Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Magical Maturity	By : Jim_Ohki Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 46214 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 16
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other series referenced within. Expanded disclaimer inside.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: I make no claims at ownership of any copyrighted characters, places or events used herein. The only thing I make a claim to is this fic, which originated in my head and any original characters created by me herein. The following was made for public consumption at zero profit, and is not for sale except to the owning companies. Yes, I dream big.

Magical Maturity, Arc One Part Two

By: (Driver) Jim Ohki

0600 August 9, 1994; Potter Battlements

Harry awake the next morning feeling refreshed. This sensation was still new to him, having only experienced it for the past ten days. As he set about getting his day started, he reflected on the Wizengamot session the day before and knew there were going to be questions asked today; now that the Lords and Ladies had the chance to digest the information he crammed down their throats. Taking the opportunity he had to watch the sun rise from his bedroom window, which shed light on the far distant wall/property boundary. From here, it looked at the most three centimeters tall at the apex of the old guard towers.

Having travelled via Elf, he had yet to wander down the drive to see just how tall it actually was. Nor did he have any idea on any potential weak points, seeing as in the last couple to live at the Battlements was Charlus and Dorea Potter, his paternal grandparents. He now knew how they had died, and as usual in the Magical Realm it was not as the Prophet reported. Dragon Pox indeed; the Mundane’s would have noticed something like that in Eighty-Two, for their medical science was really starting to move at that point.

The breeze shifted, switching the smell from the trees of the forest to the east to humid salt from the south. Harry was instantly excited, for that meant the ocean was very near. He was tempted, oh so sorely tempted, to grab his recently bought Firebolt and find the source of that enchanting smell but decided not to until he had a much better lay of the land. He could also see a rather large stable from his room, and had a moment of brilliance as far as he was concerned: take Hermione and Luna out riding to see the property! Any doubts about not having the horses was quickly put to rest when four awoke with the sunrise and wandered into the paddock to find breakfast.

“Food,” he said to nobody, having the urge to find his own grub to really get his morning going. Quickly finishing with dressing, he charged out the door to the informal dining room on this floor, the fifth room he’d entered since his arrival.

The first housed the Ward-stone for the entire plot of land, it being a massive half kilometer sphere of pure granite. He knew, from an Elf by the name of Wobbles, that the Corner-stones were just as large and just as covered in the various Runes working in tandem to make the Ward Set. The reason he’d had to visit the here first was to key himself in by blood-letting on the master rune.

The second room he’d visited was the Master Office, which had the ‘controls’ for the wards and the Access Book. The book controlled who came, went and even knew the place existed to which he deleted all previous entries before adding not only the girls and their families, but those of the Pacts.

The third and fourth rooms were the Master Suite and Master Bath, to the right of the Office at the end of a rather long hallway. The informal dining room was again to the right of these, buffering the Master Rooms from the rest of the floor.

Having eaten his breakfast, knowing it was too early in the morning for the Daily Prophet to arrive, he made preparations for the session and made to leave by heading for the Library.

0750, Same Day, Wizengamot Chambers

Harry sat at the desk that denoted his position within the Chambers, looking about the auditorium to match faces to names. Malfoy was easy enough to find, his silver/platinum blond hair a dead giveaway. Dowager Longbottom, minus her vulture hat, was in a small gathering of Pact families discussing some issue or another, most likely getting a feel for them as her House was allied to his. Lord Parkinson was doing the same as Harry, getting a feel for the room while occasionally leaning over to his left to talk to Lord Greengrass or his right to talk to Lord Nott.

One thing that the Lords and Ladies knew was that Harry was not a happy camper. The only thing currently saving them from the Pose was that Dumbledore had yet to arrive, no doubt at Hogwarts trying to understand what has happened of late.

As if on cue the Chief Warlock appeared behind his dais, and was an instant victim to the Pose of Death. What amplified it was that the Potter Seat was on the opposite side of the Chambers, at the same elevation as the dais with a candelabra hanging between them. The light was reflecting off of young Potter’s glasses again, giving him a very sinister look.

The Lords and Ladies took notice of the Pose immediately, and had no wish to be on the receiving end of it.

“Chief Warlock,” began Harry, his voice not muffled in the least by his clasped hands supporting his head, “would you care to explain to me what I found in the Department of Mysteries?”

Dumbledore reared back as if he’d been hit in the face with a fresh trout while his mouth took on the shape of having bitten into a particularly sour grapefruit. Everything he had worked for since he’d lost his sister was coming undone at a rather rapid pace.

“What do you mean?” he tried to stall for time and regain composure.

“Ignorance is not befitting, especially to a man of your intelligence,” was the rebuke, nose and mouth still hidden behind Harry’s hands. To further his point, he produced –by way of pure wandless magic- and enlarged a parchment-tag that had faded in the decade it had been exposed to the stagnate air of what many dubbed the Basement of the Ministry.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D – Dark Lord and ? (Harry Potter)

“A Prophecy tag?!” burst Amelia Bones, having knowledge of those from being in charge of the DMLE. The tone of her voice gave away that she’d dealt with one of the things herself at some point.

“I had a very similar reaction,” Harry calmly said, his focus apparently never leaving Dumbledore. “Of course, I have to wonder at the validity of this as I know, after a little digging, just who S.P.T is: Sybill Patricia Trelawney.”

“That hack actually made a viable prophecy?!” demanded Lucius Malfoy. Even though he’d lost his place on the Hogwarts Board of Governors he was still interested in finding anything to use against the Headmaster.

“Oh, but that’s not all to this,” he rejoined, hiding the surprise he felt at the unexpected back-up in the form of Malfoy Senior. “Notice that smudge on the tag?” He was referring to a blot just below the initials of the Chief Warlock. “A complex Confundus is what that actually is.”

Still not moving a muscle the tag enlarged slightly before the smudge vanished.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D & S.T.S (Partial)

“Now I know who pointed Riddle at my parents,” Harry gravely finished, still not releasing the Pose. “And if Severus Tobias Snape comes within range outside of neutral territory I will kill him. The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter does henceforth declare Blood Feud with the Ancient and Noble House of Prince; so say I, so mote it be.”

Alignment with magic mattered not as the Chambers erupted with noise at the declaration of war between the Houses. Granted, at this point it would be a one-on-one war between the last scions but it mattered not. Not even House Slytherin had dared to use the Blood Feud clause that predated the construction of Hogwarts to circa the Dark Ages.

Those of Light were shouting at both Harry for charging into this with the intention to cause death and Dumbledore to do something to prevent said death.

Those of Dark were shouting at Harry for daring to take on one of their own, and leaving the door open for any allied houses to counter-declare on his House.

The noise stopped from a concussion wave that emanated from Harry, his gaze still locked on Dumbledore.

“Please, give me a reason,” he deadpanned. “Do you fools not remember my threat yesterday about the Praedia Bellica? Any chance to destroy Riddle’s followers I will leap on, if given enough reason to. If you ally with House Prince, fine. Death will be your only option. Voldemort couldn’t kill me, what makes you think you can? Especially with the Prophecy in play.”

“You listened to it?” Dumbledore wondered, not even attempting to get the day’s session started.

“A demonstration is in order then,” was the response, eyes zeroing in on Malfoy breaking the Pose of Death. “You so wanted to try after the Chamber fiasco. This one time, and one time only, I’ll give you a free shot. Punishment-free even, without the standard shenanigans to get out of it.”

The rest of the Assembly looked absolutely confused by this, even as Harry finally dropped his hands revealing a smirk.

“I’ll even keep Dobby from launching you across the room,” he taunted, hoping that he was pushing the right buttons.

“Deal!” Lucius leapt all over the chance to finish what his Master had started all those years ago. Narcissa, camped in the Black Seat, shook her head sadly –this to avoid face-palming- yet kept quiet. It had been bad enough for her husband to lose the elf, but to be outsmarted by a then twelve year old? Pathetic didn’t begin to describe how she felt about that.

Lady Bones tried to object but found Magic itself was holding her in her seat as the two moved to the ‘Pit’ in the center of the Chambers. Looking around she felt some relief at seeing that she wasn’t the only one panicking, especially as a shield that none had encountered before snapped into place to prevent wayward curses from hitting the witnesses. Legend had abound about the Dueling Shield that was built into the Hall to solve manners between families, however the practice had fallen out of favor due to the Pure-bloods losing numbers every year.

On the outside, Harry was nonchalant to the point he had his arms crossed behind his head. On the inside he was screaming at himself for letting the Gryffindor loose after his jaunt through the Hall of Prophecy. The rage he’d felt had completely overridden the very thing he’d gotten on Hermione’s case for: using logic to win out. Oh, he knew he would have been very passionate towards dealing with Snape and the fact that he’d intentionally pointed that madman at his family. But there were several, better and much quieter ways he could have done so instead of going for the proverbial jugular.

Albus Dumbledore was panicking for more than one reason. Tom Riddle had displayed this level of arrogance his Seventh Year, feeling invincible from any and all comers. While he was more than positive the Prophecy would make Harry un-killable to everybody but Tom, he’d not bothered to find out for himself if it was completely true or not. Plus, there was that soul fragment to take into account, for if Harry lost his then that piece could very well take over the body giving birth to the ultimate nightmare.

“Arrogant little shite,” Malfoy sneered, wand already drawn from his cane. “Nothing will protect you now, and as we’re in a silencing bubble I can say this: I’ll finish what my Master started one way or another. Your end has come, for it’s time to go to your Mudblood mother.”

“Conjure up a chair Lucius, and we’ll see who dies today,” Harry replied with a calm tone, arms dropping to his sides. “However, say one more thing about my family and you will be crushed.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

To those watching time, and the need to breathe, stopped as the green curse shot forth towards young Potter. A fair few were shrieking for the boy to dodge, move or do something while others were cheering Lord Malfoy on quietly. Silence again took hold as the most incredible thing happened.

As the Anti-Life curse neared Harry, a shape in the form of a woman came into being looking rather angry. At first, she was facing the younger of the two men while her arms that ended at her wrists moved in a frantic pace. To the keen observer, it looked like she was in the process of drawing Runes on the boy. With her hands invisible, it was impossible to decipher the actual Runes –if that was indeed what she’d done- themselves.

Then she turned around.

“Holy Mother of Merlin!” shouted Lord Diggory having seen that face, and those eyes, before. Many were speechless as the apparition glared at the incoming curse with emerald green eyes.

The Shade of Lily Potter stood before her son, and those watching suddenly knew what it was they were seeing.

Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Day of the Dead or whatever personal name each individual held. 1981, The last day of her life. The day of The Sacrifice.

Inside the Dueling Bubble, Harry couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him was mere centimeters in front of him. While she looked angry, what he saw in her eyes touched his soul.

Love. Unconditional, untainted, undiluted, true pure love.

Then her face was gone, replaced by her back as she turned towards the Instant Death Curse. He lost track of what was happening at that point, as his eyes watered. He was surprised to find himself crying for the first time since he was three, finally able to mourn his mum and the absolute love she showed her child. For the lost times they could have, should have had together.

The Shade caught the Killing Curse with suddenly visible hands, having to turn to her right slightly to slow the curse down before flinging her arms forward effectively rebounding it at the caster. The scar on his forehead became a touch wider, link a chink in the armor as the saying goes.

Lucius Malfoy barely had time to gape in surprise before his own curse struck him in the chest, sending him flying into the far wall. As every eye was on him, they missed what followed inside the Bubble.

“Remember Harry, we are always watching over you,” Lily whispered into his ear before her form lost cohesion. He did notice for a brief second that his father was watching the pair with pride before he too lost cohesion to return to the place whence they came.

1300, Same Day; Potter Battlements

The session was called off shortly after the revealing demonstration, something Harry was very thankful for. He’d spent the previous two hours venting his emotions from mourning his parents to rage at what had been done to his family.

Hermione and Luna had just floo’d in having received letters from Hedwig, and both were taken aback by the tear-tracks on his face as well as the smashed items of various make around him.

“What happened?” Hermione asked as she wrapped her arms around Harry. She regretted that question when it tripped a fresh bout of crying in her normally stalwart friend. With a look of panic at Luna, whom had also joined in the attempt to comfort the obviously distraught boy, she did the only thing she could do: wait for him to talk.

“It would be easier to just show you,” he finally said at length, having gotten himself under some semblance of control. He left their rather comfortable embrace to fetch a Penseive off of a shelf in his Office before returning to his bedroom. He set it down, stared at it for a moment, then returned to the Office to get the instruction scroll that went with it so that he knew what he was doing. After explaining what the stone bowl did, he tested the memory extraction charm a few times with a few that he wouldn’t mind permanently losing. Once he had the technique down pat, now minus three particularly nasty memories from his childhood, he pulled the day’s event from his mind and put it in.

“Right, in we go,” he said after working for nearly an hour without so much as a squeak. He looked exhausted but determined at the same time, something that Hermione was familiar with in just the two years she had known Harry.

The trio was immersed in the day’s events for three hours, occasionally having to ‘rewind’ a scene to glean what information they could. The girls were shocked at the declaration against Snape, and by extension his Magical House of Prince. Then the Demonstration, as he simply called it. By the time they left the memories, the only thing not covered was the Prophecy that had been mentioned numerous times. They were observant and had read the tag when he’d enlarged it but he refused to reveal the contents.

Hermione hit the floor walking for the floo, not offering any explanation as to why she was suddenly making for the exit. Luna was torn between staying with her first real friend outside of Ottery Saint Catchpole and going after the second. Her mind was made up when Harry gestured at the retreating back.

He knew Hermione was mad at him, and didn’t want to explode in his face for his foolishness. While a large part of him was rather hurt by her walking away, part of him was thankful for the solitude and another part knew she’d be back. After all, if nothing else she would want to know just what Lily had done on that fateful night.

Deciding on a kip, he tuned out the roar of the floo as he lay down silently crying again.

1700; Crawley

Hermione was most irritated by now, and not just with Harry. He had offered himself to prove a point that he then refused to elaborate on, resulting in the death of a person. She could care less that it was Malfoy Senior, especially after the Chamber of Secrets mayhem and three years of Draco bitching about ‘Father this; Father that’. Luna was perched on the corner of her desk, looking about in apparent wonder as she waited for the other girl to talk. This was the other irritant as she had gone home to think, not discuss what she felt with a committee!

“You know you hurt him,” the blonde said out of the blue, idly twirling her wand, “when you walked out without so much as a ‘good-bye’.”

“Stubborn fool! Why does he do things like this?!” the brunette demanded, ignoring the statement but using it as an excuse to vent her own emotions. “Offering himself up to test an invincibility that could have not worked! For what?! Why won’t he tell me what that damned Prophecy says?!” By now she was in tears herself, knowing that things were going to get more difficult for her best friend as time went on. “Not to mention the fact that now he’s going to have troubles with the Wizengamot for what happened today! It’s just a good thing that the press doesn’t get any information until after the Session is dismissed or he’d be right royally screwed! Stupid, stubborn blighter!”

“You do know his sense of self-worth, do you not?” calmly wondered the blonde while putting her wand behind her left ear. “He’s been raised to have none whatsoever, to the point that his inner Gryffindor looks down right foolish when he unleashes it. And what’s worse is that he knows this but can’t help himself. To him, family is everything even with the treatment of his relatives and he’ll be damned to let anybody get away with what has happened. Could he have done better? Certainly. Does he know that? Yes. So why was your ‘best’ friend breaking down as you stormed out of his place? His sense of self-worth strikes again because now he feels like he’s ruined things between you two. You think he’s suicidal now, wait until he decides he really has nothing to live for.”

August 10, 0745; Wizengamot Chambers

As the Lords and Ladies filtered in, they encountered what they first believed to be an Inferi sitting in the Potter Seat. Then they realized that it was Harry Potter, somehow having a kip while sitting up as if he’d been there the entire night previous. He certainly looked the part of the living dead, having dark circles with darker circles under his eyes, absolutely horrific hair and rumpled robes. His glasses were on the desk in front of him, leaving his face bare.

Dumbledore was prompt today, arriving at ten ‘til the hour as per norm to look over the political battlefield. He’d spent all of the afternoon yesterday in his Penseive, trying to solve the mystery that Lily Potter had left behind. He did see the Shade of James Potter lurking in the shadows on the third viewing, revealing that it wasn’t just his wife’s sacrifice that allowed Harry to live. This amplified the Ancient Magic at work, having both parents sacrifice themselves to save their son.

Seeing the object of his thoughts apparently asleep he studied the face of the last Potter from across the room. He’d have to do something to keep the Dark families happy and not retaliate for goading Lucius Malfoy into suicide-by-Potter.

Taking note of the time, he fired off his standard purple sparks from his wand to get the attention of the Assembly. The noise startled Harry awake to a sea of faces that were doing their best to mask their emotions.

“Day Three of the Summer Session is called to order,” Dumbledore began. “The floor is open to any that have new business before we resume are debates from Day One.”

Unsurprisingly half the gemstones lit up, while those doing the lighting were glaring at Harry.

“Chair recognizes House Parkinson.”

“Lord and Ladies,” the medium-height yet broad shouldered Head of House Parkinson started, “I make the motion to eject House Potter from this august body for remit to the death of Lord Malfoy.”

“What?!” came from more than one person, even some of those that were originally glaring at Harry. That was extreme, even by their standards. They felt that a heavy enough fine would have sufficed, not outright ejection as is what he’d hinted at with Pacts he’d still have a voice in the Assembly.

“House Nott seconds the motion,” said the clone of Theodore Nott, looking almost exactly like his son.

As things degenerated between the Houses, Harry himself was stoic to the goings on. His mind was far away from where it needed to be as he just couldn’t get himself motivated to deal with the current situation.

“Order, order!” thundered Dumbledore, before softening his tone. “Does House Potter have anything to say for itself?”

“No,” was all Harry said, his mind still too far away to grasp the current goings on. Most of what was bothering him was Hermione storming out of his place, now that he’d had time to think about it.

“Very well,” the Chief Warlock looked dubiously at young Potter. “Motion on the floor; seconded. All in favor?”

The Allied and Pact houses were in a quandary. They didn’t honestly know which way to vote on the matter as they’d had no communications with House Potter. Magic itself may punish them if they voted in favor of the motion or abstained from voting as that would be seen as doing nothing. Voting against, without certain knowledge of protection from retaliation, could very well open the door for a major fracture between the Assembly.

Those that were Allied to House Malfoy, being primarily Dark families all voted in favor including the Black Vote which held a major bloc.

“House Potter objects to the House Black Vote!” Harry came back to himself, finally noticing that the situation was getting out of hand. It had taken some research in both the Potter and Black Grimiore’s to find the connection. “Illegal Proxy sitting the Seat!”

Confusion greeted the outburst, although there was relief among those that were stuck between a rock and a hard place. They had no idea where he was going to go with this, but it may well turn the Assembly on its ear . . . again.

“Rubbish!” Narcissa Malfoy shouted, bringing all attention onto herself. “Everybody knows I sit this Seat in Proxy for my son Draco!”

“Wrong,” Harry calmly rebuked, “due to two factors. First and foremost is distance in relation to the last Lord Black after Phineas Nigellus. Second is the Will of said Lord, which states and I quote: ‘the Lordship of House Black shall NOT EVER pass to ANY whom have been Marked, willingly or not, as a terrorist OR their spawn, convicted to Life in Azkaban, or Properly Disowned’. By the Black Tapestry the original Lordship Line is disqualified by Death and Imprisonment. From Phineas Nigellus the Title went to Sirius, Arcturus, Orion and should have gone to Sirius Orion. The Will of Arcturus, however, disqualifies Sirius as he’s in Azkaban . . . however illegally he was put there. The Title goes to the line of Third Son of Phineas Nigellus, Cygnus Phineas. He had three children with Violetta Bulstrode: Pollux, Cassiopeia and Dorea. Pollux is your Grandfather Lady Malfoy, yes?” At her nod, he continued. “Since Draco comes after you, that makes him the Great-Grandson of Pollux. Cassiopeia never married. Dorea, however . . .,” he paused, wanting to savor the moment. “Dorea Black, Daughter of Cygnus Phineas, married Charlus Potter. Together they had one son: James, my father. Dorea Black was my Grandmother. Due to the stipulation of Arcturus Black, Draco Malfoy was disqualified as the Heir Apparent due to Lucius being Marked, willingly or not. Thus, the Title goes to me, the sole qualified survivor of Cygnus Phineas.”

Silence. That was a lot of information to process, although it didn’t hurt in the least that the Black Signet Ring was now visible on Harry’s right hand index finger. All that Narcissa could do at that point was sigh in defeat before moving to the Malfoy Seat.

“To top it all off, I have uncovered part of the reason why Bartemius Crouch illegally tossed Sirius Orion into Azkaban,” Harry continued, keeping his momentum going. “He is the Grandson of Caspar Crouch and Charis Black, Daughter of Arcturus Phineas and Lysandra Yaxley, Fourth Son of Phineas Nigellus. Not knowing of the Dorea connection to House Potter, he was confident that he could get the Title to the House knowing of the clause Arcturus Sirius put in his Will. Now, at this time House Potter and House Black do not seek retribution for Attempted Line Theft by the Crouch Family. We do reserve the right to change our mind at a later date, after we have the trial for Sirius Orion Black.”

“He never had a trial?!” roared Lord Boot, flabbergasted that such an oversight could be allowed to go on for so long.

“Correct,” Harry turned his attention to the left side of the Hall. “Besides the play on the Title of Lord Black, Crouch was influenced the day before by the unveiling of his son as a Death Eater. Between that event and a low-level Obliviator somehow getting wind of Igor Kakaroff wanting to ‘reform’ to get out of Azkaban and making a deal with the soon to be disgraced Crouch Sirius was effectively tossed into Hell without cause.”

“And who was that low-level Obliviator?” Amelia Bones had a hunch, but if House Potter could prove it then it would mean serious changes were coming to the Ministry.

“The records clearly state that Cornelius Oswald Fudge had brought word of Kakaroff having a change of heart after talking to the man in Azkaban. Why an Obliviator was at the prison, I’ll never know.” To prove his point Harry held up a sheaf of parchment, bound in twine before levitating it over to her desk. “Those are the records for that day at Azkaban, the trial transcripts of Kakaroff, and the bottom parchment –which I believe was mistakenly put in there- is clearly a written contract between House Fudge and House Crouch in Alliance.”

Pure pandemonium. Lady Bones was busy making duplicates to every voice that was demanding to see just what had been delivered to her while staunch Fudge supporters were getting on Harry’s case for going after the Minister and making enemies in high places. The first thing she read was the Alliance Contract and found a surprise.

“Chief Warlock, what is the meaning of this?!” she shouted after a cannon blast from her wand. The parchment was enlarged so the entire assembly could read it or more importantly, the signatures.

Fudge, check.

Crouch, check.

Dumbledore . . . wait, what?

“Please, Chief Warlock,” Harry drawled, “enlighten the masses as to how you negotiated that Contract.”

“I wasn’t given the specifics behind their Alliance,” Dumbledore replied, looking calm and composed as usual. “In fact, I didn’t have to say much which I found rather odd as the Arbiter but I decided that since they had hammered out the details before hand I wouldn’t ask.”

“Right, plausible deniability,” Harry groused, looking rather miffed that his opponent escaped again. “How very convenient that when the Contract surfaces you just happen to know nothing about it. I mean, as an Arbiter there’s no repercussions if the Alliance falls apart or the Family’s War, is there?” Waving his left hand, he brushed the issue aside. “What I want to know is, why as Chief Warlock you allowed Sirius Black to be imprisoned without trial. And if you dare pull that jive about my parents and their Keeper, know I have their Journals and the Will.”

“What Will?” came from Lady MacMillan, having been in the Assembly since the Fifties. “We were told that it was lost in Godric’s Hollow.”

“Sure it was,” Harry looked at her fish-eyed for a moment, “when the Goblins automatically copy Wills whenever they are created and updated. Why do you think you have to go to them to get the parchment? It’s not a method of ripping you off, it’s a security measure to insure compliance due to Treaty. At any given time there are two copies of the Will within Gringotts: one with the Account Manager for easy access be it revision or execution, one in your Vault for whatever reason you need it for. The original is supposed to be filed with the Ministry or kept at the Ancestral Manor of the Family.”

Now Dumbledore was shifting around in his chair, looking highly uncomfortable as Harry kept talking. This was general knowledge that he’d worked hard to have slip from the minds of the populace, for reasons of expediting ‘the Greater Good’.

“Hark, I found the Original Copy of the Will of my parents at my ancestral home,” Harry was hoping to not have to play this card, wanting instead to get the story out of Sirius himself, “as well as Journals that they kept in case the worst happened so I would have something of theirs to at least get to know them. In both, they state, rather emphatically, that not only did Albus Dumbledore cast the Fidelius Charm over Potter Cottage, which was nothing more than a retreat house, but that Peter Pettigrew was their choice for Secret Keeper. So I want to know why my Godfather is in Azkaban and not taking care of me.”

Same Day, 1900, Potter Battlements

Having effectively buried the Wizengamot again and dodging the questions about his knowledge on Riddle, Harry was pleasantly surprised to tumble out of the enlarged fireplace only to find his two female friends waiting for him.

“Ruddy floo, what does it take to come out standing?!” he demanded to nobody as he vented. He was as surprised as Luna and Hermione when he got an answer from the portrait above the mantle.

“Easy son,” Charlus Potter’s voice –a rich baritone- drifted down. “To answer your question, if you start from a standstill on your feet you’re going to wind up arse over teakettle every time. You just have to toss the powder, state your destination, and step into the flames while they are green. It takes a bit to get the coordination down, though.”

“Ah, okay Grandpa,” Harry nodded, not yet used to talking portraits as he’d barely had a conversation with any at Hogwarts forget anywhere else. “Say, do you know if my parents made,” he gestured at the frame, not quite sure what to call it since it was more than a portrait.

“They didn’t have the time,” a soft soprano voice answered as Dorea Potter née Black entered the frame, “with the War going on. We told your parents to not go to the Hollow, staying safe and hidden here. Your mother, bless her heart, had your father wrapped around her little finger. When Albus told her to go to the Retreat at Godric’s Hollow, she was able to convince your father with relative ease to follow.”

“Wow,” Luna chimed in, causing the focus to shift to her, “who would have thought that there’d be a sane-speaking Black to be found?” For all their oddities, the Lovegood’s held nothing on the Black’s in their prime. “The last one I encountered was Lucretia, Sister to Orion, Aunt of Sirius. Even though she’d married a Prewitt she still seemed round the twist. Although from what Daddy said Ignatius had tossed her out when Orion tried to disown his eldest son.”

“Bah!” Dorea scoffed. Even though when the portrait had been commissioned she’d been in her nineties, she didn’t look a day over forty due to the inherent good looks the Black Family had enjoyed for centuries; well, those that didn’t marry cousins that is. Aristocrat didn’t even come close. Her facial features were a smooth blend of Andromeda, Narcissa and Bellatrix -before her decent into madness. While she did have the blood of the Bulstrode’s, four generations after the Giantess joined the family, all the genes did was enhance her height to a towering one point nine three zero four meters or six foot four inches and her bust which put beach balls to shame.

“I know Lucretia, that cretin. Wonky cunt about as stable as her brother that one. Least she had the common decency to marry out of the family! Phineas Nigellus knows she’s still alive as her portrait at Black Manor hasn’t awoken yet, though we have no idea where she’s disappeared to.”

“Right,” Harry said, before looking at Hermione. “You know, for that mayhem I caused yesterday the Parkinson Family tried to get me tossed out of the Wizengamot. The only thing that saved me was another day of befuddling the tossers by revealing just who sits as Lord Black then demanding to know why Sirius was thrown to the Dementors for no good reason. That, and giving them something to talk about with Fudge and Crouch. Before you even open your mouth to berate me, you’d be right. Not even taking on a ruddy eighteen meter Basilisk was as foolish as what I did.”

“Eighteen . . .?” Charlus choked on his painted tea, before sputtering, “Basilisk?! What the Devil?!”

“Yep, the Gryffindor legacy continues,” chuckled Dorea as she stepped behind a chair to avoid Charlus’ flailing about.

“You have no idea Gran,” Harry was lost in the memory and thusly not paying much attention to what was coming from his mouth, “for it was Slytherin’s pet a thousand years ago. That, and I got Godric’s Sword out of the Hat to kill the beast. Bloody thing bit me, Fawkes worked his Phoenix Magic and cried in the wound.”

“Are you telling me, young man, that you have Basilisk Venom and Phoenix Tears in your bloodstream?!” ‘Gran’ demanded, suddenly fierce showing why angering a Giantess four generations removed was a bad idea. “Be glad I’m a portrait you twit! If I was alive I’ve have you over my knee! Just when did you do this?!”

“He was twelve,” Luna happily replied, amused at the idea of anybody threatening to spank the Boy-Who-Lived. “So just over two years ago.”

“ARGH!” Dorea charged out of the frame, before indignant shouts could be heard out of view.

“Well, there she goes for Hogwarts,” Charlus ruefully watched his wife act more like a Gryffindor than a Slytherin. “Oh look, here’s Phineas Nigellus.”

“Get stuffed you dolt!” grumbled the old Headmaster of Hogwarts, voted least popular twenty years running during his tenure. “You, boy! Why did you rile up my descendent to boot me out of my frame to yell at Dumbledore?! I would have loved to do so myself!”

“I’m your descendent too, wanker!” Harry showed no fear of a portrait. “In fact, I’m the Lord of House Black. So no more watching me for Dumbledore. As Lord of the Founders that goes for all Hogwarts portraits!”

Dorea came charging back into the eight by ten meter portrait of the Sitting Room in the Battlements, huffing and red in the face.

“You know Dumbledore lied to you, yes?” Phineas had taken cover behind Charlus, hoping the man he’d told to get stuffed would protect him from Dorea. “First Year, the Stone. He was rather angry about what happened to it.”

“What? He told Harry that it was destroyed,” Hermione spoke up for the first time.

“Well, from a certain point of view that would be correct,” the old Headmaster said after pilfering the tea-set from a neighboring portrait. “Harry, did you never question why when you used both hands to burn Quirellmort –nice name by the way- only your right was bandaged?”

Said Potter had a glazed look to his eyes as his train of thought derailed. It was one of those subtle nuances that had slipped by before his Maturity did whatever it did to his mind.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Phineas had waited a minute for an answer. “Which hand was the Stone in?”

“My right . . .,” he trailed off, before sitting down on a wingback chair rather heavily. “Are you telling me I absorbed a Philosopher’s Stone?! How?!”

“Dumbledore was in a rage, ranting to us portraits,” came the explanation. “That Stone was going to ‘disappear’ into his Manor to insure he’d live to see the Greater Good completed. However, when you fell after Riddle flew through you on his way out of the Castle your magic was nearly completely depleted. Sensing a replenishment source in your hand, it acted accordingly to save your life. Indeed, your Core absorbed the Stone through your hand. Dumbledore tried to pull what he could out before taking you to Pomfrey, which nearly cost you your hand. By then the magic that made up the Stone was gone and he had no choice but to get you healed lest somebody notice the wound.”

“So my blood consists of Philosopher’s Stone, Basilisk Venom and Phoenix Tears?” Harry wondered, whispering in stupefaction that he’d missed this information as it happened. Then again, he was more concerned with not dying at the time to notice. “What about the Flamels?”

“Nicholas and Perenelle were not amused to learn their ‘dear friend’ had ‘lost’ their prized possession. However, before they left they did go to the Hospital Wing and from what the portraits in there said, scanned you rather heavily before actually breaking out in laughter. They couldn’t make out much for the noise but they did catch words like ‘legacy’ and a phrase that makes me giddy with joy: ‘serves the old coot right’.”

“Does anybody know what happened to them?” Hermione asked, almost afraid to speak to Phineas Nigellus. Harry had left the Black Tapestry out in the Library on the fifth floor the night before, revealing that the man had disowned his first son Phineas for supporting Muggles and their rights.

“We passed on,” came a new voice as a new couple entered the portrait. “Dumbledore tried to screw us over, even after I had taken him on as an apprentice. We were going to leave him our notes on how to recreate the Stone, but when we learned of the events at Hogwarts we changed our mind.”

“Nicholas, Perenelle what a surprise,” Charlus greeted them like old friends, giving each a hug. “What brings you to Potter Battlements?”

Harry, Luna and Hermione –sensing that the conversation wasn’t about to involve them this time- headed for the informal dining room on the second floor, which was dubbed the Master Floor. He talked as they walked, explaining in greater detail what had happened at the Session.

“Oh yes, we’ll be having Sirius’ trial after the weekend break,” he said, having asked Dobby for dinner. “Yes, there’s still two more days before the weekend but Dumbledore had flexed his political muscle. The baboons,” he ducked an attempt to cuff his head from Luna, “that are in his camp simply have to much sway right now.”

“Sorry about storming out here yesterday,” Hermione started sheepishly, before being cut off.

“No worries,” he reassured her, “I’m actually quite happy that you didn’t try to transfigure me into a wombat for my stupidity.”

“Yes, well,” her look turned fierce, “don’t be doing that again or you will be a wombat!”

“Why a wombat?” Luna wondered, “A ferret would work just as well I believe. Or maybe even a Blubbering Humdinger.” She was surprised she could say that around Harry, but figured it was because it was in jest and not as a defense mechanism.

“Wrong hair color,” Hermione answered, looking thoughtful and ignoring the made-up creature. “Malfoy, on the other hand, would make the perfect ferret.” Turning away from the humorous thoughts of Malfoy as a Ferret, she continued. “Harry, just what did your parents do That Night?”

He sighed, pushing his greens around his plate in thought. She was familiar enough with the action to leave him be while Luna looked on, partially lost in her own thoughts on her mother.

“I still haven’t figured it out,” he finally answered at length, “even after spending what free time I currently have in the Library. One of the few things I have found is a two-part sacrificial Ritual, which I believe they did. The first part, my Dad covered with Selfless Defense of Family while my Mum finished it with Selfless Sacrifice for Family. It’s said when these two are combined that a great protection falls over the surviving members of said family. It wouldn’t work in reverse, a child sacrificing themselves for their parent however. So that Ritual, combined with whatever it was Mum drew all over me from hair to toes I think is the protection Dumbledore was raving about. He botched my placement though, it would have taken my Grandparents and my Aunt Petunia to create a harm-free zone for me to live in.”

“What do you mean?” Luna asked, having heard a resentment in his tone that bothered her.

“For the Blood Wards to function perfectly, both bloodlines have to be under the same roof,” he explained, summoning a stack of old Prophet’s from his Office. “Since he only placed me with my Aunt, the Wards turned violent and tried to repel the two of us. Ruddy thing is finicky, if the conditions are not perfect it creates animosity and hatred between the foci to the point that at first opportunity they will separate permanently, thus destroying said Wards. As for my Grandparents, well . . .,” he spread the stack out, showing the girls what he was talking about. While it was called ‘Dragon Pox’ it was extremely odd that Arcturus and Melania Black, Charlus and Dorea Potter, Alphard Black, Pollux and Irma Black, and Cygnus and Druella Black all died on the same day in the same location:

Diagon Alley.

“If they were indeed infected,” Harry’s voice turned rough, “why were they not in Saint Mungos? No, I refuse to believe that they all had the Pox and all keeled over in the Alley while together. They had to have been assassinated, and most likely by somebody who wanted the closest ties to my paternal side gone.”

“Are you saying Dumbledore killed them?” Hermione was outraged, but at what –or more accurately, whom- exactly she didn’t know.

“Without proof, no,” he honestly replied, his voice back to being calm. “It would be rather pointless to publicly call the Headmaster out when their deaths were labeled as an infection.”

The clock on the far wall started to chime the hour, revealing that it was now nine at night and the girls had to head on home. Harry walked them to the floo, watching the portraits to see if the guests from earlier were still in them or if they’d left. At the fireplace, the large portrait was empty, revealing that Charlus and Dorea had stepped out.

“Be ready on Saturday to explore the Grounds,” he said as he hugged first Hermione then Luna. “We’ll be doing so on horseback, if the stable I saw was any clue.”

Friendship repaired, the girls were on their way with a smile on their faces.

0745 August 11, Wizengamot Chambers

Albus Dumbledore was early to the Session for the first time since the end of the War. He was becoming more and more aware that Harry was putting little clues and subtle nuances together that he couldn’t erase as time went on such as the Prophet editions from December of Eighty-One, when the Lords of Potter and Black had died. If the boy had Miss Granger in his corner, which thanks in part to Mister Weasley was a very likely bet, then he’d get the big picture long before he was ready to face his destiny. Things would only go downhill from there, Albus knew.

Today, his plan of attack was well laid out. Since Harry had been hitting hard and fast, leaving heads spinning and threatening to explode in his wake, he was going to try to flummox the boy. Certainly, he had to be running out of material to bury the Assembly with.

As the members filtered in the door, they noticed that young Potter had yet to arrive. Speculation was rampant that he either was becoming afraid to confront the Dark Families or he was digging up something else to frustrate them with depending on which faction was talked to.

Just as the Chief Warlock was about to get the day’s session started, Harry appeared in the doorway. He didn’t look rushed, flushed, nor in anyway bothered that he was running behind. Calmly he climbed up to his desk before taking his seat, having collected several hand-delivered letters from the Pact Families. He had a hunch that Sunday was going to be a busy day indeed for he’d sent out several more missives before heading into the Hall to various families about some of what he’d dug up last night.

“Day Four is now in session,” Dumbledore announced to the crowd, “and as such House Dumbledore does put forth the motion of censure of House Potter for actions unbecoming a Lord since the beginning of the Summer Session.”

Caught unawares, all that the Assembly of Lords and Ladies could do was talk quickly amongst themselves. Harry himself looked highly surprised at this turn of events, and was wondering just where the old man was going to go with this.

“Clarify,” demanded Lord Bulstrode, his bulk taking up two desks worth of real estate. He didn’t look happy in the least, although nobody was certain as to the cause of it.

“First and foremost,” he did as ‘asked’, “House Potter has absorbed and essentially disbanded several Houses that were iconic to the Wizarding Populace. Secondly, House Potter has spread rumor and speculation about Lord Voldemort,” Albus ignored the shouts, shrieks and shivers, “without providing conclusive proof. Thirdly, House Potter has caused the death of a fellow Lord within these walls. Fourthly, the House has spread more rumor and conjecture about Houses Fudge and Crouch. Fifthly, the House has argued in favor of a convicted criminal being retried before this august body without providing conclusive proof to illegal confinement.”

He waited for anybody, especially young Harry to speak out, before touching one of the other gemstones he was holding in Proxy ‘as a favor’.

“Seconded by House Weasley. Motion on the floor, all in favor?”

“Stop right there, sir,” Harry had assumed the Ikari Death Glare again, still as potent as the first time he used it. “I know for a fact that Arthur Weasley is alive so why are you sitting his seat? Wealth has nothing to do with it, as this Assembly is aware otherwise a couple of other Families would be shown the door. House Black contests House Dumbledore sitting in Proxy of House Weasley by virtue of the marriage between Cedrella Black and Cadmus Weasley, Arthur’s Grandparents,” he paused, before looking at Narcissa. “And before you object, Lady Malfoy, I welcomed Cedrella back into the Family this morning. I found it ridiculous to disown somebody for following their heart. The deceased Alphard, your sister Andromeda and her daughter have also been welcomed back into the fold.”

The Wizengamot rumbled as one being, voicing their displeasure at several topics before Harry spoke again.

“Dowager Longbottom, have no worries,” he soothed her as he could see that Augusta was becoming antsy. He would have said more, but a look from her stopped him in his tracks. “Ah, I see then. Well, still, I’ll not be changing anything there unless you ask it,” he finally conceded, shaken a bit from her version of the Death Glare.

“I sit in for Arthur Weasley because he asked me to be his Proxy,” Albus finally answered the question, not quite sure what had passed between those two. There was something he was missing, something that wasn’t common knowledge and it bothered him.

“Right,” Harry deadpanned, eyes half-lidded. “House Potter seconds the protest, and asks the Assembly to await the public meeting next week to address this issue.”

“Motion made by House Black, Seconded by House Potter,” Dumbledore growled, irritated that he was thwarted for the time being. “All in favor?”

Three quarters of the gemstones lit up green.

“Motion passed; we’ll conclude this business after the trial,” he declared, before offering the floor for any other new business.

“Chair recognizes House Bones.”

“House Potter, we’d like to see some proof of what you’ve said over the past few days,” Amelia leapt all over the chance to eliminate half of the stalled issue, hopefully in their favor.

“We’ll need a Projector Penseive,” Harry intoned, “at least for the details in what relates to Riddle. As for Sirius, I looked in the Archives for a trial transcript and found nothing. All transcripts, as this body is aware of, are public record. While it is nigh on impossible, they may have been misplaced however those that were on the Tribunal can make use of the Penseive to put that issue to rest or not.”

It didn’t take long for the requested item to be brought into the Chambers before being set onto a pedestal in the old Dueling Pit. Harry took a moment, staring at the stone bowl, before extracting memories.

“You’re all in for a treat,” he addressed the Assembly, “for I’m going to be giving you the three encounters with Riddle that I’ve survived.” He looked directly at Dumbledore as his finished and saw the Chief Warlock pale. “Due to my Maturity, and some information I’ve recently learned of, I can officially say that I remember That Night in detail.”

Before Albus could say anything Harry had waved his hand at the candles snuffing a large number of them submerging the Hall into near-darkness then tapped the Play Rune with a finger.

The scene that greeted the Assembly was a ceiling of a room, before voices drifted in from the background.

“James, I’m telling you we have to trust Dumbledore,” Lily sounded frustrated, like it was a recurring argument that she was tired of. “He told us to use this house, specifically, to hide in with Peter as our Keeper. I know, you’d feel better with Sirius and frankly so would I. But he’s Albus Dumbledore, he knows what he’s talking about!”

“This just feels wrong,” the voice of James Potter drifted into the room. “Da and Mum were against this idea from the get-go. The Battlements have Wards that would stop the Dark Lord in his tracks if not kill him outright. Why do you think my folks almost never leave? They’re safe there and they know it, they want us to be safe too. We’re playing with fire here, and we might just get right royally burned.”

“Look, I’m sorry that this has caused a rift between you and them,” she did sound apologetic, however with them still being out of view it was impossible to take in her facial features. “When this War is over, we’ll try to fix . . .”

She never did finish her thought as they had come under attack. James could be heard downstairs, which had become visible when Lily picked young Harry up, bantering with the Dark Lord while trading curses. The focus shifted to the redhead, which showed the same thing the Assembly had witnessed two days previous as she furiously worked on whatever it was that she was doing. From the lower level came the distinct thud of a body hitting the floor accompanied by his laughter.

It wasn’t long until the Lords and Ladies were greeted by a face many hadn’t seen in over a decade. In the background, a few noticed Pettigrew cowering in fear behind his Master.

“PAUSE!” Lady Bones shouted, to which Harry complied. He took in the scene that was now frozen, and saw what she had in Pettigrew. He focused on Lily’s hands and noticed something off immediately.

Her fingers were bleeding.

‘She drew on me in her own blood?’ zipped through his mind, not quite sure how to feel about it. ‘That is part of the Sacrifice Ritual, but just what did Dad do? And when did he do it?’

“You all know that Penseive Memories can be faked,” Dumbledore was saying, hoping to save his house of cards. It seemed that every day another one was destroyed no matter what he did to stymie the collapse.

“You’re funny, Chief Warlock,” Harry came out of his thoughts. “Because I have seen very few images of my parents and none of Pettigrew let alone ole Tom there to be able to put them in this memory. Plus, have any of you seen the tell-tale distortions and odd-playback of a false memory?” This was directed at the rest of the Assembly, to which he got a solid ‘no’ in response. “There you go, unless somebody tampered with my mind at that age then what you see is what happened.”

After a lengthy pause in which several of the members turned an evil eye on Dumbledore, Harry resumed the playback.

Even those that had been raised to show no emotion in public were having difficulty as Lily Potter did what any good mother would do to save her son. When she was struck down, nobody had failed to notice that Harry was now upright if the scene was anything to go by and that the memory was now tinged in red.

Even as a one and a half year old, he knew rage.

No child should ever have to feel such emotion, regardless of age but to see one that young so angry to the point what he remembered was colored so got the attention of every single person viewing the memory.

“Now then, Child of Prophecy, you shall die and my Immortality shall be assured,” Voldemort’s silky voice rang out in the silent hall, as he went into a monologue. “Oh yes, the things I’ve done to stave off Death, not even Herpo the Foul went as far to accomplish. With your death, young Potter, my Horcrux collection will be complete. Seven, a most powerful number indeed.”

“Pause it,” Dumbledore’s voice was flat as he tried to comprehend what he’d heard. Seven, so six containers and what was left of the original. The Diary was destroyed, but the math wasn’t adding up because the Scar would make Eight. Perhaps what happened next gave more clues.

“Horcrux?!” Narcissa was revolted, knowing of the magic thanks to her upbringing. “That thing made Horcrux’s like candy?! If any of those containers still exist then so does that abomination!”

“Lady Malfoy,” Harry stopped her rant, “you’ll see soon enough what happened to the first. And yes, it involves your late husband.” Without prompting he hit the Play Rune again.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Just as had happened two days ago, the Shade of Lily Potter appeared and rebounded the curse. However, what really caught the attention of the Assembly was that an oily substance had left the body almost as soon as the curse left the wand, heading for a prepared breast plate from an armor set. The Crest of Gryffindor was faded but still recognizable to those that looked hard enough.

When the Curse was rebounded, however, the breast plate was destroyed as was Voldemort’s body. As they watched, a Wraith formed as his soul couldn’t pass over before fleeing from the house. Pettigrew, almost forgotten about by this point, scurried into the room to grab the yew wand laying on the floor before transforming into a rat and fleeing himself.

The oily sludge was mostly destroyed, but enough remained to seek a new container. Sensing a place to go, it wriggled itself into the Scar.

“Pause!” roared Lord Parkinson, “You are carrying a piece of his soul?!”

“All in due time, good sir,” Harry was nonplussed at the reaction, even though on the inside he was just as surprised. “It does explain the results of my Heritage Ritual which listed me as an “Artificial Soul Anchor” though. Humph, Prophecy indeed.”

“What did it say?” Dowager Longbottom asked, her eyes wide as she’d watched the end of her son’s friends. It had been tough to see, and a part of her was thankful that there was nothing –so far- that pointed at what happened to her dear Frank and Alice.

“I’ll not be revealing the whole thing here,” Harry was firm in his stance, even with the grotesque display beside him as his one and a half year old self was converted into a Horcrux-like container. “However, I believe the line ‘neither can live while the other survives’ is quite apt. As you’ll see shortly, I’ve confronted the Wraith-form of Riddle twice more since That Night.” With that he hit the Stop Rune and extracted the first memory, even though he wanted to simply flick it out of existence. Once that was done, he hit Play again.

Dumbledore was relieved to see that the encounter began just as the eleven year old Harry stepped into the final room. It wouldn’t do for the Assembly to see that his staff’s ‘traps’ had been beaten by three First Years and completely bypassed by the Dark Lord.

The Lords and Ladies were shocked when the turban came off of Quirrell, revealing the parasitic face of Voldemort on the back of his head. They watched as the Savior went to work again, this time by turning the then DADA Professor into ash. The Stone caught many unawares, even more so when the Wraith flew directly into Harry’s body. None had missed the banter about Snape they had shared either.

“Two encounters, score: Harry two; Tom zero,” he said blandly, not certain if it was an attempt to lift the heavy atmosphere or just wanting to be snarky as he again extracted the memory from the Penseive before hitting Play for the final time.

Narcissa almost became ill when the Diary came into focus, having seen it a time or two at Malfoy Manor. It confirmed in her mind that Lucius was more than a lost cause even before his demise. Upon seeing the youngest Weasley in the Chamber, holding said Diary, she quickly figured out what his plot had been when he’d slipped it into her cauldron.

The Assembly gave a collective shout when the Basilisk was summoned by the sixteen year old Riddle, who just had to monologue as he worked his brand of evil. Many of the Dark Families that had either followed or supported him were beginning to doubt his sanity if he had to do that at the cusp of every victory only to have it snatched away from his grasp. His enemies earned more information that way that even the spies that had been uncovered as time went on.

The Sword of Gryffindor silenced them, having been extracted from the Sorting Hat. Seeing a twelve year old, forget the name, battle such a deadly serpent with a sword of all things cranked the legend that was Harry Potter up several more notches.

Then the Deathblow.

“PAUSE!” shouted Lady MacMillan, having seen something that piqued her interest. “Rewind slowly a couple seconds . . . stop there.”

The fang was protruding from his arm.

“Unbelievable!” exclaimed Lord Greengrass, speaking up for the first time in days. “First That Night, then the Stone fiasco, topped off by being bitten by a Basilisk! How the Devil are you still alive?!”

“You’ll see shortly,” Harry responded, caught off guard by the fact a Neutral Family had spoken out. They were not known to make their voice heard often in the Sessions, usually just attending to be appraised of the current goings-on. With that he resumed the playback.

Dumbledore was confused as to why Fawkes had healed Harry originally, but after seeing how he destroyed the Diary then apologized to young Miss Weasley for not being faster, regardless of the fact he was dying himself, he understood. As a creature of the Light, Fawkes couldn’t in good conscious leave a child to die after working so hard to save another soul at the expense of their own without regard to any reward beyond their survival.

For all that bottled up rage, young Potter had a much larger heart indeed. A ‘power he knows not’.

Unlike the other memories, which had ended after the defeat of Voldemort, this one continued up to the Headmaster’s office. Albus became concerned as the playback went on before seeing for the first time what had happened in the corridor between Harry and Lucius.

“So that’s how he lost the Elf,” Narcissa muttered to herself, suddenly feeling better about being out of that man’s influence no matter the methods.

It was a wakeup call to those that had Elves that the often overlooked creatures could and would abandon them if given enough reason to. That Dobby had been mistreated by his family and rebelled the only way he could. There would be conversations and new orders for the unseen and often un-thanked helpers of Wizard-kind issued that night.

1800, Same Day, Potter Battlements

As Harry gracefully stepped out of the floo for the first time, which he savored, he took in the sight that greeted him. Luna and Hermione were engaged in what a first looked to be old fashioned fisticuffs however the laughter gave away their activity.

“They’ve been at it for an hour,” Charlus informed his Grandson, earning himself a meaty palm to the shoulder from Dorea. “Hey, I never said it was a bad thing!”

“A tickle fight? What brought this on?” the younger Potter wondered, dumbstruck that the girls were . . . well, acting like girls. It did lift his heart after the Session to see such frivolity from the normally uber-serious Hermione and often closed-off Luna.

“We weren’t paying attention to them,” Dorea answered softly, not wanting to alert them that they had an audience. “Nick and Penny were here earlier, but left when those two started tussling.”

“Oh? And to what did we owe their visit to?” he turned around to look at his Grandparents.

“They do want to talk to you,” Charlus replied. “They’re wondering how you feel with the mixture in your bloodstream.”

All Harry could do was grunt at the statement, mostly due to the fact that a cushion from the couch had impacted the back of his head.

“Tally-ho!” he cried as he leapt into the melee, taking on both girls at once in revenge for the hit.

TBC
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Magical Maturity