The Summer After
“VOLDEMORT - YES WE SAID IT - VOLDEMORT DEAD AT 71” proclaimed the visible front page headline of the buried edition. The May Second Special Edition Daily Prophet was situated at the bottom of a stack of Prophets, draped over the sideboard, in the foyer, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.
Harry had started his collection of them that very morning. Kreacher gives the owl 2 knuts, places the paper on the stack, Harry reads the top half of the front page each morning, and leaves it, not ever actually touching the publication after that first paper. After only two weeks of this, the printing enchantments on the 14 papers had begun to bleed together. The tower of papers never gets higher than just under Harry’s chin height, however, if you count the folds there are clearly as many papers as there should be there.
This new conglomeration of, usually disposable, magical papers has also begun to play tricks on Harry. The “tricks” won’t outright change the contents of each paper, but some other listings and articles have begun sort of -pushing- their way into the top half of the front page. That was how he saw the classified ad bubble up into view on that Sunday morning’s paper.
“Investors Needed” the ad announced “the rebuilding effort needs you! Inquire inside Gringotts.” Harry read it twice, paling both times at the mention of the bank, he been had tentative plans to go there. He knows he has to, but he had only just begun to really, really like his head, and if there’s one thing Harry remembers from Binns is that they will take it from him and he will be kindlyasked to recompense them for “Services Rendered.”
It must have been providence. The moment his eyes left the advertisement, a plain barn owl caught his attention.
Harry Potter
12 Grimmauld Place
London, UK
The address line said, innocently. The Great Seal of Gringotts was also seemingly innocent, holding the parchment together. Harry let out a deep sigh and just tore the wax off.
“Might as well.”
Dear Mr. Potter,
Congratulations on your, increasingly, not so, recent victory in battle. May your enemies fear your name. However, we are requesting your prompt attention to several pressing matters regarding your accounts, to assure that Gringotts is not one of those enemies.
The appointment with your account manager is scheduled for today, Sunday, 24 May, 1998 at 10:45 am.
Thank You.
Sincerely,
Charles R. Dillworth IV
Vice President, Account and Estate Management for Gringotts, UK Inc.
Account Manager for the Unified House of Potter
0 Diagon Alley, London, UK
+44 03301659131 x9120
Harry smiled at the letter. He never imagined that they would give him a full two hours before his fated beheading, nor did he think it would be worded so —pleasantly. He shrugged and slinked down to the kitchen.
Kreacher and Harry had a nice and pleasant breakfast, like they did every morning and Harry headed out to Gringotts.
Harry landed in the apparition point between the still closed Fortescue’s and the bank, greeted by friendly smiles and waves from the people bustling around still cleaning an repairing the intricate weave of charms that were destroyed by Death Eaters. Rita Skeeter has been a godsend since their collaboration in The Quibbler. She gently reminded the populous that, yes, Harry is a hero, but could you please keep your distance, he has always been nervous in crowds. Harry approved of this particular piece of slander greatly.
This isn’t the first time Harry’s ventured out since the battle, it felt to him that that bit of self-loathing left him completely and the survivor’s guilt is what died with that Avada Kedavra in the heart. It must’ve been the horcrux. His friends and ex-again-girlfriend were incredulous at Harry’s outlook. Did everyone seriously expect him to wallow in his own turmoil forever? Not Harry. He mourned, and in ways is still mourning, just as he had his entire life, and there’s nothing for it but to go on. Harry wasn’t about to squander his, like, fourth chance at life. But first, goblins.
The facade of Gringotts and the plaza around it had been repaired by daybreak on May Second to no one’s surprise. Harry lamented the fact, as he was unable to use the destruction as his excuse for postponing his visit.
Harry took a deep breath and bowed to the goblin guards. They both raised their eyebrows, in unison, and the large, heavy, stone doors swung open for him. The lobby of Gringotts looks exactly like it always had with the addition of a statue of the four goblins killed, personally by Voldemort, off to the right. There was no giant hole, no dragon fire scorch marks, just business as usual, which somehow made Harry feel more uneasy than he thought seeing his destruction would have made him feel. Harry definitely felt that he would have been less uneasy if the Goblin tellers were scowling at him like they were usually wont to do, their expressions were grave, but not unfriendly, surprisingly.
Harry felt as though everything he thought he knew about Goblins was exactly incorrect when he was greeted by a teller, before he could even reach the queue, who politely said “This way Mr. Potter.” He really didn’t think that a beheading would come with this level of hospitality, and he started to pale thinking about how much his execution would end up costing him. He had sort of wanted to leave something to Teddy, after all.
The nametagless Goblin gently ushered Harry through the Employees Only door and led him down a long hallway. They rounded the corner and were facing a large, stone door with a gold name plate affixed to it, at Harry’s navel height, which read C.R. Dillworth. Harry’s Goblin guide knocked a rhythmic pattern on the door, which sounded like wood, while clearly being granite, and stood aside. The door swung open and a voice called out “Mr. Potter. Please, do come in.”
Harry sighed in relief when the room was just a large office, open and bright. The late morning sun streaming through a large picture window displaying a country side, feeding greedy plants placed around the space. A goblin, Harry’s Account Manager, Charles, apparently, sat at a large marble desk with no discernible emotion about his features.
“Mr. Dillworth?” Harry said simply
“Aye, Mr. Potter, please sit.” He gestured at the chair in front of the desk “Tea?” The goblin offered.
“Please” as soon as Harry replied, a tea service appeared off to the side of Mr. Dillworth’s desk and began fixing a cup for Harry. Too much sugar and not enough milk, exactly how Harry takes it, added itself, and a little spoon stirred it 4 times and vanished while the cup and saucer slid silently to Harry.
“Mr. Potter, I have asked you here so that we may discuss your accounts. Gringotts has never received a response from you and we were unsure you’d been receiving our statements, as is policy the statements were stopped after the two consecutive periods of 7 years had passed around October 1995. Much has happened since then. Including your romp through our lower vaults and theft of a dragon, however first things first, we must discuss recompense.”
“Erm, yes, I’ve been meaning to come in—“ Harry said
“Very well, Mr. Potter” Mr. Dillworth agreed
“Harry, Please.” Harry interrupted, but was met by the level gaze of his account goblin.
“No.” Dillworth replied to that and continued. “Mr. Potter, our investigation had led to us unifying your accounts, after all you did break into your own vault.”
“Erm I what?” Harry asked “I thought that was the Lestrange vault.”
Mr. Dillworth sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I will thank you to never repeat that. But, No that vault was a Black vault which Lady Lestrange had been using since her 11th birthday, and therefore it was yours, as the former Lord Black, Arcturus left everything to Sirius the third and listed you as Sirius’s next-of-kin. You were named as next-of-kin by no less that 14 members of the black family, actually. So therefore, no you did not break any inviolable Gringotts rule-“
“What about the dragon?” Harry asked
“The dragon was paid for by the Black estate upon installation into the Black Vault Corridor and therefore was yours to do with as you pleased anyway. The Item which you dutifully removed from the vault was scanned as every other artifact is, as you -concluded your business that day and the value you provided to Gringotts, in removing it and subsequently destroying it, has left the bank in your debt, and we wish to settle that debt.”
“You mean you owe me money for stealing from myself?”
“Precisely.”
“So no beheading?” Harry asked carefully
“Not today, Mr. Potter, but as your account manager, if the Director ever wants your head, I will be sure to let you know, plainly. We are not in the business of weaving intricate riddles or bread crumbing information. We are a bank. The politics of the United Kingdom of Goblins or the United Goblin Nations has nothing to do with your accounts, here in said bank.”
“So by unified accounts you mean—?” Harry steered the conversation away from international goblin politics and back onto the cart track, holding in his ecstatic relief of getting to keep his head for at least the foreseeable future.
“The Peverell-Potter, Black and Gaunt-Slytherin accounts have been consolidated into one house, The Unified House of Potter. The Wizengamot will recognize you as holding the 20 votes within one seat and the Bank will recognize the new house as one account, all we need for you to do is review your open vaults, accounts, and holdings and decide how to divvy them up proper. Now if you would please take up your family ring, we can get started.”
The Goblin, Charles Dillworth, produced a jewelry box from his desk drawer and placed it next to Harry’s half-drunken tea. He motioned ‘go on’ and Harry reached out and flipped the lid open.
On red crushed velvet was a large silver and gold ring with a large flat head with a lightening bolt above crossed wands encircled by laurel. On the shoulders, rubies, emeralds, and onyx, in an alternating pattern with platinum snake filagree on the gallery.
Harry’s eyes widened and shimmered a bit and before he could ask Mr. Dillworth spoke.
“Our artisans have designed and crafted this ring to represent the culmination of your three houses. We also reached out to the extant Gaunt line and it’s head of family, Ominis, was more than happy to, once again, relinquish the title, as he and his wife and their several dozen descendants have been enjoying their peaceful life, in somewhere called Ohio, since 1894. He says “thank you” by the way, and if you’d like to meet him he’s now known as Oliver Grant, and says he’s in the phonebook.”
“Erm. Wow, Ok.” Was Harry’s only response to that, he also didn’t know what Ohio was, figured it was in Japan or something. He picked the ring up gingerly and slid it up his left index finger, it already fit perfectly. The magics swirled and the ring flashed, Harry felt warmth swirl just above his navel and he let out a sigh.
“Very well, High Lord Potter, the magics have accepted you. Now I’d like to discuss how you would like Gringotts to reimburse you for your services rendered. You may not be aware, but the United Goblin Nations has a strict moratorium on housing souls, or beings inside any vault, and it would have been all of our heads, had you not removed it before the Late Lady Lestrange’s long awaited death. Gringotts UK has assessed the value, adjusted for the reconstruction of our lobby, owed to you at 749,750 Omani Real, converted to 41,763,421,892 Galleons, 13 sickles and 3 knuts. Or just under 240 Billion Pounds Sterling.
“Jesus, God, I could never accept such a large amount.” Harry quickly said, paling “Merlin, is there even that much gold?”
Mr. Dillworth chucked, “Yes, High Lord Potter, there is that much gold, and the United Kingdom of Goblins was extremely happy to hand it over. And, furthermore, your combined asset liquidation value added to your real currency is more than triple that amount, already.”
Harry fainted.
Trillionaire, Harry Potter, the green-eyed freak under the stairs, richest man in the world, came to, still in Mr. Dillworth’s office. The shifted shadows showing only about 18 minutes had passed. The goblin had put down his quill when he sensed Harry was awake again and, with a lazy gesture, levitated and plopped Harry back into the chair. With a shaking hand, Harry reached for his still hot tea and downed the rest of it before speaking. He picked up the stack of papers and began reading through his accounts. His tea filled back up and the sugar and milk added itself.
“Ok, so, this money, can it be reinvested into rebuilding Britain?” Harry asked.
“Certainly, High Lord Potter! Yes, we currently are running a special, expecting a 21 month return, and there are scores of businesses eager to sign partnership deals with anyone with the gold.” Mr Dillworth said, smiling.
“That will not be necessary.” Harry started to say but the look on his account manager’s face had him revise “Erm.. I mean, I would also like to donate a large sum to help as well, I’m sure that there were many orphans left behind over the past couple years. I would hate for a child to go without, or worse, live with Muggles.” He shivered.
Mr. Dillworth’s face changed back to neutral and he said “Very well then, however what the rebuilding effort really needs, besides the money, is magic. If you could avail your wand where you can, it would most likely be more appreciated than you emptying your vaults.”
“Very well then.” Harry said, adopting the phrase and intonation from his account manager.
Mr. Dillworth smiled.
Harry spent the next few weeks reviewing his accounts and all of the unanswered requests to his houses from over the years. His grandfather, Fleamont had only been Heir before he and his father, Henry, Lord Potter, had both perished in the 70s, and for some reason, James had never donned the ring and conducted family business, most likely out of grief. The Gaunt-Slytherin account had never been managed well but thanks to Tom, had begun to produce liquidity in 1981, just before his untimely decorporialization, there were no requests to the Lord of those houses pending and so it was a simple thing for him to set up escrow accounts and trust vaults for any Brit who either manifested the Parseltounge ability or inherited Godric’s Curse. Harry had figured if there was a snake-speaker, or anyone with his wild, unnameable hair, they were probably related and didn’t want them to go without.
The Black account, however, took months to sort out. No one had managed the accounts since 1984. Arcturus was too sick in his last few years to be bothered, until he died in 1992. And once Sirius had been free, in ’93, he never took up the Lordship, because he didn’t know it fell onto him. Harry posthumously reinstated all of the disowned Blacks and approved all of the requests for marriage, disillusionment of marriage and Naming Requests. Harry was glad he kept all of his notes from Astronomy Class, for that one, because he had to name 15 people, some of whom had already died by the time they were given their birthright, but he gave the living ones good, sturdy, celestial names. Harry was supremely confused when the Family Magic wouldn’t let him name anyone Polaris, but shrugged it off and put it out of his mind.
In between settling accounts, rebuilding civilization, attending Wizengamot sessions and naming babies, High Lord Potter had undergone restoration of Grimmauld Place. He had gained enough experience while restoring Diagon Alley and Hogwarts with the restoration crews to apply his new knowledge to fixing up the place. Careful to not disturb his stack of Daily Prophets, which he had begun to suspect have achieved a form of sentience.
Some of the most drastic changes in Wizarding Britain revolved around the reformation of the Wizengamot. There was a lot of pressure from the Crown to implement a more democratic election process within the high court and the Muggle-borns, instead of assisting in the rebuilding had taken to protesting the “Aristocracy” in the broken streets. Lady Magic hadn’t allowed the body to undergo anything too radical and had wholesale refused to allow the Ministry to attempt any form of Democracy. The entire building had begun to blink and fade out of existence when the talks of implementing the muggle practice had reached a fevered pitch.
Lady Magic, herself, appeared, in apparition, in the Wizengamot Chamber the day of the vote.
“No!” She said with the voice of a million voices. “You shall not destroy my halls with these popular ideas! Should the Family Magic, I have graciously bestowed upon you, falter, your world shall be destroyed. This is my only warning.”
Those attending had taken the warning seriously, and they all took a figurative step back from the line they’d begun to toe. The original Wizengamot Charter had only allowed for a popular vote for the Minister for Magic and the Lower Tribunals.
Hermione had taken the edict the most seriously of all the muggle-borns and had begun to transcribe and distribute the documents describing the foundation of Wizarding Britain. Even before the Death Eater Trials Pt. 2 had begun, the lower tribunals and local governing bodies had been reformed, just to ensure that everyone, especially Lady Magic, was placated.
By the time Harry had sorted through his accounts, he had been summoned to no less than 5 Emergency Wizengamot sessions on top of the 2 regularly scheduled ones. The Death Eater Trials began on the 7th of June and went on until July 14th. What surprised High Lord Potter the most, the Wizengamot had elevated him to Chief Warlock seeing as he had the most votes and his faction had the largest number.
Harry and his Wizengamot had not let any of the Death Eaters, beside Draco Malfoy, off with anything less than execution.
Due to Wandlore experts’ testimonies, it had been determined that since Draco’s Hawthorn wand had defeated Voldemort, Draco wasn’t a real follower, and when Draco got off with probation, Harry had walked down from his seat and shook his hand.
Narcissa had gotten off completely due to testimony from her coven and character witnesses. It also helped that she looked the Dark Lord directly in the eyes and lied to him, bald faced. Lucius, however was cast through the Veil on the 28th of June.
Since the Wizengamot had frozen the Malfoy assets, pending the completion of Draco’s probation, Harry had set Narcissa up in the Black Manor on Corsica with a sizable vault to compensate her on the loss of her husband and status.
“Malfoy. Draco, listen, Could you please come by to Grimmauld Place tomorrow. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Harry whispered in his ear during the handshake.
“Honestly, Potter, could you just leave me alone. I didn’t ask for this!” Draco said in a tone Harry’d never heard from him before. Dejected and defeated.
“Exactly!” Harry said simply. Dracos face almost made a movement and Harry cut off whatever he was about to say. “The floo’s open to you. Come by anytime. Consider it an order, from the head of your Maternal House, if you have to.” Harry and Draco, hands still clasped, turned and were both surprised at the flash bulbs of the dozen cameras, capturing the moment.
The next morning, Draco practically glided from the fireplace, not out of excitement just his regular poise and grace, into the foyer of Grimmauld Place.
His mouth fell open in awe at the bright, open space. It was cleaner now than Draco had remembered ever seeing it.
His eyes landed on the stack of newspapers, more specifically he made eye contact with himself in a handshake with Potter under the screaming headline “Lord Draco Malfoy, Innocent!” He scowled, but when he got closer to the paper, Kreacher appeared.
“Draco not be touching Master’s Prophets.” The clean elf, in a tuxedo, said to him.
“Hello Kreacher!” Draco said, smiling, he hadn’t seen Aunt Walburga’s elf since he was little.
“Hello Draco, Kreacher hopes you be doing well. Master is being in the Drawing room. Can Kreacher be taking your cloak?” Draco slid the cloak off and handed it, nicely, to the elf. He’s not his father.
“Thank you, Kreacher.” Draco said and he made his way to the second door on the left.
Inside the Drawing room, Harry was pacing with a tumbler of Firewhiskey, in front of the tapestry, when Draco entered.
“Draco! Well Met, good to see you!” Harry said enthusiastically. Apparently he’s much more pleasant on the sauce, Draco thought.
“Potter.” Draco said, instead.
“I bet you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here, no doubt. Please sit. Tea, Whiskey?” Harry asked, gesturing to the leather wingback chair. Draco hesitated.
“Whiskey.” Draco replied. Harry floated over a rocks glass full of it to him. Draco sniffed it and his eyes widened “The 1925?” They both sat.
“You know your stuff, should’ve suspected. This bottle was from the last crate Phineas Nigellus bought, before the Pox got him.” Harry mused. “I thought for what we’re about to do, it called for it.”
“And what, Potter, are we about to do?” Draco said and he sipped his drink.
“Well, erm. There’s a couple of things, first, I’d like your help to reset the tapestry.” Harry said waving at it. “And afterwards, there is just one more thing and then you can go.”
Draco sighed, he definitely did not want to help Potter, but between the rescue from the Fiendfyre and the acquittal for Death Eatery, Draco could, at least, give Potter this one thing.
“Ok.” Draco started and Harry beamed “What do I need to do?”
Harry had demonstrated a wand movement; Sweeping from the left with a flick to the right and then a circling motion and another flick in the center. “The incantation is Familia Animatibo, I need another Black for assistance and I thought you’d like this so, erm, here we are.”
“Eloquent as usual, Potter.” Draco said as he inspected the tapestry. Harry had repaired all of the holes but the enchantment was still flickery, like it had been, and the faces were all in the wrong spot.
“Yeah, I feel, erm, kinship with this, its rare that I come across something with more Avada Scars than me.” Harry said in a questioning tone and a chuckle. Draco let out a sharp exhale, almost two, and shook his head in exasperation.
The two performed the incantation and invocations, stepped back and watched as the tapestry flashed, cleared, and began redrawing itself. Apparently a previous Lord Black had set the tapestry to only focus on those who were raised in Grimmauld place, and Harry couldn’t describe it any other way besides ‘zoomed in’ but that was only evident after the Family Tree had stretched back to a man named Polaris and his two sons, Twins, seeing as they had the same birthdate, Pollux and his 2 minutes older brother Castor. The latter’s branch had all of the people Harry and Draco had known about, and Draco had actually smiled when he saw his own face. The line ended, in a flourish, at Teddy. The baby’s hair was cycling through colors and he appeared to be giggling.
“Oh, that explains it.” Harry said looking at Polaris, thinking about the problems he had in the Naming Requests.
“Explains what?” Draco asked.
Harry began to explain the Names he couldn’t use when the other line began drawing.
Harry and Draco watched on, gaping, in silence as the Pollux line swooped in below and Harry didn’t recognize anyone until he saw his own face at the end, wreathed in golden Laurel. His eyes widened and he followed the line back to James Potter, then back again to Euphemia the Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Granddaughter of Polaris. This made Harry only 9 generations removed from the patriarch and Draco was still 12.
Harry brushed his hand over his ancestors, noticing they’d all died within 4 years of each other ending with his father in 1981. He knew there were hundreds of casualties in the fight against Voldemort, but he had never considered how close he’d come to having a very large family. He was mentally adding the names to his mourning list when Draco broke the silence.
“UGH, well, Potter, I guess you didn’t steal my Heirship from me.” Draco bemoaned.
“‘Spose not.” Harry said, smirking and shrugging.
“Now what is this other thing you need me for?” Draco asked. Still wanting to look over the tapestry, but also wanting to get away from Potter.
Harry beamed and said “Pull up your sleeves.” Draco’s face contorted into rage.
“Absolutely not!” He took a breath, about to go off on a tirade, but Harry cut him off with a raised hand.
“Do it. Trust me.” Harry said.
Draco let out a full body, deep, scraping sigh and lifted his right sleeve. Harry just glared at him with a flat look. Draco sighed again and lifted the left sleeve. The dark mark has slightly faded but was still there writhing and hissing.
“Thank you.” Harry said as he palmed his wand.
He let out a long string of guttural, screeching hisses, and the Dark Mark stilled. Harry pressed his wand to it and hissed again. He kept hissing and his wand tip glowed pink, and then the Dark Mark glowed and when Harry lifted his wand the mark came with it, peeling itself off of Draco’s arm and untying it from his soul. Kreacher popped in with a book open to a blank page and Harry lowered the Mark to it. The Mark didn’t resist, it simply settled into the book and stretched out. Kreacher closed the book on it. Draco hadn’t looked away from his plain arm, so he didn’t see the book or anything, nor did he see the sweat pouring down Harry’s face.
He just stared at his unblemished skin.
“Harry. How?” Draco asked.
“Harry, am I, Now?” Harry asked and Draco turned pink.
“Erm, well I mean..” Draco said.
“Eloquent as always, Draco.” Harry said with a chuckle and he handed Draco back his half-a-glass of Firewhiskey.
“Come along now, Lunch is ready, and we can make plans for Hogwarts this September.”
Harry moved out of the Drawing room, and into the Dining room, Draco blindly followed him, eyes never leaving his forearm. They barely sat when they heard the Floo Flare.
Hermione, Ron, Andromeda and Teddy filed into the Dining room. None were surprised to see Draco there, so he figured Harry’d disclosed this meeting to them. Andromeda said nothing as she handed Teddy to Harry, just strode over to her nephew and pulled him out of his chair in a bone-crushing embrace. She smoothed down his hair and kissed all over his face.
“I was so worried about you, Draco.” Was all she could manage. Harry saw the panic in Draco’s eyes. He had no memory of his Aunt, and thought that she had never met him either.
“Have you ever seen me before?” He asked quietly.
“Only pictures. Father forbid Cissy from talking to me, but that couldn’t stop her from sending short notes to Ted on the backs of photos over the years, and if I just so happened to accidentally see them, well, never lost her magic, did she.” Andromeda replied, teary eyed. “Cissy always knew how to get her way, but follow whatever rules are imposed upon her”
“Hmm, explains how she got our best property.” Harry mumbled.
“Mate, you gave it to her.” Ron said
“I felt bad!” Harry replied.
Four sets of eyebrows rose at that, and they all settled in to eat.
Hermione looked a little put out when all of the food appeared. She’d finally read about elves, instead of assuming they were slaves, she still was slightly uncomfortable but getting better. Ron ate. Draco and Andromeda filled the whole lunch with ceaseless conversation.
“Did it work?” Hermione whispered to Harry, who gave a slight nod. She beamed. Andromeda had managed to remove the scar from Hermione’s arm a few weeks prior. Andromeda let out a shriek when she saw it, when Hermione’s sleeve had caught and rode up, while she was holding Teddy. With Andy back in the family, she was able to use the Family magics again and removed the scar with a single wordless swipe of her wand, and the two had broken down and cried, in each other’s arms.
“Ok, Hogwarts,” Harry said and everyone quieted and looked at him. “Begins in 3 weeks, Ron, have you applied to finish?” Ron nodded, a little dejected, he was planning on taking Kingsley up on the free ride into Auror training, Hermione and Molly gently talked him out of it.\
“Good.” Harry said. “I have as well and I’ve been spending a lot of time with McGonagall this summer. I think you’ll like the changes she’s introduced.”
“Changes?” Draco asked
“Yes, Professor McGonagall has brought back programs and classes which were removed long ago, and she wants us all to re sort.” Hermione said. Ron and Draco gasped in unison and then shot each other looks.
“Exactly. She expects our whole class to return either for NEWT classes or the new Mastery Program.”
“Mastery Program?” Andromeda asked.
“Hadn’t I told you? Hmm. Erm, yeah some bloke High Lord Potter had donated money to reinstate it. It’s better than losing the whole generation to France.” Harry said, rolling his eyes at his own title and his use of it in the third person.
The rest joined him in his eye roll, but at him, not with him.
He continued “Alchemy, Enchantments, Magical Theory, Spell Crafting, and Etiquette were all added back.”
“The Muggle Studies class has been expanded into a whole program with Mathematics, Science and Literature. The Class schedule is now on a credit system so instead of attending every class, each day, the schedule is flexible, instead of houses all taking the classes together they are now going to be Average and Advanced. The Average classes are the same as we had, but the Advanced classes will be accelerated and with an emphasis on a self-study project, each term. The Mastery Classes are available to all those who qualify 6th year and up and now Hogwarts will be the only institution to provide a mastery program free of charge to its alumni.” Hermione added.
There was a big problem in Britain trying to train and promote masters in any magical field. They had been expensive and unattainable for the majority of the population. Wizarding Britain had lost more muggle-borns to expatriation than they ever had to Voldemort. Between Harry’s donations to education and the Wizengamot changing the law to prohibit exorbitant fees on summer tutoring, The Ministry was hopeful of retaining more ‘New Bloods’, (as they have begun legally referring to Muggle-borns, the term hasn’t quite caught on yet among the general public,) to avoid a population collapse.
“How will you continue on as Chief Warlock while you’re at school? I’d assumed you’d pass your NEWTs with self study.” Andromeda asked.
“Oh, That, well, the Common Room Floo connections and the Wildsmith Floo Points have all been reactivated, so I could just, erm, pop in, but I’d really wanted to have one peaceful year as a student and was going to relinquish the position and appoint proxy to my seats, I’d spoken to Lord Nott and he was planning on the same.”
“Theo?” Draco asked, surprised.
“The very same. I’ve grown close with Lord Nott, and we share many common opinions on governance. ‘Sa shame I never had the chance to talk to him until we watched his father marched into the veil.” Harry replied. Everyone paled.
“You chatted him up while his father was executed!?” Draco asked, hand on his face massaging his forehead.
“Erm, No. He talked to me, seemed to be the happiest in the chamber for that one.” Harry said. “That’s how I knew he’s a good bloke.”
Everyone at the table, including 4-month-old Teddy stared at Harry in disbelief.
“Listen. The Late Lord Nott was the worst kind of Death Eater. Horrible, and I didn’t know the half of it until Theo had told me.” Harry said in his own defense.
Hermione rubbed her arm.
Andromeda looked pale.
Ron just nodded along, such a good friend, these days, that Ron.
Draco looked at Harry with at least 13 conflicting emotions. They all averaged out, though. He sighed and pulled his sleeves up. Harry, actually squealed in delight. He didn’t think he would.
“This is wonderful!” Hermione exclaimed, grabbing and squeezing Harry, who’s next to her instead of launching over the table.
“Holy Hecate!” Andromeda prayed, as she did grab on to Draco.
“How’d you do it, Mate? Everyone said it’s impossible.” Ron asked Harry, brows furrowed.
“Well, you see, it seems that dear, old Tom didn’t scrub quite as well as he thought he did. I found a copy of the Parselmagic book he used to create the Dark Mark. I was able to transfer the mark to a book I created to house it.” Harry explained, twirling and waving his spoon.
“Why would you want to keep it? Aren’t you going to destroy it?” Ron asked, looking alarmed and reaching for his wand, as if the Mark Book would just appear and start hexing.
“I kept it because that was the last Dark Mark on Earth. The DOM and the DMLE rounded up all of the Death Eaters and we sent them through the veil. Remember? The DMLE was planning on using Draco as a key to some properties, the Wizengamot firmly disagreed, we didn’t think that fabricating another punishment for him would have been faithful to the spirit of our ruling. But by then I’d found the Slytherin Parseltounge library buried in Gringotts, and figured out the unbinding.”
“How did Voldemort not find it?” Andromeda asked.
“He violated the terms of the family magics when he made the diary…so he was limited in what Salazar allowed him to have.” Harry said.
“How could keeping a diary disinherit him?” Draco asked, horrified.
Ron, Hermione, and Harry gave each other sideways glances, Ron shook his head and Harry let out a sigh.
“It’s what he put into it.” Harry said simply, scooping up more treacle tart.
“And, what would that be?” Draco asked. He really wanted to make sure he didn’t do the same.
“Professor Dumbledore wished for us not to disclose that.” Hermione said.
“How would I know if I have done something like that?” Draco asked.
“Trust me. You haven’t.” Harry said, pointing his spoon at Draco, and that was that.
“You keep a diary, Malfoy?” Ron asked, face turning red from trying not to laugh.
Draco looked slightly murderous when Harry blurted out, right before the separator.
“Oh I almost forgot the best part of McGonagall’s changes! There’s going to be 3 Quidditch teams per house!”
The next few weeks passed a smidge too quickly for Harry’s liking. He loves Hogwarts, it’s his first home and all that rot, but he has put a lot of work, magic and blood into Grimmauld Place and he has grown to really like his sentient house and the sentient stack of newspapers. He has a routine down. Each morning he showers, shaves, dresses, meets Kreacher at the bottom of the stairs, who hands him his tea and he saunters over to the the stack. Each morning he chuckles as the articles and advertisements fight for his attention, and each morning, they get better at showing him what he really needs to know. Although The Daily Prophet has always been in the business of drawing sensationalism while burying the news, they’d gotten marginally more trustworthy. But Harry doesn’t have to worry about that with his enchanted news.
“Kreacher, do you think I can ever move this?” Harry asked one morning. Before Kreacher replied the paper beat him to it, a letter N from the head line grew big and red as did the O from ‘Prophet’
“Right then, erm, I’ll ask again in a few years.” Harry said sheepishly, to the paper which enlarged the T in ‘The’ and the Y in ‘Daily.’ Harry was impressed.
Harry supposed he could still come home fairly often, but he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to try for a normal year in school. Play some quidditch, read books, learn more magic, and most importantly expand his social network. He recently realized that since everyone knows him, it would be the right thing to do to get to know more people. But that thought made him a little intimidated, he had been let down quite a few times by the other students over the years. He shook off the feeling and embraced his new shot at life once again.