Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Magical Maturity	By : Jim_Ohki Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 46197 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 16
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other series referenced within. Expanded disclaimer inside.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
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.

Special Notes: Some will find this chapter to be rather bland, as it involves far more conversation than anything else. Just thought I’d forewarn everybody. I also corrected the errors in Parts One and Five. Something quasi-related: the launch of my forum on ffnet. Questions, comments, or even general conversation with yours truly! Link is in my profile.

Magical Maturity, Arc One Part Six

By: (Driver) Jim Ohki

1530 Saturday, August 20, 1994; Potter Battlements

“Please, have a seat,” the Harry-clone that had escorted Pansy gestured to a wingback in study number five on the south side of the Battlements. While he knew just why she had been invited he decided to fish to information to see just what she knew.

“Fabulous,” the Slytherin groused, eyes darting everywhere taking in her surroundings. The portrait above and behind the desk was occupied by a pair of figures she recognized from her Pure-Blood customs lessons: Charlus and Dorea Potter. She knew, then and there that she was under intense scrutiny.

“Right,” Harry had conjured his favorite armchair again before settling in. “I’ll be blunt here. You and I have never seen eye-to-eye in the short amount of time that we’ve known each other. If the House Rivalry at Hogwarts wasn’t enough, you . . . eh, associate with Malfoy on a regular basis and we know what happens between me and him.”

“So imagine my surprise,” he leaned forward, elbows landing on the desk as his clasped hands hid his mouth. “When I see the name Parkinson on my list of Houses that I am Head of. Do you know how that came to be, Pansy?”

It was a strange sensation to be having a civil conversation with the young man she’d antagonized over her first two years at Hogwarts. She shivered a bit under his Pose of Death, feeling those emerald eyes of his boring into her own cobalt blues.

“My father,” she stressed after a sigh, “was one of many unmarked supporters of the Dark Lord. My grandfather, on the other hand, had seen through Him before he shifted from the political arena to outright killing. It was one thing, according to grandfather, to uphold traditions and try to maintain social order when the Muggle side was in a rapid flux. It was something else entirely to force those that were neither inclined to politics or didn’t really care what was happening so long that it didn’t affect them to either follow his lead or die. There was no such thing as neutrality, even in his Rise. He did give some of the populace options though; join, support from the background monetarily but stay out of the way or die. The Greengrass family, for example, paid a yearly stipend to the Dark Lord’s coffers to avoid being forced into service even though they were of the ‘Didn’t Care’ faction.”

She shifted around in her chair, “Well, that’s not entirely true. They did care, but weren’t influential enough to make a difference in either direction. Since my father willingly entered the ranks, even though he was never marked to avoid scrutiny, it was good enough for Him. That was in nineteen seventy-three. By seventy-five my grandfather, being far more shrewd in the political arena than my father, knew that unless the Dark Lord was stopped everything -traditions, our very way of life- would be lost as He started killing every and anybody. His own followers, innocents that would rather just get out of the way, his enemies . . . everybody; entire families to the last man, woman and child, most of the time for no reason whatsoever.” She shivered again as her imagination provided the imagery from her grandfather’s descriptions.

“They had a massive falling out, my father and his,” her voice had gone soft. “Grandfather outright ordered my father to leave the ranks of the Dark Lord in seventy-nine. He refused, proclaiming that his father was losing his nerve with victory at hand. Words turned to spells, crippling both; grandfather lost the ability to walk and father lost the lower half of his left leg. Once I was born in May of nineteen eighty grandfather disowned father, not that it mattered as three months before I was born he was caught in the act of Muggle-Hunting by James Potter.” She noticed that Harry’s eyebrows tried to vanish under his fringe, even if the rest of his body was in perfect stillness. “Your father captured mine in the resulting duel, which I don’t hold against you or your family. Not when my father was trying to get his jollies with a nine year old boy.”

The growl from the other side of the desk made her pause and wonder just what was going through his mind.

“My grandfather approached yours,” Pansy gestured to the portrait behind Harry, “in March of nineteen eighty-one. House Parkinson felt that a debt was owed to House Potter for handling a matter that we should have dealt with ourselves. It was decided that my House would be a Protectorate of yours, including a proviso that I would keep my family name.”

“Then why,” he wondered with a level voice, not having moved his hands, “is your father sitting your House seat in the Wizengamot?”

“That would be times’ and tradition’s doing,” she had the grace to look sheepish. “Even though my father had been disenfranchised he was still the only son of his father. Grandfather -a fifth generation only child- died in eighty-five and by House rules as the only possible heir by both blood and name his son was reinstated. He couldn’t change the Protectorate contract though as your grandfather and father were dead and you were far too young to do so. The way the contract was written no proxy of either House could terminate it.”

That partially explains why Dumbledore couldn’t fiddle with the existing contracts, Harry thought before continuing the impromptu interview.

“Well, since I am now Head of House Potter the first thing I ask is: do you want the contract nullified?” he sat back in his chair, relaxing his pose. Pansy noticed that it appeared to be a cue to the portrait as the pair walked out of the frame to go elsewhere.

“When your invite arrived,” she answered slowly, trying to formulate the proper response without sounding insulting, “father was most insistent that if I could I would indeed get the contract voided. One thing that the two of you share in common is that neither have read it. The penalty clauses for breaking the contract from the House Parkinson end are catastrophic as we’d lose everything. I mean everything; money, properties, magic, our very lives. Grandfather, according to his journal, had trusted his gut instinct and knew he wouldn’t survive to your Majority so he set up the contract that way.”

She paused, gazing out the window for a few moments before continuing. “Since the current Acting Lord of the House desires the contract broken, even if you offered to do so magic itself would see it as us breaking it. So to answer your question, no. Do not, under any circumstances, nullify the contract to my House.”

“Straight forward enough,” Harry allowed, nodding to show his agreement. “Since you’ve read the contract -yes, I freely admit to only having the details and not the exact wording- is fulfilling it going to cause you undo strife?”

“Absolutely,” she slumped into her seat, looking defeated. “Father wants to set up a contract to House Malfoy, even though the current Head is not of age. He spent the better part of a decade talking up Lucius to the point Draco, never far away unless business demanded it, is aware of my House’s desires. I have to, as you so succinctly put it, associate with him while at Hogwarts. If I don’t; if I act like I truly want to he would inform my father of my resistance to the issue and even in the role of Acting Head my father can try to disown me.”

“He wouldn’t see the end of his House?” he rose his right eyebrow, leaving off the ‘would he’.

“He would in a heartbeat,” her expression had gone flat, giving her a half-lidded look, “if it meant going against the wishes of the Dark Lord. One of the many things that He instilled in his followers was a near-pathological need to keep bloodlines as pure as possible, including ideologically. Better for a House to die off completely than to be seen as breeding lower than one deserves. When I turned ten, father informed me that I should consider myself betrothed to Draco. Lucius seemed overly delighted at the prospect as he and my father had made promises to each other.”

“Ah, a delayed reward for service I take it?”

“Definitely,” she sighed. Her body language told him far more than the one word answer. She didn’t want to be a toady’s reward for being a murderer, rapist, thief and torturer.

“While I can’t do anything about your father,” Harry started after a lengthy pause, “at this time, I can enforce the Protectorate contract now. When he comes to complain, no doubt armed with death on his mind, he won’t like the consequences. I’ll only do so if you wish it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she shrugged, “when you activate the contract. As soon as it goes active my father will more than likely disown me which would push him and mother out of the picture. I say that because the second I am no longer his daughter they are no longer related by any means to House Parkinson -from the original disenfranchisement of my father- and thus while I keep the name their wants are irrelevant. The contact was written with me, and only me after the behavior of my parents, in mind.”

“Right,” he got the message of ‘no love lost’ before changing topics. He decided to avoid her mother as Pansy wasn’t willing to mention was the issue there was. “This situation is beyond strange and bizarre. No, I’m not referring to the fact that you and your fellow Slytherins have to deal with the Gryffindor devil as it were. Every witch currently within the Battlements has one form or another in the way of commitment to my House; except for the First Generations. Many of the blokes at school would give their legs to be in my situation; I see it as a bloody nightmare.”

He huffed, shaking his head, “I have to make allowances for each individual leading their own life. However because of the Continuation clauses there’s not a chance in hell I can simply do the deed and let her walk out of my life. Growing up as I did . . .,” he trailed off, not yet willing to share that part of his life with a once-enemy. “Family is what is important to me. So, tell me; what are your desires for the future?”

That question caught her flat-footed. Not many teenagers would even begin to think about what they wanted to do in life. Especially when said teens had just entered the age bracket. Yet here he was, trying to establish some form of rapport with her.

“Something that has priority,” Pansy answered, lightly blushing at the admission, “is the restoration of my House. Not so much population wise as integrity. Like Grandfather said in his journal, traditions are important but not so much as to force them on others. Above and beyond that, simply being a mother making her way in the world would bring me the greatest feeling.”

Huh, Harry thought, who knew that Pansy ‘Proper Pure-Blood’ Parkinson’s greatest desire is to be a mother?

As a silence fell between the two, he took a good look at her. While he had in the past compared her face to that of a pug he reevaluated the statement. Unlike the breed of dog there wasn’t a wrinkle or line to be found. Her skin, a nice tanned alabaster to his surprise, appeared smooth and flawless. Her hair trailed down to her mid-back and was a shade off of the raven’s nest on his own head. He found her eye color enrapturing, the deep shade of blue that was cobalt. What had led to the original observation, he discovered, was that she had a very petite nose for her facial build.

The robes -sky blue trimmed in cloud white- she was wearing were similar to the Hogwarts set as they hid her still-growing figure. As a male that was one tradition he could do without after discovering the joys of female flesh.

Pansy noticed that he was checking her out and returned the favor. He’d always had this “boyish-handsome” charm about him but up close it was obvious his heart was on his sleeve. When he glanced downwards and slightly frowned she felt insulted before taking into account her attire. His eyes, that lovely shade of emerald that screamed restrained power were one of his better features. The only thing unattractive to her was that scar; it would be much better in her opinion if he’d earned it another way that didn’t involve a Killing Curse being bounced off of his head after his parents were murdered.

His choice of clothes for the day earned a mentally raised eyebrow. Black khaki slacks and a black polo shirt were far from traditional day-to-day wear in the Wizarding World. What really got her attention with them was that while comfortably loose they were still snug on his frame.

“There is one thing you should be made aware of,” Harry broke the mutual looks before fidgeting in his chair. “Penelope . . . advised me . . . that, uh, my . . .,” he couldn’t continue, trailing off as his face imitated a tomato. Some things in life were just this side of impossible to speak about in casual conversation. “Right, nothing to it. Don’t panic or think I’m being fresh; I just want you to be aware of what you’re getting into here.”

He moved to her right -the left end of his desk- before stopping to fidget some more. He found his courage somewhere as he unbuttoned, unzipped and dropped his trousers in one motion.

The first thing Pansy wanted to do was scream in outrage; here was Harry ‘Supposed to be a Nice Guy’ Potter taking advantage of a contract set up between their respective grandfathers. When he didn’t make a further move in her direction her curiosity as to what his point was took the reins, directing her eyes to look down a bit.

It was when she caught sight of the head of what made him a man -the Original had forgone the harness again as he had no intention of going out- poking out the right leg of his drawers that went down to mid-thigh that her outrage vanished. It was replaced by not a little trepidation for the sheer length alone but, as it began to harden under her gaze, the girth was something she’d never imagined before. A part of her mind, disconnected from her consciousness, placed a chastity belt on her libido to every other male except Harry. That part of her decided then and there that there would be no other she would have in that way.

Then he dropped his shorts accompanied by a sigh of relief. At first it struck her as odd but then she reasoned that he was overly-confined and needed to be free.

Original-Harry chose that moment to walk into the room, seeing as Pansy was one of the more difficult conversations he was to have that day. In his opinion the place was entirely too quiet; there weren’t any shouts of anger nor did he get any memories of being slapped from dispelled clones. This was the third time he’d walked in on a clone using an appendage that wasn’t attached to arms or legs to point at the young woman in the room.

“Bloody randy clones,” he grumbled before doing an about-face and marching back out the door. The concept of sticking around and watching his clones was still not something he looked forward to. Neither occupant noticed his intrusion as both were rather entranced with each other.

Well, one was waiting for the shouts -containing insults to being too large no doubt- to begin and the other was off in fantasy land but still . . .

In a different part of the Battlements, clone three was giving his guest a deadpan look, not quite understanding why this person in particular had shown up. The family represented had in the past two hundred years immigrated to England at the end of the Vassal Era; in truth the House was one of the reasons that particular Pact had gone out of favor. It just made it too easy for “outsiders” to enter Magical Britain.

“I was under the impression that you were a bloke,” Harry-clone was emotionless, not knowing what he’d done to deserve this treatment.

“Bah,” the highly feminine voice of Blaise Zabini retorted, “you and everybody else at Hogwarts thinks that, yes. Mother knows that she’s made too many enemies in high places; being known as the Widow Maker does that to a person.”

‘Christiana ‘Widow Maker’ Zabini . . . oh joy,’ he thought, now knowing where he’d heard the moniker before. While she was a third -Blaise being a fourth- generation Brit their Italian heritage had always shown through. The woman had gone through as many husbands as the Weasley’s had children -seven, each as loaded financially as the last and each dying under mysterious circumstances leaving their distraught -and just married- widow everything.

Naturally, it took seven times for the Elitists to catch on to her scheme. Anybody with half a brain would have seen what was going on after the third or fourth time some childless, insanely wealthy last-of-his-line died. Once they had sat up and took notice did life get difficult for the remaining Zabini’s. Blaise, unplanned for child of husband number two, had the prejudice of being groomed to be like her mother while Christiana simply faded into the woodwork.

Well, she would have if House Potter didn’t have a major stake in House Zabini even being in the Isles to begin with. The Elitists were none too happy to have lost so much gold to a ‘foreign’ witch and were looking for a target of opportunity to have their revenge. Since Harry had been hidden from the world at the time -the last husband had died in ninety- Blaise was the target.

She’d learned real quick to not only look after herself but insure she stayed in the shadows.

“All right; explain to me please, just how we’ve all been fooled,” Harry requested after finishing his mental review.

“First and foremost,” Blaise’s voice had an edge to it, revealing her irritation, “there are a few things to understand. One is that I’m not like my mother; in truth the only reason I still have the name Zabini is that I’m her Heir. She’s stated on more than one occasion that I’m an accident; she’d never wanted children to begin with thus why I’m an only child after seven marriages. Secondly, it was her idea to hide my gender after husband number six -a Selwyn, if I remember correctly- tried to wed me off as revenge for the LeStrange family; the elder brother to the twins Rodolphus and Rabastian having lost most of the family fortune to my mother. Third, and just as important, is that I am aware of my family’s history and debt owed to House Potter for getting us into Britain. While my mother ignores the Vassal Pact -I know she’s violated it before; even tried to arrange a marriage with us underage so that she’d have control of your vast fortune- I know I cannot for I’m the last of my House.”

The revealed-to-be-a female shook her head in annoyance before continuing, although her tone had soften a bit. “I’m not as dumb as some of the Elites. I know I can revitalize my House and restore the reputation that had attracted your House in the first place. If I had gone to Hogwarts as I truly am Adrian, Vincent, Greg and Theodore would have been at the forefront of an attack on my person the first night there. Draco would have just smirked at that while the other witches would be ‘properly distracted’ so as not to come to my aid. To prevent this I make use of an old Italian espionage spell; it’s a combined Glamour, Notice-Me-Not targeted to my body -and its functions- with a Gender Transfiguration on top as a ‘just in case’.”

Harry’s confusion showed by his facial expression; that spell made much of no sense as a Gender Transfiguration . . . realization dawned on him at that point. Just because she had extra attachments under that spell didn’t mean Hogwarts would be fooled. Just to sleep she’d have to be in the Girl’s Dormitory, which would be extremely odd to see a male wander into every night -assuming that the Slytherin Dorms shared the same rules as Gryffindor.

“I believe you,” he leaned back in his chair. “The intrigue that goes on in the Dungeons is just too much. Right, since you freely admit your mother violated the Vassal Pact you should be aware that the punishment clause has more than likely kicked in. She’ll be getting an owl in about five minutes from Gringott’s informing her that the entire Zabini Vault has been confiscated alongside any under her name as fines. What saves your House and Name is that you came to me; as of now Christiana Zabini is excluded from the House Potter, House Zabini Pact for breach of contract. You’ll get your wish Blaise; I’ll help you restart your House and bring the reputation it had back.”

His voice hardened as his eyes narrowed, “Should House Zabini ever violate the Pact again House Potter will seek Line Extermination under Clause Eight. Do you understand?”

‘Ouch!’ Blaise thought, for that was extreme. She knew better than to argue the point as it was justifiable; still Line Extermination was death to every person related by blood to the fourth separation. Being that there were Crabbe’s, Goyle’s, Nott’s, Yaxley’s, Bulstrode’s and a few others she couldn’t think of off of the top of her head in her family tree . . . that would be a lot of dead people.

The silence stretched on, letting the Harry-clone get a good look at her. She had her hair in a short bob cut, quite possibly so that when transfigured into a boy she’d not miss it. Her eyes were hazel which offset her coffee colored skin. The robes, which he ground he teeth at, were burgundy lightly trimmed in white. That was a strange combination to his mind but didn’t dwell on it.

“Yes,” she answered at last, after allowing her eyes to roam, “I understand completely.”

When the parade of Harrys broke apart, leading a witch into a different room each Daphne Greengrass found herself sequestered in a trophy room. She took note that they had been for varying things between eighteen ten and nineteen seventy, including skeet shoots, pheasant hunts and various other Mundane things that she had no clue about. The mounted head of a boar was unattractive to the extreme in her opinion.

Just where that head of a Rocky Mountain Elk -a nice ten point buck- came from she didn’t want to know.

“Right, sorry about that,” the clone had disappeared for a few moments. After striding into the room he was followed in by a levitated tea table and a wingback chair for her. Once he set those where he wanted them his conjured a plush black leather office chair on wheels which worked well with the hardwood floor.

“Hmmm,” she offered no opinion to anything right then. Daphne was not as aware as some of the other witches invited to this little get together as to why they were having private one-on-one interviews.

“To business then,” Harry-clone started, not wanting to mince words. “Yes, a question and answer session first. Tell me, are you aware of any contracts between House Potter and House Greengrass?”

When he asked the question he decided to take in her appearance. She was trying something different with her hairstyle as it was in a page-boy cut, her blond locks framing her porcelain skinned face. Her eyes were a strange shade of ice-gray, which when combined with her glare earned her moniker ‘Ice Princess’. Her robes -Merlin he was beginning to hate them- were royal blue trimmed in turquoise.

Taking her time in answering, she thought about the proper response. While the running of the House -thus, all contracts- was handled by her father she was privy to a few details. She mentally frowned, knowing that Lucius Malfoy had been sniffing around before he disappeared earlier in the month. From what she had overheard he was looking at setting up either a Betrothal or a Line Continuation contract. He’d been pushing rather hard for both herself and Astoria for some reason; the whole situation made no sense because it was common knowledge that House Parkinson was also being courted.

House Potter having a contract of any type quite literally fell out of the sky. With her reply not forthcoming Harry continued on.

“Right, I’ll assume,” he leaned back in his chair which partially reclined with him, “that this is completely out of the blue. When I was run through my Heritage Ritual by the goblins you’d understand my surprise seeing House Greengrass as a Vassal. Oh yes,” he took note of her eyebrows raising in disbelief, “somewhere along the line your House pledged itself to mine. Of course, the Vassal clause has long since gone out of favor so I’d say it was sometime in the early seventeenth century.”

With the exception of her eyebrow’s rebellion Daphne kept her ‘Ice Princess’ mask on.

“Behold, I’ve come to find that House Greengrass violated that contract,” he dropped the bomb on her as, a flight down and five rooms away the clone talking to Pansy created/dispelled another of their brethren in the span of half a second; alerting the lot -and Original-Harry- of this information. “More than once it appears,” he amended his statement with a frown.

For the first time since being sorted into Slytherin she felt extreme amounts of nervousness. She’d heard -later, seen- about what goes on in the dungeons of Hogwarts and wanted no part of it. Well, he’s still talking, she thought, so all is not lost yet.

“In nineteen oh-nine your Great-grandfather affirmed the oaths between our houses. In nineteen fifty-three your grandfather, an undercover agent for Voldemort -who had not gone active yet, instead operating here in the Isles under the guise of leftovers from Grindelwald- attacked and killed my great-grandfather. This is the original violation of the Vassal Pact; the penalties for which were agreed upon between our Houses under parlay to prevent a feud later that year.”

She frowned for her father had never told her any of this before. While her parents were of the ‘Don’t bother us’ persuasion she was aware of their backroom support of the Dark Lord. As much as her great-grandfather pushed neutrality he was conveniently ignored in favor of listening to some upstart go on about enforcing traditions on the populace and controlling the Muggles/Muggle-Borns. Even when He went berserk in seventy-six and started slaughtering everything that breathed her parents continued to espouse that propaganda of His.

Daphne now had other pieces to other puzzles. She’d often wondered why her father never talked about his; her great-grandfather told her he’d been disowned and sentenced to a severe punishment for breach of contract. When he died in eighty-eight she’d been left with his journals and a letter; everything disappearing under strange circumstances into her father’s office then vanishing without a trace.

“Our Houses agreed,” Harry continued after allowing her to digest the information, “that your grandfather would be executed after disenfranchisement and that when House Greengrass sired daughters the first two would go to House Potter. The eldest would retain the family name while the younger would not. Years later, my grandfather expressed concern to your great-grandfather about his grandson; what would happen if he either followed in his father’s footsteps or blatantly ignored obligations. Your father graduated from Hogwarts in seventy-one; word through our Allies was that he’d been repeating the rhetoric of one Tom Riddle at the Castle. As the Head of House your great-grandfather agreed, without protest, that if either or both should happen -as it appears it has- House Greengrass would be absorbed by House Potter and restarted in the next generation.”

The stoic ‘I am Ice, nothing fazes me’ mask shattered under the impact of such a statement.

“Are you saying . . .,” she started, looking panicked as she rose out of her chair.

“Sit down,” his voice went hard, making the command stick as she flopped down into the wingback. “I know that Magic is a fickle thing; the words coming out of my mouth may very well have started the process. Look at this as an opportunity Daphne,” he relaxed his stern visage, “you get to restart your House with a clean slate. Granted the seat in the Wizengamot will be held by my House for five generations -not as reparations but as a means to insure your House isn’t completely shafted- but beyond that you lose nothing. Bloody hell woman, I could give you such a fortune that your tenth-generation children wouldn’t have to work a day in their lives if they didn’t squander the gold. I was at Gringott’s yesterday and found the goblins asking me for a favor; they needed some of the physical coin stashed in my vault. I now have these.”

A piece of legal parchment came gliding into the room before settling on the table between them. Daphne had never seen anything quite like what she was looking at; if the goblins went back on their word this could be the means to completely destroy them.

Promissory Note Issued to House Potter

Value: One Hundred Thousand Galleons

Note number: 23,523

Gringott’s GUARANTEES this note

Ragnok, Liege Lord of the Goblin Nation

“Yes, I have the notes that came before this in one of my Vaults,” he sent the parchment back to his office. “They do vary in value, most are those hundred thousand while others are ten or just one thousand. I’m the first Magical born to an Ancient House of any status to have some paper money instead of all gold. Don’t misunderstand, I still have many Vaults filled with coin on top of the notes. This is what I mean about issuing you a fortune by Pure-Blood standards; I’m so far ahead of them it’s ridiculous.”

The Harry-clone had been rambling, thus missed that his audience had decided on an impromptu nap at the sheer implications of his wealth.

“Bollocks,” he groused as he set to waking her up.

While Harry-clone number four was trying to revive one Greengrass, clone eight was talking to her sister Astoria. Much of the conversation with the younger of the two sisters was the same as the elder. Where it differed was just after being informed of the deal between the Houses.

“Let me get this straight,” the ‘Ice Maiden’ persona was in full effect, “you’re telling me that for all intents and purposes we are ineligible for any other types of contracts?”

“Well, as the Head of House Potter I can declare the contract null,” was his nervous response, understanding some of what others felt under that gaze. “Doing that however would break the ancient Vassal Pact and lead to a Blood Feud between our Houses. Not something I look forward to having already declared on House Prince.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” she waved her arms in front of herself quickly. “The current contract is a good thing; Daphne and I have been worried for some time as Lucius Malfoy -before his disappearance- had been trying to imitate a dog and sniff up our skirts. It’s bad enough that Pansy got dragged into the mess with Malfoy but to try to load his House with so many daughters is . . . well, I’d say barbaric but you aren’t trying.”

“I hear where you’re coming from,” Harry reassured her that she hadn’t flubbed. “It’s one thing when a set of circumstances causes an outcome; it’s something else entirely to force those circumstances. House Potter has avoided -barely, mind- having to fulfill the various contracts since just before Grindelwald was born for varying reasons, mostly under the guise that the House had no less than two members at any time until my grandfather died in eighty-two.”

“So . . .,” Astoria trailed off, not knowing what would happen next.

“Right,” the Harry across from her started twiddling his thumbs, trying to come up with a conversation piece. As his blank mind continued to produce nothing his eyes roamed for a bit.

Astoria had a similar shade of blond to her sister set in a simple low pony-tail that went halfway done her back. Her eyes were the ice-gray, the same as her sisters’ he would later learn. One area where the sisters were different was in skin tone; while Daphne was porcelain Astoria had the coloration of a tanned marshmallow, a light golden brown that indicated long amounts of time outdoors.

The robes of the younger Greengrass were inverted from the elder; turquoise trimmed in royal blue. They were also three-quarter sleeves, reaching half way between her wrists and her elbows.

While the conversation between the Harrys and the sisters Greengrass stalled, clone fourteen was hosting the eldest living human in the Battlements.

“What the bloody devil is this tripe?” demanded Nymphadora Tonks, flailing the letter Harry had sent to her mother above her head.

“Don’t hit me,” Harry-clone whimpered, “or I’ll pop. Just give me a chance to explain here and . . .”

“Explain now!” she interrupted him, throwing the letter onto the table that separated them. Her loss of control on her temper led to drastic measures on his part.

“VOLDEMORT!” he bellowed, shocking her out of her tirade. He’d learned using that tactic from Hagrid’s wailing at the end of first year; seems it was very effective indeed.

“Right, now that I have your attention,” he gestured to the chair she’d knocked over upon entering the room setting it upright. “Sit down and we’ll talk.”

The pair stared at each other for a good five minutes, each waiting for the other to begin. Each time one got fed up, the other opened their mouth at the same time leading to a strange stalemate.

Using the time wisely Harry-clone took a look at the young woman across from him. Tonks, as he’d learned straight off the bat not to use her first name, preferred shoulder length bubblegum pink hair. This contrasted with her violet eyes -he was certain that wasn’t her natural color-, although he wasn’t about to offer up a critique. Her parentage was obvious as she was in a Weird Sisters tee shirt and a plaid skirt that didn’t reach her knees, although she was wearing black leggings thus leaving no skin exposed.

“Right,” he forced out at last, “we should get straight to business. I sent that notice of reinstatement to your mother because it’s true. Since Sirius got shafted by the wonderful Ministry of Mismanagement and the Department of Magical Logic Excuses, I found myself as the Head of House Black. Going through the Family Tree I found members that had been disowned for being more human than puppet. Your mother, Cedrella, Alphard and Marius to name a few. So, in following with the Will of Arcturus Black I reinstated them -most posthumously- and ejected those that have lost their way like Bellatrix. Narcissa and Draco I’m still uncertain of right now, but we’re not here to talk about them.”

“House Black,” he relaxed into his armchair, “finds itself in dire straits. Since there are so few true Blacks left the House is in danger of extinction. While more than a few I could think of off of the top of my head don’t see an issue with this if I don’t at least try to save it then . . . well, it’ll be a right nightmare. Your mother, being happily married, opted out of taking part of the Restoration. Your father, being a First Generation, knows that his name won’t carry on unless by some miracle you find yourself with a younger brother. Thus, because I brought your mother back into the fold -which included you as her daughter- we come to the crux of the issue.”

“Are you joking?” she looked skeptical, and he couldn’t blame her. “This is just . . . it’s out-dated, outmoded, and just plain stupid.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me,” he nodded, “but at the same time you are the only unattached un-bred female within the House that I know the location of. If Narcissa gave up her claim to Draco before I disowned her, as an example, she’d fall under the same clause that’s affecting you. I know, the whole inbreeding thing right?” he posed, seeing that it was a hang-up.

“By the Tapestry my Gran was the sister of your great-grandfather, making us fourth cousins removed a time or two; however the thing goes. Narcissa is a third some such or other while the spawn that is Draco well . . . by blood, fourth something. By House; not at all being the son of a Marked Terrorist thus being disqualified.”

“So, what, I have no choice in the matter?” he hair had turned fiery red, a clear indicator of her mood.

“Well, I could by your request undo the reinstatement,” he offered, leaning back in his chair looking wholly unconcerned. Mostly because it was her choice even if he wasn’t showing what he was truly thinking. “But seeing as in with the delayed dowry your mother just cashed in a cool two million and the half a million set aside for you later on . . .,” he trailed off, knowing money talks.

“Way to put me between a rock and a hard place,” she groused, shaking her head. Her hair had gone back to bubblegum pink meaning she was back to her usual self.

“Look, you’re not the only one,” Harry pointed out the door. “There are three other Houses represented here today by witches; those Houses have the same chance House Black does to start afresh. That’s not something any busy-body off of the street can claim; that they were responsible for the rebirth of a House, even less the older the House. Forget one that has a name longer than He-Who-Is-Hyphenated-By-The-Sheep.”

For the first time between the two a relaxed silence, interrupted by the occasional Harry or Dobby-clone always following the copies of their Master wandering by the open door, descended.

Harry was contemplating asking the question the metamorphmagus had probably heard too many times to count but decided against it. If he’d known that asking to see what she really looked like and not the cherub face that -if framed by red hair- would look like a tomato was one that she’d rarely heard he’d have gone for it.

“Right, drop your trousers,” she suddenly ordered as only she could. How she was a ‘Puff when she acted more like a Gryffindor was anybody’s guess.

“I’m sorry, what?” the demand caught him flat-footed, as testified by his eyes trying to leave his skull.

“Pants, trousers, drawers, y’know the clothes on the lower half of your body,” she elaborated, using as many adjectives as she could think of to get her point across.

“Who, what, what, who?” his mind had turned off, leaving him blubbering like a First Year facing the Sorting Hat.

“Merlin’s Flaming Penis!” she cursed in the unique way that was all Tonks. “You need written directions to go with that?”

It was strange, noticed Original-Harry as he poked his head into yet another room to find his clone and Angelina Johnson going over the books that had the Ritual for the Birth of Family Magic. While there were more than a few that had managed to lose their trousers between the end of the marvelous brunch and when he went looking; none were engaged in any of the physical activities he’d discovered over the week.

So far the whole event appeared to be going at least decently. Not wanting to jinx himself he avoided calling it ‘going well’, which was the thought that jinxed it.

“What the hell is that in your pants, a dragon?!” shouted Alicia Spinnet three rooms away, before she came running headlong into another Harry which turned out to be the one she was looking for.

“That’s not funny in the least!” she scolded him, looking terrified. “You know the Twins tried something like this a couple of years ago, thinking they could score if they were overly large they could get a quick shag out of . . .”

“It’s as real as your tits!” he defended himself, feeling a massive blow to his ego. “No, I didn’t know that Fred and George tried something like that. Remember, the lot of you were pulling that ‘He’s the Heir, run for your lives!’ bit with me? I have no desire to fake having a tool that can double as a pike, all right?!”

Their raised voices earned an audience from the surrounding rooms as a clone and a witch took a look to see what the hubbub was about.

Penny came hustling by, pulling Alicia back into the room she’d been in before slamming the door shut. Harry looked around at him-selves and his guests before barking at them.

“What?!”

1900; Same Day

“Right, that wasn’t so bad,” Harry let out a deep sigh of relief as the last of his unusual guests headed home. While the day had its’ ups and downs it wasn’t the complete disaster the dinner had been a week previous. “Remind me to hurt Fred and George for thinking about getting their jollies in more ways than one.”

It had been a shock to learn that the Twins had tried something that rated up there on the “not right” scale. Granted, there had been no nefarious thoughts behind their backfired prank; they were trying to both get a laugh and a shag. It took the Chaser-Trio to calm Harry down from ‘CRUSH, MAIM, KILL!’ to ‘embarrass the hell out of them’ by telling him they’d gotten their revenge in the way only a woman could with a horny male nearby.

Complete cock-block, after riling them up too.

In that moment the three had wished to be under the eyes of McGonagall; the stern look he gave them was that fierce and his lips had vanished into a thin white line. He had drilled it into their heads that doing that wasn’t the safest idea in the world; if it had been somebody that was determined to get some whether the female was cooperative or not they’d not be laughing about it.

Katie had retorted that, saying that the Twin Terrors were truly sorry indeed; in a move worthy of Slytherin the three had blackmailed them with social death in the dating pool from their stunt. The look she got in return was the Pose of Death, which quieted her instantly.

“What, exactly, did you tell Alicia anyway?” he turned to Penny, whose face was a nice shade of cheery. His look turned severe when she gave him the Mona Lisa Smile; that little upturn of the lips that screamed ‘I know something you don’t!’.

“Just the truth,” she replied from her refuge behind Hermione, who was trying to stifle laughter. Harry was being completely unreasonable in regards to his teammates; then again he was known to turn fierce when somebody he knew on a personal level was threatened in any manner. Sharing a locker room with them led to there being not much that the four hadn’t known about each other.

“Right, and just what was the truth?” Harry wondered while looking at a portrait; his voice had gone soft and sad. The tone told the story: he was expecting a negative reaction at any moment.

“That while it’s as real as the rest of you, you’re still learning how to use it,” was the honest response. “Alicia was surprised to learn that; she knows that you have no need for an ego at all as a preference. With the things you’ve done over your first two years at Hogwarts anybody else would at least tell the story a time or two to the masses. Ah . . . Carrot-Top . . . y’know, the other Weasley that you were friends with; yeah he was good for doing what everybody else expected you to do. Strut around like you owned the place; awe people with tales of power; soak up the attention.”

“Bah,” he snorted, “just you wait until I am in those halls again. Ron’s going to be eating words for a term.” He shook his head, going back to the original topic. “For ten years all I heard from my . . . housemates, was how much of a freak I was. Any time anything went wrong it’s ‘blame it on Harry time’. Granted, I know now that from my Aunt it was jealousy of my Mum. From my Uncle and Cousin jealousy that they couldn’t measure up to me . . . well, in that department anyway.”

The three young women noticed his usage of present tense in regards to taking blame, meaning that the treatment from his Aunt and Uncle was deeply ingrained.

“Well,” Luna chimed in, trying to cheer Harry up, “from the general consensus the witches are willing to give the deal a go. There are some rough areas that each of us will have to iron out eventually; nothing too major though. The biggest complaint, actually, was that you lurk in the background a tad too much before swinging into action out of nowhere. They, and the rest of the school as a matter of fact, would either prefer to be there when something crazy goes on or we hear the words straight out of your mouth.”

“I figured that from what Penny said,” he looked at the blond out of the corner of his right eye. “That was something else I learned in that decade: stay hidden in the shadows at all times. Hmmm . . .,” he suddenly broke off in thought, before summoning parchment and a fountain pen out of his office. “Let me make this easier to understand.”

He started writing a list. It wasn’t overly long but at the same time it was depressing to see that he was subject to such treatment.

Rules of the House:

1.) Do not ask questions.

2.) Do not speak unless necessary.

3.) Do not been seen by guests if it can be helped.

4.) Do not ask questions.

5.) Do not speak unless necessary.

6.) Do not complain.

7.) Do not ask questions.

8.) Do not speak unless necessary.

9.) Do not perform better than anybody else in the house at anything.

The ‘not asking questions’ and ‘do not speak’ rule was repeated four more times, much to the ire of Hermione. She had wondered why Harry’s curiosity got the better of him most of the time; now she had a good idea. Bad enough that humans as a whole were curious; it was even worse if that urge to discover why things were the way they were was suppressed to the point of being a mindless drone before suddenly being unleashed.

“Oh dear,” Penny’s inner Ravenclaw was crushed by the list. Being a Prefect then Head Girl of the house of the intellectuals had its perks; one of them was access to the All Time Grading Book. It was a Codex of every student to have graced the halls of Hogwarts; created in thirteen-thirteen -the all powerful year- by a Ravenclaw alumni Headmaster at the establishment of the current system. It would self update at the end of every term with the grades of the students, ranking them by Year, House and Overall.

She’d snuck a peek during the Chamber fiasco, looking for clues there as whomever was attacking students had to have some brainpower. The then group of Second Years had Harry listed in the lower third, passing comfortably but with a ton of room to improve. By House he was in the bottom fifth; Overall in the bottom sixteenth. His scores raised a flag or two within her mind but as she was looking for something else entirely she’d put it aside. Then his unexpected Maturity hit and pushed it clean out of her mind; even though the last time she’d seen the book he’d risen to the upper half across the board from having all EE’s. She’d only remembered that when the automatic memory block was lifted.

“Scruffy looking nerf herder!” Luna bellowed at the list, like it was death personified. Her First Year she’d seen how lost Harry was without his talking encyclopedia that was Hermione. Granted, he was at least nice to her as opposed to Ronald. When she’d been petrified the youngest male Weasley’s grades had plummeted to almost the fabled Dead Last spot. Harry wasn’t much better but he tried infinitely harder than his now ex-friend.

Hermione’s reaction was actually worrying Harry, for she’d gone into complete stillness which was never a good sign. It was difficult to comprehend that anybody could do that to a child, forget blood relatives. The vile piece of parchment, looking innocent on the corner table, explained so much though. There were times when Harry was curious to the point of making a cat look like it was asleep; then there were times when he was completely lost on a subject but didn’t open his mouth for clarification.

“I’m trying to break some nasty habits,” his voice was quiet again, waiting for somebody to laugh at him and/or tell him he’d gotten what he deserved. It was times like these that he hated being a teenager; blasted hormones were all over the place. “That’s why I’ve been going over my Library every day since moving in here. I know my parents would be furious with my scores; my grandparents certainly were and told me as much.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione finally spoke, before conjuring her bluebell flames to torch the parchment. He was quick to levitate it off of the table so it wouldn’t burn. “I understand Harry, I really do. For two years I’ve looked over your work; you at least made an effort and tried. In fact, I should have known that something was wrong by the way you’d either verbatim the assignment out of the book, which never earned more than an Acceptable, or on the more rare occasions when you threw in personal thoughts and experiences went all out. Those were the best, earning mostly O’s but were so few and far between they didn’t help your grades much.”

“Well, Potions is a lost cause so long that Snape is in charge,” he offered a half-smile, not quite believing what he was hearing. Compliments were unheard of at Privet Drive; Hogwarts wasn’t much better having the populace either love or loathe him.

The duo of younger witches headed for home at that point, deciding it was best to leave on a high note. They could see the expression on his face and knew he was feeling rather happy.

“Shall we?” Penny had taken it upon herself to be available for his needs. It had taken her the better part of the week to convince him that she was fine with his need to flex his magic in that way.

He grinned at her in response, leading her to her room.

1945; Friday, August 26, 1994; Quidditch World Cup Stadium

“This is awesome!” Luna shouted to be heard over the crowd, taking in the scenery from the Top Box.

The Quad, as they were jokingly calling themselves for the time being, had taken one of the last portkey’s in to the match. It had been a laborious climb to the Box, countless flights of stairs coupled with the jostling crowd. They’d seen the various Houses that were tied in some form or another to House Potter; Draco Malfoy had a spectacular glare when they’d crossed paths. Narcissa, scenting extreme danger from her Head of House, had quickly shooed her son away from him.

They had also seen the Weasley’s and Diggory’s, en route to the Nose Bleed Ring; the uppermost concourse of the place where there were no seats. The four hadn’t gotten close enough to be seen by the family of gingers; which was a good thing a Ron was being loud to Cedric in his hatred of how high up they were.

As a member of the Wizengamot Harry had first dibs on tickets to the World Cup. This is what led to the Weasley’s and Diggory’s getting bounced out of the Box; his group had taken the front row which otherwise would have been Arthur’s. Amos Diggory, feeling for his friend and coworker, chose to follow his lead to the Ring.

“Excellent!” Harry’s grin was infectious as he looked down on the pitch through his Omnioculars. When they had passed the souvenir stand he’d bought one for each of them, enabling the four to look at everything on top of many things Irish. Such as shirts, hats, jumbo-clovers and the like. Penny even transfigured herself a giant green foam finger; Luna immediately asked for one of her own.

The four were waiting for the other six invitees to arrive, even as Harry eyed a House-Elf that was acting strange. As the Quaffle-toss approached they were joined by Tonks -chartered for personal security as a ruse-, Padma, Parvati, Su, Hannah and Susan already sporting their own souvenirs.

“Absolutely amazing!” the tiny form of Su Li squeaked, literally vibrating from excitement. She, like the Patil Twins, was aware of her heritage being a potential roadblock to being in the Top Box had it not been for Harry being himself and bringing them along.

“Tonks,” Harry snagged his pseudo-guard as she ‘patrolled’ -when in truth she’d just hit a food vendor for some overpriced grub-, “check out that Elf and chair, other end of row two.” He had learnt much from Dobby including the odd behavior that the Elves as a whole had. While following orders was a given they were also happiest not being seen unless absolutely necessary and that Elf wasn’t following protocol in the least.

As the rookie Auror moved off to have a look-see at the goings on, Harry turned back to checking out the stadium and crowd. Over here, some old guy with his left index finger two knuckles up his nose. Over there, down near field level, Justin Finch-Fletchley jumping around like a loon to the pregame festivities. In a corner out of sight from those not specifically looking, was . . .

“Luna,” he called over to her, “ten o’clock, down fifteen rows in the break of the stands. Is that Marietta Edgecombe taking on two blokes at once?”

The question had every set of Omnioculars in the Box looking in that spot. Sure enough there was the Ravenclaw in question bent over, her skirt around her waist; her blouse and bra pulled up above her developing breasts, while one enjoyed her mouth the other her arse.

“Gulping Gargoyles!” Susan couldn’t believe her eyes at what she was seeing. Then again, those blokes were just plain tiny when compared to Harry and as such lost interest in the live pornography taking place.

“Look a bit further down, there’s Cho looking highly uncomfortable,” reported Hermione. The Ravenclaw Seeker was indeed looking like she’d rather be elsewhere as her best friend got her jollies; either that or she’d just lost a bet, one of the two.

“Ooh, the possibilities,” Luna’s voice was barely heard as she’d gone off into dreamland. The blackmail material she had now was worth its weight in gold and she intended to collect.

Harry went back to scoping out the crowd after looking one last time at Marietta. One of the two blokes he recognized as Roger Davies, the other he couldn’t see his face. The going-to-be a Fifth Year would be classified as attractive if it weren’t for the visual he had of her activities. That made him frown for a moment in thought, before reevaluating the whole statement. It would be the height of hypocritical of him to judge a female for taking on two -or more- at the same time since he could create hundreds of himself. Yeah, that’s what the issue was. He was already uneasy with the idea of seeing his clones get their jollies; the mere whisper of inviting another guy into . . .

He had a strange bit of accidental magic right then, as his gaze had come back around to Marietta and her good times. If the look in her eyes was right she was close to orgasm; that look turned into the one many a male have seen when they do something rather stupid. Harry’s magic had reached out and turned off both blokes just as her orgasm was about to start; it got better as both of the young men thought they’d finished and were making themselves presentable before leaving the highly frustrated girl there. He could see Cho checking on her friend, doing what she could to be a shoulder to cry on as Marietta tried to finish herself off.

Luna, also watching the scene, wanted to pounce on Harry for his wonderful gift. Two of her tormentors weaknesses had been exposed; Marietta was denied an orgasm after being this close and Cho appeared to be fighting herself in rubbing one out right there as any voyeur would. The eventual roar of rage from Edgecombe, barely heard above the din of the crowd, was music to her ears.

While the teenagers were finding out all sorts of things to hold over their classmates heads, Tonks wasn’t having such a good go at the other end of the Box. The House-Elf, Winky, was being highly protective of a seat for her Master yet was not saying who that Master was. Resolving to wait until after the start of the match to come back and try again she wandered back down towards Harry as Minister Fudge wandered into the Box with his Bulgarian counterpart and their chosen hangers-on for the evening. Since there was no simpering ‘hem-hem’ or gaudy pink cardigan it was a safe bet Umbridge was nowhere nearby, a plus in every Ministry worker’s book.

Fudge looked happy for all of five seconds before Harry turned in his seat to look at the newcomers. Eyes darting around revealed the Lovegood, Bones and Abbot heiress’ with three foreigners and what had to be a Muggle-Born.

“Something’s afoot,” Tonks reported to Harry, causing him to look down the row at the Elf that had resumed hiding her face. The action drew attention from the Ministers and their entourage, turning to see what was going on.

“I say,” Ludo Bagman had bounced into the Box at that moment, “what is Barty’s Elf doing up here all alone?”

“Barty?” Harry glared at Bagman, “As in Bartemius Crouch Senior? Where is he?”

“Wouldn’t I like to know,” mumbled Fudge as his guest continued to speak in Bulgarian to his own people. The offhand mentioning of Barty Junior went clean over his head.

“What do you need him for?” Bagman tried to look shrewd, instead looking like he needed a toilet pronto. There was something about the retired Beater that was setting Harry on edge; truthfully like most Ministry workers.

“Nothing that involves House Bagman,” was the formal response, piquing the interest of those not in the know. “Just an issue between Houses Black, Potter and Crouch.”

Fudge scented danger in the extreme; the young man had brought the issue to light in the closed doors of the Wizengamot. Doing so out here in public -in front of a foreign dignitary!- was just going that one step further.

As if summoned by the young Lord, Bartemius Crouch appeared for a brief moment. That moment was all that Harry needed.

“Bartemius Crouch Senior, you have been charged with attempted Line Theft of House Black and interference with the then Heir Apparent of House Black and House Potter. You and your line are forever disenfranchised from House Black; House Potter demands reparations in the amount of ten million Galleons standard and your life! You imprisoned my Godfather without trial or due diligence!”

Crouch did the smart thing and fled, Harry having moved over to the stairwell to shout the last at the man which led to many more than necessary hearing the declaration.

“Right, well,” Fudge spluttered, ringing his bowler hat.

“Now that that’s done,” Harry returned to his seat, “I’m here to watch Quidditch. Unless I invited you please don’t bother me.”

TBC

All right, that didn’t quite make sense to me either. No matter what I do, except for leaving the scene on the cutting room floor, it just comes out all bizarre. Oh well.

To my readers/reviewers: a big shout-out and two thumbs way up!
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Magical Maturity