Potter Luck

“Harry, you have mail!” Sirius called up the stairs.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned from the armchair he had curled up in earlier that morning, one of the Peverell family journals opened on his lap.

It was an ancient journal, belonging to Alex Peverell. He was the only child of Ignotus Peverell who unfortunately was the youngest of three brothers. By the time Alex came into his necromantic powers, his eldest uncle and established necromancer, had been murdered. Alex, like Harry, had no living necromancers with which he could consult. He was able to master his abilities by reading journals, listening to stories from his father, and simple trial and error. Harry thought this was a very promising read.

Harry had first been drawn to the journals of Salazar Slytherin. No one else had ever laid eyes upon these journals. That was temptation enough, not to mention the obligation Harry felt to master those powers due to the honor of them having chosen him. He decided to wait though, he had had his necromancy powers the longest (unless you count his ability to speak parseltongue).

Harry carefully marked his place in the journal and unfolded himself from the chair. He looked down at his watch, it was seven which meant everyone would be in the dining room. Harry sighed and grabbed the stack of letters he’d been carrying from room to room the last day and jogged down the stairs to the dining room.

“What the fuck,” he said, digging his heels in to come to a stop at the door.

“Language,” Narcissa tutted. Harry didn’t respond, instead he gaped at the pile of letters and boxes that covered half the table.

“What is all of that?” Harry asked

“I told you, you have mail,” Sirius said, entirely too entertained by the situation.

“That’s for me?” He asked, bewildered. Draco snorted.

“Famous Harry Potter, can’t even go to Diagon Alley without causing an international sensation,” Draco gestured to several newspapers laying on the table. One was the Daily Prophet, and the other three were from other countries. Harry spotted French and Bulgarian, but was unsure what the other language was.

The headline on the prophet said boldly:

THE BOY WHO LIVED: LIVES AGAIN

Harry snorted at the title. “They’ve lost their touch a bit, yeah?” He laughed.

“Check out the photograph,” Draco prompted, almost excitedly. Harry raised an eyebrow but complied, moving the other papers out of the way to reveal a full-body shot of himself. He blinked down at the picture before grabbing the paper to inspect it closer.

To his surprise, it wasn’t a picture of him smiling at a crowd, a charming smile plastered on his face. It wasn’t even a photo of him laughing easily with Sirius. No, this was a picture of Harry striding confidently down the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, head held high and the ghost of a smirk on his face, as if he and he alone held the secrets to the universe. His face was uninterrupted by glasses, showing the lightning branches of his scar in all their glory. His black curls flowed behind him and robes billowed out. He looked like a Lord.

“What the fuck,” He said again, this time it was a whisper and Narcissa didn’t correct him.

“You know that’s what you look like now,” Sirius said, amused at Harry’s reaction. He tore his eyes away from the picture.

“I don’t look like this. This, this is, I mean, wow,” Harry stammered, making Narcissa laugh airily.

“Oh come off it, Potter,” Draco said without any heat. He looked as amused as the others. Harry just shook his head. He looked good. Really good. He looked exactly like he hoped he would for his first public appearance after his escape.

“It’s a nice picture, dear,” Narcissa said kindly, eyes bright.

“Nice? It’s a damn shade better than nice,” Sirius laughed. “Harry, I think Rita has found a way to get revenge after your conversation yesterday. Thus far, you have received no less than seven requests for marriage contracts,” He proclaimed. Across the table, Draco choked on his tea. Harry would have done the same if he had any on his mouth.

“What?” he demanded. Sirius laughed even harder, his shoulders shook with the effort he was putting into staying upright.

“Yep, unfortunately I pitched them into the fire. I’m sure that number will increase once you go through all that,” he gestured to the waiting pile of mail. “These were ones addressed to me as Lord Black. I’m sure others have requested marriage to Lord Potter directly,” Sirius was way too pleased with himself.

“Any one interesting?” Narcissa asked curiously.

“A couple from France, I believe they attend Beauxbatons, one on behalf of Lavender Brown, and most surprisingly, one on behalf of Pansy Parkinson,” Sirius replied. Harry was horrified. He looked at Draco who mirrored his expression. Lavender was bad enough, but Pansy? Besides, she was obsessed with Draco.

“Is she not your type?” Sirius teased, and Harry shook his head quickly. “What about Miss Brown? She’s a fellow Gryffindor, yeah?” He continued.

“Honestly, none of them are really my type,” Harry replied, shaking off the shock of the conversation. Sirius cocked his head as if he were in his animagus form. “I like blokes, Sirius,” Harry said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Draco choked on his tea again and Narcissa gasped quietly. Sirius smiled with bright eyes.

“Well if that’s the only problem, I can write Percival back and inquire about his son? Phineas is quite a bit older though,” He offered, smirking. Harry waved him off.

“Age really isn’t an issue between wixen, is it? I mean once you reach Majority you hardly age for the next fifty years. What’s a decade or two really, especially when our lifespans are so long?” Harry replied lightly. Sirius’s eyes widened at Harry’s words. “No, the only thing I have an issue with is the idea of an arranged marriage,” Harry explained.

“Of course. Even if you weren’t seventeen and a Lord in your own right, I would never put you in that position,” Sirius said gravely. With that, they began eating. Harry could feel Sirius casting him thoughtful looks throughout the meal. Harry briefly wondered if it was such a shocking thing for him to come out so brazenly to those at the table. Obviously Draco knew, but Harry realized he really didn’t know if it was a big deal in the wixen world like it was in the muggle one.

Following breakfast, Harry began sorting through his mail. The other three assisted, though Harry thought they were more of a hindrance than a help. Any time a particular amusing letter crossed their path they read it out to the group, loud and dramatic, even Narcissa couldn’t help but participate.

An hour later they had three piles: actual mail for Harry from people he knew, gifts and notes from well-wishers that Harry would respond to, and finally the rubbish pile. This was the largest and full of love letters, marriage contracts, and hate mail. Shaking his head, he got to work responding to those things in the middle pile.

“That was a nightmare,” Harry said, some time later, flexing his hand and leaning back in his chair. Draco looked up from his book on advanced potion theory.

“You still have all those to read,” he nodded at the considerable pile of letters from Harry’s friends and acquaintances. Harry sighed and slid them in front of himself on the table. He stared at it for a moment, gathering strength for the coming battle.

“Why are you avoiding them?” Draco asked curiously.

“I’m not the same person that these people know. I don’t know how to be and I don’t want to be that person any more.” Harry sighed again and reached for a letter from Ron. It was wrinkled from Harry carrying it from room to room.

“If they won’t accept you as you are, they don’t deserve you,” Draco replied simply.

“The problem is, I don’t want them to accept me. I want to be who I am, I don’t want to be afraid of living my life out of fear of upsetting Ron or hurting Hermione’s sense of pride. I just want to live my own life for the first time,” Harry unrolled the parchment and began reading before Draco could reply.

Harry,

Bloody hell, mate, are you okay? You’ve been missing for two months and you
blasted through the wards at The Burrow! We were all upstairs when it happened, but we
could feel it. Mum and dad told us what happened. They reckon you were half out of it.
This summer has been crazy. Dumbledore has been spending a lot of time
around the Burrow, we thought he should have been spending more time looking for you, but you turned up in the end, right? I’ve no clue what went on this summer for you, but I hope you’ll be okay to go back to Hogwarts.
I’ve been playing a lot of quidditch this summer, and I reckon I might make the team. It’ll be wicked to be on the team together, won’t it?
Anyway, I’m glad you’re back and hopefully doing alright. Can’t wait to hear about it on the Hogwarts Express.

Cheers,
Ron

Harry stared at the letter and shook his head, unsurprised. Wordlessly he passed the letter to Draco who took it wordlessly.

“What a toerag,” he sniffed after he read it. Harry nodded his agreement as he opened the second letter from Ron, written yesterday afternoon.

Harry,

Heard you were in Diagon Alley today! Wish you would have written, we could
have met you there. Did Sirius pick you up from the Dursleys? Hopefully they’re not giving you too hard of a time.
Dad read the article about your return to the Prophet this morning, said you were looking forward to coming back to Hogwarts. Glad you’ll be getting back to normal, and putting this stupid thing behind you. Shouldn’t have had to find out from the Prophet though.

I’ll talk to you soon,
Ron

Harry passed this one to Draco and unrolled the one from this morning.

Harry,

I saw the article in the Prophet today. Rita Skeeter sure is singing a different
tune. Sounds like you had a right good time doing your school shopping. I guess you have enough time to ditch your glasses and talk to reporters, but not to write to your best friend. Why didn’t you say you’re living with Sirius?

See you at school,
Ron

Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. Shiving the final parchment at Draco whose eyes were livid.

“What a self absorbed, thick headed, piece of shit,” Draco declared, lacking his usual eloquence. “Does he think you were off on a nice holiday? Does he not realize how close you came to not coming back? In more ways than one?” Draco demanded, indignant on Harry’s behalf.

“That’s Ron for you,” Harry muttered. He pulled out Hermione’s first letter and unrolled it. He sighed in relief to see she had kept it short.

Oh Harry,
I am so so happy to hear that you are safe. These two months have been so long
worrying about you and trying to research different magical methods of tracking. I cannot even begin to imagine how long it felt for you and what all you went through. I’m sure you will need a lot of time to recover.
Remember, recovery is a lot more than just physical. I would imagine you went
through a lot of emotional and mental stress. These are just as important as any physical wound, so take your time getting back into things. If you would like to read about mind healing and emotional recovery, let me know. I can find some good books on the subject. In fact, maybe I’ll just track down a couple to bring to school just in case.
Either way, I just want you to know how glad I am that you are safe and sound with Sirius. I was so worried that you would be sent back to the Dursleys when you were eventually found–escaped. I actually wrote to Sirius a few days after his trial to make sure you wouldn’t have to go back, and he assured me that he had already taken the necessary steps to prevent that. He made it sound like Dumbledore wasn’t thrilled with that, but you know what? I’m not very thrilled with Dumbledore! There are so many ways to track wixen that aren’t Light Magic that he refused to use on principle! Viktor even suggested a few Dark spells they learned at Durmstrang and I really can’t understand why they’re not allowed here.
I’m sorry Harry, you probably don’t want to hear about this right now. We can talk
more at school or whenever I see you next if you’re not feeling up for returning to
Hogwarts yet. There’s no pressure for you to return to how things were prior to this summer. If you’re not quite the same person you were before, know that I love you no matter what. Take all the time you need, Harry. I’ll be here when you’re ready.
All my love,
Hermione

Harry smiled down at the parchment and felt his eyes glass over. He handed it to Draco to read, whose smile grew as he read.

“I think Granger is a worthy friend,” he concluded.

“She is. Now I feel silly for worrying about her thinking differently of me.”

“Weasley certainly isn’t on the same page so your pessimism isn’t uncalled for. What else did she say? Hopefully I didn’t make my judgment too quickly.”

Harry,
I saw the Daily Prophet this morning and they announced your return. It was a
very straightforward article with sparse details, which I’m sure you’re happy about. It
must be very hard to have the whole world clamoring for the details of such a horrific experience.
I saw your quote about being thrilled to come back to Hogwarts (Did Sirius write
that for you? It sounded more like something he would say). I am so happy that I’ll be seeing you so soon, but I really hope you’re taking enough time for yourself. No one would think any different of you if you took a week or two to rest before coming to school. I can even help you catch up on assignments if you do!
I know you won’t listen to me, so I expect to see you taking it easy on the
Hogwarts Express. Don’t stress about writing back, I’ll be seeing you soon and I won’t
believe a word you say about being fine until I see you myself. Get some fresh air and make sure you have all of your books for term! You haven’t much time left and you don’t want to fall behind if you insist upon starting on time.
All my love,
Hermione

“Your judgment remains true,” Harry slid the second letter to the blonde. And moved on to the third.

Harry James Potter,
What the fuck? Pardon my language, but I really have no other words in
response to that Daily Prophet article! You grew up this summer! I can only imagine the letters you’re getting this morning. At least you shouldn’t be getting any with undiluted bubotuber pus, but be on the lookout for love potions! I showed my parents the article and my mom was ready to send us down the aisle! Don’t worry, I assured her that you’re my best friend with no possibility of it turning into something else. She was disappointed, but insisted on hanging your picture on the fridge. (Can you believe it? A photo from the Prophet hanging on my Muggle fridge! No visitors ever enter our kitchen so don’t worry about the Statute of Secrecy.)
I’m glad you were able to get to Diagon Alley yesterday though. I hope it was fun despite the crowds. It’s unfortunate that you can’t do normal things without it becoming a spectacle, but don’t let it get to you! Just keep living your life.
You really do look good, Harry. I can see that you’ve found yourself and I’m excited to see how that translates into your abilities this year. It’s OWL year afterall! I must ask, though, Harry, what’s this about your Lordship? I thought you had to be seventeen to claim your Lordship? I’d love to hear about it, and why Rita Skeeter was singing your praises. Did you figure out how she was listening in on conversations? I had an idea before the third task, but then everything happened and it suddenly seemed a lot less important.
Anyways, I can’t wait to see you tomorrow! Get lots of rest.
With all my love,
Hermione

“Sweet Salazar,” Harry laughed, passing the final letter to Draco who seemed to be enjoying them almost as much as Harry.

“Sweet Salazar? You’ve spent entirely too much time with me,” Draco chuckled.

“Yet somehow it will never be enough,” Harry said sweetly, making Draco roll his eyes. Harry moved on to read the letters from Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric next. They warmed Harry in their own ways. Fleur with her big-sister-like dotting, Viktor with his promises of vengeance on his behalf, and Cedric with his apologies and praises that Harry was still alive.

Viktor’s letter also talked about the quidditch season and the World Cup, which Bulgaria missed out on by one game. He suggested that if Harry had an interest in playing professional quidditch he could get him in contact with some different teams, and help him through the process.

Harry’s heart raced as he reread that section of Viktor’s letter. Professional quidditch. It was something he had dreamed of, but never really considered. He had briefly thought he’d want to be an auror, but after this summer, no way. He’s had enough of dealing with dangerous wixen thankyouverymuch. Was he really good enough to play professionally?

A small voice that sounded suspiciously like Professor McGonagall whispered yes. He was the youngest seeker in a century, and he had never failed to catch the snitch, ignoring the unfortunate game with the dementors. And he did promise himself to live his life the way he wanted to. Harry picked up his quill and began writing enthusiastically, suddenly very optimistic about the future.

The rest of his letters were less exciting though no less meaningful. He especially appreciated the letters from Fred and George. Finally, he reached his last letter. It was in a thick white envelope, wrapped in a familiar magic. He knitted his eyebrows together as he frowned at the letter from Hogwarts.

“This can’t be good,” He said, holding up the envelope. “I’m going to find Sirius. I’ll let you know what it says,” Harry told Draco who nodded, but looked worried.

Harry found Sirius in his office tending to his own correspondences. As soon as Harry entered Sirius knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” He asked, suddenly on his feet, wand half in hand.

“Nothing yet,” Harry assured him. Sirius relaxed and returned to his high backed chair. Harry slumped into the chair on the other side of the desk. He held up the envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest. Sirius’s eyes narrowed on it.

“That can’t be good.”

“That’s what I said!” Feeling vindicated in his pessimism. “I have a bad feeling about this.” Sirius grimaced.

“Bad news doesn’t age like wine,” He said sagely, causing Harry to snort. “Get on with it, then!” Harry inhaled deeply and opened the letter.

Dear Lord Potter,

It is with the greatest apology that I must inform you that upon your return to
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on September the First, you must undergo the sorting ceremony to be re-sorted. Due to a technicality in the Hogwarts Charter, you were disenrolled from the school when your letter was unable to be delivered this summer. Upon your return you were promptly re-enrolled. However, the magic that governs the school will not recognize you again until you have sat the sorting ceremony once more. The charter is treating you as if you were a transfer student. While rare, this is not a unique situation. There is a precedent for such a thing, though it has only happened a handful of times.
Upon arrival in the Great Hall you may sit with the Gryffindor House. Following
the sorting of the first years, a brief explanation for your situation will be given and you will then undergo the ceremony. Following, you will sit with whatever house the hat places you.
Please know that I truly am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, and even more sorry that this is potentially another upheaval in what has undoubtedly been a tumultuous and painful several months. No matter where the sorting hat places you, Harry, know that I am proud of you. The colors you wear do not determine the value of your character. You have proven your value tenfold and have earned my unending support, no matter where the future takes you. I am happy that you have returned in one piece and I look forward to seeing you at the start of term feast.

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Harry leaned back in his chair, letting the letter fall to his lap. He stared blankly at Sirius, not seeing him. The excitement he had felt when writing his response to Viktor evaporating the more he let the letter from Hogwarts sink in.

“Harry?” Sirius asked gently. Harry was startled to find the other man beside him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to explain what the letter said. He handed it to Sirius, refusing to look at the treacherous words. Sirius’s face paled as he read.

Stormy eyes found Harry’s. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low. Harry shrugged and let out the breath he was holding.

“We both know what’s going to happen,” Harry said matter-of-factly. Sirius grimaced.

“We do,” he agreed. “It only makes sense, given what we know now, Lord Slytherin,” Sirius teased. “You did pledge to restore your house. I can’t think of a better way to start,” Sirius smiled fondly at Harry.

“It’s gonna suck,” Harry lamented. Sirius barked a laugh.

“The Gryffindors are going to give you even more problems than the Slytherins, I think,” Sirius agreed. “If anyone can get through it, it’s you.”

“I know. I just wish this one time it wasn’t me,” Harry looked back at the letter in his hand. “It doesn’t seem like McGonagall is expecting me back,” he commented.

“People change. I imagine a lot of people’s houses would change if they were re-sorted at the start of fifth year, or maybe she knows you better than you think, and she knew where you were supposed to be from the start,” Sirius suggested. “Minnie is a good person. It almost reads like there’s some strife between her and Dumbledore.”

“I wondered the same thing. The whole unending support section makes me think something is up,” Harry frowned. “I know I have a role to play in this war, but is it selfish of me to not want to have to be a third side?”

“No, that’s not selfish, Harry. It’s honest and admirable. It’d be more concerning if you looked forward to it. Besides, you’ll never be standing alone,” Sirius grabbed Harry’s hand in his, his midnight blue magic swirling to meet Harry’s depthless black.

“Thanks Siri,” Harry said gratefully, feeling centered around the other man’s magic. They sat like that for a long moment, Sirius’s hand was as rough and calloused as Harry's, some of the only physical evidence of Sirius’s hardships.

Harry squeezed Sirius’s hand and let go, rising to his feet. “I have some letters to send off. Can I borrow Altair?” Harry asked, knowing Hedwig would be most trusted to take his response to Viktor.

“Of course, he’s all yours,” Harry thanked him and made his way slowly down the stairs to the library, McGonagall’s letter still clenched in his hand. When Harry entered the library he found Draco pacing, a hand held to his chin.

“Well?” He prompted as soon as he saw Harry who offered the letter to him wordlessly. Draco snatched it with the speed of a Seeker capturing the snitch. If Draco pretended the snitch was Harry’s mail, maybe Slytherin would have a chance. Harry’s mind screeched to a halt when he realized he would be their seeker.

“Sweet Salazar,” Draco breathed. “Why does everything happen to you? Thank fuck I happened to not be spending the day our letters arrived with you. That would have been hard to explain,” Draco attempted to joke. Harry huffed out a laugh as Draco returned the letter to him.

“You do know the Snake Pit is a lot different from your little Lion’s Den, right?” Draco confirmed. Harry appreciated the directness. He also appreciated Draco and Sirius’s acceptance of him and their acceptance that he would soon be going green.

“I’ve noticed, yeah. Your common room is nowhere near as comfortable as Gryffindor’s,” he remarked. Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“When have you been in the Slytherin common room?” Harry grinned.

“Second year. We thought you were the Heir of Slytherin so we brewed polyjuice in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Ron and I talked to you over Yule break disguised as Crabbe and Goyle,” Harry smiled fondly at the simpler times. Draco gaped at him.

“There is way too much to unpack there, so we’re just going to move on,” He shook his head. “Okay, let’s see. We have eighteen hours before the Hogwarts Express leaves. You are going to need a solid nine hours of sleep if you’re going to face the Snake Pit tomorrow, so that leaves us with nine hours to eat, pack, and for me to give you a crash course in Slytherin politics. Luckily, all I did was blab to you the last few years so you should have a good understanding already. This will just be a refresher and some of the more, er, secret aspects of the house,” Draco was nodding to himself, Harry nodded along.

“I would appreciate it. Let me go mail these letters first, then we’ll eat a quick dinner and begin,” Draco agreed. Harry rushed off, gripping his letter to Viktor Krum like it was a lifeline.