Chapter 5
The trio - plus Teddy – arrived in the Head’s office. McGonagall was waiting for them and nodded pleasantly when they arrived. “Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter,” she smiled at them, glancing at the tuft of blue hair smushed against Harry’s chest. “Mr. Lupin.”
Harry smiled at her. McGonagall had never struck him as the maternal type, but the soft smile on her face made him reconsider. She had always cared deeply for her students, Harry supposed. “Good to see you, Professor. How are the restorations coming along?”
McGonagall gestured for them to follow. “Quite well, Mr. Potter. I hardly think you need to call me Professor anymore. You too, Mr. Weasley.”
Harry’s cheeks went red, mildly concerned. He didn’t want McGonagall to be disappointed in him. “Kingsley told you then?”
“Of course. I’m pleased to hear that Ms. Granger is returning. I have to admit, I’m hardly surprised at any of your decisions, though,” McGonagall said wryly. “I thought I should mention that if you would like to take your NEWTs, you can still sit the examinations with the other seventh and eighth years in June next year if you still wish.”
Harry perked up. The Hermione-like voice in his mind really didn’t like the idea of leaving his education unfinished. On his left, Ron shuddered.
Watching Ron’s reaction, McGonagall’s lips quirked, although she still managed to hide her smile. “Well, perhaps I shall leave that up to you to decide.”
As they walked through the castle, Harry could see the rebuilding team had been working tirelessly. There were still some scorch marks on the walls from misfired spells, and a few missing bricks here and there, but the upper levels almost looked the same as they had in his first year.
“It’s much better than last week,” Harry observed.
McGonagall nodded, looking pleased. “I’m confident we shall be ready to reopen by September 1st. I will be sending out the letters later this week.”
Hermione bounced excitedly but managed to control herself. Harry and Ron shared a look. “What do you need us to do?” Ron asked, ready to get to business.
McGonagall smiled at his readiness. “I need you to help with the wards. I will not have Hogwarts vulnerable ever again.” She turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter, I’m sorry to say this but there are quite a few reporters camped at the gate. If you wish to work inside that is fine.”
Harry glanced down at Teddy. He didn’t really want him to be exposed to the attention. Looking up at Hermione, however, he saw her shake her head. She was right. He was going to have to face them eventually. Rolling back his shoulders he sighed, “It’s fine. They won’t leave you alone unless they see me. I’ll cast a silencing bubble around Teddy.”
McGonagall nodded approvingly. “I really need your magical strength on the wards at the gate, but I didn’t want to pressure you.”
Harry smiled. Rolling up his sleeves, he steeled himself before walking out the large oak doors at the front entrance.
Suddenly, there were gasps and shouts and cameras flashing. Harry looked grimly at Hermione and Ron. They smiled sympathetically. Quickly casting a silencing bubble charm around Teddy, he marched with purpose to the front gate, in front of which the reporters were gathered.
“Mr. Potter, how does it feel to be the saviour?” someone called. “Who are you dating, Harry?” another asked. “Will Hogwarts be ready by September?” “Why did you refuse the role of the Minister of Magic?”
The shouts died down when Harry held up his hand. “I will not be answering any questions today. If you would like Hogwarts to be ready to open by September, I recommend you move backwards so I can work. Even better, you could help with the rebuilding effort,” he said firmly.
Without waiting for them to react, Harry drew his wand at began working on the wards. He didn’t have much knowledge of this kind of technical magic, but Hermione had done a lot of research and explained it in detail to him.
“Fianto Duri,” he began quietly. “Protego Maxima.” Teddy stirred on his chest. Since Harry had first met him, he’d been reacting very strongly to magic. Harry couldn’t blame him – there was nothing quite like the feeling of magic in the air when a powerful charm was cast.
“Fianto Duri, Protego Maxima,” he continued casting, a visible shield starting to form in front of the gate. Walking up to him, Hermione and Ron took over, chanting the protective spells while Harry reached out to the wards with his magic to strengthen them.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated, and soon was able to see the threads of magic that were delicately laced around the school. Reaching out further, he could see there were tiny gaps between some of the links. “Fianto Duri, Protego Maxima,” he cast, concentrating specifically on one of the missing links. Suddenly, the thread was whole, and became much bigger and stronger. Harry smiled, pleased. He continued to cast, slowly solidifying and connecting the threads of magic.
About an hour later, Teddy started to cry with boredom. Harry hadn’t realised how long he’d been standing there. He held his concentration just in case the threads snapped as soon as he let go, but after a few tentative steps back they remained intact. With relief, he turned to Hermione and Ron.
“I need to feed Teddy,” he said. “The wards need a lot more work, though.”
Hermione nodded as they turned back to the castle. “Could you see the magic?” she asked excitedly.
“Yeah, it was weird,” Harry said. “It was like lots of little threads knitted together. But there are a lot of stitches missing.”
“Fascinating,” Hermione muttered. Harry could see the cogs turning in her mind.
Ron grinned at him. “You handled those reporters well, mate.”
“Really?” Harry asked, surprised. “I kind of got angry at them.”
“Nah, mate, you were perfect. Put those bastards in their place. A lot of them volunteered to help after that.”
Harry blinked, but smiled. “Great. We need all the help we can get.”
“Still, I don’t envy you, mate,” Ron said. Harry couldn’t help his look of disbelief. “Oi, don’t give me that face – I don’t. Not since sixth year. Anyway, I reckon only a mental person would willingly want to experience that day after the battle.”
The day after the battle had been very bizarre. Neither Harry, Hermione or Ron had slept in over 48 hours by that point – unless one counted the 45 minutes in which Harry had been dead. Instead of grieving with his family for the loss of his brother, Ron had been forced to answer about a thousand questions along with Harry and Hermione from millions of reporters. Deciding to keep quiet about the horcruxes, too, didn’t help their case, as it meant they couldn’t answer many questions about what they were doing the year before. Hermione had spun a tale about working against Voldemort’s dark magic but didn’t go into much detail. The reporters were not best pleased, and the questioning became more interrogative. Ron had eventually given up hiding his frustration and politely told them all where to shove it. Hermione had pretended to be disappointed, but Ron and Harry both knew that deep down she was just as pleased as them when the reporters finally stopped their incessant questioning.
Agreeing to return later that week to finish the wards with McGonagall, the trio-plus-Teddy stepped through the fireplace to Grimmauld Place.
The kitchen at Grimmauld Place looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Piles of papers were strewn everywhere, and, in the same seat in which Harry had left him in, Malfoy was scribbling furiously with a quill, ink splattered up and down his arms.
“Malfoy?” Harry asked, confused.
Malfoy turned around, his cheeks pink with exertion and long hair slipping out of its bun. “Potter, Granger, Weasley,” he nodded at them aristocratically, but the affect was kind of ruined by his general demeanour.
Hermione smiled and poured herself a cup of tea. “See what I mean, Malfoy?”
Ron looked as lost as Harry. “What are you two on about?”
“Granger very kindly had Kreacher retrieve Potter’s family books for me,” Malfoy drawled, accepting a cup of tea from Hermione with a nod of thanks.
“Books?” Ron asked, confused.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, books plural. Potter has somehow inherited half of the titles of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”
Harry looked at them blankly. Even Ron seemed to know what was going on now. “Can someone explain please?” he asked helplessly.
Hermione took pity on him. “A family book is all of the written records pertaining to a wizarding family. You really should have been given the Potter and Black ones when you turned seventeen, but we were kind of busy.”
Harry nodded. “Yes, yes, I know I got them like a month ago. But what about it is making Malfoy so stressed?”
Malfoy gaped at him. “Potter, you are not just the head of the Black and Potter houses. Since you killed the Dark Lord, you’ve also acquired the titles of Lord Gaunt and, from Granger’s research, Lord Peverell.”
“Yeah, I know - Hermione told me,” Harry said. He didn’t care much about titles, although he supposed Malfoy probably did. “It doesn’t really matter though, does it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Malfoy mumbled numbly. “Potter, they’re not just titles, you know.”
Harry blinked. “They’re not?”
Even Ron looked at him with incredulity. “Honestly, mate. I had no idea you were this clueless.”
Harry felt mildly defensive. “No one took the time to explain it to me.” He glanced at the others at the table, and took his seat, feeling they were going to be here a while. “Since it’s so important, someone take the time now,” he demanded.
Malfoy rolled his eyes but complied. “As Lord of a House, you are considered the Head of it. It’s not just a fancy title. You are expected to provide protection to all of the members of that household. That’s why your magic has gotten so powerful recently. The magic recognises you as the Head of these Houses and blesses you with enough power to protect the members of your House. That, and the fact that you are the Master of the Hallows.”
Harry frowned. “But no one is in my houses. Everyone’s dead. Apart from Teddy, I suppose.”
Malfoy shook his head. “Just because there are no wizards or witches with the last names of Potter, Black, Peverell or Gaunt walking around, doesn’t mean there are now members of the houses. Anybody connected paternally to a family line, unless they are the heir or Head of another house, is under your protection. My mother, for example, is a member the Black house.”
Harry nodded, understanding (kind of). “Right. Okay, so who else is in my house?”
Malfoy fished for a list that he had written under a stack of paper. Handing it to Harry, he quirked his lips when Harry gasped in shock.
“There are six names here!” Harry said, excitedly.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “The Malfoy family has over fifty members.”
Hermione frowned and said quietly, “Harry’s never had any family before.”
Harry pretended to ignore them, not seriously bothered, and far too excited about the list, but smiled when Ron interjected with a protective, “Hey, he’s got us.”
“Speaking of, Ron, there’s a Weasley on this list,” Harry said, attempting to stop them from discussing just how depressing his family situation was. “Cedrella Weasley.”
Ron wrinkled his nose. “My grandmother. She’s alright but we don’t see her that often – her and mum don’t get along that well. And she smells like cat food.”
“Wait, if she’s your grandmother, does that mean we’re related?” Harry said, feeling slightly disgusted.
Malfoy rolled his, catching onto his way of thinking. “No. Well, yes, but incredibly far back. A Potter-Weasley match hasn’t occurred in over four centuries. Cedrella was née Black. Your relationship with Weaslette is safe.”
Harry swallowed, relieved. “Good. Ginny and I aren’t together anymore, but it would still be weird.” Ron nodded with fervour. Harry changed the subject quickly. “There’s also Callidora Longbottom.”
“That’s Neville’s great-grandmother,” Hermione told him. “I think technically Augusta would be in the family too, but she’s Head of the house of Longbottom, so her connection to your family is moot.”
Malfoy nodded. “There’s also Iola Hitchens, whose an incredible old, yet formidable witch. She’s 146, but when the Death Eaters tried to attack her family last year, she sent four back without their tongues.”
Harry gulped. “Why did they attack her?”
“She’s a Black, or at least she was, but she married a muggle. For my aunt, that was worse than marrying a muggle-born or a blood-traitor,” Malfoy explained. No one needed reminding who his aunt was. “Pity she didn’t get Bella’s tongue too.”
Harry blinked in surprise at Malfoy’s clear hatred of Bellatrix but decided not to say anything. It seemed Hermione and Ron decided the same thing.
Malfoy coughed awkwardly. “Anyway, there’s also Marjory Boot, Terry’s mother. I’ve never met her, but her son is quite sensible. He fought for your side.”
“Cool,” Harry said. “Do you think they would meet with me?”
“I should think so, you are their Lord,” Malfoy scoffed. “You might not have been raised in the Old Ways, but they were. I would recommend inviting them to a Pledge.”
“What’s a Pledge?” Harry asked.
Malfoy frowned. “I forget how clueless you are. This is going to be harder than I thought. A pledge is a ceremonial meeting of the House. They formally reconfirm their allegiance to you and recognise you as Lord. In exchange, you’d traditionally ask what you can do for them. Normally, there’d be a discussion of their allowances, but since Callidora Cedrella and Marjory are both married, they won’t be asking for money, and Iola lives in the muggle world, so she shouldn’t need anything either.” He paused. “My mother will probably not ask you for anything.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Speak plainly, Malfoy.”
Malfoy sighed. “My family lost most of our assets. My mother and I are living off the Lovegood’s.”
Harry was taken aback. “Luna and Xenophilius? But- “Harry trailed off. He didn’t want to mention the whole imprisoning of Luna thing.
“Luna and I became quite close while she was at the Manor. I brought her food and such. I was looking for a way to get her out. She was going to testify at my trial, but didn’t need to,” Malfoy said quietly, nodding at Harry. He cleared his throat. “Regardless, she is part of my House. Xenophilius is providing us an allowance until we get on our feet.”
Harry frowned. He’d seen the Lovegood’s house and didn’t imagine they had much to share. “I will provide Narcissa with an allowance. And I’ll pay you for your work.”
“You can’t do that,” Malfoy pointed out. “I’m repaying a debt.”
Harry jutted out his chin. “Fine, I’ll give Narcissa double. I have more than enough, and you don’t. Besides, aren’t you the Lord of the Malfoy House.”
Malfoy nodded, heat rising to his cheeks. “Yes.”
“Well, how are you supposed to provide for the members of your house if you aren’t able to support yourself?” Harry asked.
Malfoy shrugged. “At the next meeting of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, I imagine the families will change their allegiance to another House. Probably to yours.”
Harry frowned. He didn’t know if he just wanted people joining his family for his money, and Malfoy looked seriously dejected. “Well, I’ll end up paying for them either way. You may as well keep being the Head of your House. I don’t want to be in charge of that many people.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “When are you going to accept that you’re already in charge of all of the Wizarding World.”
“Never,” Harry said stubbornly.
Malfoy quirked his lips. He wrestled with himself for a bit, before coming to a decision. “Then I gratefully accept your offer, Lord Potter,” he said solemnly. “I have been preparing for my role as Lord for my whole life. I don’t want to let my family down now.”
“You’re welcome, Lord Malfoy,” Harry smiled. “Now, onto other business,” he said, folding the sheet of paper with his new family’s names carefully before putting it in his pocket.
Malfoy sighed, “Well, a representative from Gringotts will be coming tomorrow to go over your accounts with the both of us. You’ll receive your family rings as well. You really should have gotten your Potter ring as soon as your parents died. I find myself disagreeing with Dumbledore’s motives post-mortem.”
“Me too,” Harry said quietly. He’d have loved to have a family growing up. He supposed these people wouldn’t have been available to him, as they were all connected through the Black line, but still.
“You’ll probably find that you have several estates,” Malfoy continued. Harry looked up in surprise. “That’ll mean several house-elves, too. They’re a big responsibility…” Malfoy continued. “You’ll need a fitting with Malkin’s – you simply can’t wear that to a Pledge,” he said, looking up and down at Harry’s jeans and t-shirt disparagingly. “I can’t quite believe you wore that to meet the Minister,” he sniffed. “I think you should host a ball for Midsomer, to show people you intend to respect the old ways.”
Hermione frowned. “I think that’s be a great idea, Malfoy, but it’s only a month until the 20th. Harry has no idea how to attend a ball, let alone host one.”
Malfoy rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. “Then we’ll have to get started.” He stood abruptly. “Come with me, Potter,” he drawled. “It’s time for a bonding.”