convince the child to free him…

“Five more minutes! Pack it up, class!” Professor Sprout called out. The lesson was almost over. They just needed to finish putting down a thin layer of dragon-dung and cover the seed trays.

They barely made it out before the bell rang. The next class of Gryffindor-Hufflepuff first years were already outside the greenhouse when they emerged. Ron Weasley glowered at Malfoy and Grey. Smarting from his public humiliation the week before, he was spoiling for a fight.

“Look, a bunch of snakes!” Ron shouted and pointed at Grey and Malfoy. “Are you going to sic your snake on me, now?” The students standing nearest to Weasley cautiously edged away at his challenge.

“Don’t be ridiculous… My familiar has a delicate stomach. Her palate is too refined for the likes of you,” Grey snarked. A titter of laughter ran through the spectators. Ron turned red in the face. Great, he was mad now… Harold tensed, his body was like a spring. Ron’s expression reminded him of Uncle Vernon when he was in a rage… but he was not a helpless little boy to be hurt…

“So you think you’re the coming of Merlin, eh? Well, watch this!” Ron swung a fist at Harold, who ducked and threw a roundhouse kick, flooring Ron. If Nefertari had been on his person, she would have taken this attack on her master as reason enough to bite. Harold leapt to his feet, his arms in a loose but defensive stance. He could see Professor Sprout hobbling out of the greenhouse to check what was holding up her students. 

“Locomotor Wibbly!” Granger shouted. Wait, what? Harold’s legs turned to jelly. He was face-first on the snow before he realized what happened. “That’s not fair!” he shouted before Ron’s fist crashed into his head. Everything went black.

Detention. He had detention with Granger and Weasley, so they told him. His glasses were broken, and a Reparo could only go so far. They would need to go to a Muggle optician to have them replaced. Madam Pomfrey had rubbed bruise balm on his jaw. His head still ached. He had woken up in the Hospital Wing with Nefertari by his side. Goldstein and Sue Li had been to see him and were doing homework by his bedside. They said Ron Weasley had knocked him out and continued beating on him until Goyle and Crabbe dragged him off. Then Granger Hexed the pair. A scrum had broken out between the lions and snakes, until Professor Sprout summoned her Devil’s Snare to tie up all the combatants. Snape had been coming up to the greenhouse to collect fresh potion ingredients and witnessed the fight. He deducted points from both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for instigating the fight to their dismay.

Nefertari seemed restless, as if she could not wait for his visitors to be gone. Sue Li and Anthony took their leave. They had Astronomy class.

“Massster… Where’s your amulet?” Nefertari hissed as she coiled about his arm. Harold touched his neck. His amulet was gone.

“Cripes… I must have dropped it out at the greenhouses…” Harold groaned. Could he sneak out tonight? Or wait until daylight? When was he going to be discharged from the Hospital Wing anyhow? Crabbe was in the bed across from his and sporting small tentacles growing out of his neck. The large boy gave a sheepish shrug.

“Tell your guardian…” Nefertari’s tongue flicked against his ear.

“Oh Set… As if I am not in enough trouble for fighting…” Harold groaned aloud. Crabbe’s mouth dropped open like a goldfish.

“Hey, y-you’re a Parseltougue?”

“It’s Parselmouth, Crabbe. I learned Parseltongue from my familiar… It’s quite common in Egypt. I think one in two of us there can speak Parseltongue…” Harold exaggerated. He knew most of his Housemates knew of his ability, and several of those in his study group. Maybe Crabbe was just slow on the uptake.

“Just don’t let those Gryffs get wind of this…” He had no desire to be Hexed just because he happened to share a common language with a certain Dark Lord.

“Sure thing, Grey… Just ask your friend to stay on your side of the ward, okay?”

“I don’t like it, Drake… I think you should give it back to him…” Theo frowned as he looked at the shadow swirling within the red stone. They were in their dorm, preparing for bed. Goyle was already snoring. Zabini was still in the common room playing Wizarding Chess with Davis. It was a close game and neither was calling it quits without a checkmate.

“Aw, don’t be a wuss… I’m just holding onto it, until after the Transfiguration quiz on Friday…” Now let’s see if this amulet has anything to do with Grey’s top marks. Draco twirled the amulet in the air. It had been so easy to remove the amulet from the out-cold Grey under the guise of dragging him to safety amidst the chaos. And who would have thought Granger had it in her to Cast so confidently? Most mudbloods tend to fumble over their Latin…

Losing out to a Ravenclaw half-blood like Harold Grey, he could tolerate. But to fall behind a Muggleborn Gryffindor like Granger? It was intolerable. If it had nothing to do with Grey’s academic excellence, he would just return it to Grey once the quiz was over. Claim he had found it after the fight.

 Voldemort chuckled darkly. He was still stuck in his prison, but now his warder was, well, more suggestible…

Chapter Text

Oh yippee, I was getting sick of scrubbing cauldrons… Harold thought sorely as he reported for detention with Granger and Weasley outside Greenhouse 5. Professor Snape was unavailable and reassigned their detention to Professor Sprout, whose lesson their scuffle had disrupted. Professor Sprout was there waiting for them. Her eyes softened when she saw Harold.

“Grey, I had hoped Professor Snape would reconsider your detention…”

“It’s not fair!” Ron protested.

“Mister Weasley. You can start by moving the dragon dung into the shed. That is for starting the fight,” Professor Sprout ordered. “All one hundred bags of them. And please be careful. They are explosive if jostled…”

“I don’t deserve this… there must be a mistake… I was just stopping him from Hexing Ron…” Granger whimpered.

“Well, young lady, Mister Grey did not cast any spells during the altercation, unlike you. Now, you will harvest Buboetuber Pus…” Sprout handed Hermione a pair of dragonhide gloves and pointed at the rows of Buboetubers in the greenhouse. “Now the undiluted pus can cause burns and boils if you get it on your skin. Come on, get those gloves on and I will demonstrate how to safely harvest the pus…”

“Wait, what is Grey doing?” Weasley demanded.

“Oh, he will be Warding Greenhouse 3. A task well suited to his skill set. Mister Grey, you might want to go there first to get a feel. We are looking to Ward it not only against pests but intruders as well. I’ll be with you shortly…”

“Yes, ma’am…” Harold hastened to the greenhouse. The fight had taken place in front of Greenhouse 2. He could ask Nefertari to help search. He Cast a Warming Charm on her before setting her loose. Nefertari huffed with annoyance as she was dragged away from her master’s cosy body warmth into the February air.

“If it gets too cold, just go into the greenhouse, I will look for you there…”

“It’s not here, Master… I cannot ssssense it… Ssssomeone must have taken it…”

“Who?” Harold looked up to see Sprout approaching. He hurried to Greenhouse 3 and made a show of studying the grimy grey glass.

“Ready, Grey?”

“Yes, ma’am…”

Draco groaned. He had been wearing the amulet, but it did not seem to be helping him. On the contrary, his mind just kept drifting off in class. Nott gave him a look of disapproval from across the room. He had lost points for Slytherin in Potions by mixing up pufferfish and toad eyes. Nott ended up with burns on his hands from trying to save their potion from boiling over. He had just returned from the Hospital Wing with his hands slathered in burn salve.

And those weird dreams… He was in a dark hall, standing in front of a tall figure whose face he could not make out. There was hissing all around him, but he was alone. A hand would reach out, touch his face, forcing him to look up into glowing eyes…

Always, he would wake up, feeling sick.

“Grey’s out. Have you returned it to him yet?” Nott reminded as he triggered the spell that would change out his dressings.

“Oh, sod off… I’ll do it tomorrow morning,” Draco grumbled and pulled the pillow over his head. He dreaded falling asleep.

“Drake, you have been sick. I think some call that a guilty conscience. You’re a good person, and no thief… Or maybe Grey put an Anti-Theft Hex on it.”

“I am just borrowing it, Theo…”

“Whatever… You would have had your chance in Charms today…” Theo Nott warned and shut his bed curtains. Maybe Theo was right, maybe the amulet came with some anti-theft protection that was more subtle that boils popping up on one’s face declaring them a thief for the world to see. Draco considered removing the amulet before turning in… but felt reluctant to do so.

Glowing eyes… Mine…

Dear Uncle Ali

I lost the Anubis Amulet. There was a little incident… Well, the other kid started it first. Then it became a free-for-all. I was knocked out… maybe the strap broke or something. I can’t find it when I went back. I strongly suspect it was stolen. I have two suspects on the top of my list. Will Bill mind if I Curse his little brother with a pig’s snout, permanently?

Harold Grey glared at the trio that came into the Great Hall for breakfast. Neville Longbottom was looking as lost as ever. Poor bloke had the looked of a Muggle who had stumbled into the Ministry of Magic atrium. The only class he was any good at was Herbology. Anything that needed a wand, it was hit-and-miss. Maybe he could do with less belittling from Miss Granger. Ron Weasley had plonked himself before the waffles and grabbed a tall stack of them. He topped them off with half a pitcher of syrup.  Granger was arguing with a housemate about the uses of moonstone. Longbottom tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

“Sic…” Harold whispered to Nefertari, who slithered down from his robes. In a flash, she had crossed the aisle and was under the Gryffindor table. Harold waited. If one of them took his amulet…

Nefertari did not return. At least not immediately. She slithered quietly down the length of the Gryffindor table unnoticed by the lions. Then she crossed the aisles over to the Hufflepuffs, narrowly avoiding getting trod on by Penelope Clearwater, who was gazing into Percy Weasley’s eyes. Right… St Valentine’s was in a few days.

There was a squeak of alarm from Susan Bones as the snake suddenly shot out from under the Puffs’ table and launched herself straight at the back of a blond boy at the next table, knocking him face-first into his oatmeal. With lightning quickness, she whipped her body around his neck.

“Thief!” she hissed aloud. Pandemonium broke out. Harold leapt up and sprinted over to his familiar. That was not in the plan. Then again, his little queen was a stubborn one.

“Grey! Get your snake off Mister Malfoy!” Professor Snape growled as he raced from the staff table.

“Let him go,” Harold hissed. He had spoken in Parseltongue in front of the entire school, but he would deal with that later. He saw Professor Snape had turned a shocking shade of grey. Draco looked ashen. Had she bitten him? Did Snape fear for his godson?

“He hasss the Amulet. The evil is trying to escape through him…” To everyone’s horror, Nefertari lunged as if to bite Draco in the neck. Instead, she ripped open his collar enough for the amulet to fall out.

“You stole the amulet Uncle Ali gave me? I thought we’re friends!” Harold hastily flicked a Containment Charm over the amulet before grabbing it and his familiar.

“Aha! I knew it!” Ron gloated from the other end of the hall. “No honour among snakes…”

“No honour? What do you know about honour, you rotten egg?” Nefertari’s hood flared at the ill-thought insult to serpent-kind. Harold soothed her with a kiss atop her head. She slithered down his sleeve into the warm cocoon of his robes.

“Mister Grey… your familiar just attacked a student…” Snape started.

“She was catching a thief, sir,” Harold looked Snape in the eye.

“I warned him…” Nott moaned. “I thought he’d give it back to you by now. Can you lift whatever Curse the amulet put on him? He’s a prat but he’s still my friend…” He wiped the oatmeal off Draco’s face with a spell. Draco was trembling and dry heaving as he seemed to come to.

“Oh, my stars, everyone calm down please… I am sure we can reach a…” The headmaster was murmuring as he hobbled over. “Maybe Mister Malfoy should be in the Hospital Wing…”

“There is no curse except that called a guilty conscience. Bad form, Draco…” Harold snapped. “Stealing from a friend when he’s down…”

He did not want to tell everyone about Voldemort being trapped in his amulet. Now that he had Cast a Containment Charm on the amulet, the wraith’s malignant influence over Malfoy should weaken. He would need to send an owl to Uncle Ali on the latest developments after breakfast. He could renew the Containment Charms every morning, but it was still a short-term fix. There will always be those susceptible to the wraith’s influence. Perhaps the problem was the dissonance between the castle’s renewed Wards and the amulet. Must he carry the amulet? The goblins had mentioned something about it being his fate as Anubis’ Chosen. Whatever that meant.

“I should have that confiscated…” Snape made as if to reach for the amulet. He flinched and clutched at his arm suddenly.

“What is that?” he demanded. His Dark Mark had burned after so long dormant.

“Headmaster, I think I need to make an urgent call to my guardian…” Harold relented. The wraith must be reaching out somehow despite his Containment Charm. Professor Snape was rumoured to wear the Dark Mark, as did Malfoy Senior and possibly more of his schoolmate’s parents. It might not be safe for it to be in Hogwarts. Perhaps they should lock it up in a lead box and throw it into the deepest part of the ocean. Or… Harold shivered. Ammit the Devourer of Souls. Do they really need the wraith to locate his soul pieces?

Sir Allister Floo-ed into the castle through the Headmaster’s Floo with a trio of goblins. Harold had refused to speak further about the Anubis Amulet without his guardian present. Draco was recovering and acting all contrite, if Theo was to be believed. Professor Snape had given him strict orders to remain in the Hospital Wing until Madam Pomfrey discharged him. Harold was considering whether it would be the done to Hex him with boils spelling the word THIEF on his cheeks.

The visitors were greeted by Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape. Harold wordlessly held out the amulet for the goblins’ inspection. Nefertari was looped loosely around the boy’s shoulder. She gave a little bob of her head to Sir Allister, who tipped his hat – a black bowler with a hawk feather in the band. 

“Redscar, I told you we should have used the Sumerian chant, not the Celtic one…” Nibbit grumbled in Gobbledegook.

“Well, not all of us can chant Sumerian…” Redscar snapped. Harold kept his face impassive. The third goblin in the party was a surprise. The branch managers for different regions hardly if ever crossed jurisdictions. The goblins were a territorial bunch by nature. Which makes the Sheikha’s presence in Dumbledore’s office even more remarkable. The Sheikha had dressed in the nondescript uniform of a goblin Curse-breaker, even forgoing the outward display of her rank in her earrings. She sniffed disdainfully at the gadgets Dumbledore had filled his office with. She only seemed to be impressed by Fawkes the phoenix.

“Yes, the bindings have weakened. No doubt from separation from the Chosen as well as improperly cast Containments. Come, Young Master Grey, I will teach you the necessary Shielding Charms. They are in Persian, which should be no hardship for you…” Harold tried not to laugh at the faux middle Eastern accent she had imbued her words with.

“T-that thing almost killed my godson…” Snape protested. Viper-swift, the she-goblin grabbed him by the wrist and yanked his sleeve up to expose his Dark Mark.

“Thought so. You carry with you a shadow of his power. Did you or another promise the child who was stricken to his service?” the goblin’s fangs glinted as she smiled unpleasantly. Snape shivered. It would be too much like Lucius to do something idiotic like promise his infant son to Voldemort. Likely behind Cissy’s back. If she knew…

“Are we referring to Voldemort?” Dumbledore cut in. “Is he trapped in Mister Grey’s amulet?”

The Sheikha nodded.

“If that is his true name…” Sir Allister added.

“Shouldn’t we turn it over to the Ministry?” Snape protested. The male goblins exchanged looks. Redscar rested his hand on his battleaxe. Flitwick gulped. One false move…

“No, the Ministry is not to be trusted – overrun with vermin… This must be kept secret for now,” Sir Allister interjected. “Also, I do not trust you…” Sir Allister glared at Snape. His eyes were like Lily’s even though they were a paler green, almost grey. They were intelligent, questioning… like Harold Grey’s, when they were not filled with disdain.

“He was our spy among the Death Eaters…” the headmaster tried to head off a confrontation. He tried to change the conversation. “Shouldn’t it be destroyed instead or locked in a vault?”

“Vaults can be broken into. The time of its destruction is not yet nigh… When the boy Chosen by Anubis becomes a man, Ammit the Devourer will be fed her due.” Whoa, the Sheikha was enjoying herself putting up a show. For a goblin, she was prone to dramatics. Yet Harold shivered at her words. The Sheikha seemed to snap out of a trance.

“Let’s get this over with. The Amulet if you will… Lay it on the table…” she scowled. With a swipe of her hand, she cleared the table of a dozen trinkets and the headmaster’s jar of lemon drops with a crash. With an ivory dagger, she etched a circle of Hieroglyphs into the tabletop and motioned for both Greys to approach. Nefertari crawled onto the table but was shooed away by the Sheikha. She had no part in the coming ritual.

“This initial Ka-Binding will involve a blood ritual. Let no one interrupt it. If anyone has any issues with that, please leave now,” she snapped briskly. No one left. The two male goblins, and the cobra, herded the professors to a corner of the office. Fawkes flitted up to the rafters. Harold noticed that most of the portraits in the office had left their frames. Even before ritual started, he could sense the magic charging the air.

“Master and Apprentice. Offer your left palms before Thoth.” Both Greys held out their palms.

She slashed them both across the palm before doing the same for herself. She pressed her bleeding palm onto the carved magical circle. Sir Allister and his ward did likewise.

“Now chant after me,” she commanded.

Half an hour later and alone in his office, Dumbledore studied his ruined desk. The glyphs had simply burned up once the ritual was completed, leaving behind only a charred circle. All the witnesses had been sworn to secrecy. Harold had gone back to his classes, the amulet imprisoning Voldemort around his neck and his cobra slung loosely over his shoulders. There had been more veiled threats made to Severus about his treatment of young Grey by Sir Allister before the wizard and goblins left. Professors Flitwick and Snape then took their leave. They had classes to teach. He would need to call a house elf to clean up the mess. He thought regretfully of the broken gadgets and candy jar.

Could this higher power be the unknown power in the prophecy? Voldemort had marked the infant Harry Potter and turned him into a name as famous as his, loved as much as he was feared. Could Harold Grey be the one to wield the power that would destroy Voldemort once and for all? And that goblin… she reminded him of… Wait, is there such a thing as goblin seer?

Chapter Text

Sheikha Sirocco was furious. Sir Allister could tell from how his rooms in the National Library Club now reeked of her clove cheroot. It was against Club rules for females to be in the guestrooms, but the concierge wisely decided not to challenge them when the Sheikha stalked past. The wraith should have been trapped, blind, deaf, unable to reach out… Based on Voldemort’s reputation in life, they had slapped a dozen Containment Charms on the amulet before allowing Harold to keep it. They needed Harold’s magic as one of Anubis’ Chosen to regulate the amulet’s power. In the wrong hands, the amulet itself could prove dangerous. Some legends had Anubis as the son of Set – the Egyptian god of Chaos, or at the very least, his stepson.

Then Harold’s letters about sensing bad vibes from the amulet. At first, he put it down to the boy’s disgust at having the wraith of his parents’ killer so close to him, but soon became clear it was more than that. Sir Allister had volunteered to carry the amulet on his ward’s behalf, but Sirocco had only laughed and said he was beloved of Thoth. He was not suited for it. There was always Ammit, but a soul-wraith still anchored by Horcruxes? No one ever attempted that. That he could still reach out from the amulet after the Containment Charms they placed? There must be Horcruxes out there for him to draw power from. If they were to feed such a wraith to Ammit, would it be destroyed? Or would the Horcruxes that remain take a life of their own?

“We need allies in this grey land… if the Horcruxes can be found and destroyed, his power should diminish.”

The Sheikha had not been idle in the past months. With the help of the goblins from the hidden Crystal Library of Shambala, she had run Arithmancy calculations based on the readings they took from the amulet, the recorded Horcrux destroyed in Cairo and projections of the suspected Horcrux incinerated by Hogwarts. They were still short of a complete soul. How many times can a soul be split until it disintegrates? Three? Four? Voldemort had been British, even though he was said to have travelled abroad in search of knowledge. The familiar draw of home is always stronger.  

“Worrisome. That a former slave of his would feel his pull even now…”

“Will it be safer to send Harold home to Cairo?”

“No, Fate cannot be escaped. The ritual we performed should bind him further. I‘ve taught the child the correct chants to renew the Binding each moon. The amulet should continue to protect your apprentice, warn him of danger. Perhaps even lead us to where the other Horcruxes are hidden.”

“Pardon me, your words in front of Dumbledore… were they true?”

“Depends on what you mean by true,” the goblin smirked, showing her fangs. “The Amulet was originally meant to protect a child chosen by Lord Anubis until he came of age. Whatever coming of age meant…”

Dear Harold

I understand that you have been facing some difficulties socially at school both with students and staff. First, I understand that you have issues with the following members of the staff, but I hope you will be civil to them at the very least. History of Magic – Binns is set in his ways. No point defending our goblin brothers to him. Better to start A Historical Appreciation Club or study group to correct misconceptions. Please do not try any exorcisms. I mean it. Not even as an academic exercise. Potions – I have already spoken with Snape. However, it might also be helpful if you do not antagonize him with any pranks or Runic experiments. Your Self-Sorting Rune Array, though useful in theory, messed up his lesson plan– Something about students needing to be able to tell dried bladderwort from kelpweed from some dusty apothecary jar for their own potions. Try to stay out of trouble. If he gives you any grief about your parents, send me an owl. Horus and your little queen might come up with some ideas to see his position vacant after some misadventure. You do know Horus is fond of you as well, right? Let’s try to avoid that. Having one teacher go missing is disruption enough.

Understand that you have issues with two students, one of them being Bill’s little brother. Might it be possible to consider negotiations first before slinging Curses or throwing axes? It may not seem so, but goblins negotiate more than they fight. A wise man once said violence should be a last resort. Yes, I was a little disappointed about your detentions. However, I still feel your difficulties with Miss Granger might have been handled differently. She reminds me of a fellow student, who once slugged me with her book bag during a fierce debate over Charms. I am not asking you to send flowers and candy. A talk, preferably in the company of sensible adults, might help clear the air.

With regards to Mister Malfoy’s theft, I will leave it to your judgement whether you wish to seek a formal charge to be made. For practicality, I would advise you keep him at an arm’s length for now. British purebloods are inbred silly, just a step behind the pharaohs. It can be awkward to learn that he so happened to be your best friend’s cousin or something.

Your godfather is improving, so Mrs Tonks informed me. He should be ready to receive visitors by Easter. They have him as a human and walking on twos, but the clothes and barking still need some work. We’ll get there. As to when he will be sane enough to be interviewed, that is anyone’s guess.

I have accepted a somewhat risky job in Bagdad this coming summer. It will be best if you remain in Britain. I am arranging alternative lodgings for you since the Scamanders have their own summer plans. Hope you will not mind staying with the Weasleys for the later part of the summer.

Your Uncle Ali

Dumb rumours… Harold watched as another student gave him a wide berth in the library. Half the school thinks he had Cursed Malfoy and that he was a dark wizard. He knew there were many who had accepted his being a Parselmouth as a result of his familiar bond with Nefertari, but they were not risking being ostracised by their housemates, especially the lions. It smarted especially after all the hours they had spent in the study groups and discussions.

With the cold weather, everyone was huddled in the library. Granger’s corner of the library was a bright patch of red and gold with sprinklings of yellow and black. Most of the Ravenclaws were still on his side. Parvati lingered almost reluctantly beside her twin. The sole lion on his side. As were the Slytherins, even if they were keeping a healthy distance from him.

“Call fire…” Nefertari hissed into his ear. Harold looked about. No, Finnigan had not set anything on fire yet. The Weasley twins were not up to mischief. “Book-guardian is out visssiting the caretaker. Call fire now in serpent-tongue and know your fellow-speakers.”

Here goes nothing.

“Fire under your desk!” Harold snapped in Parseltongue as sharply as possible. It was a soft-toned language. The volume did elicit a few raised eyebrows from students who heard it as a loud hiss, perhaps thinking it a rebuke to the cobra coiled about his head. However, six of the students present reacted differently. Anthony Goldstein peered under his desk for a moment, before his eyes flashed up at Harold with annoyance. As did both Patil twins. One even had her wand ready as if Cast a Aguamenti, was it Padma with the white ribbons in her braids? Theo Nott shoved himself clear of his desk, knocking into Tracey Davis. More surprising was the reaction from the lions’ table.

“Seamus! Mind yer wand!” Dean Thomas leapt to his feet and Cast an Aguamenti. He had spoken in Parseltongue. 

“It ain’t me!” Seamus responded in parseltongue as he peered under the long table they were sharing at opposite ends of the table, to their fellow students’ bewilderment. He received the full blast of water in his face. Ron Weasley was staring at Thomas and Finnigan in shock.

“Sssorry… false alarm…” Harold apologized. “Greetings, fellow speakers, I am thinking of forming a Parseltongue support group for better understanding of serpent-tongue and its uses in magical spells and healing. I hope this will dispel the bad rep…”

“That’s one mean trick, Grey!” Parvati in the red ribbons yelled. “Baba warned us not to use it or tell anyone we know it.”

“Your ancestors are from India, right? Our friends should know that the reputation of Parselmouths there is very different…” Harold Grey addressed the students. “As is in Africa and the Americas. Ergo, the so-called evil Parselmouth is an unfortunate myth.”

“W-when did you figure it out?” Padma asked. “Was it Nefertari?” Perhaps she had been careless in responding too readily to the snake’s complaints.

“Nefertari will be glad to know she can thank you directly for ensuring her comfort during my time in the Hospital Wing.”

“B-but Parselmouths are all Dark…” Ron Weasley stammered.

“The evidence proves otherwise, would you not agree?” Harold allowed his gaze to sweep over the assembly. Even Granger gave a grudging nod. Everyone was interested now, including the newly unmasked Parselmouths.

“Actually, it can be learned like any language… I picked up a few words from Uncle Newt…” Goldstein cleared his throat. Nefertari hissed softly. 

“It shows, Tony. Sorry, my familiar says your Uncle Newt sounds like a common runespoor after it has been caught in a wringer. She’s a bit of a queen… she made sure I learned to speak to her high standards as part of our familiar bond.” Harold’s words sent a wave of chuckles through the assembly.

“Same here. My Tante Brigitta bred ashwinders before she blew herself up. Hearing fire uttered in snake meant something is going bang very shortly in my house,” Theo explained. “She was a speaker, but it only passes down the female line.”

“I might as well as come clean…” Seamus Finnigan shrugged and sat on his desk. “My folks turn up Parselmouths every other generation, both male and female. Uncle Paddy says we were descended from St Patrick before he went all holy. You know, same bloke who chased snakes out of Erin? How the blazes do you think he asked them to leave? Whacking them with the holy book? Of course, we kept it quiet-like after that debacle with Slytherin and more recently Voldemort.” The Irish boy glared at Ron Weasley as he continued.

“Now that we have cleared that up, we’d appreciate if we do not get Hexed in our beds…”

“I didn’t even know I was speaking Parseltongue!” Poor Dean Thomas looked confused. He was Muggleborn and raised.

“Maybe you are descended from a family with the trait through a squib line or perhaps one of your parents is secretly a wizard… Heredity can be weird…” Harold tried to smooth over Thomas’ confusion. Poor kid likely has a lot of question for his parents when he wrote back. Was he living with a stepfather?

“Fellow students, I think it is a crying shame that due to the actions of a few, British wix are no longer exploring the fields knowing Parseltongue opens up. Many healing rituals and spells involve parselmagic and serpents play an important role in magical healing…”

Nefertari was doing her warning dance. Irma Pince was on her way back. It was time for Harold to end his speech.

“I suggest that the first official meeting of the Parselmouth Support group be held next Tuesday at eight after dinner in Classroom 16. I hope to see you and anyone else interested there,” Harold Grey closed his impromptu meeting. He had plans and appointments to make with two professors.

“A Parseltongue Appreciation club?” Professor Flitwick’s first reaction was incredulity. “Are you sure there are enough students interested?”

“Yes, I was considering a Gobbledegook club, but I believe there are only two or three fluent speakers of the language in Hogwarts including among the staff,” Harold passed him the list with the names of interested students he had gathered from the library and afterwards.  

“Will there be any concerns about him?” the professor’s eyes darted to the front of Harold’s shirt, where the amulet would be lying.

“Very unlikely, my familiar and her friends will stand guard. Serpents are sensitive to magic.”

“Friends? You will be inviting the students to interact with actual snakes?”

“Yes, sir. I have volunteered to assist Professor Snape with the snakes he rears for venom and skin.”

“He has allowed this?” The Potions Master considered his personal potions lab off-limits, as well as its contents.

“We have called a truce. We do need two professors to sign off on the club paperwork if it involves possibly dangerous creatures.”

“But venomous snakes…”

“The Patil twins have experience with cobras and vipers among others. Nott’s family worked with ashwinders. Nefertari will keep everyone else in line… I believe this will reignite interest in Parseltongue-based magic and healing, which I understand is no longer practiced in St Mungo’s.”

“Fascinating…” Professor Flitwick’s moustache twitched as academic interest warred with prudence. Finally, he Summoned his quill and signed off on the parchment. One of the names on the interest list had caught his attention. Hermione Granger…

“Mister Grey, I do hope I will not be regretting this…” Professor Snape snarled as he peered out from behind the door of his office. The snakes stirred in their terrariums on the shelf behind him. Nefertari had managed to slip into the lab and speak with the captive serpents. Most of them were eager to speak with wix in the serpent-tongue, to convey their wishes. Snape had offered them little simulation and only met their most basic needs. A spot of actual sun would not be amiss.

“Does your arm ache, sir?” Harold Grey asked. The question caught him off guard.

“N-no…” He had been unconsciously avoiding the child during Potions, but there was no pain now, even with Harold Grey standing in front of him.

“Good, sir. It means that the Binding worked this round. Sorry, just had to check.”

“I will not be held responsible for any accidents, including snakebites. Since I have no desire to spend my free time monitoring you, I will provide you with only one species of snake at a time and the corresponding antidote. Bezoars do not grow on trees.”

“They are found in the stomachs of goats…”

“Don’t be pert. It does not suit you, Grey…” Professor Snape gave a nod, which was as much compliment he was willing to give Harold Grey. If it was possible that the goblins and Sir Allister could end Voldemort for good, he was willing to swallow his pride and be civil to young Grey. Draco did not deserve to suffer for the sins of his father.

Chapter Text

“Greetings to all. I call to order the first meeting…” Harold felt a little self-conscious. He had not expected that large a turnout. Uncle Ali, if this backfires on me, I am sending you a Howler – and including a Hex that will leave you bald for a month. The Anubis Amulet was warm to the touch but not uncomfortably so. It was almost the new moon and time to renew the Binding. Thankfully, it no longer required blood to be used. Only an ancient incantation to be chanted, followed by anointment with oil of frankincense and myrrh.

A childish part of him delighted in proving that Parseltongue was not inherently dark. They had also winkled out several older students, including a Hufflepuff who were born Parselmouths. Others had joined to support their friends or out of interest. The Weasley twins were with another third-year Gryffindor. Almost the entire first-year Ravenclaw cohort, plus a good number of the older years had turned up. People fear what they do not understand. If he could dispel some of the myths… His Head of House had indicated that he might want to attend a meeting or two if his grading allowed. So far, there was no sign of the diminutive professor.

Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott. The Slytherins were huddled in a corner, across from Miss Granger and Mister Weasley. A nervous-looking Longbottom almost cowered behind his fellow lions. As if things could not get more complicated. Draco had apologized over the theft. His mother had found out and chewed him up via a Howler delivered to him in the privacy of his dorm by their long-suffering house elf. Malfoys had to keep up appearances after all. The pair had approached him before the meeting.

“I don’t know what came over me… I mean, thievery is below a Malfoy…” Draco tried to sound nonchalant, but his eyes were still haunted by his experience. He had come along to support Nott. They were the only two Slytherins in attendance. If there were other speakers in their House, they were not making themselves known.

“He should not affect you now… Not after we have Bound him…”

“He?”

“Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…” Harold teased wickedly. Draco had gulped, stared at the amulet on Grey’s chest with a shudder before tucking himself closer to Nott.

“Professor Snape has kindly provided us with our first snake – the European adder,” Harold announced as he lifted the lid off the terrarium. The snake hissed listlessly.

“He is complaining it is too early for him to be out,” Seamus translated. “I guess we will not be handling snakes this round with him hibernating, eh?”

“Brumation. Snakes don’t really hibernate in the actual sense…” Great, Miss Know-it-all strikes again. Harold gritted his teeth and smiled.

“Granger, since this is a non-magical snake, will you like to give a lecture on it while we discuss Parseltongue and how it works for us?”

“Apologies…” Hermione forced a smile. “I would like to learn more about…”

“How you dark wizards are plotting against us!” Ron Weasley snapped. Granger stomped on his foot hard.

“OW! What’s that for, Mione?” he bleated.

“Please, I’d like to learn about Parselmagic…” Granger smiled sweetly. Harold glared. So long as you do not Hex me in the back. We have witnesses a-plenty…

“Good, we’ll to do a round of introductions, followed by sharing on how some of us learnt we were Parselmouths or how we picked up the language. There will be time for Q and A during the break,” Harold continued. Nefertari hissed and poked her head out of his sleeve.

“Oh, allow me to introduce Nefertari to those who have not met her yet. She’s my familiar who taught me Parseltongue. She also claims I have a natural affinity for languages…” Harold stroked his familiar’s head. “High praise coming from her…”

“That’s the understatement of the year, Grey… Everyone knows you are fluent in Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, and French, just to list a few… and that is just the languages still used today,” Goldstein teased. The discussion soon started in earnest. Snacks were brought by the Hogwarts elves midway through the meeting, which slowed the snarky remarks coming from Ron Weasley. Harold wondered if he could get away with a Silencio, but Granger was watching him like a hawk.

“Do snakes in Britain sound different from ones from India?” someone asked the Patils.

“Parseltongue is the same, but depending on the species, there might be some slight difference like an accent,” one of the twins replied.

“How can you tell if you are speaking Parseltongue as a Parselmouth? I mean, it just feels like English coming out…” Dean Thomas asked. His outing as a born Parselmouth had been a shock, even for himself. Grey had a theory that Parselmouths were born with serpent-tongue, then pick up the human language around them as they grow up without a fellow Parselmouth to guide them. They only speak serpent-tongue if confronted with a snake or a fellow Parselmouth.

“I think we might be able to work on that, mate…” Seamus thumped Dean on the back. “Just takes practice… Used to drive Da bonkers thinking the furnace was acting up whenever Aunt Cathy or Uncle Paddy visited.”

“I think my real father might be the one I inherited it from. My mom’s folks are Muggle for at least four generations in the West Indies,” Dean ran his hand through his curly hair.

“It might be your mom’s family if there’s a witchdoctor or priestess up the line,” Lee Jordan said. “A century or so back, they were not so strict about the Statutes in Latin America. My sis got the gift. Mom shipped her over to live with Granny in Bahamas once they found out. My parents are thankful the rest of us did not get it. Rosa is training to be a healer in Castelobruxo now.”

“Thomas, the goblins can do a lineage test if you wish to find out about your magical ancestry, for a fee of course,” Harold suggested as he helped himself to a sugar cookie.

“Do the snakes In a Gorgon’s hair speak? Or just hiss?” Sue Li asked.

“Actually, those aren’t real snakes, they slither and hiss, but nothing sensible. Think of it as a very bad hair day,” Harold explained.

“You mean Gorgons are real?” a Muggleborn fifth year asked. “I thought they were fantasy…”

“In every myth is a grain of truth,” Harold winked. “Gorgons are very rare now as there are no more males left, so no more baby Gorgons. The ancient texts note that the gender ratio of the race is strongly skewed towards females, but unlike the lamias or Veela, they do not produce asexually or interbreed with humans. The ones I met are like a pair of reclusive spinster aunts. They wear veils when receiving visitors so not to accidentally turn them to stone.”

Snape’s adder spent the entire session snug in his terrarium, refusing even the dead mouse offered to him. Harold wondered if the Potions Master had given the most docile snake in his possession or had drugged it for safety. The mouse was set aside for later under a Stasis Charm. Nefertari preened like the queen she was, engaging the Patils and other Parselmouths in conversation.

“Do dragons speak Parseltongue?” someone asked timidly. It was Neville Longbottom.

“No, Nefertari says most dragons operate on brute instinct, apart from the Chinese Fireballs and Opaleyes… Wait, why are you asking this, Nev?” Harold asked. He saw Ron waving frantically out of the corner of his eye. Hermione was trying to stop him and mouthing no.

“I think Mister Hagrid has one in his shack!” the plump boy blurted. “He showed us the egg…” As if his school year could not get any worse… 

“A dragon?”

“Neville, we promised not to tell!” Ron protested.

“Cool! Ronnikins, how could you keep this from us?” the Weasley twins grinned from ear to ear. Didn’t their groundskeeper live in a mostly wooden shack?

“Er, aren’t dragons illegal to keep without a permit?” Theo Nott added. “You need a Dragon-keeper Level Three certification and a Warded habitat of at least 30 hectares depending on the species…” 

“How did you know that?” Granger blurted.

“Aunt Brigitta told me when I asked for an Opaleye for my seventh birthday…” Theo shrugged. “Uncle Vadim had one which he kept on his estate outside Kyiv…”

“Everyone, I think the issue here is we have a dragon in a wooden building…” Goldstein reminded everyone else.

“I knew the half-giant’s an idiot, but this really takes it…” Draco sniffed. “I’m telling my father…”

“Tattletale… No one asked you,” Ron launched himself at the blond, who promptly slid his wand out of his sleeve and cast a Flippendo, which knocked Ron over – straight into the adder’s terrarium. Pandemonium broke out as the terrarium broke and a very angry adder slithered out, fangs bared. Students screamed as there was a mad rush to get out of its way.

Oh boy… Harold lunged for the snake before he could bite a still-stunned Weasley. The snake panicked and started twisting in his hands, trying to land a bite. It was shockingly muscular despite its smaller size. Nefertari flared her hood and was hissing at the adder from where she was coiled round Harold’s arm. Be still, you fool!

Harold felt a burning pain as the adder’s fangs found purchase in his hand. Nefertari had the smaller snake pinned down under her bulk. The Weasley twins had dived in to drag their brother to safety. Harold felt his vision blurring. He was choking. He fumbled in his pocket for the antidote Professor Snape had given him.  

“My stars, what is happening here?” Professor Flitwick must have finished grading their assignments. That was all Harold registered before he passed out.

“Mister Grey, for a non-Quidditch player, you have a habit of ending up in my care,” Madam Pomfrey remarked as she ran a Scan over him. Harold groaned. His tongue felt thick and dry as a desert. He had woken up in the Hospital Wing several hours later. The mediwitch informed him that after he passed out, his House head had taken charge of the situation. The Patils had secured both snakes, returning the adder to Professor Snape and Nefertari to the Ravenclaw common room.

“W-would have worked… if I got the antidote down…”

“No, unfortunately. It appears you are highly allergic to the bite of the common adder… After what happened, Professor Snape has decided not to provide any more venomous snakes for your club,” the mediwitch clucked as she urged him to down a vial of potion for the swelling.

“At least we started a conversation on Parseltongue…” Harold grumbled. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“Mister Weasley. Minor cuts and bruises. Calming draughts for a few others…”

“Maybe I should have stuck to Runes…” Harold felt for his amulet and was relieved to find it still around his neck. Another thought occurred to him.

“Madam Pomfrey… this allergy, is it to all snakebites? Is there anything we can do to alleviate it?” Snakes were a common hazard on dig sites. So far, between the safeguards of the Gringotts’ expeditions snake-handlers and Nefertari, Harold had not had any bad encounters with the local serpents. However, this might not prove true once he starts out as a Cursebreaker.

“Well, since there was no prior record of this allergy in your medical file, I have written to inform your guardian. We understand that there are potions that might work in mitigating the immediate symptoms. However, there are said to be spells or charms to resolve the problem in the long-term, but they are not available in St Mungo’s on account of Parselmagic being involved.”

“It sucks, having a useful life-saving cure written off because of the language… Wait, was there anything done about the dragon?”

“What dragon, Mister Grey?” the mediwitch chuckled. Perhaps the child was dreaming.

“Longbottom blurted out that Hagrid’s got a dragon. Malfoy threatened to write to his father and Ron Weasley attacked him. That was how Weasley ended up falling on the adder’s terrarium.”

“No, I have not heard anything about a dragon…” the mediwitch frowned. Maybe she should check on her Burn Paste and general antivenom stocks. Hagrid might be a gentle giant, but the man has no concept of danger when it came to his pets.

“Mister Grey, I will be giving you a light sleeping potion to allow you to sleep for the rest of the night.   You will stay here for monitoring over the next two days…”

“Aw, is there a Charm that can do that instead of me missing class?” Harold downed the potion she offered him. Perhaps he could ask Goldstein to bring the box with the oils he needed to do the Binding ritual from his dorm. Nefertari too.

“Better safe than sorry, Mister Grey…”

“Can you tell Professor Snape it is not the adder’s fault or Malfoy’s please? Ron Weasley and Granger were there to cause trou…” Harold slumped back onto the pillow and was soon snoring softly.

Chapter Text

“Rubeus, a dragon? What were you thinking?” Flitwick grumbled. The news of Hagrid’s dragon had spread at breakfast after Grey’s misadventure. A concerned Minerva had asked the pair of Flitwick and Snape to check in with the groundskeeper. She had an early class to teach.

“Clearly he was not,” Snape remarked dryly. 

“Ah hav everythin’ under control…” Hagrid insisted as he trimmed the burnt ends of his beard with his straight razor. The baby dragon spat a gout of flame from its nesting box, which set the tablecloth alight. Flitwick hastily Cast an Aguamenti.

“How did you come about the dragon egg?” Snape asked.

“Won it off some chap at cards… Look, I can train Norbert…”

“Dragons are impossible to train. Though Norbert might have his uses…” Snape’s eyes gleamed as he considered the current rate for dragon scales, blood and body parts on the potions market.

“Oi, stop that!” Hagrid blustered as he caught on to the Potions Master’s words.

“Let’s see… We have transfer him to a reserve to live among his kind – or the Aurors would put him down as a dangerous beast…”

“No one’s touching Norbert, ya hear?” Hagrid growled. “Not havin’ it…”

“What would the headmaster say, Hagrid?” Snape asked silkily.

“Professor Dumbledore would understand…” the large man blubbered.

“Rubeus, you live in a wooden house next to a school full of children… It’d outgrow your shack in no time…” Flitwick coaxed. Perhaps they needed Dumbledore to speak to the groundskeeper, preferably before news of the pet dragon spread any further. He did not put it past some of the more sensible students to write home informing their parents of the dragon. A flurry of owls had left the Owlery that morning. It would be a matter of time before someone sent a Howler or spoke to the newspapers. Did he still have the contact of his cousin Ratsbane in Romania? Failing that, one of the Weasley clan was doing a stint on the Romanian Dragon Reserve…  

“I do wonder if the elder sons got all the brains and common sense in that family…” Snape muttered as if he just thought of the same thing as his colleague. If the Aurors came calling, Hagrid would likely be detained if not sent to Azkaban, and there would be more awkward questions for a certain former Death Eater.

Cairo Magical Quarter

“Not funny, Horus,” Sir Allister rubbed his new bald pate. The hawk made a gurgling kree-kree sound and bobbed his head as if laughing. The Howler received was easily dealt with by a Cursebreaker of his calibre. The Hex that came with its disabling had caught him off guard. At least it was only for a month, so his ward claimed.

“The pharaohs of old shaved their heads to better receive the blessings of Ra. You might set a trend, my friend. How did the re-introduction of Parseltongue to Albion go?” Sobecki the goblin asked. Grey had returned to Cairo to attend to a spot of trouble involving a Cursed chess set accidentally let loose in the museum. Several Muggle tourists and museum staff got killed before the Cursebreaking team got it under control. Messy business. The local authorities might file it under a terrorist attack.

“Harold winkled out some Snake-Speakers, but he also learned he’s allergic to snakebites… The club got shut down because an adder got loose and bit him. At least he got the conversation started on Parseltongue…” Sir Allister sipped at his coffee.

“Tch, best have him visit Alexandria to remove his allergies when the lad’s back. It’s already hard enough to administer antidotes for snakebites in the field without having to worry about those,” Sobecki tossed a bone from their meal to his waiting guard-hyena. “You still coming with us for the Baghdad job?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. However, I have a promise to keep to Harold over Easter. Tonks wrote that he might just be fit for company…”

“Oh, the godfather. Can’t you arrange to have Tina or Newt take him to visit instead? All this Portkeying across time zones can be hard given your age…”

“I will take that as advertised, but I also need arrange for the healer to meet up with Mrs Longbottom…”

“Oh, the dame with her son and daughter-in-law incapacitated for the past ten years, right? You intend to have a healer from Alexandria visit St Mungo, run a borderline Dark diagnostic test on the patients to gauge their suitability for treatment, then have them transferred out? In Albion where the wix are so skittish about what magicks are Dark? Sounds more challenging than finding the Holy Grail. Take care, mon ami.”

“It’s a petition to have the Parseltongue Club restarted.” Harold regarded the parchment Granger had thrust under his nose with suspicion.

“How do I know you did not Hex the petition? And why would you care?” It still smarted, not only having his club shut down after one meeting but also being denied access to the Potion Master’s snake collection. Not without written clearance from a healer that Harold Grey was no longer allergic to snake venom. Moreover, he had stayed up late the night before to renew the Binding on the Amulet. He could sense the wraith’s rage, possibly at his demystification of Parseltongue. That was fascinating – did the Dark Lord use his knowledge of Parseltongue and Parselmagic to create and power his Spells? Could the same magic be used to undo the Curses?

“This is one entire field of magic with zero books or references I can find,” Granger moaned. Ron was shooting them a dirty look across the table.

“Parselmagic is an oral tradition. There is nothing written down by its practitioners for obvious reasons,” Harold explained. “Professor Snape’s not loaning me his snakes for practicing on and Nefertari has her moods.” He felt his familiar tighten her coils on his arm. “Besides, what about your beau there? He doesn’t look happy you want to speak snake.”

“H-He’s not my beau…” Hermione flushed pink. “Dean and Seamus are not speaking to Ron. He goes off on a rant whenever they practice their Parseltongue. Parvati and Jordan too when they are in the common room. It’s getting embarrassing… We need a place to study it without a fight starting.”

“Borrow Lee’s spider…”

“And drop it on Ronnikins.”

“That’ll stop his ranting…”

“But you then might have to deal with the shrieking…” the Weasley twins were heading over to the Ravenclaw table, pausing to give Ron a noogie.

“Hey, Grey. Our brother Charlie is coming to pick up Hagrid’s baby dragon. They were expected Saturday evening. Maybe you can put some Fireproofing Runes on their stuff? Mom wouldn’t be thrilled if Charlie catches fire on the way back to the reserve.”

“As professional dragon-wranglers, they should already have their kit fireproofed,” Harold replied. At least the dragon problem would be taken care of soon.

“Excuse me, the petition?” Granger waved the parchment in front of Harold.

“Sorry, ma’am… Not this year at least. Though Master Finnigan and Misses Patil might be open to an informal discussion with you about the topic…” Harold nodded to where Seamus and both Patil twins were discussing something openly in Parseltongue at the Ravenclaw table to get away from Ron Weasley’s petulance. Goldstein was also part of the group even though he was not a born speaker. With a huff, Granger hastened over to the group.

The Easter break soon rolled by. To Harold’s dismay, Uncle Ali had insisted Nefertari remained in Hogwarts during the visit. Tonks Clinic was a pleasant enough place to recuperate – clean, bright and just cosy enough without being smothering. The Greys could see how it had helped put their patients at ease. Mrs Tonks, or Andi, showed them to a sunroom where Sirius Black was already receiving a visitor. Harold frowned when he recognized the werewolf Lupin. Black looked up when the Greys entered the room.

“J-James? Is that you?” Black started and rose from his armchair shakily.  

“It’s Harry, Sirius…” Lupin said softly as he steadied Black’s arm. “Your godson…”

“Actually, it is Harold Potter Grey now. I took on the name of my Uncle Ali…” Harold tried to be patient. Healer Tonks explained that Black sometimes got his years confused.

“Prongs, Moony, I’m sorry about that prank… I didn’t mean for Snivellus to get that far… I wasn’t trying to get him killed… Don’t be mad at me, James…” Sirius whined. A pained look washed over Lupin’s scarred face.

“I’m Harold. James Potter was my father. After my parents died, I was sent to Aunt Petunia to raise, before Uncle Ali found me some years back…” Harold explained.

“Oh, they’re dead, aren’t they? Lils and Prongs? If I hadn’t asked them to change Secret Keepers… My fault… So sorry…” Sirius whimpered. “If only I had stayed Secret Keeper…”

“Wait, you swopped Secret-keepers? Who did you swop with?” Lupin demanded. His hands gripped Black by the shoulders.

“W-wormy… We swopped with Wormtail”

“That blasted rat!” Lupin growled. For a moment, his eyes seemed to glint deadly amber.

“Gentlemen, I think this little truth should be repeated in the presence of the member of the Magical Law Enforcement,” Sir Allister tapped his cane on the floor. “Now, Harold, would you be alright staying here with them while I Floo-call some Aurors?”

“Certainly, Uncle Ali…” Harold smiled as he sat down on an empty chair. “Now, Mister Lupin, whatever mischief did my sire and godfather get up to in school? Might that also explain why my current Potions Master hates my guts?”

There was a yip as Black shifted into his dog form. Bother, the Aurors might have to wait. Still, Harold could not find it in him to push the mutt away when he butted his knee, seeking a comforting pat. He scratched him behind the ears.

“Fess up, Moony… were some of you unregistered animagi?” A vague memory tugged at Harold. Chasing after a black dog as a toddler. Likely the same dog he was now patting. The werewolf nodded slowly.

“Allister! You’re late,” Augusta Longbottom chided when Sir Allister, his ward and an olive-skinned witch Floo-ed into St Mungo’s waiting room.

“Sincerest apologies. We were held up thanks to Aurors and a black dog,” Sir Allister replied tartly. He had not expected Black to turn back into a dog while he was speaking with Amelia Bones over the Floo. When the Aurors came over, they tried to get Black to change back for questioning, rather than take Lupin’s word as a werewolf. That ended with someone getting bitten and both Aurors and visitors being tossed out of the room by Ted Tonks. Madam Bones had already stated that even as a registered werewolf, Lupin’s word was still acceptable in a British court of law. Moreover, he had the Greys to back him up.

Harold had suggested that the DMLE reopen the case of the wizard his godfather allegedly killed along with twelve Muggles – Peter Pettigrew. If they still had Black’s wand in evidence and it turned up no deadly spells, it was likely the presumed dead hero Pettigrew was very much alive. Black never got his day in court for betraying the Potters or killing of those Muggles and Pettigrew. Then it was a struggle trying to pry Madam Faris away from the scrolls in the Albionian Healers’ Guild library. The lady had found some arcane healing spells thought lost in the Great Alexandria Library Fire.

Now the healer from Alexandria strolled briskly into the Janus Thickey Ward, her black robes flaring like a bat’s wings behind her. She homed in on the Longbottoms. Frank was sitting in a chair looking out the window while his wife was mumbling and pacing restlessly near her bed. A potted Flutterby sat limply on the bedside table as an elf watered it. The Middle eastern healer waved her wand. A series of glyphs encircled both patients snaking slowly from their feet to their head. A junior healer hastened over to protest, but Augusta fixed him with her gimlet glare. The glyphs glowed violet, blue, green, yellow and finally red before vanishing.

“Frank Bey has long-term nerve and mind damage from dark magic, the Cruciatus Curse in particular. Likewise, Alice Hamin. However, her condition has some improvement thanks to that,” Madam Faris nodded at the plant. “Alice Hamin appears to be a green witch. A fellow green wix gave her a living plant with good wishes. Her magic is drawing from that. From a child perhaps?”

“M-my grandson. Neville gave them that last Christmas…”

“Good boy, need more,” Madam Faris nodded approvingly. “This place is alien to them, too sterile – stifles their magic. They are too fragile to transfer all the way to Alexandria now for further tests. We need them to be more stable. Augusta Hamin, if possible, take them home, or to somewhere familiar. Have them surrounded by good memories, and plants raised by their kin. Alice Hamin’s magic will draw from that and support Frank Bey’s recovery as well. After a month, we will see if they can be…”

They were interrupted by a large healer with a bristly moustache bursting into the ward. Harold thought he reminded him of Uncle Vernon.

“See here, what’s this use of dark magic in the ward!” the senior healer blustered red-faced. Madam Faris raised an elegantly arched eyebrow.  

“Dark magic? I use ICW approved diagnostic spell. Ayse Faris, Master Healer, Specialization in Dark Magic Damage, Alexandria,” Madam Faris introduced herself, pulled a card from thin air and handed it to the Vernon-seque healer. “ICW health facilities inspector…” she added with a smirk.

“A-apologies, madam…” the man seemed to blanch to a cadaverous grey. Madam Faris ignored him as she ran an appraising eye over the other patients and the general state of the ward.

“So this is the oubliette - the ward for lost causes? When was the last diagnostic scan done on this poor man? And why is she here when there is possibility at rehabilitation? A simple full-body Glamour should fix that one if it is aesthetics only,” the master healer tore into the St Mungo’s healer.

“Madam Faris, we’ll be seeing you at the ICW consul dinner at seven,” Sir Allister reminded. He grinned quietly as he took his leave with Harold.

“I suppose I should start on the paperwork to have Frank and Alice discharged,” Augusta Longbottom added as she waved a junior healer over. They might have sold off the house the attack happened in, but both Frank and Alice had spent many happy hours in her conservatory and the greenhouse their son now delighted in. True, she might need the house-elves to fix things up a little, but the effort would be worth it if her son and daughter-in-law could recover.

Chapter Text

It was amusing, Harold grinned behind his book. Watching Miss Granger lose it as the exams crept nearer. Ron Weasley and Granger were constantly at each other over their revision plans and getting tossed out of the library by Miss Pince for their disruption. Longbottom had wisely opted to join the badgers for studying. Ron Weasley simply could not care less about his grades while the thought of anything less than an O was sending Granger to the Hospital Wing with a panic attack. For Harold Grey, he had done his preparations for the exams and was confident he could secure an O for those subjects that mattered. He had written off History of Magic as a lost cause and would just eke by with an A by reproducing what passed for it in Britain.

He would have loved to rub it into Voldemort’s face that Parseltongue was not that special, but he had no time or energy to devote to reviving the Snake Club. Not without Professor Snape’s loan of snakes. Miss Granger’s attempts to find a book on Parseltongue cumulated with a loan from fellow lioness Parvati Patil. Unfortunately, the book was in Hindi, which meant tiring Translation Charms were needed. The book was about famous Indian Parselmouths through the ages. It was a children’s book, which meant the pictures tended to get annoyed with the Translation Charms and were likely to rebel by waging war on the translated words on the pages. The resultant panda-eyes were not an improvement for Granger.

If she had been more sensible and apologized to him and Nefertari for her shameful behaviour, his cobra might just regal her with tales of great Speakers. Or even teach her a few phrases, like I am your insignificant subject.

“My Dad and Mom are doing a lot better. Madam Faris will be arranging for them to be Portkeyed to Alexandria…” Nevile smiled as he joined Harold at his House table, carefully avoiding Nefertari’s coils. The snake was sunning herself in patch of sunlight coming through the windows. “Will you be going back to Egypt during the summer?”

“No,” Harold scowled. It was the last day of the exams. “Uncle Ali has a job in Baghdad he feels I am too young to go on. Since the Scamanders will be visiting their grandson in Brazil, I am stuck with the Weasleys this summer…”

“They are alright apart from Ron, right? I know you don’t like him much,” Neville asked. “Gran’s taking me to Alexandria this summer… Will you like to join us?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Harold replied. It would be wrong of him to intrude on the Longbottoms at this trying time. There was no guarantee how much Neville’s parents would recover after being neglected for so long. The twins weren’t all that bad even as pranksters. Percy was a prefect and reminded Harold a bit of those stuffed popinjays he and his uncle sometimes encountered in the field. Too full of himself, until his younger brothers pranked Percy to take him down a notch. Nefertari’s preferred way of taking down those prigs was to invite the local serpents for a late-night party in the prig’s tent. Harold doubted Bill’s mom would be pleased if the local adders held a party under her roof. Bill was likely to remain in Egypt and Charlie in Romania. Harold would not be discussing exotic Curse-breaking techniques or dragons over the summer.

“Don’t worry, Grey…”

“We’ll take care of you…” the Weasley twins drifted over.

“If you can wrangle us an invite to his Viscount-ship’s Muggle home theatre…” Fred teased. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been crowing about his family’s new home theatre and most of the Puffs his year have been invited to watch movies there. Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott had both scoffed at the notion of Muggle entertainment, but Harold could see most of the Slytherins were equally curious. Muggle-raised Tracey Davis had arranged to take Parkinson and Greengrass out to the cinema, if their parents would allow.

Harold himself had an invite to watch Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, a thank-you for arranging the sale and donations of the pseudo-artefacts and antiques that once occupied the room where the theatre was now. They could use the Knight Bus to get about. Maybe he could fit in a trip to the British museum while he was at it. Maybe he planned things right, summer in Britain might just be tolerable.

Anthony Goldstein’s parents would be visiting for a week or so before they head off to France to visit family. Tony expected they would end up in Italy with Nonna Zini by August before Portkeying back. Tony’s a smart boy. Harold would miss discussing complex Arithmancy with him. He spent a somewhat subdued journey back in the compartment he shared with Sue Li, Tony and Boot to King’s Cross where he bade goodbye to his friends.

After disembarking, he was quickly buttonholed by the twin menaces of Fred and George Weasley. He was then ushered to where Mister Weasley was waiting with his Ford Angalia. If the Ford had not been magically and illegally improved, Harold Grey was the King of Timbuktu. There was no mundane way the twins could fit all their trunks in the back. Harold hissed an apology to Nefertari in her basket as he placed her next to Percy’s owl cage. Hermes did not look too thrilled about the snake either. Harold hoped he might be able to allow his familiar out to prowl the Weasleys’ yard later. A sulky Ron took the front seat while the rest of his brothers crammed into the back with Harold.

Mister Weasley, call me Arthur, cheerfully prattled on about how his wife would have dinner – roast and potatoes – waiting for her sons and house guest. Solid British fare. Dessert was to be a plum cobbler. Ron’s rat kept popping out of his pocket to look around. The car puttered along merrily, leaving the city of London behind for the cleaner air of the country. Nefertari popped out of her basket to have a rather unimpressed look at the passing trees, hedges, and the occasional cottage by the fading light of day. Finally, they turned off onto a dirt road at a weathered sign that read Otterly St Catchpole.

“Welcome to our Burrow!” the twins crowed as the car came to a stop before a gate at which a plump smiling witch and her red-haired daughter waited. Molly did not waste any time taking charge of her brood. She directed Ginny back into the house and the boys to take their trunks in. And will someone please help their guest? Harold hastily took Nefertari’s travel basket as he did not think she would appreciate being manhandled by the Weasleys. Percy’s owl got loose from his cage and flew up a tree to the prefect’s annoyance.  

Despite having shared a box of chocolate cauldrons on the train, Harold’s mouth watered as the aromas from the kitchen wafted over. He carefully placed his familiar’s basket near the door so she might crawl out for a fresh meal. They could do the introductions later. Harold wondered if the Weasley parents were aware of what type of familiar he had. He had brought a field tent with him in case he needed to camp out.

“What’s in the basket? Is it an owl or a cat?” young Ginny asked.

“It’s my familiar. She’s a cobra…” Harold replied. There was a clatter as Molly dropped her ladle. Arthur choked on his glass of water.

“A cobra? I thought it was a non-venomous snake… Bill said you had it since you were little,” Arthur looked flustered. How awkward. The twins only nudged each other and grinned.

“I told you we should not let him stay…” Ron grumbled. “Evil snakes…”

“Nefertari is my familiar. We bonded when I was seven. Maybe I can ask her out so you can get acquainted…” Harold suggested. Molly nodded but Harold saw how she pulled her daughter close.

“Honestly, I have not heard any complaints from the Claws, and she has the run of their common room and the library…” Percy shrugged as Harold took the basket and invited his familiar out. With serpentine grace, she rose from the basket, hood flaring as she scented the air. She knew Ron, the twins, and to some extent Percy. Now she familiarized herself with the rest of her host family.

“Good family. Sssstrong magic,” she bobbed her head to the parents. She then slid out of her basket to coil by the oven’s warmth.

“Wait, we can’t leave her loose! She’d gobble up Scabbers!” Ron protested. Nefertari gave a disdainful hiss in response.

“No, she won’t. Right, my little queen?” Harold tuned to Nefertari, who fixed him with a glare.

“Rat not sssmellss right. Not eat lessst I upssset ssstomach…” If snakes could smile, Harold thought his familiar would be grinning broadly. “Sssmellsss like cat-teacher… I will not eat dumb owl, egg-layers or little girl’s puffy toy.”

Cat-teacher? Professor McGonagall?

“What’s wrong, Harold?” Fred asked when he saw the dark look on Harold’s face.

“Nothing, just a bit of cheek. She promised not to eat any family pets. The weather’s pleasant. I was thinking Nerfertari and I can camp out under the stars…” Harold smiled as his familiar coiled around his arm. 

“Definitely not! You’ll catch your death of cold out there. You’re sharing with Ronald…” Molly snapped.

“But Mom, can’t he have Char… Ow!” Ron protested and was silenced by a Stinging Hex.

“Well, Percy? What are you waiting for? Take his trunk up!” Percy hesitated for a moment before taking Harold’s trunk upstairs. He was soon back empty-handed.

The sleeping arrangements sorted out. They now settled down to dinner. Molly Weasley’s cooking was heartily British to the core and tasty enough to rival what the house elves served up in Hogwarts. Perhaps generously seasoned with love. Nefertari was curious enough to sample the leek soup. She declared it too pungent before Harold let her out the kitchen window to feed on some frogs she smelled on the way in over at the pond.

Dear Uncle Ali

I have submitted my application to be advanced for Runes and Arithmancy, no joy yet as waiting for exam results. Certain Professor S will mark me down just on principle. I do hope an A in Magical History or rather, Anti-goblin Propaganda and General Malarkey, will suffice. I needed a Headache Soother after writing all the trash. I have also attached the Sheikha’s recommendation letter as advised. I suppose now is the waiting game. May I appeal for a certain ghost professor to be exorcised while waiting?  

Did you forget to inform my hosts that Nefertari is a cobra? Especially with Ronald running his mouth off about evil snakeys? Lucky thing Nefertari’s a real charmer. She’s convinced our hostess to leave a warm brick in the kitchen for her to bask on in exchange for low-level pest control. You should see those gnomes run. The matriarch rules the roost – or Burrow, which defies all rules of architecture, engineering, and physics. The entire structure is held up by magic and love I suppose. Tell Bill his family’s well. And ask him if the ghoul in the attic is a family pet or pest. Molly has me sharing Ron’s room which is a highly awkward. Well, we agreed on a truce – splitting the bedroom down the middle. I chose the side with the window so Nerfertari can use the drainpipe outside to crawl out for her nocturnal frog-hunts. Ron thought he had the better deal with access to the door and claimed he was charging me a Sickle each time to cross his part of the room.

Remember that Persian doorway rune-array Uncle Sobecki demonstrated in Giza? I set up one on my side of the room, which happened to over the stairs outside the parents’ room. A rope took care of the drop. The twins declared it the coolest thing ever. Ron got yelled at for being mean to a guest. I have put the runes and rope away, for now. I will be spending much of my summer out with friends or visiting the British Museum. Though Molly insists that I have dinner at the Burrow. I do not intend to socialize much with Ron, not unless his attitude improves drastically. The twins are alright once you got to know them. Decent pair of brains – if only they could apply them to their studies. Nefertari thinks Percy the Prefect is ambitious for some reason. She promised not to eat Ron’s pet rat. Remember the debacle in the library? Now she claims the rat smells off.

Nefertari keeps Ginny company while I am out at the cinema, museum, or visiting friends. I am not foolish enough to get caught with a cobra in Muggletown, Britain. I think as females in a mainly male household, they have something in common. There’s also a neighbour girl who drops by to visit. Would you believe they made a little flower crown for Nefertari? You should have seen her preen. Then she’s teaching them to dance… The wriggling looks silly now, but Nefertari claims I will not be taking my eyes off them when they fill in, whatever that means.

I visited Dean Thomas at his apartment – a rough Muggle housing estate. Chances are high he is a half-blood, though he’s not keen on confirming that with the goblins. We ran into the Weasley twins and some of their friends outside a Muggle club I am sure you need to be eighteen to enter. Dean warned me that there might be illicit substances circulating inside there. Relax, I am not slumming it out of boredom. Dean has an uncle who is an expert artist, except he copies other more famous artists’ work. He thought I might be interested. He asked if I could help make a copy of or borrow one of those fancy paintings for his uncle when we visit Justin for his movie matinee. I told him it would be poor form to get a friend in trouble by borrowing his paintings for the purpose of art forgery. 

Justin’s movie matinee was a hoot. The Finch-Fletchleys looked so happy that their son had so many friends from school. Never saw a more ridiculous tale involving the Holy Grail. It’s all Hollywood bang-bangs. The goblins would have a fit at how the hero goes about his archaeology. Such wanton destruction. The others loved it though – all twenty kids from across all years and Houses. The oldest attendees were the Weasley twins – Molly insisted they chaperone me when she learned I was having dinner out. Popcorn, soda, pizza, Bertie’s All-Favour Beans… Had a close call when the family’s domestic help encountered a live chocolate frog cleaning up. Manage to convince the poor woman it was a prank frog.

How is Baghdad? Encountered any winged Sphinxes or Cameleopards out there? I miss Egypt. Hanging out in the British Museum is not quite the same, even if I have landed a free pass to the magical gallery after volunteering to help the Magical Antiquities Department with their little ushabti problem. Seriously, how many of those pesky Charmed statuettes did those Victorian-era explorers bring home? That is not to mention the scarab jewels running about the archives. Told my hosts I have summer courses with the goblins. They are not asking about the details. Goblins have that effect. Tried to bring Nefertari into the archives but she almost choked on a ruby scarab thinking it was a snack. No more museum outings for her until the infestation has been dealt with. Sir Gordon Twill sends his regards - and reminds you about that wager over Lady Summer’s bloomers still outstanding since 1945. You still owe him a pewter cup from Aramia.

Yours sincerely, Harold

P.S. The little queen sends her regards and demands a box of grilled beetle snacks.

Chapter Text

The Weasley kitchen was filled with the aroma of freshly baked goods. The annual Otterly St Catchpole Summer Fair was around the corner and the Weasley matriarch was busy churning out cookies, fairy cakes, and other comestibles for sale. The sandwiches and soup for lunch were already prepared and under Stasis until they were done baking for the morning.  

“You’re going out again? But it looks like rain,” Molly frowned as she iced the cookies. “Why don’t you stay in and play Wizarding Chess with Ron… There’s more than enough lunch to go round…”

“He’s a cheater, Mom!” Ron snapped from where he was already consuming the cookies as fast as his mother was baking them. Poor Ron did not know that Harold Grey had played chess against true Grandmasters in Cairo while still at Charms School, including Uncle Ali and Sobecki the goblin.

“Ronald Bilious Weasley, don’t be rude! And stop nicking the cookies. They are meant for the fair!” Molly fired a Stinging Hex at Ron’s fingers when she saw he was about the snatch the batch of newly iced cookies.

The twins came tromping into the kitchen. “Do we smell ginger snaps? Or choco-chip?”

“Can’t help it if Ickle Ronnikins is a sore loser…”

“Win some; lose some…”

Harold had chafed at Molly’s initial attempts at managing his summer. Then he heard about the Otterly Fair from Luna. Bless the little dandelion. He discreetly hinted that a talented home-cook and baker like Molly could earn a few sickles selling baked goods at the town’s summer festival. Back in Cairo, it was common for many homemakers to supplement their household income by baking cookies to sell at the bazaars. With five children still of schooling age, Molly was more than happy to put her culinary skills to use. With the weekly payment his Uncle Ali insisted on paying to the Weasleys for his upkeep over the summer, she could purchase the necessary ingredients to start her venture.

“I have arranged to meet a family friend at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch - Mister Lupin. We’ll be visiting my godfather afterwards…” Molly made a slight moue of distaste at the mention of Black. Apparently, Sirius Black had a bit of a reputation as a rapscallion during his school days.

“You know you could always bring your friends over… Ron! What did I say about rats in the kitchen?” Molly shouted she saw Scabbers was perched on Ron’s shoulder. The rat’s beady eyes seemed to be studying Harold.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I really must be going…” Harold tipped his cap and strolled over to the Floo.

“Come back for dinner. Can’t you have gallivanting alone about London after dark… What will your uncle say?”

“Your uncle would be the one sssending you out alone in the dead of the night to fetch sssomething from ssneaky goblinsss…” Nefertari hissed from the mantlepiece as she nudged the Floo powder jar over. “I come with you?”

“No, Nefertari… Keep an eye on the rat.”

“No bite?”

“Not yet, little queen. We need to confirm our ssuspicionss…”

“I’m going to guard nesssst…”

Listening from the kitchen door, Scabbers shuddered at the conversation in Parseltongue. It reminded him too much of the Dark Lord. The cobra bobbed her head as her young master Floo-ed out to the Leaky Cauldron. She then started slithering languidly up the stairs, narrowly missing being trod on by Percy who was busy poring over a book as he came down.

Did the boy suspect? He had fooled the Weasleys for so long and grown used to their unwitting hospitality. Part of Peter was loath to abandon the life he had known for close to a decade. He had watched the boy, peering at his letters from a rafter above his desk for any sign of possible discovery. He was also wary of that blasted snake that was prone to popping out at the most inopportune moments. He had taken to hiding in Ron’s pocket in recent days, though a pocket of forgotten toffee wrappers and other boyish trash was not exactly a pleasant place to spend what was shaping to be a sweltering summer.

Maybe the Dark Lord was really gone. He need not fear retribution from his master after that Halloween debacle. Maybe it was time for him to move on, seek out fresh pastures under a new identity. First, he needed a wand he could use; and he knew where Ron kept his at home.

“Harry, nice of you to ask me out…” Lupin was already waiting at a snug in the Leaky nursing a glass of ale. Harold joined him after ordering a glass of gillywater.

“I prefer Harold, thank you…” Harold was all business. “I have a rat problem your furry senses might be able to assist me with before we get the Aurors in.”

“R-rat… You found him?” Lupin’s eyes narrowed. Harold levitated the day’s menu over and scrunched his nose at the Leaky’s offerings. Soup or pie. Oh joy, pickled eels.

“I would prefer somewhere less conspicuous… How about we nip over to Muggle London for some tikka-masala or doner kebabs?” Harold smiled grimly. They would proceed with lunch first, then nip over to Tonks Clinic to check on his godfather. He understood from Healer Tonks that Black was better now. No, he would prefer not to have Black come along with them. Lupin would see Harold back to the Burrow on the pretext of seeing him home around teatime. Surely Molly would ask Lupin to stay for a cuppa, allowing him to sniff out if Peter Pettigrew was in the vicinity using the preternaturally strong senses particular to those afflicted with lycanthropy.

They could find some excuse for everyone else to leave the Burrow quietly while Harold alerted the Aurors. Harold winced he felt his amulet pulse with heat. Right, he was due to renew the Bindings again. They were going to stop that traitorous rat. If all went well; the rat was going to be sitting in a cell by nightfall. If not dead, Harold thought grimly. His little queen had taken the girls Luna and Ginny under her protection as well, figuring that the adults and schooling boys could fend for themselves.

Harold had formulated his theory about Ron’s rat after discussions with his supervisor in the museum, Sir Gordon – a pigeon animagus. Apparently, that was how he won that bet with a younger Allister Grey by nicking someone’s knickers off the laundry line after being barred from the lady’s house. Most wix overlooked animagi when Warding. Harold had been lucky he did not need to borrow Percy’s owl to send out any letters to Professor McGonagall. He would like a break from his teachers over the holidays. He then sent a request to meet up with Lupin using Percy’s owl during a study session. Ron and his rat were unlikely to stick around whenever the word homework or study was mentioned. Now to see if Lupin would help him.

“Shouldn’t we get the Aurors? Oh my, this is spicy…” Lupin reached for his glass of water. They had both ordered the tikka masala naan set from Kumar’s - a small family-run curry house in a London suburb.

“Try the lassi. The dairy takes the edge of the heat off better,” Harold suggested. Maybe they should have gone with the chicken korma instead. The tangy-sweet mango lassi was refreshing after all that spice.

“Are you certain it is Peter?”

“No, it is only a hypothesis. Though it is disturbing how he has been hiding out in a house full of young children or Hogwarts in the past decade… My familiar remarked the rat reminded her of Professor McGonagall…” Harold sounded way too mature for his age. “Molly expects me back for dinner, so we can go visit Black first.”

“Pads would want a piece of him too.”

“Then don’t tell him. Mrs Weasley will have palpitations if we Floo in with a Grim lookalike.”

It was one of Sirius’ good days, well, sort of. The animagus was in his human form happily chattering away with his long-suffering cousin about his plans for the family home. The pair were in the clinic’s small garden under a sun parasol, sipping on iced tea.

“I’m going to refurnish the entire dump! Turn it into a Muggle disco! No, burn it to the ground with Fiendfyre!” he gesticulated wildly and almost knocked his glass off the table.

“I doubt that would be well-received by the neighbours, coz. What of Kreacher?” Mrs Tonks replied mildly. Harold strongly suspected Mrs Tonks had liberally spiked her iced tea with brandy.

“Off with his head, the old misery! Lemme swing the old axe! No, I think the bloody elf might enjoy that… Oh, Moony! Let me tell you my plans for 12 Grimmauld Place!” Sirius perked up even further when he saw Lupin and Harold. Harold wondered if the man was naturally prone to manic episodes.

“Has he been given a Calming draught?” Harold Cast a wandless Privacy Charm, much to Andromeda Tonks’ surprise.

“Y-yes, but it does not appear to be working at the current dose… We’re trying to get him to stop relying on potions to regulate his emotions that much…” she replied. “Ted calls it manic-depressive… My sister Bella was the same way…” Muggles had meds for such conditions but most magicals were leery given that there have been few studies into how Muggle meds could interact with magic and potions given how far ahead Muggles had come with developing ever newer drugs in their labs.

Black’s other cousin had written to him asking for access to the family townhouse that was now in his name as the sole male-line heir. The reminder of his childhood home had set him off. Lupin had taken the deckchair Mrs Tonks had just abandoned and was chatting with Black, who seemed to be calming down. From eavesdropping on Black’s conversation with Lupin, magically assisted arson was now off the cards to everyone’s relief. As was elf-beheading. They would leave Lupin to talk Black out of running an underground dance club in an up-class residential neighbourhood.

“I hate them. Mother, Father… that was why I ran away and went to live with your dad, Harry…” Black murmured. “Never good enough, no interest in the Dark Arts, don’t wanna go kissing the Dark Lord’s ass like Reggie… Mind Reggie’s just too scared to say no to Mother… Now look at us – the high and mighty Blacks…”

“Sirius, Cissa is just asking to pick up some baubles Aunt Wally left her and her son Draco…” The items were not transferred to her vault before the late Walburga Black died without rewriting her will to exclude her eldest from the Succession. Since Sirius was in Azkaban then, the entire Black estate went into Stasis pending the release of the Black heir. Only the few Galleons in Aunt Wally’s personal vault were released to the Malfoys after the funeral, no doubt giving Lord Malfoy the mistaken impression that the Black family fortunes were in dire straits.  

“She better watch that she does not get her hands burned off… Never know what Curses the old hag left… Wait, scratch that. That was an uncalled-for insult to hags…” 

“Mrs Tonks, Uncle Ali taught me how to detect Curses and neutralize them… Perhaps I can help…” Harold volunteered. He would hate for his godfather or any of his friends to trip over a curse.

“Andi, why are they bugging me over the Lordship thing? Surely it went to Uncle Alfie.”

“Uncle Alphard rejected it before he died. Moreover, he has no sons. You’re the last Black male heir… apart from Cousin Maurice who doesn’t count as a squib…”

“If I must sit in the Wizengamot in fancy robes, can I Hex the Chief Warlock? Harry, where have you been all this while?” Black was leaping from topic to topic like a frog on lily pads. This could prove to be exhausting.

Harold managed to capture everyone’s attention, including Sirius’, with an entertaining description of a dig at a reputedly haunted oasis, where they discovered a critically ill Muggle marathon runner who had gone off-course during a sandstorm. Uncle Ali did not believe in using Oblivation or Memory Charms too freely. A simple Stunning Spell followed by Side-along Apparition to the last sizeable Muggle settlement they passed took care of that. The runner was probably convinced he had hallucinated the goblins and self-assembling tents when he woke up in the nearest Muggle clinic a good two hundred miles from the race route.

Black then matched that tale with one of his more harmless schoolboy pranks, namely mooning the Slytherin common room from the Black Lake on a dare. That had ended up with a painful stay in the Hospital Wing when one of the students managed to fire a strong Stinging Hex through the glass at him. It was only when Ted Tonks came out to ask if Harold and Lupin would be staying for tea that Harold realized how the time had slipped them by. They bade goodbye to Padfoot and the Tonks. Being familiar with Otterly St Catchpole, Lupin offered to Side-along Harry back.

The Otterly St Catchpole Apparition point was a short walk down from the Burrow. When Lupin and Harold walked up to the Burrow, they saw that something was very wrong. There were uniformed Aurors at the door. The Weasley children were milling about outside the Burrow. Percy was apparently comforting a trembling Ron. Molly was speaking with a witch Harold recognized as Susan Bones’ aunt, Amelia. When Ginny saw Harold, she came running over with her hands under her apron. 

“He stepped on her… The burglar… I found her hurt in the chicken coop.”

Harold saw that Ginny was cradling Nefertari in the folds of her apron. There was a smear of bruise paste on the end of her tail which looked slightly swollen.

“Sssilly sssnakeling, what took you ssso long?” his familiar admonished. “He sssquished my tail!”

“No idea how he got past the Wards… My William’s no slouch…” Molly’s querulous voice drifted over. The rat had been a resident at the Burrow before the Wards were set and recognized as part of Bill Weasley’s family. 

“What happened, ma’am?” Harold asked after securing his familiar under his robes. They might need to send his familiar to a vet afterwards, in case her tail was more than a simple bruise.

“We believe we may have found Peter Pettigrew,” Madam Bones replied grimly. “He’s dead in the top bedroom. Snakebite. That boy found him.” She nodded towards Ron, who was now being hugged by his father, who had left work early.

“Let me identify him,” Lupin grunted. He could recognize the faint traces of his former friend’s smell anywhere. He could not have been dead that long. He needed this for closure.

“What happened, Nefertari?” Harold noticed that Lupin flinch at the sound of Parseltongue before following one of the Aurors into the Burrow.

“I was under bed napping. Rat turned into human. Try to make ssspell with red-haired den-mate’s wand. I bite him…”

“Good work, my little Wadjet…”

He had left it too late. Had Pettigrew been planning an escape? Intending to harm the Weasleys or even Harold homself? He did not know. Only that they might owe their lives to his familiar.

Oh ick, they were removing the body from the house now. The twins were nudging each other in a mix of horror and fascination, craning their necks for a closer look before Molly ordered them to go to the orchard with their siblings. Nefertari had bit him near the throat. His face was blue from asphyxiation – an unpleasant face with distinctly rat-like features. Lupin followed behind.

“It’s him, Harold…” Lupin confirmed grimly. “Peter Pettigrew, your parents’ Secret-keeper.”

Chapter Text

The Baghdad job turned out to be a flipping disaster, Sir Allister thought sourly as the team licked their wounds. All had gone well until that last trap and the emergency Portkeys failed. They had lost valuable members of their team, long-time colleagues. To cap it off, there was no way their mortal remains could be retrieved for a burial from under tons of rock, assuming anything remained after the Fiendfyre. The mood was sombre in the Golden Jackal. Three oil lamps, three frothing beers and three loaves of unleavened bread before three empty chairs. Sporting an eyepatch and leaning on his crutches, Sobecki nursed his own beer. He had been the last one out, and only because Harwa had blown him out through a small opening in the rockfall before the flames caught up. They had not expected him to attend the wake, but the goblin insisted. He might never return to the field with his limp. Sir Allister met his eye across the room. Never again would they hear Bassino singing along with his guitar in the night. Or old Api’s blistering curses. Even Harwa’s quiet smile and strength would soon be forgotten in the sands of time.

Other teams had come to pay their respects from as far as Delhi, Sudan, and Iberia. Cursebreakers were a close-knit profession. Bill bowed as he entered, paying his respects to the departed with oil and grain as was the custom in these parts. Oil for their lamps, grain for sustenance. That their sailing into the Afterlife would be smooth. The collection bag had already been passed round. Bassino’s daughter was still schooling. The child had lost her mother two years back. Gringotts will provide for her education up to her NEWTs, should she choose to pursue them. Api had no family apart from an estranged younger brother. Harwa’s children were all grown. The Golden Jackal belonged to Harwa’s sister Hathi. The team had dined there many evenings on her too greasy moussaka and filo pies. It seemed right to hold the wake there.

“Bill Bey, Ali Effendi, I think the little Harold is in the news…” the taverna owner waved a copy of the Wizarding International in the air. She pointed at an article on the second page. Being the closest, Bill took it from her and skimmed through the article, his face turning ashen. Wordlessly, he passed it on Sir Allister. A burglar in his brother’s room. His little siblings. They owed Nefertari…

“My Wards, they failed… A burglar…” Bill rubbed his face. He had been so confident when he set the Wards for the Burrow. He was fresh out of basic Wardsetting then, ready to head on to Cairo… Had he messed up?

“No, tell me… Does your family keep any pets? Owls, cats, the like? What about you take some time off to see to your family. And see if anyone lost any pets…” Bill straightened up at the flinty look in Sir Allister’s eyes. Sir Allister was gravely displeased by what he had learned from the newspaper.

“I can’t find Scabbers anywhere!” Ron whined.

“It’s not as though you noticed he was even gone until I told you…” his sister looked up from where she was making a little headdress for Nefertari using an Egyptian design Harold had sketched.

“Ron, he’s more than ten years old… Maybe he knew his time was up…” Percy’s intelligent eyes darted to his parents. Most rats do not make it past three years. Scabbers had already made it thrice as long. Percy had found Scabbers in the garden one morning. He thought he had himself a familiar, but there was no bonding. Scabbers was just a pet rat. In fact, Percy had tired of Scabbers by his fourth year and was more than happy to pass him down to Ron. By his third year, he had wondered if his parents had been secretly replacing his pet with a similar one each time the rat passed, to the extent of cutting off a toe. Fred had pointed out that Pettigrew was also missing a finger… Percy mumbled an excuse and hurried back to his room. He needed a Stomach-Soother…

“If you don’t want the owl, I’m giving him to Ginny…” Bill warned. Charlie was also back from Romania and sharing his room with their little brother. After stumbling over the dead body, Ron was understandably reluctant to sleep in his own room. The dead man had been holding his wand, and the word was that he was the one who betrayed the Potters. The older brothers had come together to buy a new pet on learning of Ron’s loss. Bill volunteered to share his room with Harold, stating that he was already known to Nefertari and that he had loads to chat with Harold about their recent digs.

“Best deal with it now… I’ll stay if you need me,” Bill saw the frantic hawk flapping through the window with a smoking Howler in his talons. He recognized Horus anywhere. Harold gulped. He Cast a Privacy Charm, followed by a Muffling Charm. No sense alarming the rest of the household. Horus dropped the smoking red envelope before Harold and fixed him with a beady eye. Nefertari flared her hood and slithered over to her wizard. Her tail was still a little sore but improving with each passing day.

“Uncle Ali’s going to Hex me. I know it. You’d help with Counter, right?” Harold opened the Howler. Sir Allister rarely lost his temper. This was one of those rare instances.

“HAROLD POTTER GREY! What in the name of Thoth were you thinking? You allowed a dangerous wizard to remain free for weeks instead of calling Aurors on him! If you suspected something was amiss and that the bloody rat might be a certain traitorous Animagus, and that said rat was in the same household with multiple children including you… Do you have any idea how much risk you took? You could have had your throat slit in your sleep before Nefertari could make her move! Young man, for that stunt, I have half a mind to withdraw my permission for you to be advanced! Was it that much trouble to use an Unbreakable Cage to hold the suspected rat, then take him to Mister Lupin and the DMLE for confirmation? You know the Charms! I am very disappointed with you, Harold.”

Everyone winced as the Howler Vanished in a puff of smoke. Horus bobbed his head and flapped his wings. Bill produced some owl treats for Horus, only to have the hawk turn his beak up at the meagre offering. He might need a bit of cheese or ham from the kitchen. Harold groaned. An apology was in order, not only to Uncle Ali, but his host family as well.

“That rat was an Animagus! If Mom knew…” That would explain why the Wards never registered the threat. Scabbers had been living in Burrow for several years by then and treated as family. Now it made Bill’s skin crawl remembering how the rat was given free rein to roam about the Burrow, often sleeping in his younger brothers’ beds. Dying of snakebite too easy… Molly Prewett had been a talented duellist like her brothers before marrying Arthur Weasley. Bill would need to speak with Percy and Ron in private. Maybe convince Dad and Mom to send them for mind-healing. Hell, he would pay the bills if needed.

“Sorry, Bill. I realised I have put not only myself, but your family in danger by not acting sooner. I will help you reset the Wards to evict anyone with ill-intent to your family as well as expose any Animagi in their animal form,” Harold bowed contritely. “Er, can you help me out when I explain what happened to your mom? I think she might kill me…” he yelped as Horus pecked him lightly on the head. As if confirming that he had acted foolishly.

“I’ll go with you to explain…” Bill cancelled the Privacy Ward and Muffling Charm.

Setting the new Wards were a bit trickier than expected even with Bill, Harold, and Arthur involved. The first scheme was too strong and stopped any Animagus from entering, including Professor McGonagall in her human form. The Head of House had taken the initiative to check on her students since all the Weasleys were Sorted into Gryffindor. Arthur and Molly had been her students too. The Wards also stopped Mister Lupin and Sirius Black from entering. Though when Sirius transformed back to his human form, he was allowed to pass. Tonks Clinic had granted permission for Black to leave the clinic grounds for supervised visits into society to reintegrate him. For Lupin, the Wards had categorized him as a threat due to his werewolf status. They had to adjust that old rune array that was originally used to protect homes from marauding werewolves. Neither visitor bore any ill-will towards the Weasleys.

Surprisingly, it was the twins who worked out how to allow an Animagus to pass via invitation from a Ward-holder. That would prevent strange Animagi from trespassing without the family’s knowledge. The Wards proved their worth when the Weasleys awoke one morning to find a Stunned Rita Skeeter outside their fence. The tabloid reporter had likely come with the intent of spying on the family and their alleged guest Harry Potter for her scoop. It soon leaked out that she was an unregistered beetle animagus. The next big scoop was by her colleague and about her trial as an illegal animagus. Tonks, Lupin and Harold agreed to have Black registered as soon as he was certified mentally stable enough. They might have to bother Professor McGonagall to write a letter of support – and she might give Lupin and Black a scolding for doing such a dangerous process unsupervised as teens. There was a reason why Animagery Studies were only offered to NEWT level students and under close supervision by a Level 2 Transfiguration Master or certified Animagus. Harold had discussed the class with the professor in detail on her visit before deciding it was not for him.

Molly had understandably been furious at Harold for keeping his suspicions from her. Her scolding hurt almost as bad as Uncle Ali’s Howler. The Weasley mother also felt cheated of a chance to punish the rat who had taken advantage of their hospitality. Harold stoically endured being pressed into manning the bake-stall for the Otterly Fair with the older Weasley boys – Percy and the twins. Bill and Charlie’s leave had run out by then. Ginny and Ron assisted their parents in the kitchen turning out cookies and pies to replenish the goods. The stall was a roaring success. Molly had even been approached by several local witches who wanted her to bake cakes for their children’s upcoming birthdays or weddings. She forgave hm enough to throw a small birthday party with a chocolate walnut cake. Pistachios and rosewater were not readily available in a place like Otterly St Catchpole.

Ron had grown close to Percy after a few visits to a mind-healer. Harold supposed the brothers had much to discuss about their former pet. The older boy was now tutoring Ron in his homework and discussing his future after Quidditch. Ron always wanted to be a professional Quidditch player, but most see their careers end by their mid-thirties. He would need something to fall back on. Harold and Ron were still not friends per se, but Percy did persuade Ron to apologize to Harold for his awful behaviour. True, it was grudgingly given, but Harold knew that was as good as he was getting from Ronald Weasley.

The family went to Diagon Alley for school supplies in August. Harold had arranged to meet up with Lupin and his godfather for lunch that same day. Harold had already pre-ordered what books he needed via owl-mail. He only needed to replenish his potions kit and quills. Sir Gordon had introduced his young assistant to Fleet Corner, a quiet magical shopping street that sold quality products at better prices than those on Diagon Alley. All the magical museum staff swore by the stores there. There was also a diner there, the Bowl Runner, which sold taco bowls.

Black was looking much better though he was still prone to fits of mania and depression. Harold was sure more than one waitress and maybe the waiter too were smitten by his movie-star good looks. Professor McGonagall had been to see the animagus. Sirius Black had demonstrated that he had reasonable control over his transformations and was thus unlikely to break the Statutes of Secrecy, at least in a controlled setting. She recommended a mild Calming draught to be ingested before the registration test to prevent any nerves or snappy behaviour from Padfoot. The examiners would not appreciate being bitten. Black insisted on root beer floats and topped his with rainbow sprinkles and whipped cream for dessert. Harold felt sick after a sip of that sugary concoction.

He had explained to his godfather about his currently staying with the Weasleys while his uncle was on a job. Black volunteered his townhouse, but admitted it needed cleaning out first. Lupin and Harold had agreed beforehand to keep any mention of a dead rat out of Padfoot’s earshot until he was more stable. Uncle Moony would have the dubious honour of telling Padfoot and dealing with any tantrums. Black’s appointment with the Animagus Registry was on Wednesday at ten. Harold wished him luck. It had been more than a month since his admission into Tonks Clinic and enough time for the standard Animagery transformation process to be believable if they could not get McGonagall to declare that he was in her Animagery Class in Hogwarts. They might fine him for the delay in registration, but between the war then and his arrest, he might get off lightly – mitigating factors.

The Weasleys were already back when Harold returned to the Burrow. Molly was tittering like a schoolgirl over some Lockhart bloke, who was apparently next year’s Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts. The twins were rolling their eyes and giving long-suffering looks. Percy was sulking and arguing with Arthur. Something about tussling with a Lord in the bookstore. How embarrassing it would be if it made the Daily Prophet…After taking one look at the textbooks, Harold decided a letter to Uncle Ali, Mrs Scamander, as well as Draco and the offspring of various school board and ministry officials was needed. Defence against the Dark Arts for the coming term did not look promising at all. Maybe he should have a little consultation with the twins on how to extract maximum entertainment from the hapless instructor if he was not going to deliver on his academic commitments.  

He almost walked past Ginny’s cauldron without a second look, but something held him back. Nefertari had crawled up his pant leg and was tightening her coils around his forearm. She hissed into his ear.

“Dark magic. Foul magic, foulest of foul…”

Harold murmured the incantation for dark magic detection under his breath. The rest of the family had already retired to the kitchen to prepare dinner or slipped out into the orchard to make use of what remained of their summer before sunset. Percy had gone up to his room in a huff. Harold felt his Anubis Amulet burning as he approached the cauldron with caution and wand drawn. Whatever was in the cauldron had no place in there.

With deft motions of his wand, he levitated the source of the dark magic from the girl’s cauldron. A few quick swishes saw it encased in a Holding Sphere. A few more Containment Spells on the innocuous-looking journal eased the heat from the Amulet. He had muffled the connection between the wraith and his Horcrux.

“What now, young master?” Nefertari asked.

Harold strode over to the fireplace. Lupin had already left, but he knew someone at the Ministry he could trust. He grabbed a handful of Floo-powder.

“Madam Amelia Bones, Magical Law Enforcement! I wish to report a Horcrux.” There was no pussyfooting about that. He hoped the Aurors would be discreet in their arrival as the family had already gotten enough public attention for one summer.

He would inform Arthur and Molly once he ended the call so they would not be alarmed. The parents might decide to keep the children in the orchard or up in their rooms until the Horcrux was removed from the Burrow.

Chapter Text

“A Horcrux, Saul?” Amelia Bones raised her eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

The Head Unspeakable nodded. The journal of Tom Marvolo Riddle hovered in the Isolation Sphere. Amelia shivered and not just from the cold of the Department of Mysteries. It looked so deceptively innocent, a book one could pick up from any stationary store. The Grey boy had been right about the journal being a dark artefact and having no place in a house full of children. She had thought the child was being over-dramatic – like Susan insisting there was a dragon under her bed. The child grew up in the Near East, said to be the source of more outré magical practices. But a Horcrux? That was the stuff of nightmares.

“With your permission, ma’am, we would like to bring in a specialist from Gringotts…” And notify the Goblin Nation as per the terms of the alliance as signed in 1779… Amelia thought wryly. The Ministry had a bad habit of ignoring the treaty which allowed them to tap on the expertise of their creature allies. The goblins took issue about being left in the dark about major magical upheavals which could adversely affect the magical economy. Rumour had it her predecessor Crouch had been blacklisted by the goblins for failing to inform Gringotts of the severity of the Voldemort issue until entire families like the McKinnons started dying out.

“Do what is necessary, Saul.”

Amelia understood why Saul Croaker had reached out to her instead of the Minister. Fudge would likely dither and that poisonous pink toad undersecretary of his would make sure the goblins were never informed. The public does not want to know that You-Know-Who was still around in some shape or form.

The goblins had cunningly wrested the guardianship of little Harry Potter from whichever guardian the Chief Warlock had chosen and made him a ward of Sir Allister Grey the Cursebreaker. Harold Grey’s guardian was said to have a close working relationship with the goblins in Cairo, so the gossip in the Leaky went. She had met the boy, a serious little wizard. She also heard from her niece Susan how academically brilliant the child was. There was that incident of Pettigrew found dead at the Weasleys’. They put it down as an accident involving Harold’s cobra. No one had any idea where Pettigrew had been these past decade or why he was in the Burrow. Perhaps they should speak with the boy, but now the child should be on his way to Hogwarts by now.

Harold winced as his little queen let loose a string of blistering invectives when they hit another pothole. Ron Weasley scowled as he steadied his trunk. The little Scops owl Bill had bought was hanging upside down by one foot in his cage and glaring at the boys. Maybe they should have let the owl out at King’s Cross to fly ahead. Thank goodness for the Knight Bus. Harold was not going to risk getting another Howler from Uncle Ali for something as stupid as taking Arthur Weasley’s car without permission. He had flagged down the Knight Bus and piled his trunk and Ron’s aboard before the redhead could get any more bright ideas.

Two hours ago…

They watched Luna and her father go through the barrier. Father and daughter were closely followed by Molly and Ginny. Molly was grumbling about missing the train and yelling for Ron and Harold to keep up. Arthur and the older sons had already gone ahead, but Ginny had to stop and chat with Luna. Ron was still struggling with Pigwidgeon. For some unfathomable reason, the bird had latched onto the end of Ron’s wand when he refilled his water bowl through the bars of the cage. As for Harold, he was enjoying watching Ron get bested by a bird who was probably smarter than her young master.

So that was how they stood five minutes to eleven, ready to go through the barrier when…

“Ow! Move, you git!” Ron bellowed from under the upturned trolley.

“Ron, the barrier is broken…”  Harold winced as he rubbed a bruise on his arm. Nefertari made an unhappy sound under Harold’s shirt.

“Impossible! Ginny and Mom made it through!” Ron tried running full tilt the wall only to bounce off. Some of the passing Muggles were starting to stare at the pair.

“Ron, quit it…” Harold grabbed their trunks. A wheel had fallen off the trolley. He Cast a silent Featherlight Charm on the trunks. “Let’s get out of here… and back to the car.”

“Yeah, I can fly Dad’s car there…”

Harold ignored Ron and scribbled a note for Arthur, which he tucked under the windscreen wiper. With the attention they had drawn, it might not be wise for Mr and Mrs Weasley to come popping out of the wall in front of some Muggle train guard. He had an idea how to get them both to Hogwarts and did not wish to worry Ron’s parents.

“Master! Elf magic!” Nefertari wriggled.

“I know, Nef…” Elf-magic was resistant to most wizard-magic. If some elf was being difficult… but why? Arthur had parked his car, albeit illegally, on the street just outside the train station, which suited Harold’s purposes just fine. Stepping to the edge of the kerb, he raised his wand and heard a loud bang as the Knight Bus appeared in its purple glory. The door popped open.

“Blimey, missed the train, didn’t ya?” Stan Shunpike grinned as he welcomed the boys on board.

They took the scenic route up to Scotland with a break for lunch at a place called Godric’s Hollow. The driver and conductor needed to eat too, you know. Ron mumbled something about the Potter Cottage through a mouthful of his corned beef sandwich. Harold only shrugged. He knew about what happened to the Potters but that was another life. He would like to visit his birth parents’ grave, but not today.

“Harry Potter must not go Hogwarts! Great danger!” Harold had gone to use the washroom when he was surprised by a house-elf in a very Muggle men’s room in the local fast-food joint. He had left Nefertari sunning on hood of the Knight Bus.

“Was the barrier your doing? What danger?” Harold scowled. He was so done with Harry Potter.

“Dobby cannot say!”

“Then I must continue to Hogwarts.” Whose elf are you? Harold wanted to ask. 

“Dobby very sorry, sir…” The elf snapped his fingers and all the toilet paper in the restroom went flying up to the ceiling. The soap dispensers went crazy as well. The sinks filled with bubbles and the toilets started spewing filthy water.

“Cursed Set…” Harold groaned. He did not need this. He fled past a bewildered cleaner who was probably going to have the worst and most confusing day of his life. He could hear pops as Aurors responded to the magical disturbance. Harold hauled himself up the steps into the bus as Nefertari flicked her tongue in disdain.

“You forgot to wash hands…”

“There’s a spell for that…” Harold grumbled as Cast a Tergeo. He did not need to be questioned by Aurors. The passengers were rejoining the bus as Ernie settled into the driver’s seat. Not a moment too soon, they were back on the road.

Once they had left the large cities behind, the trip was almost idyllic. There was less need for sudden swerves and jumps. They had a smooth stretch on the A82 into the highlands. Well, until a baby kelpie decided she would try riding the bus as well. Nefertari had identified the small witch they picked up by the loch as not being human earlier. Being a baby, she reverted to her kelpie form after dozing off in one of the beds. Ernie needed to pull over and have Stan return the young kelpie to her mom. Nessie was quite impressive to look at, especially when she had hauled herself out on the bank to get her baby.

The boys were dropped off at Hogsmeade station just as the last carriage was about leave. They made it just barely. Harold was pleased to see that among the riders in the last carriage was his friend Tony. Micheal Corner, Sue Li, and Terry Boot were also there. Harold’s absence on the train had been noticed and his Housemates had lingered behind to see if he got off the train. Prefects Penny Clearwater and Percy Weasley were also in the last carriage. Percy had tweaked his brother’s ear for giving them a scare while a haughty Hermes pecked Pig hard on the head. It was a bit of a squeeze with the eight of them and Ron and Harold’s trunks since the Hogwarts elves had already left with the luggage from the Express. Percy decided to let both Hermes and Pig fly ahead to the Owlery while they loaded their cages on the top of the carriage. Harold found himself sandwiched between Tony and the window so Nefertari could rest on the window’s edge. The cobra seemed to be on edge.

Their heavily laden carriage was lagging. Harold watched the sun set over the mountains and wondered if they would have stuffed eggplants at the Welcome Feast. Ron was grumbling about being hungry. Corner handed him a Shrieking Sherbet Stick. They were passing the Black Lake and could see the lanterns of the boats on it. Ginny and Luna would be out there… His familiar suddenly flared her hood.

“Danger!” she hissed. There was a loud crack. Harold felt the carriage tilt sharply. Then students and trunks were tumbling every which way in the carriage. Glass was breaking. A girl screamed. One of the trunks smacked Harold on the head. All-encompassing blackness.

Harold awoke to someone flicking hm in the face with a wet ribbon. He opened his eyes. Nefertari. The snake was flicking him in the face with her tongue. A flick of his hand Summoned his glasses and wand over. A quick Reparo on the cracked lens. His ribs felt sore. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. He wiped blood from his brow and felt for his amulet. It was cool to the touch. So not the wraith’s doing. He could hear his friends moaning but he could not see them. The sun had set entirely by now. Harold Cast a Lumos. The first thing he saw was the smashed carriage. The thestrals pulling it had torn themselves free of the traces and were now nosing about the wreck. School supplies, books and clothes were scattered all over the grassy slope. They had tumbled down from the road above. There were bobbing lights on the road above. The accident had not gone unnoticed. With the chill of the Scottish evening setting in, Nefertari slithered up his arm and settled around his shoulders.

The first other student he saw was Percy. There was blood on his face as the teen sat on a boulder. He was making no move to stop the thestral that was licking the blood from his head. Was he in shock, or did the prefect not see the creature?  Or he might be concussed. Tony Goldstein and Sue Li were helping each other out of the wrecked carriage. Sue was favouring one leg while Tony’s arm was badly broken. Penny Clearwater had been thrown clear of the wreck and was lying on her back motionless amid some broken glass. Harold limped over to check her vitals. She was breathing and her pulse was steady. He did not want to risk moving her.

“Same elf… I bite…” a furious Nefertari puffed her hood. If his familiar were a spitting cobra, Harold was sure she would be spraying venom in her fury.

“Some help here! Terry’s been impaled!” Corner staggered out of a thicket of brambles. He was cradling his wrist.

“Merlin… Hurts…” Terry whimpered as Harold grimly tightened his scarf round the wound and the broken branch sticking out of his thigh. Harold hoped it had missed the artery.

“Ron, watch Percy!” Harold shouted when he saw that Ron was miraculously unhurt and milling about aimlessly. A concussed Percy had found his feet and was headed in the wrong direction - towards the water. Ron scowled but stumbled after his older brother. Thankfully, the staff and elves from Hogwarts soon arrived with stretchers to carry the wounded.

Despite his protests, Professor Snape insisted he lie on a stretcher. Snape had some training as a healer and took over caring for Terry Boot. Hagrid set about rounding up the thestrals. Then Harold started feeling the pain of his injuries.

As he was jolted and jostled on his journey to the Hospital Wing, Harold overhead the teachers speculating about the accident.

“Hagrid says it looks like the back axle snapped. At the worst possible time just as they were coming up the rise.” Professor Sinistra. Harold fought to keep from losing his lunch. He was feeling dizzy.  

“Was it overloaded? Understand two of the lads were late…” Madam Hooch.

“Nay, the carriage should be able to take their weight,” Professor Septima Vector.

“Didn’t he inspect them just last week?” Professor Sinistra.

“Yes, he did. I was with him too… No reason for the axle to break…” Madam Hooch again. But one could not account for a meddlesome elf who has developed a grudge… Everything kept fading in and out of focus. 

“Mister Grey, let’s take a look at you. Your familiar can rest on the bedstead if she doesn’t need Hagrid to look at her…” They had reached the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey’s capable hands.

They needed to send Penelope Clearwater and Terry Boot to St Mungo’s. Clearwater had a skull fracture and a bleed in the brain. Boot had lost a good deal of blood. Snape had to Spell Blood Replenishers into him to keep him stable enough to be moved. Their injuries were beyond Madam Pomfrey’s capabilities. The rest escaped with sprains and broken bones. All of them were to be kept overnight for observation except for Ron Weasley, lucky fool.

Percy’s brothers and sister dropped by after the feast to inform him that little Ginny had Sorted into Gryffindor. Luna Lovegood had Sorted into Ravenclaw. Ginny hoped her friend would do alright in that house as Luna had always been a little strange. Harold understood that their respective House heads would inform their parents or guardians of the mishap.

Who sent that bloody elf?

Chapter Text

Dear Uncle Ali

Need some help. There is a crazy elf out to get me. No, I am not overreacting. I believe said elf was responsible for my carriage mishap. Professor Flitwick should be contacting you on this separately. I have encountered him at a rest stop while taking the Knight Bus earlier – long story. The families of the brothers Weasley, Boot, Clearwater, Goldstein, Li, and Corner may also wish to press charges for wanton endangerment of their progeny. Can you have the goblins check if anyone has an elf that goes by the name of Dobby? Apologies for the brevity. Madam Pomfrey insists I go to bed.

Harold

“Ginny, can you please make sure the owl goes out with this? Use one Hermes’ size at least… Pig’s too small…” Harold slipped the letter he had penned into the girl’s hand as the mediwitch started chasing the stragglers out of the ward so her patients could rest.

Ginny nodded solemnly. Harold’s announcement that an elf had been responsible was met with mixed reactions. Tony insisted that house elves were magically incapable of harming wizards. Sue Li countered that there were means to bypass that restriction if ordered by their master to cause harm. Corner agreed and stated that the laws would impose a penalty on the instigator in this case. They just needed to identify who the elf belonged to. Ron was adamant it had to be some dark wizarding family out to kill Harry Potter. During the conversation, Harold gave Nefertari permission to go hunting. The snake was hungry after all that excitement.

Harold would have preferred inputs from an older student, but poor Percy was out cold after his dose of Pain Reliever. The Weasley twins found the incident in the public restroom hilarious. The pair were now discussing if they could Charm toilet paper to fly around the Great Hall at Halloween. Harold guessed the teachers might have something to say about that. 

“Madam Pomfrey… please warn the headmaster and the elves to be on the lookout for a rogue elf,” Harold beseeched. He did not wish to be crushed by falling masonry as he slept.

“Don’t worry, Grey. The Hogwarts elves would not allow any outsider elves to enter…” Madam Pomfrey tried to reassure Harold.

“Er, not true… The Patils got their elf to send Padma’s medicine to her when she forgot it at home after the Christmas break,” Sue Li pointed out.

“Ah, those are exceptions made for elves belonging to students and immediate family. Don’t you fret. Mumble will watch over the ward…”

“Please inform Mumble and whichever elf is on duty here not to let any non-Hogwarts elves near us. I do not wish for any of us to be smothered in our sleep,” Harold suggested. He felt a little sleepy and quite cranky. The mediwitch only clucked her tongue. An elf in a lime-green sack-thing Apparated into the Ward. Madam Pomfrey whispered instructions to her. She was an old elf, and Harold noticed, toothless. She smiled gummily at the children before levitating a stool from the mediwitch’s office. She took a position by the door. However, Mumble was asleep within five minutes of Pomfrey leaving the ward.

“Everyone, I am going to place some Alarm and Protection Runes round our beds…” Harold hobbled out of bed. His shoulder was burning from the effort of just sitting up.

“Got it, I’ll place my own,” Sue volunteered as she fished out a piece of chalk from her pocket. She snapped it two and tossed one half to Harold. “It’s a girl thing, you understand?”

“Show me the runes and I’ll help you draw them. It’s not my wand-arm that’s busted,” Tony added. Sue tossed him another stick of chalk from her pocket.

“Sorry … my wrist is, well, floppy…” Mike Corner lifted his limp forearm. His right wrist was shattered and the mediwitch opted to let the bones regrow in rather than try reassembling the shards of bone.

Percy snored lightly as Harold finished the runes. That was the last bed secured. He placed a timer on them to last until morning. By the door, Mumble drooled and fidgeted in her sleep. Nefertari was not yet back. Harold hoped she had found somewhere warm to spend the night if she could not return to the Hospital Wing. Finally, the young patients settled in for the night after Noxing the lamps. What no one expected was to awake to an elf smackdown.

Harold awoke to a rope or hose slapping him in the face. Nefertari’s tail. She was hissing loud enough to rouse the dead. No, there was a commotion as if there a clowder of alley cats was having it out. Yowls, thuds and screams. Harold felt Nefertari coil protectively around his torso. He Summoned his wand and glasses over. Two shadows were struggling with each other on the floor before his bed. The dim embers from the fire did not show much.

“Lumos…”

It was the elf Dobby, and Mumble had him in a chokehold. Both elves were bruised and bleeding. Mumble was far from sleepy now. Dobby tried to get free by bucking the older elf off him. She responded by clamping her toothless jaws round Dobby’s hand hard.

“Whassat?” Percy peered dazedly from his bed. The commotion had roused the others as well. Sue Li and Tony had their wands lit up as well.

“Harry Potter must leave Hogwarts! Great danger!” Dobby bleated and clutched at Harold’s blanket. He let go when Nefertari flared her hood and lunged at him. Harold hurriedly yanked her back for fear she might bite Mumble as well. The stalwart little elf was trying to pin Dobby to the ground.

“Harry Potter is not in Hogwarts…” Harold corrected. “You have been harassing the wrong person!”  He added in frustration. Dobby froze and blinked his large eyes. His ears flopped downwards.

“You not Harry Potter?” Dobby asked. Mumble made full use of the distraction to hogtie the younger elf with a roll of bandages.

“No, changed the name officially years back. Now what is this great danger you are talking about?”

“Dobby cannot say… Master will be so mad… Dobby must iron ears…” the elf whimpered. His mumblings were cut off when the elderly Mumble gagged him with a flap of his own pillowcase. The old elf dusted her hands, snapped her fingers to tidy up the spilled water pitcher and straightened Harold’s blankets. Only then did she Disapparate, presumably to fetch the mediwitch.

“Say… Does this have anything to do with the Aurors visiting the Burrow?” Percy asked. He seemed more coherent now. “Why is there chocolate in my pyjama pockets?”

“Fred and George visited when you were still a bit loopy,” Harold explained. “You stuffed their gifts down your pockets…” Percy gave a look of alarm and started emptying his bulging pockets, very gingerly. There was soft pop as one of the sweets exploded, spraying toffee all over Percy’s bed.  

“Cor, exploding toffees! Do you have raspberry flavour?” Corner called out.

“The rat-man is dead thanks to Nefertari. As for that cursed journal that ended up in Ginny’s cauldron, I’ve called in the Aurors to have it removed. Your mom and dad might not have wanted to worry you after the rat…” Harold explained. “The only danger we see here is an elf trying to cause us serious bodily harm…” He fixed the hapless elf with a cold glare that would make Nefertari proud. The elf wilted.

Madam Pomfrey arrived with both Mumble and the headmaster, who was clad in glittery red dressing gown. Pomfrey shook her head at the sticky mess a sheepish Percy was sitting in. Mumble soon took care of that mess. The children were told that the elf would be removed and the matter sorted out by the grown-ups. Nothing to worry about. With luck and proper rest, all of them should be back in class by Friday.

He soon found out who the elf belonged to when he was granted permission to rejoin his House at breakfast two days later. Tony and Sue had been released the night before. Corner complained of numbness in his wrist and needed further observation. A very sorry-looking Dobby was literally in the stocks at the Slytherin table.

“Grey! I’m really sorry… Not sure what got into the fool…” Draco approached him as soon as he saw Harold.

“Your family’s elf, Malfoy?”

“Unfortunately. Father’s all for lopping off his head. Mother has a soft spot for the little lunatic seeing she inherited him from Grandma Dru. This is a compromise. Care to throw something?” Draco smirked as he waved his arm over the Slytherin table. “Short term fix. Given his reputation and this latest stunt. I doubt we will get any potential employers for a viewing even. The department recommended freeing and leaving him to wither away without magic.”

Harold watched as Goyle kicked Dobby hard in the behind. Crabbe was spitting cherry pits at the elf’s face. Stains on the stocks showed where cream pies and rotten fruit had missed their mark. Zabini was toying with his table knife and glancing over to the elf.

“The entertainment is growing stale,” Draco shrugged. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Did you really hand over a cursed school journal found at the Weasley place to the Aurors?”

Harold nodded. “Do you know anything about that?”

“Looks like Father will be making another long business trip to France,” Draco smiled but did not reply outright. He had received a letter from his mother the second day of school. Narcissa knew her husband had removed several dark artefacts from the manor for disposal via not so legally sanctioned means. Then she heard about the journal from Madam Bones’ secretary while in the witches’ room at Madama Galina’s. Such a to do with a burglar, then a cursed journal at poor Arthur’s place. Dobby let out a yelp. Zabini had succumbed to temptation and flung the knife at him, it hit the wood inches from his eye.

“That’s barbaric!” Miss Granger leapt up from her seat. “This punishment is so medieval…”

“We can always Floo-call the Creatures Department, ma’am. I think the British penalty for any creature who caused grievous bodily harm to a wix is beheading,” Harold snapped back.   

“You have no proof!”

“He was caught trying to brain me with a jug by Mumble, Madam Pomfrey’s assistant elf. We have at least four other witnesses. Prefect Clearwater and Mister Boot are still in St Mungo’s after that carriage sabotage…” Harold replied. “Your friend Ronald and his brother were also involved.”

“That was an accident…” Granger insisted. Ron and Neville were both trying to get her to sit back down, but she was not backing off so easily.

“Sure, that is not taking into account the attempt to get me arrested for underage magic and blocking the barrier at King’s Cross…”

“Still, you can’t treat an elf like that!” Granger insisted. “They have rights…”

“Malfoy, what are the laws for transferring ownership of an elf?” Ignoring Hermione, Harold turned to Draco.

“To you or Granger? He’d drive her nuts setting off magical incidents in Muggletown…” Draco replied. “But both Father and Mother will kill me for different reasons. I’m keeping him in the stocks until Father cools down or they find a buyer. Elf licenses don’t come cheap, you know.”

Hermione was protesting but someone had Silenced her so they could finish their breakfast in peace.

“Grey, the headmaster wishes to see you!” a Hufflepuff prefect announced. “Might be about your advanced classes,” he added with a wink. Cedric Diggory. Harold placed the name to the face. The Diggorys lived down the road from the Burrow. Harold hoped the headmaster had granted his permission to let him take Runes and Arithmancy officially this year.

Dear Uncle Ali

Headmaster Bumblemore declined to allow me to read Runes and Arithmancy on grounds that I need time to recover from my accident. He also suggested that I would benefit from cultivating relationships with children my age. Hello boredom. May I kindly request permission to reenact the Ten Plagues of Egypt? I will tone down on the last one. There is a certain windbag in DADA that needs to be dropped in the middle of a haboob, or a flood of hungry crocodiles, just so we can academically prove he is as capable as he makes himself out to be in the books. Also requesting permission to try crossing Binns over. My A grade in his paper has been listed as one of the reasons my application was declined. A is still a pass, right? I will be brushing up my knife-throwing skills with Zabini. We still have an elf in the stocks since the Malfoys can’t agree on his punishment. The missus has a soft spot for the pest seeing he came from her mama. Yup, it figures it would be a former Black elf. Mister Lupin wrote that Sirius wanted to visit his family townhouse the week before term. They got attacked by the resident elf. Black had thought the old elf dead by now. Ended in a draw with both wizards out in the street (Sirius as Padfoot) but Sirius having claimed his rights to the property as Lord Black or something. I suppose the Black madness might have extended to their staff. My godfather had a relapse and is now back in a doggy bed in his cousin’s clinic. Round Two to reclaim the townhouse will need to wait.

Good news - Clearwater and Boot have been discharged. Clearwater does not remember anything after getting on the Hogwarts Express. Percy is also acting weird as he claims he also forgot something important from same ride. Prefect Fawley claimed that they were both snogging in the washroom the entire way, which led to red faces all round. Boot is miffed he missed the Quidditch try-outs. His leg is almost back to normal now. Would you believe the healer at St M muffed the flesh knitting spell and ended up breaking his thigh bone? The Boots are not amused. Hello lawsuit.

Understand from my friends in Slytherin that British house-elf laws are a tangled mess. The annual license for a regular wix to own an elf is costly – think enough to feed a family of five for a year, which explains why most sensible British families like the Weasleys do not own them. Then there is the elf quota for a select group known as the old families where they are expected to magically support a set number of elves which can be included as part of a daughter’s dowry or inherited by their heirs. Old families who could not support that many elves bequeath the extras to an establishment like Hogwarts or St Mungo’s (or even the Leaky, I am told). Then there is the elf import-export tax, which limits the elves one can bring in or out of Britain. Cleo will be horrified there is no elf employment agency to place elves where they are suited. Granger is organizing a protest to free Dobby. The lions are keeping out of it as two of the Weasleys were caught up in the accident. Draco’s still holding out on tossing clothes at the pest. He’s offering Dobby as a test subject for anyone who needs to practice their live Transfiguration or Potions on. Lord Malfoy still has the old sword sharpened and ready to greet Dobby for disgracing the family, so I suppose we’re keeping him alive here.

I do hope that Lady Malfoy does not decide to gift Dobby to my godfather. Understand that she is seeking to reconnect with her natal family as Lord Malfoy seems to be caught up in some dodgy business. Draco has been warned to keep away from whatever scheme his father is cooking up after he brought Draco to some disreputable place on Knockturn Alley. I am teaching him to play Senet, so we do chat a bit. He’s no longer getting any odd urges from the Amulet, so I know the Binding is holding up too. Professor Snape is too stoic. His arm could be on fire, and he’d continue calmly teaching. Macmillan’s potion boiled over and landed on his arm, Snape just told us to put the cauldrons on low before slapping on a Cleansing Spell, followed by a Healing Charn for second degree caustic burns. Oh, he also remembered to deduct points.

About half the old family scions in my year are being betrothed this year, the other half having done so before they started school. Draco’s worried that he might end up paired with his cousin Nymphadora if his mother decides to follow Black tradition (ugh). Nymphadora is cool, but I doubt she is acceptable to the Malfoys as a half-blood. The other options on the table are the Parkinsons – Pansy most likely, or the Greengrasses. Depends on which family best supports Lord Malfoy’s interests.

Chapter Text

“Harold…”

“Technically, it should be Mister Grey, sir. It is the height of ill manners to use an unrelated person’s first name without invitation.” Harold straight-facedly quoted from Lady Sophia’s Basic Etiquette. 

“How about we jointly author a book of your adventures with your uncle?”

“Nah, Uncle Ali has a confidentiality contract with the goblins. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of goblins, almost as fearsome as the Nabatean royals. Professor, why is it that this chapter with the mummy reads like what happened to Eliza Miller, wife of Shiek Faisal Omar and mother of His Excellency Prince Mustapha? She loved the simple life, and receiving guests from her home country… Poor woman.”

“Er, coincidence?” Their DADA professor was starting to look a little flustered. After the debacle with the Cornish pixies in the Gryffindor class, the Ravenclaws were glad there was no pixie-inspired shenanigans after that dumb quiz. The Ravenclaws had set to work at Grey’s urging to debunk Lockhart’s feats while messing with him.

Eliza Miller was a magi-archaeologist who had stumbled over a cursed mummy thirty years back. Her report was in Cairo Gringotts’ protocols, which Uncle Ali had Harold read so he might recognize the signs of a magically altered mummy. A proto-inferus if you will. The confidentiality agreement had expired, leaving her free to share the story with others. She married a Bedouin wizard. Her son had checked her into Alexandria with magically induced memory injuries after receiving a reporter from Britain.

Nefertari had also deigned to accompany Harold to DADA classes, so to further discomfit their instructor. Lockhart had caught on that placing a hand on Harold’s person was likely to see an angry cobra lunging at his face.

“She’s my familiar, sir. School regulations allow for familiars to accompany their masters in class. Besides, the castle is a little chilly. She hangs out with me for warmth,” Harold smiled sweetly as his classmates tried to stifle their laughter. Attempts to have any student reenact his feats was prone to interruptions of a serpentine nature.

“My cobra is a good familiar and just doing her job…” Harold replied innocently as Nefertari had a quaking Lockhart standing on his desk after their reenactment of the alleged showdown between the famed author and a vampire. “Did you know that the ancient Egyptians and Persians used Parselmagic to place Curses on their tombs? If anyone here is fluent in Parseltongue, that is a specialization you might consider for Cursebreaking.”  

It soon became a competition to see who could show up their DADA instructor’s incompetence. Zabini smuggled a trio of Nifflers into class and set them loose. The pests quickly relieved multiple young witches of their jewellery. They were not impressed when their idol failed to resolve the situation and return their pilfered belongings. An irate Parkinson went so far as to risk detention by Hexing him with long-lasting boils on a sensitive part of his anatomy after he failed to retrieve the ring her late granny gave her. Zabini did return that ring as well as all the other pilfered items to their owners after the lesson. The Weasley Twins created a swamp in the classroom that saw their instructor sinking up to his knees in foul-smelling muck. The Hufflepuffs convinced Peeves to glitter-bomb Lockhart so that he turned up for dinner shinier than the headmaster’s robes. All the houses compared notes on those textbooks and compiled a list of discrepancies which Tony Goldstein and Susan Bones Owled home to their relations in the ICW and Ministry accordingly.

The rest of the professors started a betting pool in the staffroom on how long Lockhart would last before a breakdown. They were not going to assist him with class discipline, not if the headmaster was not inclined to do so. It was clear that Lockhart was a total fraud. Cornish pixies? Surely someone who has dealt with vampires, werewolves and the like could deal with those little pests.

Draco changed his name from Malfoy to Black at Yule. The Malfoys’ Yule Ball was cancelled and gossip had it both mother and son moved out of the manor. After some muck-up over a betrothal with the Parkinsons, his mother had filed for separation from Lord Malfoy. In addition, she had filed for custody of their son under some clause in her marriage contract. Draco had returned to Hogwarts looking paler than usual. It was about that time that Uncle Ali received an urgent request for a Cursebreaking consultation from Narcissa Black.

There was nothing of the timid Lady Malfoy he last saw when Sir Allister met her in a private room at the Black Swan, a discreet wizarding establishment for elite wixen. The meek, simpering wife was gone. This was a witch out for blood. Lord Lucius Malfoy was in deep trouble and Sir Allister could guess why. However, he would prefer hearing it from the horse’s mouth so to speak. He noted with approval that the room was heavily Warded with Privacy and Anti-Eavesdropping Wards.

“My lady, how may I be of assistance?” Sir Allister omitted the perfunctory social niceties before broaching the topic. A Curse might be time sensitive. Outcomes might be dire if left to fester.  

“My husband has failed in his duties to my son and trapped him in a contract to his demerit. I wish this contract broken.”

“Ah, a marriage contract?”

“No, a slave contract. That fool pledged the services of his children to the Dark Lord,” Narcissa Black sniffed. “We only found out when we tried to sign that betrothal with the Parkinsons. I can tell you that Lord and Lady Parkinson are not amused.”

“I see…” If one party in a marriage contract was already contracted, they could not enter a new contract without the dissolution of the pre-existing contract or approval of the other party. For any family to attempt to contract multiple betrothals was the height of insult in noble circles. However, if one of the parties was enslaved, approval from the master would be required. Ergo, for Lord Malfoy to contract a betrothal for his son, he would need Lord Voldemort’s approval.

“My son proudly carries Black blood in his veins. I will not see him enslaved.”

“Forgive me, but isn’t the Dark Lord dead?”

“Apparently not, or the contract would have been dissolved. I have tried changing Draco’s name at Gringotts, but the slave contract is still valid…”

“Madam, would you be aware of any rituals or Charms carried out for this contract to be made?”

“No, I have grilled my husband on this. The fool could barely remember what he did. It was during the ritual where he received the Dark Mark… My husband is a Death Eater and had been since he graduated. We did not marry for love. I know my duty as a wife, but this is one insult I will not accept.”

Sir Allister nodded. In British wix high society, marriage contracts were for life and an alliance between two families. For Lady Malfoy to even file for separation would be tantamount to social suicide. However, she was doing it for her son’s future rather than herself.

“Has Lord Malfoy dropped any hints on the Dark Lord’s whereabouts?”

“No, I think he believed him dead. The Malfoy family had prospered since his demise. Lucius loves his comforts. Do you know he intends to run for Minister after Fudge? I cannot see him giving that all up easily…”

“My lady, I will be honest. This is not going to be fast or easy…”

“Name your price, I expect a generous settlement from Lucius once the separation is finalised.”

“No, it is not just a matter of gold. It is about what tricks the Dark Lord might have resorted to to continue his existence. We need him dead for your son to be freed. Does the boy know he has been enslaved in that sense?”

“No, I let him think his grandfather set up a betrothal for him before passing from Dragon Pox that we were not informed of.”

“Ah, that would be so like Abraxas, wouldn’t it? Have you thought of returning to your maternal family?”

“You mean my mad cousin Sirius?”

“I think you still have a sister who is not in Azkaban and who is currently caring for him. Believe me when I say you and the boy will need all the support you can get moving forward.”

“Pansy, I swear I had no idea…”

“Leave me alone, Black!” Pansy stormed off. Harold frowned as he peered over the top of his book.

“Who do you think the late Lord Abraxas betrothed Drake to? Are there Runes to show that?” Zabini asked. They were in the library trying to study but the Draco-Pansy drama was getting in the way of homework.

“Give Drake some space, Blaise…” Nott warned. The fair-weather pair of Goyle and Crabbe had ditched Draco on their parents’ orders after the social faux pas committed by his family. Other Slytherins were also giving him the cold shoulder, if one knew where to look.

Dobby the elf was still at Hogwarts and attached to Master Draco. Both Lord and Lady Malfoy had forgotten about the house-elf. Draco now pressed Dobby into service helping him win back Pansy Parkinson’s affections. The poor elf was dressed as a pansy flower and tried to serenade the fair maiden at his Master’s instructions. Unfortunately, the elf was horribly tone-deaf, and Draco had silenced him after the first few notes to everyone’s relief.

Harold thought that the attempts by Draco to win Pansy back was punishment enough for Dobby. The Slytherins had seen the elf dressed as a cherub and catapulted into the girls’ dorm. Dobby bounced off the Wards and crashed into the far wall of the corridor. The Wards also applied to house-elves and only girl elves were allowed to clean the girls’ dorms. They had seen him dressed up as a woodland sprite, but Draco had pointed at a patch of Stinging Nettles for Dobby to don. Herbology was never Draco’s strong suit. The students were treated to the sight of a house-elf trying to recite poetry while scratching his bum. Not impressive at all for inciting goodwill in Pansy.

Hermione Granger had been going on about elf-rights to the disgust of her fellow lions. Her leaving stray knitted hats and socks about the Gryffindor common room in a misguided attempt to free the Hogwarts elves resulted in a general strike with no cleaning and laundry services rendered to the Gryffindor tower. Now every Gryffindor had to lug their own laundry basket down to the laundry room on the ground floor and then collect the clean clothes from the elves there. Ron Weasley kept forgetting and resorted to Freshening Charms for almost a week before his Head of House marched him to the laundry room to change his clothes for a fresh set. Silly girl failed to understand that only the headmaster could give clothes to dismiss an elf. Something Dumbledore was unlikely to do. On the contrary, the headmaster called Hermione Granger to his office after multiple complaints from the elves.

“You do realize that by giving clothes to your elf, you are condemning them to die of magic starvation, right? They cannot draw on the ambient magic otherwise,” an irate Harold finally snapped at breakfast just before the Easter break when Hermione was going about trying to urge her schoolmates to sign her petition.

“But it’s still slavery…”

“House-elves have a symbiotic relationship with wizards. They cannot survive otherwise. The entire species was bred for service since Roman times. So you would have all of us free the house-eves and leave the entire species to die of magical starvation?”

“But no one told me…”

 “That is what we have been trying to tell you since the start of term.” Harold rolled his eyes.

“Surely you ought to pay them…”

“You’re not listening, Granger. What would most elves want with Galleons? Everything they use is billed to their masters. Lodging, food and so on. Some elves might barter on the market, but most draw on their attached families’ funds to cover their needs. I know the British Ministry is biased against creatures, including elves, but most wizarding communities have employment agencies tasked with assigning house-elves to jobs that best suit them…”

“So what type of job will best suit my useless elf, Grey?” Draco asked from the next table. “Mother has attached him to me since he was part of her inheritance from Grandmere Dru.”

“I suppose he might work in a bar, or something given his ability to soak up punishment and causing chaos,” Harold shrugged.

“Maybe Mother will give him to her cousin or use him to pay Sir Allister…” Draco speared a sausage.  

“Dobby’s not property!” Hermione insisted.

“I suppose he could help work things out with Kreacher - the elf who has been kicking my godfather out of his own townhouse…” Harold ignored a spluttering Hermione and strolled over to the blonde, munching on an apple.

“Kreacher? Oh boy, those two hate each other, so Mother says. Maybe Dobby and Kreacher can slug it out while we move anything we want out,” Draco chuckled. “What are your plans for Easter break, Grey? Mother is taking me to the French Riveria.”

“Crete. Uncle Ali has a Gringotts job there,” Harold finished his apple. They were going to continue mapping the Minotaur’s palace.

There was a commotion at the head table. The groundskeeper Hagrid was talking with the headmaster. The half-giant looked agitated. Professors Kettleburn, McGonagall, and Snape hastened out with them. Their first classes were cancelled. Students were also ordered to remain in the castle until further notice. The students were left in the dark until lunch when Professor Dumbledore announced that DADA classes would be cancelled as their instructor was incapacitated. Harold idly wondered if those letters they had been sending to the Ministry and ICW finally warranted an investigation.

Eager to prove himself to his colleagues and students, Lockhart ordered a cage of tame Hoffman pixies through a dubious source intending to stage some daring rescue. However, Professor Kettleburn had confirmed that the pixies found near him were the more aggressive Helheim pixies. Hagrid had found what was left of the professor halfway up a tree. Helheim pixies lived exclusively off magical blood. These would have been hungry after the long journey from Germany.

“A pity, Aunt Tina mentioned that the ICW and Madam Bones are currently investigating those stories,” Tony informed Harold as they watched the Ministry team round up the foreign pixies. It was fortunate that they knew how many were ordered since they found the delivery note with the cage. Moreover, most would be too lethargic to flee far after their meal.