Magic, Might, and Manipulations
Harry’s breath came in ragged gasps, the air thick with the acrid sting of spellfire and scorched wood. Each breath was a painful reminder of burning homes and the flaming earth of battlefields. His sheets tangled around him as he tossed and turned, caught in the throes of a vivid nightmare that clung to him with the tenacity of a dementor's kiss.
In the dream, his home was once again a warzone, shadows and figures blending into the darkness of night, their wands casting spells that lit the scene in stark, flashing light. The smells were vividly, disturbingly familiar: the sharp tang of magic in the air, the heavy scent of dust thrown into the air by debris, and under it all, the faint, metallic scent of blood.
He fought back with a desperation borne of these repeated horrors, his spells slicing through the night with lethal precision. Each Dark Wizard fell, one by one, until only one remained. The man’s face was a mask of terror and resolve as Harry’s wand pressed against his throat.
"Why?" Harry demanded, his voice a harsh growl that barely sounded human.
The man cackled through his broken ribs and his breath came out as a wet cough.
"To claim the right of the Master of Death," the wizard gasped, the title echoing ominously around them.
Harry woke with a start, his room silent except for his labored breathing. He lay in the darkness, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped creature trying to escape. His flaring aura was restrained and his breathing was controlled. The echoes of the dream reverberated in his mind, a cruel reminder of his past—a past that had returned with a vengeance ever since Kingsley Shacklebolt had made the knowledge of Horcruxes public. A foolish mistake. That decision had stirred the dark waters of the wizarding world, bringing forth a new wave of zealots and power-seekers. A stream of Dark Lords had then flowed, determined to bring ruin in exchange for immortality.
He hated the title, Master of Death. It was a curse disguised as a crown, a source of endless challenge and threat. As if the Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone, or Cloak of Invisibility granted any mastery over Death itself. No, his most hated title only ever brought misery and destruction - both to himself and to those he loved.
With a grimace, Harry swung his legs out of bed, his movement fluid but tired. A simple wave of his hand summoned his clothes from the chair where they lay draped. The fabric flew to him, dressing him with a swiftness born of frequent practice.
As he buttoned his shirt, a faint sense of relief washed over him. There was no Trace here to monitor his every magical move, no oppressive watchfulness. It was a small freedom, but in a world that seemed increasingly controlled by the shadows of oppression and the specters of his decisions, it was a precious one.
He stood by the window, looking out at the quiet street, allowing the cool night air to wash over him and dispel the last clinging tendrils of his nightmare. This world was different, and he had a second chance—a chance to change things, to fight back not just for survival but for a life beyond the constant shadow of death. He would start today, as he did every day, fighting not just for victory, but for peace.
Harry carefully navigated the currents of Hermione's mind, his focus sharp as he employed Legilimency to sift through her memories. The mental landscape was a vast, intricate network, reflecting Hermione's brilliant intellect and meticulous nature. As he delved deeper, he sensed a subtle steering of his attention away from certain areas—Hermione was becoming adept at redirecting him to less significant memories: lectures from Madam Justine, mundane daily routines, even a visit to the shops.
With a mental nudge, he pushed slightly harder, curious to test the strength of her defenses, but found himself smoothly escorted towards an entirely innocuous memory of them studying last week. Admiration flickered through him; she was indeed improving, her control over what she chose to reveal becoming more refined.
Pulling back, Harry withdrew from her mind. The connection snapped gently, like a soap bubble popping, and Hermione opened her eyes, looking a bit weary but determined.
"You're getting much better at this, Hermione," Harry praised as he reached for a small tin of chocolate frogs he’d brought along, knowing how much she loved them after a challenging session. "Here, you’ve earned this."
Hermione managed a tired smile as she accepted the chocolate, peeling back the wrapper with a quiet sigh. "Thanks, Harry," she said, popping the frog into her mouth. "But I still have a long way to go. It feels like I'm just managing to tidy up the front hall when there’s a whole house left to protect."
"Don’t underestimate how important that front hall is," Harry responded with an encouraging grin. "You’re not just tidying up; you’re fortifying. Every step forward is valuable."
Hermione nodded, her expression determined as she chewed thoughtfully on her chocolate. "I’ll keep practicing," she promised, a spark of resolve lighting her eyes. "I need to be able to guard not just the front hall, but all the hidden rooms and back passages."
"And you will," Harry assured her confidently. "You’re one of the quickest learners I know. We'll get there, one room at a time."
Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “Thank you. I feel so special. Training like this isn’t exactly common.”
"Why not?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled. "Surely I'm not the only one helping out a friend."
Hermione sighed, shifting slightly on the couch where they sat. "It’s deeper than that," she explained. "Ever since Merlin established the Imperium in the Age of Myth, there's been a structured separation. Muggleborns have always faced discrimination. Merlin's original intent, at least as it's been recorded, was to keep the magical and non-magical worlds apart, solidifying Pureblood dominance in magical society."
Harry frowned, disliking the historical underpinnings of such divisions. "And what about Half-bloods and Muggleborns?"
"Well," Hermione said, a hint of frustration in her voice, "we're sort of the living contradictions to Merlin’s ideologies. We’re proof that his system isn’t flawless."
Harry snorted dismissively. "Merlin’s just a figure from the past. It doesn’t matter now; he’s long dead."
Hermione shook her head, a wry smile flickering across her face. "That’s where you’re wrong. Merlin isn’t exactly dead. He’s technically still alive, trapped in a cursed golden orb that's kept in the Wizengamot Chambers."
Harry stared at her, incredulous. "You can’t be serious."
"I am," Hermione affirmed. "It's an open secret that’s not really a secret among certain circles. They say his consciousness is preserved, eternally suffering or sleeping—it varies depending on who you ask."
Harry mulled over this new information, finding it hard to digest. "So, you're telling me that one of the most famous wizards in history is just... sitting in an orb at the Ministry? And people are okay with this?"
"It’s more than just being okay with it; it's a symbol," Hermione elaborated. "Merlin is so powerful and his ideology so pure - so say the Lords of the Wizengamot - that he has been able to maintain his existence ever since his battle with Morgana le Faye in the Age of Myth."
"That’s intense," Harry muttered, digesting the weight of such a legendary tale. "So, he’s just... stuck there? Forever?"
"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "The curse is so powerful that no one has been able to lift it, and the sphere he conjured is equally unbreakable. Merlin has been trapped there ever since. Alive, but unable to do anything."
"But if he's the founder of the Imperium," Harry queried, puzzled, "why don’t people honor him with grand titles or something? Why isn’t he called 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Highness'? It feels strange to call what is essentially a king by his given name."
Hermione smiled slightly, appreciating the question. "Oh, Merlin despised blood related titles. The only title he ever accepted was 'Prince of Enchanters'—and even that was more a description than a title. He wanted to be remembered for his deeds, not his status."
Harry shook his head, still amazed by the lore. "That’s... contradictory. Our society is full of those who call themselves Lord without ever earning it."
Hermione shrugged. “Merlin's wishes for himself have stayed in place, but people have changed over the past thousand years. For what it’s worth, Merlin still believed in the superiority of magicals over Muggles. I doubt he would have much of a problem with the prejudice we have today.”
Changing the subject back to their practice, Harry gestured towards the desk. "Shall we get back to it then? Let’s see if you can summon your magic without letting your guard down this time."
Hermione nodded, setting aside the historical discussion and focusing on the task at hand. She closed her eyes, gathering her concentration. Harry watched as she mentally prepared herself, then began the delicate process of drawing out her magic, trying to keep her mind shielded and her thoughts obscured from any prying eyes. It was a difficult balance to strike, but each attempt brought her closer to mastering the art of Occlumency. As she worked, Harry couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride in her progress. Despite the weight of their discussion, they were here, now, learning and growing stronger together.
In a dimly lit study filled with rows of ancient tomes and scrolls, Harry and Madam Justine sat hunched over a cluttered oak desk. Their conversation had been swirling around the tricky tides of wizarding politics, but now, it veered into more personal waters.
Justine, tapping a finger against her chin thoughtfully, broke the silence. "Harry, your interaction with Catelynn Baron last week didn't quite hit the mark. Understanding the perspectives of girls, particularly in these circles, is crucial."
Harry’s forehead creased, a frown etching itself deeply as a wave of frustration washed over him, his eyes momentarily flickering with the struggle of understanding. "I did send her an owl, and we're meeting again soon," he defended, though a part of him recognized his shortcomings. "But honestly, I find all of this... perplexing. Girls are confusing."
"Just understanding facts and tactics isn't enough," Justine explained patiently. "You need to focus more on your emotions, on empathy. People—girls included—respond to genuine emotional connections."
Harry sighed, the weight of these expectations settling on his shoulders. "Why does it even have to be this complicated? Why can’t we just talk to each other normally…"
Justine's expression softened, yet her voice carried the weight of her vast experience. "Because, Harry, Purebloods dominate much of our society—not just the Nobles, but also regular families. Half-bloods often end up as specialists, academics, or in service roles, but only if they are exceptional. If you want to change the system, you need Noble support."
Harry's thoughts briefly darted to a darker place—a world where he could just force change through power alone—but he immediately dismissed it. "I'd rather fight for freedom than impose it," he muttered under his breath.
"It's a flawed system," Justine continued, seeing Harry's inner turmoil. "Many Purebloods endure some injustices themselves, which they pass down to keep Half-bloods and others 'in their place.' It's a cycle of misery, really."
Harry furrowed his brow, the notion striking him as inherently wrong. "That seems... unreasonable," he said, the concept striking a dissonant chord within him. "Why are children thrust into roles that demand such maturity? Catelynn is just my age. Surely, she should be allowed to cherish her youth rather than worry about marital alliances."
Madam Justine shifted her weight and sighed. "While it might appear excessive from the outside, the traditions of our nobility are rooted in deep-seated reasons. From an early age, noble children are taught through specialized potions and rigorous educational regimes. Mastery of complex subjects and social strategies begins before they ever step through Hogwarts' gates. To neglect such preparations would be to place one's family at a significant strategic disadvantage."
Harry's expression hardened. "Is this the standard for all noble families?"
"Indeed, it is," Justine confirmed, her tone carrying a hint of solemnity. "Every noble house that aims to preserve and enhance its lineage adheres to these practices. It may seem harsh, particularly to those of Muggleborn or Half-blood origin, but such is the fabric of our society. Noble children are conditioned to mature swiftly—if they do not, their family's standing and future are at risk."
The absurdity and harshness of it all washed over Harry in a cold wave. "That's monstrous! It's yet another part of this society that desperately needs changing."
"Quite," Justine agreed with a wry smile. "Now, let's refocus. We've got a meeting with the Lovegoods coming up, and it's crucial."
Harry nodded, his earlier frustration subsiding as he realigned his thoughts. "Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked there. What should I keep in mind for the Lovegoods?"
"Just be yourself, but be open. The Lovegoods are known for their peculiarities, but their Family Magic gives them an edge in social situations. They will know if you are lying."
They spent the next hour discussing various talking points and practicing the finer points of etiquette. Harry was thankful for Justine’s guidance, her expertise smoothing the rough edges of his approach. As they wrapped up their session, Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose, ready to tackle the complex social landscape that lay before him.
Harry's boots clicked softly on the polished marble floor as he was ushered into the opulent drawing room of Baron Manor, a place that whispered of old money and ancient lineage. Lord Baron, a tall figure with an imposing presence, greeted him with a curt nod, his eyes briefly assessing Harry before he gestured towards his daughter, Catelynn.
Catelynn Baron, poised and impeccably dressed, offered Harry a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. They sat across from each other, a low table laden with fine china and an array of afternoon tea delicacies between them. Lord Baron excused himself, his departure leaving a palpable silence in his wake.
The air grew thick with formality as Harry fumbled for words, the conversation stuttering to life with trivial remarks about the weather and recent war updates. Each attempt at light-hearted charm seemed to falter, falling flat as Catelynn’s responses grew terser, her patience thinning.
At last, seemingly frustrated or perhaps merely tired of the dance around superficial topics, Catelynn leaned forward slightly. “Heir Potter,” she began, her voice carrying a blend of curiosity and challenge, “you’ve spoken of alliances and family, but tell me truly—what is it that you seek in a wife?”
Harry hesitated, feeling the weight of her gaze. He shifted uncomfortably, his initial attempts at charm dissolving into the charged air. His mind raced through the advice Justine had given him, the need for honesty resonating deeply. Taking a deep breath, he met Catelynn’s eyes with newfound resolve.
“I... I haven’t really thought about it in the way perhaps I should,” he admitted, his voice steadier than he felt. Madam Justine’s advice echoed in his ears.
“My life—it’s anything but simple. I'm not just the Boy-Who-Lived or the heir to an ancient title. I’m… Harry. Just Harry. And that’s who I want someone to see. I’m looking for a partner, someone who wants me for me, not for the ghosts of my past or the specter of a name.”
Catelynn’s expression softened, the icy veneer melting away as she regarded him anew. Her posture relaxed, a genuine interest flickering in her eyes for the first time that afternoon. She took a long sip of her tea as she pondered.
“That’s quite a rare thing to hear in these circles,” she remarked, a trace of warmth creeping into her voice. “People often wear masks, don’t they? Hiding behind titles and legacies.”
Harry nodded, encouraged by her change in tone. “Yes, and it’s exhausting. I don’t want to spend my life with someone hiding behind or chasing after a legacy that isn’t their own. I want authenticity, a true partnership.”
As their conversation deepened, Catelynn glanced around the ornate room, a flicker of an idea crossing her features. "Would you like to see the gardens?" she asked, a hint of eagerness in her tone. "They are rather lovely this time of year."
Harry nodded, grateful for the change in scenery, and followed her as she led the way through a pair of French doors that opened onto a sprawling garden. The air was cooler here, filled with the scent of blooming roses and fresh earth. Catelynn’s posture relaxed somewhat and they walked in a comfortable silence. As they walked, Harry noticed a slight shimmer in the air beside them—an almost invisible presence that he recognized as a Disillusioned House Elf, no doubt keeping a watchful eye.
As they strolled down the garden path, lined with meticulously trimmed hedges and vibrant flower beds, Catelynn's voice grew more contemplative. "I understand, somewhat, how you feel," she began, her gaze fixed on a distant statue of an ancient witch. "As a woman in our society, my passions and the scope of my political engagements are... constrained. Expectations of marriage and alliance building are in every young noblewoman’s education. My father has been supportive, trying to allow me the freedom to explore different interests, but even he can't change our Imperium."
Harry offered her a sad smile, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and frustration. "I'm not sure if I can offer you any sort of life that doesn't come with its own limitations," he admitted honestly. "But I wouldn’t want to restrict you in any way, regardless of what society might expect."
Pausing near a fountain, the gentle sound of water trickling a soothing backdrop, Harry turned to face her. "What are you interested in, Miss Baron? Truly interested in?"
Catelynn looked momentarily surprised by the question, as if few had bothered to ask her desires before. She took a moment, watching a butterfly flit from one bloom to another, before responding with a bright smile. "I've always been quite fond of dueling," she confessed. "There’s something exhilarating about the strategy and skill involved."
Harry’s face lit up at her words. "I enjoy dueling too, and I'm actually pretty good at it," he said with a modest grin.
She chuckled skeptically. "Really? That sounds a bit hard to believe, Heir Potter."
Seizing the opportunity, Harry gestured towards the gravel path beneath their feet. "Pick up a stone and toss it into the air," he suggested with a playful tone.
Cautiously intrigued, Catelynn picked up a small, smooth rock and threw it high above them. With a swift, fluid motion, Harry flicked his wrist and softly uttered, "Confringo," sending a jet of crimson light towards the stone. The spell, deliberately underpowered, didn't obliterate the rock but instead caused it to burst into a shower of harmless, glittering sparks that rained down around them.
She gasped, a mixture of surprise and admiration crossing her features. "That was... impressive. How did you get so good at such a young age?"
Harry winked, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief. "Ah, that’s a secret," he teased lightly.
Her laughter rang clear in the cool air, and she playfully grabbed his arm as they resumed their walk through the lush garden. The earlier awkwardness had evaporated, replaced by a budding camaraderie and a shared appreciation for a skill that was both an art and a defense. As they strolled, their conversation flowed more freely, touching on favorite dueling styles, renowned duelists, and their own experiences in magical combat. This newfound common ground lent a lively energy to their interactions, coloring the rest of their tour with animated discussion and shared smiles.
In the muted light of dawn, Harry stirred beneath his modest covers in his room at the Hog’s Head Inn. As he sat up and stretched, his joints giving a satisfactory pop, he couldn’t help but notice a change. The room, once feeling snug around him, now seemed somehow smaller, or perhaps it was he who had grown larger.
Harry swung his legs off the bed and stood, his feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a thud. He reached upwards, his fingers brushing against the low ceiling, a grin spreading across his face. The growth potion regimen that he began a few months ago had, it seemed, gone over fabulously. He was taller now, decidedly so—likely a bit taller than most boys his age.
As he dressed, pulling on a pair of trousers that felt snugger than he remembered, Harry pondered the sights of a few other children he has seen over the past months. Could they too be on a similar potion regimen, crafted to enhance their growth or strengthen their bones? The thought made him shrug slightly as he fastened his shirt; whatever the reason, it was just another curious observation in a world that never ceased to surprise.
Fully dressed now, Harry thought back to his conversation with Justine. Need to refocus on the grimoires. A frustrating proposition, as the family grimoires had revealed very little in the months since he started studying them. Need a fresh attempt.
Harry Apparated to Gringotts and approached the teller. A quick conversation and cart ride later and Harry found himself back within the Potter Vault. The Potter Family Grimoire sat in its lectern as it thrummed with magic. As Harry opened the book and felt its magic wash over him, he read. Absorbing more of his family history, Harry sighed.
What’s the point in this? A tome of history? How is this supposed to help me with the here and now? He closed the book and the smallest flicker of magic burst from the spine.
“Hm?” Harry turned the book and ran his finger down the spine, watching the aura of the book change. A small runic array made itself visible.
“Ahhh. A hidden set of runes. What do they say?”
The runes were old and a few were words Harry didn’t recognize. Something about blood and space?Maybe my own blood?
Cutting the tip of his finger, Harry rubbed his blood into the array and felt a surge of magic. In a blink, the world around him shifted. Harry found himself standing in a vast, ethereal space, where the laws of physics seemed altered. The ground was translucent, shimmering with an inner light, and the sky above was a cascade of colors, shifting like oil on water. He was no longer in Gringotts but somewhere altogether different—an extradimensional space crafted from magic and bound within the pages of the grimoire.
With a mix of awe and trepidation, Harry stepped forward. The landscape seemed to respond to his presence, paths unfolding and distant vistas drawing closer as if the world itself was alive. Ancient trees with leaves of silver whispered secrets of the Potter lineage, and rivers of quicksilver flowed beside pathways that led to towering structures, each as ancient and powerful as his legacy.
The ground beneath his feet felt oddly spongy, like stepping on a dense fog, yet it held firm with each cautious step. The air was tinged with the sweet scent of orchids and something else unplaceable, a faint, metallic smell that seemed to originate from the glowing rivers. An intense pressure exuded from his ring and he felt the magic drain from his form. Clearly his time here was limited.
Exploring this mystical realm, Harry encountered echoes of Potter's long past, their lives and stories woven into the fabric of the place. The structures were each shrouded, their details illegible. They were blocked with a portcullis that seemed impassable even when he willed it with magic. More secrets? Something to explore later.
As he turned around he walked through a corridor formed by arching trees whose leaves whispered in a language only felt, not heard. Voices echoed softly around him, murmurs of past Potters discussing spells, battles, and secrets. Harry paused occasionally, trying to catch snippets of conversations, hoping to glean insights from the spectral echoes. Their whisperings were too esoteric to truly understand, but Harry felt their meanings - the Potter legacy was one of tremendous power and secrets.
The drain from the Potter Ring intensified and Harry felt a bit of weakness. Just a bit further…
As he ventured deeper into this mystical realm, a new path veered to his left, leading to a chamber. The entrance was marked by ancient, unintelligible runes that shimmered in the dim light, beckoning him forward. With a mixture of excitement and caution, Harry stepped into the chamber, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor.
Inside, the air was charged with a palpable tension. At the center of the room was a swirling black void surrounded by a luminescent ring that seemed to pulse with energy. The sight was mesmerizing, and Harry felt a mix of awe and a creeping sense of dread as he approached. Immediately he was hit with an acrid, sour taste and a pungent smell that made his eyes water. He persisted and the void appeared to distort the very fabric of reality around it, bending light and seemingly pulling at the essence of everything nearby.
Curiosity overcoming his initial hesitation, Harry extended his senses towards the anomaly, wondering if this strange object was a part of the Potter family's magical heritage. As Harry reached out towards the void, a cold shiver ran down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as if charged by the unseen energy. To his surprise, he found that he could interact with it, manipulating its position and altering its size with his will alone. What power! I wonder…
With a flick of his wrist, Harry conjured a small stone and tossed it towards the void. It vanished without a trace as soon as it crossed the boundary of the swirling darkness. Intrigued, he conjured larger objects—a chair, a table, finally a large boulder—and one by one, they all disappeared into the void, consumed completely. The dread he felt grew with each object that passed into the void.
Harry realized that he could not sense any residual magic from the objects once they crossed into the void; they seemed to be utterly destroyed. This observation led him to ponder the nature and purpose of such a creation. Was it a defensive measure, a way to deal with unwanted magical artifacts, or something far more profound? Why did the Potter Family Magic show him this, but not other parts of the Grimoire?
As he stood there, fascinated and filled with questions, Harry knew this discovery would require more investigation. He decided to document his findings and perform more intricate tests. Suddenly he found himself ripped away from the mesmerizing spectacle, the image of the void seared into his mind as he was forced back through the pages of the grimoire, returning to the physical world of Gringotts.
Immediately Harry felt immense magical fatigue. His Heir Ring no longer provided him with sustenance, as the object was considerably drained of its magic. ‘Entering’ the Grimoire seemed to have exhausted the ring of its immense reserves.
At least it will recharge over time. Still, this will take quite a while to explore.
After downing some chocolate and resting for a time, Harry left Gringotts, flooing back to the Hog’s Head Inn and collapsing into a deep sleep almost immediately. Questions of family and purpose danced across his dreams.
The emerald flames roared as they touched the edges of the Hog’s Head Inn’s ancient fireplace, flickering with a vigor that seemed almost sentient. Harry watched as Madam Justine dusted off her robes, her usual calm demeanor replaced by a slight twitch at the corner of her eye.
“You seem... uneasy today, Madam Justine,” Harry remarked, his voice soft, tinged with concern as he stepped closer to the fireplace, his hand lingering over the mantle.
Madam Justine paused, her eyes briefly flicking towards the dancing flames before meeting Harry’s gaze. “It’s this uncertainty,” she confessed, her voice lower than usual. “The Lovegood family magic, it’s not just quirky tales and odd creatures, Harry. They can glimpse the threads of the future, however tangled they might appear.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Yes, we spoke of this. We have a plan.” He took a deep breath as anxiety filled him. “They might see my connection with the other houses.”
“Precisely,” she replied, nodding gravely. “It’s a rare gift, powerful and often burdensome. The Lovegoods handle it with their unique grace, but it makes for... unpredictable meetings.”
Harry let out a slow breath, the weight of his legacy momentarily pressing down upon him. “I appreciate the heads-up. The Lovegoods have always been good people in my book. I’ll keep it in mind.” He smiled, trying to ease the tension. “Besides, I’m better prepared this time around.”
Madam Justine managed a small smile, reassured by his confidence. “I’m glad to hear that, Harry.”
With a flick of his wrist, Harry threw a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace, the flames leaping up green and vibrant. “To the Lovegood mansion,” he declared, stepping into the fire with a braveness that belied his racing thoughts.
As the world spun in a whirl of green flames, Harry’s mind wandered to Luna Lovegood. The possibility of Luna being his wife had surfaced more than once in discussions among him and Justine. It was an odd thought, marrying someone as whimsically enigmatic as Luna. Yet, as the flames danced around him, a strange sense of calm settled over his heart. He believed, quite firmly, that he could make anything work with her. Her presence was soothing, her perspective on the world refreshingly different.
Luna could see the world in ways no one else does, and perhaps that’s exactly what I need.
Harry hummed to himself as the flames flickered and slowed. The thought of standing beside her, facing whatever the future held, wasn't just comforting; it felt right, as though their combined oddities could somehow balance the scales of their destined lives.
The flames died down, and Harry stepped out into the bright, airy entrance hall of the Lovegood mansion. The walls were lined with pictures of creatures Harry had only seen in Luna’s drawings from years ago, each frame whispering of adventures and mysteries untold. A moment later, Madam Justine stepped through the floo.
As Harry adjusted to the light streaming through the grand windows of the Lovegood mansion, his gaze was caught by the approach of Lord Lovegood. The man's demeanor carried an air of eccentric dignity that perfectly matched the ethereal decor of the household.
"Lord Potter, what a pleasure to see you again," Lord Lovegood exclaimed, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious hallway.
Harry blinked, a bit startled by the title. "I'm still just an Heir, Lord Lovegood. Not quite a Lord yet," he corrected gently, unsure why the elder Lovegood would address him as such.
Lord Lovegood's eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and insight as he gave a knowing smile. "To me, young man, you are every bit the Lord." His gaze seemed to pierce through Harry as if he could see far more than Harry himself could.
Beside Harry, Madam Justine merely shrugged, her expression unreadable yet tinged with a hint of amusement at Harry's confusion.
They moved towards the sitting room, a cozy yet oddly shaped room filled with an array of unusual artifacts and books. The walls themselves seemed to whisper secrets of ancient magical discoveries and adventures.
As they entered, Luna rose from a chair by the fireplace, her movements as fluid and unpredictable as the creatures she so often described. With a bright smile and wide, open arms, she approached Harry. "It feels like forever since I've seen you last, Heir Potter," Luna said warmly, embracing him tightly. "You shouldn’t have hidden who you were from me."
Harry, taken aback by her words, freezing at the unexpected contact before returning the hug. It was true; he had seen Luna only a few months ago and had concealed his full identity and the complexities of his heritage. "I'm sorry, Heir Lovegood. I didn't mean—" he started, his apology trailing off awkwardly.
"There’s no need for apologies, Heir Potter," interrupted Pandora Lovegood, Luna’s mother, waving her hand dismissively as she joined them. Her voice was as calm and soothing as her daughter’s, filled with understanding and a touch of mirth. "We understand, dear. The air of death and darkness that surrounds you is terrifying. We respect your need for caution.
Harry, still slightly bewildered but grateful for the forgiveness, nodded and managed a small smile. "Thank you, Lady Lovegood. It means a lot to hear that."
Lord Lovegood developed a frown slightly as he regarded Harry. "But you do know my Luna, at least a bit. You addressed my daughter by name without a formal introduction. Honesty is important, so I would like the truth."
Harry, caught off-guard, stammered for a moment. His mind raced back to a brief encounter in Diagon Alley, when he referred to himself as Cormac McLaggen. "I... yes, I suppose we met briefly before. I am wary of trusting people with who I really am," he managed, remembering the fleeting moment they had shared.
Lord Lovegood's stern expression broke into a chuckle, soon joined by laughter from Pandora and Luna. "Relax, Harry," Luna said with a gentle smile that reached her eyes. "I don't know how you know me so well, but it feels like we've known each other forever."
Harry felt a twinge of suspicion. Luna's statement echoed too closely to the nuances of being a Champion, but perhaps . Covertly, he sent a weak Legilimency probe towards Luna, careful not to delve too deeply or intrusively. Among the flurry of surface thoughts, he caught a brief mention of a dream before he hastily withdrew, wary of being detected.
As he rejoined the conversation, Harry tried to cover his unease. "When I saw you, Luna, I just knew who you were," he said. "I can't explain how or why." He braced himself for Lord Lovegood to press for a clearer explanation.
To his relief, Lord Lovegood merely nodded, his smile returning. "I understand," he said warmly. "Sometimes, people just know things. That's the nature of magic, isn't it? And don't worry about your secrets with me. If I ever have a vision about them, I'll do my best not to spill them."
Harry swallowed hard, his heart racing with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, sir," he said earnestly.
He smoothed his dress robes out before gesturing to Justine. “This is my governess, Madam Justine.” She curtsied as Luna giggled.
“I can see she has a potent future. Strength and guile,” Xenophilius responded as he shook her hand, his eyes unfocused.
Lord Lovegood gestured to the handsome chairs in the room and continued the conversation.
"She will serve you well, with your capabilities for lightning manipulation and those dark rituals you're dabbling in. It is necessary to have strong people follow you." He trailed off, his gaze piercing through Harry.
Madam Justine's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her previous composure slipping momentarily, while Harry felt a sudden rush of panic. "I—I don't understand. Are you a Champion?" he stammered.
Lord Lovegood cocked his head while Luna’s smile faded. “Champion? No, I don’t think so. Did I say something wrong?” He looked towards her wife and she returned a smile.
Harry took a deep breath, calming his racing thoughts. That was stupid of me! Of course it’s their Family Magic!
Lord Lovegood blinked, looking genuinely perplexed for a moment, then his expression softened. "Ah, my apologies, Lord Potter. Our Family Magic sometimes shows us various potential futures and pasts—it's a bit of a mix of what has happened and what might. Gets quite confusing at times."
Harry's initial shock subsided as he digested this information. "That must be strange, living with such uncertainty," he said.
"It is," Lord Lovegood agreed with a nonchalant shrug. "But one learns to live with it, to weave through the maybes and the might-have-beens. I hope you’ll take no offense."
Luna, who had been quietly listening, chimed in, her voice dreamy yet earnest. "My own experience of our Family Magic is even more intense, I think. It's stronger because I inherited it from both sides of my family."
Harry looked puzzled. "Both sides?"
"Yes," Luna explained, "my parents are cousins, and they share the same Family Magic. It makes everything much more vivid for me."
Harry nodded, recalling how some noble families, like the Blacks, often married within their ranks to preserve magical traits or consolidate power. It’s somewhat uncommon but not unheard of.
The conversation took another turn as Lord Lovegood leaned forward, his tone shifting slightly. "Now, Lord Potter, I'd like to discuss something a bit more personal. I'm keen to get to know the young man who might want to marry my daughter."
The words hit Harry like a Bludger. Internally, he scrambled to gather his thoughts, his mind racing with the sudden shift in the discussion. Externally, he managed a polite smile. "Heir Lovegood is very pleasant, sir," he said carefully. "But to be honest, I don't know her very well yet."
“Call me Luna,” she said dreamily. Harry smiled and nodded.
Lord Lovegood nodded, seemingly pleased with Harry's response. "Interesting, Lord Potter. Honesty is a good foundation. Tell me, what are your thoughts about the future, in terms of career, ambitions, and family?"
Harry took a moment to formulate his answer, his mind still reeling from the mention of marriage but also aware that he needed to present himself well. "Well, I'm still figuring out a lot about my own family history and what that means for me. As for a career, I'm drawn to law. I want to make a difference in our society. Ensure equality for as many magicals as possible. As for family…" Harry paused, his eyes briefly meeting Luna's, who was watching him with a calm curiosity. "I think family is important. I'd want to build a strong one based on trust and understanding."
Luna smiled softly at his answer, and her parents exchanged a look that Harry couldn't quite read.
Lord Lovegood gestured towards the door leading to another part of the house. "Why don't you go spend some time with Luna? Get to know each other better."
Harry hesitated, then asked, "Don't you want to get to know me better as well?"
Lord Lovegood's expression softened, and his voice carried a reassuring sincerity. "Lord Potter, I already know that you care for Luna, and I can see your commitment to making the wizarding world a better place. That's all that matters to me."
Overwhelmed by the unexpected acceptance and understanding, Harry felt a surge of emotion. He extended his hand, which Lord Lovegood shook firmly. "Thank you, Lord Lovegood. I appreciate your trust. Perhaps it would be best if you didn’t refer to me as Lord until I reach my majority."
Lord Lovegood flashed a toothy grin. “Of course, Lord Potter. Whatever helps you feel comfortable.”
Harry sighed and resigned himself to the strangeness of Xenophilius Lovegood. Madam Justine subtly smirked as well. Well if it doesn’t bother her, it must be fine.
With a reassuring smile, Luna took Harry's arm and led him towards the drawing room. As they walked away, Harry felt the weight of many unspoken things between them, but also a budding sense of possibility. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a place here, a connection worth exploring further.
As Lord Malfoy glided through the polished corridors that led to the grand chamber of the Wizengamot, his mind was adrift in financial calculations and concerns about Thanatos, the elusive dealer of dark artifacts. However, as the towering doors of the chamber swung open with a resonant creak, his thoughts abruptly shifted from accounts to the arcane.
Inside the Wizengamot, the air was thick with anticipation, whispers fluttering like uneasy birds in the lofty space. Lord Malfoy's sharp gaze instantly caught the unusual glow emanating from the corner of the room where the throne of Peverell stood — illuminated and ominous. His heart skipped a beat; the lit throne signified the presence of another Ancient and Noble House, an event unprecedented in the annals of the Imperium. The sight was so startling that for a moment he stumbled in his typically smooth stride, reeling from the implications.
Around the chamber, the reaction was palpable. Heads turned and murmurs grew as each lord and lady noticed the glowing throne. Eyes darted, searching for a new figure, a fresh face that could explain this extraordinary anomaly. Lord Malfoy quickly composed himself, smoothing back his hair and adjusting his robes with a practiced hand. He took his seat with deliberate grace, his face set into a mask of dignified curiosity. Today, more than ever, he needed to appear unflappable.
The chamber filled slowly, the buzz of conversation ebbing and flowing as everyone speculated about the potential new Lord. Despite the building excitement, no new figure entered to claim the lit seat, and confusion started to lace the whispers around him.
After what felt like an interminable wait, the commotion gradually settled. Albus Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock, stood from his central seat with a serene authority. His voice, clear and commanding, echoed throughout the chamber: "Order, please. Let us remember why we convened today. We are here to discuss our strategy concerning the ongoing war."
Silence followed the declaration and Lord Malfoy stood. “You cannot be serious, Chief Warlock. An Ancient and Noble House has reasserted itself after hundreds of years of silence!” Murmurs were heard across the hall in agreement.
"I demand that Lord Peverell show himself!" His challenge echoed off the stone walls, sending a ripple of surprise and curiosity through the assembled lords and ladies. When no figure stood to answer his call, his jaw set firmly, and he continued, "If Lord Peverell chooses to remain hidden, then I invoke the Summoning Clause of the Wizengamot."
The motion was seconded almost immediately, the tension palpable in the air. The ancient law was clear: by the next full moon, now only ten days away, Lord Peverell was required to reveal himself to the Wizengamot. If they refused to show, Mother Magic itself would summon them. As the decree was settled, quills scratched rapidly across parchment, with Rita Skeeter, ever eager for a sensational story, writing furiously at the edge of the room.
With the room abuzz once more, Dumbledore called for a recess, providing a moment for everyone to gather their thoughts and temper their emotions. Lord Malfoy retreated to a quieter corner of the chamber, his mind whirring with plans and possibilities. Pulling out a piece of fine parchment, he began to craft a letter to the mysterious Lord Peverell, offering an olive branch in these tumultuous times. The letter was polite yet probing, designed to glean as much information as possible about the enigmatic figure while extending an offer to meet under mutually agreeable circumstances.
As the Wizengamot reconvened, the air still thick with whispered speculations and covert glances towards the still-lit throne, Dumbledore resumed his position at the podium. "We must now consider the financial burden this war continues to place upon our resources," he stated gravely. "As we discussed at our last meeting, we are bleeding gold. At the current rate, our coffers will run dry within four months' time."
The assembly digested this stark prognosis with various nods and murmurs of concern. The financial aspect of the war was as crucial as the battles themselves, and the thought of depleted funds added another layer of urgency to their deliberations.
However, Lord Nott, ever the skeptic, raised a challenging voice, "With all due respect, Chief Warlock, I find the timing of these financial revelations rather convenient. Are we sure this discussion is being conducted in good faith?" His voice was cool, questioning not just the timing but the underlying motives of the leadership.
Dumbledore locked eyes with Lord Nott and stood resolute. “Speak plainly, Lord Nott. What is it you are accusing me of?”
“Impropriety within your station,” he said evenly. “You are the Chief Warlock and also the magical guardian of the Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter.”
Lady Longbottom, always seeking clarity and justice, stood abruptly, her voice strong and demanding. "Such a serious allegation requires proof, Lord Nott. Do you have any to present to this assembly?"
Without hesitation, Lord Nott nodded towards Undersecretary Umbridge, who, with a barely concealed smirk, produced a letter from her robes. The parchment, bearing the official seal of the Potter estate, was handed over to the Chief Warlock. The room fell into a stunned silence as she explained her initial disbelief in the contents, assuming that Dumbledore’s stature placed him beyond reproach.
All eyes turned towards Dumbledore. With a solemn expression, he admitted, "Yes, I am indeed the magical guardian of young Harry Potter, appointed after the tragic deaths of his parents. His welfare and protection have been my responsibility."
“What a farce,” Lord Goyle said. “You speak of duty and integrity but have the gall to lie to the body you preside over? I will not have it!” His indignation was seconded by many others.
Lord Greengrass seized the moment, his voice ringing clear and authoritative. "You must choose, Dumbledore. Either relinquish your guardianship of Potter or step down as Chief Warlock. The integrity of this body must not be compromised."
Faced with the collective pressure of the Wizengamot, and recognizing the corner he had been backed into, Dumbledore, with great reluctance, severed his magical oath of guardianship over Harry Potter. "It is done," he declared, his voice heavy with regret.
“I will not atone for this act,” he said with a low rumbling, “as it was done to protect an orphaned boy from the rigors of our world. Heir Potter needs a strong guardian to protect him from the wolves that snap at the heels of us all.”
Lady Longbottom stood once again. “Be that as it may, Chief Warlock, but you should have found another to assume that role. Now you have besmirched the good name of Dumbledore and the office of Chief Warlock.”
He nodded. “Perhaps you are right… Let us take a recess to calm ourselves and refocus. We must fix these budgetary concerns.”
As the chamber broke into another recess, whispers filled the air, a mix of shock, approval, and strategic calculations. Lord Malfoy, hidden behind a facade of thoughtful contemplation, could barely contain his satisfaction. With Dumbledore's influence waning, new opportunities would arise to reshape the power dynamics within the Wizengamot.
Retreating to a shadowed alcove, Malfoy mused on the day's events. His thoughts turned swiftly to Lord Peverell. If he could align with this mysterious new player, perhaps even before anyone else could establish ties, he might not only regain his standing but also significantly strengthen his position against Dumbledore. As he plotted his next moves, his eyes gleamed with a cold, calculated ambition, already drafting the contours of his future strategies in the ever-unpredictable game of magical politics.
Harry sat in the cozy study with Madam Justine, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolls detailing the intricacies of the rules and etiquette governing Noble Houses and Ancient and Noble Houses. Madam Justine’s voice was steady and authoritative as she explained the subtleties that distinguished the two, emphasizing the greater responsibilities and privileges that came with being part of an Ancient and Noble House.
"And remember, Harry," she said, "you shake the hand of a Pureblood woman, but you kiss the hand of a Noble woman."
Harry nodded, absorbing her words, when a soft tapping sound interrupted their discussion. They turned towards the window to see a regal-looking owl, an official Imperium owl, flapping its wings impatiently.
Madam Justine's eyes narrowed with curiosity. "An Imperium owl this late," she said thoughtfully. "Must be important"
Harry’s heart quickened as he moved to the window, allowing the owl to hop onto his arm. He untied the two letters attached to its leg and handed one to Madam Justine before opening the other himself.
Madam Justine glanced at her letter and gasped softly. "Harry, this is a summons for Lord Peverell to appear by the next full moon."
Harry unfolded his own letter, his eyes scanning the words quickly. His expression shifted from curiosity to shock as he read the official Ministry of Law summons. "This one’s for me, Harry Potter. It’s a summons to answer the claims of Lord Nott."
Madam Justine looked up sharply, concern etched on her face. "A Ministry of Law summons? That’s serious, Harry. What claims could Lord Nott have against you?"
Harry's mind raced. He hadn’t expected this, and the sudden summons left him momentarily speechless. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "Claims of property destruction. I didn’t realize he was so serious about his pub."
Madam Justine drew her lips into a thin line. “We must find a solicitor immediately then. Is the summons what we think it is?”
Harry nodded. “Yes. Though we don’t have the details of our plan worked out just yet.”
Madam Justine waved her wand and tea began to brew in the kitchen. "Let's focus on that. Being summoned by the Wizengamot means they will expect you to prove your lineage and your right to the title. While our plan does provide some obscurity, it will not satisfy any of the Lords of the Wizengamot."
Harry sat down at the table and leaned on his hands. “Good. I want them anxious. I want them stupid. The less information they have, the more likely they are to make mistakes.”
Madam Justine smiled. “Then let’s finish these details.”