Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1985

To those on the outside looking in, Saturday the 1st of November, 1985, seemed to dawn relatively normally for the inhabitants of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

The first to wake was Petunia Dursley, undoubtedly the matriarch of the house. She rose from her bed at precisely 7:00 with mousy brown hair wrapped tightly in curlers and a sour, pinched look on her horse-like face. Petunia was a tall, thin woman, and her image was very important to her. As such, she took her time to wash, dress, apply her makeup - not too much, as it just wouldn’t do to look like that trollop from Number 9 - and do her hair before she gently roused her husband, Vernon at 8:00.

Almost exactly opposite to Petunia in frame and stature, Vernon Dursley was a short, squat, rotund man with a thick blond moustache and a penchant for tie clips, shouting at people, and sherry. He was a middle-manager for a company called Grunnings, which sold drills. A perfectly respectable and normal job, which was important to the Dursley family. Being normal, in particular, was critical. He grunted to acknowledge his wife and wheezed a bit as he shuffled around on the bed to hopefully catch another 15 minutes sleep, this being a Saturday.

Petunia, however, barely noticed; her attention was rather focused on reaching the second door across the landing. She opened it just a crack, poking her unusually long neck through, her features softening into a smile. It was an uncommon expression on her face, to be sure. One that was rarely found, in fact. But Petunia took great pride in only two things in life: firstly, being the perfect suburban housewife, and secondly, her perfect son Dudley. The latter was peacefully tucked in his bed, drowning beneath a pile of blankets that slowly rose and fell along with his breath. Nothing in the world made her heart melt faster than the sight of her son.

This was ostensibly a rather good thing, as in reality Dudley Dursley was a particularly difficult boy for anyone to like. He took after his father in weight and stature (‘big boned, like I was as a lad!’ Vernon often told people proudly), and also like Vernon, he was very blond, with small, watery blue eyes that held a minimal level of intelligence. This did not seem to come close to changing anytime soon, either. As one might expect, Dudley didn’t like school very much at all - particularly as the teachers often encouraged him to do things he didn’t like, such as sharing toys and not hitting people. Dudley very much liked to hit people. He liked it almost as much as he enjoyed pudding, presents, television programs, and always getting his own way. Considering he was one of two things she took pride in the most, Petunia was more than happy to indulge him in all of the things that he liked. 

After a particularly piggy snort from beneath the blanket mound, she shut the door softly, the smile almost immediately melting from her face. Taking a moment to shake herself, she quietly marched down the stairs to face the most odious part of her day.

Not only odious, but repugnant - mostly because she was forced to deal with the one thing she'd rather not deal with at all: her nephew, Harry Potter. The boy was the same age as Dudley, yet the two couldn't be more different. Where Dudley was big, pale, boisterous, and confident, Harry was small, dark, meek, and quiet. This could be forgiven, of course - she wasn’t racist - but what would never be forgiven was how very not normal the boy was. Abnormality was something that Petunia wouldn’t tolerate. You see, strange things always seemed to happen around Harry, and the Dursleys couldn’t countenance anything strange or unnatural in their lives. When he and Dudley had started primary school, Petunia lived in a state of dread and joy; joy that her nephew was out of her hair between the hours of 8:40 and 3:20, and dread that something freakish might happen where other people could see. 

The longer he was at home, though, the more desperate she became to send him back and the more her fears were forgotten. She sighed, thanking God that it was two days until the end of the half-term break, before rapping loudly on the door to the boot cupboard on the way to the kitchen. The cupboard was Harry’s bedroom since he came to live with them 4 years previously; it wouldn't do to have him sleep so close to the family in case his freakishness hurt her precious Dudders in the night.

‘Wake up, lazy boy!’ She growled, knocking one more time against the wood and unlocking the door sharply, unwilling to raise her voice louder and wake up Dudley. Petunia would not countenance her dead sister’s troublesome spawn to interrupt her son’s beauty rest. Sleep was important for a growing boy, after all!

‘Coming, Aunt Petunia,’ came a soft voice from inside, carefully neutral.

She sniffed, entering the kitchen and donning a clean apron with practised movements before collecting the empty milk bottles in their carrier to set outside. Just as she entered the hallway again, he emerged - all riotous black curls and dark bronze skin and guileless green eyes behind Coke bottle glasses that set her blood pressure skyrocketing. She stopped, thrusting the bottle carrier in his face and sneering at his worn, oversized clothes.

‘What took you so long?’ She scolded, ‘Take these out for the milkman sharpish. And when you’re finished, come help me get breakfast sorted.’

The boy only nodded, silent, before gently grabbing the carrier with grubby fingers and heading towards the front door. She turned back towards the kitchen, then, heading directly for the fridge to pull out bacon and sausages for a good fry up for her beloved boys.

Little did she know that that moment in the hallway, handing over the empty milk bottles, was the last time she would ever see her abhorrent nephew again.

After opening the front door he had simply vanished, leaving cracked and broken glass scattered on the very step he had arrived on in the dead of night four years previously. None of the neighbours had seen him go, only alerted to the fact that something was amiss by a massive row between Vernon and Petunia an hour later. The woman from Number 6, who had always been jealous of the well-manicured garden beds of Number 4, gleefully took the opportunity to report the potentially violent domestic to the police.

When the news broke that the Potter child was missing, the entire estate was abuzz the next few weeks. Housewives gossipped non-stop in sitting rooms with cups of tea and over garden hedges with pruning shears as police and council cars came and went from Number 4; ‘That poor boy,’ they’d said, as if they hadn’t spent the last four years spreading vicious rumours disparaging his character, clothes, and appearance. ‘Done in by them, I say. Buried in the back garden in the dead of night.’ ‘He was always such a quiet, unassuming lad. Always willing to lend a helping hand.’ ‘I reported it to the council, of course. They hardly treated him well!’ 

It seemed the police thought so too, if page 3 of The Sun could be believed, with it's bold headline declaring the Dursleys guilty of child abuse and the disappearance of their poor, orphaned nephew just in time for Christmas. The woman from Number 9 was particularly pleased to show off the accompanying photo, featuring Vernon - purple-faced - sat before the magistrate beside Petunia who looked like she had sucked on all the lemons in Surrey. 

But just because the neighbours hadn’t seen the boy disappear from the front step doesn’t mean that someone hadn’t.

If any one of the council workers or police were to bother to question Mr Tibbles, they would have had another idea about his disappearance entirely. Mr Tibbles was, of course, a cat; an eerily intelligent, squash-faced orange cat who had been prowling along the hedge of Number 3 across the road that fateful morning. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately according to some, after the sensational article was published in The Sun someone had decided to speak to Mr Tibbles on the matter; a striking grey tabby who, when she was finished, promptly and miraculously changed into a stern-faced woman in a green brocade robe and a tight bun.

‘Well, Minerva? What did he have to say?’ pressed her companion where they stood casually in the sitting room of Number 12 Magnolia Crescent, some two streets away from the scene of the incident. Despite the extraordinary change in species, and the odd choice in fashion, the relatively average resident of Number 12 - Mrs Figg - sat primly on her floral sofa and took in the scene with worry.

‘ Lily - ’ the woman who was also a cat whispered in shocked response, her pale features almost ghostly white behind rectangular spectacles. ‘ Lily took him away.’

1064

If there was anyone around to observe the rough stone thatched cottage overlooking Lake Avalon at the dawn of the Blōtmonaþ, they would have been partial to the sight of a woman in a black, silken cloak gliding down the garden path. The moon and its massive, parchment coloured reflection against the still water beside her was the only thing lighting her way as she effortlessly carried a large bundle in her arms, hidden in the darkness underneath a thick woollen blanket. Upon reaching the simple wooden door she shifted, careful not to disturb her burden, and knocked three times with confidence.

But there was nobody to witness this apart from the resident of the cottage himself, and Merlin the Emrys was not having a good night. He had woken that afternoon to a pounding headache - too much ale, probably - and yet another irritating missive from Lord Godwine determined to employ him as a tutor to his snotty young heir before he attended Hogewáþe next season. Merlin didn’t know why the man persisted so heavily; he hadn’t taken on a student in nearly a hundred years, which Godwine knew very well, and he was confident the wix at the school would be better at teaching the New Ways to such a spoiled brat. Probably Godwine wanted his son to appear advanced when compared to the other first year pupils, given that they would accept anyone from peasants to royals, so long as they had magic. Just thinking about putting up with such arrogant, lordly clotpoles was enough to give him hives.

The day had not gotten much better from there.

His owl had, apparently, dropped three separate scrolls into the lake just before delivering Godwine’s request, which meant Merlin had had to go for a chilling swim that he had not been anticipating. Two of his four chickens had wandered off in the night; gnomes had found their way back into his garden and dug up half of the gurdyroot and carrots; and he’d accidentally sneezed into a delicate potion as he brewed causing his best pewter cauldron to melt a little.

Now he was interrupted from his evening meal. He sighed heavily after the first knock, carefully placing his cup on the simple wooden table in front of him before rising from his perch and grabbing the flickering tallow candle holder to his right. Behind him, the hearth crackled as another log danced merrily onto the fire on its own from the small stack beside it. He paid this unusual occurrence no mind as he shuffled towards the door, slippered feet disturbing the thrushes scattered over the tamped dirt floor and opened it quickly. Once catching sight of the woman, however, his irritated scowl was immediately replaced by something much different - both frightened and frightening in equal measure as objects within the cottage began to shake and rattle.

‘Emrys,’ murmured the woman, seemingly unmoved by the sudden, oppressive magic that choked the air around them. Her piercing green eyes flashed in the illumination of the light of the candle, blood red lips turned up in the hint of a smile. Resting against her shoulder, poking out of the edge of a dark woollen blanket, was a mop of unruly black curls that she lifted one hand to fondly brush through. ‘Now, now. No need for that. Would this form be preferable?’

And in the next moment, her face flickered, skin and eyes darkening and hair scrunching up into tighter curls beneath her hood. Merlin relaxed minutely.

‘Ah. Good evening, Goddess.’ He began, attitude shifting almost imperceptibly though still on edge until she gave a responding affirmative nod. ‘Not very smart of you, showing up here wearing Morgana’s face on this, of all evenings.’ 

‘It is the face you most associate with war,’ She chided with a teasing smirk. 

Merlin frowned, trying to puzzle out who she might possibly be. ‘I see. A Goddess of war? To what do I owe the honour of your visit?’

‘May I come in?’

He searched her painfully familiar face for a moment before nodding and stepping back silently. She crossed the threshold, pausing only to shift the child on her hip - and Merlin was quite certain, at this point, that it must be a child - so that she could remove her hood, as was polite, and give a shallow bow that he returned. 

‘Would you care for anything? A posset, maybe?’ He asked, indicating toward a bench set by the fire of the hearth. She strode toward the seat, careful not to disturb her charge before lowering herself.

‘No, thank you. There is not much time.’ She paused a moment to lower the blanket revealing a boy, his black curls framing his bronzed face pressed into the crook of her neck, peaceful and slack in sleep. Merlin studied the way she watched him, a soft, gentle expression gracing her features. Even after centuries, Guinevere was one of the most beautiful women he had ever had the pleasure of meeting, even if her form was being borrowed by an Old God. 

She sighed, then, turning to face him and her eyes hardened in a way that he had only seen after the horrors of Camlann.

‘Emrys, I would request your assistance.’

He frowned at her serious tone, grabbing the bench he had previously vacated at the table and pulling it across the room towards her so he could sit comfortably.

‘What could a Goddess possibly want that I could provide?’ He asked, suspicious, indicating around him to the simplicity of the room that they occupied. ‘I may be a creature of the Old Religion, but my powers hardly match those of the Old Gods themselves.’

‘My son.’ She answered simply, as if those two short words had not shocked him speechless. As if they would not shock any being of magic speechless.

‘You - your son?’ He was vaguely aware of numerous thick scrolls pulling themselves from a high shelf and dropping onto the rough hewn table behind them, his broom nervously jerking up from its position by the wardrobe and sweeping the thrushes into a pile to be replaced. It was common knowledge that the Old Gods were fiercely protective of their natural children, even if they didn't necessarily treat them well. Which particular Pantheon he was dealing with might be helpful in understanding the connection a bit further. It would also tell him just how much shit he would be in if he screwed this up; one misstep here could cost Merlin everything - the chance to see Arthur again, in particular.

He must tread carefully.

‘And from which part of the Otherworld you hail?’ He asked, internally wincing at his bluntness in case she perceived it as rudeness. He gave a small sigh of relief when the woman only smiled. 

‘I am of the Túath Dé.’

Merlin bit back a curse. A shapeshifting Goddess of war of the Túathe Dé could only mean -

‘The Morrígan, I presume.’

She nodded her head elegantly. ‘Just so.’

‘Avalon is quite a journey for you, in that case,’ Merlin commented lightly, hoping she might divulge her reason for bypassing her own lands entirely. 

‘I suppose. My son has intimate ties with Annwn and his fate is here,’ she responded, dark eyes boring into his. ‘And you are here.’

He felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion. He'd never heard of an offspring of two Pantheons, no matter how closely related. Before he could ask, however, the Morrígan piped up. ‘To answer your obvious question, he is my son through ritual.’ 

Ah. He felt himself relax a bit. Not a natural child, but a child born to human parents through a ritual calling on a God of the Old Religion. A Mage, then. Rare, perhaps, but rarer still was the direct interest a Goddess took in a child of ritual - enough to take him from his human family, at least - and treat him with such tenderness. She looked back toward the boy with a sad smile, brushing her fingers over each eyebrow gently, then down his nose, before pushing up the fringe of hair resting on his forehead and tracing a shape that Merlin could not make out in the light of the fire. ‘He is a soul jar. I would ask that you remove it.’

He felt his gut twisting painfully, eyes widening in horror as dread settled coldly in his chest. A boy - the son of the Morrígan (and honestly he couldn’t be more than four years of age or Merlin would eat his pointy hat) - had been turned into a soul jar? To tamper with one's soul was unspeakable. It explained his lack of blood relations, it would seem. She surely would have killed anyone who would dare. He couldn't hold his wince.

‘I…you must know that it would kill the boy. It’s the only way to-’

‘Hari.’ She murmured, eyes still gazing down on him lovingly before piercing into Merlin’s. He could not look away. ‘His name is Hari. And I have reason to believe that it would not.’

Merlin’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘What? How? Mages are not-’

‘He is not a Mage.’ She cut him off, and he let out a frustrated huff.

‘A Wizard, then-’

‘He is as you are. A Warlock. A creature of the Old Religion.’

The air seemed to vibrate as those words filled the small space of the room like an echoing gong. The broom dropped to the floor with a clatter.

‘What?’ Merlin breathed, various pots and vials vibrating against the wooden shelves and drying herbs rustling in the rafters from the sudden swirl and thrum of magic. ‘His father-’

‘The hunter of Cŵn Annwn - hence his connection to this land.’

Merlin swallowed, throat thick with feeling. Another Warlock. Was it even possible? Warlocks were born as children of ritual, of course, like a Mage. But instead of one ritual parent, they must have two, and the Balance must be in such a dire state that Lady Magic blesses the union. As a Warlock himself, he could tell that the Balance was within normal levels; shifting, perhaps, as Christianity grew within the lands that once held the Empire of Avalon, but as normal as it could be besides. He must be from a different time, then, if he even was truly a Warlock to begin with.

On the other hand, the Morrígan had no reason for deceit. If the boy truly was a soul jar, and she wanted him to remove the excess soul, she would hardly lie about something that might be critical for his survival. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the thought, the possibility. After all these centuries of being alone -

‘And you believe, as another Warlock, I could remove the excess soul? He would be powerful enough to survive it?’

‘Yes,’ she answered with complete confidence. ‘I know it. As long as you would replace the missing magic with a piece of your own.’

The silence was almost deafening for a moment, then two, alongside the crush of wild magic in the air.

He couldn’t deny her request. If the boy truly was a Warlock, he’d earn a boon from a powerful Goddess of the Túath Dé. If he wasn’t, the boy would die and a deceit would be uncovered.

‘I -,’ he began, then paused to give himself a moment to choose his words carefully. ‘Even if I manage to remove the unwanted soul,’ he started, tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously, ‘it may have lingering effects depending on how long the invasive piece has had to ingratiate itself,’ he warned. 

The Morrígan nodded. ‘I am aware - which is why I have brought him to you now, before it would be too late.’

Merlin sighed internally. ‘Then you’d better bring him to the bed,’ he heard himself answer before he could really process what his response should be. The Morrígan wasted no time, standing abruptly with Hari cradled in her arms and striding purposefully toward the open doorway against the wall. Merlin followed.

The boy looked even smaller in the simple wooden bed, his bronze skin glittering in the light of the candles spread evenly around the space though Merlin had not lit them. His clothes were odd - instead of a woollen tunic as expected for his age, he wore what appeared to be a short-sleeved linen garment tucked into complex looking stockings held up by a rough rope belt. They were much too large for the boy, and despite the linen looking almost as finely woven as silk, they were worn almost ragged with holes and stains along every visible hem. 

His belief that this was a boy out of time was solidified - or at least a very cleverly played trick. Still, to be sure, he cleared his throat nervously before stating, ‘He’s not of this time.’ A statement, not a question. Less of a chance for possible deception in this case. It's not as if he relished the idea of harming a child, soul jar or not.

The Morrígan smiled.

‘Very good, Emrys, though I am sure you would have suspected as such the moment I stated his nature.’ She teased. ‘Hari is, in fact, from over nine hundred years in the future.’

Nine hundred years…his mind boggled. The sheer thought of travelling that span of time was shocking, even for a being such as himself. ‘Why have you brought him to me, now? What of his human family?’

Her amused smile transformed into a dark sneer, the sight of her glistening teeth made the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck rise. He was immediately reminded of the fact that she was an Old God, despite the use of Gwen’s beautiful face.

‘His surviving relatives are not worthy of the title. I removed him.’ She bent down at the waist to brush a comforting hand through his hair. Her rich, dark eyes fixated on the boy’s face. ‘He is a child of fate, Emrys, and I would see that he succeed in his task despite the ignorant machinations of the mortals that surround him. They are well-meaning, but only serve to hinder him. In another universe he may have been victorious regardless, but in this one…’ She trailed off with a sigh. ‘That is why I brought him here, to you. For you to remove the excess soul, and to train him in the Old Ways.’

He frowned, anxiety and dread sitting heavy in his chest. To master the Old Ways would force the boy to endure trials that he’d barely survived with a century of magical experience. ‘Healing a living soul jar is one thing, but training the boy? You must know I - it will be… difficult for him. And with Avalon and Camelot lost and all of these different forces invading Albion, I need to be ready and unencumbered in case Arthur returns-’

Her sudden laughter startled him to silence, tinkling and melodious. ‘So many things come back to Arthur, do they not? The legendary Squib Emperor of Avalon, chosen by Magic, betrayed at Camlann. The Once and Future King.’ She paused, brushing a lock of curled hair behind her ear in an elegant gesture to reveal a rich, drop pearl earring that Merlin recalled Gwen wearing at her wedding feast. ‘Tell me, Emrys, what you know of me?’

Merlin cleared his throat hesitantly, confused by the sudden change in subject but unwilling to ask. Obviously he didn’t have the full story, and while he didn’t have many interactions with the Old Gods, there was always something so Other about them that made him feel like a simple page boy at the start of his training in Camelot’s court. ‘Well, you…you’re one of the Old Gods of Túath Dé. A Goddess commonly associated with War and Fate. A shapeshifter, said to portend victory in battle for those who have your favour, and death for those who don’t.’

‘Very good, though your understanding is not wholly complete. And Cŵn Annwn?’

‘The Wild Hunt is…more difficult to pin down, but…the Hunt helps to guide the dead. Any living soul who hears the hounds bay knows they’re close to death, as their prey never escape once the Hunt targets them. It’s led by Gwyn ap Nu-’

‘Not anymore.’

Merlin started. 

‘What?’

The Morrígan moved slowly to perch at the edge of the bed, eyes boring into his own. ‘You did not believe that the sídhe of Annwn would lock Arthur in the Otherworld until his return, did you? He has long since replaced Gwyn ap Nudd as leader of the Hunt, with Mab as the Queen of the tylwyth teg, and Annwn has become all the more powerful for it.’

Merlin felt like he was suffocating, suddenly, his ears buzzing with white noise and lungs refusing to cooperate.

‘Arthur-’ He began, his words choking off before they could emerge. He snapped his gaze to the boy lying innocuously on his bed. ‘This-’

‘Yes.’

And with that single word, Merlin sat down directly on the floor, uncaring that the scratchy rushes would dirty his clean tunic.

‘He’s Arthur’s son.’ He heard himself whisper from seemingly far away.

‘Yes. And he is the Future King, chosen by Magic to restore Avalon. He needs you, Merlin the Emrys. There is no one else.’

It felt like an eternity before the room seemed to righten itself and he could catch hold of his stray magic, but thankfully the Morrígan was patient and let him process on his own time with soft, kind eyes.

‘The last time I helped an Emperor, he lost his life for it – died in part because of the poor choices I made,’ Merlin rasped quietly, haunted eyes meeting hers. ‘Magic chose Arthur too, and look where it led him. Are you certain the boy deserves this fate?’

She raised piercing eyes to his, dark and unknowable. ‘Magic chose him, Merlin. Fate chose him. We are but instruments to the Aspects. The death of your Emperor was not due to your action or inaction, but the jealousy of others – even if your guilt does not allow you to see as I do. Neither you nor Arthur were prepared. Hari will face similar obstacles – but we have the benefit of time and knowledge to ready him for it,’ she paused, voice almost shaking. ‘We must use this to our advantage, else watch our world crumble beneath our feet.’

‘Why now?’ he croaked, unable to form a more coherent sentence. Why not earlier? Why not in the boy's own time?

She gave him a sad smile. ‘This is the best moment for those who would be trained for war; the founders of the new school for magic in Alba - Hogewáþe as you call it - can guide him in the New Ways that are so prevalent in his own time. While Mages can learn to utilise the ancient magics left behind in the land since the fall of Avalon, they cannot help him to understand the Old Ways and understand his connection to magic and the Deep as another Warlock could - as you could. They cannot hear the songs of magic…no, it is only a true Warlock that may accomplish this, as I am sure you are aware, and it is this point where these most powerful wielders of magic exist simultaneously.’ 

She paused for a moment, the silence almost overbearing in its weight. ‘And by removing the excess soul latched to his and replacing it with your own magic, he would have an anchor to this world so that Arthur might teach him the sword and the hunt. He cannot visit the Otherworld without something to tie him to this place or he would be lost to the Otherworld forever, and his relatives are - as I said - wholly unsuitable.’

‘And…I would see Arthur again?’ Merlin asked, voice soft and breathy with disbelief.

She smiled broadly. ‘Yes, Emrys. Once a year as Calan Gaeaf begins you must bring Hari into the Lake at twilight and there you will meet Arthur, who will take him and return with him at twilight the next night. He will be proficient in the sword and the hunt by the time he is meant to return to the future.’

‘And you?’ He questioned, after a beat. ‘Will you teach him? Guide him?’ 

The Morrígan’s smile turned mischievous, but sad. ‘Fate may meddle, but may not guide. Bringing him here, and taking him back when the time comes - that is the extent of my ability to help. Though,’ she said after a beat, ‘I do have one or two tricks up my sleeve that will further aid him. You would not have been there for him, in his time, without my bringing him here, though I cannot say more. But he will also need a guardian who may legally make decisions for him until Magic calls upon him to take his place as the Future King, and it might be prudent to bring them here as well.’

He was curious, of course. How could he not be, with an answer such as that? But he knew better than to pressure her into answering questions of his own fate.

‘A guardian?’

Her smirk was playful. ‘Yes, the boy’s godfather is currently…indisposed…but devoted, I am sure. He would not mind such a long trip for the chance to see him grow.’

Merlin frowned, racing heart finally calming to a more manageable beat.

‘And how long will I have to train him?’

‘In about ten years or so his fate will call him home.’

Merlin licked his lips, eyes darting between the Goddess and the impossible child in his bed.

‘Well, then, we haven’t a minute to waste.’

1986

'Come along now, Percy,' Arthur Weasley called, looking anxiously between his battered pocket watch and the stairwell with what he hoped was a measure of calm considering how late it was. 'Ernestine is already doing us such a massive favour, and -'

'Just a minute! I've got to - Scabbers, no, wait!'

His eldest son, Bill, rolled his eyes. 'Want me to go get him, dad?' He asked.

'No, it's alright -'

Whatever he might have said was cut off by his third eldest son stomping down the stairs in a frenzy. His rickety suitcase, originally Arthur's from when he was just a lad, thunked down the steps behind him.

'Sorry, dad, I just - I couldn't leave Scabbers here alone, you know. Even if the twins have spattergroit, who knows what they'd do to him?' He panted, a familiar rat clutched in one hand and suitcase handle in the other.

'That's alright, Percy.' Arthur assured, deftly pocketing his watch and ushering his three eldest sons towards the fireplace before grabbing the pot that rested on the mantle. 'Alright now,' he said, bringing the pot to rest where all three could reach. 'Grab a pinch - that's right - and remember, the address is Ministry Atrium , alright? Good, now Bill, you go first, and remember to tuck your elbows in.'

Bill just sighed, grumbling 'I'm fifteen, not five,' under his breath and grasping his own suitcase before stepping into the unlit hearth. He threw the powder to his feet and called, 'Ministry Atrium!' and was whisked away in a shot of green flames.

'Now, Charlie, you next -' he started, but his second eldest had already strode forward with suitcase in hand and activated the floo, shouting 'Ministry Atrium!' He was gone in a flash.

'Do you want to floo with me?' Arthur asked Percy gently at the sight of his son's nervous face. Percy gave a scowl and shoved his rat into his pocket none too gently.

'I'm not a baby, I can do it myself!' He declared, grabbing a pinch of powder and gulping loudly before throwing it into the fire. 'M-ministry Atrium!' he stuttered, and Arthur looked wildly towards the family clock, releasing a breath when Percy's hand moved from Home to Travelling and stuck there, not continuing to Lost or Mortal Peril. He grabbed his own pinch of powder, the texture soft between his fingers, and replaced the pot on the mantle before following his sons to the Ministry.

There was no questioning that Arthur Septimus Weasley loved his children. He worked hard to provide for them, though money was often tight; with seven children to care for on a Ministry salary, things were bound to be difficult. But his wife was an excellent caretaker and saw to their needs, making sure to stretch every last Knut to the fullest. It did throw a niffler in the vault, however, when unforeseen circumstances arose - and was their four youngest contracting spattergroit ever what Arthur would call an unforeseen circumstance. 

Still, he made sure to stay calm and unwavering as ever as he stepped through the floo into the shining dark wood and peacock tile of the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. His sons stood huddled together towards the Fountain of Magical Brethren, a beacon of red hair in a swarming mass of bustling Ministry employees hustling towards their offices in robes of all colours. 

'Morning, Arthur!' Called Cuthbert Mockridge from the Goblin Liaison Office, to which Arthur nodded his own greeting and hurried over to his sons.

'Now, let's get down to level 10 - we'll meet Ernestine there. I'll pick you up around noon to take you to Muriel's.' He said, gesturing for them to follow and moving towards the lifts as quickly as he could without losing them in the crowd.

The banks were busy, as was to be expected, but he managed to squeeze them in at the far end alongside a man he recognised as Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, along with a handsome bald man who he figured must be a trainee going by the badge pinned to his robes. He moved to press the button for level nine, but pulled back when he noticed it had already been backlit and batted away a few paper aeroplanes that settled in front of his face. The lift lurched into movement just as the grille screeched shut.

'Arthur.' Greeted Scrimgeour, his wild mane of tawny hair scruffy compared to his crisply ironed Auror’s robes. He was a decent man; gruff and overly zealous in Arthur's opinion, but infinitely better than some - John Dawlish came to mind. 'Brought the children then, have you?'

Arthur grimaced. 'Ah, yes. The younger set came down with an unfortunate case of spattergroit, so I'm taking these three to their Aunt's later. Ernestine from Magical Records kindly agreed to watch them until then.'

Scrimgeour looked incredibly bored by the conversation already, but his trainee smiled at the boys.

'First time at the Ministry?' He asked them, his voice deep and smooth. Percy and Charlie nodded nervously, fingers still clutching at their suitcases. Bill just looked at the man with wide, curious eyes.

'Are you an Auror?' He asked, and the man nodded.

'In training, though my three years are almost up, fortunately.' He said with a wink and a blatant look towards Scrimgeour. 

The elevator shuttered to a halt, a cool voice calling, 'Level nine - Department of Mysteries. Access to: level ten - Wizengamot Chambers, Courtrooms one through ten, Department of Magical Records -' just as the golden grille opened.

They all stepped forward, Arthur spotting Ernestine in front of the Department of Mysteries immediately as Scrimgeour and his trainee moved towards the staircases on the far end of the hall.

'Ernestine,' he started, ushering the children forward. 'thank you so much. You don't know how -'

He was cut off suddenly by a loud ripping noise followed by two high-pitched shrieks and three loud thunks. Ernestine's expression morphed from a smile to a look of shock and horror, and he whirled around, already reaching for his wand, before freezing. His heart felt like it stopped.

'Peter?!' Ernestine whispered, eyes wide and face ghostly white. A familiar man with dirty blond hair and protruding front teeth in tattered black robes stood with wild, bulging eyes, looming over Percy who was sprawled on the floor at his feet. Charlie and Bill's mouths were gaping, their suitcases scattered around them.

'Dad!' Shouted Bill, reaching for his wand, but before any of them could move, the crazed looking man grabbed Charlie, one arm around his neck, and lifted him up on his tip-toes as if to shield himself. It was awkward - the man was short and squat and obviously out of shape, and while his son was hardly considered tall for his age, he was still a thirteen year old boy.

'Y-your wand!' He stuttered, voice squeaky and high-pitched. 'Y-your wand or the b-boy's dead!' As if to demonstrate his sincerity he squeezed the arm around Charlie's neck tighter, causing him to make a horrible gurgling noise that sent Arthur's heart directly through the floor.

'Alright, alright, my wand. Here it is.’ He said, holding the tip towards the ceiling, hands in the air. ‘Bill,' he commanded, darting a pointed look towards Percy. He made sure his words were measured and calm despite the terror growing in his chest. Charlie looked wretched, eyes wide and filled with fear, and Arthur was sure he was in no better shape.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw Scrimgeour and his trainee slowly and silently moving back towards them, wands drawn, and let out a shaky breath. 'I'll - I'll put it on the ground now, just - just please - my son - let my son go.' He begged, voice finally cracking.

Bill had thankfully managed to grab his younger brother and move them both behind him, though it caused the man to dart his eyes around and squeeze harder. While Arthur couldn't look away from the sight of Charlie being strangled by some madman, he could hear Ernestine shushing Percy's quiet, fearful sobs.

He slowly, very slowly, bent down to place his wand on the ground with a small clatter; the loss of the well-worn cedar a small price to pay. What was seven Galleons for the life of his son? He'd trade an infinite amount. More than Lucius Malfoy could imagine spending in a hundred thousand lifetimes.

'Peter -' a cautious voice came from behind him, then, but only made the man - Peter - tighten his already too tight grip with rolling, bulging eyes. Arthur gritted his teeth, torn between turning to Ernestine and telling her to shut her mouth and keeping the full force of his attention on Charlie.

Just as the man stepped forward to pick up Arthur's wand, two cries of, 'Stupefy!' rang through the hall and Arthur lunged forward to grab Charlie before the man fell backward, unconscious.

He found that he was shaking as he bent down to his knees and drew his son to his chest in a bone-crushing hug, face pressed tightly into the side of his neck.

'It's Peter - I'm sure of it!' Rambled Ernestine. 'We - we dated at Hogwarts, for a time, but - he's supposed to be dead! Killed by Sirius Black, they said!'

Arthur couldn't give a whit, honestly.

He pulled away, gripping the sides of Charlie's shocked face. A bruise was starting to form, dark flushing red along the sides of the pale skin of his neck, ugly and out of place behind his freckles. 'Charlie - Charlie, are you alright?' He asked, heart still pounding and trying to get a grip on himself.

Charlie nodded, swallowing thickly. His eyes were still wide in shock and fear, but he didn't appear to be on the verge of tears.

'Arthur - what happened?' Barked Scrimgeour, and Arthur looked over Charlie's shoulder to see the trainee Auror had bound the unconscious man and set him against the far wall.

'I - I don't know,' Arthur started, voice rough and still unwilling to let go of his son. 'I was just greeting Ernestine and heard a ripping sound -'

'It was Scabbers!' Bill interrupted. 'He - Percy's rat. He'd been in his pocket and when we got close to this door, suddenly he transformed into that man and obviously Percy's pocket couldn't hold him. Is - is he an Animagus?' 

Scrimgeour looked grim. 'It appears so - you said you recognised him, Ms…'

'Brumby. Ernestine Brumby - and yes I've told you, that's Peter! Peter Pettigrew! But I can't imagine -'

Arthur felt his own eyes widen, face suddenly clicking in his mind to the anxious little wizard he'd met a few times with Gideon and Fabian during the War. Scrimgeour seemed just as stunned, turning towards his trainee and Peter.

'He's missing a finger, boss,' the man said, dark eyes cold and face sombre. 'Consistent from what we thought was left of him.'

'I had thought he looked familiar,' Arthur murmured, slowly rising to his feet but keeping a hand on Charlie's shoulder. 'I've met him a few times during…well, during the War.' He gave a grimace. 'But why would he be hiding as a child's pet, all this time? He's…'

'What I want to know is why he suddenly transformed back, then injured a child and attempted to take your wand,' Scrimgeour growled. 'Could be the anti-Animagus wards. Have your children come with you to work before?'

'Bill has, a few times. Charlie once or twice, but Percy -'

'And when did Percy acquire this…rat? Scabbers you called him?'

Arthur frowned. 'Only a few years ago - just after the war ended. Percy found him in the garden - what - is this an interrogation, Rufus?'

'Not at all, Mr. Weasley,' assured the trainee, who gave a small wince. 'Sorry, I'm Trainee Kingsley Shacklebolt. We, ah, will have to take some statements, and we'll book Pettigrew in for questioning, but right now you should see to your sons. You've all had quite the fright. Save your youngest's robes, will you? We may need them for evidence.'

Arthur sighed, shoulders immediately slumping. 'Yes, I'll - well, I should be seeing Charlie to Mungo's, just in case, then I'll drop them off at their Aunt's. Send me an owl anytime, and I can drop off whatever you need. And thank you both.'

'Not a problem, Mr. Weasley,' Shacklebolt said just as Scrimgeour replied, 'Will do,' then both turned towards Peter and cast a quick, silent levicorpus.

Arthur gave himself a moment to breathe in and out, hand still shaking, then turned back towards Ernestine and his other two sons. She had a hand on each of their shoulders, though poor Percy was clutching at her robes tightly. Tear tracks were drying down his cheeks still a bit chubby from baby fat, his ruined pocket hanging by barely a thread. When he had fully faced them, Percy launched himself forward to grab around Arthur's waist, knocking Charlie a bit in the process.

'Careful now, Percy -'

'It's ok, dad, I'm fine.' Charlie said, voice a bit hoarse. Arthur gave him a pained smile.

'I'm…terribly sorry Ernestine -'

'No, no, Arthur,' she denied, face still pale.

'Would you mind letting Perkins know I won't be in until later?' He asked with a grimace

'Of course,' she assured. 'You take care now, boys. I'm - I'll just go write that memo for Perkins.' She said before scurrying down the hall towards the stairwell to level ten.

Arthur sighed again, gesturing for Bill to join them. He did without complaint - obviously more rattled than his cool demeanour indicated - and Arthur pulled them all into a fierce hug.

'Mum's going to go mental.' Bill murmured after a moment, voice muffled against his robes. Arthur bit back a groan.

Merlin, how was he going to explain this to Molly?

Two weeks later, in a dank, freezing hallway hundreds of miles away, a beautiful woman with thick black curls and blue-green eyes strode purposefully forward. She seemed incredibly out of place here; the air around her filled with a sense of rot and despair - as if no peace or happiness could penetrate the thick, stone walls. Still, she continued on unaffected, pausing only for a moment to slip a crinkling newspaper between the bars of a single cell before moving forward. 

An innocuous thing. 

The single inhabitant of that cell, a painfully thin, ragged man with matted black hair slowly approached and picked up the paper. His eyes widened at the headline, breath catching sharply in his chest.

As the woman reached the end of the hall, the sharp click of her boots echoing against the stone was suddenly drowned out by a bark of manic laughter. 

The woman smiled.

Chapter Text

19 August 1995

The morning dawned warm, muggy, and overcast on Grimmauld Place, clouds swollen with the promise of rain. Hari Potter loathed heat—it was what had woken him, thick and oppressive, despite the fact that he'd only gone to bed with a single dark blue cotton sheet. It was soft as silk—luxurious, really, though Sirius had assured him such textiles were common enough in this era, even if he couldn't remember it. It wasn't as if the Dursley's would've given him more than the rattiest of bedclothes.

Hari yawned, kicking the sheet aside and savoring the softness of his modern mattress. He was determined to steal at least another minute of rest, even with the sticky heat, the persistent street noise, and the sunlight filtering through the massive window. All of it—sounds, smells, sensations, even the window itself—felt unfamiliar. He didn’t remember this, and now found himself unsettled by how unaccustomed he was.

Still, this was exactly why they’d returned a month ahead of Hogwarts—to give them both time to reacclimate. And where better to do that than London? The city now towered in every direction, all glass and steel and old brick. Ornate buildings stacked high above the crush of millions of people, their constant motion like a hive—loud, chaotic, and buzzing. Cars honked as they swarmed the roads, exhaling smoke into the damp air, while crowds shuffled toward the distant screech of the underground. It was all so wildly different from the quiet, meticulous order and manicured gardens of the Dursley’s house in Surrey, let alone the world he'd come from.

Not that he’d spent much time in the old villages that had eventually grown into London. Merlin had always found court visits a nuisance—too much pomp, too many expectations, and, as he often griped, the Thames reeked. If they needed goods from a larger market, they'd go north to Jorvik—York.

A particularly loud series of honks jolted him out of his light doze. He groaned, wishing he could cast a silencing charm. And maybe a cooling one while he was at it. Sirius had assured him Grimmauld Place was Unplottable, but Hari wasn’t ready to test Ministry tracking spells just yet. Not until they had more control over the wards.

Hopefully, that would change today.

It was an important day. Not that the past few weeks hadn’t been equally significant—he’d left behind Hogewáþe, Edmund and his other friends, his Masters, and the life he’d built over nearly a decade. Nine hundred years gone in the blink of an eye. Most people might have been thrilled to trade the past for the luxuries of the present, but Hari wasn’t most people. He mourned the life he’d lost. Modernity brought nothing with it but weight: responsibility, duty, expectation. All things he’d been free of under Merlin’s care nine hundred years ago.

Which brought him to the question that had quietly haunted him the last few weeks—where was Merlin?

When he and Sirius had first arrived at Grimmauld, they’d waited anxiously for word. A message. A sign. Anything. But weeks had passed in silence, thick and stifling as the summer air. Hari had buried himself in the Black family library, waiting and studying modern magic. Sirius, meanwhile, had kept busy meeting with the family solicitors—Ronen & Wakefield, LLB, for House Black, and Huddersfield & Huddersfield for the Potters. The firms had worked in tandem with Gringotts to arrange today’s will readings, allowing official bequeathments to proceed—particularly the family rings, which would grant them full access to the wards and Family Magics. Hari wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the ceremony, but questions or discussions about it made Sirius unusually tense. It had taken longer than expected to organise—and still, no sign of Merlin.

In the quiet moments between library stacks and the shrill symphony of car horns, Hari had been forced to acknowledge a creeping fear: maybe Merlin was gone. The thought made his chest tight with anxiety and upset.

He shook it off with a sigh and finally sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. His Hogwarts letter had arrived just yesterday—perfectly timed with their Gringotts appointment. At last, he and Sirius would be heading to Diagon Alley. And while part of him still ached for the world he’d left behind, another part—deep down and warring with his sadness—felt a flicker of excitement. The Alley, as Sirius described it, was a place thick with magic, layered from centuries of Wix building their lives atop it. It hadn’t existed in Hari’s time. Back then, Hogesmeade had been the only magical village, still young but growing rapidly due to its prime location for trade near Hogéwaþe. He was eager to see what time had done—what magic looked like when given space to grow.

And truthfully, they were in desperate need of supplies.

The townhouse Sirius had brought Hari to that first night—bleary-eyed and heartsore—had barely been touched since his mother’s death. It was tended only by an aging house-elf named Kreacher, who Sirius detested and whom Hari, for some inexplicable reason, found oddly endearing. Kreacher was rude and waspish, sure, but he seemed to like Hari—and Hari was almost certain it had something to do with his being a Warlock.

Kreacher didn’t really obey Sirius, but he obeyed Hari without protest, despite his tenuous blood connection to the House of Black. That’d proven only somewhat helpful. At the very least, they weren’t starving—Kreacher had been tasked with securing takeaway and providing the barest of meals. But with magic use restricted, and Sirius unwilling to trust Kreacher’s cooking until the wards were rekeyed, they hadn’t dared venture out to purchase groceries or household goods.

A trip to the Alley had seemed too risky until now. But between the letter and the will readings, the timing finally felt right.

Today was the day.

After cracking open the window in an attempt to air the room, Hari dragged himself to the toilet to relieve himself and wash his face then shuffled back to his wardrobe. He paused, realising he had no idea what might be considered appropriate attire for a formal reading of Wixen wills—particularly in a Goblin-run bank. Sirius had mentioned that magical tradition and Goblin protocol were just as important as the legal formalities for an event like this. Unfortunately, he'd only instructed Hari to wear Muggle clothes and a pair of braies under his trousers so that they could visit the tailors and update both of their wardrobes. 

He sighed, rummaging until he pulled out a faded grey muggle shirt of Sirius’ and a pair of worn jeans. They were a bit large, but should be comfortable enough, and neither of the solicitors had seemed particularly offended when Sirius wore something similar to their offices. It wasn't as if either of them had a Muggle suit like he remembered his uncle wearing.

Sirius explained last night that the Muggle clothes would be a simple way to avoid attention in public; many Wix wouldn't think twice about interactions with random Muggleborns. His godfather had been uneasy about appearing in the Alley as themselves, arguing that Hari had been missing for ten years at this point. Considering he was the Boy-Who-Lived, it may cause a riot if people caught sight of him. Best disguise themselves as Muggleborn and hope to avoid undue attention in the street. Hari thought this was probably nonsense but agreed anyway, mostly because Sirius had seemed absolutely delighted by the idea of coming up with false identities. Given his Godfather's constant anxiety surrounding the will readings, he played along.

Honestly, Hari doubted anyone would recognise him. He’d grown his hair long, the inky curls now falling in soft waves to his shoulders—thick enough to conceal the lightning-bolt scar that had once drawn too much attention. Sirius had called it "distinctive" with a grimace, and Merlin had scowled outright whenever he caught sight of it. It had been one of the only things Hari made sure to keep covered in the past. The other scars on his face—one slicing neatly along the edge of his jaw, another smaller one bisecting his left brow—didn’t bother him. Neither did the raised runes etched in woad across his chest, back, and arms. They were part of who he was, carved by time and magic and ritual.

He didn’t think he looked like the boy people might have expected. Over the last ten years, his life had been shaped by battle, study, and the discipline of courtly etiquette. He stood tall—taller than he would’ve been had he been raised in a boot cupboard—with the lithe, balanced frame of a warrior honed through relentless hours of training. His features, unmistakably Indian, were strong and angular, his skin tanned from long days out of doors. He moved with a quiet grace that only came from muscle memory and poise drilled deep into the bones.

Given the widely known story of his mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys, Hari imagined most Wix would still picture him as a pitiful thing—malnourished, awkward, maybe cowering in oversized hand-me-downs. Not like this. Not someone composed and self-assured, who met the world with a level gaze and a straight spine.

His eyes, though—those were still a problem. They hadn’t changed. That sharp, unsettling green was too distinctive, too memorable. He’d have to mask them once they reached the Alley. Ironic, really—he used to wear horribly thick glasses as a child, and now they might have actually been useful.

Just as he was trying to navigate his head through the appropriate hole in his shirt, a short knock sounded from the bedroom door.

‘Coming, Padfoot,’ he called, striding forward and opening it to the sight of his godfather, dressed and ready and holding up a strange, black leather jacket with far too many zippers and pockets. His brilliant ruby magic swirled playfully in excitement around him.

‘That’s Mr Stubby Boardman to you,’ Sirius replied, grey eyes dancing with mirth and tossed the jacket at Hari who caught it with a roll of his eyes. ‘You ready?’ He asked, waiting for Hari’s nod before leading the way down the creaking stairs of the fourth floor landing and towards the front door. ‘We don't have much time before the readings begin so we'll head to Gringotts first to get that out of the way—that’s for covering up your runes, by the way, you’re welcome—then stop at the Leaky for breakfast—brunch?—before tackling the shops.’ He paused for a moment, whispering past his mother's portrait curtains. Hari couldn't wait for his godfather to take the wards so they could finally be rid of the thing. 

As soon as they were out of the door, standing on the stoop, Hari eyed the jacket with distaste. ‘You do realise it’s outrageously hot outside. This will probably give me heatstroke.’ Sirius dismissed him with a shooing motion. 

‘Built-in temperature regulation charms—you’ll probably be cooler wearing it than not,’ He countered with a wicked grin. ‘Plus it looks cool.’

The younger boy frowned, measuring up the jacket with a critical eye before shrugging and pulling it on as Sirius closed and locked the front door.

It was indeed cooler with the jacket on, but Hari—who still couldn’t see the point of a leather jacket with so many unnecessary zippers—refrained from mentioning it as they linked arms together and apparated with a soft crack.

‘You need practice,’ Hari teased lightly as they reappeared in a dark brick alley. ‘They'll hear you a mile away.’ Sirius stuck out his tongue.

‘We can't all be magical marvels, Mr Old Magics Are The Only Way to Travel. C'mon, no time to waste. Don't want to give the Goblins an excuse to be grumpier than usual, and if you've just got your letter there'll probably be a ton of people using the Apparation point to get school supplies.’ He said, dragging Hari forward onto Charing Cross Road.

The Leaky Cauldron appeared before them suddenly, tucked between a massive bookshop and what appeared to be some kind of music store, and Hari blinked at the sudden wash of magic he saw emanating from what was such a mundane space not moments before. Sirius turned to him with a grin that didn't do much to hide his obvious jitters. 

‘Ready?’

Was he ready to really start his modern life? Hari wasn’t sure, but his excitement to see the neighbourhood where Sirius and his parents had spent much of their time won out over nervousness and he gave a short nod.

Sirius’ grin turned gentle, the whirl of his magic becoming soft and comforting, and he pulled his arm free to throw over Hari’s shoulder before leading them through the dingey front door.

The space they entered was dark and shabby, stuffed to bursting with aged wooden tables and benches and a few early morning customers scattered about. If it weren’t for the modern clothes they were wearing and the rows and rows of glass bottles behind the heavy wooden bar to their left, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Hogesmeade that Hari knew, which made him instantly relax. 

None of the customers paid them any mind and the barman only gave a brief nod as they passed, concentrating as he was on wiping down the waxed wood of the bar with a relatively clean rag. Sirius led him directly across the room and through a simple wooden door into a small, walled brick courtyard that on first glance appeared completely empty and mundane but for a rusting dustbin.

‘Can you spot the bricks?’ Sirius asked in a low voice, and Hari looked again, concentrating now on ignoring the ambient magic that thrummed throughout the space and quickly spotted a set of bricks, seemingly random, that burned brighter than the rest. He smiled.

‘Yes.’

‘Good, now push some magic into them. Shouldn't be an issue here. Order doesn’t matter,’ he said, nudging Hari forward gently.

Hari reached up, putting the tips of his fingers on the well-worn brick and pushed just a bit of magic forward, then quickly pulled away as the bricks suddenly began to shuffle around to create a single archway. He grinned back at his godfather.

‘Welcome, Hari, to Diagon Alley.’

After he took a moment to change his eyes from their tell-tale green to something closer to Sirius’ grey, the pair strode casually through the archway, and Hari had to stop himself from gawking at the fantastic space around them.

The first thing he noticed was the sheer amount of people, even this early in the morning. Shopkeepers pottered about perfecting their displays and calling out prices to encourage shoppers; customers and families bustled from shop to shop, bags and baskets fit to burst with everything from groceries, ingredients, and potions to books, cauldrons, and quills. As they passed a display featuring broomsticks and what appeared to be sporting equipment for that game that Sirius was always on about, he had to smile at the sight of a gaggle of children pressing their faces against the window with awe. 

And the magic—a riot of color, scent, and sound, overwhelming in its intensity. He shuddered slightly as he felt the ache of the wounded Balance pulse sharply under his skin, nearly overwhelming in its urgency. Even after weeks back in modernity, he was still struggling to control it fully, especially surrounded by so much unfocused magical energy. Just as he began to focus on shoring his Occlumency barriers, Sirius threw his arm around his shoulders again as if sensing his discomfort so he could breathe in the spicy tobacco and smoke smell of his godfather’s familiar magic to steady himself. 

Before he knew it, they slowed down to take in a three-storey white marble building that towered awkwardly over the smaller shops.

Sirius turned to him, a curling smile on his lips. ‘Ready?’

Hari pressed closer, but answered the smile with a nod. ‘Let’s go.’

Gringotts was, in a word, incredible. He blinked, somewhat baffled, as two Goblins bowed at them on the steps; they both bowed back, as was only polite, before the large silver doors opened slowly with a sharp click of one Goblin’s fingers. They entered casually, and he let out a gusty breath in awe.

No place he’d seen before could compare to this. The doors had led to a massive patterned marble hallway with black, white, and tan stone creating elegant geometric designs on the floor. Dozens of black and gold marble pillars towered in two straight rows to the black marble ceiling, as high as the great hall at Hogewáþe. The whole room was made even more magnificent by the intricate chandeliers of gold and tinkling crystal that lit the space along with large, globe-shaped lamps releasing a dim but steady glow. Huge dark wooden lacquered desks lined both walls, with gorgeous dividers carved expertly to depict a variety of magical scenes lending privacy to each booth. Behind each desk sat a Goblin busy at work weighing piles of gold, silver, and bronze on heavy brass scales; inspecting precious gems; writing in thick ledgers with uniform eagle feather quills, or speaking quietly with customers lined up in a number of queues.

Sirius dragged him to the teller with the shortest queue, arm still slung around his shoulder, and Hari took a moment to examine the people around him curiously.

There seemed to be quite a few Wixen in the bank, perhaps more than he might have expected considering the level of crowd outside. Most seemed around his own age, alone, or older with large groups of children. The diversity was probably the most noticeable thing about them—not necessarily in terms of how they looked but in the strength and colour of their magic; cool soothing blues, greens, and purples mixed with warm reds, oranges and yellows to make a fantastic display.

One in particular caught his eye with its deep, forest green almost eerily still, carefully held in wait around a boy, probably around his own age. He was tall—taller than Hari, at any rate—with a stoic look on his pale handsome face and sharp, intelligent eyes the iron grey colour of the sea during a storm. His rich, dark brown hair was no less poised than the rest of him, sitting elegantly across his brow in gentle waves at the top with short back and sides trailing into the collar of well-cut grey robes subtly accented with ribbons of Futhark in dark, shimmering blue thread. He caught Hari staring a moment later, and rather than look away, Hari found himself fascinated at the controlled, slow pulsing swirl of his magic. 

The moment shattered when a wizard wearing ostentatious black robes stormed into the bank, his pale skin and hair nearly luminous. He strode arrogantly, cane thunking against marble, followed by an equally pale woman and boy, and bypassed the first queue entirely.

‘Wait here, Draco.’ The man ordered before extending his arm to the woman, who took it gracefully, and turned to the Goblin in front of him. The pale boy scowled. While there was some obvious shifting and grumbling, nobody said a word.

Hari frowned then blinked, catching the intriguing boy's eye again and winked unabashedly with a quirky smile before turning to face the witch ahead of them.

Obviously Sirius was rubbing off on him.

The effect of that wink, though, was one that made his smile turn to a grin as he caught sight of the flush slowly rising up the boy's neck despite his mask of cool indifference. If Hari hadn’t been trained to be as observant as he was, he wouldn’t have caught the boy’s surreptitious glances in his direction, controlled magic slowly creeping towards his own like a curious but wary creature.

Just as he’d determined it couldn't hurt to send his own tendril to meet it, the pale boy approached with a smarmy look on his pointy face that made Hari resist the urge to scowl. Man, did this kid get any sun? His skin was almost bleached white, with slicked back white blond hair and light blue, expensive looking robes, and magic the colour of ice that thrummed impatiently. He felt Sirius stiffen beside him.

‘Nott!’ the pointy boy called, raising his arm in greeting.

The other boy nodded, giving an almost imperceptible glance at Hari. ‘Malfoy.’

‘What are you doing here?’

Nott raised a brow. ‘Waiting for a teller.’ 

The “obviously” was clearly implied, even to Hari who hadn’t spoken modern English at length in a decade. Hari couldn’t hold in the snort of amusement, though managed to cover it with a cough.

The pointy boy—Malfoy—sent him a sharp glare, but after a moment had apparently decided the boy in muggle clothes was unimportant and turned away with a dismissive sniff.

‘I meant in the Alley. I would have thought, now that you're living with Blaise, you'd be shopping in Venice or something.’ He said, as if it were amusing, and though Hari didn’t know exactly what he was talking about or why the Nott boy was now living in Venice, the tone made him bristle. 

Silence passed for a long moment, then another, and when Nott didn’t seem any more inclined to respond, Malfoy huffed and pursed his lips. ‘Father says Dumbledore had trouble finding a replacement for Defense this year, after the incident with Crouch and having to postpone everything, so they weren't able to send out letters on time.’ Malfoy rolled his eyes. ‘Not that I blame any sane person, of course. Who’d want to be a new Defense professor under that old coot, especially with the Triwizard Tournament—’

‘Isn’t that meant to be a secret?’ Nott interrupted, clearly annoyed, eyes darting towards Hari and back. Malfoy frowned, irritated by the rebuff, his magic spiking in agitation. After a moment, though, his magic calmed and his features settled into a smarmy smirk.

‘Father says that the Ministry had to step in and appoint someone.’

Nott sighed, clearly uninterested, but Hari was distracted from his response when Sirius nudged his shoulder, jolting him from his observations.

‘C’mon, kid, teller’s free.’

Hari sighed and let himself be pulled forward towards the dark wooden teller’s booth before them, while Sirius cleared his throat with a winning, boyish smile. The Goblin—Gronuk according to the embossed brass nameplate—sat perched behind the wooden desk and ignored them both; his attention seemed to be completely focused on dutifully writing in a thick bound ledger with a gold-tipped eagle-feather quill. Hari opened his mouth to say something more when Sirius stopped him with a quick shake of his head.

Instead, he used the opportunity to examine the Goblin's magic. Unlike the constantly shifting monotones of human Wixen magic, Gronuk's magic clung to the air around him, impossibly grounded in a shimmering swirl of mottled colour. It reminded Hari of marble in a way: dark greenish grey with specks of yellow and slate blue.

Just as he was debating whether he would be caught if he tried to give it a sniff, Gronuk paused and set his quill carefully in an inkwell, giving Sirius and Hari a gimlet eye.

‘Good morning, Gronuk,’ Sirius began, glancing briefly at the customers on either side before fixing the goblin with a smile. ‘We’ve a meeting for a couple of will readings with account manager Krylik?’

Gronuk paused, reaching into the pocket of his brocade vest and pulling out a gold pocket watch that he frowned at before replacing. ‘Yes, he is expecting you. Please follow me.’ 

He hopped down from his seat in a fluid movement, beckoning toward them with long, calloused fingers as he walked confidently to the hallway running parallel to the desks in the centre of the room. Hari and Sirius followed, pausing only when Gronuk stopped to knock on a golden door that looked exactly the same as the countless others lining the wall.

‘Come in.’ Came a muffled voice at the same time as the door swiftly opened and they were gestured through before Gronuk quietly shut it behind them. The office they entered was rather small compared to the grandiose hall they had just left, with the same patterned marble tiling covering the floors and walls and a single door just opposite to the one leading back the way they had come. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, much less ornate than the ones outside but still beautiful as the crystals refracted the flickering lights of its candles.

‘Welcome, Lord presumptive Black. I assume you are here in regards to the will reading of your late grandfather, among others.’ Came a throaty voice from behind an ornate wooden desk situated to look out into the room. The Goblin who spoke, who Hari assumed to be Krylik, gazed at them with sharp intelligence and steepled fingers.

‘Account Manager Krylik, wonderful to see you again.’ Sirius answered with a short bow and a smile.

‘That remains to be seen.’ the Goblin replied, though his tone seemed less gruff than before. He turned his attention to Hari briefly before giving Sirius a sly smile, candlelight glinting off of sharp teeth.

A beat passed, then two, and Hari let out an anxious breath. This was it; the start of his reveal to the modern Wixen world. Sure, it was a single Goblin—hardly a full Wizengamot session, or the great hall at Hogwarts—but it still marked the beginning of his public life. Of his destiny.

Sirius winced. ‘Apologies, Krylik. This is my godson, Hari Potter,’ he said, nudging Hari’s side a bit and motioning toward his eyes before Hari understood and blinked away the magic to reveal their natural shade. The Goblin’s smile only grew more deadly at the casual display. ‘Please forgive the deception. The attempt at anonymity isn't meant for the Goblins of Gringotts—we mean no disrespect.’

‘Well met, Krylik. May Magic keep you,’ Hari greeted, sucking up his courage. Krylik’s brows shot upward in surprise before his smile morphed into a decidedly wicked grin across his face.

‘May the Old Ways you keep, Mister Potter,’ he replied with a growling chuckle. ‘I see it was not a matter of space but time that has kept you hidden for so long. No matter. The Goblin Nation hardly takes offence to simple Muggle clothes and colour-changing charms. No, but if time is a factor at play, today may contain a few surprises for us all. Now, to business. I have a Mister Humphrey Ronan and Miss Dotty Huddersfield waiting in my antechamber, along with a few more guests, and my correspondence with them thus far has suggested that Gringotts was determined to be the most anonymous and expeditious place to hold the readings of the wills of the late Arcturus Black and James Potter. Shall we proceed?’

At Sirius’ nod, Krylik smiled again. ‘First order of business would be to verify your identity. I take it neither of you have a wand or key currently registered with Gringotts?’

‘Ah, no. The Ministry hasn’t seen fit to return my key despite my exoneration, and Hari…’

Krylik let out a low huff. ‘I’m hardly surprised by their incompetence. No matter.’ As he spoke he reached down behind the desk to what was ostensibly a drawer, shuffling the contents for a moment before pulling up a small roll of parchment and a smooth blood red quill. ‘If you would kindly make your declaration.’

‘Naturally.’ Sirius replied cheerfully, striding up to the desk to take the writing implements from the Goblin and bending over the edge to write in his elegant scrawl. Hari was about to ask how he could manage to write without any ink before he was shocked into silence by a burst of heavy, dark red magic slithering from the quill and wrapping itself around Sirius' wrist. It felt like blood magic; the tangy taste of copper made his mouth fill with saliva and a whispered warning that sounded eerily like a promise sung softly in his ear. The effect when put all together was reminiscent enough to an unbreakable vow that it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

‘Blood quill,’ explained Krylik with a nasty smile at Hari’s look. ‘Goblin-forged nib. Heavily regulated in the Wixen world, but Gringotts does find good use for them. Make sure you tell the truth when writing with one, or you will not like the consequences.’

‘There we go, should be in order.’ Sirius said, finishing off whatever he was writing with a flourish of the quill before handing the parchment back across the desk to Krylik. He paused for a moment, giving the Goblin the chance to examine the document before awkwardly clearing his throat.

‘Thank you, Lord presumptive Black.’ Krylik said before he quickly pulled up another sheet of parchment from behind the desk which he held out to Hari along with the red quill.

Hari swallowed, unsure, but a quick glance at Sirius soothed him as his godfather shared a mischievous smile and a short nod.

‘The words are: I hereby affirm my name, in blood and magic for authentication, to be Hari James Potter,’ he murmured, and Hari took a breath before setting nib to parchment.

The sensation was…interesting, to say the least. Now that he was using the quill itself, Hari could easily see that it was, indeed, drawing blood for ink—the enchantment within wrapping around his wrist as a kind of magical binding. He was sure that if he weren’t exactly who he claimed, he’d face severe consequences and held back a shudder at the thought of what those might be.

Almost as soon as he’d placed the period at the end of his sentence, Krylik snatched the parchment up with eager fingers for examination, his smile melting seamlessly into a dangerous smirk.

‘This seems to be in order as well.’ He announced, then with a snap of his fingers both rolls of parchment disappeared.

Not a minute later the door leading away from the main hall opened and another Goblin entered with a bow.

‘Ah, Bogrun,’ Krylik said without pause, and without looking away from Hari, ‘please send in our guests from the antechamber, and fetch the rings for the Black and Potter accounts, and all those in relation to Sirius Black and Hari Potter.’ The statement was met with silence for a beat, then two, before the second Goblin, looking baffled, finally spoke.

‘All of them, sir?’

Hari and Sirius froze.

Chapter Text

‘All of them, sir?’

Hari and Sirius froze.

‘Yes, all of them,’ he sneered, amusement flashing across his face as Bogrun bowed once more and departed.

Sirius recovered first. 

‘What—I thought we only had the two?’ he asked, voice raspy.

Instead of answering, however, Krylik merely gestured behind them.

‘Please, take a seat. We shall discuss this matter after the readings.’

Hari turned to see several elegant studded leather armchairs that were only a little bit less grand than Krylik’s own had appeared in a semi circle facing towards the desk. Sirius stumbled backward into a seat, while Hari perched carefully at the edge of the cushion beside him.

Through the open door first appeared a portly, stern Wizard in smart grey robes carrying a roll of parchment at the crook of his folded elbow and shuddering from the heavy layer of earthy Goblin magic protecting the doorway. He was followed by a short Witch in dark blue, a similar scroll clamped in one hand, who gave them both a cheerful look after a shiver. 

‘Mister Black, Mister Potter! So pleased to see you both,’ she said, her cheeks dimpled with her smile. ‘And you, Krylik, of course. Thank you very much for the use of your office for the readings—such a delicate matter, as I'm sure you know.’

‘Yes, you have my gratitude as well, Krylik.’ Mr Ronen added gruffly, settling himself in a chair towards the centre of the circle. Ms Huddersfield rushed to join him just as a stream of others began to emerge through the door. 

Hari was fascinated—this was his family, according to Sirius. A stout, cheerful looking man in colourful robes came first, followed by a willowy woman with dark, wavy hair in eye-watering lime green robes that clashed terribly with her bright red magic. Her gaze zeroed in on Sirius, lips thinning, though Hari got the impression from her magic that she was more surprised and confused than upset. The man seemed to notice her hesitation and offered his arm, which she took, before leading her towards the seats closer to Sirius and Hari.

‘Sirius—’ she began, then paused as her eyes darted back towards the door where the obnoxious blond man, his wife, and the pale boy from earlier had just stepped through. Malfoy, he remembered the gorgeous boy calling him earlier. Titled, if he recalled his lessons on titled families in the modern Wixen world correctly, though he couldn’t think of their exact distinctions. ‘We’ll speak later,’ she promised, voice low, then sat herself beside Hari with a curious frown, the stout man taking the seat beside her. 

The Malfoys, on the other hand, sat themselves as close to the antechamber door as possible. It took all of Hari’s training in courtly decorum not to make a face when he heard the boy whisper loudly to his mother in a snotty tone, ‘Who's he?’

His mother was prevented from answering with the entrance of Bogrun carrying an ornate giltwood chest decorated with a fierce looking Goblin in the midst of battle.

‘The rings and bequests, sir.’ He announced, moving confidently into the room and placing the chest on the desk before Krylik. He didn't tarry, though Hari could see the curiosity on his face; instead, he returned to the door and bowed before swiftly making his exit.

‘Well, I believe all invited guests who indicated their presence at this meeting have arrived,’ Krylik said just as the door swung shut. 

‘Yes, yes. To business, then,’ grumbled Mr Ronen, who settled more firmly into his seat and pulled out the scroll, gently releasing it to unravel in such a way that he could read it easily. ‘We are here today, firstly, for a formal reading of the will of the late Lord Arcturus Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Utmost Noble House of Black, and for the official naming of the next Head of House as well as the prompt disbursement of any bequeathments or House matters that arise from this,’ he began, puffing up his chest a bit in self-importance and giving everyone in the room a stern eye. ‘If there are no questions or concerns, I shall begin,’ he said, clearing his throat and shuffling the parchment closer to his face but in such a way that it didn't muffle his voice. The pale boy seemed to grumble, shuffling in his seat, but stilled immediately with a frosty look from his father.

‘In the name of Her Lady Magic, this being the seventh day of the seventh month of the year 1990 according to Gregorian belief, I, Arcturus Pollux Black III, being of sound mind, memory, understanding, and free of magical or mortal influence, do make, declare, and publish this, my last will and testament, hereby revoking all former wills and codicils by me at any time heretofore made. 

‘First, that formal execution of this will should only be conducted at the instruction of the Heir to the Most Ancient and Utmost Noble House of Black, so named Sirius Arcturus Black III, son of Orion and Walburga, also of my House, or the eldest male Black descendent blessed by Our Lady Magic should the untimely death of my Heir occur. It shall be my so named Heir who shall inherit Black Title and Property through entailment, having heard and dismissed all internal protestations. Sirius, while you and I have had clear differences in the past, know that you are above all a true son of the House of Black and I trust that you will lead our House to the best of your ability. To the rest of my House, I trust that you will follow the path that Sirius will carve for the House of Black into the future. Thus written and signed, Arcturus Pollux Black III.’

He paused, giving a long look to Krylik who nodded and opened the guilt chest on his desk. 

‘The Ring of the Lord of the Most Ancient and Utmost Noble House of Black,’ the Goblin announced, placing it gently on the desk and sliding it forward towards Sirius’ chair. ‘The standard Goblin leasing terms and vault access agreements apply, as usual?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Sirius choked out, reaching for the box after a moment and grasping it with suspiciously stable hands. Hari suspected that, were they to be alone in the room, he would allow himself a greater freedom of expression and Hari wouldn’t be watching the myriad of emotions playing out within his godfather’s magic instead—incredulity and fear seemed strong, but not as strong as sorrow. He knew how Sirius felt about his family, how he’d been treated by those who were meant to show him love and care and acceptance. But, Sirius had admitted, taking up his position as Lord Black was important so he could be in a position of strength to help Hari in the future.

His godfather opened it slowly, and only the tension-filled silence of the room helped to betray the hitch in his breath as he slowly took hold of the heavy silver ring resting in the plush black velvet cushioned interior. It was both dark and beautiful, with creeping black vines intricately enamelled around the band through champlevé leading to a stunningly cut, magnificent black stone that, instead of reflecting the light, appeared to absorb it. Hari was so entranced he almost missed the lacquered box vanishing from Sirius’ palm.

‘I, Sirius Orion Black of the Most Ancient and Utmost Noble House of the Black Prince, do so solemnly swear to uphold the duties and rites expected of me as the head of this Utmost Noble house. May the Magic of my ancestors guide me to continue the glory and purity of the House of Black.’ He croaked, shoving the ring onto his right index finger. Hari started as black, vine-like magic crept from the ring, wrapping around his godfather. 

Sirius’ own magic rose to meet it, the glistening ruby shifting in agitation for a long few moments before the black penetrated the red, growing and merging together until it reached a rich, dark burgundy.

The tension in the room only seemed to rise at this, but Mr Ronen just nodded. ‘Congratulations, Lord Black. As there were no further bequests, shall we move onto House matters?’

‘Yes, Mister Ronen,’ Sirius began, closing his eyes briefly before a small smile slipped onto his face. ‘First and foremost, I would like to make two changes to the membership of our House, and will accept no interruptions from House Members before they’ve both been presented. To that effect, I move to reinstate Andromeda Noctua Tonks née Black, as the second daughter of Cygnus Nigellus Black and Druella Delphini Black née Rosier, as a recognised member of the Black family; as Head of our House I recognise that toujours pur does not necessarily mean one must be of pure magical lineage, which was the accepted reasoning for her being stricken from the family in the first instance.’ He paused, eyes focused on the woman who had spoken with him earlier. 

She sat almost frozen in her seat, her magic strangely still as if it were a living being holding its breath. 

‘I also move to strike Bellatrix Alcyone LeStrange née Black, first daughter of Cygnus Nigellus Black and Druella Delphini Black née Rosier, from the Black Family,’ he continued, cooly ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Lady Malfoy across the room, ‘for her brand of fealty to the Dark Lord Voldemort which places contention on the understanding that the Sons and Daughters of the House of Black shall know no other Master than that of their Head of House.’ He seemed to be speaking directly to the Malfoys on the other side of the room—a warning, perhaps—his magic almost vibrating in his attempts to keep it in check.

Hari could tell whatever he had said had supremely irritated Lord Malfoy, the man’s grip on his cane betrayed the grit in his teeth though his face remained almost impassive. The pale boy, Heir Malfoy if Hari were to guess, seemed to look between his mother and father with some sense of confusion.

‘Does any Black family member present have any objections?’ He asked suddenly, voice sharp and cold, gaze set on the Malfoys on the other side of the room.

‘No, Lord Black.’ Mrs Malfoy answered, voice low and almost diminutive. Hari was resolved to grill his godfather about the tension later. If he was going to be around the Heir Malfoy at Hogwarts then he would need to know a bit more about any unspoken ties to the House. Sirius grinned meanly in response.

‘Excellent. With no objections given… Oratre fratres ut postulatio meum ac vestrum sacrificium acceptabile fiat omnipotenti Dominae Magicae, ’ he chanted with eyes closed, clearly channelling focus into his magic as he clenched his fists. Hari watched with fascination as the tangled vines of the Black Family Magic crept forth from the ring to wrap around Andromeda while more vines simultaneously snaked up from the marble floor below him to be sucked into its void-like gem. ‘Welcome back to the Family, Andy.’ His godfather rasped, turning back to the first woman who let out a whooshing, shaky breath. He cleared his throat. ‘And by extension Ted.’

‘Thank you, Sirius.’ She said, voice trembling only a little, and Hari noticed the sour look on the elder Malfoy’s face and the curiosity in the Heir Malfoy’s magic despite his sneer.

‘Now that that’s out of the way, I call adjournment to this—’

Lord Malfoy stood abruptly, his cane making a loud rapping noise against the marble floor. ‘See here, Bl- Lord Black, the entire purpose of our attendance here was for the naming of the Heir -’

Whatever kind of reaction the rest of the group may have been expecting, it wasn’t Sirius’ sudden laughter.

‘Let’s not pussyfut around, you want to know if your son will be going home with a bit of extra jewellery. Well, if it wasn’t completely obvious already—he won’t be. Go—’

‘This is unheard of!’ Malfoy hissed, gesturing with his free hand towards the pale boy watching the back and forth with a stormy look. ‘ Draco is the closest living male Black! It is tradition —’

‘Lucius!’ his wife warned, her magic jerking and swirling in what Hari interpreted as alarm.

Sirius just barked out another laugh. ‘You think I give a single flying fuck about tradition?’ he chuckled, though it was dark. ‘Make no mistake Lord Malfoy,’ he said, turning to face the other man with a dangerous smile. ‘The affairs of the House of Black are none of your business. Cousin, I suggest you remove your husband before he overstays his welcome in this meeting. I have other business to attend to today that doesn't involve a duel.’

‘Lucius,’ Lady Malfoy implored, face pale but tone more steady and authoritative. She must be the one with the blood connection to the House of Black, Hari realised. And if that were the case, it was a grave faux pas for her husband—another Titled lord only connected by marriage—to try to manipulate something so important to a Titled House as the naming of an Heir would be. Clearly the Malfoy family had been anticipating the boost in Magic or access to Black assets by their son being named Heir. Unfortunately for them, it seemed that only Mrs Malfoy was smart enough to know that it would be ruinous to their House reputation if word got around that Mr Malfoy had outright objected to the naming of an Heir with the tenuous ties he had to its inner politics. Hari carefully held in a snort; for all that he didn't much care for modern Wixen ways of doing things, even 1000 years back it would have been unthinkable to do so.

The man looked like he might try to bluster further, his face turning a mottled red, but his wife stood quickly and grasped at his arm before tugging him gently towards the antechamber door. ‘Come, my Dragon. We still need to complete your shopping for Hogwarts,’ she said breezily, gesturing for her son to follow. The pale boy did so almost hesitantly, looking back and forth from his father to Sirius. The room remained tense until the entire family exited.

‘Well!’ Sirius said jovially, mood lightening and a huge grin spreading on his face. ‘Didn't think it would be that easy.’ he turned towards Andromeda and Ted who had both risen from their chairs, his face turning soft. ‘I'm sorry, Andy. I didn't mean to spring this on you then send you away, but I’ve a bit more business to attend to today. Do you—would you come to Grimmauld tomorrow? Tea time? Kreacher can make those excellent cheese scones I know you secretly adore and we can have a proper chat.’ He asked, then winced after a moment. ‘Best not bring Ted until Kreacher’s been dealt with, unfortunately.’ He mumbled.

Instead of being upset, Ted chuckled. ‘That's alright, Sirius. Andy’s told me all about the creative viciousness of Black family House Elves over the centuries.’

Andromeda smiled, her magic rolling as if anxious but not upsettingly so. ‘That sounds lovely. I'll pop in after my shift.’

Sirius nodded awkwardly until Andromeda huffed and pulled him into a hug. ‘It was good to see you, cousin.’

‘Likewise.’ Sirius rasped and they broke apart. ‘See you tomorrow.’

With only a single glance backward, the pair made their way to the antechamber door and left. Sirius let out a sigh.

‘Well. If that concludes the Black House business—’ Mr Ronen began, but Sirius shook his head. 

‘I do have one more thing to address—that of the naming of the Heir. I officially name my godson, Hari James Potter, the true and rightful Heir of the House of the Black Prince, under Her Lady Magic’s blessing. Ut ita sit.’ He paused for a moment as the Black Family magic seemed to creep outward toward Hari from his ring. Hari watched, fascinated, as the vines seemed to entangle him. It was as if he could feel their energy—the sheer power—and he knew that even though Sirius had said the social reputation of the House of Black was probably irreparable at this point, their magical reputation was rarely surpassed. It had been a great boon to Voldemort that he’d managed to turn so many members of the House to his side.

In an instant and with a squeezing kind of tingle, he felt the magic absorb into his skin. 

Sirius was sweating at this point, tiny beads of perspiration forming at his hairline. ‘Need a bit more practice at commanding the full force of the Black Magic, I think.’ He panted. Hari rolled his eyes. 

‘Something you could have been doing for almost a full month now.’

‘Cheeky brat.’ 

‘If that concludes Black House business,’ Mr Ronen announced boredly, tapping the parchment neatly into a roll, ‘I’ll see to finalizing the legal documents at my office. Lord Black, Lord Apparent Potter, good day.’ He nodded respectfully, leaving through the antechamber door.

‘Well, that was certainly eventful,’ Ms Huddersfield remarked, clearing her throat gently. ‘I can honestly say it’s one of the more dramatic readings I’ve attended.’

Krylik gave a snort. ‘You clearly haven’t worked much with the Darker families. I’m surprised Lucius was willing to back down so quickly.’ He said, sounding almost bored of the whole affair. Hari didn’t blame him.

‘True, our clients tend to be more Light and Neutral leaning. But I imagine the reason for Lucius Malfoy being so cautious has more to do with his being mixed up in the Hogwarts affair in June. I know the Minister says he was also under Imperius , but even so, his reputation has taken something of a blow.’ She mused, then sighed. ‘Well, no time like the present, I suppose. I doubt there will be as much drama for your father’s will reading, Hari; as your godfather may have told you, circumstances prevented your mother from filing any kind of formal will with Huddersfield and Huddersfield after her marriage to your father. Thankfully we do have your father’s will filed so we’ll proceed with that.’ She said, her face slightly mournful but not in a pitying way. Hari licked his lips, nodding for her to continue. Sirius gently touched the back of his hand, and he gripped it tightly, like a lifeline.

‘Right,’ she muttered, releasing the scroll she had held in front of her in much the same way as Mr Ronen had done previously. ‘I’ll begin now, shall I?’ She cleared her throat and leaned forward, pulling a pair of cat-eyed spectacles from her robe pocket and putting them on to read.

‘In the name of Her Lady Magic, this being the twelfth day of the eleventh month of the year 1979 according to Gregorian belief, I, James Fleamont Potter, being of sound mind, memory, understanding, and free of magical or mortal influence, do make, declare, and publish this, my last will and testament, hereby revoking all former wills and codicils by me at any time heretofore made. 

‘First, that formal execution of this will should only be conducted at the instruction of the Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, not yet named at present; my wife, so named Lily June Potter neé Evans; or the closest living relative to the Direct Line of the House of Potter should the untimely death of my wife or Heir occur. It shall be my so named Heir who shall inherit Potter Title and Property through entailment, with a personal stipend of 5,000 galleons from the Main Potter Family Vault to be paid to my wife per annum for her personal upkeep and guardianship of the House of Potter until my Heir reaches magical majority.

‘In the event of both my untimely death and that of my wife, I entrust guardianship of the House of Potter to my brother in all but name, Sirius Arcturus Black III, of the House of the Black Prince. Pads, you know how much Lils and I already love our little miracle even though we haven’t met them yet, and I know you will raise them with the same love and guidance that we would. Take care of them, and let them know every day how much we love them and wish we could have been there to see them grow. Thus written and signed, James Fleamont Potter.’

Hari fought to swallow the lump in his throat, struggling to keep his magic controlled as she read. Sirius' hand was likely numb from the force of his grasp, but as he wasn't complaining Hari didn't feel the need to ease his grip.

The silence pressed on for a long few moments until Ms Huddersfield cleared her throat gently. ‘Are you alright Mister Potter? I mean—of course you're not alright, I'm sorry, I just—what I meant to ask—’

‘I’ll be alright, Ma’am,’ he choked out, though he felt like he'd need a few long, exhausting training sessions to help him process all of the unexpected emotions he'd felt from listening to his father's will. An aching pain from the loss of his parents he'd thought he'd overcome long ago suddenly threatened to pull him into a state of melancholy that he couldn't rightly afford at the minute. He was desperately glad that they'd waited a while before the will readings after returning to the present time. It felt like he was walking on the edge of a blade, with one strong push and he would tumble into darkness. 

Sirius gently pried Hari’s hand loose. ‘Ms Huddersfield, we’re grateful for all your help—but as you can see, this has been rather taxing for Hari. If there’s nothing further, perhaps you could allow us some privacy?’

‘Oh, of course, Mister Black,’ Ms Huddersfield said warmly, rising from her seat. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Mister Potter, I truly hope you feel better soon—and please let me know if there’s anything else necessary on our end. I'll head back to the office and let you three speak,’ Ms Huddersfield said kindly, closing the will with a tap and rising from her seat. ‘Be well, Mister Potter, Mister Black, Krylik,’ she nodded to them each and departed.

Krylik paused for a moment, then two, eyes locked onto the doorway, until finally he trained his gaze back on Hari. Hari held back a sigh. Time to put aside the nearly overwhelming desire to just return to Grimmauld Place and lock himself in the library.

‘Now that Ms Huddersfield has left, I suggest we get down to business Lord Black, Lord Apparent Potter,’ he began, interlacing his long fingers and resting his hands directly in front of him on the desk. ‘Firstly—and correct me if I'm mistaken—but I suspect it was temporal, rather than physical, distance that kept you away. If true, this may significantly impact the Goblin Nation,’ he intoned, his voice rough and gravelly. 

Hari and Sirius both stared, eyes wide. 

‘I—it may have been—’ Sirius began, cautious, but despite the difference in colour of Goblin magic to Wix or even his own, he could tell from how it moved that Krylik wouldn't countenance any kind of obfuscation or deflection.

‘How did you know?’ he interrupted before his godfather could equivocate further, ‘not that I'm saying you're not intelligent enough to connect the dots, but for my own sake it's important I know if any behaviours tipped you off. I'd like to keep the matter from Voldemort as long as possible.’ He said, placing his trust in the Goblin before him.

Krylik’s eyes lit up even as he smirked at Sirius, who frowned.

‘It was nothing in particular you did, Lord Apparent Potter—have no fear—and likewise I do not think that anyone besides a Goblin would so easily see the demiguise amongst the monkeys, if you'll pardon the expression. Please, allow me to explain.’

Chapter Text

‘As I suspected,’ Krylik said, noting Hari’s surprised look. ‘Your greeting alone was telling, but the accent clinched it—it bears traces of Brythonic, an old language Goblins still recall. Such lore is preserved meticulously among our Nation, unlike with Wixen. You see, while the rise of Gringotts as the foremost institution to preserve the wealth of Wixen families is a relatively recent phenomenon due to various factors, the original foundation of the bank was in 1474, with its main office located in Hogesmeade—now known as Hogsmead village.’ He began, steepling his fingers together and leaning back in his chair before continuing.

‘Our initial customer base was primarily those families with enough wealth and power to have a need for a secure place to store their money and artefacts. Even before the inception of Gringotts, these powerful Wixen families had the habit of turning towards the Goblin Nation to produce the rings which would help to pass on Family Magics and distinguish themselves as Lords and Ladies.’ He lectured, attention focused on Hari. 

‘To be able to afford these rings was an obvious show of wealth and power, so when Gringotts was established, it was able to provide extra protection for these Family Magics; our laws dictate that any object made by a Goblin will automatically be returned to the Goblin workshop which created it, though Witches and Wizards often forget these terms,’ Krylik growled, snorting in annoyance before clearing his throat to continue. ‘Old families saw the benefit of this, of negotiating with Gringotts every time a new Lord or Heir ascended to lease their family rings again. This helped to protect the Family Magics from theft, since Goblinkind in general is hardly interested in Wixen Family Magics.’ 

‘But—sorry—’ Hari interrupted, then winced at the impoliteness though Krylik waved for him to continue. ‘I want to warn you before we get further into the matter that there is a geas in place.’

Krylik nodded. ‘I will not ask questions, then. Regardless,’ he said, looking pointedly at Hari, ‘the Masters that you undoubtedly studied under and the powerful Wixen that you befriended during your time there did not forget you. They made legal assurances that passed down within family records until they were ultimately given to the care of Gringotts. It appears that someone—’ he threw a hard look towards Sirius, then, who gave a sheepish, if slightly confused smile, ‘—had let slip that Gringotts was the premier bank of the 20th century Wixen world and these individuals took this to mean that anything they might leave for you would ultimately be delivered if left in the care of the bank, for all that it did not exist at the time.’

This statement was met with ringing silence as Hari’s mind whirled. Friends from nine hundred years ago had left him things without him being the wiser, and Sirius’ big fat mouth had potentially changed the course of the Wixen world through the promotion of a bank that hadn’t even existed.

‘I ah—I apologise, Krylik—’ Sirius said sheepishly, cutting through Hari’s stunned fugue. Krylik chuckled.

‘No need, Lord Black. It could be said that Gringotts bank owes its success to you, though you would be hard-pressed to find a Goblin who would ever admit such a thing, myself included.’

Sirius barked a laugh. ‘Of course not, though I’m thankful for the result all the same.’

Krylik’s grin was wicked. ‘As are we all. In any case, Heir Potter, while there were undoubtedly some bequests that did not make it to the bank, a few of them did manage the feat—one in particular that the Goblin Nation is very… keenly anticipating. However, we shall begin with Lord Black, as I imagine his acceptance or rejection may affect your own. Now, we have one more bequest made to Lord Black, with an accompanying scroll.’

Hari exchanged a confused glance with Sirius as Krylik silently reached into the chest again, this time extracting a small azure box and a parchment cracked and mottled with age, sliding them across the desk towards Sirius.

‘Ronan…’ he breathed, and Hari couldn’t stop his own sharp intake of breath.

‘The House Ring of the Lord of the Utmost Ancient and Most Noble House of Redvers. I will assume the usual agreements apply.’

Sirius swallowed thickly, nodding slowly as he reached out to take the scroll, unrolling it with careful reverence as emotion visibly tightened his expression and magic.

‘Ronan, by the grace of our Lady Magic of Enga Land—’ his godfather began, the Old French low and smooth. It had always been Sirius’ best language in the past.

‘Sirius, you don’t have to—’ Hari interrupted with concern, but his godfather just shook his head.

‘No, I…no. It’s alright, Hari. He would have wanted you to hear, also.’ He assured, then took a deep breath before continuing. ‘—Lady Magic of Enga Land, Magical Earl of Dumnonia, recognised by Our Majesty William, King of Enga Land, to his beloved friend Sirius Orion Black of the House of the Black Prince, greetings. My dearest Sirius, know that before Lady Magic, for the health of my Soul and those of my ancestors, to the Honour of the Old Ways and the exaltation of Magic itself, I bequeath the Familial Magic and Line of the House of Redvers so that you might pass this Blessing on and ensure the continuation of my Line. From the moment we met that fateful day at Hogewáþe, after the death of my Wife and Heir and the battle which secured the rightful throne of My King, I knew within my Heart that I would never find the like in a companion, and so determined that the safest path would be through the Gift of Magic, to you and Hari both, so that you may Remember and Cherish the time we had and that it may Guide you forward through the unknown Trials you are both sure to face. I love you, my Sirius, My Wild Dog Star,’ and Hari was alarmed to hear the choking sob his godfather made before clearing his throat, voice thick. 

‘And while I Desire that you may find true Happiness in the future, I selfishly hold hope that you shall Remember the times we have shared in Harmony. Given by my hand in the valley that is called Hogesmeade, on the t-twentieth day of July in the twelfth year of the reign of William.’ 

The scroll slipped through Sirius’ fingers into his lap. Hari immediately knelt beside his godfather, rubbing soothing circles into his back. It took a few long moments for the man to centre himself again, wiping tears furiously from his cheeks and murmuring apologies that Hari dismissed without a thought before he finally calmed down enough to speak.

‘My apologies, Krylik.’ He whispered, voice cracking.

‘None necessary, Lord Black. I can hardly imagine being separated from those I love by such a distance. Please, take your time.’

But even with the reassurance, Sirius darted forward to grab the azure box tightly, knuckles white.

‘It’s alright, Sirius,’ Hari murmured, ‘we can take a break—’ but Sirius shook his head.

‘No, I—I want to—’ he said, voice tinged with desperation and trailing off as he opened the box to gently pull out the band from inside, the box vanishing. Unlike the Black ring, the ring of Redvers was almost delicate, though still masculine; the band was simple and silver for the most part, though towards the setting the silver seemed to seamlessly widen and grow into the shape of golden waves buffeting the brilliant azure tourmaline it encased which shone like the sea. 

‘I, Sirius Orion Black of the Most Ancient and Utmost Noble House of the Black Prince, do so solemnly swear to uphold the duties and rites expected of me as the head of the Utmost Ancient and Most Noble house of Redvers. May the Magic of the ancestors of those that have bequeathed this line guide me to continue the glory and strength of the House of Redvers,’ he chanted, thrusting the ring on his left index finger—a bit slower than his Black ring as the size increased to fit—and once again Hari watched in awe as a flash of azure magic spilled forth like water from the ring to wrap around him. After a moment, the magic flowed delicately through his own, merging readily to create a beautiful slate grey blue that danced along Sirius’ skin. It would take some getting used to.

‘Congratulations, Lord Black.’ Krylik said solemnly, his face serious and respectful.

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you need a minute, Pads?’ Hari asked, still concerned.

The journey from the past had been difficult for Hari, but for Sirius it had been devastating. He hid it well, but it was obvious in his exaggerated excitement the last few weeks. Living in the past had given him the time and distance to heal after his horrific experiences in the modern world, and the people he had met there had been essential for him to grow into the strong, fun-loving man he was today. Ronan Redvers had been his greatest source of stability, especially on those days and nights where the bone-deep chill of Azkaban made him shiver and shake. 

Hari knew his godfather hadn’t meant to fall so deeply in love, but Ronan had been unexpected, showing up at Hogewáþe five years previously to take over as the secondary Transfiguration Master after his wife and heir died in childbirth. They had been nearly inseparable, and it killed them both that Sirius was forced to return. Hari hated that he’d been the biggest factor preventing the happiness of his godfather, though he knew Sirius would scold him if he ever voiced such a thing.

‘If it helps, Lord Black, Lord Wyllt has left documents listing the resting place of the last Lord Redvers within a vault opened in the Redvers’ name.’

Hari started at the mention of Merlin—or who he assumed was Merlin—but Sirius just closed his eyes as Krylik continued.

‘I believe there is also a property left in the care of Lord Wyllt. I cannot be sure of the state of it, of course. Your ring, however, should serve as a portkey, whenever you wish to claim the wards.’

‘Thank you, Krylik. I…thank you.’ He sat, just breathing slowly for a few moments before giving Hari a sad smile. ‘Now, I think it’s your turn, Pup.’

Krylik gave a nod. ‘Very well,’ he said, reaching into the chest and pulling out a lacquered wooden box, its lid covered in marquetry depicting a beautiful blooming lotus surrounded by a snake.

‘The Ring of the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter,’ he began, placing the box at the edge of his desk. ‘The Potter rings are not Goblin-made, Mister Potter, having originated in India many centuries before Goblins set foot on those shores. There are no terms for leasing, but the Potter family has paid service to Gringotts for the collection of rings in the event that the Lord or Heir passes. Would you like to continue this service?’

Hari swallowed, a bit overwhelmed. His family was so old? Not that it mattered—not really—but he’d never even suspected. ‘Ah…yes please, Krylik,’ he responded, taking the box carefully and rubbing his fingers over the lacquered image. ‘What does the design mean?’ He asked his godfather.

‘The lotus and the snake are symbols of Vishnu, Pup. He’s a triple God—creator, protector, and transformer of the universe. Your parents chose your name in his honor. We were at war, and James had been cursed sterile during a Death Eater raid. It devastated them…your parents wanted a child desperately—wanted you desperately—enough to resort to begging the Gods. When they learned of Lily’s pregnancy they were happier than I had ever seen them.’ He paused for a moment, smiling but seemingly far away before he shook himself gently. ‘But then they found out you may be targeted by Voldemort. It was terrifying. Your parents wanted to give you any means of survival, even through your name. They’d have gone to any length to help protect you, pup. They loved you more than anything.’

Hari swallowed, nodding. His chest felt tight and throat thick with emotion. It made sense, but it was overwhelming to be so aware of the fact that his parents had given him everything—even their lives—just to protect him.

‘I…yeah,’ he murmured, for lack of anything better to say. What could he say in the face of such sacrifice? After a moment he took a deep breath and opened the box. The ring inside was beautiful—rough, hammered gold with inset polished, flat white stones along the band leading to a massive rose-cut red gem that seemed to glow even in the dim light of the room.

‘Your grandfather told me once—the white are magical diamonds from Golconda mines, the region where the Potters—Purandares—immigrated from. I’m not sure if they came from there originally. India is impossibly old. In any case, in Golconda they were a noble family but fled after Prataparudra I took control of the region, oppressing the local nobility in the 12th century. Apparently they changed their names once they settled here to better fit in with the local population in Gloucestershire. A potioneer named Linfred became the first to be called Potter in name, I think. The family was well-known for taking in or marrying Indian immigrants to afford them better protection, regardless of blood status. It’s why they’re not considered one of the Sacred 28.’ He gave a shrug. ‘The red stone is called a spinel. I'm not really sure if there's meaning behind it.’

Hari just stared at the ring, fascinated. This was a piece of his family history—a piece of his history—one he’d spent his entire life longing to know more about. Even though he was deeply grateful for the family he had found in Sirius, Merlin, Arthur, and the Morrígan, their love could never fully heal the emptiness left in his parents’ wake.

A part of him hated himself for that— hated that he was privileged to grow up surrounded by the love and encouragement of such amazing people, and yet he felt like something was always missing.

As always, Sirius seemed to know exactly what to do in the face of his self-flagellation and Hari startled when a strong, supportive hand clamped down gently on his shoulder.

‘It’s alright Hari,’ he assured with a soft smile and gentle eyes. Hari swallowed and nodded slowly, then reached down to take up the ring with shaky breath.

It was heavy—heavier than he had anticipated, despite the sheer size of the spinel. As soon as he did, he felt a surge of warm, comforting magic licking against his own like a flame. He stared at it in awe as it grew, gradually, engulfing his own golden magic in a burning, flickering red. 

‘I, Hari James Potter of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, do so solemnly swear to uphold the duties and rites expected of me as the Head of the Noble House of Potter. May the Magic of my ancestors guide me to continue the glory and courage of the House of Potter,’ He stated, the words spilling from his lips without his active participation and he watched himself place the ring on his right ring finger. The magic swirling around him brightened, flames of Potter magic absorbing his own until there was a flash so bright he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut.

He was disappointed to open them and see that his magic remained its usual gold. After a minute, though, he felt it—the warm, flickering flames of the Potter Family Magic underneath the buzzing, musical thrum of his own.

‘Congratulations, Lord apparent Potter. Now, we have three more bequests to go—assuming Lord Black would name you Heir to House Redvers as well?’

‘Yes. Hari is my Heir in all matters.’ Sirius responded before Hari could open his mouth, and Krylik nodded, reaching into the chest once again.

‘As I suspected,’ he said, before pulling out both a black lacquered box and an azure box similar to the ones given to his godfather. ‘The Heir ring of the Most Ancient and Utmost Noble House of Black, and the Heir ring of the Utmost Ancient and Most Noble House of Redvers,’ he announced, sliding the boxes towards Hari smartly.

Hari grabbed the Black box first, somehow feeling it important to solidify his connection to his godfather over his connection to Ronan. The ring inside was a simpler version of the one adorning Sirius’ finger, but no less beautiful for it. Looking closer, he was surprised to see what appeared to be stars within the stone. He took it without hesitation, hoping his lack would show Sirius how much it meant to him to truly be connected through magic, and the Black Family Magic swiftly creeped outward to entangle with his own.

He intoned the ritual wording carefully, slowly moving the ring up his left forefinger and waiting for it to resize as it went. The Black magic responded, more sharply than the Potter magic had done, its snaking tendrils squeezing his own magic so tightly he let out a harsh breath before it finally relaxed and the tendrils grew inward, the magic absorbing into his.

He was startled from examining the feeling by Sirius’ hand clasping his.

‘I love you, Pup. I couldn’t ask for a more wonderful heir to my House,’ he said with a proud, almost goofy grin.

Hari felt himself tearing up, smiling in the face of Sirius’ approval. ‘Love you, too, Sirius,’ he whispered, then turned his attention back down into his lap where all that remained was the azure box.

The Heir ring of Redvers was much more simple than Sirius’ — a silver and gold band with a small inset tourmaline—and more than just seeing the magic, Hari felt like he could taste the salt-spray of the sea washing all around him.

His ritual intonation was quicker this time, though he was no less careful of his wording. As he slid the ring on his left ring finger, the Redvers magic rose, the sound of waves crashing and gulls calling all around him as the salt smell intensified tenfold before suddenly it quieted, the azure blue absorbed by his own brilliant gold.

‘Congratulations,’ Krylik began slowly, his voice low and intense enough to make Hari shift nervously. ‘There is just one more bequest made to you—an unusual one to say the least. In Goblin lore it is said that the only one who may lay claim to this magic is not a Wizard at all.’

Hari swallowed and Sirius' magic stilled dangerously, but Krylik merely held out his hand in a placating gesture. ‘Do not mistake me, Lord apparent Potter. Wizardkind might recognize the family name,’ Krylik explained carefully, ‘but the true meaning and significance behind it—the power it signifies—is known only among magical creatures. Goblins will keep your secret upon pain of death.’ His eyes bored into Hari’s, incredibly intense. ‘The Balance has been disrupted for some time. I am sure you can feel it,’ he said gravely, and Hari could only close his eyes and give a small nod in reply.

He could feel the Balance. All the time, from the moment they had stepped foot in a dirty alley in the middle of modern London. It screamed at him, for him, broken and desperate. It had taken a huge amount of concentration and Occlumency to quell it so he wasn't constantly overwhelmed during the first few days at Grimmauld Place.

‘Then it is fortunate indeed you have arrived now, young Warlock. Your presence could help restore the Balance—and know this: among Goblinkind, you will find only allies.’ The words rang with a magic of promise, and Sirius sucked in a sharp breath. After a moment, though, Krylik’s serious look turned wicked and smiling once more. ‘Now, the ring.’

The box he pulled from the chest was unlike any of the others thus far. It was larger than the rest; not elegant or beautiful, but simple, unadorned, and roughly carved of a light wood bleached with age topped by a loose lid. Instead of setting it down as he had the others, Krylik instead rose from his seat and walked around his desk to present it directly into Hari’s hands. The box seemed to thrum with magic so warm and familiar it made Hari’s eyes begin to sting. 

‘Merlin,’ he whispered, taking a moment to bask in the flare of comfortlovemagicpower in his palm before gently opening it.

Inside lay two objects, though the ring caught Hari’s attention first and he couldn’t control his unwitting gasp. With shaking hands he retrieved it, the crystal facets smooth and cold against the tips of his fingers.

‘The Crystal of Neahtid,’ the words were ripped from his lips without warning and echoed heavily with whispering voices, ‘bears witness to the second coming of the Once and Future King. It shall be he, so named Hari James Potter, with the magic of the Emrys and the sword of Arthur, who will restore the Balance to the Land of Albion and bring forth the new rise of the Empire of Avalon through the House of Wyllt.’ He couldn’t look away, eyes so focused on watching his hand slip the crystal ring on his right forefinger without his control that he didn’t notice the terror rising on his godfather’s face and the awe within the eyes of Krylik.

As the ring set, both heavy and light on his knuckle, a burst of golden magic rocked the room; the chandelier shook above them, candles extinguishing as they fell, and the marble cracked along the floor and walls. The massive rush of power built up around him, through him, until he couldn't be sure where his body ended and the magic began. He felt like he was splitting, becoming one with the earth, with the Deep, feeling every gently flickering life in the Alley and beyond.

Then, abruptly, it ceased. Hari remained seated, breathing heavily and clutching the box tightly, heart racing as the overwhelming sensation faded into a manageable hum beneath his skin. After a beat he was glad he had done as the full force of a worried Sirius slammed into his side in a tackling hug.

‘Mordred’s balls—I should’ve stabbed that man more,’ Sirius whispered, gripping Hari tightly. ‘Are you alright?’

Hari chuckled, feeling almost drunk on the magic thrumming under his skin. ‘I’m fine, Pads. And you know better than to stab him anyway, it just irritates him.’

It took a moment and a heavy grunt before they both turned to see Krylik rising awkwardly from where he had been thrown against a wall. He gave Hari a smirk.

‘Congratulations, Heir Wyllt. May I be so bold as to assume the cost of the damages will be taken from the Wyllt vaults? Or would Lord Black prefer to see to it as your guardian?’

Sirius finally released him, sitting heavily back down in his own chair. ‘Take the cost from the Black vaults, Krylik, with our apologies.’

As the Goblin situated himself once more behind his desk, Hari turned his attention back to the remaining object in the box and grinned. It was a small claw—a very familiar small claw—pure white and polished and attached to a short gold chain with a simple gold box cap covered in minute filigree Ogham runes. The other end of the chain finished in a small, gold hoop earring. He lifted it gently from the box, careful not to tangle the chain, and despite the obvious weight of the claw it felt almost weightless. ‘Well, looks like I’ll be getting that piercing earlier than you wanted,’ he said gleefully, turning to Sirius and waiving it. Sirius only sighed.

‘Alright, alright. It’s safe enough in this period, I suppose,’ he grumbled, grudgingly. ‘But I'm doing the spell myself.’

‘Yes!’ He said excitedly, then paused when he caught sight of the look of shock on Krylik's face; the Goblin’s eyes had widened impossibly large. 

‘Is that—’ he gasped softly, leaning forward. ‘The Claw of Aithusa?’

Hari blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly. ‘Oh…well, yes. Merlin said he’d send it, to mark my status officially.’

If anything, Krylik’s eyes seemed to bug out even further.

‘Status? Further than that of the Once and Future King?’

‘Hari is a Dragonlord,’ Sirius answered with a put-upon sigh, but it was negated by his proud smile. ‘Something about…Merlin having to donate magic to Hari when the soul shard in his scar was removed.’

Krylik’s expression darkened suddenly, intensity replacing astonishment. ‘Wait—what do you mean, soul shard?’

Chapter Text

Krylik’s expression darkened suddenly, intensity replacing astonishment. ‘Wait—what do you mean, soul shard?’

‘The night Voldemort tried to kill me, the blast cut off a piece of his soul which latched onto my scar,’ Hari answered grimly. ‘Merlin believes—believed—that he must have created others for it to be so weak that that should happen. We ah—’ he turned to Sirius, who gave him an encouraging nod. ‘We were hoping to speak with the Goblin Nation about that, actually. Sirius says that Gringotts has numerous interests in treasure-hunting in Egypt, and we’re fairly sure that the ritual he must have used to split his soul to that extent probably came from that region, even though he was most likely not formally trained in the art of Necromancy.’

Instead of responding, Krylik reached down behind his desk and emerged with three crystal glasses clutched in the fingers of one hand, and a crystal decanter full of clear liquid in the fist of his other. He set the glasses down with a soft clunk, then removed the stopper and poured a generous two fingers of the liquid into each before sliding two toward Hari and Sirius.

‘Goblin-made gin,’ he said gruffly. ‘I think we will need the fortification for this conversation. At least, I will need the fortification for this conversation.’ With that, he replaced the stopper and set the decanter on his desk in easy reach, finally reaching for the last glass and tossing its contents back. After a beat, his shoulders seemed to relax and he clasped his hands together, eyebrow raised expectantly.

Sirius hesitated briefly, glancing at Hari, before clearly deciding that refusing would be worse than risking a Goblin’s displeasure. With practiced ease, he tossed the liquid back. Hari gently deposited the earring back in the box and closed the lid, then took his own glass. His nose wrinkled a bit at the strong, herby smell, but drank regardless and was pleased to find the taste much better—deep and earthy, with a hint of juniper and bitter herbs.

‘Now, while it is common knowledge that Gringotts has been in the business of acquiring magical Egyptian treasure for the last century or so, the details of these expeditions are highly confidential. As my position is that of Account Manager, not Acquisitions Manager, I unfortunately cannot be of much service to you in this matter. However,’ Krylik began, then paused to reach behind his desk and pull out a small piece of parchment and an eagle-feather quill. ‘I can certainly put you in touch with Acquisitions Manager Robrok, who I am sure would be more than happy to help Heir Wyllt in this matter,’ he continued, focused on writing a short note on the parchment before setting down the quill and snapping his fingers.

‘Would Acquisitions Manager Robrok be willing to work with me as well?’ Sirius cut in, rolling his empty glass in his palm. ‘Hari is set to attend Hogwarts in a few weeks' time, and I’m not sure the Headmaster would allow him to visit Gringotts until he’s home for the holidays.’

Krylik simply nodded. ‘As the guardian of Heir Wyllt, I am sure that Robrok would be agreeable,’ he said, then turned towards the second door just as it opened again. ‘Ah, Bogrod. Would you please take this to Acquisitions Manager Robrok?’ With a flick of his finger the parchment rose, sealing itself, and drifted casually across the room to land in Bogrod’s open hand. The Goblin bowed, swiftly exiting and closing the door behind him.

‘Now,’ Krylik said, ‘what I can do in this instance, Heir Wyllt, Lord Black, is to authorise a search of the current Gringotts vaults for a trace of any soul jars which may or may not belong to the Wizard known as Voldemort. Considering just how many of his followers are customers at the bank, and level of protection that is afforded to the vaults, it stands to reason Gringotts may be hiding such an artefact unknowingly. A search will confirm this, ensuring our vault contracts remain uncompromised. It is, after all, against Gringotts policy to allow the housing of living beings in our vaults without our knowledge—even to our most valuable customers.’ His grin was dark and full of promise.

‘That sounds wonderful, Krylik. Thank you,’ Hari said cautiously, suppressing a shiver at the thought of the Goblins discovering a hidden soul jar.

‘It is my pleasure, Heir Wyllt. As I have said, you will always find an ally in the Goblin Nation. Unlike human Wix,’ he said with a sneer, ‘Goblinkind places great importance on maintaining the Balance. Now, with that settled, I believe you both were here on one more matter—that of your keys.’

Sirius perked up, and Hari gave a small nod, to which Krylik reached once more into the chest and pulled out two bronze keys, one more ornate than the other. ‘The Black key being held by the Wizarding Ministry will be removed from the registry, Lord Black, though your imprisonment meant that its access to the vaults were frozen so there should be no discrepancies. I will take some time to look over the accounts, just to be certain, and update you within the month. In that time, I ask that you report to Gringotts to register your new wand so that it may be used for verification of your identity in the future.’ He said, sliding the simple key towards Sirius who nodded and picked it up smartly. ‘This key should give you access to the Black trust and family vault, as well as the Redvers vault.’

He then held up the second, more ornate key with a serious look on his face. ‘This was originally the key to the Wyllt vault, but I have authorised it to open all vaults you are entitled to, Heir Wyllt. It should gain you access to the Wyllt and Redvers vaults, as well as the Black and Potter trust vaults, should you be on your own. Before your magical majority, however, you will need an accompanying guardian—’ he nodded towards Sirius, ‘—to access the Black and Potter family vaults. As with Lord Black, there should be no discrepancies in the accounts, but I shall take some time to look them over and send you an owl with the results within the month. If you have the chance before you leave for Hogwarts, please register a wand with us, even though I doubt you require one.’ He slid this key towards Hari this time, who gave a silent nod in acknowledgement.

But before he could pick it up, Krylik spoke again. ‘There is something more I should say about the Wyllt key, before you take your leave. Considering the importance and age of the client when the vault was created, your key Heir Wyllt will act as a portkey which will take you to a private entrance to Gringotts. This service was reserved for clients who had a certain need for discretion in the face of their ability to wield the Old Magics. To use it, you must simply push a little magic into the key and it should activate to take you to your destination.’

Hari took the key carefully, rolling it in his hand.

‘Should…’ he began, then turned towards his godfather. ‘Should we check out the Redvers and Wyllt vaults? Before anything else, I mean? Only, Merlin and Ronan may have left things for us, and—’

‘That sounds good, Pup.’ Sirius interrupted, a grin on his face but his tone was brittle. ‘Can we use the key here, Krylik? Or would that be considered rude?’

Krylik smiled, pointed teeth glinting. ‘Not at all, Lord Black. If there’s nothing else that I can help you with today, feel free to make use of your key.’

‘Oh, uh…’ Hari started, ‘about Acquisitions Manager Robrok—’

‘Not to worry, Heir Wyllt. You should be receiving an owl from him soon, with a time and date for a meeting to discuss the matter.’

‘Thank you, Krylik. I won’t forget the help the Goblin Nation has given me.’

Krylik gave a sly smile and a nod, before gesturing to the key gripped in Hari’s fist.

Making sure that he held the box securely in one hand, he nodded to his godfather who reached a hand out to pinch the ornate end of the key still visible. At his responding nod, Hari closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then pushed a bit of magic through his palm.

‘Circe but I hate portkeys,’ Hari groaned from his position sprawled on the cold dark polished marble floor. His godfather just laughed, the traitor, and reached a hand down to help him up. It was a bit awkward, with one hand clinging tightly to the rough wooden box that Krylik had given him and the other holding his vault key, but he managed to stumble to a standing position with little grace.

‘It just takes some getting used to.’

‘I’ll never get used to it, the sarding things. Why waste time and energy creating a Portkey when you can Elunio? ’ he grumped, shuffling forward after Sirius who rolled his eyes. The space was similarly luxurious to the great hall they had entered earlier that morning, but on a much smaller scale. On the other side of the room stood a single dark lacquered wooden desk with a single, elderly Goblin behind it apparently slumbering on top of a massive ledger.

‘I’d think twice about using even Ancient Magic transportation spells in Gringotts. Excuse me,’ Sirius said, turning to the desk with his most charming smile. The Goblin jerked from his sleep, startled.

‘Oh! A client? Vault number seven, I presume?’ He said, surprised, his eyes squinting down at them over his ledger in suspicion after Sirius nodded. 

‘And the Redvers family vault afterwards, if possible.’ Hari piped up anxiously.

The Goblin narrowed rheumy eyes. ‘Do you have your key?’

Hari cleared his throat, reaching up to hand over the ornate key which the Goblin took a moment to inspect, tongue caught between his teeth. After what felt like ages, he finally nodded and placed it back in Hari’s palm. ‘This seems to be in order, though most irregular. The Wyllt vault has not been accessed in…well, centuries, I suppose. No matter. Follow me, if you please.’

The Goblin hopped down from his seat, not bothering to make sure they were following behind him, and approached what appeared to be a platform made of iron grating set along some sort of track. He whistled, causing Hari to startle, and almost immediately a heavy, iron mining cart with four side-facing, cushioned seats smoothly came to a rolling stop at the edge.

‘Please, make yourselves comfortable,’ the Goblin said, gesturing towards the cart, and Sirius immediately bounded forward though Hari was a bit more cautious. The Goblin himself paid them no mind, moving to take the single smaller seat above the others facing forward.

Hari eyed the cart warily. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked his godfather in Brythonic, unwilling to offend the Goblin.

Sirius chuckled. ‘Trust me, Pup. Just hold on tight.’  

He swallowed, shoving his key in a pocket of the leather jacket and keeping his box tightly fisted in his lap with one arm while picking his way into a seat beside Sirius and grabbing one side tightly.

The cart took off like a shot, following the tracks with a speed that made Hari’s eyes water. The first time they went upside down—despite the seats remaining upright—he shut his eyes and grit his teeth while Sirius let out an excited whoop.

Perhaps his excitement was contagious. After a minute or two to get used to it, Hari found himself actually enjoying the mad cart ride down into the depths of Gringotts.

‘You might want to hold your breath in a moment!’ Called the Goblin only a split second before a shock of cold water drenched the cart and its occupants. Hari jerked and gasped at the sudden freezing sensation, not just of water but of a kind of caustic magic.

‘Thief's downfall!’ Shouted Sirius. ‘Removes all potions or enchantments meant to hide the identity of a Wix!’

Hari frowned thoughtfully. ‘Sounds like the entrance to Camelot,’ he called, recalling Merlin’s tales about enchanted waterfalls guarding the lost city.

The Goblin eyed Hari with a sly smirk. ‘Very good, Heir Wyllt. The Thief's Downfall was modelled after accounts of the front gates to Camelot.’

The journey was over almost too quickly once he was really having fun with it, slowing to a stop before a large iron door situated in a massive stone pillar with an incredibly complex series of locks and a single keyhole.

They all exited the cart, Sirius a bit more wobbly on his feet than normal which made Hari snort. 

‘Key please,’ commanded the Goblin, holding out a long-fingered hand towards Hari, who obliged. With a twist the locks opened slowly, its intertwined mechanisms rotating in an almost mesmerising way. Hari could see the magic, earthy and rich but sharp and dangerous, gently pulling back into the door with each twist of a gear. 

With a soft hiss the door swung outward, the Goblin stepping back and gesturing them forward. Sirius raised a brow, nodding towards the vault entrance. Hari swallowed, unsure how he was feeling; Merlin had been like a brother, father, and teacher to him, and his absence felt like something unbelievable. Swallowing after a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then stepped forward to enter.

The vault was unlike what he ever expected—though to be honest he wasn't sure what exactly he had expected—but being almost completely empty was not it. The space was vast and simple, clearly carved directly into the stone and barely polished, which was, according to Sirius, unusual for the vaults of older families. As he stepped through the doorway, a few torches blazed to life and illuminated the space. And there, in the centre of the cavernous room, sat three trunks.

Two being very familiar trunks.

Hari sucked in a harsh breath, barely noticing Sirius stepping in beside him.

‘Is that…’

‘Our things. He…left our things. I thought…I thought we'd have to leave them all behind.’ Hari whispered, moving forward slowly until he stood before the central trunk and placed a gentle palm on the smooth leather embossed with runes. Familiar magic thrummed under his fingertips, warming him from the inside out and making him choke up.

Merlin had been a simple man; he had no need for expensive, flashy possessions—unnecessary when you had so much power. But there were some exceptions.

Like this trunk.

‘You'll be attending Hogewáþe soon, Hari, and I thought…well, I saved this for years even though I didn't really have a use for it, but…maybe it's time I let go. Arthur wouldn't have wanted me to…dwell like this.’

He remembered the words Merlin had spoken, gentle, assuring, and infinitely sad, as he had presented Hari with this trunk.

Arthur's travelling trunk. One of the last personal things he had left after Camelot was pulled under the waters of Lake Avalon.

It was a beautiful trunk. Unlike the modern trunks Hari had spied stacked haphazardly outside a shop in the Alley with domed tops and fancy locks, this was completely rectangular with a waxed leather covering held in place by two bands of oxidised copper shaped to look like ivy running in two perfect lines up the front and back, and over the top and bottom. The leather itself was unremarkable at first glance, but when Hari had first touched it, it had sung with a magic so powerful and dangerous he had snapped his hand back.

‘A questing beast.’ Merlin had said, amused. ‘Its venom is imbued with the magic of life and death. Apt, for you. Arthur thought it would be a shame to waste the hide. I enchanted it myself, after he had it made.’

While the sides were unadorned but for an oxidised copper latch style lock with no keyhole, the top was embossed in Ogham rune arrays—dozens of them—which surrounded a beautifully embossed Pendragon seal. 

Hari sighed, tracing the dragon for a moment before covering the lock with his hand and pushing a bit of magic into it. The responding pinch and soft magical song almost made him tear up, not from the pain but the familiarity of it. He could feel the magic within a single bead of blood run down the copper thorn and couldn't hold in his heartsore sigh. The ornate ivy filigree latch clicked open and he lifted the lid, breathing in almost without his conscious thought.

A wash of lily of the valley and complex herbs and magic drifted over him, along with a feeling of homesickness so strong he had to shut his eyes as he fell to his knees.

‘You alright, pup?’ Came Sirius' concerned voice from his left. Hari swallowed.

‘Yeah, just…it smells like home.’

Sirius put a strong, reassuring arm over his shoulders, squeezing slightly before pulling away. 

He collected himself after a few moments, breathing in and out and concentrating on Occluding, then opened his eyes. The first things he saw made him grin, even as his eyes prickled. His wand—not that he really needed it, but foci were helpful if only to fit in and not draw too much attention to himself if Sirius was to be believed. He reached out, hand clasping the smooth, white wood and let out a whoosh of breath at the feeling and melody of the magic of Annwn buzzing under his skin.

‘Woah, my armour!’ Sirius barked with happiness, making Hari snort. He put the wand on the floor beside him, turning his attention back to the box and unpacking the contents slowly. Surely his wand holster would be inside somewhere.

His sword, seax, and eating knife; basilisk armour and Hunt maille; a few enchanted outer robes for sacred days; his fine winter and summer cloaks with pins denoting his masteries; dozens of shrunken books and tomes; the rune sets he'd painstakingly carved himself in Pictish and Ogham; his ritual set with restocked candles, blessed salt, and animal bones; all joined the wand before he finally found its holster. He shucked off the zipper-covered jacket, strapping the buttery leather to his forearm and slipping his wand inside.

Sirius was, it seemed, doing much the same thing with his own chest. From time to time he'd exclaim in joy, making Hari smile and shake his head before he turned back to his own trunk.

Another set of clothes joined the pile, this time more casual, everyday wear. He was especially glad for the extra braies, as jeans chafed strangely, though he was sure there wouldn't be a need for hose anymore. 

What he saw underneath a simple, elegant tunic made his breath catch and Sirius grumble when he looked over; a delicate sprig of white heather, looking just as fresh as the day Gwaine had gifted it to him, rested on familiar, deep green cloth woven by Edmund—his best friend at Hogewáþe. He took the flower gently, twirling it around in his fingers for a moment with a soft smile before affixing it to the lapel of the leather jacket and turning back to the trunk.

After the last of his clothes and Edmund’s cloth, his mokeskin satchel was next; its leather was just as soft and worn as he remembered, and he took a moment to collect the runes and ritual set and place them inside. A small wooden box with clinking glass vials held various preserved seeds and ingredients that Sirius had explained to Merlin were unavailable in the modern era; a small scroll, separate from the others, made him burst into laughter when he realised it was Helga's recipe for honey cake that he had unsuccessfully tried to wheedle out of her almost the entire time he was at school; a small money pouch with various coins; an opalescent basilisk egg which made him grin and Sirius sigh in exasperation (‘I told Salazar no, damn the man’); and finally another weightless wooden box which, to both his and Sirius' delight, contained 12 bottles of mead and a letter.

Hari, I wasn't sure what a few centuries would do to ale or wine, even with preservation charms in place, so mead it was. Drink and think of us. I've added some further enchantments on the trunk so it might be up to the task of competing with the kinds of fancy trunks that Sirius talked about in the future. This is the main compartment, obviously enlarged with wizard space, but there should also be another compartment for your weapons and armour, one for ingredients and equipment, and one for books. You can access them by touching the runes on the underside of the lid.

Words cannot express how much I miss and love you, little brother. Wear the Wyllt ring and the claw of Aithusa with pride. Take Hogwarts by storm. I know you'll be amazing. 

Be safe on your journey. Tell Sirius he's still a clotpole.

With a wet laugh Hari turned to his godfather, who was frowning at a Redvers cloak pin he had pulled from his own much simpler trunk.

‘Merlin wanted me to remind you that you're still a clotpole,’ he said with a cheeky smile. Sirius just rolled his eyes.

‘Wanker,’ he responded, but fondly, then sighed, gently placing the pin back into his trunk. His magic was stormy, expression almost fragile. ‘I'm getting hungry. Now that we have our rings we can use bank drafts to pay for anything we need—shall we give the Redvers vault a miss and head to the Leaky?’ He asked, face resolutely down on his things, and the brittle undertone—almost impossible to make out unless one really knew Sirius—made any possible protest die on Hari’s lips.

‘Sure, sounds good. We've got a few weeks here in London before Hogwarts in any case.’ He replied after a moment, then carefully stowed his scattered belongings, along with the box containing Aithusa's tooth, in their proper compartments in his trunk and turned towards the last unopened trunk on his right with a frown.

‘What's in this one, you reckon?’

Sirius shrugged. ‘Open it and see, then we can head out.’

Money, it turned out—a towering pile of aged gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts—and another note resting gently on top. Hari plucked up the note first, the vellum parchment soft in his fingers.

Hari - I'm not sure how much exactly is in here, but it should be about 500,000 galleons. Don't worry, most of that is interest - at least by my quick calculations. The Goblins probably kept better track. The trunk is expanded, naturally. I know Sirius has mentioned the wealth of the Blacks and the Potters, but I'd really rather you save that for later. I promised the Morrígan I would care for you, and that includes making sure you're financially cared for as well. 

His eyes widened as he reread the note, heart aching slightly. It was…a lot of money. 

‘Uh, Sirius? How much should I take?’

‘Hmm?’ 

‘The Galleons,’ Hari said, gesturing towards the innocuous looking pile. ‘Merlin uh…he said there should be about 500,000 galleons in here. I don't know how much to take to pay for anything we might need.’

Sirius' eyebrows shot up to his hairline, his magic shifting from upset to curious. He closed the lid on his own trunk and shifted up from his squat to shuffle over. Staring at the gold for a moment, he frowned in thought as Hari pulled his money pouch out from his bag.

‘Maybe one or two hundred? I don't remember how much cauldrons went for in the 80s, let alone now. Things like spellcraft recipes are a bit more expensive, but…well, you brought your list, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Hari said, digging his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out two crumpled pieces of parchment and moving them so Sirius was able to scan over his shoulder.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a fifth year student. You will be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon your arrival. 

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. As you are beginning in your fifth year, all elective courses require you to take a placement exam. Term begins September 1st. We await your owl no later than the 25th of August.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Fifth-year students will require:

Uniform:

• Three sets plain work robes (black)
• One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
• One pair protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
• One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
• One set dress robes

Please note: all student's clothes should carry name tags at all times.

Books:

• The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk
• Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard
• A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
• Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
• One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
• Magical Drafts and Potions by Phyllida Spore
• Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
• Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

Elective Course Books:

• Ancient Runes - Spellman's Syllabary by Rosana Amorim
• Arithmancy - Numerology and Grammatica
• Care of Magical Creatures - The Monster Book of Monsters by Edwardus Lima
• Muggle Studies - Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles by Wilhelm Wigworthy
• Divination - Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky

Other Equipment:

• 1 Wand
• 1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
• 1 set glass or crystal phials
• 1 telescope
• 1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an Owl OR a Cat OR a Toad. 

‘Ugh, really? I hate hats.’ Hari grumbled, making Sirius laugh.

‘It's only required for feasts, don't worry.’

‘Good. Hmm…do you think my basilisk pair would work for protective gloves? I'd really rather not wear dragonhide if I can help it.’ Hari asked, turning to face his godfather, who nodded.

‘Definitely.’

‘One less thing to worry about, then,’ he sighed, then turned back to the list. ‘The cloaks I have should do, and I've got a silver cloak pin. Dress robes I'll probably need—I doubt my ritual or court robes will be appropriate for whatever they've got planned.’

‘True, plus you'll need a modern wardrobe in general, quills, ink, parchment, maybe some journals to take notes, potions ingredients, an owl would be handy, pranking things—’

Hari snorted and Sirius gave him a wink. ‘He leave you your rune sets?’

‘Yes, but I left my Futhark set with Master Ignotus.’

‘Hmm. Supplies to make a Futhark set, then. Alright. The wardrobe will likely be the most expensive—outer robes haven't changed all that much in style from what I can tell, except they're less gaudy and form fitting, but everyday clothes have so you'll need a bit of everything. We can pay for that with a bank draft, though. I'd say take out two hundred. That should cover all the smaller things with enough left over that you should be able to have money for Hogsmead weekends. I can send you more if you need it.’

Hari nodded, counting out two hundred galleons and depositing them in his coin purse before closing the trunk and stashing both the shopping list and the money in his bag.

‘Right,’ Sirius said, tapping both Hari and Sirius' trunks with his wand until they shrank enough to fit in his hand. ‘Can you keep these in your bag?’ He asked, handing them over to Hari who carefully put them away before sliding the leather jacket back on.

Sirius gave him a familiar grin. ‘So…Breakfast?’

Chapter Text

It was later than both of them had thought, once they emerged from the gleaming marble edifice of Gringotts and made their way to the shabby pub at the other end of the Alley. Noon had come and gone, so they had ordered a quick lunch of eel pie that the barman - Tom - had recommended before heading back out into the crowds of Diagon. The sun was trying valiantly to break free from the heavy clouds that had settled over London that morning, and it seemed like all of the Wix in Britain were doing their shopping.

Hari winced after a squat witch with flaming red hair and bright yellow, agitated magic accidentally stepped on his foot, distracted as she was lecturing a pair of twins with guilty looks on their faces.

'Oh, I'm sorry dear!' She apologised, giving him a worried, fretful look. 'Are you alright?'

'It's fine, ma'am,' Hari responded, noting with alarm that Sirius had pressed forward into the crowd. 'Excuse me,'

'Let's get your wardrobe settled first.' Sirius said just as he caught up. 'With how much you need, it'll take them a bit to have everything fitted so we can get your other supplies while we wait.'

They pushed through the crowds, the overwhelming smells and sounds of Wix becoming harder and harder to ignore, until finally Sirius turned and headed into a posh-looking shop with a black sign declaring Twillfit & Tattings in delicate gold lettering.

The shop was, fortunately, much less crowded than the street, with polished wooden floors and tasteful cream wallpaper with tiny ornate roses. A set of pale rose velvet armchairs were pushed up against the window with a wooden table between them, one occupied by a bored looking teen flipping through a book. An ornate carved desk took up the majority of the space, just across from the door and in front of a rich rose velvet curtain.

'Welcome to Twillfit and Tattings. Do you have an appointment?' Asked a man behind the counter in expensive robes with a neatly groomed moustache. He looked young, maybe a bit younger than Sirius, with reddish brown hair and bright pink magic that swirled leisurely around him. Hari was impressed with his professionalism - he had only glanced quickly at their obviously Muggle clothes.

Sirius gave the man a charming smile. 'No, unfortunately - we've been away for some time you see, and only recently returned to London. My godson here is in dire need of a new wardrobe - lost all his luggage at the portkey office.' He said, reaching up to put his hand with the Black ring on Hari's shoulder and giving him a pat. The man's eyes darted to the ring, then back to Sirius, before widening on Hari. The boy sitting in the armchair, Hari noticed, shifted to sit up straighter, his dark purple magic stilling.

'O-of course, Lord Black. It's not a problem. Please…' he trailed off, throwing Sirius a questioning look.

'Heir Black.'

'Heir Black. Lord Black. Follow me. We'll get you sorted in no time.' He finished, stepping out from behind the desk to push aside the curtain and gesturing them through to a wide panelled hallway decorated with paintings to one side and a number of doors on the other.

'Second door on the right, sirs.'

Sirius led the way, pushing open the door which led to a comfortable sized room with bright lighting and cream walls. Two tall standing mirrors stood in a far corner behind a small platform, and another set of cream velvet armchairs sat behind a low table on the opposite wall. An ornate wooden bookshelf rested against the wall closest to the door, filled with what appeared to be books and binders.

'Feel free to take a seat,' the man said, indicating towards the chairs, 'Mr. Tatting should be along shortly. There are swatches and design books on the shelf for you to peruse for ideas while you wait. Would either of you care for some tea?'

'No, thank you.' Hari said, a bit baffled, and Sirius shook his head with a charming smile. 

'Alright. Please make yourselves comfortable.' And with that he closed the door gently. Hari shook himself, curious about the design books and picked one randomly while Sirius took a few moments to cast a few privacy charms. The book was heavy despite how thin it appeared, with thick glossy pages bound in red leather. 

'Robes and outerwear for the autumn season, 1995,' Hari read aloud, frowning, then flipped it open as Sirius came to look over his shoulder.

'Ugh, that's hideous,' his godfather murmured, and Hari snorted his agreement. It was a ladies’ robe, apparently, with a very unflattering, shapeless cut trimmed in lace all the way to the ankle and was reminiscent of the nightgowns Aunt Petunia favoured from his childhood with the addition of bell sleeves and a long hood. He flipped through the pages, noting a few designs he liked though most were bordering on the same theme as the first - ugly and shapeless.

'Why are all of these so…'

'Unattractive?'

'Yes. Were robes really like this when you went to school?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Outer robes, sure. Mediaeval robes were much more form-fitting and shorter than modern ones, probably because cloth is more affordable now. Ugh, I'm glad to never have to wear hose again, though.'

A knock sounded at the door, then, before a tall, thickset, middle-aged man in heavily embroidered open brocade robes and a tape measure around his neck entered. He smiled at them politely.

'Excuse me, Lord Black, Heir Black. I don't know if you remember me, Lord Black - I'm Taylor Tatting. Magnus informed me that Heir Black is in need of a new wardrobe, after his has been lost?'

'Ah, Mister Tatting - of course I remember, though it's been a while,' Sirius said, jumping forward to shake the man's hand after he shut the door. 'Yes, my godson has - shockingly - lost most of his clothes in the move. Ministry organised portkeys,' he said with a shake of his head and a frown, 'you'd think something so simple as moving a few trunks from place to place would be easy enough, but like my unlawful incarceration, leave it to the Ministry to cock it all up.'

Mr Tatting frowned in return. 'Terrible, simply terrible. Well, are we outfitting an entire wardrobe today, or were there a few things you managed to hold onto?'

'A full wardrobe, I should think. I trust your discretion regarding all that you might learn here?' Sirius asked pointedly, voice like gravel. Mr Tatting, to his credit, merely sniffed, looking a bit offended.

'Twillfit & Tattings has long had a policy of absolute silence regarding our customers - our tailors take oaths to the effect once they've completed their masteries.'

Sirius' answering smile was sharp. 'Excellent. Hear that, pup?' Hari rolled his eyes. 'I meant no disrespect of course, Mr Tatting.'

'Of course, of course. It's only natural that Heir Black may not be aware, if he has been abroad for so long.'

'Exactly. And considering his…unique position in Wixen society today, I thought he should be reassured from your own mouth. So, pup, you said you found some cloaks, right?' Sirius asked, turning towards Hari.

'Yes, he—I have my summer and winter cloak, and some ritual robes, but—'

'I see. Well, let's begin then, shall we? Step up there, there's a lad.' Mr. Tatting said, gently crowding Hari towards the platform. 'You'll have to take off the jacket, I'm afraid, and the jeans. Material is too thick to measure through, you see.'

Hari did as he was bid without complaint, removing the jacket and handing it to Sirius, followed by his boots and jeans until he stood in only the Muggle shirt, modern socks, wand holster, and the silk braies that his godfather had instructed him to wear last night before stepping into the platform. Mr Tatting's eyes widened at the array of raised, scarred runes along his arms, tattooed in blue woad that stood out brightly against his darker skin, but said nothing.

Sirius had explained to him, growing up, that in the future these types of runes were essentially close to a legend so they were sure to attract attention. Hari didn't mind - not really; he wasn't ashamed of his body and the scars he bore from years of training, learning, rituals, hunting, and melees. If modern Wix thought he was unusual, they'd have fainted at the sight of Master Godric.

'Alright, let's take some measurements, shall we?' Mr Tatting said, flicking his wand to summon two pieces of parchment and two quills, one set moving to hover beside Hari and the other he plucked from midair. Another flick and the tape flew from around his neck to start taking measurements that were recorded down promptly by the floating quill.

'So underthings, I would imagine, and socks. Shirts and under robes - well, plain white, if you're for Hogwarts, though some dark jewelled tones would complement your colour nicely. Any preferences for buttons?'

'Uh…' Hari said, watching in vague alarm as the man scribbled hastily.

'To match the shirts—nothing too ostentatious, but still befitting a young Heir,' Sirius cut in with a teasing smile at Hari's lost look. 

'Wonderful. Trousers, then, at least seven pairs—greys and blacks, I should think—'

'One white pair, as well.'

'White? Of course, of course. Yes, that will do nicely. Vests?'

'Um…' Hari muttered, completely out of his depth. 

When he was a child at the Dursleys, he’d been given Dudley's cast-offs; plain shirts stretched obscenely large, trousers he'd had to hold up with bits of leftover scavenged rope or broken shoelaces, socks with failing elastic, and shoes with the soles peeking out. And after, when Merlin had taken him in, they had primarily made their own clothes—tunics, braies and hose, cloaks and dublets or robes. Ritual robes for cyclical days or when they were forced to attend the king with Merlin's position as Dux Magum. Sure, Merlin had insisted Hari's clothes be of a finer quality than his own ( 'Because I'm not about to be uncomfortable for hours for the sake of that puking, plume-plucked pustule William, but you're not me, little brother, sorry' ) but they still made everything themselves. He had absolutely no idea what he should be asking for. Fortunately for Hari, Sirius answered for him.

'At least six, with complimenting ties. Three Hogwarts sets, one black set, one green, one grey. Maybe a few extra ties in various colours.'

'Perfect, perfect.' He said, writing madly for a moment before looking towards Sirius. Hari sighed in relief. 'Jumpers?'

'A full Hogwarts set, black, green, red, and grey. Plain, dark colours, in cashmere. Now, robes…well, three Hogwarts, a few casual everyday, but four sets of dress robes—one black, one red, one blue, and one white with gold. We can take a look at some swatches to pick specific fabrics, but silk and cashmere should be the base materials. He prefers a tight fit above the hips for both closed casual and dress, but with enough give so movement won't be restricted. Embroidery should be subtle but noticeable - designs reminiscent of the Old Ways, ideally - and the white should be ankle length, with panels.'

'Any particular threads?'

'Black diamond and star diopside, to honour the Blacks. White diamond and red spinel for the Potters, blue tourmaline and dumortierite for Redvers, and, ah, white scolecite and gold. Same for buttons.'

Mr Tatting's eyebrows furrowed. 'Not sure we have white scolecite on hand - nor the dumortierite - those families aren't, ah, common patrons of ours - not sure I know…' he trailed off, shaking his head but thankfully not commenting on the lack of name for the final House as Hari felt his breath catch in his throat. It's not that he was ashamed of his Houses, but he also wasn't sure he was ready for the world at large to know of all his heirships. Not that he had much of a choice.

'But not to worry, I can procure some within a week or so,' he continued with a confident nod. 'Any outer robes? House symbols?'

'Outer robes should remain plain, perhaps embroidery on the inside - do you have a rune master competent in Ogham thread magic?' Sirius asked, voice carefully casual. 

Mr Tatting blinked, once then twice more. 'Ogham thread magic? I - no, unfortunately, the last Ogham thread master died during the last war, Magic keep him.'

'It's alright, Sirius. I can do it myself.' Hari cut in, rolling his eyes at his godfather's pout.

'That's not the point, pup - but fine. You know the Wyllt runes best in any case.' He said, ignoring Mr Tatting's quill and magic stilling, face chalk white and eyes fixed on the rings adorning Hari's fingers. 'One for each dress set, then, but ravens and vines for the Black set, griffons for the Potter red, the world serpent in the ocean for the Redvers blue, and English Oak, full roots and branches, along with triskelion for the Wyllt white. Hari can thread the runes himself, since he's so keen.' His godfather snarked.

'Merlin's beard -' Mr Tatting whispered, making Hari bite his lip to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter. Merlin's what?

'Are you alright, Mister Tatting?' Sirius asked, voice oozing concern.

'What? I - oh - yes, yes, quite alright, quite…yes.' The man sputtered, coughing into his hand and hurrying to start writing again. 'Just extraordinary, simply extraordinary .'

The rest of the fitting took ages from Hari's perspective; with Mr Tatting actually aware of his various heirships, it made the process of choosing fabrics and designs almost agonisingly slow. Hari tried to argue that Merlin himself had worn simple cloth, but Sirius and Mr Tatting waived his concerns away. It didn't help, Hari realised painfully, that his godfather was a bit of a dandy. In the end, the tailor had promised to deliver the bulk of the everyday basics in an hour, though the embroidered robes would take a few days and would be delivered by owl with just enough time before Hari set off for Hogwarts that he could add the Ogham runes to the Wyllt robes. Sirius' own wardrobe, thankfully, took much less time as he only really needed to supplement his own wardrobe with more updated robes befitting Lord Black and Redvers.

When they finally escaped, he was almost thankful for the crush of the crowd in the Alley. 

Almost.

'So, what next, pup?' Sirius asked, using his body to buffer Hari from the crowd as they stood in front of Twillfit and Tattings. 'Most of the books I probably still have, besides Slinkhard and Lima. I still think runes might be a bit basic for you considering your Mastery, but anyway. Books, parchment, or potions equipment?'

Hari winced. 'Whichever is closest, honestly.'

'Parchment and quills first, then. Amanuensis is just across the Alley. After that, Carkitt Market usually has better quality potions equipment than what you can find on Diagon proper. I would like to get an owl, and I still owe you a broom for your birthday.' Sirius said, rolling his eyes at Hari's frown. 'Your face will stick if you keep frowning like that. You left your broom at school and it would take ages to make a new one, plus they're highly regulated now. C'mon,' he argued, hanging an arm over Hari's shoulder. 'The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can get back and I can take control of the wards.'

Hari sighed and let himself be led onward.

It was getting dark by the time they returned to Grimmauld Place, exhausted and footsore. The moment they landed on the stoop Sirius had gasped, eyes unfocused, his magic rushing to meet the pitch black magic thrumming through the house itself. Hari took the opportunity to release his new owl, Archimedes, from his cage.

'Go on, enjoy the hunt. My bedroom’s on the fourth floor - I'll leave the window open for you.' He murmured, giving Archimedes a soft scratch. The owl hooted and took off in an elegant flutter of wings.

After a moment, Sirius’ eyes cleared, head shaking a bit that reminded Hari of Padfoot.

The last thing either of them expected was the low, disbelieving voice from the end of the footpath leading to Number 12. 

'Sirius? Is… Hari?!'

His godfather stiffened, causing Hari to turn with his hand raised, adrenaline pushing away his tiredness. A man stood, haggard and hunched even under the warm light of the streetlight with tawny hair and mouth agape. Scars criss-crossed his face in a way that Hari had only seen in the most battle-hardened warriors. His suit was rather ragged tweed, his amber magic jerky and agitated.

'Who are -' he began, his own magic building in his diaphragm.

'Remus,' his godfather cut him off, turning more casually to face the newcomer as Hari's eyebrows rose in surprise, hand falling to his side. 'I don't think I've ever seen you so shocked, Moony.'

'Minnie said - but I just - where have you been?'

Sirius smiled, cautious and only a hint of warmth. 'You'd better come in,' he said in lieu of a proper answer, turning back to the door and opening it while guiding Hari to step through.

'Filthy Master blood traitor has returned, yes he has, and with the young Master Warlock as well.' Hari heard Kreacher mutter from the doorway down to the kitchens down the hall, though it was the only thing really recognisable about the house from when they'd left this morning.

His godfather's taking of the wards had judged his intent as Lord Black and hadn't found him wanting, it seemed. The entire entry seemed brighter and much cleaner than when they had left. The bannisters shone with polish, once faded wallpaper looking fresh and colourful. Sure, the troll leg umbrella stand was still stood beside the door, and the grizzly House Elf heads lined the stairwell, but at least the years of cobwebs and dust were cleared.

Sirius followed a moment later, wincing a bit at the heads.

'At least it's clean. Relatively. Probably still have to deal with the doxies. I don't think the magic would have gone that far with the house being abandoned so long. Would you mind getting Kreacher to send up some tea while I check the sitting room, pup?'

Hari eyed his godfather with concern. He looked weary, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth more pronounced.

'Sure, Padfoot,' he answered softly, clasping a hand on his godfather's arm in support before heading down the hall to the kitchen. He could hear Remus enter, footsteps quiet, and Sirius' low voice as the door shut.

The kitchen, like the hallway upstairs, was sparkling compared to the state it had been in before. Copper pots and pans gleamed from the hanger above the rough wooden table and the iron oven shone. Kreacher puttered around the china cupboard, wiping a filthy rag along the dark grain of the wood and mumbling under his breath.

'Kreacher, could you please send tea for three up to the sitting room? We've a guest.'

The aged Elf paused, turning to face Hari with bulging, rheumy eyes.

'Master Warlock asks for tea? Kreacher will serve the little Master, of course. And filthy Master blood traitor and his werewolf guest, though it pains him. Oh, what would the Mistress say?'

'Thank you, Kreacher,' Hari sighed, but considered it a win and headed back up the stairs.

The sitting room was quiet when he entered. Sirius lounged on an armchair in a way that Hari supposed was meant to look casual while Remus sat perched on the adjacent sofa, the definition of tense. Hari frowned, then sighed.

'Well, it's nice to meet you, Mister Lupin,' he opened with the hint of a smile and a short bow before moving to take the armchair opposite Sirius. 'Siri’s told me a lot about you.'

Remus just stared, wide eyed and with something close to pain contorting his expression. 'Please, call me Remus, or Moony…Hari - I…'

Hari rolled his eyes with a friendly grin. 'Yes, I know. You're very glad to see me still alive, you're feeling guilty about my going missing - please, stop me if I'm getting close.'

The man winced with his entire body, stricken, then took a ragged breath. Honestly, he looked terrible now that Hari could see him in the brighter light of the sitting room. 

'All I really want to know, Remus, is where you were?' Sirius cut in, voice sharp and cutting. 'I can forgive you thinking me guilty and leaving me in Azkaban to rot, though by the time I got to Hari it wasn't a pretty sight. But in that time - in those four years - why weren't you there for Hari?'

Remus sucked in a harsh, choking breath, his magic squeezing impossibly inwards and eyes flashing amber. 'I tried! I tried to be there…after I returned from the Continent, I begged Albus -'

The curtains began to flutter behind the sofa. Noting the dangerous tension in the man's magic, Hari cut in lest he break something unintentionally. 

'I told you, Sirius, the Mor…she said that there were wards on Privet Drive. I assume magic-repelling, since I never had visitors.'

Remus froze in place, though his magic slowly began to relax back outward. Sirius remained casually tense, before he finally let out a gusty breath.

'I wanted to hear him say it,' he grumbled, a bit petulant. Hari kicked his leg.

'Be kind. His magic was about to lash out, you loggerheaded lout.' He ordered, the Brythonic flowing like wine off his tongue in a way that made his chest ache.

'Ouch!'

'What…what language was that?' Remus asked, his magic now swirling in curiosity. Sirius burst into laughter.

'Oh Moony, ever the scholar, eh?'

The werewolf blushed. 'It - sounded like Welsh, a bit, but…'

Hari smiled. 'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'

They were interrupted by a quiet pop, a silver tea service appearing on the wooden table beside Hari's chair. Remus winced and Sirius glowered. Hari just sighed. 

'That sarding Elf -'

'Don't, Sirius. He's only doing it because he knows it'll upset you and you know it. I should have been more clear.' Hari said tiredly, banishing the service back to the kitchen with a casual brush of his fingers that made Remus' eyes widen in surprise. 'Tea in a china set, please, Kreacher,' he called, pushing a hint of magic in his voice.

Sirius grumbled but stayed quiet. The silence seemed to stretch, only interrupted by the mechanical tick of the mantle clock for long moments.

'Well, Hari, I can see your…absence has not deprived you of a magical education. That's…that's good.' Remus finally rasped, hands wringing together in his lap.

His godfather snorted. 'No, I daresay our Prongslet could out-duel us any day of the week.'

Hari grinned at him. 'You offering up some practice?'

'Not a chance. You'll tear the house down around us - and as much as I hate this house, it has its uses.'

Hari watched Remus as they bickered, his shoulders hunching even further inward, face slowly sinking and eyes becoming dull.

'Well, I'm sorry for the interruption, but I really should be -' he said, finally, making as if to stand from the sofa. Sirius jerked to face him.

'Don't be ridiculous, Moony. You're here now, aren't you? Spend some time with us. Get to know your pseudo godson - Circe knows I've had to put up with him enough the last nine years.'

Hari smirked. 'He's not wrong, you know. Please stay—you've yet to tell me any embarrassing stories that I know this one would never own up to—hey!' He yelped, grumbling a bit as his ankle let out a throb.

'Serves you right. C'mon, Moons. Hari's about to head off to Hogwarts, and I've got some things to take care of after—stay with us for a bit. There's plenty of space.' Hari frowned at the brittle tone in his godfather's voice. 

Remus looked torn, face both longing and shuttered. 'I don't know…'

With another pop a china tea service appeared, replacing the silver from earlier. Hari opened the lid, giving the tea a whiff to make sure it lacked a metallic tang, then promptly poured three cups.

He'd never had tea as a child—the Dursleys would never have wasted a bag on him, and there was no tea in 11th century Britain - but since their return he had taken a liking to it. 

'How do you take yours, Remus?'

'What? Oh, milk, three sugars.'

Sirius chuckled, ‘Always had a bit of a sweet tooth.’

Hari snorted, pouring a dash of milk into each teacup, then plopping four sugar cubes into the remaining two with a look of mock scorn. ‘Says the man who used to bribe the Elves for extra honey cakes every time we got back.’

‘Back from where?’ Remus asked, his voice light, but his eyes sharp with curiosity.

Hari didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gave a flick of his forefinger, and the prepared cups and saucers lifted off the table and glided smoothly toward their recipients. Only then did he turn, meeting Remus’ gaze head-on. He didn’t seem to notice the cup.

‘It wasn't safe for me with the Dursleys, and certain… entities took an interest in my well-being. So, arrangements were made. But I really can’t say more than that without warning you—there’s a geas in place.’

Remus frowned. ‘A geas? Hari, those are—geasa are myth. Folklore. Ancient tales about Celtic heroes and divine punishments. Not real magic.’ He said it with the authority of someone who’d read too many books—but his magic shifted subtly, uncertain.

Hari didn’t look away. ‘It’s real,’ he said softly. ‘Older than wandwork. More dangerous too. If anyone bound by one breaks it—the geas doesn’t just hurt. It takes. Memory, magic, sometimes more.’

Remus crossed his arms. ‘Alright. Say I believe you. What happens, exactly?’

‘They forget,’ Hari said flatly. ‘But not in the Obliviation sense. It’s like… your own magic turns against you. You feel it rip the memory out, clawing through your mind until it’s gone. Most people pass out. Some scream. A few don’t wake up.’

Remus looked unconvinced—but not entirely dismissive. Sirius, watching quietly, finally spoke.

‘I watched someone try to repeat a secret Hari had shared—just casually, not even thinking about it. They collapsed mid-sentence. Screamed like they were on fire.’ He met Remus’ eyes. ‘He’s not making it up.’

Hari nodded slowly. ‘I’m not trying to scare you. But this is one of those things that just is . Ancient magic doesn’t care what we believe.’

He didn’t elaborate—but the shadows that flickered in his expression told enough of the story.

Remus looked between them, thoughtful. ‘Alright,’ he said slowly. ‘Then help me understand. What exactly are you bound not to say?’

Hari gave a rueful smile. ‘That’s the catch, isn’t it? I can’t even tell you what I can’t tell you unless you accept the geas. But I suppose there are some things I can talk about.’

A beat passed. Then he tilted his head slightly.

‘What do you know of the Balance of Magic?’

Remus looked at his godfather for a moment, then startled when he looked back and the teacup floated gently by his elbow, waiting for him to take it. He did but didn't drink, the delicate cup and saucer dwarfed in his large, scarred hands. He cleared his throat.

'Well…certain Magical Theorists have posited the idea of the Balance of Magic over the years. Lower birth rates, the higher chance of miscarriage…alongside two devastating Wizarding Wars, many old families have been almost eradicated. But that's as far as theories have come—the only thing they can really point to for evidence. Not many people believe in it, though I've heard whispers among…other sources.'

Hari nodded, taking a sip of his own tea before gently placing the cup back in its saucer.

'Werewolves—at least those who live full-time within a pack—would certainly be aware of it.' He said plainly, giving the man a teasing smile. 'Don't worry, Sirius never said a word in all his stories. I know because of your magic.'

Remus looked both baffled and anxious, his magic darting. 'My magic?'

'Werewolf magic is very distinctive in colour, though different werewolves’ magic may smell distinctive from one another. Plus, your and Sirius' reaction to the silver tea service was a dead giveaway.' He grinned. 'It doesn't bother me, obviously. The modern notion of werewolves being inhuman, dangerous beasts is completely ridiculous. Frankly, I'm surprised—and a bit worried—that you seem to have distanced yourself so much from your wolf that you can’t recognise a fellow creature.' 

He allowed his eyes to flash gold, letting his magic free to fill the room with thick pressure and soft whispers. The curtains billowed back against the windows which rattled in their frames. The glass display of the mantle clock cracked, ticking silenced, as the gas lamps flared with a whoosh. A glass cabinet full of objects began to creak, its curiosities knocking against the shelves.

Sirius looked at him sharply. 'Hari.'

Hari rolled his eyes and tugged his magic back in, fingers twitching slightly as the pull resisted. He’d need to exercise it more. The clock on the mantle ticked into place with a neat click. ‘It’s not like you like anything in here,’ he muttered, still itching from the residual rush of Family Magic.

Remus flinched at the movement. ‘What the bloody hell was that?’

Sirius gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Ancient Magic.’

Remus looked between them, unimpressed. ‘Ancient Magic? You’re joking.’

‘Wish I were,’ Hari said with a crooked smile. ‘What Pads isn’t saying is that… it’s more than just old magic. It’s part of something bigger. You’ve heard of the six Lost Empires, right?’

‘Seven,’ Remus said cautiously. Hari whirled to throw a questioning look at his godfather.

‘Seven, he’s right,’ Sirius corrected, rubbing his temple. ‘El Dorado fell in the 1600s.’

Hari exhaled. ‘Right. That explains a lot. So—seven Empires: Avalon, El Dorado, Eden, Atlantis, Shangri-la, Thuvaraiyam Pathi, and Aoudaghost. They weren’t just ancient powerhouses—their rulers were custodians. Each helped keep the Balance. Think of it like a tide—magic flowing in and out from this wellspring beneath everything. We call it the Deep.’

Remus raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.

‘It’s like an underground ocean,’ Hari continued. ‘Except it’s made of magic. Almost all of it. Every spell, every charm, every flick of a wand traces back there somehow. And like water, if it stops flowing, it goes stagnant. It dies.’

Sirius leaned in. ‘Magic isn’t infinite, Moony. Energy can’t be created or destroyed, right? Same rules apply. Wix used to give it back when they died—their magic returned to the Deep. That’s how the cycle worked.’

‘But then Wix got greedy,’ Hari said quietly. ‘Instead of returning what they borrowed, they started hoarding it. Passing it on through bloodlines. Creating Family Magics. Holding onto it.’

‘You know the stories,’ Sirius added. ‘Tituba of El Dorado. Perseus of Atlantis. The fall of those Empires wasn’t just political—it was magical. They were attacked so magic could be stolen.’

Remus was still, tea forgotten in his hands.

‘In Britain,’ Hari went on, more softly now, ‘Nimue used her magic—magic she’d inherited—to bring Arthur to life. But magic like that has rules. Aspectual Magic—things like Life, Death, Time—it always demands balance. So to give life, she had to take one. Igraine’s.’

‘And Uther lost his mind,’ Sirius said darkly. ‘Ordered magic wiped out. Started the Great Purge.’

‘Lady Magic had seen too much,’ Hari said, voice low. ‘She needed a way to protect the Deep. So she blessed a child. One born from human and divine intention. Someone who could connect directly to the Deep itself. That’s how the first Warlock was born. Merlin the Emrys.’

Remus gave a skeptical snort. ‘You’re comparing yourself to Merlin now?’

‘I’m not comparing,’ Hari said simply. ‘I am what he was. Both my parents made ritual pleas to the Old Gods, who answered. Lady Magic blessed their union. It doesn’t often—only in times of great need. But it’s happening again.’

Sirius leaned forward. ‘And we are in a time of great need, Moony. Magic’s dying. The Balance is off. We’re all pretending not to see it, but it’s there.’

Hari sipped his tea, grounding himself. ‘You’ve felt it, haven’t you? Magic’s thinning. Great Feats of magic are no longer able to be cast. Wards unravel faster than they should. Power isn’t what it used to be.’

Remus didn’t answer.

‘Wix don’t know how to give magic back anymore,’ Hari said. ‘Wells of Ancient Magic—if there are any still left—are likely drying up. I can only pray that any Mages haven’t poisoned them by misuse in the last few centuries. Too much of any one emotion—grief, greed, even joy—it warps the purity. Regardless, the tides are gone. And without tides…’

‘The Deep suffocates,’ Sirius finished grimly.

Hari nodded. ‘And we go with it.’

A long silence stretched between them.

Remus finally breathed, ‘This is insane.’

‘Probably,’ Hari agreed. ‘But it doesn’t stop it from being true.’

'Master Warlock speaks only the truth.' Kreacher rumbled suddenly, eyes squinting at Remus in a sharp glare. His knuckles were almost white as he gripped the edge of his tea towel. Hari started in surprise, not having heard him arrive, and set his tea down on the table with a clatter. 'Master Warlock is being a creature of the Old Religion. Nasty werewolf should be listening. At least Master blood traitor has accepted the truth. But what does Kreacher expect from a filthy—'

'Alright, that's enough, Kreacher. Thank you.' Hari cut in with a sigh of exasperation. He turned to Remus, hoping the intensity of his gaze would penetrate the man's disbelief. 

Remus leaned back slowly, eyes narrowed as he absorbed it all. ‘Alright,’ he said at last, ‘say I believe some of this. But what about Muggleborns? If magic’s failing and the Deep’s cut off, how are we still getting new witches and wizards? Where’s their magic coming from?’

Hari took a breath, hands grasping the arms of his chair to ground himself. ‘That’s a good question. And a fair one.’

He glanced at Sirius, who gave a small nod, then turned back to Remus.

‘Family Magic doesn’t just vanish if no one claims it,’ he said. ‘It waits. Sometimes for generations. If a magical line dies out—say, no heirs, no bequeathment—their magic doesn’t just disappear. It lingers, looking for a host.’

‘And that host,’ Sirius added, ‘has to be someone whose bloodline can carry magic. Even if it’s dormant.’

‘Exactly,’ Hari said. ‘Like the grandchild of a Squib. Or someone descended from a magical line long disconnected from the Wixen world. Even if they’ve been ‘Muggle’ for generations, the potential’s still there.’

He paused to let it settle before going on, more gently now. ‘That’s why Muggleborns are often so powerful. They don’t just get a spark—they inherit an entire line’s worth of magic. It’s been building up, waiting for a chance to be used again. That’s what the Deep wants. For magic to move.’

Remus looked intrigued despite himself. ‘So Muggleborns don’t have… new magic?’

‘No,’ Hari said. ‘They reclaim magic. Unanchored magic, waiting for a vessel or to return to the Deep. Since the Old Ways have been lost, it can’t return. If there’s no one left to pass it on, magic chooses. And it chooses those with potential to honor it. I don’t know the fine details,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘There are books on it—M-my tutors showed me some, and I can loan you what I have. But what matters is this: Muggleborns belong . They’re children of magic just like the rest of us. The problem isn’t them—it’s Wix. Wix forgot how to return what they took. And if they don’t remember…’

He trailed off, jaw tightening slightly before he forced his shoulders to relax.

‘If they don’t, we lose everything.’

Remus didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, finally, ‘And your part in all this? You think it’s your job to fix it?’

Hari’s smile was tired. ‘I don’t think. I know. Warlocks are only born when the Balance is in danger. And it is. I’ve spent the last ten years preparing—learning how to fight, how to listen and interact with the Deep, how to…to rule, if the time comes.’

He looked down at his cold tea, then back up. ‘Whether you believe me or not… doesn’t change what’s coming.’

Sirius reached over and briefly squeezed his shoulder. ‘He’s not alone in this. But yeah. It’s real. All of it.’

He felt so…old, then. Tired. Weary. Sirius looked grave, as he always did when the subject was broached. Hari knew this wasn't the life his godfather wanted for him—knew it wasn't the life his parents had wanted for him—but they both knew painfully well that even in a world with magic and impossible things, you don't always get what you want.

'Pup—'

'I'm tired, actually. I think I’ll get my head down.' He interrupted with a weak smile towards his godfather. 'Sorry, Sirius. Remus, I hope you decide to stay. Truly. Goodnight to you both. You as well, Kreacher.' And with that he rose from his chair and fled.

Chapter Text

- Theo -

Platform 9¾ was buzzing with activity when Theo felt the squeezing suction of apparition lift from his stomach. The familiar magnificent red train billowing a long column of steam sat utterly still as crowds of chattering witches and wizards bustled around it, dragging heavy trunks and owls and cats in cages. He blinked, instinctively pulling in his magic as the soft cloth of the Principessa's robe fell away. He turned to face her, finding a strange measure of comfort in the gentle sparkle in her dark eyes. 

‘Feel free to find a compartment, Theo. I will return for Blaise. Let me know if you decide to accompany him over the holidays—you are more than welcome.’

‘Thank you, Principessa, but I don't want to impose.’

‘It would be no imposition. I am your guardian, and more than that you are my son's most beloved friend. Our home is always open to you.’

Theo gave a nod, but didn't smile, and the Principessa didn't press. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her robes and retrieved his shrunken trunk, placing it on the ground beside them and enlarging it with a practised flick of her wand.

‘Thank you,’ he answered simply, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to each of her cheeks. ‘Please tell Blaise I've gone to find a compartment.’

‘Of course. Take care, Theo.’

‘You as well.’

The crowds pushed and pulled, difficult to navigate with his full-sized trunk, but he managed with patience. Inside, the train was even more chaotic than the platform, with everyone rushing through to snag an empty place that they might save for their friends.

After the end of last year and the spectacular death of his father, on school grounds no less, the Hogwarts Express was probably the last place he wanted to be. Students stared and whispered as he passed through one car, then another, both fully occupied. Theo bore the attention with gritted teeth.

He had gone from relatively ignored to the height of Hogwarts gossip, it would seem.

Damn the man who sired him.

Finally, after his third agonising car, he caught sight of an empty compartment—or nearly empty, anyway—then felt his eyes widen suddenly when he recognised the single person inside.

The gorgeous boy from Gringotts.

He sat beside the window, eyes closed, head resting gently against the glass. His windswept curls framed his handsome face and partially concealed the scar down his brow as well as the faint one parallel to his jaw. Despite his casually resting demeanour, Theo spotted him fiddling with an Heir ring adorning his middle finger, occasionally switching to a second ring on the forefinger of the opposite hand. He wore robes rather than Muggle clothes today, though of a more form-fitting cut than Theo was used to, and the Hogwarts uniform shirt and trousers showed expert tailoring. Strangely, his tie remained the striped grey of a first-year’s.

The question was, should he continue on and risk being unable to find an empty compartment, or stay here? The boy didn't know him—or rather, didn't know the tale of his father's outrageousness—unless he had somehow heard tell of it in the Alley.

‘Move, Nott—you're blocking the way.’ Grumbled a snotty voice Theo placed as Zacharias Smith from behind him. ‘Well, are you getting in the compartment or not?’

Theo sent the other boy a scathing glare, but opened the compartment door and dragged his trunk in regardless.

‘Finally!’ Smith huffed, pulling his own trunk down the corridor. 

‘Excuse me, would you mind if my friend and I join you?’ He asked as the boy opened his eyes and sat up to face him. Rather than the grey Theo was expecting, though, it was a vivid green that met his, and he desperately fought the flush he could feel starting to rise in his cheeks as the boy smiled.

‘Feel free,’ he said, gesturing to the seat across. His accent was surprising, but only added to the appeal. Welsh, almost, but with a hint of German? There was something about this boy that Theo couldn't place—something he only felt around places of powerful magic. Otherworldly, almost.

‘Thank you.’ Theo replied, running mostly on instinct as his heart began to beat harder in his chest. He leaned back, grabbing his trunk by the handles to lift it up into the storage space.

‘Do you want some help with your trunk?’

‘Hmm? Oh, no, thank you. Featherlight charms.’ He heard himself say, then heaved it up into the empty shelf across from the boy before sitting down carefully on the bench so as not to wrinkle his own robes too badly.

The boy was studying him, seemingly curious, and Theo was startled to notice the long, white claw earring dangling from his right ear to brush against the top of his shoulder. It looked old, and the rough golden cap attaching it to the chain which pierced his ear even older. He was almost certain he hadn't seen him wear it at Gringotts, though it would have fit his Muggle clothes in style.

‘I'm Theodore. Nott. By the way. Heir to the House of Nott.’ He heard himself blurt, awkwardly, but held in the instinct to wince.

The boy grinned. ‘I know. I heard your friend, that day at Gringotts.’

Theo couldn't hold in his wince this time. ‘Malfoy. Not my friend, just…a Housemate. He's a bit…’

‘Impetuous? Overbearing? Snotty?’ The boy's tone was wry, his smile higher on one side, and Theo snorted.

‘Obnoxious, I was going to say, but yes, those as well.’

The compartment door slid open again with a clatter, Blaise's familiar face poking through with an easy smile before he turned back to grab his own trunk.

‘Knock, knock. You could have waited, you know. I almost got run down by Weasley on my way to the train—’ he paused, hefting the trunk up to wedge beside Theo's. ‘You'll never believe it but he had a Prefect badge on. Oh, hello there, sorry—I'm Blaise Zabini.’ He said, holding a hand out towards the boy who looked confused for a moment before tentatively reaching out and shaking it.

‘Hari Potter.’ 

Theo felt his eyes widen of their own volition, and Blaise's smile froze on his face before he recovered gracefully.

‘Ah…well met, Heir Potter.’ Potter gave him a cheeky smile.

‘Well met, Zabini. Forgive me, but is that going to be a problem? I understand that certain Families don't care much for the Boy Who Lived.’ The title, almost sneered, startled Theo out of his stupor.

‘Not a problem at all, Heir Potter,’ Theo cut in, ‘well met. Now, Families such as Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pucey—’

‘Avery, Carrow, Lestrange, Rosier—’ cut in Blaise.

‘Are all people to watch out for. My father supported the Dark Lord, but he died at the end of last year. I've no desire to follow in his footsteps.’ Theo said lowly, disregarding Blaise's incredulous look. Theo knew he wasn’t the most forthcoming of people; he was quiet naturally, even before the death of his mother. He had only befriended Blaise in second year, after the rest of the Houses had turned against Slytherin with the petrifications until they stopped. Still, his father was dead and now Theo was finally free to be himself—to act as himself—and even before he had recognised the boy from Gringotts as Hari Potter, he was determined to try and know him. Extend an offer of friendship, possibly more if the boy was so inclined. If not, well, at least he could begin to branch out from under the influence of the reputation of the House of Nott by being a known friend to a Muggleborn.

Plus, even if everything remained platonic, it wasn’t like it was a chore, per se. He was gorgeous, mysterious, possibly powerful, and obviously not afraid of Theo; an intriguing combination. Sure, it could turn out that he was a complete and utter knob the likes of Smith, but for some reason Theo didn’t think that was the case. Either way, despite his disinterest in extending a hand in friendship to anyone besides Blaise in the past five years of his schooling, he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that—if he did want to befriend someone—he needed to show a bit of reciprocity.

Potter smiled, cunning and with what Theo hoped was a hint of something like interest. ‘That is wonderful to hear, Heir Nott.’

‘Theo.’ He blurted, and felt his flush returning. ‘Feel free to call me Theo.’ Blaise was outright gaping now, watching their exchange with wide eyes as he slowly lowered himself into the bench beside Potter. Theo ignored him with long practice.

‘Hari, then. Both of you. I—’

The sharp, sudden burst of a whistle interrupted him and the train began to lurch forward. Potter—Hari—seemed momentarily alarmed before his expression evened out into something more neutral.

‘Everything alright Hari?’ Blaise asked, brows furrowed.

‘Yes, sorry. I've never ridden on a train before.’

Before either he or Blaise could comment, the compartment door rattled open once again. Theo turned to face the newcomer, tensing his muscles in preparation for whomever it might be, but relaxed slightly at the sight of Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom hovering anxiously behind her. She hadn't grown much over the summer, still short and slight, wearing a purple skirt with yellow spots over green tights and a bright pink wool jumper. Her tell-tale Butterbeer cork necklace rested awkwardly over the chunky knit, and he caught sight of what appeared to be dangling earrings in the shape of radishes when she moved to tuck her hair behind her ear.

‘Hello,’ she began, her voice soft and dream-like. ‘Neville didn't think we'd be welcome, but I thought since the fál is here it would be alright. Do you mind if we join you?’

Theo frowned, but a darting glance at Hari caught him smiling, amused. He knew that no matter what Hari answered, Longbottom at least wouldn't stay unless either he or Blaise would say so. Lovegood was a different matter, of course—Theo didn't think she did anything but exactly what she wanted to at any given time. 

And that was the crux of it, really. Hari Potter had returned from wherever it was he had been the last ten years. He didn't think it was a coincidence—the Dark Lord and Hari returning within months of each other. Theo didn't believe in coincidence, anyway. Not in a world of magic with the Old Gods at play. He’d also become determined, moreso since the events at the end of last school year, that he’d never follow in his father's missteps. Being seen with the Boy Who Lived as well as the Heir of a Family in staunch opposition to the Dark Lord would be a natural first step. Even Blaise would understand that—their views on the matter were of a similar vein—and his oldest friend would certainly agree that this was an excellent opportunity fallen directly into their laps.

‘Do you mind, Hari?’ He asked, voice carefully neutral, but the amused boy only shook his head.

‘Not at all.’

Lovegood smiled, her teeth a little crooked in a charming way.

‘Oh, good.’ 

‘Do you need help with your trunks?’ Hari asked, unfailingly polite.

‘That would be very helpful,’ she replied just as Longbottom opened his mouth to respond—probably in the negative.

Before any of them could react, though, a wand appeared in Hari's right hand, bone white and spiralled, as if two vines had twisted together, and covered in black runes. A small flick and both Longbottom and Lovegood's trunks vanished, reappearing on the storage shelf above Hari's bench. Theo couldn't help his eyes from widening at the casual display of what should be impossible magic.

‘Oh, thank you.’ Lovegood said, seemingly unphased, and dragged a gaping Longbottom into the compartment and onto the seat beside Theo.

‘What—how did you do that?’ Blaise asked, voice incredulous. ‘That's…’

Hari frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You made it vanish,’ Longbottom answered, ‘and then reappear in a different place. V-vanishing charms and conjuration don't work that way.’

Blaise nodded. ‘Exactly. You can move an object through space, with depulso or levioso or accio or similar, or you can vanish an object, or you can conjure an object, but without ritual circles in place you can't…translocate objects. Not specific ones, anyway.’ 

Theo watched Hari's brow furrow in confusion and felt his wonder grow. Could he really be unaware of exactly how impossible the feat he casually performed was?

Taking pity on him, Theo tried to clarify. ‘The closest thing would be conjuration, but that only conjures the closest object matching that description into your possession or uses materials like moonstone to create a new object completely. Either way, you can't specify. I could conjure a bottle of wine, but I can't specify exactly which bottle. Same with trunks; if Blaise tried to conjure his actual trunk, and not just a facsimile of his trunk which wouldn't have his things in it and may not be permanent, it wouldn't work because technically Lovegood's trunk is closer to him. But let's say it did work—then the trunk would appear in his lap, not in a separate space that he specified, like the shelf. For that to work it would have to be delineated space, which is limited to elemental spells like weather charms or incendio. Unless, as Blaise said, you delineated through the use of ritual circles.’

‘It's because it's Ancient Magic. Isn't that right?’ Asked Lovegood, simply and calmly. 

Hari tensed instantly, and Theo was alarmed to feel a sudden heavy pressure making the air of the compartment thick and oppressive and crackling with magic. The next instant, though, it was gone. Instead of answering, Hari stared at her with what appeared on the surface to be a curious look, but Theo could feel the hidden danger lurking just beneath. He was powerful. Handsome and deadly, exactly Theo's type. Damn.

‘What's your name?’

‘Oh, s-sorry, that's Luna. Luna Lovegood.’ Longbottom cut in, giving Hari a wary smile and a small wave. ‘I'm Neville Longbottom.’

Hari's intense look softened.

‘Nice to meet you both.’

‘Hello, fál. It's good to see you've returned.’ Lovegood said with an absent-minded smile. ‘Have you come to restore the Balance?’

Like most things Lovegood said, it didn't really make much sense to Theo, but Hari didn't appear confused at all. Instead, he returned her smile.

‘Yes. Well, to try anyway. Things don't always work out the way they're meant.’

Lovegood nodded. ‘That's true. The Emrys worked without much guidance, though. I hope your path has less Nargles to confuse you. They like to do that, you know.’

He blinked at that, brow slightly furrowed. ‘Uh, thank you. I think.’ 

She bowed her head in acknowledgement before reaching into her pocket to pull out a copy of the Quibbler and settling further back in her seat to read. Hari shook his head slightly, his earring swaying with the movement.

‘So—are you related to Frank and Alice Longbottom?’ He asked after a moment, directing his attention towards Longbottom who jerked a bit in surprise. 

‘Oh, um, y-yes. They're—they're my parents.’

Hari grinned. It transformed his face from beautiful and dangerous to something even more devastating. Merlin, but Theo was weak.

‘Really? My godfather told me a lot about them. They were all friends at Hogwarts. Especially our mums.’

Longbottom lit up. ‘Oh! Who's your godfather?’

‘Siri—’ Hari started at the same time Lovegood replied, ‘Stubby Boardman,’ from behind her magazine. Longbottom looked between the two, confused. Hari giggled, the sound feeling like a punch to Theo's sternum, and Blaise stopped rolling his eyes to squint at Theo in suspicion. 

Sometimes it was very annoying to have a friend who could read you so well.

‘The lead singer of the Hobgoblins is your godfather?’

Hari laughed at that, bow-shaped lips pulled across white teeth, doubling over so his hair brushed forward and his earring swayed. Merlin wept and Theo—Theo was wrecked. He stared at the boy, entranced, mouth open almost imperceptibly. Blaise, the knobhead, clearly had some kind of realisation and his suspicious look morphed into a smirk. 

The wanker.

‘Ah, not as such,’ Hari wheezed once he caught his breath, darting a look towards Lovegood as if to make sure she didn't take offence. ‘Sirius Black is, though. He might've been in a band at some point, but I've heard his attempts to sing so I'd rather hope not. Oh, I'm Hari by the way—Hari Potter. I don't think I introduced myself.’

Longbottom sat up straight, jaw dropping slightly.

‘Neville, you'll attract blithering humdingers with your mouth like that,’ Lovegood said airily, and Longbottom promptly closed it.

‘I—you're Hari Potter? But—you've been missing! For years! Does that mean—is what the Headmaster said last year true, then? About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning? My great-uncle Algie said the Headmaster’s barmy, but my gran wasn't so sure.’ He paused for a moment, his posture drooping and shoulders hunching forward. He pointedly did not look at Theo. ‘We were there, you know, at the end of last year. Me, Luna, and Hermione were visiting Hagrid. I couldn't let him face Buckbeak's execution by himself with only Moody there. I heard what they were shouting.’

Theo froze, acutely aware of each breath in and out. Blaise's smirk fell, concern shadowing his face, while Hari frowned, looking towards Theo and back to Longbottom.

‘I'm not—Tom Riddle is back, if that's what you mean,’ Hari began slowly, quietly, as if picking his words with great care. ‘I don't know the exact details; Remus only said there was an incident at Hogwarts and the Defense professor was kidnapped and used in some shoddy Necromantic ritual to bring him back. They found his body at a graveyard near Riddle's family home. The Minister apparently thinks if people knew about it they'd panic, so he's making everyone pretend it was a terrible accident.’ He snorted. ‘As if Necromancy, no matter how badly performed, wouldn't be obvious,’ he muttered.

Longbottom pursed his lips. ‘Professor Lupin? From third year? But how does he know?’

Hari shrugged, still watching Theo from the corner of his eye with a look of disquiet that made his heart beat faster. ‘Heard from Dumbledore, I think. At least, that's what he told me.’

‘I'm sorry about your father, Theodore,’ Lovegood added after a moment, her magazine lowered into her lap. Theo's heart dropped.

‘I'm not.’ He answered, voice probably a bit too harsh. ‘He made his choices.’

Longbottom stared at him with his eyebrows raised and Lovegood seemed a bit sad with his response but didn't comment. Blaise was clearly trying to decide if he should step in or not when Theo finally worked up the courage to look Hari in the eye. 

The boy seemed grim, lips turned in a gentle mou, but the intense, otherworldly bottle green held only understanding—no pity, thankfully. Theo couldn't handle that.

‘Well, no chance of anything like that happening this year, I should think, what with the Tournament finally happening and all. There's bound to be loads of extra security.’ Blaise drawled cutting through the tense silence of the compartment. Theo allowed himself a heavy sigh, whether in relief or exasperation or both he wasn't quite sure.

‘Tournament?’ Both Hari and Longbottom asked.

‘The Triwizard Tournament. They were meant to have it last year, but Crouch was one of the main organisers so when he got arrested at the Quidditch World Cup last summer they had to postpone.’

Longbottom's eyes widened in recognition, but Hari remained obviously confused.

‘It's meant to be a secret, Blaise,’ Theo muttered, but his friend was clearly unrepentant and only gave a doleful shrug.

‘Not much of a secret with Malfoy constantly nattering on about it all last year.’ 

‘I—what's the Triwizard Tournament?’ Hari asked, eyes locked onto Theo, a hint of interest making them sparkle. ‘Is it like a melee?’

‘It's a competition, basically. Three Wizarding schools get together and one champion from each gets chosen to compete in three deadly tasks. The one who completes them all the best wins, I think. They used to have it every five years but stopped around 200 years ago because of the death toll.’ Longbottom answered, surprisingly knowledgeable. At Theo and Blaise's look he shrunk in on himself a bit. ‘My gran's great grandfather Fergus was Headmaster of Hogwarts when they had the last Tournament. Got his arm bitten off by an escaped cockatrice. His portrait never stops bragging about it.’ He said with a weak shrug.

‘Schools? Is it to earn your Mastery or something? But why do they limit it to only three participants?’ Hari questioned with a frown.

‘It's not to earn a Mastery, it's just…for the glory of it. The winner gets to say they're a Triwizard Champion and gets some prize money.’ Blaise answered. Hari looked thoughtful.

‘Then how do they choose who'll compete?’

‘No idea,’ Longbottom said, and both Theo and Blaise gave him a shrug.

‘Perhaps they'll pick the people with the least amount of Wrackspurts,’ Lovegood offered with a contemplative tilt to her head. ‘Hari should have no problem in that case.’

Hari's eyes grew wide in alarm. ‘I—a tournament would be fun, but I don't really have time for one this year. We won't be forced to sign up, will we?’

‘I'm sure it's voluntary, Hari.’ Theo hurried to assure him quietly, and was rewarded with a relieved smile.

‘Oh, good.’

The conversation continued as the Express chugged onward, rumbling past towns and fields and sheep. Hari and Blaise were the most outgoing, though Longbottom became more and more comfortable piping up as discussions remained light. Theo himself kept quiet for the most part, but answered the occasional question here and there. Overall, he was content to watch the interplay between his best friend, Longbottom, Lovegood, and the enigma that was Hari Potter.

And he was something of an enigma. He made no mention of where he had been the past ten years, skillfully changing the subject when the topic came close enough that someone might ask a related question. Wherever it was, though, it didn't seem like he was unprepared for Hogwarts despite coming in for OWL year. He treated magic as if it were an extension of himself, silently and wandlessly vanishing sweet wrappers from a handful of sweets they'd purchased from the trolley witch when she passed through despite it being a 5th year spell; he engaged Longbottom in a long, complicated discussion involving various rare or extinct magical plants that Theo didn't bother trying to keep up with; and even Lovegood was drawn into his impassioned explanation about the importance of Arthimantic formulae in the use of Futhark rune arrays for the cyclical rites. 

About half an hour before they reached Hogsmead station, though, is when everything seemed to go pear-shaped. Longbottom had taken out a rare plant—mimbulus something or other that Theo had never heard of—he'd gotten for his birthday to show them when it suddenly squirted stinksap everywhere. It covered the ceiling, seats, floor, and walls in thick splatters; Lovegood's magazine, lap, and legs; and Blaise and Theo’s robes after they had both put up their hands to stop it getting on their faces. Poor Longbottom, holding the plant itself, was completely covered from head to toe. The only one left untouched was Hari who had wandlessly and wordlessly thrown up a shield charm, but still looked completely shocked.

Longbottom sputtered, face covered in the noxious green goop. The foul smell made Theo try desperately not to gag. 

‘Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry—it does that sometimes—a defense mechanism—’ Longbottom said (possibly, since it was difficult to understand him), trying unsuccessfully to wipe his face with his sleeve. Blaise whipped out his wand to cast a quick scourgify when Weasley slammed his way into the compartment, Granger hovering worriedly behind him. 

And, as Weasley was prone to do, he completely misunderstood the entire situation.

‘You slimy snake!’ He shouted, face going as red as his hair as he pointed his own wand at Blaise. ‘What do you think you're doing!’

‘It was my plant, Ron—’ Longbottom tried, though with the combined force of the horrible stench and him trying to make sure none of the sap got in his mouth, the words were almost impossible to make out.

Thankfully Hari had recovered from his startled state and waved a hand. The stinksap vanished, but Weasley still didn't lower his wand.

‘Hey now, let's just calm down a moment, alright?’ Hari said, voice low. ‘I'm sure this isn't what you think.’

Weasley squinted at him for a moment, then scoffed. ‘You must be the mysterious new fifth year Diggory told us about. Haven't even gotten to the castle before throwing your lot in with the Slytherins, huh? Well let me explain exactly what I think and maybe you'll think twice! What I think is that this evil git is picking on Neville—’

‘No, Ron—’ Longbottom tried again.

‘Ron—’ said Granger, grabbing his elbow to pull him back.

‘—like they always do! Why are you even sitting with these snakes Neville, huh?’

Longbottom frowned. ‘Hermione was in the Perfect's compartment and the twins are with Lee and the girls. I went to sit with Luna and she picked here. Everything was fine until my mimbulus mimbletonia got set off—nobody was picking on me. I don't know why you even care.’

Weasley sneered. ‘Because they're clearly up to something! Probably curse you when your back is turned!’

‘Ron stop—they weren't doing anything.’ Granger insisted, her flyaway hair looking even more wild than usual.

Blaise rolled his eyes, slipping his wand back up his sleeve but Theo could see the top from underneath the hem ready to fly back in his hand at a moment's notice. ‘We aren't planning anything of the sort, Weasley.’

Hari was glowering at this point, the thick, oppressive feeling of magic rising back up that Theo remembered from earlier. He leaned forward and opened his mouth, ostensibly to say something in Blaise's defense, when Theo shot out a hand to grasp his wrist under the table with a subtle shake of his head. He could feel his own rapid pulse racing in time to match Hari's, who paused, slowly sitting back.

‘Get off, Hermione!’ Weasley bellowed, tugging his arm free from Granger's grasp and glaring, chest puffed up in indignant self-importance. ‘Why should I believe you? You're always picking on Gryffindors! And with Harry Potter gone, Neville's the next target, that what you think? Probably ecstatic when your precious Dark Lord crawled his way out of that cauldron this summer into a body so you could kiss his bloody boots!’

Blaise raised a single brow, face completely made of stone. ‘Weasley, I've never spoken to Longbottom in my entire life until today. Neither has Theo. And in case you missed it, my skin is a bit too dark and supple for me to be mistaken for Lucius Malfoy.’

The red-haired boy huffed, face turning almost alarmingly red now, before Hari spoke up.

‘Really, we were just enjoying the train ride. Listen to your friend, she seems to have the right of it. If you're finished accusing people of being evil for the simple fact that they're in Slytherin House, could you please leave us alone?’

‘Ron, come on!’ Granger insisted, grabbing his arm again. ‘Don't! We have to complete our rounds and they're not doing anything. Neville can sit with whomever he wants. Do you want to be removed as Prefect for hexing someone on the train before you've even stepped one foot in the castle?’

Theo wasn't sure if it was the threat of losing his Prefect badge or something else, but finally—finally Weasley lowered his wand with a furious glare. ‘Fine. But I've got an eye on you. Try anything—’

Blaise waived a dismissive hand. ‘Yes, yes, you'll hex us to bits. We know. Good bye Weasley.’ He turned to the other Prefect and gave a polite nod. ‘Granger.’

‘Zabini.’ She answered with a nod of her own after herding her fuming classmate out the door. Her face softened as she turned towards Longbottom and Lovegood. ‘Luna, Nev, you should probably change into your robes—we'll be arriving soon.’ She added, then started down the corridor leaving the compartment to shut behind her.

The awkward silence left behind was almost suffocating. Longbottom looked both angry and embarrassed, Blaise and Hari both stoney faced. Theo himself was desperately fighting the urge to squirm in his seat like a child. The only one who appeared nonplussed was Lovegood, staring at the door with an absent expression.

‘Well, he certainly was angry, wasn't he?’ She said, voice dreamy.

It broke the tension though, causing first Blaise then Longbottom then Hari to laugh.

‘He's always angry about something. You remember that time last year when one of the twins managed to sneak something into his pumpkin juice that turned his hair blond like Malfoy and squeak out everything he said like a ferret for an entire day?’ Longbottom chortled and Blaise laughed harder.

‘Oh, Merlin, yes—’ Theo chuckled. ‘I thought he'd have a fit in the middle of the Great Hall.’

‘I've always wondered why, though. Usually their pranks wear off after a few minutes—from what I heard not even Madam Pomfrey could fix it. You’re close with the twins, aren’t you? Do you know?’ Blaise asked, grinning. Longbottom sighed.

‘He was being a git to Hermione again. It was right after he got together with Lavender, actually. When Hermione asked them to snog somewhere other than in the middle of the common room, he told her that she was just jealous since nobody wanted to snog her and wouldn't be likely to anytime soon with her buck teeth.’ Longbottom said, the light mood in the compartment falling away almost completely. ‘It was pretty horrible, actually. Even Lavender told him off for it. I don't know why he seems to hate her so much. He gets along with me alright usually and she's my best mate. Sure, she likes to study and all, and she can be a bit intense about it, but she's dead smart and really nice.’

Blaise hummed. ‘I've always found her to be perfectly polite in Arithmancy.’

‘She helps me find my shoes as well, when the Nargles take them.’ Lovegood added before rising to her feet and stowing her magazine back in her jacket. ‘Come on Neville, we'd better take her advice and change. I want to get off the train early to say hello to the thestrals.’ 

Longbottom nodded, following her example. They collected their uniforms from their trunks and put their things away then swiftly left the compartment to change in the toilets.

The train began to slow, the familiar mountains surrounding the castle rising up a dark blue against the lighter blue of the dusky sky out the window.

‘Do you know if you have to go with the first years to be sorted? I've never heard of a fifth year start before,’ Blaise asked after a few minutes of quiet and Hari shrugged.

‘Not sure—my letter just said that I'd have to present myself at the Chamber of Reception. Is there something special they do for first years?’

‘Usually, the groundskeeper takes them on boats across the Black Lake to a separate entrance. Everyone else rides carriages to the main doors. The views from the boats are pretty spectacular in comparison, though they're fairly small. You'd probably have to ride by yourself but you’d fit, I think, considering Hagrid's massive and he still manages.’ Theo answered, giving the boy a small smile.

‘You should definitely use the boats, if he lets you.’ Blaise added. ‘You get to ride them back the other way at the end of seventh year, but it doesn't really have the same effect, I’d imagine. Do you have any particular House you want to be in?’

Hari smiled, something teasing that made Theo's heart flutter dangerously. ‘Why, advocating for Slytherin? I'm shocked that you think I'd fall for such an obvious ploy.’

Blaise grinned, unrepentant. ‘It's not the worst House, though most Houses besides Ravenclaw might argue otherwise. Though to be fair, you'd have to deal with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.’

‘Gryffindor has Weasley, Thomas, and Finnegan, though. Thomas isn't so bad, but Finnegan has a vicious temper—almost as bad as Weasley.’ Theo pointed out and Blaise nodded.

‘You'd probably have the best overall dorm atmosphere in Ravenclaw, so long as you don't mind swots. Hufflepuff would be fine, but for Smith.’

Theo snorted, eyes firmly fixed out of the window. ‘Complete and utter wanker,’ he mumbled. 

‘You won't forget about us down in the dungeons after you've inevitably been sorted into Gryffindor, will you?’ Blaise asked with a charming smile. He did it on purpose, Theo knew, and despaired at the heat rising in his cheeks. Hari grinned.

‘Of course not.’

Just as Longbottom and Lovegood had returned and put away their change of clothes, the train came to a stop. Blaise, Theo, and Hari all rose from their seats, stretching their legs and straightening the wrinkles from their robes and uniforms. Lovegood, Longbottom, and Blaise left first, the latter two caught up in a quiet discussion while Lovegood floated off in her usual way.

Hari reached up to grab his trunk when Theo stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

‘We leave them—the House Elves will bring them directly to our dorms after the welcoming feast.’

He stared at him, wide-eyed, then turned back to his trunk with a stricken expression before slowly lowering his arms to his sides. Theo held back the impulse to frown. The trunk was unusual, to say the least; completely rectangular and very elegant with copper straps in the shape of vines and smooth, waxed leather embossed in what appeared to be runes, though they weren't the Futhark he was used to. There didn’t even appear to be a hole for a key, despite the large filigree copper latch lock.

‘They won't let any harm come to it.’ He reassured, and Hari gave him a hint of a smile.

‘It's just—important to me.’ He sighed quietly. ‘It's one of the only…ah, I'm being silly, don't mind me.’

They exited the compartment, the push of the crowds almost overwhelming after the relatively calm journey. Theo made sure to keep Hari in front of him, hand on his elbow, though to assure himself or the other boy in the face of the excited student population he didn't really know.

Finally the rush of cool Highlands air greeted them as they stepped off the train and onto the platform. The bustle was less pronounced here, with most people already lining up at the far side of the stone wall to catch a carriage.

‘First years, first years, this way, please! No, don't push—’

Called a voice that Theo didn't recognise and Hari went completely rigid.

‘Hari—are you alright? Hari?’

‘First years—’

Hari took off like a shot, leaving a baffled Theo in the dust.

Chapter Text

‘First years, first years, this way, please! No, don't push—’ ’

Hari felt himself freeze completely at the achingly familiar sound of that voice.

‘Hari—are you alright? Hari?’ He heard Theo ask behind him, but he couldn't for the life of him get his throat to respond.

‘First years—’

He was running before he could even process, dodging students left and right while they casually meandered down the platform. In his haste he nearly bowled over a tiny boy with excitable, electric blue magic and stepped on at least three people's feet but couldn't make himself stop and apologise.

Then, he saw then man calling, ‘First years, this way!’ And froze again.

He was here .

He was older than Hari last saw him, though his dark hair was still cut short and mussed and his magic was still a swirling glow of gold that lit up his deep blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He grinned at what must be a first year student, ruffling the boy's hair and pointing in the direction of a break in the wall to his right before lifting his hand to cup around his mouth again.

‘First years—’

‘Hari!’ He heard Theo panting from behind him. ‘What happened? Are you alright?’

The world around him became a blur and he couldn't stop his shoulders from shaking.

‘He—he's here—’ he choked out, though the words felt thick and sluggish. 

‘Who's here?’ Theo asked, hand hovering at his back, his voice soothing but for a hint of alarm. ‘That man? Calling the first years? I don't know who he is - normally it's Hagrid.’

But Hari couldn't have answered even if he wanted to, because Merlin—his brother —caught sight of Hari and his eyes widened.

Hari raced forward, throwing his arms around Merlin's neck with a harsh breath, barely recognising the fact that he was suddenly being held just as tightly with one of Merlin's long-fingered hands coming up to cup the back of his head.

‘I thought I'd never see you again—’ he whispered in Brythonic between sobs. ‘I thought—’

‘Shhhh, it's alright Hari, I'm here. I'm here. Everything's going to be fine.’ 

They stood like that for a few long moments, Hari deeply breathing in the soothing, desperately familiar smell of Merlin's magic: fresh rushes on a dirt floor mixed with herbs from their garden and wildflowers from the forest. As soon as he felt like the universe wasn't completely tilting on its axis he pulled away with one more hiccuping sob, though kept his arms firmly on Merlin's shoulders.

Merlin just smiled in that cheerful, mischievous way he always did, reaching up with both hands to wipe the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs.

‘I can't believe it's already time.’ He said with a cheeky grin. ‘I'd almost forgotten.’

Hari snorted and sent him a half-hearted glare. ‘You couldn't have warned me? Had to be all cryptic, leaving me a sarding ring at Gringotts that nearly blew me up when I put it on and sent the Goblins into a frenzy.’

‘Now where would the fun be in that? Just wait until you've lived 900 years the long way—it's shockingly dull.’ He snarked. Hari hit him.

‘Not funny, arsehole.’

‘Pfft, says you.’ But he brushed gentle fingers through Hari's hair with a tender look on his face. ‘Gwaine misses you. Said to give you a kiss.’

Hari made a face. ‘Please don't kiss me, I don't fancy having to explain to the professors why I've drowned you.’ Merlin laughed.

‘Speaking of professors,’ he said in modern English after he’d calmed down a moment, ‘I'd better get back to rounding up the first years before we're late or McGonagall is going to eat me alive. Terrifying woman. You'll get along famously, I'm sure.’ Merlin said, pulling away fully. ‘You coming along in the boats?’

Hari nodded. ‘Yes, a few students I met on the train recommended it.’

‘Alright. They're just through the hedge there,’ he said, pointing to the opening. ‘Though you might want to take a minute to calm down your handsome friend—he seems rather… worried about you. Gwaine would approve.’ He added in Brythonic with a wicked smirk, flapping his eyebrows in a way that looked ridiculous with his prominent ears. Hari flushed regardless.

‘Git.’ He threw back, without heat, but turned back to see Theo hovering back where he'd left him. On the outside he appeared unphased, but the agitated roiling of his forest green magic gave away his anxiety. He was the only person Hari had ever met whose magic reacted in such a way, and it was fascinating to say the least. Magical control was difficult to master, especially when you couldn't actually see it. Most of the time people didn't realise that their magic had shape and form, so they wouldn't try to put effort into shaping it any which way. Magic also naturally reflected feelings, and while there were subtle variations here or there based on personality, it was easy to spot the patterns that formed from basic emotions: agitation, anxiety, and stress was usually spiked; anger and frustration made magic whip; surprise made it spread out in all directions; happiness and excitement made it jump and roll as if in play.

But Theo had his magic tightly controlled; a reflection of his tightly controlled emotions, Hari supposed. It was usually very still, calm and unmoving, but when Ron Weasley had stormed into their carriage and accused Blaise of bullying Neville, Hari couldn't mistake the flashes of anger in his eye even if his magic only responded with small sparks. Now, it roiled instead of spiked despite the hint of anxiety he'd heard in the boy's voice before tackling Merlin.

‘Theo—’ he said, jogging back towards him. And if he was possibly more breathless than normal, he'd stab anyone who called him out on it. Who wouldn't be a little out of breath with having the full attention of such a gorgeous Wix? ‘Sorry—I—’

‘Are you alright?’ Theo asked, kindly not mentioning the remaining evidence of Hari's burst of emotion.

‘Yes, fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you.’

Theo smiled then, insomuch as he ever really seemed to smile, his magic settling back into its regular stillness. ‘A friend of yours, I take it?’

Hari threw him a grin. ‘Yes, kind of. He was my mentor for…well, since I left the Dursleys. He's like a brother to me. I didn't expect to see him here, to be honest.’

Theo chuckled, low and quiet enough that Hari wondered if he imagined it. ‘I could tell, yes.’

Hari rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks for waiting and checking in—I'm going to head over on the boats and harass…well, I'm heading to the boats in any case. I'll see you up at the castle?’

The other boy nodded, then smirked. ‘Sounds good.’ he said, turning and starting to jog back towards the carriages. ‘Be careful of the Giant Squid!’ he called behind him.

Hari rolled his eyes, trudging back towards Merlin who appeared to be herding the final, straggling first years. Ridiculous thought, a giant squid in the Black Lake. 

The path down to the water was rough and slippery, though thankfully lit by dim torches which highlighted the rough bark of the trees lining each side. More than one child wobbled in an attempt to maintain balance and not be left behind, quietly concentrating on footwork rather than making small talk.

'Careful now, watch your step!' Merlin called just before what appeared to be a particularly steep bend, 'Just a bit further, then you'll have your first look at the castle.'

Exclamations of 'Wow!' and 'Wicked!' trailed from around the bend, though Hari noticed the excitement did not seem to extend to one particular girl completely trailing the rest. Her straight, mousey brown hair was cropped to her slumped shoulders, and as she turned just ahead of him he could see the look of fear on her face. Just as he was about to ask if she was alright, though, he caught sight of the achingly familiar massive, glowing structure perched high on the top of a cliff across the dark waters of the lake. He sucked in a harsh breath.

It was bigger than he remembered—much bigger, though he should have expected it—but the basic shape he remembered was still visible despite the various additions and expansions made over the span of centuries.

'Fabulous, isn't it?' Said Merlin jovially, cutting through Hari's apparent stupor. 'Alright everyone, there's boats just in front—no pushing, I said! There's more than enough for all of you. Only four to a boat, mind—wouldn't want any accidents!'

Hari sidled up to Merlin as the gaggle of first years shuffled their way down the dock and into rickety boats. He eyed them warily.

'You think one would hold both of us, or should I try for my own?'

Merlin bit his lip. 'I'd say it should be fine if we share. Rubeus—the old groundskeeper—he used to take these things twice a year and he's at least three times my size. Half-giant,' he added at Hari's raised brow.

Hari shrugged, moving forward beside Merlin as the last of the children boarded their own boats, the small fleet bobbing up and down in gentle movements. They clambered in a final boat, Hari perching himself on the gnarled wooden bench while Merlin pulled what appeared to be a wand from the pocket of his robes and holding it aloft.

'Hold on tight, now!' He called, waving the wand, and the entire tiny fleet pushed forward. 'Mind your head, there's a tree up ahead!' He warned before scrunching down to sit on the opposite bench and observe.

'You've got a wand, now?' Hari asked in Brythonic, eyeing the four students goggling at the castle in the boat beside them. Merlin winced.

'Considered strange not to have one, nowadays, unless you've gone to Uagadou. Had the devil of a time trying to figure out how to get something to work for me that Wix would recognise as having a magical core. Ended up having to shrink that Sidhe staff, bloody thing.' He griped. Hari snorted.

'Good thing you kept it all those years, then.'

They passed under a tangle of long willow branches dipping into the water, Hogwarts towering above them. It really was magical to see from this perspective, Hari reflected, even if he'd seen it—or a version of it at least—many times before. He remembered the day he'd first arrived at Hogewáþe at Merlin and Sirius's side, clinging to his mentor's tunic with wide, wonder-filled eyes; if what he’d felt back then with the castle half the size it was now had been almost overwhelming, he couldn't imagine what it must be like for the forty-odd eleven year olds in front of them.

The sound of uncontrollable giggles caught his attention then. He squinted at the boats until he caught sight of the frightened girl from before, cringing away from the other three girls in her boat who were laughing so hard it began to rock dangerously.

'Careful, girls!' Called Merlin, but it was too late; one girl with what looked like long, blonde hair toppled over the side with a loud screech, all of the children gasping and murmuring.

'Bronwyn!' Squealed another girl from their boat, hands grasping the edge. Merlin tapped the side of their own boat with a grimace and Hari felt it speed up, but he needn't have bothered. Just as the girl—Bronwyn—had sputtered to the surface, a massive dark tentacle rose with a groan from the water and wrapped itself around her. 

Everyone was screaming after that, clamouring over each other to get closer to the centre of their own boats and as far from the edges as possible. 

'It's alright—it's alright, I said! The Giant Squid is perfectly friendly!' Shouted Merlin calmly but forcefully, though nobody seemed to really believe him if their frightened whimpers were anything to go by. Miraculously, though, all the tentacle did was lift up the sodden girl and deposit her gently back in her own boat before slipping back down into the water. 

They'd reached the girls by then, slowing down to move alongside.

'Are you alright? Had a bit of a fright, did you?' Merlin asked the girl kindly, who promptly burst into tears.

'It was going to eat me!' She wailed, her sodden robes dripping everywhere and Hari resisted the urge to snort. Merlin let out a quiet sigh, but just as he had opened his mouth to respond, she unexpectedly turned to the girl with shoulder-length hair with a fierce glare. 'This is all your fault! Now I've ruined my best robes and my hair is a mess!'

The girl cringed even further, if possible, shrinking in on herself.

'Hey now, none of that, Miss…?'

'Bickle. And it is! If she—' she started, but cut herself off mid-huff, eyeing the other girls gathered around her who were glaring just as intensely at the fourth. 'Well, it's her fault, anyway!'

'I really don't think—but let me get your robes first, before you catch your death—' Merlin said, waving his wand towards Bronwyn. Her robes, previously a water-logged mess, puffed up as if being filled with air and steam rose gently from the fabric until it settled back down completely dry, if not in perfect shape. Another wave and her hair steamed, frizzing up in a tangled mess around her shoulders. Merlin winced. 'Never could quite get that one right. No matter—you're dry. Now, Miss Bickle, I'm quite certain that Miss…' he looked towards the other girl who cringed.

'Eleanora,' she answered quietly, eyes almost pleading.

'Miss Eleanora,' Merlin continued, 'had no intention for you to fall into the lake. Regardless, as I've said, the Giant Squid is a lovely creature and wouldn't harm a snidget. Now, we're almost there—do you think you girls can behave yourselves?' He asked the three with a stern look. They all frowned petulantly, but finally nodded. 

Hari caught Eleanora's eye and gave her a kind smile and a wink, which made her blush to the roots of her hair and turn away quickly. The boats all pushed forward, gently gliding across the water for a few more minutes before they entered what appeared to be a cave neatly hidden in the cliff.

'Oh, you should know that I'm going by the name Ambrose Gwyls,' Merlin said just before their boat came to a gentle stop at one of the small docks within the cavern. Hari dragged his eyes away from the children, all rising from their own boats on unsteady, wobbling legs and attempting to get ashore. 'Please don't call me Merlin,' he begged with a wince. 'Apparently it's become something of a…'

'I know,' Hari giggled. 'I almost died laughing the first time I heard someone exclaim 'Merlin's beard!' in public.'

Merlin groaned, grasping the edge of the wooden dock and heaving himself up, then looking over the gathered children to make sure they'd been able to vacate their boats alright. They stood in a huddled mass on the shore, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation.

'Alright you lot—anyone who has difficulty climbing stairs should stand over there by that lift,' he pointed to a glimmering, ornate bronze grille set into the bedrock beside the entrance to a stone passage. 'You'll be riding with Hari here,' he said, clapping Hari on the shoulder just as he emerged from the boat.

'What?' Hari asked stupidly.

'You don't mind, do you? Just turn left when you get out and lead them up the stairs near the werewolf statue to the courtyard,' He murmured with a grin before jogging forward to the passage. 'Rest of you, come along—follow me! Mind your step now, the staircase can be slippery!'

'Merlin!' Hari hissed, but it was too late. He'd long disappeared with only a trail of students ambling along in his wake.

When the crowd had finally petered out, Hari was left facing two students—a tiny girl with long, dark hair and a sickly complexion and a boy with sandy blond hair on crutches and a plaster cast bulging out from beneath the hem of his robes. 

'Alright there?' He greeted them with a forced smile as he headed towards them. 'I've ah—I've never taken a lift before, actually. Either of you know how it works?' He asked with a self-depreciating grin. The girl looked unsure, but the boy lit up.

'I can show you!' He said brightly. 'You'll have to get the grille, though—a bit difficult with these. Broke my ankle a week ago falling out of a tree in the garden.' He explained morosely as Hari reached out to open the ornate bronze grille, stepping back to allow them to shuffle in before following himself. 'But a bloke I met on the train, he said that the school's uh…mediwitch, she could fix me right up—can you imagine? Healing a broken bone in less than a minute!'

The girl smiled a bit, but didn't answer as Hari shut the grille.

'Oh—now you just pull the lever, I suppose—strange, all the lifts I've been on have buttons to press.' He frowned. 'Not many places have these old fashioned lifts anymore. A bit like the Hogwarts Express.' He mused, seemingly content to babble through the silence.

'Thanks,' said Hari, pulling the bronze lever until it was set in the opposite direction, and the lift jerked to life. 'Bugger—' cursed Hari, caught off guard. The girl gave a quiet giggle and the boy grinned.

'Were you raised in a magic house, then? Since you've never been on a lift before?' He asked.

Hari smiled. 'Yes. And an old fashioned one at that—even older than you'll typically find in a Wixen house.'

The boy turned to the girl, face expectant and open. She simply nodded, but gave him a shy smile as his mouth spread into an enthusiastic grin.

'That's wicked! I'm the only one with magic in my whole family—my parents were shocked when I got my letter. Thought it was a hoax at first, but the woman who brought it, Mrs McGonagall—she was kinda scary actually—she turned our table into a pig! Right there in the kitchen! My mum shot tea straight out of her nose!' He chortled and the girl giggled again.

'My father says that Professor McGonagall can be rather scary,' she offered and the boy nodded enthusiastically.

'My brother said so, too,' Hari said, smiling at them. 'I'm Hari, by the way. What are your names?'

'Oh, I'm Clarence!' The boy said.

'Violet.'

'It's nice to meet you both,' Hari offered with a bow, just as the lift shuddered to a halt. He opened the grille once more, allowing Clarence and Violet to shuffle out before exiting. Before he could shut it, the grille clanked to a close.

'Well,' Hari said after leaving the covered stone corridor and stepping through the open columns to the werewolf statue to their left, ''Me—Ambrose mentioned we should head up the stairs here.' He frowned, then gestured to the two to follow. 'C'mon, then. I'll help you with the stairs if you need it.'

Violet squinted at him, shadowing his steps relatively briskly though Clarence scrambled to catch up. 'Is that the name of that man? My father always told me it would be a giant man named Hagrid who would meet us.'

Hari nodded, heading up the first, relatively short set of steps and pausing to make sure they were alright. 'That's what my friends told me as well. I was surprised to see Ambrose here.'

'Do you know him?' Clarence asked, awkwardly manoeuvring his crutches. 

'Ah, yes—he was my…well, he's a bit like a brother to me, really. Didn't warn me he'd be here at all.' He answered with a frown. 'Do you want help? I can carry you,' he offered. At the boy's grateful nod and murmured, 'please,' he turned to present his back and crouched down a bit, only lifting when he felt Clarence's arms wrap around his neck and he'd secured a hand behind each of his knees.

'Maybe he wanted to surprise you?' Violet suggested, waiting patiently at the second flight landing and Hari huffed a laugh, adjusting Clarence and wincing as his crutches whacked a shin.

'Yeah, or he's just a giant pile of—'

'And this, children, is exactly the kind of disrespect that would have you shut up in the stocks with people pelting rotten vegetables at you, in my day!' Interrupted Merlin loudly with a cheeky smile at the very top, the students laughed behind him. 'They don't really do that sort of thing nowadays, but I'm sure I could convince the Headmaster for an exception—'

Hari rolled his eyes, climbing each step carefully so as not to drop Clarence. When they'd reached the top and were safely away from the thick stone half wall he set the boy down gently and stuck out his tongue at Merlin, inspiring a fresh wave of giggles.

'Exactly my point—let Hari here be a lesson to you all in how not to behave for your professors.' Merlin said with a grin and a wink, before wincing. 'Ah, best get going, now. Don't want to be late for the Sorting, eh? This way!' He called, plodding forward on his skinny legs.

Hari waited to see that Clarence and Violet had been safely swallowed up by the crowd before following along behind them. Melin brought them up a set of short stone steps at the far end of the courtyard that led to a massive set of double doors that were heartbreakingly familiar. Making sure all the students had gathered he jumped ahead and knocked three times, the sound reverberating over the stone around them.

Chapter Text

After a moment the door creaked open, slowly, to reveal a stern-faced witch with long embroidered green robes and sleek salt and pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun just peeking out from beneath her long-brimmed pointed hat.

'Ah, all students accounted for Professor McGonagall.' Merlin said with a cheerful smile, gesturing back towards the gaggle of wide-eyed faces. The woman gave him a brisk nod, eyes locking onto Hari's for a long moment before she looked away.

'Thank you, Mister Gwyls. I'll see to them from here - feel free to head into the hall, everyone is just taking their seats.' She said, and Merlin gave her an exaggerated bow, sneaking a wink at Hari before bounding through the doors and out of sight. McGonagall gave a small huff. 'Well, come along now, follow me.' She ordered crisply with a hint of Scottish brogue, turning around and heading into the hall.

The students followed in excited groups, chatting quietly amongst themselves, their anxious magic spiking in a riot of colour against the well-worn grey flagstones beneath their feet. She led them up yet another set of stairs, past a set of four massive hourglasses, and through another set of double doors into a large, empty stone room decorated with luxurious woven tapestries, thick patterned rugs, and a few suits of armour before turning back around. Hari could hear the din of hundreds of voices through the doors on the opposite end of the room, anxiety beginning to take a sharp hold in the pit of his stomach.

'Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Professor McGonagall began, 'In a few moments the start-of-term banquet will begin, but before you can take your seats in the Great Hall, you must be Sorted into your Houses. This is a very important step in your education as your House will be like your family during the rest of your time here. You will go to classes with your House, eat at your House table, spend time in your House common room, and sleep in your House dormitories.' She paused, eyes searching the worried, expectant faces.

'There are four Houses here at Hogwarts - Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Each House has a rich, important history and each has produced some of the finest Witches and Wizards that the world has ever seen. You may have noticed the counters along the wall as we passed—these are to display the number of points that your House has accrued over the course of the year. Doing well in classes will earn you points for your House, while breaking rules will lose you points. At the end of the year, these points are tallied, and the House with the most points will win the House Cup—a wonderful honour. I sincerely hope that you will work to be the best you can be, not just for your House but for yourselves. Now,' she said, looking pointedly at a few of the messier children, 'I shall be back in a moment. I suggest you take the time to smarten yourselves up.' And with one last stern look, she turned on her heel and slipped through the far doors.

Whispering broke out immediately, though Hari tried to mostly shut it out. He took a deep, calming breath, then another, trying to ease his nerves. It wasn't necessarily the amount of people sitting on the other side of those familiar doors that was getting to him, but the fact that this was really it, now. In about an hour, the entire Wixen world would know he was back—he wasn't dead in some ditch or living in blissful ignorance in the Muggle world. 

When Sirius had first arrived in the past, it had been startling to hear him tell stories of Hari's fame in the future. He'd always been honest about it, always forthcoming when Hari or Merlin had had questions. And he had no reason to doubt his godfather's word on the matter, especially from the few trips they'd made to Diagon Alley the last two weeks. He'd been shocked to see whole books in Flourish & Blotts with his name - an Anglicised version, at least—embossed in gold on the covers. Sirius had clearly been curious, but the thought of his godfather buying a book with detailed speculation and theories on his life and disappearance had made him squirm in discomfort and they were promptly returned to the shelves.

The thing was, he had grown up knowing that he was famous, but it had always felt…detached from himself somehow. He hadn't been famous in the past, despite being Merlin's student and attending William at court on occasion. It was one thing to announce oneself at Gringotts in a private office or the private rooms of Twillfit and Tattings, but here, now, in front of hundreds of people who would undoubtedly be writing to their families later tonight or tomorrow? That was another matter entirely.

'Do you know how we'll be Sorted?' A quiet voice asked, jolting him from his thoughts. He looked down to see Violet, face pinched with nerves, followed closely by Clarence.

'Markus was saying that his brother told him we'd have to fight a dragon—' Clarence whispered, trembling a little. 'They wouldn't make us do that, would they?'

Hari snorted. 'Well, my godfather was surprisingly tight-lipped on the matter,' he said, but gave them a cheeky smile. 'But I doubt it's anything difficult, else he'd never have been Sorted at all.' He joked, and the tension in Violet's shoulders eased just a little.

Anything she might have said in response was stopped short by Professor McGonagall returning to the hall. 'Alright, they're ready for you—follow me.' She said before waving a wand at the double doors she'd just passed through until they opened wide to reveal the magnificent sight of the Great Hall.

Hari followed along the other first years, practically towering over them as they were led along the central aisle with two massive tables to each side. Students pointed and whispered, staring not at the children but at Hari himself. In the crowd he found Blaise and Theo, the latter giving him a faint smile.

'Good luck, Hari!' Whispered Neville directly to his right, and he threw the boy a confident wink despite his roiling stomach. He forced his face to maintain a calm, almost placid look as he took a moment to ignore his anxiety and revel in the familiarity of the space. It remained almost totally unchanged; from the enchanted ceiling sparkling with stars above hundreds of floating candles to the roaring fireplace against the left wall so large you could easily walk into it all overlooked by the central dias with the Professor's table looking over all at the far end. The dias itself had been expanded just a little so that there was a wooden circular platform jutting into the walkway. He spotted Merlin at the very end, waving cheerfully at the incoming group. The towering stained glass windows behind were also expanded—the original archways having been elongated upward to fill the wall at some point, featuring a fantastic display of the four House crests in coloured panels. 

A simple wooden stool sat at the centre of the wooden platform, just in front of the Professor's table, with a strangely familiar, ragged pointy hat placed on top. Hari squinted at it.

McGonagall led them towards the end of the student tables, then ushered them into a corner below a stone pillar with a candelabra shaped like an eagle in flight. They crowded together awkwardly at the end of what appeared to be the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, too intimidated apparently to stray close enough to touch. The Hall hushed, students' chatter dying down and eyes dragged away from Hari to watch the hat expectantly.

Without warning, a rip at the brim opened wide and the hat began to sing, startling one first year so badly he almost tripped into the girl behind him.

‘Four Houses rose when magic ran like rain,

Each one a thread in something grand, arcane.

But now the winds feel colder than before—

And magic answers less, and less, and... more.

‘Gryffindors still stand with fire bright,

But unchecked fire can burn away the night.

They charge ahead, with hearts too hot to hold—

But even heroes fall when they’re too bold.

‘Ravenclaws use wisdom to light the way,

But answers twist and fade like breath these days.

Their knowledge deep, their questions never cease—

But thought alone won’t bring the world back peace.

‘Hufflepuffs still stay, though soil has run dry,

They dig and plant beneath a withered sky.

Their loyalty is strong, their hearts still true—

But holding tight can choke what once just grew.

‘Slytherins, who watched and waited long,

Have felt the tides of power turning wrong.

Their vision sharp, their steps were always planned—

But now they walk a land they barely understand.

‘The Balance tips. The Old Ways start to bend.

The Depths are quiet. Magic starts to end.

The ley lines twitch, the Castle’s bones grow weak—

And something lost begins again to speak.

‘A voice, a name, a shadow wrapped in gold,

A tale unfinished, echoing and old.

“Unite,” it cries, “or fall as four once more—

For all is lost if you forget what for.”

‘No single House can fix what broke apart.

No single flame can mend a shattered heart.

But joined as one, beneath the coming storm—

They just might find a King, reborn.

‘I’m just a Hat—but I can feel it slip,

Like magic bleeding from a broken script.

I’ll sort you still, but take this truth to heart:

It’s not the house that matters, but your part.

‘So heed this call, and know the cost is near—

The end begins when none are left to hear.

But if you stand, together, through the gloom—

You just might light the corners of this room.’

The entire hall began to applaud, though it seemed a bit lacklustre, interspersed with murmurs.

'What in Circe’s—' Hari whispered with a frown, but cut himself off when McGonagall stepped forward with a large scroll held in her hands.

'Now, when I call your name,' she announced, facing them, 'please step up to the dias to be Sorted. Ambercrombie, Euen!' She called. A shorter boy pressed forward from the crowd, dark eyes shining with fright and dark skin almost grey. The Professor directed him to sit on the stool and placed the hat directly on his head, where it stayed put only with the help of his protruding ears. A moment passed, then two, before the rip opened once again and shouted, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

The Gryffindor table exploded in cheers as the boy lifted the hat off his head with a relieved grin, replacing it on the stool and skipping off to sit down with his new House. 'Bickle, Bronwyn!' McGonagall called next, and Hari spotted the unfortunate girl who'd fallen in the lake trying desperately to flatten her dishevelled hair as she stepped up to the stool. It took longer this time, but finally the hat called, 'GRYFFINDOR!' to more raucous applause and she scampered off after Euen Ambercrombie.

Each Sorting seemed to take different lengths. Bonner, Tavish became the first Hufflepuff after the hat had barely touched his head, with Broadhurst, Philomena following closely afterwards though taking longer. Buckland, Blythe—one of the other girls on the boat with Bronwyn—joined Gryffindor as well after a few moments and was greeted by delighted squeals. Burns, Montgomery was the first Ravenclaw, while Carlyle, Fay the first Slytherin just after. After each Sorting, the appropriate table cheered and whistled, though the Slytherin and Ravenclaw half of the room were much more reserved. The last girl on the boat besides Eleanora, a Matilda Cockett, joined her two waiting friends in Gryffindor.

Dottie Collymore, Izan Cortez, and Crispin Cutler came next, and Hari was startled a bit when McGonagall called, 'Dagworth, Harry!' Though he shook himself a bit. Harry was a fairly common name in Britain, after all.

When 'Eberhard, Clarence!' was named, Hari gave the boy a massive grin before he hobbled forward. McGonagall seemed shocked, only for a moment, before leaning back to whisper something to a woman in pristine white robes who nodded at whatever she had asked. After the hat called, 'HUFFLEPUFF!' she bent down to say something that made his eyes sparkle with unconstrained excitement. He was so enthusiastic, in fact, that he almost forgot to return the hat to the stool but fortunately remembered at the last minute.

All through Barnaby Fellowes (Hufflepuff), Irving Fitzroy-Chesney (Ravenclaw), Artemisia Fothergill (Slytherin), and Muriel Graves (Slytherin), Hari wondered if he would be Sorted along with the first years, or if they would wait to Sort him until after all the first years had gone. His nerves began to rise even higher, any appetite he may have gained between his last meal on the train and now almost totally turned to nausea.

After Morehead, Marjorie (Hufflepuff)—the only M student, McGonagall started on the P's and he could feel the sweat beginning to build up under his fringe.

'Pinch-Smedley, Maude!' was soon sauntering to Slytherin and he felt his heart stop when McGonagall called, 'Potter, Harry!'

It was his name—at least, he knew it was meant to be his name despite the Anglicised mispronunciation—but at the sound of it, he was so alarmed to hear the numerous gasps, exclamations, and rising murmurs from along the tables that he almost froze completely.

'Harry Potter, did she say?'

'The Harry Potter?! The one who defeated You-Know-Who?!'

'Merlin's flapping tits!'

He internally shook himself, clenching his jaw and trying desperately to remain calm as he waded through the now openly gaping or increasingly confused first-years to step into the dias. McGonagall didn't smile, really, but her eyes seemed to soften as she searched his face behind rectangular spectacles. She nodded towards the stool and Hari dutifully plopped down, choosing to focus on his resolve to correct her pronunciation at a more appropriate time rather than the hundreds of gobsmacked faces watching the hat drop on his head with astonished anticipation. 

'Well now, a Warlock, eh?' A voice whispered in his ear and he had to stop himself from jumping off the seat in alarm. 'Haven't had the pleasure of Sorting a Warlock since Merlin himself! Perhaps there is hope for the Balance after all.' Hari frowned.

'But Merlin was only ever here as a teacher,' he thought in confusion. 'And your song was pretty on the nose for a sentient piece of clothing. Who created you?'

The hat seemed to still, in as much as a hat can still, before grumbling, 'I was given the very important job of sorting students in 1078, if you must know, by Godric Gryffindor himself.’ it sniffed. ‘I had thought that those who knew of Merlin's Sorting as merely a test of my enchantments were long since dead. Tell me, Hari Potter, how did you come upon this information?'

'Merlin taught me the Old Ways. The Old Religion.' Hari answered simply with a shrug. He had taken long enough, now, that the Hall was starting to break out in furious whispers.

'Yes, well, with your proficiency in magic I might have known,' the hat grumped, sounding irritated. 'Well, we've dawdled long enough. Now, where shall I put you? You've a real thirst for knowledge, and incredible bravery, given your return at a time such as this. But perhaps it is ambition which drives you most? Ah, yes, I see…you've a difficult journey ahead of you, Hari Potter—one that requires just as much cunning as it does bravery, and in that case…better be—SLYTHERIN!' The hat called loudly, and the buzzing whispers fell completely silent.

The hat's pronouncement had clearly been the last thing the students expected, even with the amount of time it had taken to announce it. The teachers also seemed astonished, and Hari wondered if the open mouthed look of surprise on Professor McGonagall’s face was an uncommon sight. There were no claps or whistles for an agonizing moment before she seemed to shake herself and sent a scathing glare towards the House tables. Finally a single person began to cheer, though rather nervously, and Hari was surprised to see Neville at the Gryffindor table looking incredibly anxious but determined. 

His Prefect friend—Hermione Granger, Hari remembered—was the second to start up following Neville's lead. Luna was next, then Theo and Blaise followed by a handful of others in green and silver and, surprisingly, black and gold once Clarence started whistling. Hari sent his new friends a grateful smile and stood, replacing the hat on the stool before casually heading in Theo and Blaise's direction. The two boys scooted apart gracefully to give him space to drop down between them. As soon as he had, an extra place setting popped into existence, the gleaming gold plate and goblet shimmering in the candle light.

'Well, for all my banter on the train, I never thought you'd actually sort Slytherin, Hari.' Said Blaise with an amused smile. Hari rolled his eyes.

'And why not? It's as good a House as any other.'

'You can't seriously be the Hari Potter—and sorted into Slytherin,' said the pale boy from Gringotts—Malfoy—who was sat across from them sandwiched between a tall, thickset boy with unkempt short brown hair and a massive jaw and a girl with a snub nose and a short black bob who was eyeing him curiously. 'This is…I mean…' he trailed off, and a pretty girl with long blonde hair rolled her eyes.

'Just say it, Malfoy.' She drawled, seemingly bored. Malfoy flushed, eyes darting towards Theo and then further down the table before he gave a petulant looking pout that Hari supposed was meant to give him some kind of air of superiority. 

'Well it's the Dark Lord's House, and the Dark Lord is…you know.'

Blaise raised a single brow. 'You know as well as I do that not everyone in Slytherin is a supporter of the Dark Lord, Malfoy.' He said, sounding almost amused.

Theo gave a short nod. 'I, for one, have no intention of throwing my lot in with a madman.' He said quietly, but ringing with conviction. A few people around them hissed, but most seemed distracted by the hat shouting 'SLYTHERIN!' as another first year headed to their table. Malfoy looked furious, nostrils flaring and cheeks bright pink.

'Well said, Theo. Now, can you all be quiet? I'd like to hear the rest of the Sorting.' The blonde girl sniffed and turned pointedly towards the dias.

'I’m happy you've joined our House,' murmured Theo in Hari's ear and Hari threw him a beatific smile.

They sat in relatively awkward silence after that, mostly pretending to follow along with the stream of first years moving from the dias to their Houses. Hari did sit up a bit when McGonagall called, 'Smelley, Eleanora!' and a few pockets of younger students erupted into giggles. The poor girl looked completely mortified as she trudged forward from the crowd, and he frowned listening to the obnoxiously loud girls from her boat burst in paroxysms of laughter at the Gryffindor table. He briefly considered saying something, but McGonagall's furious look seemed to quell them somewhat and he felt a pang of relief when the hat announced 'RAVENCLAW!'

At least she wouldn't be stuck sharing a dorm with her bullies, though the other Ravenclaw first years didn't seem much more mature about it. He resolved to keep an eye on her.

'What horrible girls,' muttered a short, redheaded girl sitting on Blaise's other side with a scowl. 'It's not as if the poor thing can help her name.'

The drama was soon forgotten, though, as first Simon Steele (Gryffindor) was sorted and McGonagall shouted, 'Sweeting, Violet!' 

Violet shuffled forward, her pale, sickly complexion looking even paler in the dim light. When the hat called, 'SLYTHERIN!' Hari was probably way too enthusiastic in his level of cheer, but it was worth it when she gave him a small, grateful smile as she plopped herself down at the end of the table with the rest of the first years. Only three students remained and were quickly Sorted, and just after the final girl—Rose Zeller—all but collapsed at the Hufflepuff table, an old man with garish violet robes that strangely complemented his lemony yellow magic rose from his massive central seat while McGonagall hurried away with the hat and stool. It must be Dumbledore, Hari decided quickly.

'Welcome students, both new and old. Now, before our start of term announcements, I believe a meal is in order. Tuck in!' He announced jovially, gesturing out into the hall where the tables were suddenly piled high with food. Hari felt his eyes widen in amazement. Sure, his time at Hogewáþe had never seen him go hungry, but the food was relatively simple—venison and chicken was a treat for feasts, but fresh pork, fish, or mutton during difficult times featured meals once or twice a week and cured meats the rest. Bread; pottage; and vegetables primarily with a smattering of dairy depending on the season and spiced mostly with fresh herbs. 

This, though, was beyond his expectations; whole roast pigs and chickens expertly cooked until their skin crackled; racks of lamb and piles of roast beef stood alongside mountains of potatoes in every style one could think of—mashed, boiled, roasted, wedged. Platters of green beans, squash, roast carrots and parsnips, red cabbage, brussel sprouts, and peas fought for table space with boats of thick, rich gravy, pots of cranberry sauce, mint jellies, cheese sauce, and delicately shaped butters. Loaves of bread and crisp Yorkshire puddings lay stacked around towering meat pies with delicate pastry crusts. 

Everyone around him seemed unphased, starting to chat quietly amongst themselves as they filled their plates. Hari, who had been living primarily off of takeaways, bacon sarnies, and the occasional pie since his return, was completely overwhelmed.

Theo was the only one who seemed to notice, pausing while pouring himself a goblet of some kind of orange coloured juice to give Hari a concerned look.

'Everything alright, Hari?'

Malfoy, who had been speaking with the dark-haired girl beside him, stopped mid-sentence as he asked this, and Blaise turned to look at him with a frown.

'Ah, yes. It's just…there's so much food. Not really sure what to pick, I suppose.' He winced. Theo gave him a small smile that made Malfoy's eyebrows rocket upward.

'I see…well, whatever you fancy. The Hogwarts Elves are excellent cooks.'

'Their lamb is delizioso.' Added Blaise, pointing his fork towards the dish. Hari nodded, then served himself a few different things based on Theo and Blaise's helpful suggestions. As he began to eat, however, the dark-haired girl turned to them.

'I don't think I've ever seen you so outspoken, Nott.' She teased, and Theo tensed beside him for a moment before he relaxed again.

'My father wasn't dead before, Parkinson.' He replied calmly, stabbing a carrot with his fork and giving her a sharp smile. Everyone seemed to hush at that, awkward silence making the rest of the hall seem even louder in their chatter.

'Well,' Hari said after a moment, turning towards the others around him at the table. 'We've not all been introduced.'

Malfoy puffed himself up at this, his nose rising higher. 'Of course,' he said, quickly flashing his Heir ring so the inset diamond glinted in the candle light. 'I'm Draco Malfoy, Heir to the House of Malfoy. This,' he gestured towards the two large boys to his left, 'is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.'

'I'm Pansy Parkinson, but you can call me Pansy.' Interrupted the dark-haired girl, ignoring Malfoy's glare. 'That's Daphne Greengrass, of the Cambridge Greengrasses,' she pointed at the blonde girl to her other side who had wanted to watch the Sorting, 'and Millicent Bulstrode.' She said, gesturing towards a shy-looking girl who was very tall hiding behind a thin curtain of hair on Greengrass' other side.

'And I'm Tracey Davis! You can call me Tracey.' Called the redhead from over Blaise's shoulder, giving Hari a warm smile that he returned.

'Nice to meet you all,' he told them, giving each a nod.

'So, how do you know Nott and Blaise?' Pansy asked, ignoring her food to set her elbow on the table and lean forward with her face in her hand. 'And first-name basis, too?'

'He sat with us on the train,' answered Blaise before Hari could say a word. 'It was…an enlightening ride. Hari here isn't quite as uneducated about magic as it may look, coming to Hogwarts as a fifth-year.'

'I noticed Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger clapping for you, did you sit with them as well?' Tracey asked.

Hari shrugged. 'Neville, yes, and a girl named Luna, but Hermione Granger, no. I guess she's a Prefect? Whatever that is.' Malfoy looked affronted for a moment, then let out a squawk of laughter.

'You sat with that dolt? The train must have been very full.' Hari pursed his lips, and Pansy, seeing the obvious look of anger growing on his face, elbowed the boy's side until he stopped and glared at her.

'A Prefect is someone who has proven to be an excellent student and willing to assist the Professors in their duties,' Pansy explained with a look of smugness that Hari had to admit fit her face. 'We can take House points, assign detentions, and patrol the corridors after curfew. Draco and I are the Perfects for our year in Slytherin. No doubt you'll meet the others later.'

Hari hummed, finishing his bite of parsnips before responding. ‘Sounds like quite a bit of responsibility. Especially fifth year—we have exams this year, don't we?’

Tracey groaned in response, face pained. ‘Please, don't remind me. I was hoping to get through at least the weekend before thinking about it.’

Greengrass snorted, somehow managing to sound elegant. ‘As if, Trace. OWLs are doomed to haunt us.’

‘Owls?’ Hari asked, frowning. ‘What do exams have to do with owls? My letter said we could choose to bring an owl, but…’

Blaise laughed outright and Pansy snorted behind her hand.

‘No, Hari, the exams are called OWLs—Ordinary Wizarding Levels. We take them in our 5th year, and then in 7th year we take the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, or NEWTs. Believe me, I was just as confused about it as you were when I started at Hogwarts.’ said Tracy with a kind smile as she leaned forward to be seen around Blaise, still chortling. Hari frowned even more.

‘But what about masteries? When do we take our mastery exams?’

‘Any student who wishes to obtain a mastery can apply to a Hogwarts Professor, of course,’ answered Pansy after a beat of silence. ‘But it isn’t very common. Usually a student will graduate Hogwarts with the appropriate NEWTs for their chosen mastery and find a Master willing to take them as their apprentice. Unless you go into work at the Ministry, in which case your apprenticeship will be overseen by the department that employs you.’ She paused for a moment, frowning. ‘I think the only difference is for Soliciwix, right Draco? Your father has his mastery in Soliciwizardry if I’m not mistaken.’

Draco puffed his chest out again, and Hari had to bite back a snort.

‘Of course. Any good Wizangamut member should have their Soliciwix mastery.’ He gave Hari a critical once over and a sharp smile that made Hari tense his magic. The only one who seemed to notice was Theo, his eyes searching Hari’s face before putting a stabilising hand on his elbow under the table. ‘There are a few ways to go about it, of course. My family has always attended Napier Wizarding Law School—a very prestigious school in Oxford. They only accept the twenty best applicants from around the world every year.’

Instead of rising to the obvious bait, Hari paused, plastering a thoughtful look on his face, then turned to Theo. ‘I wonder if Siri expects me to go to some fancy law school, then.’ He said, making a disgusted face. ‘I rather hope not. Sounds dead boring if you ask me, and I think I’ll be rather busy with other obligations despite the Wizengamut seats.’ He gave a bit of a self-deprecating smile and shifted his hands while pushing forth some magic so the Black ring he had previously charmed unnoticeable was suddenly visible while maintaining the illusion that he was cutting into his food. It had the intended effect, with Malfoy’s eyes growing wide and pink beginning to dust the top of his cheeks, and Pansy almost openly gaping. Greengrass’ mouth formed a delicate ‘o’ and Bulstrode hid even further behind her hair. The only ones who seemed wholly unaffected were Crabbe and Goyle, ignoring the discussion to focus on eating the huge portions of food piled onto their plates.

‘Well isn’t that a surprise—three Houses?’ said Blaise smoothly, only a hint of accusation in his tone. ‘I don’t recall seeing three on the train.’

Hari grinned at his new friend. ‘Come now, I can’t give up all of my secrets at once.’ He said with a wink and a twitch of the finger adorned by the Wyllt ring which remained hidden. With a quick glance, he could see that the only person who noticed was Theo, eyes narrowing, and felt his grin turn almost cheshire in nature. ‘I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin House for no reason, you know.’

‘The Black and Potter rings I recognise,’ began Pansy, leaning forward to squint at Hari’s hands. ‘But the other… aquamarine and silver? Or platinum?’

Hari smiled at her. ‘Tourmaline and silver.’

‘With an aquatic design. Not a House I recognise.’ She admitted with a pout.

‘I’d be surprised if you did.’ Hari said, his smile turning cheeky. ‘Care to take a guess?’

‘Hmm…well it isn’t one of the Sacred 28.’ She mused, head tilted in thought though her eyes were fixed on his ring. ‘And it’s on your ring finger, so it’s a lesser House than the Blacks—not that that narrows it down much. Mistlethwaite, maybe? Or Faruthers?’

‘Redvers.’ Said a deep, feminine voice with whispering finality that had Hari snapping his head down the table to watch Bulstrode who seemed to tremble at the attention. ‘The House of Redvers has tourmaline with silver and gold,’ she added with a whisper. Hari smiled at her.

‘Got it in one, Miss Bulstrode—or is it Heiress Bulstrode? I’m afraid I’m not that well informed on modern Houses and their Titles in etiquette.’ He leaned forward over his plate, giving the Slytherins a quirk of the lips. ‘It wasn’t my favourite subject, growing up.’

‘And what, pray tell, was your favourite?’ Pansy asked, her tone innocent but her magic rolling in curiosity. Hari gave her a grin. 

‘You’re asking the impossible, for me to pick only one.’ he answered casually with a false put-upon sigh and a wink. She rolled her eyes. 

‘I’ll wheedle it out of you at some point.’

Hari was startled out of a snarky reply when the half empty platters suddenly vanished and a whole new set appeared with piles of desserts in every direction; ice creams in a rainbow of colours, cakes and tarts and sticky puddings—mounds of sweets that he had only dreamt about as a small boy locked in the Dursley’s cupboard. He involuntarily closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, exhaustion pulling on him. 

He hoped the feast would be over soon.