Studying
The Black Hole residence, Kent, England, the United Kingdom
23rd August 1998
Every old bloodline in the magical world has its specialties, born from long build-up of natural predilections and strengths of its members, handed down the generations mostly by careful cultivation.
The Potter family is not exempt from this. The first Potter was reputedly truly a potter, of both earth and magic, whose skills were well-renowned and largely sought after. His descendents have always been blessed with those, in varying quantity and quality. And the most famous feature of this family, if occurring not to all family members and more often than not not intuitively as I have done it, is the moulding of things – from trinkets and simple spells to lands – without the obvious use of runes, careful arithmantic alignment or specific spells and enchantments.
Something that I had achieved before Andy ever told me this, by accident no less.
Something that was used to mould people, by someone from the near branch of the Potters that went too much off the beaten path, or so Andy claims the Blacks liked to laugh and admire about when she was small and the first conflict with Voldemort was still not yet a full-out war.
Something that has always been greatly valued by the magical community, here and outside of Britain, even outside of Europe, because of various reasons, chief of which is the moulded thing’s durability and unbreakability.
Something that Andy can’t tell me how to replicate, let alone help me to achieve consciously, because things like this are always kept just within the bloodline, and Andy is obviously not a Potter by birth or close relation.
It’s because the accounts of skills as well as how-tos and deeds are handed down the generations of old, well-established families through the family book, and a family book can’t simply be burnt or stolen or looked at by other people but the family by birth or blood-adoption.
And my family book is still missing.
Quite a pity, that. The loss of a valuable wealth of family history and knowledge would be great indeed if it turned out that my family book could not be located anywhere, since there’s no longer anybody alive that could tell me about things that would be handed down through the book.
It would be especially great for an orphan such as one miserable me.
Well, damn, I’m heading down the self-pity path again – or so Andy dubs it – it seems. Now, wouldn’t it be better if I studied something – anything – instead? I haven’t taken my NEWTs, after all, though Professor McGonagall – no, now Headmistress McGonagall – did offer me to take the seventh year that I skipped while searching for the Horcruxes, and Andy here is evidently good at Runes and Arithmancy, in addition to the non-magical subjects she took after marrying Ted Tonks.
Well, I figure, I’ll have more luck escaping all the attention from the wrong crowds, the self-pity party induced by the absence of my friends, and also the continued potshot attacks by my enemies, if I move to the non-magical world, and for that I need to study those non-magical subjects above all.
So I ask her…
…And got a severe frown in reply, plus the statement of “I thought Gryffindors would rather not run away from their problems?” spoken as pointedly as when she rebuked me about my path of self-pity.
I frown back at her. “I was considered strongly for Slytherin,” I point out, a little reluctantly, though much less than when I was actually studying at Hogwarts. “Before that, I’d be long dead if I confronted the Dursleys like a Gryffindor all the time, ‘specially when I was small. I was really tiny, you know.”
Various looks flit past her face, and she lifts the cup to her lips as if in an attempt to shield herself from something; but, admirably, it doesn’t take long for her to regather herself and, apparently, psych herself for a rebuttal.
Admirable, because, from everyone else that I’ve met or encountered thus far, nobody was ever not unsettled before hurrying to change the topic of conversation, after hearing snippets of my less-than-stellar upbringing. Not even Hermione, and not even – or maybe, not especially, given her involvement on that night seventeen years ago – Professor McGonagall.
I raise my cup to Andy as a toaste, for that, before gulping its content down.
“I’m not running away, you know,” I tell her, before she can belt out whatever she has cooked up in that shrewd, brilliant mind of hers. “I wouldn’t continue with all the lessons you think a head of House should know, else. But it’s gotten too heavy, you know? I need something else to balance it, or I’ll crash down, if you got my meaning. Studying for my O and A levels is perfect for this, don’t you think? I’m still studying, and it’ll still be worth something to my future, while it won’t prevent you from cramming decades of other lessons into my head.”
The sad, understanding look makes a return on her face, and it’s no easier to bear on my own heart than the previous instance.
I can’t help but think that, if this were Mrs. Weasley, she would have pestered me to follow her prescription of what is considered “good.” And I can’t help but feel that I’m thankful Andy isn’t Mrs. Weasley, also, which makes it worse.
The weasleys have been great to me, no doubt of that, but–.
“Harryyy.”
I jolt back to reality, looking wildly all round me for possible attacks. But all that I see is the kitchen in the house Andy and I jointly bought after Voldemort died, since her old home has been destroyed and I refuse to live in Grimauld Place or any of my other properties, and… well… Andy herself, who is seated across from me at the kitchen+dining table and raising an inquiring eyebrow at me.
My cheeks heat up, rising to exponential levels within seconds.
She sighs. “Very well, then,” she concedes. “You do seem to need a new venture badly. Now, shall we begin? Which subject do you want to study first? We can browse for books on that subject with Teddy this evening.”
She raises her free hand before I can express my relief and jubilation. “And,” she says, “you have to promise me that you shan’t dawdle any longer with your estates. You need to wrap things up with them, Harry. I can’t always help you, especially with the Potter side.”
A flash of a crafty and knowing look later, she adds, “For each day that you study a Muggle subject, you must devote another day to straighten up things related to the Potter and Black estates. Can you promise me that? Will you?”
My shoulders slump.
Andy chuckles.
It sounds frighteningly rather like her mad sister’s, Bella.
I’m doomed.