Throne of Magic

Charles James Potter scowled as he watched his sister return to her seat, hand touching the glimmering gem around her neck almost absently as a soft smile played on her face.

“She can’t be that bad, Charles,” said Hermione, voice gently probing as she closed her Arithmancy book. 

“Cedric likes her,” she added a few moments later, eyes trained on the Hufflepuff prefect as he sent a teasing wink in Helena’s direction. “And he’s the nicest person ever. He didn’t even get angry when your name was chosen.”

“I didn’t put my name in!” snapped Charles furiously as his head swivelled over to glare at her, the witch mirroring the sour expression easily.

“And I’m well aware of that, Charles James,” hissed Hermione, reaching the end of her patience. “But that’s not what the school thinks.”

She looked on, validated as Charles sent the Diggory Heir a friendly smile, only to be met with something between a grimace and a wince before Cedric looked away.

“Okay, you’re right,” admitted Charles reluctantly, having had enough of Hermione’s internal preening. “But that’s not why I’m upset.”

Hermione merely raised an eyebrow when he didn’t continue, reaching forward with her knife and spreading salted butter over a piece of toast in neat, methodical movements, wrinkling her nose in disdain when small crumbs of toast stuck to the butter knife.

Charles stared disbelievingly as Hermione took a leisurely bite of toast, washing it down with a mouthful of tea. They were talking - surely she couldn’t be so rude!

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the dull clunk of wood against glass sounded. His head jerked up sharply in surprise, blinking confusedly when a cup of milky tea was set down before him.

“Sugar?”

“What?”

“Pardon. You say pardon, Charles, not what,” reprimanded Hermione, eyes pinning him to his seat.

Charles repressed the urge to groan, knowing that would result in yet another lecture. He loved his mother, he truly did, but ever since she had decided he needed to learn some manners, both she and Hermione had been unbearable.

He sighed, mulling things over in his brain before giving up and asking: “Why are we drinking tea, Hermione?”

“Because we’re British,” came the prompt reply, the girl stirring milk into her own mug. “We drink tea when things get hard.”

“Wonderful,” said Charles drily, mildly amused by her actions. “Way to enforce stereotypes, Hermione.”

“Two sugars, please,” he added hastily at her glare, causing her to beam before complying with his request, muttering absently: “Honestly, that’s way too much sugar, Charles.”

He rolled his eyes fondly, raising the rim of the mug to his lips and taking a sip, feeling a warm calmness spread through him.

A contented sigh left his lips as he groaned in satisfaction.

“You want some time alone with that mug Charles?”

He cracked open an eyelid, huffing out a soft laugh when he saw the eyebrow being raised at him. He frowned as he saw her reach out her hand towards him before pulling it sharply back, uncertainness flashing across her face for a split second.

“Mione?”

“What is it, Charles?”

The blunt question caused him to start, the tea sloshing around in the mug at the sudden moment.

“Why do you hate her so much?” asked Hermione, despairing at her friend’s unnatural bitterness. Sure, Charles was arrogant, and he didn’t have much interest in studying or befriending anyone who didn’t have a hero worship for him, but he was kind underneath it all. Kind, sweet, and sorta cute.

“I don’t hate her.”

She shook her head, an air of melancholy surrounding her as she smiled at him.

“You do, Charles,” her voice was filled with a righteous conviction, wanting her friend to confide in her. “Tell me why.”

He let out a long sigh, fingers fiddling with the handle of his mug.

“Mom and dad have done nothing but argue,” he commented, seemingly randomly as he looked past her to the Head Table, an ugly bitterness coursing through his face and marring his handsome features.

She followed his gaze, and sure enough, the couple were locked in a furious argument, Lily snapping something before storming off, James pausing in his vehement gestures before looking around. His eyes found Charles’s, and he smiled - in what was no doubt meant to be in a reassuring manner - before he ran after his wife.”

“And it’s all her fault,” spat Charles bitterly, returning to his activity of staring at his sister. 

He took in her features, the perfect mix of his parents. Her eyes were the exact shape of his mother’s, from the intense green down to the way their sides crinkled when she smiled. Unlike his mother’s though, her’s blazed with power, hypnotising in a way that just demanded respect. She sported the same raven hair as his father, the inky locks flowing down her back in a thick braid.

She was the perfect pureblood, from her aristocratic features to the way she had laughed that day, controlled and mocking with a razor-sharp edge of cruelty. He would bet the meagre sum he had in his trust vault she was like them too: with the same snobbish, stuck up attitude and blood purist views.

And yet…

And yet she was his sister, wasn’t she?

His sister, who he had always hoped to meet, who was brilliant and powerful and charming and everything he had hoped to be.

A hand draped over her shoulders suddenly, a grin appearing on her face as she looked up at Blaise Zabini.

For a few seconds, he let himself imagine.

He let himself imagine a world where he was the one she smiled so fondly at, where she was sporting the same crimson and gold tie he was, where her eyes were warmer, less acidic and cold.

Where they were actually family.

“Charles..” began Hermione, voice impossibly soft.

“No!” he snapped, voice biting as he was pulled back into harsh reality. “So what if she was sent to an orphanage at three? They thought she was a squib! She needs to grow up and realise that the world doesn’t revolve around her, she ought to be happy she was kept away from the press. They made a mistake, she needs to accept that and stop being such a prat!”

He finished his passionate rant, panting slightly as he took in Hermione’s face. Her fair skin was flushed with crimson, averting her gaze as she stared resolutely away from him.

“Nice to what you think about me, brother.”

He spun around, embarrassment flooding his face. 

“Harriet?” 

She wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the name, eyes flashing with some unknown emotion before it was promptly masked by the viridescent depths of her gaze. 

“It’s LeFay. Helena if you must.”

“Right,” he paused for a moment, stumbling over his words. “LeFay. As in Morgana LeFay? Merlin’s Slayer?”

A humourless smile touched her lips as she shook her head.

“Merlin’s lover,” she corrected, an amused glint in her eyes. “The enchantress Queen of Avalon and the mother of healing magicks.”

“But how are you her descendant?” demanded Hermione, curiosity bubbling up. “She had no children, so-”

“Blood isn’t everything, little witch,” Harri- Helena smirked at her, eyes roving over the entirety of the Gryffindor table. 

Her gaze returned to that of her brother’s, a distracted expression on her face as she said: “Potter is looking for you. He’s in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Who’s Natalie?”

She swivelled to her side, amused by the mortification she found in his eyes at his blurted out question. It was quickly replaced by a rock hard determination, and she smirked at the Boy-Who-Lived, voice sardonic as she spoke.

“Ask James Potter. He will have the answers you so dearly wish to know.”

She turned on her heel, one foot lifting as she walked away.

“You could call him Dad. He’s your parent too.” 

The sheer desperation and hope in his voice made her pause, something akin to pity and regret stirring up within her. She squashed down those feelings ruthlessly, despairing at the way she had still not managed to stifle the hurt and pain her birth family had caused her.

When she spoke, she did her best to flatten her voice, to strip it of any emotion she might have felt.

“No, thank you.”

She didn’t think she did a very good job.

~

A few seats away, a pair of red-headed twins unfolded a piece of paper, identical devilish grins appearing at the words written there. 

Their Lady had called on them, and they would answer.

Fred Weasley stood up, backpack haphazardly tossed around his shoulders, the action followed by his brother.

They walked out of the Hall together, smirking in satisfaction when the students moved out of their way instinctively, their very magic screaming at them to move, to make way for their betters.

After all, the twins were their betters.

As for their Lady?

Their Lady would bring them to their knees. And the twins would be there to help her, every step of the way.

The Jokers have entered the game.

~

James Potter sprang to his feet at the accusation thrown his way, molten fury pumping through his very being.

“So what if it was my idea?” demanded James. “You were the one who agreed to it!”

“Because you told me there was no place for a squib in our world!” shrieked Lily. 

“There isn’t! If I had known she wasn’t a squib I would never have given her up!” defended James.

“ENOUGH!” boomed Dumbledore, staring disappointedly at the two of them. 

“Sit down,” he ordered, ignoring the way they meekly shuffled into their seats like chastised schoolchildren.

“What’s done is done,” he declared, voice marked with a tone of finality. “We can’t change the past, but we can change how we approach the future.”

“You’re right, Albus,” said Lily, offering the pair a forced smile. “I want a relationship with my eldest, and I’m willing to do anything to get it.”

James nodded in agreement, he loved his children, and he had been resigned to the fact that he would never see his little girl again, which was why he had spoiled his remaining son so.

“Talk to her,” encouraged Dumbledore, a small smile on his face. “Don’t be so quick to judge.”

“She was raised as a pagan,” said James contemptuously, crossing his arms as he harrumphed. “No doubt the doing of Natalie.”

“Pagan?” questioned Lily hesitantly. 

“A term for those who practice the Olde Ways,” explained Dumbledore kindly, noticing the way his former Head Girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

“Those are dark!” exclaimed Lily, a horrified look crossing her face. “And Harriet, she’s performing those rituals?”

“Now, my dear girl, I must warn you to be careful when approaching her about it,” cautioned Dumbledore. “If she was raised by Natalie, there is no doubt she is passionate about her beliefs.”

“We have to explain it to Charles,” said James, eyes weary. “He has no clue who Natalie is.”

Lily reached over and gripped his arm tightly.

“We’ll get through it, James.” A sad smile appeared on her youthful face. “We always do.”

The Potter Lord smiled gratefully at her, lifting her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to it.

“I know.”

The pair continued smiling at each other, love in their hearts and determination in their eyes.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, beaming at his two former students.

“Charles has arrived. I’ll give you three some privacy, shall I?”

Sure enough, a few moments of waiting saw Charles walking into the room, footsteps hesitant.

“Mom? Dad?”

Lily immediately advanced, sweeping the boy into her arms.

“Charles? What’s wrong?”

She began fussing over the boy, flitting about him worriedly as she tried to figure out what was wrong with her baby boy.

“Who’s Natalie?” 

The pair froze, James moving to his son and saying with a forced cheer: “Why do you ask?”

“Just tell me!” snapped Charles. “I’m done with you hiding things from me!”

“Charles…” began Lily reproachfully. “Come here, darling.”

She pulled him into her arms, pressing a kiss into the crimson head of hair.

James reacher over and ruffled his hair, beginning softly: “Natalie is- was my sister.”

His heir stared at him blankly: “I have an aunt?”

“Two,” amended Lily gently, carding a hand through his tangled hair. “Natalie and Petunia.”

“How come I never knew about them?”

James swallowed, explaining with difficulty: “We never got along. Her core was grey, and she liked to study - she was sorted into Ravenclaw for Merlin’s sake! She was quiet, and we barely talked. A few years after she graduated, Natalie entered a courtship with Nicholas Antrowich. He was a brillant, brillant man, but he also practised the Dark Arts. I was furious and told her that she had to leave him immediately. She refused, and so-”

“And so you killed him.”

James floundered at the coldness at his son’s voice, looking around the room helplessly.

Lily sighed and pulled her son into her lap, a hand stroking his cheek as she elucidated: “Charles, darling, it wasn’t that simple, Natalie-”

“No! What happened to familia prae omnibus, Family Above All?” he demanded, incensed as he referenced the motto of the Potter Family, ignoring the way the words felt false on his tongue.

James flinched as if he had been struck physically, an onslaught of memories hitting him.

“Charles,” he whispered weakly, voice quiet as he slowly lost himself into a memory of his past.

~

17 years ago

“If you choose to continue fooling around with him you’ll be cast from the family.”

Natalie Potter halted in her movements, head jerking upwards as disbelief flashed in her eyes.

“You can’t be serious James.”

He grinned, the look wild and crazy in the soft candlelight of Potter Manor.

“Try me. If you continue with this sham of a courtship, you’ll be disinherited from the Potter Line. Then we’ll see, won’t we? We’ll see if your little boy toy is still willing to date a disgraced witch.”

He smirked triumphantly as she continued staring at him, victory was so close, he could just taste it, one more inch and-

“Fuck you, James Potter.”

He wasn’t sure who moved first, if she had lifted her wand or if he had charged her, but suddenly all he could hear was the sickening crunch of her nose breaking. He pulled his fist back towards himself, horror filling him.

“Natalie, I am so, so sorry I-”

She laughed, cutting him off. The sound was manic, hysterical and filled with so much pain, and so much betrayal, and he just, and he just didn’t know what to do.

“Familia prae omnibus.” she recited the Latin words, the words being cradled in her mouth before they left, rolling off her tongue easily. “So much for that fever dream.”

She shook her head dismissively, James flinching as blood splattered everywhere.

“I’ll see myself out.”

Despite the agony she was in, she moved with the grace of a Fae, strides long and elegant as she headed towards the door.

“And James?”

“Yes?”

“Father would have never given you the Potter Lordship if he had seen who you’ve grown to become.”

And Gods above, she was right, wasn’t he? His father, his son’s namesake, had died months prior, but years before his death he had considered giving the Lordship to his daughter instead, it was only his mother’s strict devotion to tradition that had allowed him to retain what he had taken for granted.

Natalie had been right.

He smiled bitterly.

She had always been right.

~

Dumbledore sighed as he watched the three through the invisibility charm. He watched on as James’s face turned pale white, Lily walking forward and pulling her son into a hug.

Ah, Charles. There was another problem. The boy was powerful, there was no question about that, he possessed a magical core worthy to hold the Potter Lordship one day. 

But it still didn’t hold a candle to Tom’s.

The prophecy stated he was to be Tom’s equal, and yet, he wasn’t.

Where Tom was dark, Charles was as light as they came.

Where Tom was passionate, determined to forge his path in this world, Charles was complacent, easily satisfied with the most materialistic of things.

Where Tom was a Slytherin, silent and stealthy, Charles was a Gryffindor, bold and brash. 

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat indeed: Fortune favoured the bold, and without a doubt Lady Luck had smiled down at Charles, to present him with the power to defeat Tom.

And there was where his problem began.

He had believed Charles was the one the prophecy spoke of, the Light Lord to take his place and defeat Tom, but what if he wasn’t?

What if it was Harriet?

It certainly made more sense, she was as brilliant as Tom was, as charismatic and unwavering as he was.

She had a genius to match his, and just like him, people fell in place around her, wanting to be useful to her, to have even the most minuscule portions of her attention focused on them.

But if it was Harriet, what was to stop her from joining him?

And if she did choose to fight him, what was to stop her from taking his place?